The pilots trusted the ship's log more than my time- keeper, and smiled at my prediction that we would soon sight land, sure that we still had two to three days of sailing. It was with great satisfaction that on the 13th, at about six in the morning, high land was seen through the mist by someone from the mast. A strong wind blew and the sea was very rough. Every now and then heavy drops of rain fell. Everything pointed to a difficult situation. The captain intended to pass through the channel that separates the islands of Tobago and Trinidad and, knowing that our corvette was slow to turn, feared the south wind and the approach to the Boca del Dragon.

The fresh north-east wind blew us at full sail towards the boca de la tortuga. At eleven in the morning we landed on an island, which the Indians of the Uruana mission regard as their own, situated in the middle of the river. This island is famous for the fishing of turtles or, as is said here, the cosecha, or annual harvest of eggs. We found a group of Indians camping in palm-leaf huts. This camp-site had over 300 people in it. As we had been used, since San Fernando de Apure, to seeing only deserted beaches, we were struck by the bustle. Apart from Guamos and Otomacs, seen as two wild and untamed tribes, there were Caribs and other Indians from the Lower Orinoco. Each tribe camped separately, and could be recognized only by the different paints on their skins. We also found, among this noisy reunion, some white men, mainly pulperos, the small traders from Angostura, who had come upstream to buy turtle-egg oil from the Indians. The Uruana missionary, from Alcalà de Henares, came to meet us, extremely surprised to see us there. After inspecting our instruments, he exaggeratedly described the hardships we would suffer going further upstream beyond the cataracts. The purpose of our journey seemed very mysterious to him. 'How is anyone to believe, he said, 'that you left your homeland to come up this river to be eaten by mosquitoes and measure lands that do not belong to you? Luckily we were armed with recommendations from the guardian father of the Franciscan missions, while the brother-in-law of the Barinas governor accompanying us soon resolved the doubts that the whites there had about our dress, accent and arrival on the island. The missionary invited us to share a frugal meal of bananas and fish with him. He told us he had come to camp with the Indians during the harvesting of the eggs 'to celebrate open-air mass every day, to get oil for the lights in his church, and above all to govern this Republica de Indios y Castellanos where individuals wanted to profit selfishly with what God had given to everybody'.

On the 7th of June we sadly left Father Ramon Bueno. Alone among all the missionaries we met he cared for the Indians. He hoped to return to Madrid to publish the result of his researches into the figures and characters that cover the Uruana rocks. In this area between the Meta, Arauca and Apure, Alonso de Herrera, during the first 1535 expedition to the Orinoco, found mute dogs (perros mudos). We cannot doubt that this dog is indigenous to South America. Different Indian languages have words for this dog that cannot be related to European languages. Early historians all speak of mute dogs, and this same dog was eaten in Mexico and on the Orinoco.

Nothing matches the difficulty that Indians have in learning Spanish. As long as they are distanced from white men they have an aversion to he called civilized Indians or, as the missions call them, indios muy latinos. But what struck me most, not only among the Chaimas, but among all the isolated missions that I later visited, was the extreme difficulty they have in coordinating and expressing the simplest ideas in Spanish, even if they know the meaning of the single words and sentences.

When we left the ravine that descends from the Imposible we entered a thick jungle cut by numerous rivers, which we easily forded. In the middle of the forest, on the banks of the Cedoìo river, as well as on the southern slopes of the Cocollar, we found wild papaw and orange trees with large, sweet fruit. These are probably the remains of some conucos, or Indian plantations, because the orange is not a native tree; neither are the banana, papaw, maize, cassava and so many other useful plants whose countries of origin are unknown, though they have accompanied man in his migrations from remotest time.

Batabanò was then a poor village, and its church had only just been finished. The ciénega begins about half a league from the village, a marsh stretching about 60 leagues from west to east. At Batabanò it is thought that the sea is encroaching on the land. Nothing is sadder than these marshes. Not even a shrub breaks the monotony; a few stunted palm trees rise like broken masts among tufts of reeds. As we stayed only one night there I regretted not being able to investigate the two species of crocodile, or cocodrilo, infesting the ciénaga. One the locals call a cayman. The crocodile is said to be very daring, and even climbs into boats when it can. It often wanders a league inland just to devour pigs. It reaches some feet long, and even chases (so they say) men on horseback, while the caymans are so shy that people can bathe in the water when they are around.