At Javita we had the pleasure of meeting a cultured, reasonable monk. We had to stay in his house the four or five days it took to carry our canoe along the Pimichín portage. Delay allowed us to visit the region, as well as rid us of an irritation that had been annoying us for the last two days: an intense itching in the articulations of our fingers and the backs of our hands. The missionary said this came from aradores (literally, 'ploughers') encrusted under our skin. With the aid of a magnifying glass we saw only lines, or whitish parallel furrows, which show why it is called an arador. The monks called for a mulatta who knew how to deal with all the little insects that burrow into human skin, from niguas, nuches and coyas to the arador. She was the curandera, the local doctor. She promised to remove all the insects irritating us, one by one. She heated the tip of a little stick on the fire and dug it into the furrows in our skin. After a long examination she announced, with that pedantic gravity peculiar to colored people, that she had found an arador. I saw a little round bag that could have been the egg of the acaride. I should have been relieved when this clumsy mulatta poked out three or four more of these aradores. But as my skin was full of acarides I lost all patience with an operation that had already lasted until well into the night. The next day a Javita Indian cured us incredibly quickly. He brought a branch of a shrub called uzao, which had little shiny leathery leaves similar to the cassia. With its bark he prepared a cold bluish infusion that smelled of liquorice. When he beat it it became very frothy. Thanks to a washing with this uzao infusion the itching caused by the aradores disappeared. We were never able to find flowers or fruit of this uzao; the shrub seemed to belong to the leguminous family. We dreaded the pain caused by these aradores so much that we took various branches with us right up to San Carlos.

We embarked at dawn hoping to cross the Gulf of Cariaco in a day. The sea is no rougher than any of our great lakes when a breeze blows. From the Cumanà wharf the distance is only 3 leagues. Leaving the small town of Cariaco behind us we went west towards the Carenicuar river, which, straight as an artificial canal, runs through gardens and cotton plantations. On the banks of the river we saw Indian women washing clothes with the fruit of the parapara (Sapindus saponaria). They say that this is very rough on their hands. The bark of this fruit gives a strong lather, and the fruit is so elastic that when thrown on to stone it bounces three or four times to the height of 6 feet. Being round, it is also used to make rosaries.

Such considerations have guided my researches, and were always present in my mind as I prepared for the journey. When I began to read the many travel books, which form such an interesting branch of modern literature, I regretted that previous learned travelers seldom possessed a wide enough knowledge to avail themselves of what they saw. It seemed to me that what had been obtained had not kept up with the immense progress of several sciences in the late eighteenth century, especially geology, the history and modifications of the atmosphere, and the physiology of plants and animals. Despite new and accurate instruments I was disappointed, and most scientists would agree with me, that while the number of precise instruments multiplied we were still ignorant of the height of so many mountains and plains; of the periodical oscillations of the aerial oceans; the limit of perpetual snow under the polar caps and on the borders of the torrid zones; the variable intensity of magnetic forces; and many equally important phenomena.

When one knows how unreliable the maps of America are, and when one has closely seen these uncultivated lands between the Jupura, the Río Negro, the Madeira, the Ucayale, the Branco river and the Cayenne coast that have been seriously disputed in Europe until today, one is surprised how these litigations over who owns few square leagues have so perseveringly dragged on.

All I could say about our journey from Esmeralda to the mouth of the Atabapo would be merely a list of rivers and uninhabited places. From the 24th to the 27th of May we slept only twice on land; the first at the confluence with the Jao river and the second below the Santa Barbara mission on Minisi island. As the Orinoco has no shoals the Indian pilot let the canoe drift all night with the current. It took us only thirty-five hours to reach Santa Barbara. The Santa Barbara mission is located a little to the west of the mouth of the Venturari river. We found in this small village of 120 inhabitants some traces of industry; but what the Indians produce is of little use to them; it is reserved for the monks or, as they say, for the church and the convent. We were told that a great silver lamp, bought at the expense of the neophytes, was expected from Madrid. Let us hope that after this lamp arrives they will think of clothing the Indians, buying them agricultural instruments, and schooling their children. The few oxen in the savannahs round the mission are not used to turn the mill (trapiche) to crush the juice from the sugar cane. This the Indians do and, as happens whenever Indians work for the church, they are not paid.