CHAPTER XLVII.
VENEZUELA.
Taking a Pilot on Board. A perplexing Predicament. Beautiful Scenery along the Orinoco. Negro Officials. Disgust of some of the Emigrants. Frightened Natives. Arrival at the City of Bolivar. The United States Consul ashamed of the Expedition. Death of my Husband. Another Expedition makes its Appearance. Sufferings of the Emigrants. I write a Letter to my Friends in New Orleans warning them not to come to Venezuela. Rival Lovers. I conclude that I have had enough of Matrimony, and encourage neither of them. A Trip by Sea to La Guayra and Caraccas. I prepare to leave. What I learned in Venezuela. The Resources of the Country.
HE sight of the promised land, of which such glowing accounts had been given them, filled our company with extravagant joy. Alas, they little knew what was yet in store for them; but the prospect of being able to leave the wretched little schooner was such a pleasant one, that they scarcely thought of the future, and almost any fate seemed preferable to remaining on board of her. We had not been in the neighborhood of the mouth of the river long before a small, light canoe put out towards us, and its occupant, hailing us in Spanish, asked whether we did not want a pilot.
I was the only person on board who understood him, and as he came alongside the captain refused to let him come on board. Some of the men, thinking that he had hostile intentions, produced their pistols, and for a time there was a prospect of trouble.
I accordingly went to Johnston, and said, "Now, Captain Johnston, you are in a nice fix. This man is a pilot, and you cannot go up the river without his assistance. If you attempt anything of the kind you will be considered a pirate."
This frightened Johnston, and I laughed in my sleeve to see the perplexity he was in. After leaving him to his reflections for a few moments, I said, in a whisper, "This man is a
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