It was the first time he had ever been in an aeroplane. But I think he will never forget his first flight as long as he lives.
We started brilliantly. And proudly I took off, until having reached an altitude of 500 metres I proceeded in a northerly direction. Everything went well. We passed over the Havel lakes, sighted Nauen; but suddenly the atmosphere became thick and murky and our bad luck set in. We were wrapped in a thick fog and could see nothing of the ground. For the first overland flight of my young life it was a tall order. But, with the fine confidence of the novice, I consoled myself with the thought that courage was everything—even if things couldn’t help getting worse! And I flew calmly into the thick fog, directing myself by my compass towards the north, as our objective was Hamburg. After two hours we could make out the ground again at a distance of 300 metres below us, and who can describe our joy on espying a beautiful, large, ploughed field! I glided down gently, just as though it were an aerodrome, and landed safe and sound in the middle of the field. People came running from all sides, and my joy was great when I learned that we were on good Mecklenburg soil, and exactly where, according to my own and my observer’s calculations, we had expected to find ourselves. It was a holiday, and we afforded the villagers a free entertainment.
As soon as it cleared up, we decided to depart. But the soft soil held the wheels fast, and it was impossible to rise. With shrieks of merriment, and many a rough jest which we had to accept, the willing spectators trundled the giant bird over the field.
After we had cut down a few trees, we had to negotiate a ditch and another field. Though we now intended to depart, we were only allowed to do so after partaking of most excellent coffee and pound-cake.
After a mighty hand-shaking all round, and shouting themselves hoarse with endless “Hurrahs,” with much waving of handkerchiefs, we started off on a northerly course.
But our joy was short-lived, for fifteen minutes later we were again in the midst of grey fog-banks. After two hours I found the situation getting unpleasant, for the confounded motor began to choke and spit, and was either 500 revolutions short or registered 200 too many.
I examined my landing-gear and valves, and noticed to my horror that my provision of petrol was diminishing with hideous rapidity. I kept my machine balanced as well as possible, and glided down to a height of 300 metres.
But, oh, Lord! The mist lifted a little and I could see where I was—exactly over the river Alster at only 300 metres’ altitude, and this with a motor that was running dry, and with no idea where to look for the aerodrome of Fuhlsbüttel. There was only one thing to do—and that was to keep calm and cool! Above all, to get away from the town and thus avoid imperilling human lives. I pencilled these words on a scrap of paper and passed them to my observer: “We must land within five minutes or we shall take a cold bath, as we have no more petrol.” He peered about him and suddenly pointed joyfully to a cemetery which lay right under us. Good old chap! He had no idea of our predicament and could not guess what unconscious irony lay behind his gesture.
We had already dropped 200 metres. The engine was working by fits and starts; the level of the petrol showed 10 litres. But I was pleased. For we had now left the town behind us, and though a smooth landing was impossible, amongst all these suburban gardens, at least I hoped to avoid killing anyone. At such times every second seems an eternity, and my thoughts chased each other across my brain. But more than ever I had to show iron determination and self-control.
My observer suddenly started waving his hand and pointing forwards. And even now I can see his sparkling eyes shining at me through his goggles.