Further to the south-west the soil turns dry and sandy. We climbed a relatively high range that separates the coast from the great plains or savannahs bordering the Orinoco. That section of the mountains through which the road to Cumanacoa leads is devoid of vegetation and falls steeply both to the south and north. It has been called Imposible because this impenetrable mountain ridge would offer a refuge to the inhabitants of Cumanà during a hostile invasion. We reached the top just before sunset. I scarcely had the time to take a few horary angles with my chronometer to calculate the geographic longitude of the place.

The chemical operation, whose importance is exaggerated by the master of the curare, seemed to us very simple. The bejuco used to make the poison in Esmeralda has the same name as in the Javita jungles. It is the bejuco de mavacure, which is found in abundance east of the mission on the left bank of the Orinoco. Although the bundles of bejuco that we found in the Indian's hut were stripped of leaves, there was no doubt that they came from the same plant of the Strychnos genus that we examined in the Pimichin jungles. They use either fresh mavacure or mavacure that has been dried for several weeks. The sap of a recently cut liana is not considered as poisonous; perhaps it only really works when it is very concentrated. The bark and part of the sapwood contain this terrible poison. With a knife they grate some mavacure branches; the bark is crushed and reduced to thin filaments with a stone like those used to make cassava flour. The poisonous sap is yellow, so all this matter takes on that color. It is thrown into a funnel some 9 inches high and 4 inches wide. Of all the instruments in the Indian's laboratory, this funnel is the one he was most proud of. He several times asked if por alla (over there, in Europe) we had seen anything comparable to his embudo. It was a banana leaf rolled into a trumpet shape, and placed into another rolled trumpet made of palm leaves; this apparatus was held up by a scaffolding made of palm-leaf stalks. You begin by making a cold infusion, pouring water on the fibrous matter that is the crushed bark of the mavacure. A yellow water filters through the leafy funnel, drop by drop. This filtered water is the poisonous liquid; but it becomes strong only when concentrated through evaporation, like molasses, in wide clay vessels. Every now and then the Indian asked us to taste the liquid. From its bitterness you judge whether the heated liquid has gone far enough. There is nothing dangerous about this as curare only poisons when it comes into contact with blood. The steam rising from the boiler is not noxious, whatever the Orinoco missionaries might say.

The climate of these mountains is so mild that at the Cocollar farm cotton trees, coffee trees and even sugar cane grow with ease. The Turimiquiri meadows lose their richness the higher they are. Wherever scattered rocks cast shade, lichen and various European mosses grow. Melastoma guacito (Melastoma xanthostachyum) and a shrub (Palicourea rigida, chaparro bova) whose large, leathery leaves rustle like parchment in the breeze rise here and there on the savannah. But the main attraction in the grass is a liliaceous plant with a golden-yellow flower, the Marica martinicensis.

It is well established in the missions that there is no cure for curare that is fresh and concentrated and that has remained long enough in the wound for it to enter the bloodstream. Indians who have been wounded in wars by arrows dipped in curare described to us symptoms that resembled those of snake bites. The individual feels a congestion in his head, and giddiness makes him sit down. He feels nausea, vomits several times, and is tortured by thirst as the area around his wound becomes numb.

The Catuaro mission is situated in a very wild place. The church is surrounded by tall trees. At night jaguars hunt the Indians' chickens and pigs. We lodged in the priest's house, a monk of the Observance congregation, to whom the Capuchins had given this mission because they did not have enough priests in their own community. He was a doctor in theology, a little, dried-up and petulant man. He entertained us with stories about the trial he had had with the superior of his convent, with the enmity of his brothers and the injustice of the alcaldes, who, ignoring his privileges, once threw him in jail. Despite these set-backs he had conserved an unfortunate liking for what he called metaphysical questions. He wanted to know what I thought of free will, of how to raise the soul from the prison of the body, and, above all, about animal souls. When you have crossed a jungle in the rainy season you do not feel like these kind of speculations. Besides, everything about this little Catuaro mission was odd, even the priest's house. It had two floors, and had become the object of a keen rivalry between secular and ecclesiastical authorities. The priest's superior found it too luxurious for a missionary; and wanted the Indians to demolish it; the governor opposed this strongly, and his will prevailed.

The look of the sky, the movement of electricity, and the downpour of the 28th March announced the start of the rainy season: we were still advised to go to San Fernando de Apure by San Francisco de Capanaparo, along the Sinaruco river and the San Antonio hato to the Otomac village recently founded on the banks of the Meta river, and to embark on the Orinoco a little above Carichana. This land road crosses an unhealthy, fever-ridden country. An old farmer, Don Francisco Sanchez, offered to lead us. His clothes revealed how simply people live in these far-off countries. He had made a fortune of 100, piastres yet he rode on horseback barefoot with large silver spurs. We knew from several weeks' experience how sad and monotonous the llanos are and so we chose the longer route along the Apure river to the Orinoco. We chose one of the long pirogues that the Spaniards call lanchas. A pilot and four Indians were sufficient to drive it. On the poop a cabin covered with corypha leaves was built in a few hours. It was so spacious that it could have held a table and benches. They used oxhides stretched and nailed to frames of Brazil-wood. I mention these minute details to prove that our life on the Apure river was very different from the time when we were reduced to the narrow Orinoco canoes. We packed the pirogue with provisions for a month. You find plenty of hens, eggs, bananas, cassava and cacao at San Fernando. The good Capuchin monk gave us sherry, oranges and tamarinds to make fresh juices. We could easily tell that a roof made of palm leaves would heat up excessively on the bed of a large river where we would be always exposed to the sun's perpendicular rays. The Indians relied less on our supplies than on their hooks and nets. We also brought some weapons along, whose use was common as far as the cataracts. Further south the extreme humidity prevents missionaries from using guns. The Apure river teems with fish, manatees (91) and turtles whose eggs are more nourishing than tasty. The river banks are full of birds, including the pauxi and guacharaca, that could be called the turkey and pheasant of this region. Their flesh seemed harder and less white than our European gallinaceous family as they use their muscles more. We did not forget to add to our provisions fishing tackle, firearms and a few casks of brandy to use as exchange with the Orinoco Indians.