His giant presence loomed over the continent, and so deep was the impression which his fame had made in my mind that, when the English sailor pointed confidently over the darkening waters, and cried 'There's Boney!' I looked up for the instant with a foolish expectation of seeing some gigantic figure, some elemental creature, dark, inchoate, and threatening, brooding over the waters of the Channel.

Even now, after the long gap of years and the knowledge of his downfall, that great man casts his spell upon you, but all that you read and all that you hear cannot give you an idea of what his name meant in the days when he was at the summit of his career.
What actually met my eye was very different from this childish expectation of mine.

To the north there was a long low cape, the name of which has now escaped me.

In the evening light it had been of the same greyish green tint as the other headlands; but now, as the darkness fell, it gradually broke into a dull glow, like a cooling iron.
On that wild night, seen and lost with the heave and sweep of the boat, this lurid streak carried with it a vague but sinister suggestion.
The red line splitting the darkness might have been a giant half-forged sword-blade with its point towards England.
'What is it, then ?' I asked.
'Just what I say, master,' said he.

'It's one of Boney's armies, with Boney himself in the middle of it as like as not.