"Mr. Damon, can you take the wheel? It doesn't make any difference which way we go as long as you keep her before the wind, and yank back the elevating rudder as far as she'll go! We must head up." "All right, Tom," answered the eccentric man, as he fairly jumped to take the place of the young inventor at the helm. "Can I do anything?" asked the Russian, as Tom raced for the engine room, to speed the motor up to the last notch. "I guess not. Everything is covered, unless you want to help Mr. Damon. In this blow it will be hard to work the rudder levers." "All right," replied Ivan Petrofsky, and then there came another sickening roll of the airship, that threatened to turn her completely over. "Lively!" yelled Tom, clinging to various supports as he made his way to the engine room. "Lively, all hands, or we'll be awash in another minute!" And indeed it seemed that this might be so, for with the wind forcing her down, and the hungry waves leaping up, as if to clutch her to themselves, the Falcon was having anything but an easy time of it. It was the work of but an instant however, when Tom reached the engine room, to jerk the accelerator lever toward him, and the motor responded at once. With a low, humming whine the wheels and gears redoubled their speed, and the great propellers beat the air with fiercer strokes. At the same time Tom heard the hiss of the gas as it rushed into the envelope from the generating machine, as Ned opened the release valve. "Now we ought to go up," the young inventor murmured, as he anxiously watched the barograph, and noted the position of the swinging pendulum which told of the roll and dip of the air craft. For a moment she hung in the balance, neither the increased speed of the propellers, nor the force of the gas having any seeming effect. Mr. Damon and the Russian, clinging to the rudder levers, to avoid being dashed against the sides of the pilot house, held them as far back as they could, to gain the full power of the elevation planes. But even this seemed to do no good. The power of the gale was such, that, even with the motor and gas machine working to their limit, the Falcon only held her own. She swept along, barely missing the crests of the giant waves. "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.