The Harbour Of Boulogne Is At The Mouth Of
The Small River, Or Rather Rivulet Liane, Which Is So Shallow,
That The Children Wade Through It At Low Water.
As the tide
makes, the sea flows in, and forms a pretty extensive harbour,
which, however, admits nothing but small vessels.
It is
contracted at the mouth by two stone jetties or piers, which seem
to have been constructed by some engineer, very little acquainted
with this branch of his profession; for they are carried out in
such a manner, as to collect a bank of sand just at the entrance
of the harbour. The road is very open and unsafe, and the surf
very high when the wind blows from the sea. There is no
fortification near the harbour, except a paltry fort mounting
about twenty guns, built in the last war by the prince de Cruy,
upon a rock about a league to the eastward of Boulogne. It
appears to be situated in such a manner, that it can neither
offend, nor be offended. If the depth of water would admit a
forty or fifty gun ship to lie within cannon-shot of it, I
apprehend it might be silenced in half an hour; but, in all
probability, there will be no vestiges of it at the next rupture
between the two crowns. It is surrounded every day by the sea, at
high water; and when it blows a fresh gale towards the shore, the
waves break over the top of it, to the terror and astonishment of
the garrison, who have been often heard crying piteously for
assistance. I am persuaded, that it will one day disappear in the
twinkling of an eye. The neighbourhood of this fort, which is a
smooth sandy beach, I have chosen for my bathing place. The road
to it is agreeable and romantic, lying through pleasant
cornfields, skirted by open downs, where there is a rabbit
warren, and great plenty of the birds so much admired at
Tunbridge under the name of wheat-ears. By the bye, this is a
pleasant corruption of white-a-se, the translation of their
French name cul-blanc, taken from their colour for they are
actually white towards the tail.
Upon the top of a high rock, which overlooks the harbour, are the
remains of an old fortification, which is indiscriminately
called, Tour d'ordre, and Julius Caesar's fort. The original
tower was a light-house built by Claudius Caesar, denominated
Turris ardens, from the fire burned in it; and this the French
have corrupted into Tour d'ordre; but no vestiges of this Roman
work remain; what we now see, are the ruins of a castle built by
Charlemagne. I know of no other antiquity at Boulogne, except an
old vault in the Upper Town, now used as a magazine, which is
said to be part of an antient temple dedicated to Isis.
On the other side of the harbour, opposite to the Lower Town,
there is a house built, at a considerable expence, by a general
officer, who lost his life in the late war.
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