In the evening we passed the mouth of the Cano del Manati, named after the immense amount of manatees caught there every year. This herbivorous animal of the Cetacea family is called by the Indians apcia and avia, and reaches 10 to 12 feet long. The manatee is plentiful in the Orinoco. We dissected one that was 9 feet long while at Carichana, an Orinocan mission. The manatee eats so much grass that we found its stomach, divided into several cavities, and its intestines (108 feet long) filled with it. Its flesh is very savory, though some prejudice considers it to be unwholesome and fever-producing. Its flesh when dried can last for a year. The clergy consider this mammal a fish, so they eat it at Lent.

The way Havana looks as you enter the port makes it one of the most pleasant and picturesque places on the American equinoctial coasts. (136) Celebrated by travelers from all over the world, this site is not like the luxurious vegetation along the Guayaquil banks, nor the wild majesty of Río de Janeiro's rocky coasts, but the charms that in our climates embellish cultivated nature are here joined to the power and organic vigor of tropical nature. In this sweet blend of impressions, the European forgets the dangers that threaten him in crowded West Indian cities; he tries to seize all the diverse elements in this vast countryside and contemplate the forts that crown the rocks to the east of the port, the inland basin surrounded by villages and farms, the palm trees reaching amazing heights, a town half hidden by a forest of ships' masts and sails. You enter Havana harbor between the Morro fort (Castillo de los Santos Reyes) and the San Salvador de la Punta fort: the opening is barely some 170 to 200 toises wide, and remains like this for one fifth of a mile. Leaving this neck, and the beautiful San Carlos de la Cabaìa castle and the Casa Blanca to the north, you reach the basin shaped like a clover whose great axis, stretching south-south-west to north-north-east, is about 2. miles long. This basin links up with three creeks, one of which, the Atares, is supplied with fresh water. The city of Havana, surrounded by walls, forms a promontory limited to the south by the arsenal; to the north by the Punta fort. Passing some sunken ships, and the Luz shoals, the water becomes some 5 to 6 fathoms deep. The castles defend the town from the west. The rest of the land is filled with suburbs (arrabales or barrios extra muros), which year by year shrink the Field of Mars (Campo de Marte). Havana's great buildings, the cathedral, the Casa del Gobierno, the admiral's house, the arsenal, the correo or post office, and the tobacco factory are less remarkable for their beauty than for their solidity; most of the streets are very narrow and are not yet paved. As stones come from Veracruz, and as transporting them is expensive, someone had recently come up with the strange idea of using tree trunks instead of paving-stones. This project was quickly abandoned, though recently arrived travelers could see fine cahoba (mahogany) tree trunks sunk into the mud. During my stay, few cities in Spanish America could have been more unpleasant due to the lack of a strong local government. You walked around in mud up to your knees, while the amount of four-wheeled carriages or volantes so typical of Havana, carts loaded with sugar cane, and porters who elbowed passers-by made being a pedestrian annoying and humiliating. The stench of tasajo, or poorly dried meat, stank out the houses and tortuous streets. I have been assured that the police have now remedied these inconveniences, and cleaned up the streets. Houses are more aerated; but here, as in ancient European cities, correcting badly planned streets is a slow process.

We were forced to cut our own track across the malpaís. The slope is very steep, and the volcanic blocks slipped under our feet. The rubble on the peak's summit has sharp edges and leaves gaps into which explorers risk falling up to their waists. Unfortunately the laziness and bad temper of our guides made this ascent more difficult. They were despairingly phlegmatic. The night before they had tried to convince us not to pass beyond the limit of the rocks. Every ten minutes they would sit down to rest; they threw away pieces of obsidian and pumice-stone that we had carefully collected. Finally we realized that none of them had ever visited the volcano's summit before.

We spent the night on Isla Conserva. The Indians had lit a camp-fire near the water. Again we confirmed that the glow of the flames attracted crocodiles and dolphins (toninas) whose noise stopped us sleeping until we decided to put the fire out. That night we had to get up twice. I mention this as an example of what it means to live in the jungle. A female jaguar approached our camp-site when it brought a cub to drink water. The Indians chased it away, but we heard its cub's cries, like a cat's, for hours. A little later our large dog was bitten, or stung as the Indians say, by some enormous bats (94) that flew around our hammocks. The wound in its snout was tiny and the dog howled more from fear than pain.

The llaneros, or inhabitants of the llanos (plains), send their products maize, hides and cattle - to Cumanà harbor by the road over Imposible. We saw Indians or mulattos with mules coming towards us, rapidly moving in single file.

At dawn on the 16th of July 1799 we saw the green, picturesque coast. The mountains of Nueva Andalucia, hidden in clouds, bordered the horizon. The city of Cumana, with its fort, stood in coconut groves. At nine in the morning, after forty-one days at sea, we anchored in the harbor. The sick crawled on deck to comfort themselves with the vision of a land where they hoped they would be cured.