254. Abigail Adams.
14 November, 1779.
Dearest of Friends,—My habitation, how disconsolate it looks! my table, I sit down to it, but cannot swallow my food! Oh, why was I born with so much sensibility, and why, possessing it, have I so often been called to struggle with it? I wish to see you again. Were I sure you would not be gone, I could not withstand the temptation of coming to town, though my heart would suffer over again the cruel torture of separation.
What a cordial to my dejected spirits were the few lines last night received! And does your heart forebode that we shall again be happy? My hopes and fears rise alternately. I cannot resign more than I do, unless life itself were called for. My dear sons, I cannot think of them without a tear. Little do they know the feelings of a mother's heart. May they be good and useful as their father! Then will they in some measure reward the anxiety of a mother. My tenderest love to them. Remember me also to Mr. Thaxter, whose civilities and kindness I shall miss.
God Almighty bless and protect my dearest friend, and, in his own time, restore him to the affectionate bosom of
Portia.
255. John Adams.
At Sea, not far from the Grand
Bank of N. F. L., 29 November, 1779.
My dearest Friend,—A brave fellow from Boston, Captain Carr, gives me an opportunity of writing one line, to let you know that we are all very well thus far. Charles behaves quite as well as John, and lies in my room anights. Mr. Dana has been very sick, but is now pretty well. We are now out of all danger of the Romulus and Virginia, and I hope have little to fear from the enemy. We have had one storm, which made us all seasick, but brought us on well in our course. I wish I could write to you these two hours, but time fails. Ships cannot wait for each other at sea.