Some of them, moreover, affect a high, dry soil, beyond the reach of floods; while others do not prosper, except on tracts habitually marshy, or annually covered with inundations. Of these latter, the itá is perhaps the most conspicuous; since we have already stated, that for nearly six months of the year it grows literally out of the water.
Like all its congeners, the itá is a “fan-palm;” that is, its leaves, instead of being pinnately divided, as in most species of palms, or altogether entire, as in some few, radiate from the midrib of the leaf-stalk, into a broad palmated shape, bearing considerable resemblance to a fan when opened to its full extent. At the tips these leaflets droop slightly, but at that end where they spring out of the midrib, they are stiff and rigid. The petiole, or leaf-stalk itself, is long, straight, and thick; and where it clasps the stem or trunk, is swollen out to a foot in width, hollowed, or concave on the upper side. A full-grown leaf, with its petiole, is a wonderful object to look upon. The stalk is a solid beam full twelve feet in length, and the leaf has a diameter of nearly as much. Leaf and stalk together make a load, just as much as one man can carry upon his shoulders!
Set about a dozen of these enormous leaves on the summit of a tall cylindrical column of five feet in circumference, and about one hundred in height,—place them with their stalks clasping or sheathing its top,—so that the spreading fans will point in every direction outwards, inclining slightly upwards; do this, and you will have the great morichi palm. Perhaps, you may see the trunk swollen at its middle or near the top,—so that its lower part is thinner than above,—but more often the huge stem is a perfect cylinder. Perhaps you may see several of the leaves drooping downward, as if threatening to fall from the tree; you may even see them upon the ground where they have fallen, and a splendid ruin they appear. You may see again rising upward out of the very centre of the crown of foliage, a straight, thick-pointed column. This is the young leaf in process of development,—its tender leaflets yet unopened, and closely clasped together. But the fervid tropical sun soon produces expansion; and a new fan takes the place of the one that has served its time and fallen to the earth,—there to decay, or to be swept off by the flood of waters.
Still more may be noticed, while regarding this noble palm. Out of that part of the trunk,—where it is embraced by the sheathing bases of the petioles,—at a certain season of the year, a large spathe will be seen to protrude itself, until it has attained a length of several feet. This spathe is a bract-like sheath, of an imperfect tubular form. It bursts open; and then appears the huge spadix of flowers, of a whitish-green colour, arranged along the flower-stalk in rows,—pinnately. It will be observed, moreover, that these spadices are different upon different trees; for it must be remembered that the mauritia palm is diaecious,—that is, having the female flowers on one tree, and the male or staminiferous flowers upon another. After the former have glowed for a time in the heat of the sun, and received the fertilising pollen wafted to them by the breeze,—carried by bee or bird, or transported by some unknown and mysterious agency of nature,—the fruits take form and ripen. These, when fully ripe, have attained to the size of a small apple, and are of a very similar form. They are covered with small brown, smooth scales,—giving them somewhat the appearance of fir-cones, except that they are roundish instead of being cone-shaped. Underneath the scales there is a thinnish layer of pulp, and then the stone or nut. A single spadix will carry carry several hundreds—thousands, I might say—of these nuts; and the whole bunch is a load equal to the strength of two ordinary men!
Such is the itá palm. Now for its uses,—the uses to which it is put by the Guaraons.
When the Guaraon wishes to build himself a habitation, he does not begin by digging a foundation in the earth. In the spongy soil on which he stands, that would be absurd. At a few inches below the surface he would reach water; and he might dig to a vast depth without finding firm ground. But he has no idea of laying a foundation upon the ground, or of building a house there. He knows that in a few weeks the river will be rising; and would overtop his roof, however high he might make it. His foundation, therefore, instead of being laid in the ground, is placed far above it,—just so far, that when the inundation is at its height the floor of his dwelling will be a foot or two above it. He does not take this height from guesswork. That would be a perilous speculation. He is guided by certain marks upon the trunks of palm-trees,—notches which he has himself made on the preceding year, or the natural watermark, which he is able to distinguish by certain appearances on the trees. This point once determined, he proceeds to the building of his house.
A few trunks are selected, cut down, and then split into beams of sufficient length. Four fine trees, standing in a quadrangle, have already been selected to form the corner-posts. In each of these, just above the watermark, is cut a deep notch with a horizontal base to serve as a rest for the cross-beams that are to form the foundation of the structure. Into these notches the beams are hoisted,—by means of ropes,—and there securely tied. To reach the point where the platform is to be erected—sometimes a very high elevation—ladders are necessary; and these are of native manufacture,—being simply the trunk of a palm-tree, with notches cut in it for the toes of the climber. These afterwards serve as a means of ascending and descending to the surface of the water, during the period of its rise and fall. The main timbers having been firmly secured in their places, cross-beams are laid upon them, the latter being either pieces of the split trunks, or, what is usually easier to obtain, the petioles of the great leaves,—each of which, as already stated, forms of itself a large beam, twelve feet in length and from six to twelves inches in breadth. These are next secured at both ends by ropes of the palm fibre.
Next comes a layer of palm-leaves, the strong, tough leaflets serving admirably as laths to uphold the coating of mud, which is laid thickly over them. The mud is obtained from below, without difficulty, and in any quantity required; and when trowelled smooth, and dry,—which it soon becomes under the hot sun,—constitutes an excellent floor, where a fire may be kindled without danger of burning either the laths or joists underneath.
As yet the Guaraon has completed only the floor of his dwelling, but that is his principal labour. He cares not for walls,—neither sides nor gables. There is no cold, frosty weather to chill him in his tropical home,—no snow to be kept out. The rain alone, usually falling in a vertical direction, has to be guarded against; and from this he secures himself by a second platform of lighter materials, covered with mats, which he has already woven for the purpose, and with palm-leaflets, so placed as to cast off the heaviest shower. This also shelters him against the burning sun,—an enemy which he dreads even more than the rain.
His house is now finished; and, with the exception of the mud floor, is all of itá palm,—beams, cross-timbers, laths, ropes, and mats. The ropes he has obtained by stripping off the epidermis of the full-grown leaflets, and then twisting it into cordage of any thickness required. For this purpose it is equal to hemp. The mats he has made from the same material,—and well does he, or rather his wife—for this is usually the work of the females—know how to plait and weave them.