The word 'Guaiqueri', like the words 'Peru' and 'Peruvian', owes its origin to a simple mistake. When Christopher Columbus's companions reached Margarita Island, on whose northern tip these Indians still live, they found several Indians fishing with harpoons, throwing these sharp-pointed sticks tied with string at the fish. Columbus's men asked the Indians in the Haitian language what their name was, but the Indians thought the foreigners referred to their harpoons made of the hard and heavy wood of the macana palm and answered: 'Guaike, guaike', meaning 'pointed stick'. These Guaiqueri are an intelligent and civilized tribe of fishermen, notably different from the wild Guarano from the Orinoco who build their houses up in the mauritia palm trees.

We left Caracas on the 7th of February, on a fresh afternoon, ready to begin our journey to the Orinoco. The memory of this period is today more painful than it was years ago. In those remote countries our friends have lost their lives in the bloody revolutions that gave them freedom and then alternatively deprived them of it. (76) The house where we lived is now a heap of rubble. Terrible earthquakes have transformed the shape of the ground; the city I described has disappeared. On the same spot, on the fissured ground, another city is slowly being built. The ruins, tombs for a large population, have already turned into shelter for human beings.

Because there are no records kept in Cumana, and thanks to the persistent destructive activity of the termites, the white ants, no documents older than 150 years remain in the archives, thus making it hard to know the exact dates for the earlier earthquakes. We know only that 1766 was most fatal for the settlers and most remarkable for the natural history of the country. There had been a drought for over fifteen months when on the 21st of October 1766 the city of Cumana was completely destroyed. Every year that date is celebrated by a religious service and a solemn procession. All the houses collapsed in a few minutes, and every hour for fourteen months tremors were felt. In several areas in the province the earth opened up and vomited out sulphurous water. During 1766 and 1767 the Cumana inhabitants camped out in the streets and began rebuilding only when the tremors slowed down to a few a month. While the earth continually rocked it felt as if the air was about to dissolve into water. Formidable rainstorms swelled the river; the year was extraordinarily fertile, and the Indians, whose frail shacks survive the most violent earthquakes, celebrated with dances of joy following an ancient superstition about the destruction of the old world and the birth of a new one.

Santa Cruz, the Aìaza of the Guanches, is a pretty town of some 8, people. I was not struck by the vast number of monks that travelers always find in the Spanish possessions, nor shall I bother to describe the churches, the Dominican library with its meager 200 tomes; nor the quay where people meet in the evening to enjoy the fresh air, nor the famous 30-foot-high monument in Cararra marble dedicated to Our Lady of Candelaria in memory of the virgin's miraculous appearance in 1392 in Chimisay, near Güimar. The port of Santa Cruz is in fact a great caravanserai on the route to America and India. Every traveler who writes his adventures begins by describing Madeira and Tenerife, though the natural history of these islands remains quite unknown.

The sea coast is fringed with date and coconut palms; above them groups of banana trees stand out from the dragon trees whose trunks are often rightly compared to snakes' bodies. The hills are covered in vines, which grow over high stakes. Orange trees loaded with blossom, myrtle and cypress surround chapels raised devotedly by the islanders on cleared hilltops. Land is divided by hedges made of agave and cactus. Innumerable cryptogamous plants, predominantly fern, cover the walls moistened by small clear-water springs. In winter when the volcano is covered with snow and ice this place enjoys an eternal spring. In summer, as the evening falls, a sea breeze freshens the air. The coastal population is very dense and appears to be even greater because the houses and gardens are scattered, increasing the picturesque aspect. Unhappily, the wealth of the inhabitants does not correspond with hard work or with nature's richness. Those who work the land are not its owners; the fruit of their labor belongs to the nobility and the feudal system that for so long was the shame of Europe and still prevents the people's progress here.

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 La Venta the road to Caracas rises another 150 toises to El Guayabo, the highest point; but I continued to use the barometer until we reached the small fort of Cuchilla. As I did not have a pass - for over five years I only needed it once, when I first disembarked - I was nearly arrested at an artillery post. To placate the angry soldiers I transformed the height of the mountains into Spanish varas. They were not particularly interested in this, and if I had anyone to thank for my release it was an Andalusian who became very friendly the moment I told him that the Sierra Nevada of his home were far higher than any of the mountains around Caracas.