As the Darcys walked along the embankment in the last of the day’s warmth, of a sudden they were startled by a vivid flash of lightening to the west and a tremendous clap of thunder, accompanied by an heavy cloud that—in but an instant—covered the area. The various elements seemed spontaneously in a fury: the Severn began to roll with an awful roar, whilst the lightning that flashed continually from the black clouds, exposed alternately the frightful waves and foaming surf, illuminating and making the scene yet more terrible. Peels of thunder resounded on both sides, announcing a deluge with sheeting rain enough to cause the inhabitants of the four counties of the Severn to come floating helplessly by. In but a few minutes the storm vanished, and the sun appeared beneath the remnants of the clouds passing over the Monmouthshire hills. Their general relief, as the thunder and pelting rain subsided, was abruptly curtailed as were now heard the cries of people in an horse-boat that had been caught by the storm. The boat had been becalmed, and was attempting to reach the shore when the storm arose. The shrieks of the women, the bawling of the boatmen, and the incessant kicking of the horses against the boat were now perfectly heard. It was impossible to reach the poor victims, and they watched with horror as a woman, half-dead with terror and drowning was borne to the shore between two men. A terrified horse was next landed, dragging his keeper, who had miraculously maintained a steadfast hold upon the halter. The horse repeatedly slipped down the rocks, and made again to swim to the shore, before he finally clambered up the steep bank and broke away. After many unsuccessful attempts, all the passengers were landed, during which interval, the storm had passed and the serene, glassy surface of the Severn in the still moonlight erased any recollection of the violent storm just passed.

Bristol was a large, busy town, and the approach to the city was heralded by the smoaks and sounds emanating from numberless blazing furnaces, brick-kilns, and other manufactories, and by a ceaseless procession of over-burthened coal-horses. The coal-mines thereabouts were vastly numerous and productive, and the coal emerged from these mines covered in a black, stony substance that the inhabitants called “wark,” which, when cleaved, split like slate, and therein was often found the print of a fern leaf, as if engraved. Georgiana had read that the original name of the town was “Brightstow,” called so by the Saxon people. The city itself was very beautiful and conveniently arranged, but it lay in an uneven surrounding of hills, and the smoaks issuing from the various buildings kept the town in a grey blanket and the sky obscured for much of the day. Mr. Darcy regarded the docks and quays there as far surpassing those of London on the Thames.