About this time, the Derbyshire militia were relieved by a regiment of regulars, who had been in Spain. They were chiefly Irish; and treated us better than we were treated by the militia. They had infinitely more generosity and manliness, as well as more intelligence. They acted plays in the cock loft of No. 5. They have good music, and tolerable scenery; and charge six pence for admission, to defray the expense. This is a very pleasant way of making the British soldier forget his slavery; and the American prisoner his bondage. These generous hearted Irishmen would sometimes give us a song in honour of _our_ naval victories. O, how we did long to be at liberty, when we heard songs in honour of the _Constitution_ and of the _United States_![R] Some men are about to be sent off to Dartmouth, to return to the United States; this has occasioned us to write letters to our friends and connexions; but Captain Shortland is very jealous on this head; he will not allow us to write to any of the neighbouring country people. The English dare not trust their own people, much more the American captives. This is the latter part of the month of November; and the weather has been generally rainy, dark, dismal and foggy. Sometimes we could hardly see the sentinels on the walls. Sorrow and sadness within; gloom, fog, or drizzly rain without. If the commissioners at Ghent do not soon make peace, or establish an exchange, we shall be lost to our country, and to hope. The newspapers now and then enliven us with the prospect of peace. We are told that growing dissentions at Vienna will induce Great Britain to get rid of her transatlantic enemy, in order to combat those nearer home. Whenever we see in the newspapers an article captioned "_News from Ghent_," we devour it with our eyes; but instead of substance, generally find it empty wind. We are wearied out. I speak for myself; and I hear the same expression from others. Winter is commencing to add to our miseries. Poor clothing, miserable lodging, poor, and inadequate food, long dismal nights, darkness, foul air, bad smells, the groans of the sick, and distressed; the execrations and curses of the half distracted prisoner, the unfeeling conduct of our keepers and commander--all, all, all conspire to fill up the cup of our sorrow; but we hope that one drop will not be added after it is brim full; far then it will run over, and death will follow!