channel, and then looked at the canoe again. It was in vain to speak. The
sound was lost in the roar of waters, but his eye showed that he had
already passed it in imagination. He held up his paddle in a position as
much as to say that he would keep exactly amid channel, and then made a
sign to cut the bush-rope that held the canoe to the fallen tree. The canoe
drove down the torrent with inconceivable rapidity. It did not touch the
rocks once all the way. The Indian proved to a nicety: "medio tutissimus
ibis."

Shortly after this it rained almost day and night, the lightning flashing
incessantly and the roar of thunder awful beyond expression.

The fever returned, and pressed so heavy on him that to all appearance his
last day's march was over. However, it abated, his spirits rallied, and he
marched again; and after delays and inconveniences he reached the house of
his worthy friend Mr. Edmonstone, in Mibiri Creek, which falls into the
Demerara. No words of his can do justice to the hospitality of that
gentleman, whose repeated encounters with the hostile negroes in the forest
have been publicly rewarded and will be remembered in the colony for years
to come.

Here he learned that an eruption had taken place in St. Vincent's, and thus
the noise heard in the night of the first of May, which had caused such
terror amongst the Indians and made the garrison at Fort St. Joachim remain
under arms the rest of the night, is accounted for.

After experiencing every kindness and attention from Mr. Edmonstone he
sailed for Granada, and from thence to St. Thomas's, a few days before poor
Captain Peake lost his life on his own quarter-deck bravely fighting for
his country on the coast of Guiana.