How Teddy Roosevelt Slew the Last Mighty T-Rex (11 page)

Martin seethed with anger. He leaped up from the ground and stomped away toward the river.

Teddy Roosevelt sighed deeply.

Kermit smirked. “Are you not game for some dinosaur wrangling, father?”

“The man is certifiably insane…”

“Although Martin is correct, is he not? The Amazon is vast and mostly unexplored.”

“I know, but—”

“And yet I know you, father. His story must have piqued your interest in some deep-seated way.”

Roosevelt chuckled. “I can see the Times headlines now:
Roosevelt diverts his Amazon mission to hunt for Osborn’s dinosaur; has appointment for straightjacket tailor upon arrival back in New York. Taft dies of heart-attack from laughter.
”

Roosevelt retreated immediately to his tent and placed the copper etching beside his diary. He hurriedly sorted through what remained of his books and magazines, setting aside ‘The Mediations of Marcus Aurelius’ and the plays of Sophocles. He halted, staring down at a single issue of Strand Magazine dated April, 1912 bearing the byline:
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s ‘Lost World’
.

He flipped through the pages, arriving at the serial’s footnotes; it confirmed what he recalled reading several months before: Sir Arthur Conan Doyle was a close friend of explorer Percy Harrison Fawcett and drew inspiration for the tale directly from Fawcett’s 1908 expedition to Bolivia’s high and mysterious plateau.

Roosevelt rubbed his chin and stuffed the magazine back amongst the others. He felt a subtle chill.

They were back on the river by early afternoon of that same day. Roosevelt checked his calendar; it was the fifth day of March, and they had spent nearly three whole days bypassing the first serious set of rapids they’d encountered on the River of Doubt. Roosevelt shook his head, conjuring up the dimmed hope that any rapids ahead could be run without the time and energy consuming task of portage yet all reports from his experienced Amazonian hosts indicated otherwise.

The fleas and mosquitoes plaguing their last camp became an itchy memory as they navigated toward the channel’s center which happened to be mostly free of the incessant pests; the men’s swollen hands and faces serving as a bitter reminder of their battles with the tiny beasts. Through this all, Roosevelt gained a greater appreciation of the valiant workers who toiled on the Panama Canal under his presidential decree and the daily agony they most certainly endured.

The current ran strong and deep beneath them, and the dark water boiled and swirled from an occasional submerged boulder or shoal. Roosevelt glanced upon a shore stacked with rows of mighty rubber trees that seemingly touched the sky.

As usual, the survey team’s canoes played leapfrog down the meandering river. Roosevelt escorted the two supply dugouts, following a reshuffling of his crew that now included Luiz and Simplicio, with whom he had great confidence. The man-boy Julio had been demoted to the supply vessel where he could be watched over by the disciplinarian Paishon. Teddy Roosevelt noticed that Lieutenant Martin had been relatively subdued following his confession and emotional flare-up back at their previous camp.
Perhaps he had seen the error of his ways and was now going to settle into his assigned role and assist the expedition as he had originally promised,
Roosevelt reasoned hopefully.

They had covered a respectable amount of distance before evening approached. Roosevelt and Cherrie scouted the lowlands for a suitable campsite. The search continued for an entire hour before they found a high and relatively dry area to beach their dugouts.

The camp was surrounded by dense forest. Roosevelt and Cherrie listened to the distant screeches of playful monkeys and wild bird-whistles. Giant ants, half the size of a man’s thumb, swarmed beneath their feet. Kermit fell victim to one of these colossal insects and agonized for hours before the pain subsided enough for him to finally bed down for the night.

The next day dawned bright and clear, and they broke camp early. Paishon reported by mid-morning that the men complained of hunger, and they pulled to shore to search for bee’s honey and a wondrous Amazonian tree that—the camaradas said—could produce a drinkable milk-like substance from any slash upon its flesh. The men relished the treat and offered a sample to Roosevelt who eagerly partook. But the former president shook his head vigorously owing to its bitter yet not unpleasant taste. And the camarada’s spirits were lifted upon sharing a hearty laugh.

Most of the remaining day slipped by without incident, and they advanced nineteen kilometers by Lyra’s estimation. Roosevelt ordered his dugout to the head of the flotilla in late afternoon, and Luiz and Simplicio dutifully obliged with deep graceful strokes. Roosevelt suddenly noticed the river narrowing and the current picking up pace, and then he heard rushing water in the distance. By the time he hollered a warning, the camaradas were already paddling for shore.

“Just as Martin and the native chieftain predicted,” Cherrie said.

“I’m afraid so,” Roosevelt replied.

Roosevelt and Cherrie grabbed their guns and immediately set out down a worn Amazonian pig trail. Simplicio tagged along, leaving Dr.
Cajazeira
and Luiz upstream to mind the dugout. Roosevelt received the answer he sought in less than fifteen minutes. Peering between the trees, they could clearly see the water rage past them and out of sight to the north.

They retraced their steps along the shoreline and arrived back at their beached dugouts just in time to greet Rondon and the rest of the expedition’s canoes as they landed ashore. Colonel Rondon, Lyra, and Kermit stretched their legs and then began another more prolonged reconnaissance mission an hour later.

Upon his return, Kermit wiped his brow. “The rapids continue onward for a half-mile. I counted at least three waterfalls in its midst. I’m afraid we must prepare for our second portage. There appears to be no alternative.”

“I could have saved you the time and wasted energy of scouting,” Martin mumbled flatly. The Englishman waved his hand dismissively before turning away.

The camaradas cleared the way for camp just above the rapids. The men finished their chores and settled around the fire where they were given only half-rations. Teddy Roosevelt sensed a bit more grumbling amongst the camaradas, although most accepted the situation with heads held high.
These men of the wild Brazilian frontier are as tough as steel,
he thought.
I could conquer a continent with men of half their caliber.

However, Roosevelt’s lofty ideals were dampened just before retiring for the night when Simplicio reported offhandedly to both he and Rondon that he had noticed Julio and another camarada snooping suspiciously near the supply stockpile. “When I asked him what he was doing,” Simplicio said. “He turned an evil eye to me and simply walked away.”

Theodore Roosevelt nodded curtly before sending Simplicio away.

Roosevelt and Rondon exchanged concerned looks. Rondon said, “We had better turn our sights to hunting while these men attend to the portage. Hungry men are dangerous men.”

“I agree wholeheartedly,” Roosevelt replied.

The portage began in earnest upon the following day’s sunrise. Rondon directed the first step, which was to move the supplies and the camp just beyond the first set of rapids. Kermit embarked on a hunting expedition with a
Pareci
Indian camarada named Antonio. Kermit returned a little after midday with a turkey-like bird named a Jacu, but the real hero was Antonio who bagged a huge monkey destined to be featured at the evening meal.

Heartened with the knowledge they had secured much needed fresh meat for the workers, Roosevelt grabbed his shotgun and joined Cherrie on a collecting expedition into the surrounding woods.

Wordlessly, they meandered away from the river and into the silent forest of rubber trees towering amid clusters of brilliant white lilac and wild banana. The land was essentially barren of life except for an occasional ant-thrush or tanager upon which the naturalist Cherrie made note before motioning Roosevelt onward.

After hiking an hour through the dense brush and under the sweltering afternoon haze, Roosevelt finally beckoned the ever-energetic and fit Cherrie for a merciful break. Roosevelt inspected a fallen log for biting pests before sitting down gingerly. He removed his hat and glasses and wiped his brow. He grabbed his canteen and took a long drink.

Cherrie smirked. “I see that your stamina has improved.”

“Oh, oh yes.”

“Just three weeks ago, you could barely walk five minutes before requesting rest.”

“Asthma, my friend, asthma… This heat is intolerable.”

“And a few inches off your waist helps also, does it not?”

Roosevelt rubbed his belly. “I’ve probably lost twenty-five pounds since we departed the Nyoac. My belts require some new holes and my suspenders need tightened.”

“Truly impressive, Colonel, yet how do you manage your fever?”

Roosevelt sat silently for a moment. He raised his canteen and took another gulp.

Cherrie shook his head. “Colonel Roosevelt, very few secrets are kept on an expedition through the jungle, especially when it comes to malaria. You are surrounded by men of the Amazon; they can smell its symptoms like bloodhounds. Your own son may be the only remaining victim of your poorly hidden deceit.”

“I can manage myself, thank you. Kermit has his own health problems, and he has his own duties to perform—duties he is performing quite admirably, by the way.”

“Suit yourself, Colonel, but we are all here to help. Hunting and collecting specimens in the jungle is a difficult enough task—”

“I said, I will be all right, sir.” Roosevelt leaped to his feet and replaced his hat and glasses. He snatched his shotgun and set off past Cherrie and into the woods.

 
They continued for another half-mile before Roosevelt slowed and halted once again. Teddy bent over breathing heavily. “One moment… George… Please!”

Cherrie sought a wide tree for shade. He placed his gun down and sat. Theodore Roosevelt joined him a moment later. Both men gulped water from their canteens and peered out and over the deep woodlands.

Finally, Roosevelt said, “Rondon is concerned that excessive hunger may inspire the camaradas to dire acts, including rebellion.”

Cherrie chuckled. “Where would these men go?
 
Whether going backward or forward, they would still fare better under Rondon’s command. Scattering into the wilderness would be suicide. They all know the consequences of striking out on their own.”

“Still, the mind plays tricks, and hunger robs men of rational thought.”

“True, but enough of them will remain loyal to our intrepid Brazilian commander. He is a hero figure to most.”

“What Colonel Rondon fears most is the overt influence of Lieutenant Martin and Julio.”

“Martin is a lunatic and Julio is a pitiful excuse for a man, let alone any sort of leader. If the other camaradas follow these two clowns, they deserve whatever fate awaits them.”

“Perhaps… But they could still persuade many and cause trouble for us all.”

“If Rondon feels so strongly about Martin and Julio, then he should dismiss both immediately. He should just be rid of them—cast them into the jungle.”

Roosevelt shook his head. “Rondon would never think of doing so. Neither of these men has been accused of any crime, and even if they were caught up in some sort of criminal mischief, Colonel Rondon would likely place them in custody and return them to civilization for trial.”

“Rondon’s apparent softness could place us all in jeopardy.”

“I take full responsibility for Martin’s presence on this expedition, Mr. Cherrie. He has already proven himself quite useful in dealing with the Navaïté tribe. We most likely would not be speaking on this day without his timely intervention.”

“Quite true, Colonel, quite true.”

“And extra hands for portage will always prove handy. We simply cannot afford to lose men, regardless our suspicions.”

“Yes, yes, but they should be closely watched, don’t you think?”

Roosevelt nodded in agreement. “And just what do you think of Martin’s claims? You have shown an obvious distain for his little diatribe, and you have mocked him openly. New and vibrant species are discovered every year upon our land and swimming amid our vast oceans, often beneath our very nose.”

“Colonel Roosevelt, you are a man of great intellect. You don’t honestly believe…”

“No, no, no,” Roosevelt cautioned. “All I’m saying is that as naturalists we should always keep an open mind. The jungle gorilla was considered a myth during my father’s time. Any large and previously undiscovered species would be an incredible find.”

“If this creature does exist, the natives are likely referring to a large amphibian like a crocodile or caiman.”

“Yes, most likely.”

“But a leftover from the Jurassic…?” Cherrie shook his head.

“What about the copper etching?”

“Childs-play, Colonel. Any craftsman in Tapirapoan could have forged that trinket, and drawings of Osborn’s tyrannosaur have been published in newspapers throughout the world. Central Brazil is indeed remote, but scientific news does penetrate this continent now and again. And you must always remember that in this beautiful and hostile land, men’s hearts can be corrupted just like any other place on this earth.”