Cristobal Colón is the most easterly port of Venezuela, and its position at the eastern end of the peninsula of Paria, opposite to the Delta of the Orinoco, led Castro to suppose that a small expenditure of public money would lead to a diversion of all the freight now passing via Port-of-Spain to Ciudad Bolivar, from Trinidad to Venezuela—an ill-founded hope, however, as events proved, for the roadstead is very poor, open to a continual heavy swell coming in through the Bocas, which could only be overcome by extensive harbour-works, the cost of which is entirely unwarranted by the circumstances of the case. The wharves and warehouses erected represent, therefore, a sacrifice of public zeal to a private whim as reprehensible as the construction of the Carora and San Timoteo road. The trade with Southern Venezuela is normally carried on through Port-of-Spain, goods being there transferred to the Orinoco steamer _Delta_, which crosses the Gulf of Paria to the Caño Macareo, up which lies the normal route to Ciudad Bolivar. Columbus named the Gulf of Paria “Golfo Triste,” and when one has left the beautiful hills and islands on the north side behind it certainly wears a very gloomy aspect, particularly on a cloudy day. Near the mouths of the Orinoco the water becomes muddy and musky, full of floating masses of water-hyacinth or dead timber, while away on the horizon one can see a dark band of mangroves marking the beginning of the swampy Delta territory. Pedernales is the only settlement on the coast of the Delta proper—a gloomy, unhealthy-looking spot, though the islands on which the houses are built are more solid than the surrounding swamps. For the new town one lands at a stone causeway leading across the black mud to a single row of houses, one of which has a flagstaff indicating it as the seat of authority. Crabs crawl on the slime and mud all around, and the black patches of natural asphalt along the main street and foreshore offer no contrast to the dirty pools which necessitate a wary eye and foot in walking. The ruins of the German asphalt and oil refinery a mile or so away add to the desolate effect, and the greeting from outlaws from Trinidad, broken-down whites, and villainous-looking negroes make one even more ready to leave this fever-stricken spot, where the floors of the houses are flooded by frequent downpours in the rainy season. The inhabitants exist chiefly by cutting and exporting mangrove-stems for dyeing and tanning purposes; the asphalt industry seems to be quiescent.