No one
can imagine the difficulties the poor fellow had to go through
before reaching the land of his choice. He first descended the
Mississippi, feeling sure that a passage to Para could be got at
New Orleans. He was there told that the only port in North
America he could start from was New York, so away he sailed for
New York; but there was no chance of a vessel sailing thence to
Para, so he took a passage to Demerara, as bringing him, at any
rate, near to the desired land. There is no communication
whatever between Demerara and Para, and he was forced to remain
here with his family four or five months, during which they all
caught the yellow fever, and one of his children died. At length,
he heard of a small coasting vessel going to Cayenne, so he
embarked, and thereby got another stage nearer the end of his
journey. A short time after reaching Cayenne, he shipped in a
schooner that was going to Para, or rather the island of Marajo,
for a cargo of cattle. He had now fixed himself, after all his
wanderings, in a healthy and fertile little nook on the banks of
a rivulet near Caripi, built himself a log-hut, and planted a
large patch of mandioca and Indian corn.
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