The Maypures cataracts (105) appear like a cluster of little waterfalls following each other, as if falling down steps. The raudal, the name given by Spaniards to these kind of cataracts, is made up of a veritable archipelago of small islands and rocks which narrow the river so thoroughly that there is often less than 18 to 21 feet for boats to navigate through.

These scattered features of the countryside, this trait of solitude and grandeur, characterizes the course of the Orinoco, one of the greatest New World rivers. Everywhere water, like land, displays its unique characteristics. The Orinoco bed has no similarities with the Meta, Guaviare, Río Negro or Amazon beds. These differences do not depend solely on the width or speed of the current; they derive from a combination of relations easier to grasp on the spot than to define precisely. In the same way, the shape of the waves, the color of the water, the kind of sky and clouds, all help a navigator guess whether he is in the Atlantic, the Mediterranean or in the equinoctial part of the Pacific.

Near San Fernando the evaporation caused by the sun's rays was so intense that, although lightly dressed, we soon became as soaked as if we had had a steam bath. Along the road a kind of bamboo (Bambusa gadua) (46) that the Indians call iagua or gadua grows to a height of some 40 feet. It is hard to imagine anything more elegant than this arborescent grass. The form and disposition of its leaves give it a lightness that contrasts agreeably with its height. The smooth and shiny trunks of the iagua generally lean towards the river banks, swaying at the slightest breeze. However tall canes (Arundo donax) may grow in southern Europe they cannot compare with the arborescent grasses; and if I dare resort to my own experience I would say that the bamboo and fern tree are, of all tropical vegetation, what strikes the traveler's imagination most.

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 I first traveled the high plateaux towards Caracas I met many travellers resting mules at the small inn of Guayabo. They lived in Caracas, and were arguing over the uprising that had recently taken place concerning the independence of the country. Joseph Espaìa had died on the scaffold. (68) The excitement and bitterness of these people, who should have agreed on such questions, surprised me. While they argued about the hate mulattos have for freed blacks, about the wealth of monks, and the difficulties of owning slaves, a cold wind, which seemed to blow down from La Silla, enveloped us in a thick mist and ended the animated discussion. Once inside the inn, an old man who before had spoken with great equanimity, said to the others that it was unwise to deal with political matters at a time when spies could be lurking around, as much in the mountains as in the cities. These words, spoken in the emptiness of the sierra, deeply impressed me; I was to hear them often during our journeys.

Our first excursion to the Araya peninsula was followed by another more important and instructive one to the mountain missions of the Chaima Indians. Such a variety of objects attracted our attention. We found ourselves in a country bristling with forests on our way to visit a convent shaded by palm trees and arborescent ferns in a narrow valley which was deliciously fresh, despite being in the middle of the torrid zone. In the surrounding mountains there are eaves inhabited by thousands of nocturnal birds; and, what struck our imagination more than all the marvels of the physical world, even further up we found a people until recently still nomadic, hardly free from a natural, wild state, but not barbarians, made stupid more from ignorance than from long years of being brutalized. What we knew about history increased our interest in these people. The promontory of Paria was what Columbus first saw of this continent; these valleys ended there, devastated first by the warlike, cannibalistic Caribs, then by the mercantile and orderly European nations. If the Spaniards visited these shores it was only to get, either by violence or exchange, slaves, pearls, gold and dye-woods; they tried to dignify their motives for such an insatiable greed with the pretence of religious zeal.

After answering tiresome questions about political events from those who came on board, we landed. The boat was straightaway sent back to the ship in case the surf, which in this bay is dangerous, should crush it against the wharf. Our attention was first caught by a tall woman, of a brownish complexion and badly dressed, called the capitana. She was followed by several other women, equally badly dressed. They tried to board the Pizarro but were refused. In this harbor, frequented by Europeans, licentiousness seems to be quite ordered. The capitana is chosen by her companions, she ensures that no injuries are done to sailors, and then sends them back on board at the tight time. Officers seek her out if they think one of their crew might be hiding on land to desert later.