"She's got to go up! She's got to go up!" cried Tom desperately, as if by very will power he could send her aloft. And then, when there came a lull in the fierce blowing of the wind, the elevation rudder took hold, and like a bird that sees the danger below, and flies toward the clouds, the airship shot up suddenly.
"That's it!" cried Tom in relief, as he noted the needle of the barograph swinging over, indicating an ever-increasing height. "Now we're safe."
They were not quite yet, but at last the power of machinery had prevailed over that of the elements. Through the pelting rain, and amid the glare of the lightning, and the thunder of heaven's artillery, the airship forced her way, up and up and up.
Setting the motor controller to give the maximum power until he released it, Tom hastened to the gas-generating apparatus. He found Ned attending to it, so that it was now working satisfactorily.
"How about it, Tom?" cried his chum anxiously.
"All right now, Ned, but it was a close shave! I thought we were done for, platinum mine, rescue of exiles, and all."
"So did I. Shall I keep on with the gas?"
