“I want to see Ro—Mr. Craven Cloud, one of the prisoners from the blockade runner Argente,” said the skipper, handing his pass to the nearest sentry, who looked at it, and answered, shortly:
“Upstairs.”
The old man groaned, and slowly mounted the second flight of stairs, to find himself in a passage exactly like the one below in all respects of doors, sentries, and a third staircase.
The captain, panting from his long ascent, repeated his formula, and handed his pass, which was returned to him, with the answering formula.
The old man, feeling fatigued and dizzy, began to ascend the third flight of stairs. When he reached the top he found himself in a passage precisely like those below—closed doors, armed sentries, and a fourth staircase, probably leading into the garret.
“I have been a sailor for sixty years, and hope to sail the seas for sixty more! Men have lived hale and hearty to extreme old age, and why not I, who never was drunk or ill in my life? But if I have to go up another flight of stairs I shall be cut off in my prime!” said the captain to himself, as he leaned, puffing and blowing, against the freshly whitewashed wall.
“I feel just like the
“‘Youth who bore through snow and ice
A banner with a strange device—
Excelsior!’