The wind hardly blew so the captain thought it safe to tack until dawn. He did not dare enter Cumana harbor at night. An unfortunate incident that occurred a year before justified his prudence. A mail-boat had anchored without lighting its poop lanterns; it was taken for an enemy and fired on by the fort. A cannon-ball ripped the captain's leg off and he died a few days later in Cumana.

The Indian pilot who had led us from San Fernando de Apure up to the Pararuma beach did not know his way through the Orinoco rapids, and no longer wanted to sail our boat. We had to accept his decision. Luckily the Carichana missionary agreed to loan us a fine pirogue quite cheaply. Father Bernardo Zea, missionary from Atures and Maypures near the Great Cataracts, even offered to accompany us himself to the Brazilian border. The number of Indians willing to carry the canoes along the cataracts was so few that without this monk's presence we risked waiting weeks in that humid and unhealthy area. Father Zea hoped to recover his health by visiting the Río Negro missions. He talked of those places with the enthusiasm that all those in the colonies feel when talking about far-off places.