In the Atabapo, above San Fernando, there are no longer any crocodiles; every now and then you come across some bavas, numerous freshwater dolphins, but no manatees. You would not find tapirs, nor araguato monkeys, nor howler monkeys, zamuros, or guacharacas, a kind of crested pheasant. However, enormous water snakes similar to boas are very common and endanger Indian bathers. From the first day we saw them swimming past our canoes, reaching 14 feet in length.

We had been warned that we would find the insects at Esmeralda even more cruel and voracious' than in this branch of the Orinoco; despite this we looked forward to sleeping in an inhabited place, and botanizing a little at last. At our last camp on the Casiquiare we had quite a fright. I presume to describe something that might not greatly interest a reader, but should be part of a journal of incidents on a river in such wild country. We slept on the edge of the jungle. At midnight the Indians warned us that they had heard a jaguar growl very close to us; it seemed to be up a nearby tree. The jungle is so thick here that only animals who climb trees exist. As our fires gave off 'plenty of light, and as we had become hardened to fear, we did not worry too much about the jaguar's cries. The smell and barking of one of our dogs had attracted the jaguar. This dog, a large mastiff, had barked at the Start, but when the jaguar approached the dog howled and hid under our hammocks. Since the Apure we had been used to this alternating bravery and fear in a young, tame and affectionate dog. We had a terrible shock the next morning. When getting ready to leave, the Indians told us that our dog had disappeared'. There was no doubt that the jaguar had killed it. Perhaps when it no longer heard the roars it had wandered off along the shore, or perhaps we slept so deeply we never heard the dog's yelps. We were often told that on the Orinoco and the Magdalena old jaguars were so clever that they hunted their prey in the very camps, and twisted their victims' necks so that they could not shout. We waited a long while in case the dog was merely lost. Three days later we returned to the same place and again heard a jaguar roar. So the dog, which had been our companion from Caracas, and had often swum away from crocodiles, had ended up being devoured in the jungle.

Towards evening we reached the Guanaguana mission, situated at about the same height as the village of San Antonio. We really had to dry ourselves. The missionary received us very cordially. He was an old man who seemed to govern the Indians intelligently. The village has been in this place for only thirty years - before it lay more to the south, against a hill. It is astonishing how easily Indian villages are moved about. In South America there are villages that in less than fifty years have changed places three times. Indians feel bound to the land with such weak ties that they indifferently accept orders to demolish their houses and build them again elsewhere. A village changes its site like a military camp. As long as there are clay, reeds, palm tree and heliconia leaves around they finish rebuilding their huts in a few days. These compulsory changes often have no other motive than the whim of a missionary who, recently arrived from Spain, fancies that the site of the mission is feverish, or not sufficiently exposed to the wind. Whole villages have been transported several leagues just because a monk did not like the view from his house.

The fine Carib tribes inhabit only a small part of the country they once occupied before the discovery of America. European cruelty ensured that they completely vanished from the West Indies and Darien coasts. Once subdued they lived in populous villages in Nueva Barcelona province and Spanish Guiana. I think you could count more than 35, Caribs living in the Piritu llanos and on the banks of the Caroní and Cuyuni. If you add the independent Caribs living in the Cayenne and Pacaraymo mountains between the Essequibo and Branco river sources they would reach a total of 40, pure-blooded Indians. I linger on this point because the Caribs, before my voyage, had been supposed to have become extinct.

During our six-day stay at Cartagena, our most interesting excursions were to the Boca Grande and the Popa hill with its fine view. The port, or bahía, is 9. miles long. The unhealthiness of Cartagena comes from the great marshes surrounding the town on the east and north. The Ciénaga de Tesca is more than 15 miles long. A sad vegetation of cactus, Jatropha gossypifolia, croton and mimosa covers the arid slopes of Cerro de la Popa. While botanizing on these wild spots our guides pointed out a thick Acacia cornigera bush infamous for a deplorable event. This acacia is armed with very sharp thorns, and extraordinarily large ants live on it. A woman, annoyed by her husband's well-founded jealousy, planned a barbarous revenge. With the help of her lover she tied her husband up with rope, and at night chucked him into this Acacia cornigera bush. The more violently he struggled the more the sharp thorns tore his skin. His screams were heard by some passers-by who found him after several hours covered with blood and dreadfully stung by ants. This crime is without example in the history of human perversion; the violence of its passion derives from the coarseness of manners, not from the Tropics. My most important work at Cartagena was comparing my observations with the astronomical positions fixed by Fidalgo's officers.

The fevers reigning in Cariaco forced us, to our regret, to shorten our stay there. As we were still not completely acclimatized, the inhabitants to whom we had been recommended warned us not to delay. In the town we met many people who, through a certain ease of behaviour, or through being more broad-minded and preferring a United States type government, revealed that they were in contact with foreigners. For the first time we heard the names of Franklin and Washington enthusiastically pronounced. With these shows of enthusiasm we heard complaints about the present state of New Andalusia, exaggerated enumerations of their natural wealth, and passionate and impatient hopes for a better future. This state of mind struck a traveler who had been witness to the great political upheavals in Europe.

From Puerto Cabello we returned to the Aragua valley, and stopped again at the Barbula plantation through which the new road to Nueva Valencia will pass. Weeks before we had been told about a tree whose sap is a nourishing milk. They call it the 'cow tree', and assured us that negroes on the estates drank quantities of this vegetable milk. As the milky juices of plants are acrid, bitter and more or less poisonous, it seemed hard to believe what we heard, but during our stay in Barbula we proved that nobody had exaggerated the properties of palo de vaca. This fine tree is similar to the Chrysophyllum cainito (broad-leafed star-apple). When incisions are made in the trunk it yields abundant glutinous milk; it is quite thick, devoid of all acridity, and has an agreeable balmy smell. It was offered to us in tutuma-fruit - or gourd - bowls, and we drank a lot before going to bed, and again in the morning, without any ill effects. Only its viscosity makes it a little disagreeable. Negroes and free people who work on the plantations dip their maize and cassava bread in it. The overseer of the estate told us that negroes put on weight during the period that the palo de vaca exudes milk. This notable tree appears to be peculiar to the cordillera Coast At Caucagua the natives called it the 'milk tree'. They say they can recognize the trunks that yield most juice from the thickness and color of the leaves. No botanist has so far known this plant.