the blood trickling from a slight
wound in his forehead, the young Corsican rushed back to Doppet and
abused him in the language of the camp: "Our blow at Toulon has
missed, because a---- has beaten the retreat." The soldiery applauded
this revolutionary licence, and bespattered their chief with similar
terms.

A few days later the tall soldierly Dugommier took the command:
reinforcements began to pour in, finally raising the strength of the
besiegers to 37,000 men. Above all, the new commander gave Buonaparte
_carte blanche_ for the direction of the artillery. New batteries
accordingly began to ring the Little Gibraltar on the landward side;
O'Hara, while gallantly heading a sortie, fell into the republicans'
hands, and the defenders began to lose heart. The worst disappointment
was the refusal of the Austrian Court to fulfil its promise, solemnly
given in September, to send 5,000 regular troops for the defence of
Toulon.

The final conflict took place on the night of December 16-17, when
torrents of rain, a raging wind, and flashes of lightning added new
horrors to the strife. Scarcely had the assailants left the sheltering
walls of La Seyne, than Buonaparte's horse fell under him, shot dead:
whole companies went astray in the darkness: yet the first column of
2,000 men led by Victor rush at the palisades of Fort Mulgrave, tear
them down, and sweep into the redoubt, only to fall in heaps before a
second line of defence: supported by the second column, they rally,
only to yield once more before the murderous fire. In despair,
Dugommier hurries on the column of reserve, with which Buonaparte
awaits the crisis of the night. Led by the gallant young Muiron, the
reserve sweeps into the gorge of death; Muiron, Buonaparte, and
Dugommier hack their way through the same embrasure: their men swarm
in on the overmatched red-coats and Spaniards, cut them down at their
guns, and the redoubt is won.

This event was decisive. The Neapolitans, who were charged to hold the
neighbouring forts, flung themselves into the sea; and the ships
themselves began to weigh anchor; for Buonaparte's guns soon poured
their shot on the fleet and into the city itself. But even in that
desperate strait the allies turned fiercely to bay. On the evening of
December 17th a young officer, who was destined once more to thwart
Buonaparte's designs, led a small body of picked men into the dockyard
to snatch from the rescuing clutch of the Jacobins the F