redoubled force. The departure of the balloon was impossible.

On that day the engineer, Cyrus Harding, was accosted in one of the
streets of Richmond by a person whom he did not in the least know. This was
a sailor named Pencroft, a man of about thirty-five or forty years of age,
strongly built, very sunburnt, and possessed of a pair of bright sparkling
eyes and a remarkably good physiognomy. Pencroft was an American from the
North, who had sailed all the ocean over, and who had gone through every
possible and almost impossible adventure that a being with two feet and no
wings would encounter. It is needless to say that he was a bold, dashing
fellow, ready to dare anything and was astonished at nothing. Pencroft at
the beginning of the year had gone to Richmond on business, with a young
boy of fifteen from New Jersey, son of a former captain, an orphan, whom he
loved as if he had been his own child. Not having been able to leave the
town before the first operations of the siege, he found himself shut up, to
his great disgust; but, not accustomed to succumb to difficulties, he
resolved to escape by some means or other. He knew the engineer-officer by
reputation; he knew with what impatience that determined man chafed under
his restraint. On this day he did not, therefore, hesitate to accost him,
saying, without circumlocution, "Have you had enough of Richmond, captain?"

The engineer looked fixedly at the man who spoke, and who added, in a low
voice,--

"Captain Harding, will you try to escape?"

"When?" asked the engineer quickly, and it was evident that this question
was uttered without consideration, for he had not yet examined the stranger
who addressed him. But after having with a penetrating eye observed the
open face of the sailor, he was convinced that he had before him an honest