Half an hour later, during which time the monoplane had drifted at least three miles, and was being considerably buffeted by the rising sea, von Sinzig noticed that a vessel was bearing down upon the crippled Albatross.
As she approached, the count saw that she was a small motor-yacht of about forty or fifty tons, and that she was flying the burgee of the "Real Club Mediterraneo" and the Spanish ensign. The sight of the Spanish colours gave von Sinzig renewed hope.
The yacht slowed down and lost way a few yards to the wind'ard of the monoplane. For so small a vessel she carried a large crew. There were half a dozen men for'ard, clad in white canvas jumpers and trousers and wearing red woollen caps. Aft were two gorgeously attired individuals in gold-laced yachting uniforms.
Von Sinzig, who was a fair Spanish linguist, hailed them. A rope thrown from the bows of the yacht fell across the nose of the Albatross. This the count caught and secured.
"Can you supply me with petrol, señor?" asked von Sinzig. "My tank is empty. A hundred litres will be enough."
One of the gold-laced men shook his head and extended his hands, palms uppermost.
"I am desolated at being compelled to refuse your excellency's modest request," he replied, "but we have paraffin engines and carry only a small quantity of petrol for starting purposes. How far have you come?"
"Nearly round the world," replied the Hun, grandiloquently. He could not resist the typically Teutonic trait of self-advertisement.
"Dios!" exclaimed the Spaniard, twirling his long moustachios. "Then you are Count Karl von Sinzig, who left Quintanur, in the province of Estremadura, sixteen or seventeen days ago?"
"I am," admitted von Sinzig, proudly.