The artillerymen, animated by the words of the First Consul, redoubled their zeal and the rapidity of their fire.  One of them said, “Look at the frigate, General; her bowsprit is going to fall.”  He spoke truly, the bowsprit was cut in two by his ball.  “Give twenty francs to that brave man,” said the First Consul to the officers who were with him.  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 for attack or defense, and had become soldiers by dint of seeing this so constantly.  On that day the noise of cannon was heard at dinner-time; and still every one dined, the hour for the repast being neither advanced nor delayed.  Men went about their business, women occupied themselves with household affairs, young girls played the piano, all saw with indifference the cannonballs pass over their heads; and the curious, whom a desire to witness the combat had attracted to the cliffs, showed hardly any more emotion than is ordinarily the case on seeing a military piece played at Franconi’s.

I still ask myself how three vessels could have endured for nine hours so violent a shock; for when at length the flotilla entered the fort, the English cutter had foundered, the brig had been burnt by the red-hot cannon-balls, and there was left only the frigate, with her masts shivered and her sails torn, but she still remained there immovable as a rock, and so near to our line of defense that the sailors on either side could be seen and counted.  Behind her, at a modest distance, were more than a hundred English ships.