Our boat was waiting for us in the Puerto de Arriba above the Atures cataract. On the narrow path that led to the embarcadero we were shown the distant rocks near the Ataruipe caves. We did not have time to visit that Indian cemetery though Father Zea had not stopped talking about the skeletons painted red with onoto inside the great jars. 'You will hardly believe, said the missionary, 'that these skeletons and painted vases, which we thought unknown to the rest of the world, have brought me trouble. You know the misery I endure in the Raudales. Devoured by mosquitoes, and lacking in bananas and cassava, yet people in Caracas envy me! I was denounced by a white man for hiding treasure that had been abandoned in the caves when the Jesuits had to leave. I was ordered to appear in Caracas in person and journeyed pointlessly over 150 leagues to declare that the cave contained only human bones and dried bats. However, commissioners were appointed to come up here and investigate. We shall wait a long time for these commissioners. The cloud of mosquitoes (nube de moscas) in the Raudales is a good defence.

The banks of the Manzanares are very attractive, shaded by mimosas, erythrinas, ceibas and other gigantic trees. A river whose temperature descends during the floods to as low as 22'C when the air is 30'C to 35'C is a blessing in a country where the heat is excessive all year round and one wants to bathe several times a day. Children spend a good part of their lives in this water; everybody, including the richest women, knows how to swim. In a country where people live so close to nature the most important question people ask each other on first meeting is whether the river water is fresher than it was the day before. There are several ways of bathing. Each evening we visited a group of respectable people in the Guaiqueri suburb. In the moonlight they would install chairs by the water; men and women were lightly dressed as if at European spas, and would spend hours smoking cigars and chatting with their families and strangers, according to the habits of the place, about the dryness, the heavy rains and the excessive luxury of Caracas and Havana ladies. Nobody worried about the small but rare crocodiles that approach humans without attacking, although dolphins swim upstream and scare bathers by spouting water.

On the evening of the 4th of May we were told that an Indian carrying our boat by the Pimichín portage had been bitten by a poisonous snake. The tall, strong man was brought to the mission, seriously ill. He had lost consciousness; nausea, giddiness and headaches followed his collapse. Many Indians ran to the sick man's hut, and gave him infusions of raiz de mato. We cannot say exactly what plant is used for this antidote. I really regret that travelling botanists are often unable to see the fruit or flower of plants useful to man when so many other plants can be seen daily in flower. This root is probably an apocynacea, perhaps the Cerbera tevethia that people in Cumanà call lengua de mato or contra-culebra, used against snake bites.

When I first traveled the high plateaux towards Caracas I met many travellers resting mules at the small inn of Guayabo. They lived in Caracas, and were arguing over the uprising that had recently taken place concerning the independence of the country. Joseph Espaìa had died on the scaffold. (68) The excitement and bitterness of these people, who should have agreed on such questions, surprised me. While they argued about the hate mulattos have for freed blacks, about the wealth of monks, and the difficulties of owning slaves, a cold wind, which seemed to blow down from La Silla, enveloped us in a thick mist and ended the animated discussion. Once inside the inn, an old man who before had spoken with great equanimity, said to the others that it was unwise to deal with political matters at a time when spies could be lurking around, as much in the mountains as in the cities. These words, spoken in the emptiness of the sierra, deeply impressed me; I was to hear them often during our journeys.

I met the Swedish Consul Skiöldebrand, who passed through Paris on his way to embark in Marseille on a missionto bring gifts to the Dey of Algiers. That respectable gentleman had lived for a long time on the African coast and, as he was well known in theAlgerian Court, could get me authorization to visit the Atlas mountains. Every year he despatched a ship to Tunis, which brought pilgrims to Mecca, and he promised to let me go to Egypt that way. I did not hesitate to seize that chance and was convinced Icould carry out the plan I had hatched before my arrival in France. Up until then no geologist had ever exploredthe high mountain ranges that in Morocco reach the perpetual snows. Iquickly completed my collection of instruments and obtained books thatdealt with the countries I was to visit. I said good-bye to my brother, whose example and advice had helped guidemy thinking. He approved of my motives for wanting to abandon Europe; a'secret voice told me we would see each other again. I left Paris eager toembark for Algeria and Egypt, andchance - so often playing a decisive role in human lives - had it that Iwould see my brother again after returning from the Amazon and Peru, putting a foot on African soil.