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.

Among the Indians gathered at Pararuma we found some whites who had come from Angostura to buy turtle butter. After wearying us with their complaints about the 'poor harvest' and about the harm done by the jaguars as the turtles laid their eggs, they led us under an ajupa raised in the middle of the Indian camp. There we found the missionary monks from Carichana and the cataracts sitting on the ground playing cards and smoking tobacco in long pipes. These poor priests received us in a very friendly manner. They had been suffering from tertiary fever for months. Pale and emaciated, they had no trouble convincing us that the countries we were about to visit were dangerous for our health.

The most famous cataracts, with the most obstacles, are called Purimarimi and Manimi and are about 3 meters wide, The difficulties involved in reaching these places, and the foul air filled with millions of mosquitoes, made it impossible to take a geodesical levelling, but with the aid of a barometer I was amazed that the whole fall of the raudal from the mouth of the Cameji to the Toparo was only some 27 to 30 feet. My surprise was related to the terrible din and foam flying from the river.

We entered into the cave following the rivulet, some 28 to 30 feet wide. We walked along the banks as far as the calcareous incrustations allowed us; frequently, when the current slipped between high clusters of stalactites, we were forced to walk along the river bed, only 2 feet deep. To our surprise we learned that this underground stream is the source to the Caripe river and becomes navigable for canoes a few leagues from here, after joining the Santa Maria river. Along the underground rivulet banks we found a quantity of palm-tree wood, remains of trunks used by Indians to climb to the cave's ceiling when searching for nests. The rings formed from the traces of the leaf stems are used as a perpendicular ladder.

During my navigation up the South American rivers, and over land, I had written a very brief itinerary where I described on the spot what I saw when I climbed the summit of a volcano or any other mountain, but I did not continue my notes in the towns, or when busy with something else. When I did take notes my only motive was to preserve those fugitive ideas that occur to a naturalist, to make a temporary collection of facts and first impressions But I did not think at the time that these jotted-down notes would form the basis of a work offered to the public. I thought that my journey might add something to science, but would not include those colorful details that are the main interest in journeys.

The extreme purity of the black waters is confirmed by their transparency, and by the way they clearly reflect all the surrounding objects. The minutest fish are visible at a depth of 20 or 30 feet. It is easy to see the river bottom, which is not muddy but composed of a dazzlingly white granite or quartz sand. Nothing can be compared to the beauty of the Atabapo river banks, overloaded with vegetation, among which rise the palms with plumed leaves, reflected in the river water. The green of the reflected image seems as real as the object seen with your eyes.