Near the batteries of Wimereux there was a furnace to heat the cannon-
balls; and the First Consul noticed them operating the furnaces, and gave
instructions. "That is not red enough, boys; they must be sent redder
than that, come, come." One of them had known him, when a lieutenant of
artillery, and said to his comrades, "He understands these little matters
perfectly, as well as greater ones, you see."

That day two soldiers without arms were on the cliff noticing the
maneuvers. They began a quarrel in this singular manner. "Look," said
one, "do you see the Little Corporal down there?" (they were both
Picards). "No; I don't see him."--"Do you not see him in his launch?"--
"Oh, yes, now I do; but surely he does not remember, that if anything
should strike him, it would make the whole army weep--why does he expose
himself like that?"

"Indeed, it is his place!"--"No, it's not "--"It is"--"It isn't. Look
here, what would you do to-morrow if the Little Corporal was killed?"--
"But I tell you it is his place!" And having no other argument on either
side, they commenced to fight with their fists. They were separated with
much difficulty.

The battle had commenced at one o'clock in the afternoon, and about ten
o'clock in the evening the Dutch flotilla entered the port under the most
terrible fire that I have ever witnessed. In the darkness the bombs,
which crossed each other in every direction, formed above the port and
the town a vault of fire, while the constant discharge of all this
artillery was repeated by echoes from the cliffs, making a frightful din;
and, a most singular fact, no one in the city was alarmed. The people of
Boulogne had become accustomed to danger, and expected something terrible
each day. They had constantly going on, under their eyes, preparations