For the past year so many obstacles had crossed my path that I couldhardly believe that at last my innermost desires would be fulfilled. Weleft Madrid in the middle of May and crossed Old Castile and the kingdomsof Le-n and Galicia to La Coruña, where we were to embark for the island of Cuba. The winter had been long and hard but now, duringour journey, we enjoyed the mild temperatures of spring that in the southusually begin in March or April. Snow still covered the tall granitic peaksof the Guadarrama but in the deep Galician valleys, which reminded me of the picturesque scenery ofSwitzerland and the Tyrol, the rocks were covered in flowering cistus andarborescent heaths. The traveler is happy to quit the Castilian plainsdevoid of vegetation and their intense winter cold and summers of oppressive heat.

After the blacks I was interested in the number of white criollos, who I call Hispano-Americans, (70) and those whites horn in Europe. It is difficult to find exact figures for such a delicate issue. People in the New World, as in the Old, hate population censuses because they think they are being carried out to increase taxation. The number of white criollos may reach some 200, to 210, people. (71)

The last days of our crossing were not as peaceful as the mild climate and calm ocean had led us to hope. We were not disturbed by the dangers of the deep, but by the presence of a malignant fever that developed as we approached the West Indies. Between the overcrowded decks the heat was unbearable; the thermometer stayed at 36'C. Two sailors, several passengers and, strangely, two blacks from the Guinean coast and a mulatto child were attacked by an illness that threatened to turn into an epidemic. The symptoms were not as serious in all the sick; but some of them, even among the most robust, became delirious on the second day and lost all body strength. With that indifference which on passenger ships affects everything that is not to do with the ship's movements and speed, the captain did not for a moment think of applying the simplest remedies. He did not fumigate. A phlegmatic and ignorant Galician surgeon prescribed bleedings, attributing the fever to what he called the heat and corruption of blood. There was not an ounce of quinine on board and we, on boarding, had forgotten to bring a supply, more concerned for our instruments than for our health as we had not predicted that a Spanish ship would be without this Peruvian bark febrifuge.

Our eyes were fixed on groups of coconut trees that bordered the river whose trunks, which were more than sixty feet high, dominated the landscape. The plain was covered with thickets of cassia, capers and arborescent mimosa, which, similar to Italian pines, spread their branches out like parasols. The pinnated leaves of the palms stood out against the blue sky, in which there was not a trace of mist. The sun was climbing rapidly towards its zenith; a dazzling light spread through the atmosphere on to the whitish hills covered in cylindrical cacti, as well as the becalmed sea and the shores populated with pelicans (Pelicanus fuscus, Linn.), flamingos and herons. The intense luminosity of the day, the vivid colors and forms of the vegetation, the variegated plumage of the birds, all bore the grand seal of tropical nature.

We had left doubled the northern cape of Tobago and the small island of Saint Giles when the look-out pointed out the presence of an enemy squadron. We immediately changed course and the passengers began to fret as many of them had invested small fortunes in goods to sell in the Spanish colonies. The squadron did not appear to move and soon we saw that the look-out had confused ships with an isolated reef.

Under such favorable circumstances, and crossing regions long unknown to most European nations, including Spain itself, Bonpland and I collected a considerable number of materials, which when published may throw light on the history of nations, and on our knowledge about nature. Our research developed in so many unpredictable directions that we could not include everything in the form of a travel journal, and have therefore placed our observations in a series of separate works.

On the morning of the 19th of June we caught sight of the point of Naga, but the Pico de Teide remained invisible. Land stood out vaguely because a thick fog effaced the details. As we approached the natural bay of Santa Cruz we watched the mist, driven by wind, draw near. The sea was very rough, as it usually is in this place. After much sounding we anchored. The fog was so thick that visibility was limited to a few cables' length. Just as we were about to fire the customary salute the fog suddenly dissipated and the Pico de Teide appeared in a clearing above the clouds, illuminated by the first rays of sun, which had not reached us yet. We rushed to the bow of the corvette not to miss this marvelous spectacle, but at that very same moment we saw four English warships hove to near our stern, not far out in the open sea. We had passed them closely by in the thick fog that had prevented us from seeing the peak, and had thus been saved from the danger of being sent back to Europe. It would have been distressing for naturalists to have seen the Tenerife coasts from far off and not to have been able to land on soil crushed by volcanoes. We quickly weighed anchor and the Pizarro approached the fort as closely as possible to be under its protection. Here, two years before in an attempted landing, Admiral Nelson lost his arm to a cannon-ball. The English ships left the bay; a few days earlier they had chased the packet-boat Alcudia, which had left La Coruìa just before we did. It had been forced into Las Palmas harbor, and several passengers were captured while being transferred to Santa Cruz in a launch.