"De glory ob de Lord, it am comin', it am comin', De glory ob de Lord, let it come!

De angel ob de Lord, hear his trumpet, hear his trumpet, De angel ob de Lord, he ar come!"

At the last words, "_He ar come!_" a shadow darkened the entrance, and Penn looked, almost expecting to see a literal fulfilment of the prophecy. A form of imposing stature appeared. It was that of a negro upwards of six feet in height, magnificently proportioned, straight as a pillar, and black as ebony. He wore a dress of skins, carried a gun in his hand, and had an opossum slung over his shoulder.

"Hush your noise!" he said to the singer, in a tone of authority.

"Haven't I told you not to _wake him_?"

"No fear o' dat!" chuckled the other. "Him's past dat! Ki! how fat he ar!" seizing the opossum, and beginning to dress him on the spot.

"Past waking! I tell you he's asleep, and every thing depends on his waking up right. But you set up a howl that would disturb the dead!"

"Howl! dat's what ye call singin'; me singin', Pomp."

"Well, keep your singing to yourself till he is able to stand it, you unfeeling, ungrateful fellow!"

"What dat ye call dis n.i.g.g.e.r?" cried the singer, jumping up in a pa.s.sion, with his blood-stained knife in his hand. "Ongrateful! Say dat ar agin, will ye?"

"Yes, Cudjo, as often as you please," said Pomp, calmly placing his gun in the artificial chamber. "You are an unfeeling, ungrateful fellow."

He turned, and stood regarding him with a proud, lofty, compa.s.sionating smile. Cudjo's anger cooled at once. Penn had already recognized in them the twin Tobys of his dreams. And what a contrast between the two! There was Toby the Good, otherwise called Pomp, dignified, erect, of n.o.ble features; while before him cringed and grimaced Toby the Malign, alias Cudjo, ugly, deformed, with immensely long arms, short bow legs resembling a parenthesis, a body like a frog's, and the countenance of an ape.

"You know," said Pomp, "you would have left this man to die there on the rocks, if it hadn't been for me."

"Gorry! why not?" said Cudjo. "What's use ob all dis trouble on his 'count?"

"He has had trouble enough on our account," said Pomp.

"On our 'count? Hiyah-yah!" laughed Cudjo, getting down on his knees over the opossum; "how ye make dat out, by?"

"Pay attention, Cudjo, while I tell ye," said Pomp, stooping, and laying his finger on the deformed shoulder. Cudjo looked up, with his hands and knife still in the opossum's flesh. "This is the way of it, as I heard last night from Pepperill himself, who got into trouble, as you know, by befriending old Pete after his licking. And you know, don't you, how Pete came by his licking?"

"Bein' out nights, totin' our meal and taters to de mountains,--dough I reckon de patrol didn't know nuffin' 'bout dat ar, or him wouldn't got off so easy!" said Cudjo.

"Well, it was by befriending Pepperill, who had befriended Pete, who brings us meal and potatoes, that this man got the ill will of those villains. Do you understand?"

"Say 'em over agin, Pomp. How, now? Lef me see! Dat ar's old Pete,"

sticking up a finger to represent him. "Dat ar's Pepperill," sticking up a thumb. "Now, yonder is dis yer man, and here am we. Now, how is it, Pomp?"

Pomp repeated his statement, and Cudjo, pointing to his long, black finger when Pete was alluded to, and tapping his thumb when Pepperill was mentioned, succeeded in understanding that it was indirectly in consequence of kindness shown to himself that Penn had come to grief.

"Dat so, Pomp?" he said, seriously, in a changed voice. "Den 'pears like dar's two white men me don't wish dead as dis yer possom! Pepperills one, and him's tudder."

Pomp, having made this explanation, walked softly to the bedside. He had not before perceived that Penn, lying so still there, was awake. His features lighted up with intelligence and sympathy on making the discovery, and finding him free from feverish symptoms.

"Well, how are you getting on, sir?" he said, feeling Penn's pulse, and seating himself on one of the giant's stools near the bedstead.

"Where am I?" was Penn's first anxious question.

"I fancy you don't know very well where you are, sir," said the negro, with a smile; "and you don't know me either, do you?"

"I think--you are my preserver--are you not?"

"That's a subject we will not talk about just now, sir; for you must keep very quiet."

"I know," said Penn, not to be put off so, "I owe my life to you!"

"Dat's so! dat ar am a fac'!" cried Cudjo, approaching, and wrapping the warm opossum skin about his naked arm as he spoke. "Gorry! me sech a brute, me war for leavin' ye dar in de lot. But, Pomp, him wouldn't; so we toted you hyar, and him's doctored you right smart eber sence. He ar a great doctor, Pomp ar! Yah!" And Cudjo laughed, showing two tremendous rows of ivory glittering from ear to ear; capering, swinging the opossum skin over his head, and, on the whole, looking far more like a demon of the cave than a human being.

"Go about your business, Cudjo!" said Pomp. "You mustn't mind his freaks, sir," turning to Penn. "You are a great deal better; and now, if you will only remain quiet and easy in your mind, there's no doubt but you will get along."

Many questions concerning himself and his friends came crowding to Penn's lips; but the negro, with firm and gentle authority, silenced him.

"By and by, sir, I will tell you everything you wish to know. But you must rest now, while I see to making you a suitable broth."

And nothing was left for Penn but to obey.

XIV.

_A MAN'S STORY._

Three days longer Penn lay there on his rude bed in the cave, helpless still, and still in ignorance.

Pomp repeatedly a.s.sured him that all was well, and that he had no cause for anxiety, but refused to enlighten him. The negro's demeanor was well calculated to inspire calmness and trust. There was something truly grand and majestic, not only in his person, but in his character also.

He was a superb man. Penn was never weary of watching him. He thought him the most perfect specimen of a gentleman he had ever seen; always cheerful, always courteous, always comporting himself with the ease of an equal in the presence of his guest. His strength was enormous. He lifted Penn in his arms as if he had been an infant. But his grace was no less than his vigor. He was, in short, a lion of a man.

Cudjo was more like an ape. His gibberings, his grimaces, his antics, his delight in mischief, excited in the mind of the convalescent almost as much surprise as the other's princely deportment. For hours together he would lie watching those two wonderfully contrasted beings. Petulant and malicious as Cudjo appeared, he was completely under the control of his n.o.ble companion, who would often stand looking down at his tricks and deformity, with composedly folded arms and an air of patient indulgence and compa.s.sion beautiful to witness.

Meanwhile Penn gradually regained his strength, so that on the fourth day Pomp permitted him to talk a little.

"Tell me first about my friends," said Penn. "Are they well? Do they know where I am?"

"I hope not, sir," said the negro, with a significant smile, seating himself on the giant's stool. "I trust that no one knows where you are."

"What, then, must they think?" said Penn. "How did I leave them?"

"That is what they are very much perplexed to find out, sir."

"You have heard from them, then?"

"O, yes; we have a way of getting news of people down there. Toby has nearly gone distracted on your account. He is positive that you are dead, for he believes you could never have got well out of his hands."

"And Miss--Mr. Villars----?"

"They have been so much disturbed about you, that I would have been glad to inform them of your safety, if I could. But not even they must know of this place."