The Tragedy of the Chain Pier | Page 2

sun shines; it does not shine always, even over the Chain Pier.
If you want to watch the waves, to hear their rolling music, if you want to see the seagulls whirl in the blue ether, if you want to think, to read, to be alone, to fill your mind with beautiful thoughts, go to the Chain Pier at Brighton.
There is a jetty--an old-fashioned, weird place, where the green water rushes swiftly and washes round the green wood, where there is always a beautiful sound of the rising and falling of the sea; where you may sit on one of the old-fashioned seats, seeing nothing but water and sky around you, until you can fancy yourself out in the wide ocean; until you can wrap your thoughts and your senses in the very mists of romance. Time was when the Chain Pier at Brighton was one of the wonders of England, and even now, with its picturesque chains and arches, I like it better than any other.
I may as well tell the truth while I write of it. I know that if the dead can rise from their graves I shall re-visit the Chain Pier at Brighton. I spent one hour there--that was the hour of my life--one madly happy, bewildering hour! I remember the plank of wood on which my feet rested; I remember the railing, over which I heard the green, deep water, with the white-sailed boat in the distance--sails like the white wings of angels beckoning me away; the blue sky with the few fleecy white clouds--the wash of the waters against the woodwork of the pier; and I remember the face that looked down into mine--all Heaven lay in it for me; the deep water, the blue sky, the handsome face, the measured rhythms of the sea, the calm tones of the clear waves--are all mixed in one dream. I cry out in anguish at times that Heaven may send me such another, but it can never be! If the dead can return, I shall stand once more where I stood then. I will not tell my story now, but rather tell of the tragedy with which the Chain Pier at Brighton is associated for evermore in my mind.
I had gone down to Brighton for my health, and I was staying at the most comfortable and luxurious of hotels, "The Norfolk." It was the end of September, and the only peculiarity of the month that I remember was this: the nights grew dark very soon--they were not cold; the darkness was rather that of soft thick gloom that spread over land and sea. No one need ever feel dull in Brighton. If I could have liked billiards, or cared for the theater, or enjoyed the brilliant shops on the crowded pier, with its fine music, I might have been happy enough; but I was miserable with this aching pain of regret and the chill desolation of a terrible loss. I tried the Aquarium. If fishes could soothe the heart of man, solace might be found there; but to my morbid fancy they looked at me with wide open eyes of wonder--they knew the secrets of the sea--the faint stir of life in the beautiful anemones had lost its interest. I could not smile at the King Crabs; the reading tables and the music had no interest for me; outwardly I was walking through the magnificent halls of the Aquarium--inwardly my heart was beating to the mournful rhythms of the sea. The clock had not struck seven when I came out, and there lying before me was the Chain Pier.
I went there as naturally as the needle goes to the magnet. The moon shone with a fitful light--at times it was bright as day--flooded the sea with silver and showed the chain and the arches of the pier as plainly as the sun could have done--showed the running of the waves--they were busy that evening and came in fast--spreading out in great sheets of white foam, and when the moonlight did touch the foam it was beautiful to see.
But my lady moon was coquettish--every now and then she hid her face behind a drifting cloud, then the soft, thick gloom fell again, and the pier lay like a huge shadow--the very place, I thought, in which a tortured heart could grow calm; there was only the wind and the sea, nothing more. I would go to the spot where we two should stand together never more. I fancied, as I paid for admission at the gate, that the face of the person who received it expressed some surprise. It must have seemed a strange taste; but--ah, me!--there had bloomed for me for one short hour the flowers of paradise.
The thick, soft gloom was deeper on the pier. I