‘Haverford West: Oct. 23.
‘My Dearest,—It pleases God that I am once more to embrace you and my children—a passage that is common in eight hours was from Sunday morn eight o’clock till one o’clock this morning Wednesday, thirty-six hours of which, a raging storm; we talk of them at land, but those who have not seen them at sea know not what the very elements are. Pent up in the Irish Channel, the ship ran adrift, wearing[[61]] to keep free from rocks and sands—the wind did not blow, it was like volleys of artillery; part of the sails were torn into fritters; the waves were mountains high, while the ship was perfectly tossed on end of them; the cabin window burst open, and deluged everything afloat; the horses kicked and groaned, the dogs howled; six passengers praying, shrieking, and vomiting; every soul sick but myself; the sailors swearing and storming; and the whole—such a scene! The Captain, who has been many voyages, and the pilot thirty-six years, never saw such a storm—to last so long.
‘It has worried and starved the horses so that I know not what I am to do—shall go with them as far as I can, and if they knock up must leave them and take some fly to be by you thirty-first; of which send immediate notice to B.
‘I know not if Bath be my nearest way, so let me have a letter at Nicoll’s in case I am not in Town, to the same purport as that to Bath, to inform me what I am to do and when to go.
‘Adieu,
‘Most truly yours,
‘A. Y.
‘Thank God for me. Peter would not come over with me. My passage has cost me between 7l. and 8l., which is the very devil, so that I shall come home without a shilling, and the thoughts of coming full swing upon poverty again make me miserable. Two ships were lost in the storm.’
Note in memorandum-book.—‘Note of my being thirty-eight, and poetry in my head.’