They had arranged to start as soon as it was light, and had, the
evening before, been to a posting inn, and engaged a carriage with
four horses for the journey down to Lancashire.
"There is no starting today, gentlemen," the landlord said, as they
went down to breakfast by candlelight. "I have looked out, and the
street is strewn with chimney pots and tiles. Never do I remember
such a gale, and hour by hour it seems to get worse. Why, it is
dangerous to go across the street."
"Well, we must try," Charlie said, "whatever the weather. It is a
matter of almost life and death."
"Well, gentlemen, you must please yourselves, but I am mistaken if
any horse keeper will let his animals out, on such a day as this."
As soon as they had eaten their breakfasts, they wrapped themselves
up in their cloaks, pressed their hats over their heads, and
sallied out. It was not until they were in the streets that they
realized how great was the force of the gale. Not only were the
streets strewn with tiles and fragments of chimney pots, but there
was light enough for them to see that many of the upper windows of
the houses had been blown in by the force of the wind. Tiles flew
about like leaves in autumn, and occasionally gutters and sheets of
lead, stripped from the roofs, flew along with prodigious
swiftness.
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