'Because,' answered I, 'my modesty would prevent me from sleeping before so many men.'
'Poo,' cried he, 'do as I do. Have too much modesty to shew your modesty. Sleep? By my soul you shall sleep, and snore too, if you have a mind. Sleep? Sure, can't you pin the curtains round, so that we shan't see you? Sleep? Sure, how did the ladies manage on board the packet that I came over in? Sleep—sleep—sleep? O murder. I believe we must surrender, sure enough. O murder, murder, 'tis all over with us? For now that I think of it, we shan't have even room to lie down you know.'
'This is a sad affair,' said I to the minstrel. 'Can you devise no remedy?'
'None,' said the minstrel, blushing through his very eyeballs.
'Well,' cried Betterton, 'is the council of war over?'
'Yes, Sir,' said I, 'and I consent to conclude a peace.'
'I thought you would,' cried Betterton; 'so now for the terms.'
After much altercation, these articles (written by Betterton, with his pencil, and signed by him and the warden, who went down for the purpose) were agreed upon by the contending powers.
Art. 1.
All the prisoners, at present in the castle, shall be forthwith released.