The journey over was probably the roughest part. On the boat, there were several ways to travel. The poorest of the people had to travel in the cargo hold jam packed with dozens of others. Compared to this, we traveled in relative comfort, sharing a small room with eight others. We could not bring much food with us; hunger was a constant companion.
Finally, we made it to America. It seemed better than a dream. Most importantly, we needed to eat. One of our roommates on the ship knew a few people and told us he could find us work. We followed him to a community outside New York. He got my wife some work with a baker and his wife, and he got me some work with a cabinet-maker, planing wood. Not the greatest job, but I hear it could have been much worse.
Anyway, we worked for about two months, saving a little money each day, until we had enough to go out on our own. We left for a city called Milwaukee, on the Great Lakes. We took the money left and bought what we needed to set up a small brewery. Now we're making a decent living, I've even seen a few old friends out here, like Martin Schlitz. Well, it's getting pretty late, so I'll wrap up this letter.