Then with a long breath, which could be heard outside, Booth cried in sudden calmness, still invisible, as were to him his enemies:
"Well, then, my brave boys, prepare a stretcher for me."
There was a pause repeated, broken by low discussions within between Booth and his associate, the former saying, as if in answer to some remonstrance or appeal, "Get away from me. You are a damned coward, and mean to leave me in my distress; but go, go. I don't want you to stay. I won't have you stay." Then he shouted aloud:
"There's a man inside who wants to surrender."
Baker—"Let him come, if he will bring his arms."
Here Harold, rattling at the door, said: "Let me out; open the door; I want to surrender."
Baker—"Hand out your arms, then."
Harold—"I have not got any."
Baker—"You are the man that carried the carbine yesterday; bring it out."
Harold—"I haven't got any."