Myriads upon myriads of these marvellous trees rise amid the waters of the Orinoco delta, sometimes clustered into solid masses of vegetation, sometimes scattered, and sometimes drawn up in devious avenues, according to the windings of the muddy channels that even in the dry seasons traverse the country. Whether grouped or scattered, the itá flourishes in this delta to such an extent that only the experienced canoe men of the place can navigate their barks among the tall stems, the narrow and winding channels which form the natural paths being completely obliterated by the waste of water. Any stranger who tried to thread this aquatic forest without the aid of a native guide would soon lose himself among the armies of itá palm, and perish miserably of hunger. Yet this very tree supplies to the Waraus of the Orinoco not only all the necessaries, but the luxuries of life, and were the whole tribe to be cut off from the mainland, they could support themselves without the least difficulty, the itá palm supplying house, food, drink, clothing, and furniture.
First, as to the house. The Warau requires for a house nothing but a floor and a roof. In the [example] seen on page 1244, the floor is supplied by the earth, but it is evident that in a house built in a locality where the ground is for many months together thirty or forty feet beneath the surface of the water, an artificial flooring is needed. The Warau architect, therefore, proceeds to construct his house in the following manner.
Selecting four itá trees that grow near each other in the form of a square, and, cutting away any of the intervening trees, he makes use of these four as the corner posts of his house. He knows by marks left on the trunks the precise height to which the water will rise, and some three feet or so above this mark he builds his floor, cutting deep notches in the trunk. In these notches are laid beams made from the stems of the felled itá palms, and lashed tightly in their places by ropes made of itá fibre.
On these beams are laid a number of cross-pieces, sometimes made from the split trunks, but usually being nothing more than the gigantic leaf-stems which have been already mentioned, and which are when dry very light, very tough, and very elastic. These cross-pieces are tied firmly together, and constitute the essential part of the floor. On them is placed a layer of palm leaves, and upon the leaves is a thick coating of mud, which soon dries under the tropical sun, and forms a smooth, hard, and firm flooring, which will bear a fire without risk of damage to the wooden structure below. Ten or twelve feet above the floor the Warau constructs a roof of palm leaves, the corners of which are supported by the same trees which uphold the house, and then the chief labors of the native architect are over. An [illustration] on page 1244 shows the scenery of the Orinoco delta and the architecture of these lake dwellers. So much for the house furnished by the itá palm.
Food is supplied by it in various forms. First, there is the fruit, which, when ripe, is as large as an ordinary apple, many hundreds of which are developed on the single branch produced by this tree. Next, there is the trunk of the tree and its contents. If it be split longitudinally at the time when the flower branch is just about to burst from the enveloping spathe, a large quantity of soft, pith-like substance is found within it. This is treated like the cassava, and furnishes a sort of bread called yuruma.
Drink is also obtained from the itá palm. From the trunk is drawn a sap, which, like that of the maguey or great American aloe, can be fermented, and then it becomes intoxicating in quality. Another kind of drink is procured from the fruit of the itá, which is bruised, thrown into water, and allowed to ferment for a while. When fermentation has proceeded to a sufficient extent, the liquor is strained through a sieve made of itá fibre, and is thus ready for consumption.
The small amount of clothing required by the Warau is also obtained from the itá, the membrane of the young leaf being stripped off and woven into a simple fabric.
From the same tree the Warau obtains all his furniture. Bows, arrows, and spears are made from its leaf-stems, the canoe in which he goes fishing is made from a hollow itá trunk, and the lines and nets are both furnished from the same tree, as is also the string of which his hammock is made. That the one single tree should be able to supply all the wants of an entire population is the more extraordinary, because in former days the Warau had no iron tools, and it is not easy to find a tree that will at the same time furnish all the necessaries of his life, and be of such a character that it can be worked by the rude stone implements which the Warau had to use before he obtained iron from the white men.
It may readily be imagined that the Waraus who inhabit this strange region are lower in the scale of civilization than those who live on dry land, and, to use the words of Humboldt, “in the lowest grades of man’s development we find the existence of an entire race dependent upon almost a single tree, like certain insects which are confined to particular portions of a flower.”
The Waraus are not the only lake dwellers of Southern America. At the extreme north of this half of the continent there is a province which derives its name from the mode of life adopted by the savage tribe which dwells upon the waters of a lake. On the north-western coast of Venezuela there is a large gulf, called the Gulf of Maracaibo, the name having been given to it by the Spanish discoverers in honor of a native chief whom they met on its shores. Close to the gulf, and only separated from it by a narrow, is a vast fresh-water lake, fed by the streams that pour from the mountains which surround it. The shape of this lake has been well compared to that of a jews-harp, with a rather elongated neck, and the depth of its water varies in a most remarkable manner.