"Must get way on her somehow," he told himself. "Let's see—engines stopped probably because of her pitching. You couldn't expect fuel to reach the carburettor when she was standing on her head. Wait a bit, I'll cure all that if once I can get those elevating screws going. How's that? Joe always turns that tap to make sure his fuel's flowing. There's paraffin there right enough. Now, will she start?"
He switched on the current from the starting batteries, setting the electric starting motor in action, and then moved the clutch lever, which threw this motor into engagement with the flywheel of the engine. Nothing resulted. Not a cylinder fired. There was not so much as the suspicion of an explosion. One might have expected Dicky Hamshaw to be flabbergasted and beaten by such a happening, and as a matter of fact he leaned against the engine rail and gazed hopelessly at the apparatus before him. Then he had a brilliant inspiration. They didn't often come his way, we confess. He was far too harum-scarum for flights of fancy or for patient investigation. But in his heart of hearts Dicky was quite the mechanic. As we have intimated, he hoped one of these days to be selected for submarine service, or for the naval flying school. Therefore it happened that facts and peculiarities about the mechanism of this huge airship had not escaped his notice. Indeed, they had attracted his attention and positively fascinated him. It happened, consequently, that he was well acquainted with the carburation.
"Got it!" he cried. "It ain't a case of a simple carburettor. In this case the fuel enters the carburettor, and to start the engines if cold, or when they've been rested for long, one has to fill the gasometer with gas. That's the ticket! I've seen Joe and the engineer making preparations. We just operate this geared fan, and force air through the carburettor. There it goes, and the gasometer's rising. I'll give it a little more and then try her. Afterwards the running engine automatically pumps air. Now. How's that for done it?"
He switched the current in again, and moved over the clutch lever of the starter. The engine spun round immediately, spluttered in one or more cylinders, backfired once, thereby throwing the starter out of action; and then, when Dick again pushed his lever over relentlessly, the engine fired, and went off at a speed that made the whole engine-room tremble.
Dick shouted. Or rather, he tried to shout, the mouthpiece and his own want of breath preventing much noise coming from him. His eyes sparkled. He actually danced, and then became very solemn. For after all the fate of his comrades and of this fine vessel still rested entirely in his two hands. Yes, entirely, for a glance along the gallery told him that not one of his friends was yet conscious.
"Set her going then. Wait—what's the elevation? Jingo—we've come down to twenty-two thousand feet. That's something; wish we weren't in this cloud though. It makes a fellow wonder which way he ought to steer. Ah, there go the elevator fans!"
He could hear them whirring, and looked up at the barometer. The ship was rising, and with a gesture of disgust he realized that he had set the elevators working in the wrong direction. Instantly he reversed them, and presently had the satisfaction of seeing that the vessel was descending. Then he started up the ship's propeller, and soon had her moving, but very cautiously; for the damp, white cloud hid everything. Indeed, he was within an ace of wrecking the vessel, and, but for a quick twist of his wrist and a sudden acceleration of his motor, he would have driven the airship against a rocky headland standing out from the mountain.
"A miss is as good as a mile," he grinned. "Oh, shan't I be jolly glad to get away from this Mount Everest? Not much!—not 'alf, as Hawkins would say. Anyway, that peep gave me the right direction. Now, I'll take her along at speed, and get clear out into the open."
"Eighteen thousand feet—what's happened?" the question came in weak tones from Joe Gresson. Dick nodded cheerfully at him. He had discarded his oxygen mouthpiece, though the cylinder was still slung to his back.
"You sit still," he shouted. "We're falling, and mighty quick now, I fancy. Stay there till you're feeling yourself, and then come and advise me. We're over on the Tibet side of the Himalayas, and I'm looking out for a landing."