Here he was amidst six or seven thousand
people—many more than he had seen from
above some walking about, some sitting in
long rows or in groups, on the damp shingles,
some standing in knots—all speculating as to
how soon it would now be before the great
explosion. A few flag-staffs were planted, with
several sentinels, to mark the line which no one
was allowed to pass; and this line was very
strongly marked besides by a dark crowd of
the most fearless of the visitors. According
to their several degrees of apprehension, the
crowds were scattered over the beach at
various distances, spine of them being at least
a mile and half oif.

Sir Valentine, after an examination of all
the bearings of the case, elected to have a
place in the front row, close to the flagstaff;
but, taking into consideration the possibility
that the explosion might send up a great
mass of fragments, which might come flying
over that way, and crush numbers by their
fall, he looked round to try and secure a
retreat the instant he should see a black cloud
of fragments in the air. The front line would
not be able to retreat in time, because, being
crowded, they would, in the panic of the
moment, stumble over each other, and falling
pell-mell, become an easy prey to the descending
chalk. Sir Valentine, therefore, being not
only an enthusiast, but also a man of foresight,
took his post to the extreme right of the line,
so that he could, if he saw need, retreat into
the sea; to make sure of which, and at the
same time to have an unimpeded view, he now
stood half up to his knees in water.

It was three o'clock—the hour of doom for
the chalk in its contest with gunpowder. A
bugle sounded, and a movement of the sentries
on the top of the rock was discerned by the
thousands of eyes looking up from the beach.
Many, also, who were above, suddenly thought
they could better their positions by moving
further off. Below, on the beach, there was a
hush of voices; not a murmur was heard.
Everybody stood in his favourite attitude of
expectation. All eyes were bent upon the
lofty projecting cliff; and nearly every mouth
was open, as if in momentary anticipation of
being filled with an avalanche of chalk.
Again a bugle sounded—and all was silence.
Not a shingle moved.

Presently there was a low, subterranean
murmur, accompanied by a trembling of the
whole sea-beach—sea and all;—no burst of
explosion; but the stupendous cliff was seen
to crack, heave outwards, and separate in
many places half-way down; the upper part
then bowed itself forward, and almost at the
same instant the cliff seemed to bend out and
break at one-third of the way from the base,
till, like an old giant falling upon his knees,
down it sank, pitching at the same time head
foremost upon the beach with a tremendous,
dull, echoless roar. A dense cloud of white
dust and smoke instantly rose, and obscured
the whole from sight.

Everybody kept his place a moment in
silence—the front line then made a rush
onward—then abruptly stopped, bringing up
all those behind them with a jerk. Who
knows but more cliff may be coming down.
In the course of half a minute the cloud of
dust had sufficiently dispersed itself to render
the fallen mass visible. It formed a sort
of double hill about one-fifth of the height
of the rocks above, the outer hill nearest the
sea (which had been the head and shoulders
of the fallen giant) being by far the largest.
It was made up of fragments of all sizes,
from small morsels, and lumps, up to huge
blocks of chalk, many of which were two or
three feet in thickness, intermixed with masses
of the upper crust, having grass upon the
upper surface.

Towards this larger hill of broken masses of
chalk, the front rank of the crowd below, on
the beach, now rushed. But after a few
yards, they again stopped abruptly, bringing
every body behind them bump up against
their backs. Again, they moved on waveringly,
when suddenly a small piece of cracked
rock detached itself from above, and came
rolling down. Back rushed the front line,—a
panic took place, and thousands retreated,
till they found the cliff was not coming
after them, when they gradually drew up,
faced about, and returned to the onset. At
length it became a complete charge: the
front rank made directly for the large broken
mound, in the face of clouds of drifting chalk-
dust, and fairly carried it by assault,—mounting
over blocks, or picking their way round
about blocks, or between several blocks,
and through soft masses of chalk, and so
upwards to the top,—two soldiers, three
sailors, a boy, and Sir Valentine, being the
first who reached it. Thereupon they set
up a shout of victory, which was echoed
by thousands from below. Fifty or sixty
more were soon up after them; and one
enthusiast, who had a very clever little
brown horse, actually contrived to lead
him up to the top, and then mounted him,
amidst the plaudits of the delighted heroes
who surrounded him. Every body, horse and
all, was covered with the continual rain of
chalk-dust. The heroes were all as white as
millers.

It was almost as difficult to descend as it
had been to get up. However, Sir Valentine
managed to effect this with considerable alacrity,
and made his way hastily across the
field to the little "public," with intent to
secure a fly, or other conveyance, before they
were all occupied by the numbers he had left
behind him on the beach. Nothing could be
had: all were engaged. He walked onwards
hastily, and was fortunate enough to overtake
a large pleasure-cart, into which he got, and,
after suffering the vexation of seeing every
vehicle pass them, he at length arrived at the
Newhaven railway station.

There, every body was in confusion, and no