The next settlement is called Urbana, and is on the south bank of the river, almost opposite the mouth of the Arauca. It consists of about a score of hovels. The Arauca is a river of considerable size, and is said to be bordered by vast marshes and swamps, the home of countless egrets and other water-birds. Hunting-parties ascend during the nesting-season and kill great numbers of the birds; the plumes are taken to Ciudad Bolivar and disposed of to the export dealers. Leaving Urbana on the 29th, we entered one of the most difficult stretches of the river to navigate. The fish-hook bend of the Orinoco turns southward, and the eastern bank is dotted with a range of low granite hills which are, in fact, a chain of giant, blackened, dome-shaped boulders. The wind from the east, roaring through each cleft and opening, strikes the river from several directions and with cyclonic violence. One moment there is scarcely enough to make headway against the current; the next a gust strikes the sails and sends the ship wallowing on her beam until the boom drags in the water and it is an even bet if she will gradually right herself or go over. At such times of peril as well as on starting each morning it is the custom of the sailors to pray. Of course they were all Catholics. The captain or whoever steers said, “_Vamos con Dios_” (let us go with God), and the others answered in chorus: “_Y con la Virgen_” (and with the Virgin). Occasionally the person whose duty it was to lead was so occupied rolling a cigarette or slapping at flies that he neglected his duty; then some one was sure to remind him with a sarcastic “_Aha! Hoy vamos como los Protestantes_” (Aha! To-day we are starting like the Protestants). It often happened that the crew was remiss. The captain repeated his lead several times without being heard; finally, his patience exhausted, he shouted at the top of his voice, “_Vamos con Dios, caramba_,” and the crew immediately yelled back at the top of their voices: “_Y con la Virgen, caramba_.”