The Tom Swift Megapack

by Victor Appleton

  “We’ll look after the baggage of the passengers,” declared the officer. “You don’t need to worry, young man.”

  “But I tell you I do!” and Tom’s voice was loud now. “It isn’t so much on my account, as—” and then, stepping quickly to the side of the officer he whispered something.

  “What!” cried the officer. “You don’t tell me? That was a risk! I guess I’ll have to help you get it out. Here, Mr. Simm,” he called to one of the mates, “stand guard here. I’m going down into the hold with this young man.”

  “Shall I come?” cried Ned.

  “No, you go stay with Mr. Damon and Eradicate,” answered Tom. “Tell them everything is all right. And for cats’ sake keep Rad cool. Don’t let him get excited and start a panic. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  With that Tom and the officer disappeared from view, and Ned, after wondering what it was all about, hastened to reassure Mr. Damon and the colored man that there was no danger, though from the manner in which Tom had acted his chum was convinced that something was wrong.

  Meanwhile our hero, accompanied by the officer, was groping his way through the thick smoke in the compartment. The officer had switched on the electric lights, and they shone with a yellow haze through the clouds of choking vapor.

  “Can you see it?” asked the officer anxiously.

  “I had it put where I could easily get at it,” answered Tom with a cough, for some of the smoke had got down his throat. “I had an idea I might need it in a hurry. Here it is!” and he pointed to a large box, marked with his initials in red paint. “Give me a hand and we’ll get it out.”

  “Yes, and send it on deck. See, there’s the fire!” and the officer pointed to where a glow could be seen amid some bales of cotton. “It will be slow burning, that’s one good thing, and by turning steam into this compartment we can soon put it out.”

  “It’s pretty close to my box,” commented Tom, “but there isn’t as much danger as I thought.”

  It did not take him and the officer long to move the box away from its proximity to the fire, for the case was not heavy, though it was of good size, and then the officer having called up an order to some of his fellow seamen on deck, a rope was let down, and the box hoisted up.

  “Whew! That was a narrow escape!” exclaimed Tom as he saw his case go up on deck. “I suppose I shouldn’t have had that stored here. But there were so many things to think of that I forgot.”

  “Yes, it was a risk,” commented the officer. “But what are you going to do with that sort of stuff, anyhow?”

  “I may need it when we get among the wild tribes of South American Indians,” answered Tom non-commitally. “I’m much obliged for your help.”

  “Oh, that’s nothing. Anything to save the ship.”

  At that moment there were confused cries, and a series of shouts and commands up on deck.

  “We’d better hurry out of here,” said the officer.

  “Why?”

  “The captain has just ordered steam turned in here. I hope there isn’t anything of yours that will be damaged by it.”

  “No, everything else is in waterproof coverings. Come on, we’ll climb out.”

  They hurried from the compartment and, a little later clouds of quenching steam were poured in from a hose run from the boiler room. The hatch was battened down, and then the smoke ceased to come up.

  “The danger is practically over,” the captain assured the frightened passengers. “The fire will be all out by morning. You may go to your staterooms in perfect safety.”

  Some did, and others, disbelieving, hung around the hatch-cover, sniffing and peering to discover traces of smoke. But the sailors had done their work well, and a stranger would not have known that a fire was in the hold.

  The captain had spoken truly, and in the morning the fire was completely out, a few charred bales of cotton being the only things damaged. They were hauled up and dumped into the sea, while Tom, making a hasty inspection of his other goods placed in that compartment saw, to his relief, that beyond one case of trinkets, designed for barter with the natives, nothing had been damaged, and even the trinkets could be used on a pinch.

  “But what was in that box?” asked Ned, that night as they got ready to retire, the excitement having calmed down.

  “Hush! Not so loud,” cautioned Tom, for Mr. Damon was in the next stateroom, while Eradicate had one across the corridor. “I’ll tell you, Ned, but don’t breathe a word of it to Rad or Mr. Damon. They might not intend to give it away, but I’m afraid they would, if they knew, and I depend on the things in that box to give the native giants the surprise of their lives in case we—well, in case we come to close quarters.”

  “Close quarters?”

  “Yes, have a fight, you know, or in case they get so fond of us that they won’t hear of letting us go—in other words if they make us captives.”

  “Great Scott, Tom! You don’t think they’ll do that, do you?”

  “No telling, but if they do, Ned, I’ve got some things in that box that will make them wish they hadn’t. It’s got—” and Tom leaned forward and whispered, as though he feared even the walls would hear.

  “Good!” cried his chum! “That’s the stuff! No wonder you thought the ship might be damaged if the fire got to that!”

  It seemed that the slight fire was about all the excitement destined to take place aboard the Calaban, for, after the blaze was so effectually quenched, the ship slipped along through the calm seas, and it was actually an effort to kill time on the part of the passengers. As they progressed further south the weather became more and more warm, until, as they approached the equator, every one put on the lightest garments obtainable.

  “Crossing the line,” was the signal for the usual “stunts” among the sailors. “Neptune” came aboard, with his usual sea-green whiskers made from long rope ends, and with his trident much in evidence; and there was plenty of horseplay which the passengers very much enjoyed.

  Then, as the tropical region was left behind, the weather became more bearable. There were one or two storms, but they were of no consequence and the steamer weathered them easily.

  Torn and his friends had several talks with the “Reverend Josiah Blinderpool,” as the pretended clergyman still called himself. But he did not obtrude his company on them, and though he asked many questions as to where Tom and his party were going, the young inventor, with his usual caution in talking to strangers, rather evaded them.

  “Hang it all! He’s as close-mouthed as a clam,” complained “Mr. Blinderpool” to himself one day, after an attempt to worm something from Tom, “I’ll just have to stick close to him and his chum to get a line on where they’re heading for. And I must find out, or Waydell will think I’m throwing the game.”

  As for Tom and the others, they gave the seeming clergyman little thought—that is until one day when something happened. Ned had been down in the engine room, having had permission to inspect the wonderful machinery, and, on his way back he passed the smoking cabin. He was rather surprised to see Mr. Blinderpool in there, puffing on a big black cigar, and with him were some men whom Ned recognized as personages who had vainly endeavored to get a number of passengers into a card game with them. And, unless Ned’s eyes deceived him, the seeming clergyman was about to indulge in a game himself.

  “That’s mighty queer,” mused Ned. “Guess I’ll tell Tom about this. I never saw a minister play cards in public before, and this Mr. Blinderpool has been trying to get thick with Tom, of late. Maybe he’s a gambler in disguise.”

  Filled with this thought Ned hastened off to warn his chum.

  CHAPTER IX

  “FORWARD MARCH!”

  “You don’t say so!” exclaimed the young inventor, when Ned had told him the queer news. “Well, do you know I’ve been suspicious of that fellow ever since he tried to make friends with us.”

  “Suspicious? How so? You don’t think—”

  “Oh, I mean I think he’s some kind o
f a confidence man who has adopted the respectable clothes of a minister to fool people. He may be a card sharper himself. Well, we won’t have anything more to do with him. It won’t be long before we arrive at Buenos Ayres, and then we won’t be bothered with card sharpers or anybody else but—”

  “Giants and fighting natives,” finished Ned, with a laugh. “You forget, Tom, that there’s a war going on near the very place we’re headed for.”

  “That’s so, Ned. But with what we have with us I guess we can make out all right. I’m going to have the electric rifles handy the minute we start for the interior.”

  The voyage continued, and was fast drawing to a close. “Mr. Blinderpool” made several more attempts to strike up a friendship with Tom, or his chum, but they were on their guard now, and, failing to get into much of a conversation with the two young men, the pretended clergyman turned his attentions to Mr. Damon.

  That eccentric gentleman welcomed him at first, until a quiet hint from Tom brought that to an end.

  “Bless my fire shovel!” cried Mr. Damon. “You don’t say so! Not a clergyman at all? Dear me!”

  And then, getting desperate, and needing very much to learn how long a journey his rivals were to undertake, so that he, too, might prepare for it, Mr. Hank Delby, alias Blinderpool, began to “pump” Eradicate.

  But the latter was too sharp for him. Well knowing that a white man would not get suddenly friendly with one of the black race unless for some selfish object, Eradicate fairly snubbed the seeming minister, until that worthy had to go off by himself, saying bitter things and casting black looks at our friends.

  “But I’ll get ahead of them yet!” he muttered, “and I’ll get their giants away from them, if they capture any.”

  The box on which Tom set such an importance, and which had so nearly been the cause of a disaster, had been stored in one of the fireproof compartments of the ship, and now, as a few days more would see the vessel entering the harbor of the Rio de la Plata, thence to steam up to the ancient city of Buenos Ayres, Tom and the others began to think of what lay before them.

  “How do you propose to head into the interior?” asked Mr. Damon one afternoon, when the captain announced that the following morning would see them nearly opposite Montevideo.

  “I’m going to hire a lot of burrows, donkeys or whatever they have down here that answers the purpose,” replied Tom. “We have a lot of things to transport, and I guess pack mules would be the best, if we can get them. Then I’ve got to hire some drivers and some porters, camp-makers and the like. In fact we’ll have quite a party. I guess I’ll need ten natives, and a head man and with ourselves we’ll be fifteen. So we’ll need plenty of food. But then we can get that as we go along, except when we get away into the interior, and then we’ll have to hunt it ourselves.”

  “That’s the stuff!” cried Ned. “We haven’t had a good hunting expedition since we went to elephant land, Tom. The electric rifles will come in handy here.”

  “Yes, I expect they will. Now come on, Ned, and help me get a list ready of the things we’ve got to take with us, and how they can best be divided up.”

  Thick weather delayed the ship somewhat, so it was not until evening of the next day that they made Montevideo, where part of the cargo was to be discharged. As they would lay over there a day, the boys decided to go ashore, which they did, wondering at the strange sights in the old city.

  Tom watched to see if the pretended minister would land, and endeavor to force his acquaintance, but Mr. Hank Delby, to give him his right name, was not in evidence. In fact he was turning over scheme after scheme in his mind in order to hit on one that would enable him to take advantage of the preparations which had been made by his rival in the circus business.

  “I’ve just got to get a line on where those giants are to be found,” mused Mr. Delby, in the seclusion of his stateroom, “even if I have to take some other disguise and follow that Swift crowd. That’s what I’ll do. I’ll put on some other disguise! I wonder what it had better be?”

  Tom and Ned, to say nothing of Mr. Damon and Eradicate, found much to interest them in the capital of Uruguay, and they were rather sorry, in a way, when it was time for them to leave.

  “But we’ll see plenty more strange sights,” remarked Tom, as the steamer started off for Buenos Ayres. “In fact our trip hasn’t really begun yet.”

  In due time they dropped anchor at the ancient city, and then began a series of confused and busy times. In fact there was so much to do, seeing to the unloading of their stuff, arranging for hotel accommodations, seeing to hiring natives for the expedition into the interior, and other details, that Tom and his friends had no time to think anything about the pretended clergyman who had caused them a little worry.

  Eventually their belongings were stored in a safe place, and our friends sat down to a good dinner in a hotel that, while it was in far-off South America, yet was as good as many in New York, and, in some respects the boys, and Mr. Damon, liked it better.

  They found that the Spanish and Portuguese languages were the principal ones spoken, together with a mixture of the native tongues, and as both Ned and Tom, as well as Mr. Damon, had a working knowledge of Spanish they got along fairly well. Some of the hotel people could speak English.

  Tom made inquiries and found that the best plan would be to transport all his stuff by the regular route to Rosario, on the Parana river in Argentina, and there he could make up his pack train, hire native carriers, and start for the interior.

  “Then we’ll do that,” he decided, “and take it easy until we get to Rosario.”

  It took them the better part of a week to do this, but at last they were on the ground, and felt for the first time that they were really going into a wild and little explored country.

  “Are you going to stick to the Parana river?” asked Ned.

  “No,” replied Tom, in the seclusion of their room, “if there are any giants they will be found in some undiscovered, or at least little traveled, part of the country. I don’t believe they are in the vicinity of the big rivers, or other travelers would have heard about them, and, as far as we know, Mr. Preston’s animal agent is the only one who ever got a trace of them. We’ll have to go into the jungle on either side of the river.”

  “Bless my walking stick!” cried Mr. Damon. “Have we really to go into the jungle, Tom?”

  “I’m afraid we have, if we want to get any giants, and get a trace of Mr. Poddington.”

  “All right, I’m game, but I do hope we won’t run into a band of fighting natives.”

  In Rosario it was learned that while the “war” was not regarded seriously from the fact that the fighting tribes were far inland, still it was going on with vigor, and large bands of natives were roaming about, stealing each others’ cattle and horses, burning villages, and taking captives.

  “I guess we’re in for it,” remarked Tom grimly. “But I’m not going to back out now.”

  Unexpected complications, difficulties in the way of getting the right kind of help, and a competent man to take charge of the native drivers, so delayed our friends that it was nearly two weeks after their arrival in Rosario before they could start for the interior.

  Of course the object of the expedition was kept a secret, and Tom let it be known that he and his friends were merely exploring, and wanted rare plants, orchids, or anything in that line. The natives were not very curious.

  At last the day for the start came. The mules, which had been hired as beasts of burdens, were loaded with boxes or bales on either side, the natives were marshalled into line. Tom, Ned, and Mr. Damon, each equipped with a rifle had a saddle animal to ride, and Eradicate was similarly equipped, though for a weapon he depended on a shotgun, which he said he understood better than the electric rifles.

  The aeroplane, divided into many small packages, the goods for barter, their supplies, stores, ammunition, and the box of which Tom took such care—all these were on the backs of the beasts of burden. So
me food was taken along, but for a time, at least, they could depend on scattered towns or villages, or the forest game, for their eating.

  “Are we all ready?” called Tom, looking at the rather imposing cavalcade of which he was the head.

  “I guess so,” replied Ned. “Let her go!”

  “Bless my liver pad!” gasped Mr. Damon. “If we’ve got to start do it, and let’s get it over with Tom.”

  “All ready, Rad?” asked the colored man’s young master.

  “All ready, Massa Tom. But I mus’ say dat I’d radder hab Boomerang dan dish yeah animal what I’m ridin’.”

  “Oh, you’ll do all right, Rad. Then, if we’re all ready, forward march!” cried Tom, and with calls to their animals, the drivers started them off.

  Hardly had they begun the advance than Ned, who had been narrowly watching one of the natives, hurried up to Tom, and rapidly whispered something to his chum.

  “What?” cried Tom. “Armed with a six-shooter, is he? Well, we’ll see about that! Halt!” he cried in Spanish, and then he called San Pedro the head mule driver, to him.

  CHAPTER X

  A WILD HORSE STAMPEDE

  “Who is that man?” demanded Tom pointing to the one Ned had indicated. Tom’s chum had had a glimpse of a shining revolver in the hip pocket of one of the mule drivers, and knowing that the simple natives were not in the habit of carrying such weapons, the lad had communicated his suspicions to Tom.

  “What man, senor?” asked the head mule driver.

  “That one!” and the young inventor again pointed toward him. And, now that Tom looked a second time he saw that the man was not as black as the other drivers—not an honest, dark-skinned black but more of a sickly yellow, like a treacherous half-breed. “Who is he?” asked Tom, for the man in question was just then tightening a girth and could not hear him.

  “I know not, senor. He come to me when I am hiring the others, and he say he is a good driver. And so he is, I test him before I engage him,” went in San Pedro in Spanish. “He is one good driver.”

  “Why does he carry a revolver?”