Capt. Grandiere found the place—though it looked very much like a Baltimore tobacco depot—and then went up to the main floor, at which a sentry stood on guard. He showed his pass. The sentinel scrutinized it, returned it to him, and let him in. He entered a broad passage, with doors on either side, and a staircase in the midst. These doors were all closed, and a sentry stood at every one. “I wish to see young Ro—Mr. Craven Cloud,” said the captain, correcting himself—“one of the officers taken prisoner on the blockade runner _Argente_.” The sentry to whom he addressed these words looked at his pass, and said, laconically: “Upstairs.” The old man climbed the stairs, and found himself in an upper passage, with other doors on each side, and another staircase in the midst. These doors were also closed and guarded by sentries. “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!’ “Which must mean ‘Upstairs.’ And like him, I shall drop dead at the top. Say! you, sir! I want to see Mr. Craven Cloud, who was taken prisoner from the blockade runner _Argente_. Here’s my permit,” said the old skipper, as soon as he could get his breath, handing his pass to one of the sentries. “Room at the end—Number 53,” said the soldier, returning the paper. “Thank Heaven, that is a change for the better!” exclaimed the old man, trotting up the whole length of the passage to a board partition that seemed to have been temporarily put up across the end. A sentry stood before the door in this partition, and to him the skipper gave his pass. The sentry unlocked the door and admitted the visitor into the small room that had been partitioned off from the front end of the passage.