along which we coasted till the ramparts and spires of Dunkerque rose
slowly before us.

Le Marchant knew his way here, and took us gaily over the bar into the
harbour, where many vessels of all shapes and sizes were lying, and he told
me what I had heard spoken of on the _Joséphine_, that Bonaparte was said
to be gathering a great fleet for the invasion of England.

We landed in a quiet corner without attracting observation, and Le Marchant
led the way to a quarter of the town which he said was given up entirely to
the smuggling community, and where we should meet with a warm welcome. But
we found, on arriving there, that the free-traders had been moved in a body
down the coast to Gravelines, half-way to Calais, all but a stray family or
two of the better behaved class. These, however, treated us well on hearing
our story, and we rested there that day, and left again as soon as it was
dark with all the provisions we could carry. We crept quietly out of the
harbour and coasted along past the lights of Gravelines, and Calais, and
weathered with some difficulty the great gray head of Gris Nez, and were
off the sands of Boulogne soon after sunrise.

We kept well out, having no desire for forced service, but only to get home
and attend to our own affairs. But even at that distance, and to our
inexperienced eyes, the sight we saw was an extraordinary one. The heights
behind the town were white with tents as though a snowstorm had come down
in the night, and for miles each way the level sand-flats flashed and
twinkled with the arms of vast bodies of men, marching to and fro at their
drill, we supposed.

We dropped our sail to avoid notice and rowed slowly past, but time and
again found ourselves floating idly, as we gazed at that great spectacle