Early the next morning, Sunday, December 1st, we engaged two Cioni boatmen for our canoe, as did Materón for his; and, after constructing a platform of split bamboo to put in the bottom of the boat in order to prevent our effects from becoming damp, we began loading our little craft with its miscellaneous cargo. In accordance with Materón's advice, we determined to stow away our trunks, books, and engineering instruments in the most inaccessible part of the canoe, while our food and the Indian trading stuff, as well as our arms, should occupy such parts as to render them quickly getatable. After a good deal of shifting about and changing, we succeeded in getting everything more or less as we desired it, and were by ten o'clock ready to start. Thinking that this was an occasion worthy of a little celebration, Materón, Perkins, and myself then proceeded to lessen the contents of our barrel of _aguardiente_ by a good drink each, after which we called up the Indian boatmen and, one by one, gave them a good bracer also, which they swallowed with great solemnity. Then we got in the little space that had been reserved for us in the middle of the canoe--for the cargo was stowed fore and aft as much as possible--and gave the signal to begin the journey. Materón had already informed us that the first couple of days' journey was somewhat dangerous, on account of the swift, roaring current, the powerful whirlpools, and the numerous stumps and logs that stud the whole course of the river; but we did not fully realise it until the canoe, shooting out into the middle of the stream, was caught by the current, almost before it could be turned bow foremost, and dashed with sickening speed among the stumps and logs that loomed up on every side. We soon perceived, however, that our Cionis were used to their job, for they guided the flying canoe with the greatest skill as it continued its wild progress down the swift-running river. One of them, the _popero_, or pilot, always sits on the high, narrow seat in the stern, and, paddle in hand, steers the canoe and from time to time directs the manoeuvres of the other, known as the _puntero_, who generally stands in the bow and calls out the obstacles, such as logs, stumps, &c., to the _popero_, in case the latter cannot see them from where he is seated. In descending a river one _puntero_ is sufficient, for the canoe is generally carried along rapidly enough by the current, and all the _bogas_[74] have to do is to keep the craft from striking against obstacles and from being thrust by the strong currents sometimes encountered into the unpleasant and often dangerous _remolinos_ or whirlpools.