Tom Swift in the City of Gold; Or, Marvelous Adventures Underground Read online

  Produced by Greg Weeks, Charles Franks and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team.

  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 HISAIRSHIP," "TOM SWIFT AND HIS WIRELESS MESSAGE," "TOM SWIFT AND HISELECTRIC 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 missivewhich the Shopton postman handed to him over the gate, against whichTom was leaning one fine, warm Spring day.

  "Well, I get around as often as I can, Tom. You're not home a greatdeal, you know. When you're not off in your sky racer seeing howmuch you can beat the birds, you're either hunting elephants inAfrica, or diving down under the ocean, or out in a diamond mine, orsome such out-of-the-way place as that. No wonder you don't get manyletters. 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 manyother persons do when getting a strange letter, instead of openingit to see from whom it has come, Tom tried to guess by looking atthe handwriting, and trying to decipher the faint postmark. "Whatdoes that say?" and the young inventor pointed to the black stamp.

  "Hum, looks like Jube--no, that first letter's a 'K' I guess," andMr. 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--GumbaTwamba. 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 thoseforeign countries. I don't often handle letters from there, so Ican't say. Why don't you open your letter and find out who itsfrom?"

  "That's what I ought to have done at first." Quickly Tom ripped openthe much worn and frayed envelope, through the cracks of which someparts of the letter already could be seen, showing that it hadtraveled many thousand miles before it got to the village ofShopton, in New York State.

  "Well, I've got to be traveling on," remarked the postman, as Tomstarted to read the mysterious letter. "I'm late as it is. You cantell me the news when I pass again, Tom."

  But the young inventor did not reply. He was too much engaged inreading the missive, for, no sooner had he perused the first fewlines than his eyes began to open wide in wonder, and his mannerplainly indicated his surprise. He read the letter once, and thenover again, and when he had finished it a second time, he made adash for the house.

  "I say dad!" cried Tom. "This is great! Great news here! Where areyou, dad? Say, Mrs. Baggert," he called as he saw the motherlyhousekeeper, "where's father? I've got great news for him? Where ishe?"

  "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 way to the shop where hisfather, also an inventor like himself, spent much of his time."Well, well, I'm glad Mr. Damon is here, for he'll be interested inthis."

  Tom fairly rushed into the building, much of the space of which, wastaken up by machinery, queer tools and odd devices, many of themhaving to do with the manufacture of aeroplanes, for Tom had as manyof them as some people have of automobiles.

  "I say, dad!" cried Tom, waving the letter above his head, "what doyou think of this? Listen to--"

  "Easy there now, Tom! Easy, my boy, or you'll oblige me to do all mywork over again," and an aged man, beside whom a younger one wasstanding, held up a hand of caution, while with the other hand hewas adjusting some delicate piece of machinery.

  "What are you doing?" demanded the son.

  "Bless my scarf pin!" exclaimed the other man--Mr. WakefieldDamon--"Bless my rubbers, Tom Swift! What SHOULD your father be doingbut inventing something new, as he always is. I guess he's working onhis new gyroscope, though it is only a guess, for he hasn't said tenwords to me since I came out to talk to him. But that's like allinventors, they--"

  "I beg your pardon, Mr. Damon," spoke Mr. Swift with a smile, "I'msure--"

  "Say, can't you listen to me for five minutes?" pleaded Tom. "I'vegot 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 pygmies!" cried Tom. "Think ofthat! Of all persons to get a letter from, and SUCH a letter! SUCHnews in it. Why, it's simply great! You remember Mr. and Mrs.Illingway; don't you Mr. Damon? How we went to Africa afterelephant's tusks, with Mr. Durban the hunter, and how we got themissionaries away from those little savages in my airship--don't youremember?"

  "I should say I did!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "Bless my watchchain--but they were regular imps--the red Pygmies I mean, not themissionaries. But what is Mr. Illingway writing to you about now,Tom? I know he sent you several letters since we came back fromAfrica. What's the latest news?"

  "I'll tell you," replied the young inventor, sitting down on apacking box. "It would take too long to read the letter so I'll sumit up, and you can go over it later."

  "To be brief, Mr. Illingway tells of a wonderful golden image thatis worshiped by a tribe of Africans in a settlement not far fromGumba 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 theletter to make sure. "It's heavy, too, no hollows in it, and theseAfricans regard it as a god. But that's not the strangest part ofit. Mr. Illingway goes on to say that there is no gold in that partof Africa, and for a time he was at a loss how to account for thegolden image. He made some inquiries and learned that it was oncethe property of a white traveler who made his home with the tribethat now worships the image of gold. This traveler, whose name Mr.Illingway could not find out, was much liked by the Africans. Hetaught them many things, doctored them when they were sick, and theyfinally adopted him into the tribe."

  "It seems that he tried to make them better, and wanted them tobecome Christians, but they clung to their own beliefs until hedied. Then, probably thinking to do his memory honor, they took thegolden image, which was among his possessions, and set it up as agod."

  "Bless my hymn book!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "What did they do thatfor?"

  "This white man thought a great deal of the image," said Tom, againreferring to the letter, "and the Africans very likely imaginedthat, as he was so good to them, some of his virtues had passed intothe gold. Th
en, too, they may have thought it was part of hisreligion, and as he had so often wanted them to adopt his beliefs,they reasoned out that they could now do so, by worshiping thegolden god."

  "Anyhow, that's what they did, and the image is there to-day, inthat far-off African village. But I haven't got to the real newsyet. The image of solid gold is only a part of it."

  "Before this traveler died he told some of the more intelligentnatives that the image had come from a far-off underground city--aregular city of gold--nearly everything in it that was capable ofbeing made of metal, being constructed of the precious yellow gold.The golden image was only one of a lot more like it, some smallerand 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 thisone 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 ofa solid gold statue as large as a man--it would weigh--well, I'mafraid, to say how much, and be worth--why, Tom, it's impossible. Itwould be worth millions--all the wealth of a world must be in theunderground 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 anative 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 inreturn for some favor. The white man took it to Africa with him."

  "But where is this underground city, Tom?" asked Mr. Swift. "Doesn'tMr. Illingway give you any idea of its location."

  "He says it is somewhere in Mexico," explained the lad. "TheAfricans haven't a very good idea of geography, but some of thetribesmen whom the white traveler taught, could draw rude maps, andMr. Illingway had a native sketch one for him, showing as nearly aspossible where the city of gold is located."

  "Tom Swift, have you got that map?" suddenly cried Mr. Damon. "Blessmy pocketbook, but--"

  "I have it!" said Tom quietly, taking from the envelope a piece ofpaper covered with rough marks. "It isn't very good, but--"

  "Bless my very existence!" cried the excitable man. "But you're notgoing to let such a chance as this slip past; are you Tom? Are yougoing 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 withhim; can't I, Tom?"

  "Surely. The reason Mr. Illingway sent me the letter was to tell meabout the city of gold. He thought, after my travels in Africa, thatto find a buried city in Mexico would be no trouble at all, Isuppose. Anyhow he suggests that I make the attempt, and--"

  "Oh, but, Tom, just when I am perfecting my gyroscope!" exclaimedMr. Swift. "I need your help."

  "I'll help you when I come back, dad. I want to get some of thisgold."

  "But we are rich enough, Tom."

  "It isn't so much the money, dad. Listen. There is another part tothe letter. Mr. Illingway says that in that underground city,according to the rumor among the African natives, there is not onlygold in plenty, and a number of small gold statues, but one immensebig one--of solid gold, as large as three men, and there is somequeer mystery about it, so that white traveler said. A mystery hewanted to solve but could not."

  "So, dad, I'm going to search for that underground city, not onlyfor the mere gold, but to see if I can solve the mystery of the biggold statue. And if I could bring it away," cried Tom in greatexcitement as he waved the missionary's letter above his head, "itwould be one of the wonders of the world--dad, for, not only is itvery valuable, but it is most beautifully carved."

  "Well, I might as well give up my gyroscope work until you come backfrom the city of gold, Tom, I can see that," said Mr. Swift, with afaint smile. "And if you go, I hope you come back. I don't want thatmysterious image to be the undoing of you."

  "Oh, I'll come back all right!" cried Tom confidently. "Ho! for thecity of gold and the images thereof! I'm going to get ready tostart!"

  "And so am I!" cried Mr. Damon. "Bless my shoe strings, Tom, but I'mwith you! I certainly am!" and the little man excitedly shook handswith Tom Swift, while the aged inventor looked on and nodded hishead doubtfully. But Tom was full of hope.