midnight
The trees themselves so toss and creak , as this tangible part of the darkness madly whirls about , that they seem in peril of being torn out of the earth : while ever and again a crack , and a rushing fall , denote that some large branch has yielded to the storm . Not such power of wind has blown for many a winter night . Chimneys topple in the streets , and people hold to posts and corners , and to one another , to keep themselves upon their feet . The violent rushes abate not , but increase in frequency and fury until at midnight , when the streets are empty , the storm goes thundering along them , rattling at all the latches , and tearing at all the shutters , as if warning the people to get up and fly with it , rather than have the roofs brought down upon their brains . Still , the red light burns steadily . Nothing is steady but the red light . All through the night the wind blows , and abates not .