We had left doubled the northern cape of Tobago and the small island of Saint Giles when the look-out pointed out the presence of an enemy squadron. We immediately changed course and the passengers began to fret as many of them had invested small fortunes in goods to sell in the Spanish colonies. The squadron did not appear to move and soon we saw that the look-out had confused ships with an isolated reef.

Under such favorable circumstances, and crossing regions long unknown to most European nations, including Spain itself, Bonpland and I collected a considerable number of materials, which when published may throw light on the history of nations, and on our knowledge about nature. Our research developed in so many unpredictable directions that we could not include everything in the form of a travel journal, and have therefore placed our observations in a series of separate works.

On the morning of the 19th of June we caught sight of the point of Naga, but the Pico de Teide remained invisible. Land stood out vaguely because a thick fog effaced the details. As we approached the natural bay of Santa Cruz we watched the mist, driven by wind, draw near. The sea was very rough, as it usually is in this place. After much sounding we anchored. The fog was so thick that visibility was limited to a few cables' length. Just as we were about to fire the customary salute the fog suddenly dissipated and the Pico de Teide appeared in a clearing above the clouds, illuminated by the first rays of sun, which had not reached us yet. We rushed to the bow of the corvette not to miss this marvelous spectacle, but at that very same moment we saw four English warships hove to near our stern, not far out in the open sea. We had passed them closely by in the thick fog that had prevented us from seeing the peak, and had thus been saved from the danger of being sent back to Europe. It would have been distressing for naturalists to have seen the Tenerife coasts from far off and not to have been able to land on soil crushed by volcanoes. We quickly weighed anchor and the Pizarro approached the fort as closely as possible to be under its protection. Here, two years before in an attempted landing, Admiral Nelson lost his arm to a cannon-ball. The English ships left the bay; a few days earlier they had chased the packet-boat Alcudia, which had left La Coruìa just before we did. It had been forced into Las Palmas harbor, and several passengers were captured while being transferred to Santa Cruz in a launch.

The little village of Uruana is harder to govern than most other missions. The Otomacs are restless, noisy, and extreme in their passions. They not only adore the fermented liquors of cassava, maize and palm wine, but also get very drunk, to the point of madness, with niopo powder. They gather the long pods of a mimosa, which we have made known as Acacia niopo; they cut them into little pieces, dampen them and let them ferment. When the macerated plants turn black they are crushed into a paste and mixed with cassava flour and lime obtained from burning the shell of a helix. They cook this mass on a grill of hardwood above a fire. The hardened pate looks like little cakes. When they want to use it they crumble it into a powder and put it on a small plate. The Otomac holds this plate with one hand while through his nose, along the forked bone of a bird whose two extremities end up in his nostrils, he breathes in the niopo. I sent some niopo and all the necessary instruments to Fourcroy in Paris. Niopo is so stimulating that a tiny portion produces violent sneezing in those not used to it. Father Gumilla wrote: 'The diabolic powder of the Otomacs makes them drunk through their nostrils, deprives them of reason for several hours, and makes them mad in battle.

Another characteristic common to both the New Andalusian coast and Peru is the frequency of earthquakes and the limits nature seems to have prescribed for these phenomena. In Cumana we ourselves felt violent seismic shocks; they were still rebuilding the ruined houses and so we were able to gather detailed information on the spot about the terrible catastrophe of the 14th of December 1797. These notions will be the more interesting as earthquakes have been considered up to now less from a physical and geographical point of view than from the way they disastrously affect the population and well-being of society.

The supposed gold mine of Cuchivano, which was the object of our trip, was nothing but a hole that had been cut in one of the strata of black marl, rich in pyrites. The marly stratum crosses the torrent and, as the water washes out metallic grains, the people imagine that the torrent carries gold because of the brilliancy of the pyrites. We were told that after the great earthquake of 1765 the Juagua river waters were so filled with gold that 'men came from great distances and unknown countries' to set up washing places on the spot. They disappeared over night, having collected masses of gold. Needless to add that this is a fable. Some direct experiments made with acids during my stay at Caracas proved that the Cuchivano pyrites are not at all auriferous. My disbelief upset our guides. However much I said and repeated that from the supposed gold mine the most that could be found was alum and sulphate of iron, they continued to gather secretly all the pyrite fragments they saw sparkling in the water. The fewer mines there are in a country, the more the inhabitants hold exaggerated ideas about how easily riches are extracted from the depths of the earth. How much time was lost during our five-year voyage exploring ravines, at the insistence of our hosts, where pyrite strata have for centuries been called by the pretentious name of minas de oro! We have smiled so often seeing men of all classes - magistrates, village priests, serious missionaries - all grinding amphibole or yellow mica with endless patience, desperate to extract gold by means of mercury! This rage for searching for mines amazed us in a climate where the earth needs only to be slightly raked in order to produce rich harvests.

I met the Swedish Consul Skiöldebrand, who passed through Paris on his way to embark in Marseille on a missionto bring gifts to the Dey of Algiers. That respectable gentleman had lived for a long time on the African coast and, as he was well known in theAlgerian Court, could get me authorization to visit the Atlas mountains. Every year he despatched a ship to Tunis, which brought pilgrims to Mecca, and he promised to let me go to Egypt that way. I did not hesitate to seize that chance and was convinced Icould carry out the plan I had hatched before my arrival in France. Up until then no geologist had ever exploredthe high mountain ranges that in Morocco reach the perpetual snows. Iquickly completed my collection of instruments and obtained books thatdealt with the countries I was to visit. I said good-bye to my brother, whose example and advice had helped guidemy thinking. He approved of my motives for wanting to abandon Europe; a'secret voice told me we would see each other again. I left Paris eager toembark for Algeria and Egypt, andchance - so often playing a decisive role in human lives - had it that Iwould see my brother again after returning from the Amazon and Peru, putting a foot on African soil.