Our delightful visit at Magoary had incited a desire for further adventure, and, ere a week had elapsed after our return, we were preparing to visit Caripé. Profiting by past experience, we secured a small canoe, having, instead of a cabin, merely an arched covering towards the stern, denominated a tolda, and affording sufficient shelter for short voyages. This was manned by two stout negroes. Caripé is nearly opposite Pará, distant about thirty miles, but separated by many intervening islands. Among these, thirty miles may be a short distance or a very long one, as the tides favour; for there are so many cross currents running in every direction, that it requires great care to avoid being compelled to anchor and lose much time. As to pulling against the tide, which rushes along with a six-mile velocity, it is next to impossible.

We left Pará at midnight, two hours before low tide; and, falling down about eight miles, received the advancing flood, which swiftly bore us on its bosom. There were two others of our party besides A — and myself; and one taking the helm, the rest of us stretched our toughening bodies upon the platform under the tolda, determined to make a night of it.

Morning dawned, and we were winding, in a narrow channel, among the loveliest islands that eye ever rested on. They sat upon the water like living things; their green drapery dipping beneath the surface, and entirely concealing the shore.