Between Madeira and the African coast we were almost becalmed, which suited me perfectly as I could carry out my magnetic experiments. We nevertired of admiring the magnificent nights; nothing approaches the clarityand serenity of the African sky. We were struck by the extraordinary numberof shooting stars that crossed the night sky. The further south we advanced, the more we saw, especially nearthe Canary Islands. When we were about 40 leagues east of Madeira, a commonswallow (Hirundo rustica) landed on the topmast. It was so exhaustedwe easily caught it. What drives a bird so far off its course at such a calm time of year?

I use the word 'savage' grudgingly because it implies a cultural difference between the tamed Indians living in missions and the free ones, which belies the facts. In the South American jungles there are Indian tribes who live peacefully in villages under their chiefs, who cultivate banana trees, cassava and cotton in large areas of land, and weave their hammocks with cotton fibers. They are not more barbarous than the naked Indians of the missions who have learned to make the sign of the cross. In Europe it is a common fallacy to assume that all Indians who are not tamed are nomadic hunters. In Terra Firma agriculture was known long before the arrival of the Europeans, and today is still practiced between the Orinoco and Amazon rivers in jungle clearings never visited by missionaries. What the missionaries have achieved is to have increased the Indians' attachment to owning land, their desire for secure dwelling places, and their taste for more peaceful lives. It would be accepting false ideas about the actual condition of South American Indians to assume that 'Christian', tamed' and 'civilized' were synonymous with 'pagan', 'savage' and free'. The tamed Indian is often as little a Christian as the free Indian is an idolater. Both, caught up in the needs of the moment, betray a marked indifference for religious sentiments, and a secret tendency to worship nature and her powers.

In the Turbaco forest, full of palm trees, there is a clearing about 800 square feet in size without any vegetation, bordered by tufts of Bromelia kavatas, whose leaf is like a pineapple's. The surface of the ground was composed of layers of cracked grey-black clay. What they call volcancitos are fifteen to twenty small truncated cones rising in the middle of the clearing. They are some 3 to 4 toises high. The high edges are filled with water and they periodically release large air bubbles. I counted five explosions in two minutes. The force of the rising air makes you think of a powerful pressure deep in the earth. Indian children who came with us helped us block some of the smaller craters with clay, but : gas always pushed the earth away. According to the Indians the number and shape of the cones near the path had not changed for over twenty years, and they remain full of water even in droughts. The heat of the water was the same as that of the air. With long sticks we could reach some 6 to 7 feet down inside a cone. Leaving the water in a glass it became quite clear, and tasted slightly of alum.

After two hours' navigation we reached the mouth of the Tomo and the small mission of Davipe, founded in 1755 by an army lieutenant, and not by monks. Father Morillo, the missionary on the spot, with whom we stayed a few hours, received us with great hospitality, and even offered us some Madeira wine. As far as luxury foods go we would have preferred wheat bread; the absence of bread is felt far more over a long time than any alcoholic drink. Every now and then the Portuguese bring small quantities of Madeira wine to the Río Negro. But the word madera in Spanish means 'wood', so some monks, poorly versed in geography, were reluctant to celebrate mass with Madeira wine; they took it for a fermented liquor from some local tree, like palm-tree wine, and asked the superior of their order to decide if the vino de Madera was in fact a wine made from grapes or the sweet juice from a tree (de algún palo). Already, from the beginning of the conquest, the question of whether priests could celebrate mass with another fermented liquor similar to wine had been raised. The question, predictably, was decided negatively.

The missionary in San Fernando was an Aragonese Capuchin, well advanced in years but very strong and lively. His obesity, his good humor and his interest in battles and sieges contradicted the ideas held in northern countries concerning the melancholic reveries and contemplative life of missionaries. Though extremely busy organizing the slaughter of a cow for the following day he received us good-naturedly, and let us hang our hammocks in a gallery of his house. Sitting in his redwood armchair most of the day without doing anything, he complained of what he called the laziness and ignorance of his countrymen. He asked us thousands of questions about the real purpose of our journey, which to him seemed hazardous and quite useless. Here, as on the Orinoco, we grew weary of the lively curiosity manifested by Europeans in the middle of American jungles for the wars and political storms in the Old World.

April 13th. Early in the morning we passed the Tabaje rapids and landed again. Father Zea, who accompanied us, wanted to say mass in the new San Borja mission established two years before. We found six huts inhabited by uncatechized Indians. They were no different from wild Indians. Only their large black eyes showed more liveliness than those living in older missions. They refused our brandy without even trying it. The young girls had their faces marked with round black spots. The rest of their bodies were not painted. Some of the men had beards, and they seemed proud. Holding our chins they showed through signs that they were made like us. I was again struck by how similar all the Orinoco Indians are. Their look is somber and sad, not hard or ferocious. Without any notions about the practices of the Christian religion they behaved quite decently in the church. Indians like representations; they submit themselves momentarily to any nuisance provided they are sure of being stared at. Just before the moment of communion they make signs to show that the priest was about to bring the chalice to his lips. Apart from this gesture they stay immobile, in their imperturbable apathy.

In the Pararuma camp we saw for the first time some live animals that we had only previously seen stuffed in European cabinets. Missionaries trade with these little animals. They exchange tobacco, a resin called mani, chica pigment, gallitos (cock-of-the-rocks), titi monkeys, capuchin monkeys, and other monkeys appreciated on the coast, for cloth, nails, axes, hooks and needles. These Orinoco animals are bought at disgustingly low prices from the Indians who live in the monks' missions. These same Indians then have to buy from the monks at very high prices what they need for fishing and farming with the money they get from the egg harvest. We bought various little animals, which travelled with us for the rest of our voyage up river, enabling us to study their way of life.