"I've no matches," declared Guy.
"No more have I," added the seaman. "I'll collar Purvis' box. He's close to me, 'cause I can feel his beard and I guess he's in no fit state to object."
Wilson fumbled with the straps of his unfortunate comrade's fur coat, and presently succeeded in extricating a box of matches from the man's under coat pocket.
The lamp when lighted gave but a fitful glimmer, but it was sufficient to reveal the state of affairs within the overturned cabin.
Men were lying listlessly in every conceivable attitude. Most of them had been rendered unconscious by the terrific shock. In one corner a Russian was sitting up and stolidly supporting a broken arm. Two more of the airship's crew had escaped serious injury, and were philosophically keeping silence in spite of being bruised from head to foot.
Symonds, the man who had lost his reason, was dead. Examination showed that the lump of platinum had burst its securing lashings, and had crashed through the side of the cabin, instantly killing the madman in its wild course. Even now its weight was taking it slowly down to the bottom of the glacier, whence in the course of centuries it would be carried by the moving ice to the sea.
Quickly those who were able to move set to work to assist their less fortunate comrades. Buried beneath four unconscious forms, they found Ranworth, motionless, but still alive.
Of the fifteen who formed the complement of the Bird of Freedom, eight were obviously unfit for further duty, most of them for many a long day. Only Leslie, Guy, O'Donovan, Johnson, Wilson, and two Russians were capable of taking any part in the task of extricating themselves from their dangerous position.
"What do you propose to do, O'Donovan?" asked Guy.
Although recognised as the acting skipper of the Bird of Freedom while she was capable of motion, the lad now realised that O'Donovan's experience rendered him more suitable to direct operations.