"The storm," said Pomp, his soul dilating, his features kindling with a wild joy, "is hardly begun yet! The great problem of this age, in this country, is going to be solved in blood! This continent is going to shake with such a convulsion as was never before. It is going to shake till the last chain of the slave is shaken off, and the sin is punished, and God says, 'It is enough!'"
He spoke with such thrilling earnestness that Penn regarded him in astonishment.
"What makes you think so, Pomp?"
"That I can't tell. The feeling rises up here,"—the negro laid his hand upon his massive chest,—"and that is all I know. It is strong as my life—it fills and burns me like fire! The day of deliverance for my race is at hand. That is the meaning of those soldiers down there, arming for they know not what."
XVII.
PENN'S FOOT KNOCKS DOWN A MUSKET.
Weeks passed. But now every day brought to Penn increasing anxiety of mind with regard to his situation. His abhorrence of war was as strong as ever; and his great principle of non-resistance had scarcely been shaken. But how was he to avoid participating in scenes of violence if he remained in Tennessee? And how was his escape from the state to be effected?
"You are welcome to a home with us as long as you will stay," said Pomp. "I shall miss you—even Cudjo will hate to see you go."
Penn thanked him, fully appreciating their kindness; but his heart was yearning for other things.