CHAPTER I.
“Edward! Edward!” cried little Lewis Ashton; “when will you open your sleepy eyes? Here I am almost dressed, and you are not awake yet. You forget we are not in London, where nothing is to be seen but dull streets and black looking houses; or at school, where the first thing to be heard in the morning, is the sound of the great bell calling us to lessons.”
“No, I do not,” cried Edward, starting up as though the great bell had really roused him from his slumbers: “we are in Brighton at last; in Brighton, where the king and queen live, and where there are so many grand things to be seen: but what I want to see more than all is the deep wide sea. It was so dark when we came here last night, that what papa told me was the sea looked only, as we rode along, like a line of black clouds.”
“Come to the window, then,” said Lewis, “and you will see that it looks bright and blue this morning. How the waves sparkle in the sun-beams! Those vessels in the distance must be fishing-boats, from their size; or is it because they are so very far away that they seem so small?”
“Some are larger than others,” said Edward: “and, look! it must be a steam-vessel which is smoking so, at the end of that long bridge we see in the distance. Let us go and ask papa to take us there; it wants nearly an hour to breakfast-time yet.”
Away ran both the children, Lewis wondering much what the long bridge he had seen from the window could be intended for, as he saw no shore at the further end—nothing but the wide blue sea.
Mr. Ashton told his little boys, he should soon be ready to accompany them; and Edward and Lewis amused themselves, till he made his appearance, in looking again at the new scene before them, from the windows of their sitting-room. Lewis soon espied a strange-looking building, different from any that he ever remembered to have seen before. Edward could only guess that it must be the Pavilion which they saw, with its domes and minarets. But now papa’s voice was heard from the hall, and the boys lost no time in obeying the summons.
“Which way are we to walk?” said Mr. Ashton, taking a hand of each; “we must not be gone long, your mamma says.”
The Chain Pier, Brighton.
“Oh, papa, do take us to that strange-looking bridge. Why did they build it there, running out into the sea?”
Edward thought it might be for the accommodation of passengers, landing or embarking by the steam-vessels; but he did not see any occasion for its being of so great a length.
Mr. Ashton told them that the Chain-pier (for such the building was called) was used in the manner Edward had supposed; but that it was erected principally for the convenience of the visitors and inhabitants of Brighton, and that it forms one of the most agreeable walks in the town; “for, here” said he, as they passed the noble esplanade which forms the entrance to the pier, “we can enjoy the pure sea-breezes, without the danger or difficulty of going out in an open boat.”
When they reached the platform, which is erected at the end of the pier, Edward and Lewis were full of wonder and delight. Papa pointed out to them the fine view of Brighton, and the line of coast on each side; then the wide expanse of sea, and the vessels, with their white sails swelling in the breeze.
The pier that morning presented a busy scene, with the passengers embarking on board the steam-packet, for Dieppe; and the little boys turned reluctantly from the spot, when Mr. Ashton warned them that it was time they were on their way homeward.
“Dear papa,” said Edward, “will you be so good as to tell us who planned this noble pier, and how they could contrive to build it of so great a length, and yet strong enough to stand against the winds and waves?”
“Wait one moment,” cried Lewis; “I have not explored the lower part of the pier yet. You will let us, papa:” and the boys ran down the steps, which descended to the platform beneath that on which they had been standing.
“Well,” said Mr. Ashton, as they came panting up to him again, “what is the result of your researches? Edward looks as if he had something very important to communicate.”
“We saw nothing but baths, papa,” said Lewis.
“Yes,” said Edward, “I believe I saw the piles on which this platform stands.”
“You are right,” said his father; “these piles are driven ten feet into the solid rock, and they rise thirteen feet above high-water mark. The four iron towers which you see, are all erected on platforms similarly raised: the towers are each two hundred feet apart. These suspension-chains are of wrought-iron: they are firmly fixed at the one end to the timber work of the pier-head, and at the other, they pass into tunnels formed in the cliff, and are secured to an immense iron-plate.”
“This beautiful structure was erected under the superintendence of Captain Brown, a British naval officer: the expense of the work was thirty thousand pounds; and it was completed in the short space of twelve months.”
“Well,” said Edward, “I should hardly have thought, with all his precautions, it would have withstood such storms as I have heard uncle Tom speak of, when the sea runs mountains high, and breaks over the tall masts of the ship, as though it would be swallowed up every instant. I am sure uncle Tom will never make a sailor of me.”
“I do not wish he should, my boy,” said Mr. Ashton; “yet you must do your best to overcome your natural timidity, or you will find it a source of trouble and inconvenience to you in passing through life. But to return to the pier. I do not wonder you should doubt its strength, judging from its light and elegant appearance; and yet, I assure you, it is better calculated to withstand the force of the waves than buildings of solid masonry, which present a greater resistance to them. However, I must honestly tell you, that the chain-pier received considerable injury only a few months back, in a very heavy gale, which blew from the south-west. Many of the caps and chains were displaced, and the planks torn up by the violence of the wind, which seemed to set directly against it.”
“Were you at Brighton then, papa?”
“No; but I was once here during a much severer storm, when few persons expected that a vestige of this elegant structure would remain.”
“Oh, do tell us about it, papa!” exclaimed both the children; and Mr. Ashton, in compliance with their entreaties, began:—
“It was on the 22nd of November, 1824, that Brighton was visited with the awful tempest of which I have been speaking. The night was dark and gloomy, and the clouds which swept across the sky, from time to time, told of the coming storm. Many hands were busily employed in dragging the bathing-machines, boats, &c. from their usual places on the beach to more sheltered situations; while the inhabitants of the cottages, on the southern coast, looked fearfully out, from time to time, into the gloom which they tried in vain to penetrate.
“The dreaded storm came at last; and it seemed as though nothing could escape its fury. Louder and louder peals of thunder burst upon the ear, while the livid glare of the lightning only made the darkness look more terrible.
“At length the day began to dawn, and revealed a spectacle more grand, yet awful, than you can well imagine. The deafening roar of winds and waters continued. In looking seaward, nothing but sheets of dazzling foam met the eye; whilst the huge breakers, now bursting on the shore, now dashing themselves against the cliffs, seemed ready to swallow up all that opposed them.”
“Oh! the beautiful pier,” cried Lewis, “what became of it then?”
“It was safe,” replied his papa; “amid the contending elements, there it stood, stretching out into the sea, now almost hidden beneath the swelling waters, now showing its graceful form uninjured above the retiring waves. Some of the outworks alone were carried away; the pier itself remained entire. But, my children, I thought less at that moment of this beautiful structure, than of such of my fellow-creatures as were wanderers on ocean’s troubled breast: the thought of the hardships they must have endured in that night of storms made me sad, whilst my heart was raised in thankfulness to Him who had cast my lot in scenes less fraught with peril.”
Mr. Ashton would have told his little boys, that under the protecting providence of God we are alike safe, whether on sea or land; but he was interrupted by the rough voice of a sailor who stood by them, and seemed to forget, while listening to the gentleman’s narration, that he was in any other company than his own.
“Ah! sure enough, they have reason to be thankful to the end of their days who got safe ashore. Yes, it was in that very storm my poor Will was lost, and Mary and the babies left to struggle as they could: but they shall never want a crust while old Tom Price has one to share with them.”
Mr. Ashton turned to look on the speaker. Time and care had deeply furrowed the cheeks of the old seaman, and long exposure to hardships had given a stern expression to his features; but there was something in his voice and manner which interested his hearers.
“Do you live here? Shall you ever go to sea again? Can you tell us more about that terrible storm?” with many other questions, were asked by the children; nor did Mr. Ashton take his leave until he had learned the old seaman’s place of abode, and promised, before very long, to pay him a visit.
“And, now boys,” said he, “for a run: mamma will think us long in coming; and if you are as hungry as I am, you will not be sorry to sit down to breakfast.”
The Esplanade, Brighton, looking toward Shoreham.