LETTER CLIX.163.
To Captain Fermor, at Silleri.
Dover, July 24, eleven o’clock.
I am arrived, my dear friend, after a passage agreable in itself; but which my fears for Emily made infinitely anxious and painful: every wind that blew, I trembled for her; I formed to myself ideal dangers on her account, which reason had not power to dissipate.
We had a very tumultuous head-sea a great part of the voyage, though the wind was fair; a certain sign there had been stormy weather, with a contrary wind. I fancied my Emily exposed to those storms; there is no expressing what I suffered from this circumstance.
On entering the channel of England, we saw an empty boat, and some pieces of a wreck floating; I fancied it part of the ship which conveyed my lovely Emily; a sudden chillness seized my whole frame, my heart died within me at the sight: I had scarce courage, when I landed, to enquire whether she was arrived.
I asked the question with a trembling voice, and had the transport to find the ship had passed by, and to hear the person of my Emily described amongst the passengers who landed; it was not easy to mistake her.
I hope to see her this evening: what do I not feel from that dear hope!
Chance gives me an opportunity of forwarding this by New York; I write whilst my chaise is getting ready.
Adieu! yours,
Ed. Rivers.
I shall write to my dear little Bell as soon as I get to town. There is no describing what I felt at first seeing the coast of England: I saw the white cliffs with a transport mixed with veneration; a transport, which, however, was checked by my fears for the dearer part of myself.
My chaise is at the door.
Adieu!
Your faithful, &c.
Ed. Rivers.