The island of Lanzarote used to be called Titeroigotra. When theSpaniards arrived its inhabitants differed from those on the other islandsby their superior culture. They built their houses with cut stones whilethe Guanches of Tenerife lived in caves like troglodytes. At that time a strange custom - repeated only in Tibet- prevailed. A woman had several husbands, who each took it in turn to exercise the rights ofthe head of the family. Each husband was known as such during a lunarmonth; then another took his place while he returned to being a servant inthe house. In the fifteenth century the island of Lanzarote consisted of two states separated by a wall; a kindof monument, which outlives national enmities, found also in Scotland, Peruand China.

We spent the night of the 16th of July in the Indian village of Santa Cruz de Cachipo, founded in 1749 when several Carib families from the unhealthy, flooding Orinoco gathered together. We lodged in the missionary's house. In the parish register we discovered how rapidly the mission had progressed thanks to his zeal and intelligence. From the middle of the plains the heat had become almost unbearable so we thought of travelling by night; but we were not armed and the llanos were infested with numberless robbers who murdered all whites who fell into their hands in atrociously cunning ways. Nothing can be worse than the administration of justice in these colonies. Everywhere we found the prisons filled with criminals who had waited up to eight years for a trial. About one third escape from prison and find refuge in the llanos, where nobody but cattle live. They attack on horseback, like Bedouin Arabs. The dirt in the prisons would be intolerable if prisoners were not allowed to escape every now and then. It is also common that the death penalty cannot be carried out because there are no executioners. When this happens they pardon one of the guilty if he agrees to hang the others. Our guides told us about a zambo, famous for his violence, who, just before our arrival at Cumanà, chose to avoid his execution by turning executioner The preparations broke his will, and he was horrified at what he was about to do, preferring death to the shame of saving his own life. He asked for his irons to be put back on. He did not stay in prison much longer, as cowardice in another prisoner saw that he was executed. This awakening of honour in a murderer is psychologically very interesting. A man who has spilled so much blood robbing travelers on the steppes hesitates to inflict a punishment that he feels he himself has deserved.

April 12th. We left Carichana at about two in the afternoon and found our way obstructed with granite blocks that break the river current. We passed close to the great reef called Piedra del Tigre. The river is so deep that sounding with a line of 22 fathoms did not touch the bottom. Towards the evening the sky covered over and squalls of wind announced a coming storm. It began to pour so hard with rain that our leafy roof hardly protected us. Luckily the rain scared off the mosquitoes that had been tormenting us all day. We were opposite the Cariven cataract, and the current was so strong that we had great difficulty in reaching land. Time and time again we were pushed back to the middle of the river until two Salivas, excellent swimmers, threw themselves into the water and swam ashore, pulling the boat in until it could be tied to a rock where we spent the night. Thunder rolled all night; the river swelled under our eyes, and we often worried that the furious waves would sink our fragile boat.

Among the races making up the Venezuelan population blacks are important - seen both compassionately for their wretched state, and with fear due to possible violent uprisings - because they are concentrated in limited areas, not so much because of their total number. Of the 60, slaves in the Venezuelan provinces, 40, live in the province of Caracas. In the plains there are only some 4, to 5,000, spread around the haciendas and looking after the cattle. The number of freed slaves is very high as Spanish legislation and custom favor emancipation. A slave-owner cannot deny a slave his freedom if he can pay 300 piastres, (69) even if this would have cost the slave-owner double because of the amount of work the slave might have done.

Frightened about being exposed too long to the unhealthy Cartagena airs we moved to the Indian village of Turbaco (once called Tarasco) on the 6th of April. It is situated in a delicious place where the jungle begins some 5 leagues south-south-east of Pipa. We were happy to leave a foul inn (fonda) packed with soldiers left over from General Rochambeau's unfortunate expedition. (144) Interminable discussions about the need to be cruel to the blacks of Santo Domingo reminded me of the opinions and horrors of the sixteenth-century conquistadores. Pombo lent us his beautiful house in Turbaco, built by Archbishop Viceroy Gòngora. We stayed as long as it took us to prepare for our journey up the Magdalena, and then the long land trip from Honda to Bogotà, Popoyàn and Quito. Few stays in the Tropics have pleased me more. The village lies some 180 toises above sea-level. Snakes are very common and chase rats into the houses. They climb on to roofs and wage war with the bats, whose screaming annoyed us all night. The Indian huts covered a steep plateau so that everywhere you can view shady valleys watered by small streams. We especially enjoyed being on our terrace at sunrise and sunset as it faced the Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta, some 35 leagues distant. The snow-covered peaks probably San Lorenzo - are clearly seen from Turbaco when the wind blows and brings cooler air. Thick vegetation covers the hills and plains between the Mahates dyke and the snowy mountains: they often reminded us of the beautiful Orinoco mountains. We were surprised to find, so close to the coast in a land frequented by Europeans for over three centuries, gigantic trees belonging to completely unknown species, such as the Rhinocarpus excelsa (which the creoles call caracoli because of its spiral-shaped fruit), the Ocotea turbacensis and the mocundo or Cavanillesia platanifolia, whose large fruit resemble oiled paper lanterns hanging at the tip of each branch.

April 18th. We set off at three in the morning in order to reach the cataracts known as the Raudal de Guahibos before nightfall. We moored at the mouth of the Tomo river, and the Indians camped on the shore. At five in the afternoon we reached the raudal. It was extremely difficult to row against the current and the mass of water rushing over a bank several feet high. One Indian swam to a rock that divided the cataract in two, tied a rope to it, and began hauling our boat until, halfway up, we were able to get off with our instruments, dried plants and bare provisions. Surprisingly we found that above the natural wall over which the river fell there was a piece of dry land. Our position in the middle of the cataract was strange but without danger. Our companion, the missionary father, had one of his fever fits, and to relieve him we decided to make a refreshing drink. We had taken on board at Apures a mapire, or Indian basket, filled with sugar, lemons and grenadillas, or passion-fruit, which the Spaniards call parchas. As we had no bowl in which to mix the juices we poured river water into one of the holes in the rock with a tutuma, and then added the sugar and acid fruit juices. In a few seconds we had a wonderfully refreshing juice, almost a luxury in this wild spot, but necessity had made us more and more ingenious. After quenching our thirst we wanted to have a swim. Carefully examining the narrow rocky dyke on which we sat, we saw that it formed little coves where the water was clear and still. We had the pleasure of a quiet bathe in the midst of noisy cataracts and screaming Indians. I enter into such detail to remind those who plan to travel afar that at any moment in life pleasures can be found.

The night was very dark and it would take us two hours to reach the village of Maypures. We were soaked to the skin, and after it stopped raining the zancudos returned. My companions were undecided as to whether to camp in the harbor or walk to the village. Father Zea insisted on going to the village where, with help from Indians, he had begun to build a two-floored house. 'You will find there, he said naively, 'the same comforts as you have out of doors. There are no tables or chairs but you will suffer less from mosquitoes because in the mission they are not as shameless as down by the river. We followed the missionary's advice. He ordered torches of copal to be lit. These are tubes of bark filled with copal resin. At first we passed beds of slippery rock, then a thick palm grove. We twice had to cross streams over tree trunks. The torches burned out. They give off more smoke than light, and easily extinguish. Our companion, Don Nicolas Soto, lost his balance in the dark crossing a marsh and fell off a tree trunk. For a while we had no idea how far he had fallen, but luckily it was not far and he was not hurt. The Indian pilot, who spoke Spanish quite well, did not stop saying how easy it would be to be attacked by snakes or jaguars. This is the obligatory topic of conversation when you travel at night with Indians. They think that by frightening European travelers they will become more necessary to them, and will win their confidence.