monks. Two young women came down from 

 their hammocks, to prepare for us cakes of cassava. 

 We inquired of them by an interpreter, whether 

 the soil of the island were fertile ; they answered, 

 that cassava grew poorly, but that it was a good 

 land for ants, and food was not wanting. In 

 fact, these vachacos furnish subsistence to the 

 Indians of the Rio Negro and the Guainia. 

 They do not eat the ants from luxury, but be- 

 cause, according to the expression of the mis- 

 sionaries, the fat of ants (the white part of the 

 abdomen) is a very substantial food. When the 

 cakes of cassava were prepared, Father Zea, 

 whose fever seemed rather to sharpen than en- 

 feeble his appetite, ordered a little bag to be 

 brought to him filled with smoked vachacos. He 

 mixed these bruised insects with flour of cassava, 

 which he pressed us to taste. It somewhat re- 

 sembled rancid butter, mixed with the crumb 

 of bread. The cassava had not an acid taste, 

 but some remains of European prejudices pre- 

 vented our subscribing to the praises bestowed 

 by the good missionary on what he called an 

 excellent paste of ants. 



The violence of the rain obliged us to sleep 

 in this encumbered hut. The Indians slept only 

 from eight till two in the morning, the rest of 

 the time they conversed in their hammocks, pre- 

 pared their bitter beverage of cupana, threw 

 fresh fuel on the fire, and complained of cold, 



