The night of the 25th of November, 1343, set in with uncommonly still weather; but suddenly a tempest rose violently in the direction of the sea, which made the buildings of the city shake to their very foundations.  “At the first onset of the tempest,” Petrarch writes to the Cardinal Colonna, “the windows of the house were burst open.  The lamp of my chamber”—­he was lodged at a monastery—­“was blown out—­I was shaken from my bed with violence, and I apprehended immediate death.  The friars and prior of the convent, who had risen to pay their customary devotions, rushed into my room with crucifixes and relics in their hands, imploring the mercy of the Deity.  I took courage, and accompanied them to the church, where we all passed the night, expecting every moment to be our last.  I cannot describe the horrors of that dreadful night; the bursts of lightning and the roaring of thunder were blended with the shrieks of the people.  The night itself appeared protracted to an unnatural length; and, when the morning arrived, which we discovered rather by conjecture than by any dawning of light, the priests prepared to celebrate the service; but the rest of us, not having yet dared to lift up our eyes towards the heavens, threw ourselves prostrate on the ground.  At length the day appeared—­a day how like to night!  The cries of the people began to cease in the upper part of the city, but were redoubled from the sea-shore.  Despair inspired us with courage.  We mounted our horses and arrived at the port.  What a scene was there! the vessels had suffered shipwreck in the very harbour; the shore was covered with dead bodies, which were tossed about and dashed against the rocks, whilst many appeared struggling in the agonies of death.  Meanwhile, the raging ocean overturned many houses from their very foundations.  Above a thousand Neapolitan horsemen were assembled near the shore to assist, as it were, at the obsequies of their countrymen.  I caught from them a spirit of resolution, and was less afraid of death from the consideration that we should all perish together.  On a sudden a cry of horror was heard; the sea had sapped the foundations of the ground on which we stood, and it was already beginning to give way.  We immediately hastened to a higher place, where the scene was equally impressive.  The young Queen, with naked feet and dishevelled hair, attended by a number of women, was rushing to the church of the Virgin, crying out for mercy in this imminent peril.  At sea, no ship escaped the fury of the tempest:  all the vessels in the harbour—­one only excepted—­sunk before our eyes, and every soul on board perished.”