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. The sheds of the Fuhlsbüttel aerodrome, shimmering in the rays of the setting sun faintly encircled by the mist, lay before us. Hurrah! We were saved. Who can describe my joy? With my last litre of petrol I described a loop round the aerodrome and, gliding down in a steep spiral, landed.