The Tragedy of the Chain Pier

The Tragedy of the Chain Pier

Project Gutenberg's The Tragedy of the Chain Pier, by Charlotte M.
Braeme This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and
with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away
or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net
Title: The Tragedy of the Chain Pier Everyday Life Library No. 3
Author: Charlotte M. Braeme
Release Date: February 26, 2005 [EBook #15183]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE
TRAGEDY OF THE CHAIN PIER ***

Produced by Steven desJardins and PG Distributed Proofreaders

EVERYDAY LIFE LIBRARY No. 3 Published by EVERYDAY LIFE,
Chicago

THE TRAGEDY OF THE CHAIN PIER
By CHARLOTTE M. BRAEME
[Illustration]

CHAPTER I.
Most visitors to Brighton prefer the new pier; it is altogether a more

magnificent affair. It is in the fashionable town, for fashion will go
westward; it is larger, more commodious, more frequented. Go to the
West Pier when you will, there is always something to see; beautiful
women, pretty girls, fashionable belles promenade incessantly. There
are times when it is crowded, and there is even a difficulty in making
room for all who come. No wonder the elite of Brighton like the West
Pier; it is one of the most enjoyable spots in England; every luxury and
comfort is there; a good library, plenty of newspapers, elegant little
shops, excellent refreshment rooms, fine music; and then the lovely
blue, dimpling sea, the little boats with their white sails, like
white-winged birds on the water, the grand stretch of the waves, the
blue sky overhead, and the town, with its fine, tall houses shining in the
sunlight, the line of white cliff and the beach where the children are at
play. You go down to the wonderful jetty, which, to me, was one of the
most mysterious and romantic of places. There the water is of the
deepest, choicest emerald green, and it washes the wonderful net-work
of poles with a soft, lapping sound beautiful to hear. You can stand
there with only a rail between you and the green, deep water, watching
the fisher-boats out on the deep; watching, perhaps, the steamer with its
load of passengers, or looking over the wide sunlit waves,
dreaming--dreams born of the sea--out of the world; alone in the
kingdom of fancy; there is always something weird in the presence of
deep, silent, moving waters.
There is always plenty of life, gayety and fashion on the West Pier. It is
a famous place, not for love-making but for flirtation; a famous place
for studying human nature; a famous place for passing a pleasant hour.
You may often meet great celebrities on the West Pier; faces familiar at
the House of Lords, familiar at Court, familiar at the opera, are to be
seen there during the season; beautiful faces that have grown pale and
worn with the excitement of a London campaign, and here, as they are
bent thoughtfully over the green waters, the bracing air brings sweet
roses, the lines fade, the eyes brighten; there is no such beautifier as a
sea breeze, no bloom so radiant and charming as that brought by the
wind from the sea.
On the West Pier you will find all the beauty, rank and fashion of

Brighton; you will see costumes a ravir, dresses that are artistic and
elegant; you will see faces beautiful and well-known; you will hear a
charming ripple of conversation; you will witness many pleasant and
piquant adventures; but if you want to dream; if you want to give up
your whole heart and soul to the poetry of the sea; if you want to listen
to its voice and hear no other; if you want to shut yourself away from
the world; if you want to hear the music of the winds, their whispers,
their lullabies, their mad dashes, their frantic rages, you must go to the
Old Chain Pier. As a rule you will find few there, but you may know
they are a special few; you will see the grave, quiet face of the thinker,
who has chosen that spot because he does not want to be disturbed by
the frou-frou of ladies' dresses, or the music of their happy voices; he
wants to be alone with the sea and the wind.
It often happens that you find a pair of very happy lovers there--they go
to the side and lean over the railing as though their sole object in life
was to watch the rippling sea. Do not believe them, for you will hear
the murmur of two voices, and the theme is always "love." If you go
near them