He quickly gave directions to
have me carried to Admiral Saunders's ship, where the exchange
was to be effected, and at the same time a general passport.
In a few moments we were hard on our way. Now the batteries were
silent. By the General's orders, the bombardment ceased while the
exchange was being effected, and the French batteries also were
still. A sudden quietness seemed to settle on land and sea, and
there was only heard, now and then, the note of a bugle from a ship
of war. The water in the basin was moveless, and the air was calm
and quiet. This heraldry of war was all unnatural in the golden
weather and sweet-smelling land.
I urged the rowers to their task, and we flew on. We passed
another boat loaded with men, singing boisterously a disorderly
sort of song, called "Hot Stuff," set to the air "Lilies of
France." It was out of touch with the general quiet:
"When the gay Forty-Seventh is dashing ashore,
While bullets are whistling and cannons do roar,
Says Montcalm, 'Those are Shirleys--I know the lapels.'
'You lie,' says Ned Botwood, 'we swipe for Lascelles!
Though our clothing is changed, and we scout powder-puff,
Here's at you, ye swabs--here's give you Hot Stuff!'"
While yet we were about two miles away, I saw a boat put out
from the admiral's ship, then, at the same moment, one from the
Lower Town, and they drew towards each other.
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