The chief of one of the pirogues offered to stay on board to guide us as a coastal pilot. He was a most trustworthy Guaiqueri; a keen observer, and led by a genuine thirst for learning he had studied the produce of the sea and land around him. It was fortunate that the first Indian we met on arrival was a man whose knowledge was to prove extremely helpful for our journey's objectives. With great pleasure I record his name as Carlos del Pino, who accompanied us for sixteen months up and down the coast, and into the interior.

At the Divina Pastora hospice the path turns to the north-east along a stretch without trees, formerly leveled by the waters. There we found not only cacti, tufts of cistus-leaved tribulus and the beautiful purple euphorbia, cultivated in Havana gardens under the odd name of Dictamno real, but also the avicennia, the allionia, the sesuvium, the thalinum and most of the portulaceous plants that grow on the banks of the Gulf of Cariaco. This geographical distribution of plants appears to designate the limits of the ancient coast and to prove that the hills along the southern side, which we were following, once formed islands separated from the continent by an arm of the sea.

The Indian pilot who had led us from San Fernando de Apure up to the Pararuma beach did not know his way through the Orinoco rapids, and no longer wanted to sail our boat. We had to accept his decision. Luckily the Carichana missionary agreed to loan us a fine pirogue quite cheaply. Father Bernardo Zea, missionary from Atures and Maypures near the Great Cataracts, even offered to accompany us himself to the Brazilian border. The number of Indians willing to carry the canoes along the cataracts was so few that without this monk's presence we risked waiting weeks in that humid and unhealthy area. Father Zea hoped to recover his health by visiting the Río Negro missions. He talked of those places with the enthusiasm that all those in the colonies feel when talking about far-off places.

In our publications Bonpland and I have considered every phenomenon under different aspects, and classed our observations according to the relations they each have with one another. To convey an idea of the method followed, I will outline what we used in order to describe the volcanoes of Antisana and Pichincha, as well as Jorullo, which on the night of the 20th of September 1759 rose 1, feet up from the plains of Mexico. We fixed the position of these remarkable mountains in longitude and latitude by astronomical observations. We took the heights of different parts with a barometer, and determined the dip of the needle and magnetic forces. We collected plants that grew on the slopes of these volcanoes, and specimens of different rocks. We found out the exact height above sea-level at which we made each collection. We noted down the humidity, the temperature, the electricity and the transparency of the air on the brinks of Pichincha and Jorullo; we drew the topographical plans and geological profiles of these volcanoes by measuring vertical bases and altitude angles. In order to judge the correctness of our calculations we have preserved all the details of our field notes.

From that high point, as far as the eye could see, there was only naked savannah; tufts of trees were scattered about in small ravines and, despite the apparent uniformity of the vegetation, we found a great number of extremely interesting plants. Here I shall limit myself to citing a magnificent lobelia with purple flowers (Lobelia speetabilis), the Brownea coccinea, which reaches almost 100 feet high, and above all the pejoa (Gaultheria odorata), famous in the country because when crushed between your fingers it gives off a delicious aroma. What enchanted us most about this solitary place was the beauty and silence of the nights. The owner stayed up with us; he seemed delighted that Europeans recently arrived in the Tropics never tired of admiring the fresh spring air enjoyed in these mountains when the sun sets.

At sunset on the 8th of June the look-out sighted from hiscrow's-nest a British convoy sailing along the coast towards thesouth-east. To avoid it we altered our course during the night. We werealso given orders not to put our lights on in the great cabin so that we would not be seen from afar. We constantly had to usedark-lanterns to make our observations of the sea's temperature, or readthe markings on our astronomical instruments. In the torrid zone, where twilight lasts a few minutes, we were condemned to inaction, insimilar circumstances, from six in the evening. For me this wasparticularly irritating as I have never suffered from seasickness and nosooner am I on board than I feel the urge towork more than ever.