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.