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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 way 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 pygmies!" 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.