My journey "down the line" was a momentous matter to me in more ways
than one; for, independently of the fact of its being the first
opportunity I had ever had of riding in a railway train, it was while
travelling down to Brighton, and thence along the endless south coast
route past Shoreham and Worthing, that I had my first sight of the sea--
that sea on whose restless bosom my floating home was to be made for
many a year afterwards in good fortune and ill.
I must confess, however, that this first view of the element did not
impress me very greatly, in spite of the tendency of my mind at that
period to take a rose-coloured view of everything new that came within
range of my vision, so long as it was totally disconnected with old
associations of the Islington villa; for, from the window of the third-
class carriage, whence I was peering out eagerly to see all that was to
be seen, the marine horizon that stretched out before my gaze appeared
more like a large inverted wash-hand basin than anything else, with the
ships that were going up and down Channel, seeming to be sailing in a
curve along its outer rim; while, instead of the vivid hue of cerulean
blue that had been pictured in my imagination as the invariable tint of
Neptune's domain, the sober tone of the tumid element was that of a dull
brownish-grey, reflecting the unwholesome leaden-tinged sky above, and,
there being no wind to speak of, there wasn't the ghost of a ripple
perceptible on its sullen, silent surface!
Even novelty tires after a time, and long before I had reached my
destination I had got heartily sick of railway travelling; so, I was
very glad when, after changing carriages at a junction between Brighton
and somewhere else on the line, sometimes going fast, sometimes slow,
and thus crawling along landwise and seaward through miles of country
for four hours or more, the train came to a standstill beside the
platform of the little station to which I had been consigned on leaving
London.
"'Champt'n! 'Champt'n!" cried out somebody with a cracked voice, and
this sound approximating to the name of the place I was looking out for,
combined with the fact that the engine began vigorously to blow off
steam, I became convinced that I had arrived at my goal; so, out I got
from the uncomfortable and cushionless carriage in which I had performed
the toilsome journey, not forgetting, you may be sure, the box
containing my grand rig-out of new clothes, which Aunt Matilda would not
let me wear on the journey for fear, as she said, of my spoiling them.
This box I had carefully kept on a seat beside me, in full view of my
watchful eye, all the way, lest some accident might befall it, although
not another soul save myself occupied the compartment.
When taking leave of me, Uncle George had said that some responsible
person would meet me on my arrival at the station to take charge of me,
from the "scholastic establishment;" and as I had conceived the most
magnificent ideas of this place from a lithograph I had seen at the top
of the prospectus referring to it, representing a palatial mansion
standing in its own grounds, with a commanding view of the adjacent sea,
I stared about the platform, expecting to see a gorgeous footman in
livery or some other imposing personage, who would presently step up
requesting me to take a seat in a coach-and-four or similar stately
vehicle, and then drive me off in triumph to the educational mansion.
But, lo and behold! no footman or imposing personage made his
appearance; nor did any one seem to be on the look-out for my
insignificant self. My spirits began to sink almost to zero, which
point they reached anon in the descending scale, when, as soon as
everybody else who had come by the train had bustled out of the station,
an old and broken-down looking porter, in a shabby velveteen jacket,
standing on the other side of the line, shouted out to me across the
rails in a tone of inquiry, and in a voice which I immediately
recognised as that which had screeched out the name of the place as the
train ran in--
"B'y fur Hellyer's, hey?"