Such tools as we had we carried to the place where the tree lay. We
first sawed off the head; then, with the hatchet making an opening at
each end, we took wedges and mallets, and the wood being tolerably soft,
after four hours' labour, we succeeded in splitting it completely. When
parted, we pressed the pith with our hands, to get the whole into one
division of the trunk, and began to make our paste. At one end of the
spout we nailed one of the graters, through which we intended to force
the paste, to form the round seeds. My little bakers set vigorously to
work, some pouring water on the pith, while the rest mixed it into
paste. When sufficiently worked, I pressed it strongly with my hand
against the grater; the farinaceous parts passed easily through the
holes, while the _ligneous_ part, consisting of splinters of wood, &c,
was left behind. This we threw into a heap, hoping mushrooms might
spring from it. My wife now carefully spread the grains on sailcloth, in
the sun, to dry them. I also formed some vermicelli, by giving more
consistence to the paste, and forcing it through the holes in little
pipes. My wife promised with this, and the Dutch cheese, to make us a
dish equal to Naples maccaroni. We were now contented; we could at any
time obtain more sago by cutting down a tree, and we were anxious to get
home to try our water-pipes.
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