It was on the last day of August, 1850, at about two o'clock on a fine bright afternoon, that I bade adieu to Barra, looking forward with hope and expectation to the distant and little-known regions I was now going to visit. I found our canoe a tolerably roomy one, it being about thirty-five feet long and seven broad. The after-part had a rough deck, made of split palm-stems, covered with a tolda, or semicircular roof, high enough to sit up comfortably within it, and well thatched with palm-leaves. A part of the front opening was stopped up on each side, leaving a doorway about three feet wide. The forepart was covered with a similar tolda, but much lower, and above it was a flat deck, formed like the other, and supported by upright poles along the sides. This is called the jangáda, or raft, and serves for the Indians to stand on, while rowing with oars formed of paddle-blades fixed to long poles. The canoe was well loaded with all the articles most desired by the semicivilized and savage inhabitants of the Upper Rio Negro. There were bales of coarse cotton cloth and of the commonest calico, of flimsy but brilliantly-coloured prints, of checked and striped cottons, and of blue or red handkerchiefs.