Tom Swift in the City of Gold
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Victor Appleton >> Tom Swift in the City of Gold
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10 Tom Swift In The City Of Gold
or
Marvelous Adventures Underground
by Victor Appleton
AUTHOR OF "TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR-CYCLE," "TOM SWIFT AND HIS
AIRSHIP," "TOM SWIFT AND HIS WIRELESS MESSAGE," "TOM SWIFT AND HIS
ELECTRIC RIFLE," ETC.
ILLUSTRATED
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I WONDERFUL NEWS
II AN UNSUSPECTED LISTENER
III ANDY IS WHITEWASHED
IV A PERILOUS FLIGHT
V NEWS FROM AFRICA
VI "BEWARE THE HEAD-HUNTERS!"
VII TOM MAKES A PROMISE
VIII ERADICATE WILL GO
IX "THAT LOOKED LIKE ANDY!"
X MYSTERIOUS PASSENGERS
XI THE MIDNIGHT ALARM
XII INTO THE UNKNOWN
XIII FOLLOWED
XIV A WEARY SEARCH
XV THE GOLDEN IMAGE
XVI THE MAP ON THE GOLD
XVII THE RUINED TEMPLE
XVIII FINDING THE TUNNEL
XIX THE UNDERGROUND RIVER
XX THE CITY OF GOLD
XXI THE BIG IMAGE
XXII TRAPPED
XXIII "IS IT A RESCUE?"
XXIV THE FIGHT
XXV THE ESCAPE--CONCLUSION
TOM SWIFT IN THE CITY OF GOLD
CHAPTER I
WONDERFUL NEWS
"Letter for you, Tom Swift."
"Ah, thanks, Mr. Wilson. This is the first mail I've had this week.
You've been neglecting me," and the young inventor took the missive
which the Shopton postman handed to him over the gate, against which
Tom was leaning one fine, warm Spring day.
"Well, I get around as often as I can, Tom. You're not home a great
deal, you know. When you're not off in your sky racer seeing how
much you can beat the birds, you're either hunting elephants in
Africa, or diving down under the ocean, or out in a diamond mine, or
some such out-of-the-way place as that. No wonder you don't get many
letters. But that one looks as if it had come quite a distance."
"So it does," agreed Tom, looking closely at the stamp and postmark.
"What do you make out of it, Mr. Wilson?" and then, just as many
other persons do when getting a strange letter, instead of opening
it to see from whom it has come, Tom tried to guess by looking at
the handwriting, and trying to decipher the faint postmark. "What
does that say?" and the young inventor pointed to the black stamp.
"Hum, looks like Jube--no, that first letter's a 'K' I guess," and
Mr. Wilson turned it upside down, thinking that would help.
"I made it out a 'G'," said Tom.
"So it is. A 'G'--you're right. Gumbo--Twamba--that's what it is--
Gumba Twamba. I can make it out now all right."
"Well, where, for the love of my old geography, is Gumba Twamba?"
asked the lad with a laugh.
"You've got me, Tom. Must be in Sweden, or Holland, or some of those
foreign countries. I don't often handle letters from there, so I
can't say. Why don't you open your letter and find out who its
from?"
"That's what I ought to have done at first." Quickly Tom ripped open
the much worn and frayed envelope, through the cracks of which some
parts of the letter already could be seen, showing that it had
traveled many thousand miles before it got to the village of
Shopton, in New York State.
"Well, I've got to be traveling on," remarked the postman, as Tom
started to read the mysterious letter. "I'm late as it is. You can
tell me the news when I pass again, Tom."
But the young inventor did not reply. He was too much engaged in
reading the missive, for, no sooner had he perused the first few
lines than his eyes began to open wide in wonder, and his manner
plainly indicated his surprise. He read the letter once, and then
over again, and when he had finished it a second time, he made a
dash for the house.
"I say dad!" cried Tom. "This is great! Great news here! Where are
you, dad? Say, Mrs. Baggert," he called as he saw the motherly
housekeeper, "where's father? I've got great news for him? Where is
he?"
"Out in the shop, I think. I believe Mr. Damon is with him."
"And blessing everything as usual, from his hat to his shoe laces,
I'll wager," murmured Tom as he made his war to the shop where his
father, also an inventor like himself, spent much of his time.
"Well, well, I'm glad Mr. Damon is here, for he'll be interested in
this."
Tom fairly rushed into the building, much of the space of which, was
taken up by machinery, queer tools and odd devices, many of them
having to do with the manufacture of aeroplanes, for Tom had as many
of them as some people have of automobiles.
"I say, dad!" cried Tom, waving the letter above his head, "what do
you think of this? Listen to--"
"Easy there now, Tom! Easy, my boy, or you'll oblige me to do all my
work over again," and an aged man, beside whom a younger one was
standing, held up a hand of caution, while with the other hand he
was adjusting some delicate piece of machinery.
"What are you doing?" demanded the son.
"Bless my scarf pin!" exclaimed the other man--Mr. Wakefield Damon--
"Bless my rubbers, Tom Swift! What SHOULD your father be doing but
inventing something new, as he always is. I guess he's working on
his new gyroscope, though it is only a guess, for he hasn't said ten
words to me since I came out to talk to him. But that's like all
inventors, they--"
"I beg your pardon, Mr. Damon," spoke Mr. Swift with a smile, "I'm
sure--"
"Say, can't you listen to me for five minutes?" pleaded Tom. "I've
got some great news--simply great, and your gyroscope can wait, dad.
Listen to this letter," and he prepared to read it.
"Who's it from?" asked Mr. Damon.
"Mr. Jacob Illingway, the African missionary whom you and I rescued,
together with his wife, from the red pigmies!" cried Tom. "Think of
that! Of all persons to get a letter from, and SUCH a letter! SUCH
news in it. Why, it's simply great! You remember Mr. and Mrs.
Illingway; don't you Mr. Damon? How we went to Africa after
elephant's tusks, with Mr. Durban the hunter, and how we got the
missionaries away from those little savages in my airship--don't you
remember?"
"I should say I did!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "Bless my watch chain--
but they were regular imps--the red Pygmies I mean, not the
missionaries. But what is Mr. Illingway writing to you about now,
Tom? I know he sent you several letters since we came back from
Africa. What's the latest news?"
"I'll tell you," replied the young inventor, sitting down on a
packing box. "It would take too long to read the letter so I'll sum
it up, and you can go over it later."
"To be brief, Mr. Illingway tells of a wonderful golden image that
is worshiped by a tribe of Africans in a settlement not far from
Gumba Twamba, where he is stationed. It's an image of solid gold--"
"Solid gold!" interrupted Mr. Swift.
"Yes, dad, and about three feet high," went on Tom, referring to the
letter to make sure. "It's heavy, too, no hollows in it, and these
Africans regard it as a god. But that's not the strangest part of
it. Mr. Illingway goes on to say that there is no gold in that part
of Africa, and for a time he was at a loss how to account for the
golden image. He made some inquiries and learned that it was once
the property of a white traveler who made his home with the tribe
that now worships the image of gold. This traveler, whose name Mr.
Illingway could not find out, was much liked by the Africans. He
taught them many things, doctored them when they were sick, and they
finally adopted him into the tribe."
"It seems that he tried to make them better, and wanted them to
become Christians, but they clung to their own beliefs until he
died. Then, probably thinking to do his memory honor, they took the
golden image, which was among his possessions, and set it up as a
god."
"Bless my hymn book!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "What did they do that
for?"
"This white man thought a great deal of the image," said Tom, again
referring to the letter, "and the Africans very likely imagined
that, as he was so good to them, some of his virtues had passed into
the gold. Then, too, they may have thought it was part of his
religion, and as he had so often wanted them to adopt his beliefs,
they reasoned out that they could now do so, by worshiping the
golden god."
"Anyhow, that's what they did, and the image is there to-day, in
that far-off African village. But I haven't got to the real news
yet. The image of solid gold is only a part of it."
"Before this traveler died he told some of the more intelligent
natives that the image had come from a far-off underground city--a
regular city of gold--nearly everything in it that was capable of
being made of metal, being constructed of the precious yellow gold.
The golden image was only one of a lot more like it, some smaller
and some larger--"
"Not larger, Tom, not larger, surely!" interrupted Mr. Swift. "Why,
my boy, think of it! An image of solid gold, bigger even than this
one Mr. Illingway writes of, which he says is three feet high. Why,
if there are any larger they must be nearly life size, and think of
a solid gold statue as large as a man--it would weigh--well, I'm
afraid, to say how much, and be worth--why, Tom, it's impossible. It
would be worth millions--all the wealth of a world must be in the
underground city. It's impossible Tom, my boy!"
"Well, that may be," agreed Tom. "I'm not saying it's true. Mr.
Illingway is telling only what he heard."
"Go on! Tell some more," begged Mr. Damon. "Bless my shirt studs,
this is getting exciting!"
"He says that the traveler told of this underground city of gold,"
went on Tom, "though he had never been there himself. He had met a
native who had located it, and who had brought out some of the gold,
including several of the images, and one he gave to the white man in
return for some favor. The white man took it to Africa with him."
"But where is this underground city, Tom?" asked Mr. Swift. "Doesn't
Mr. Illingway give you any idea of its location."
"He says it is somewhere in Mexico," explained the lad. "The
Africans haven't a very good idea of geography, but some of the
tribesmen whom the white traveler taught, could draw rude maps, and
Mr. Illingway had a native sketch one for him, showing as nearly as
possible where the city of gold is located."
"Tom Swift, have you got that map?" suddenly cried Mr. Damon. "Bless
my pocketbook, but--"
"I have it!" said Tom quietly, taking from the envelope a piece of
paper covered with rough marks. "It isn't very good, but--"
"Bless my very existence!" cried the excitable man. "But you're not
going to let such a chance as this slip past; are you Tom? Are you
going to hunt for that buried city of gold?"
"I certainly am," answered the young inventor quietly.
"Tom! You're not going off on another wild expedition?" asked Mr.
Swift anxiously.
"I'm afraid I'll have to," answered his son with a smile.
"Go? Of course he'll go!" burst out Mr. Damon. "And I'm going with
him; can't I, Tom?"
"Surely. The reason Mr. Illingway sent me the letter was to tell me
about the city of gold. He thought, after my travels in Africa, that
to find a buried city in Mexico would be no trouble at all, I
suppose. Anyhow he suggests that I make the attempt, and--"
"Oh, but, Tom, just when I am perfecting my gyroscope!" exclaimed
Mr. Swift. "I need your help."
"I'll help you when I come back, dad. I want to get some of this
gold."
"But we are rich enough, Tom."
"It isn't so much the money, dad. Listen. There is another part to
the letter. Mr. Illingway says that in that underground city,
according to the rumor among the African natives, there is not only
gold in plenty, and a number of small gold statues, but one immense
big one--of solid gold, as large as three men, and there is some
queer mystery about it, so that white traveler said. A mystery he
wanted to solve but could not."
"So, dad, I'm going to search for that underground city, not only
for the mere gold, but to see if I can solve the mystery of the big
gold statue. And if I could bring it away," cried Tom in great
excitement as he waved the missionary's letter above his head, "it
would be one of the wonders of the world--dad, for, not only is it
very valuable, but it is most beautifully carved."
"Well, I might as well give up my gyroscope work until you come back
from the city of gold, Tom, I can see that," said Mr. Swift, with a
faint smile. "And if you go, I hope you come back. I don't want that
mysterious image to be the undoing of you."
"Oh, I'll come back all right!" cried Tom confidently. "Ho! for the
city of gold and the images thereof! I'm going to get ready to
start!"
"And so am I!" cried Mr. Damon. "Bless my shoe strings, Tom, but I'm
with you! I certainly am!" and the little man excitedly shook hands
with Tom Swift, while the aged inventor looked on and nodded his
head doubtfully. But Tom was full of hope.
CHAPTER II
AN UNSUSPECTED LISTENER
For a few moments after Tom Swift had announced his decision to
start for the city of gold, and Mr. Damon had said he would
accompany the young inventor, there was a silence in the workshop.
Then Mr. Swift laid aside the delicate mechanism of the new model
gyroscope on which he had been working, came over to his son, and
said:
"Well, Tom, if you're going, that means you're going--I know enough
to predict that. I rather wish you weren't, for I'm afraid no good
will come of this."
"Now, dad, don't be talking that way!" cried Tom gaily. "Pack up and
come along with us." Lovingly he placed his arm around the bent
shoulders of his father.
"No, Tom, I'm too old. Home is the place for me."
"Bless my arithmetic tables!" exclaimed Mr. Damon, "you're not so
much older than I am, and I'm going with Tom. Come on, Mr. Swift."
"No, I can't put up with dangers, hardship and excitement as I used
to. I'd better stay home. Besides, I want to perfect my new
gyroscope. I'll work on that while you and Tom are searching for the
city of gold. But, Tom, if you're going you'd better have something
more definite to look for than an unknown city, located on a map
drawn by some African bushman."
"I intend to, dad. I guess when Mr. Illingway wrote his letter he
didn't really think I'd take him up, and make the search. I'm going
to write and ask him if he can't get me a better map, and also learn
more about the location of the city. Mexico isn't such a very large
place, but it would be if you had to hunt all over it for a buried
city, and this map isn't a lot of help," and Tom who had shown it to
his father and Mr. Damon looked at it closely.
"If we're going, we want all the information we can get," declared
the odd man. "Bless my gizzard, Tom, but this may mean a lot to us!"
"I think it will," agreed the young inventor. "I'm going to write to
Mr. Illingway at once, and ask for all the information he can get."
"And I'll help you with suggestions," spoke Mr. Damon. "Come on in
the house, Tom. Bless my ink bottle, but we're going to have some
adventures again!"
"It seems to me that is about all Tom does--have adventures--that
and invent flying machines," said Mr. Swift with a smile, as his son
and their visitor left the shop. Then he once more bent over his
gyroscope model, while Tom and Mr. Damon hurried in to write the
letter to the African missionary.
And while this is being done I am going to ask your patience for a
little while--my old readers, I mean--while I tell my new friends,
who have never yet met Tom Swift, something about him.
Mr. Swift spoke truly when he said his son seemed to do nothing but
seek adventures and invent flying machines. Of the latter the lad
had a goodly number, some of which involved new and startling ideas.
For Tom was a lad who "did things."
In the first volume of this series, entitled "Tom Swift and His
Motor Cycle," I told you how he became acquainted with Mr. Damon.
That eccentric individual was riding a motor cycle, when it started
to climb a tree. Mr. Damon was thrown off in front of Tom's house,
somewhat hurt, and the young inventor took him in. Tom and his
father lived in the village of Shopton, New York, and Mr. Swift was
an inventor of note. His son followed in his footsteps. Mrs. Swift
had been dead some years, and they had a good housekeeper, Mrs.
Baggert.
Another "member" of the family was Eradicate Sampson, a colored man
of all work, who said he was named "Eradicate" because he
"eradicated" the dirt. He used to do odd jobs of whitewashing before
he was regularly employed by Mr. Swift as a sort of gardener and
watchman.
In the first book I told how Tom bought the motor cycle from Mr.
Damon, fixed it up, and had many adventures on it, not the least of
which was saving some valuable patent models of his father's which
some thieves had taken.
Then Tom Swift got a motor boat, as related in the second volume of
the series, and he had many exciting trips in that craft. Following
that he made his first airship with the help of a veteran balloonist
and then, not satisfied with adventures in the air, he and his
father perfected a wonderful submarine boat in which they went under
the ocean for sunken treasure.
The automobile industry was fast forging to the front when Tom came
back from his trip under water, and naturally he turned his
attention to that. But he made an electric car instead of one that
was operated by gasolene, and it proved to be the speediest car on
the road.
The details of Tom Swift and his wireless message will be found in
the book of that title. It tells how he saved the castaways of
Earthquake Island, and among them was Mr. Nestor, the father of
Mary, a girl whom Tom thought--but there, I'm not going to be mean,
and tell on a good fellow. You can guess what I'm hinting at, I
think.
It was when Tom went to get Mary Nestor a diamond ring that he fell
in with Mr. Barcoe Jenks, who eventually took Tom off on a search
for the diamond makers, and he and Tom, with some friends,
discovered the secret of Phantom Mountain.
One would have thought that these adventures would have been enough
for Tom Swift, but, like Alexander, he sighed for new worlds to
conquer. How he went to the caves of ice in search of treasure, and
how his airship was wrecked is told in the eighth volume of the
series, and in the next is related the details of his swift sky-
racer, in which he and Mr. Damon made a wonderfully fast trip, and
brought a doctor to Mr. Swift in time to save the life of the aged
inventor.
It was when Tom invented a wonderful electric rifle, and went to
Africa with a Mr. Durban, a great hunter, to get elephants' tusks,
that he rescued Mr. and Mrs. Illingway, the missionaries, who were
held captive by red pygmies.
That was a startling trip, and full of surprises. Tom took with him
to the dark continent a new airship, the Black Hawk, and but for
this he and his friends never would have escaped from the savages
and the wild beasts.
As it was, they had a hazardous time getting the missionary and his
wife away from the jungle. It was this same missionary who, as told
in the first chapter of this book, sent Tom the letter about the
city of gold. Mr. Illingway and his wife wanted to stay in Africa in
an endeavor to christianize the natives, even after their terrible
experience. So Tom landed them at a white settlement. It was from
there that the letter came.
But the missionaries were not the only ones whom Tom saved from the
red pygmies. Andy Foger, a Shopton youth, was Tom's enemy, and he
had interfered with our hero's plans in his trips. He even had an
airship made, and followed Tom to Africa. There Andy Foger and his
companion, a German were captured by the savages. But though Tom
saved his life, Andy did not seem to give over annoying the young
inventor. Andy was born mean, and, as Eradicate Sampson used to say,
"dat meanness neber will done git whitewashed outer him--dat's a
fack!"
But if Andy Foger was mean to Tom, there was another Shopton lad who
was just the reverse. This was Ned Newton, who was Tom's particular
chum, Ned had gone with our hero on many trips, including the one to
Africa after elephants. Mr. Damon also accompanied Tom many times,
and occasionally Eradicate went along on the shorter voyages. But
Eradicate was getting old, like Mr. Swift, who, of late years, had
not traveled much with his son.
When I add that Tom still continued to invent things, that he was
always looking for new adventures, that he still cared very much for
Mary Nestor, and thought his father the best in the world, and liked
Mr. Damon and Ned Newton above all his other acquaintances, except
perhaps Mrs. Baggert, the housekeeper, I think perhaps I have said
enough about him; and now I will get back to the story.
I might add, however, that Andy Foger, who had been away from
Shopton for some time, had now returned to the village, and had
lately been seen by Tom, riding around in a powerful auto. The sight
of Andy did not make the young inventor feel any happier.
"Well, Tom, I think that will do," remarked Mr. Damon when, after
about an hour's work, they had jointly written a letter to the
African missionary.
"We've asked him enough questions, anyhow," agreed the lad. "If he
answers all of them we'll know more about the city of gold, and
where it is, than we do now."
"Exactly," spoke the odd man. "Now to mail the letter, and wait for
an answer. It will take several weeks, for they don't have good mail
service to that part of Africa. I hope Mr. Illingway sends us a
better map."
"So do I," assented Tom. "But even with the one we have I'd take a
chance and look for the underground city."
"I'll mail the letter," went on Mr. Damon, who was as eager over the
prospective adventure as was Tom. "I'm going back home to Waterfield
I think. My wife says I stay here too much."
"Don't be in a hurry," urged Tom. "Can't you stay to supper? I'll
take you home to-night in the sky racer. I want to talk more about
the city of gold, and plan what we ought to take with us to Mexico."
"All right," agreed Mr. Damon. "I'll stay, but I suppose I
shouldn't. But let's mail the letter."
It was after supper, when, the letter having been posted, that Tom,
his father and Mr. Damon were discussing the city of gold.
"Will you go, even if Mr. Illingway can't send a better map?" asked
Mr. Damon.
"Sure" exclaimed Tom. "I want to get one of the golden images if I
have to hunt all over the Aztec country for it."
"Who's talking of golden images?" demanded a new voice, and Tom
looked up quickly, to see Ned Newton, his chum, entering the room.
Ned had come in unannounced, as he frequently did.
"Hello, old stock!" cried Tom affectionately. "Sir, there's great
news. It's you and me for the city of gold now!"
"Get out! What are you talking about?"
Then Tom had to go into details, and explain to Ned all about the
great quantity of gold that might be found in the underground city.
"You'll come along, won't you, Ned?" finished the young inventor.
"We can't get along without you. Mr. Damon is going, and Eradicate
too, I guess. We'll have a great time."
"Well, maybe I can fix it so I can go," agreed Ned, slowly, "I'd
like it, above all things. Where did you say that golden city was?"
"Somewhere about the central part of Mexico, near the city of--"
"Hark!" suddenly exclaimed Ned, holding up a hand to caution Tom to
silence.
"What is it?" asked the young inventor in a whisper.
"Some one is coming along the hall," replied Ned in a low voice.
They all listened intently. There was no doubt but that some one was
approaching along the corridor leading to the library where the
conference was being held.
"Oh, it's only Mrs. Baggert," remarked Tom a moment later, relief
showing in his voice. "I know her step."
There was a tap on the door, and the housekeeper pushed it open, for
it had been left ajar. She thrust her head in and remarked:
"I guess you've forgotten, Mr. Swift, that Andy Foger is waiting for
you in the next room. He has a letter for you."
"Andy Foger!" gasped Tom. "Here."
"That's so, I forgot all about him!" exclaimed Mr. Swift jumping up.
"It slipped my mind. I let him in a while ago, before we came in the
library, and he's probably been sitting in the parlor ever since. I
thought he wanted to see you, Tom, so I told him to wait. And I
forgot all about him. You'd better see what he wants."
"Andy Foger there--in the next room," murmured Tom. "He's been there
some time. I wonder how much he heard about the city of gold?"
CHAPTER III
ANDY IS WHITEWASHED
The parlor where Mr. Swift had asked Andy to wait, adjoined the
library, and there was a connecting door, over which heavy curtains
were draped. Tom quickly pulled them aside and stepped into the
parlor. The connecting door had been open slightly, and in a flash
the young inventor realized that it was perfectly possible for any
one in the next room to have heard most of the talk about the city
of gold.
A glance across the room showed Andy seated on the far side,
apparently engaged in reading a book.
"Did you want to see me?" asked Tom sharply. His father and the
others in the library listened intently. Tom wondered what in the
world Andy could want of him, since the two were never in good tame,
and Andy cherished a resentment even since our hero had rescued him
from the African jungle.
"No, I didn't come to see you," answered Andy quickly, laying aside
the book and rising to face Tom.
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