I wish you were here to-night Charley. (Sachem’s Head, Guilford, Oct. 12th, 1847) It is what the ballad writers call a wild night, sailors would call it very dirty, though if one can judge sitting on the weather side of the house it will sweep some decks clean. Common folks (on the lee side) would simply say perhaps it was very windy. And if a deputy sawbones was of the party he would observe “flatulent,” though the penny a liner would say the wind is high. We farmers might reply—our corn will be flat.

The house shakes—it’s fairly awful! Even Nep looks at the window as if he meant it shouldn’t come in. Due South— the only point from which we are unprotected. Whew! What a gust. Harder! & harder! The mortar comes rattling down the chimney. The wind wheezing by the window, makes a noise like a snow storm. Such a roar.

Charley, I do wish you were here on my own account. It is really getting awful! Here comes hail! Prit! Prit! What a noise! Everything trembles! My God! How could I trifle about it? But really, Charley, I have written just as fast as you please to imagine, hardly stopping to think a second—so fast did the storm increase and so fast did my feelings change with it. As I write this sentence there is, thank God, a lull.

I had just stepped out to enjoy it. Dark as pitch. But you could hear and feel—and you could see the breakers. It occurred to me to walk down towards the point—where it must be most grand—but I gave it up saying to myself, If Charley Brace was here we would go down to-gether, but I do not want to go alone. Then I came in and thought I ought to write to you (for why, anon) and as I took my pen there came a harder puff, and I wrote my thoughts—“I wish you were here,” and it grew and grew, harder—till the lull. And now again the house begins to tremble.

What an awful time to make Fire Island Light. Certain death! God have mercy on them!

That is not hail—only drops of rain. With what force they must be driven!

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I don’t hardly think I am frightened at all. I can not believe there really is any danger of the house’s blowing over. Yet, I know I shall not take my clothes off to go to bed while it blows like this. Why, I can not tell you, but I suppose it is a relic of sea feeling and habit. And I have once or twice half turned my head towards the door with a sort of half idea that a woman, pale, and with a shawl over her night clothes was coming in. And I am all ready to tell her, “There’s no danger. It’s impossible for the house to blow away. I have seen harder blows than this.” (I know if I have, I was in something that knelt before it—and got away and ran as fast as she could. Didn’t stand and resist without so much as stooping or bowing to it like this slab sided affair.) If I have got to live in a house at Sachem’s Head it shall be something stronger than this—if I can get it.

I have been out to see if the barn stood it. I can not see that it is gone. It stands against a great rock and I suppose that held it. Positively, I heard something like a shriek! I do hope it was a loon.

There is a very singular booming roar, which you hear through all. I suppose it is what the folks here often talk about and call the surf breaking on the south side of Long Island. I never heard it before.

Here is another terrible puff. I involuntarily lift myself in my chair with the surge of the gale. Nep has got used to it and gone to sleep. And even I begin to [take hold] again. I believe I should be more com[fortable if] I was asleep. So, good night, Charley. [I wish there was a light house here. Just think of spending the night on Falkner’s Island, and then of going up, up, to trim the lamps. But have not I been up (& down, too) to furl the close reefed main topsail in such a time? I think there must have been some comfort in feeling the ship cotton to it if I have. I don’t know. It don’t seem now as if any canvas could stand to it to this time.

I send you this letter (nearly forgot to mention it) that you needn’t come here while I am gone. There are not any ducks feeding in shore yet, either. Guess if any of them are about tonight, they’ll be going ashore. I am intending to go to Hartford tomorrow—at any rate, God willing, next day—and think of going to New York before I return. Two Sachem’s Head boys were to leave New York in a small sloop to come home today. They have most likely got in to harbor—but how anxious their parents must be! And two Falkner’s Island boys sailed in a 30 ton smack to the eastward today.