The San Fernando missionary, with whom we stayed two days, lived in a village that appears slightly more prosperous than others we had stayed in on our journey, yet still had only 226 inhabitants. (109) We found some traces of agriculture; every Indian has his own cacao plantation, which gives a good crop by the fifth year but stops fruiting earlier than in the Aragua valleys. Around San Fernando there are some savannahs with good pasture but only some seven or eight cows remain from a vast herd left behind by the frontier expedition. The Indians are a little more civilized than in the other missions. Surprisingly, we came across an Indian blacksmith.

From the 22nd degree of latitude the surface of the sea was covered with flying fish (Exocoetuus volitans) they threw themselves 12, 15 and even 18 feet into the air and fell on deck. I do not hesitate to speak on a subject as common in travelogues as dolphins, sharks, seasickness and the phosphorescence of the ocean. There is nothing that does not interest a naturalist as long as he makes a detailed study. Nature is an inexhaustible source of study, and as science advances so new facts reveal themselves to an observer who knows how to interrogate her.

The titi of the Orinoco (Simia sciurea) is very common south of the cataracts. Its face is white, with a blue-black spot covering its mouth and the tip of its nose. No other monkey reminds you more of a child than the titi; the same innocent expression, the same cheeky smile, the same sudden shifts from joy to sadness. Its large eyes fill with tears the moment it is frightened. It is avid for insects, especially spiders. The cleverness of this little monkey is such that one we brought in our boat could perfectly distinguish different plates in Cuvier's Tableau élémentaire d'histoire naturelle. (98) Though the engravings are not colored yet the titi tried to catch a grasshopper or a wasp with its small hand every time we showed a plate with these insects represented. When several of these little monkeys are shut up in the same cage and exposed to rain they twist their tails round their necks and hug each other to warm themselves. The titis are delicate and timid little animals. They become sad and dejected when they leave the jungle and enter the llanos.

The Chaimas have extreme difficulty in coping with numerical relationships. I did not meet one who could tell me whether he was eighteen or sixty years old. The Chaima language has words to express high numbers, but few Indians know how to use them. As they need to count the more intelligent ones count in Spanish up to thirty or forty, and even that seems a great mental strain. In their own language they cannot count up to six. Since European savants have dedicated themselves to the study of the structure of American languages we cannot attribute the imperfection of a language to what appears to be the stupidity of a people. We recognize that everywhere languages offer greater richnesses and more nuances than can be supposed from the lack of culture of the people speaking them.

I still have to refer to the most isolated of the Christian colonies of the Upper Orinoco. Opposite the point where the Orinoco bifurcates there is a granite mass called Duida, in the form of an amphitheater. The missionaries call this mountain of nearly 8, feet a volcano. Because its slopes on the south and west are very steep it looks grand. The peak is bare and stony; but everywhere else in the less steep slopes earth has collected and jungles seem to hang from the air. At the foot of the Duida lies the Esmeralda mission, a small village of eighty people, surrounded by a lovely plain, and fed by little black-watered but limpid streams; a proper prairie with groups of mauritia palms, the American breadfruit. As you approach the mountain the marshy plain becomes a savannah that stretches along the lower reaches of the chain. There you find enormous, delicious pineapples. These bromelia always grow solitary among the grasses.

We left finally on the 22nd of September, with four mules carrying our instruments and plants. Leaving the Caripe valley we first crossed a chain of hills running north-east from the convent. The road was uphill across a wide savannah towards the tableland of Guardia de San Agustín. We waited there for the Indian who carried our barometer. We stood at 533 toises above sea-level. The savannahs, or natural grasslands, excellent pasture for the monastery cows, were totally devoid of trees and shrubs. It is the kingdom of the monocotyledonous plants, with only a few maguey (Agave americana), whose flowers rise some 26 feet above the grass. On the high tableland of Guardia we felt we had been carried to an ancient lake flattened by the prolonged effect of the waters. You think you can recognize the curves of the ancient shore, the prominent tongues of land, the steep cliffs forming islands. Even the distribution of flora seems to refer to that primitive state. The bottom of the basin is a savannah, while its edges are covered with tall trees. It is sad that a place so favored by its climate, and fit for wheat, should be totally uninhabited.

We were all on deck sunk in sad thoughts. There was no doubt that the fever raging on board had taken a pernicious turn. Our glances were fixed on a deserted mountainous coast, intermittently lit by the moon. The calm sea shone with a feeble phosphorescence. We heard only the monotonous cries of large sea birds seeking the shore. A deep calm reigned in these lonely places, but nature's calm contrasted with the painful feelings agitating us. Towards eight that night the dead man's knell was tolled; at this lugubrious signal the sailors stopped work and kneeled in short prayers in a touching ceremony, which, recalling the times when the early Christians saw themselves as members of the same family, brought us together in a common sorrow. At night the young Asturian's corpse was carried to the bridge, and the priest arranged to delay dropping him into the sea until dawn, according to the Roman Catholic rite. Everybody mourned the bad luck of this young man who but a few days before had seemed so fresh and healthy.