We stayed in the Atures mission just the time needed to have the canoes taken down the cataracts. The bottom of our small boat was so worn that we took great care to prevent it cracking. We said good-bye to Father Bernardo Zea who, after two months of travelling with us, sharing all our sufferings, remained in Atures. The poor man continued to have fits of tertian fever, a chronic condition that did not worry him at all. During this second stay in Atures other fevers raged. Most of the Indians could not leave their hammocks; to get some cassava bread we had to ask the independent Piraoas tribe to find some for us. Up to now we had escaped fevers, which I believe are not always contagious.

A grass from Switzerland grows on the granite rocks of the Magellan Strait. (74) New Holland contains more than forty European phanerogamous plants. The greater amount of these plants, found equally in the temperate zones of both hemispheres, are completely absent in the intermediary or equinoctial regions, on plains and on mountains. A hairy-leafed violet, which signifies the last of the phanerogamous plants on Tenerife, and long thought specific to that island, can be seen 300 leagues further north near the snowy Pyrenean peaks. Grasses and sedges of Germany, Arabia and Senegal have been recognized among plants collected by Bonpland and myself on the cold Mexican tablelands, on the burning Orinoco banks and on the Andes, and at Quito in the Southern hemisphere. How can one believe that plants migrate over regions covered by sea? How have the germs of life, identical in appearance and in internal structure, developed at unequal distances from the poles and from the oceans, in places that share similar temperatures? Despite the influence of air pressure on the plants' vital functions, and despite the greater or lesser degree of light, it is heat, unequally distributed in different seasons, that must be considered vegetation's most powerful stimulus.

Missionaries have managed to rid the Indians of certain customs concerning birth, entering puberty and burying the dead; they have managed to stop them painting their skin or making incisions in their chins, noses and cheeks; they have banished the superstitious ideas that in many families are passed down mysteriously from father to son; but it was far easier to suppress practices and memories than it was to replace the old ideas with new ones. In the missions the Indian has a far more secure life than he had before. He is no longer a victim of the continuous struggle between man and the elements, and he leads a more monotonous and passive life than the wild Indian, but he is also less likely to animate his own spiritual development. His thinking has not increased with his contact with whites; he has remained estranged from the objects with which European civilization has enriched the Americas. All his acts seem dictated exclusively by wants of the moment. He is taciturn, without joy, introverted and, on the outside, serious and mysterious. Someone who has been but a short time in a mission could mistake his laziness and passivity for a meditative frame of mind.

On the 1st of July we came across the wreck of a sunken ship. We could distinguish its mast covered in floating seaweed. In a zone where the sea is perpetually calm the boat could not have sunk. Perhaps its remains came from the northerly stormy area and were dragged there by the extraordinary whirling of the Atlantic Ocean in the Southern hemisphere.

We spent a very agreeable evening in the house of Don Antonio Padròn, one of the richest inhabitants, where we found all Trinidad society gathered in a tertulia. We were again struck by how vivacious Cuban women are. Though lacking the refinements of European civilization, the primitive simplicity of their charms pleased us. We left Trinidad on March the 15th. The mayor had us driven down to the mouth of the Guaurabo river in a fine carriage lined with old crimson damask. To add to our confusion a priest, the local poet, dressed in a velvet suit despite the heat, celebrated our voyage to the Orinoco with a sonnet.

The three camps formed by the Indians are set up during the end of March and first days of April. The harvesting of the eggs is carried out in the regular way that characterizes all monastic institutions. Before the arrival of the monks up the river Indians profited far less from an abundant harvest supplied by nature. Each tribe dug in the beach wherever they felt like it and broke innumerable eggs because they did not dig carefully, and they unearthed more eggs than they needed. It was like amateurs exploiting a mine. Jesuit fathers have the merit of having regularized the exploitation, and although the Franciscans, who succeeded the Jesuits, boast that they follow their predecessors' examples they do not do all that prudence dictates. Jesuits did not allow the whole beach to be dug up; they kept a small part intact, for fear of seeing the race of arrau turtles destroyed or diminished. Today the whole beach is dug up. It has been noticed that the harvests are getting smaller and smaller each year.