ous superincumbent weight of
forest trees. There, on an island, so to speak, in the midst of the
subterranean darkness, they were growing still, their lofty tops barely
reaching the level of the mountain above.

"It was out of this sink I saw the wild beast climbing, that turned out
to be Cudjo," said Pomp.

"Dat ar am de tree," said Cudjo. "No oder way but dat ar to get up out
ob dis yer hole."

"What a terrible place!" said Penn, little thinking at the time how much
more terrible it was soon to become as a scene of deadly human conflict.

Beyond the chasm the stream flowed on into still more remote parts of
the cave. But Penn had seen enough for one day, and the torch-bearing
Cudjo guided them back to the spot from which they had started.

Penn had now completely won the confidence of the blacks, who no longer
placed any restrictions on his movements. It had been their original
purpose never to suffer him to leave the cave without being blindfolded.
But now, having shown him one opening, they freely permitted him to pass
out by the other. This was that by which he had been brought in, and
which was used by the blacks themselves on all ordinary occasions. It
was a mere fissure in the mountain, hidden from external view by
thickets. Above rose steep ledges of rocks, thickly covered with earth
and bushes. Below yawned an immense ravine, far down in the cool, dark
depths of which a little streamlet flowed.

Pomp piloted his guest through the thickets, and along a narrow shelf,
from which the ascent to the barren ledges was easy. Upon these they sat
down. It was a beautiful April day. This was Penn's first visit to the
upper world since he was brought to the cave. The scene filled him with
rapture; the loveliness of earth and sky intoxicated him. Here he was
among the rugged ranges of the Cumberland Mountains, in the heart of
Tennessee. On either hand they rolled away in tremendous billows of
forest-crowned rocks. The ravines in their sides opened into little
valleys, and these spread out into a broad and magnificent intervale,
checkered with farms, streaked with roads, and dotted with dwellings.
Spring seemed to have come in a night. It was chill March weather when
Penn left the world, which was now warm with sweet south winds, and
green with April verdure.

"How beautiful, how beautiful!" said he, receiving, with the
susceptibility of a convalescent, the exquisite impression made upon the
senses by every sight an