April 24th. A violent rainstorm forced us to embark before dawn. We left at two in the morning and had to abandon some books, which we could not find in the dark. The river runs straight from south to north, its banks are low and lined with thick jungle.

At the point where the river becomes an underground cascade, the ground located near the opening is covered in greenery and looks extremely picturesque. You can see the outside from the far end of the straight gallery, some 240 toises away. Stalactites hanging from the ceiling, like floating columns, stand out from this green background. We shot our guns aimlessly in the dark wherever the screaming birds or the beating of wings made us suspect their nests lay ahead. Bonpland at last managed to kill two guàcharos dazzled by our torches. This is how I was able to sketch this bird, up to now completely unknown to naturalists. We struggled to climb the rise from which the rivulet fell. We saw that the grotto narrowed; its height shrunk to 40 feet as it followed a north-east direction, parallel to the Caripe valley.

The jungle between Javita and Caìo Pimichín holds a quantity of gigantic trees: ocoteas, laurels, curvana, jacio, iacifate, with a red wood like Brazil-wood, guamufate, the Amyris caraìa and the mani. All these trees top 100 feet. As their trunks throw out branches more than 100 feet high we had trouble getting flowers and leaves. Though the ground was strewn with foliage we could not rely on the Indians to tell us from which tree or liana they came. In the midst of such natural riches, our herborizations caused us more regret than satisfaction. What we managed to collect seemed without interest in comparison with what we might have collected. It rained without a break for several months and Bonpland lost the greater part of the specimens he had dried with artificial heat. Usually Indians name trees by chewing the bark. They distinguish leaves better than flowers or fruit. Busy in locating timber for canoes they are inattentive to flowers. 'None of those tall trees have flowers or fruit, they continually repeated. Like the botanists of antiquity, they denied what they had not bothered to observe. Tired by our questions they, in turn, made us impatient.

We crossed the malpaís slowly; for it is hard to walk securely on lava fragments. Nearer the Station of the Rocks the path down was extremely difficult; the short thick grass was so slippery that we were constantly forced to lean our bodies backwards in order not to fall. In the sandy plain of retama the thermometer rose to 22. this heat seemed suffocating after the cold we had suffered on the summit. We had no more water; our guides had not only secretly drunk our small supply of malmsey wine but had also broken our water jugs.

We re-embarked at sunset and set sail, but the breeze was too weak toenable us to follow our route to Tenerife. The sea was calm; a reddish hazecovered the horizon, seeming to magnify everything. In such solitudes, by so many uninhabited islands, we savored the view of such a grandiose and wild nature. Theblack mountains of Graciosa had perpendicular walls some 500 to 600 feet high. Their shadows, projected across the sea, made thescene gloomy. The basalt rocks stuck out of the water like the ruins of avast building. Their existence reminded us of that bygone age whenunderwater volcanoes gave birth to new islands, or destroyed continents. Everything around us spoke of destructionand sterility; yet beyond this scene the coast of Lanzarote seemed morefriendly. In a narrow gorge, between two hills crowned with scatteredtrees, you could see some cultivated land. The last rays of sun lit up the ripe corn, ready for harvesting. Even thedesert is animated when you see some trace of man's work in it.

The Chaimas lead an extremely monotonous life. They go to bed regularly at half past seven in the evening, and get up long before dawn, at about half past four. Every Indian has a fire next to his hammock. Women suffer the cold greatly; I have even seen a woman shiver at church when the temperature was above 18°C. Their huts are very clean. Their hammocks and reed mats, their pots full of cassava or fermented maize, their bow and arrows, all are kept in perfect order. Men and women wash every day, and as they walk around naked do not get as dirty as people who wear clothes. Apart from their village hut they also have in the conuco, next to a spring or at the entrance to a small valley, a hut roofed with palm- or banana-tree leaves. Though life is less comfortable in the conuco they prefer living there as much as possible. I have already alluded to their irresistible drive to flee and return to the jungle. Even young children flee from their parents to spend four or five days in the jungle, feeding off wild fruit, palm hearts and roots. When travelling through the missions it is not rare to find them empty as everyone is either in their garden or in the jungle, al monte. Similar feelings account for civilized people's passion for hunting: the charm of solitude, the innate desire for freedom, and the deep impressions felt whenever man is alone in contact with nature.

Almost all Cumanà's inhabitants witnessed this phenomenon as they got up before four in the morning to go to first mass. The sight of these fire-balls did not leave them indifferent, far to the contrary; the older ones recalled that the great 1766 earthquake was preceded by a similar manifestation. (63)