How Teddy Roosevelt Slew the Last Mighty T-Rex (12 page)

On the following day, they began the laborious job of dragging the dugouts down to the foot of the falls where they had set up camp the previous night. Lieutenant Lyra and a group of camaradas painstakingly cleared a route through the brush and positioned freshly hewn logs to function as rollers. Kermit prepared functional block and tackle and with the help of Martin and Antonio began to hoist the canoes out of the water and up the riverbank.

Once reaching the newly created log road, all of the expedition’s members were enlisted to get the dugouts up and moving. Roosevelt did his best to lend a hand but was often respectfully jostled aside by a camarada or officer. Theodore Roosevelt finally took the hint and relegated himself to more mundane duties like group motivator and fresh-water-provider. Teddy, while watching his son struggle with this brutal physical task, became increasingly concerned with Kermit’s incessant cough. Kermit paused often, simply to wipe sweat from his brow or to swat a biting insect.

Nearing midday, Colonel Rondon and Antonio completed a survey of the area. Rondon finished up his notes and the two men set out into the woods for a prolonged hunt. They returned disappointed, having seen no game whatsoever.

Roosevelt became bored with the portage by mid-afternoon. He grabbed his gun and strolled into the dense underbrush beside the river and then down alongside the rapids. The going was slow and he backtracked several times to avoid impassable thicket or the immense boulders that bounded the narrow valley and its rushing river. Roosevelt relished the forest’s exotic plant-life with its stunning bright colors, and he stopped often to sniff their distinct aromas. And yet he saw no game to satisfy his hunt and provide for his men. Roosevelt promptly concluded that securing large game would be happenstance when passing through the deep Amazon jungle.

He wandered away from the river and up the valley, passing through groves of rubber trees and leafy palm. Roosevelt sensed a change in the forest and stopped in his tracks. The insect and bird sounds abruptly faded away and only the distant hissing of the rapids echoed through his ears. Roosevelt glanced around and slowly raised his gun.

His myopic eyes detected a blur of movement between the trees. He freed up a trembling hand and hurriedly shoved his spectacles upon the bridge of his nose. His heart raced. Another flash of movement caught his eye to his far left and fifty yards distant. He turned, only to see nothing. He inhaled deeply.

Thirty seconds passed like an eternity—nothing. He slowly lowered his gun and sighed, and he wiped his brow.

Again, he looked out between the trees and saw a native man staring directly toward him. Roosevelt froze like a statue. A few heartbeats later, the face melted back into the underbrush.

Roosevelt turned slowly and warily, and then he headed back to camp.

That evening around the campfire only Lieutenant Martin was unperturbed upon hearing Roosevelt’s tale. “They are warriors from the Navaïté tribe,” Martin said. “The very natives we had just encountered before the last series of rapids. They are not the Wide Belts as some here have speculated.”

“And why do you say that?” Cherrie asked.

“Because the famous Theodore Roosevelt would be dead,” Martin stated bluntly. “And we are still several days journey from Wide Belt territory.”

Roosevelt, Cherrie, and Rondon exchanged quick glances.

Martin poked a stick into the fire. “The Navaïté warriors have been following us since our meeting three days ago. Only an experienced tracker could have detected their presence. They must have decided to show their presence when Mr. Roosevelt strayed from the river. They were probably astonished that any member of our expedition would not realize that their warriors stalked the periphery.”

Roosevelt said, “What do you mean, ‘decided’ to show their presence?”

“Believe me, Colonel, if they wanted to retain their stealth, you would have never known they were there.”

“But why?”

“Most likely they wanted to ensure we move along promptly and didn’t stray from our promised path. Showing their faces, even briefly and from a safe distance, was merely a reminder.”

Rondon crossed his arms and spat. “And why did you not report these warriors in a timely manner? Colonel Roosevelt’s safety was straightforwardly compromised.”

Martin laughed.

Rondon waved his finger. “Do not be insolent!”

“And yet I did, Colonel Rondon. After we parted with the Navaïté chieftain, I warned you that the natives would likely stalk the expedition until we vacated their lands. Do you not recall?”

Rondon sat silently for a moment. Roosevelt could feel the Brazilian Colonel’s blood boiling. Rondon waved his hand dismissively and stormed away from the fire.

Martin shrugged. “I can only offer advice based on my own experience, Mr. Roosevelt. Whether or not that advice is heeded by leadership is not my place to say.”

Teddy Roosevelt took a deep breath and bit his tongue.

The ninth day of March, 1914 dawned bright and clear. Roosevelt arose early along with Cherrie and Kermit. While sipping his coffee, Roosevelt watched Colonel Rondon scold his camaradas for their sloppy performance during their morning rituals. Several of the men wandered in late which drove the demanding Colonel to near madness. Several choice Portuguese words filled the muggy air that even Cherrie refused to interpret due to modesty.

One general rule for which most all agreed was that no member would again wander from the camp alone for any reason. The mission’s co-commander Theodore Roosevelt remained the only holdout, arguing that hunting for sustenance outweighed any one man’s safety. “Without food, the camaradas will have little energy to perform their vital tasks,” he said. “And without their help, we will likely all perish in this jungle.”

The men dispersed to their task of conveying the last of the canoes, and Roosevelt once again grabbed his rifle and slipped into the forest, mindful of keeping within earshot of the others and thusly fulfilling a promise he had made to a concerned and ever-doting Kermit. He passed silently beside the river and approached a tiny landing where Kermit had spotted a pig-like Amazonian creature called a tapir just the day before. Kermit reportedly scrambled for his rifle but could not get a clear shot at the animal as it passed swiftly through the rapids and onto the opposite riverbank.

Roosevelt pushed through the dense vegetation wiping sweat from his forehead and brushing away some pesky flies. He stopped to catch his breath. Roosevelt removed his spectacles and wiped the moisture on his shirt’s sleeve. He replaced his glasses, whereupon they promptly fogged again. “Blast,” he said aloud. Frustrated, he shoved his spectacles into his shirt pocket.

Suddenly Roosevelt looked up and saw a chest-high brown creature in the clearing ahead. He raised his rifle and promptly fired.

“
Senhor
Roosevelt!
Senhor
Roosevelt!”

Roosevelt scrambled into his shirt and replaced his glasses. His heart thumped.

“
Senhor
Roosevelt,” the voice before him implored. Roosevelt saw the figure of his bowman Luiz trotting toward him waving a hand. The other hand held up his unbuckled pants.

Roosevelt lowered his gun, his heart raced. “
Obrigado
, Luiz,
obrigado
… My sincerest apologies…”

Luiz stood before Roosevelt with widened eyes and panting loudly. He finished buttoning his pants.

“I don’t know what to say,” Roosevelt mumbled. “I…”

Just then, Kermit and Colonel Rondon pushed their way through the forest. George Cherrie and a few other camaradas arrived a moment later.

“I took my glasses of for the briefest moment and I…”

Kermit Roosevelt shook his head. The others stood about without uttering a word.

Colonel Rondon finally broke the awkward silence. “Luiz,” he said, motioning. “Return to work.”

“
Sim
, Colonel Rondon,
sim
,” Luiz replied eagerly. The camarada hastily brushed past Rondon and back toward the dugouts.

Wordlessly, Rondon turned and followed Luiz.

Theodore Roosevelt felt suddenly nauseated.

Roosevelt sat back in his chair with his shirt unbuttoned. He rolled a tiny thermometer under his tongue and stared straight up and between the trees into the bright Brazilian sky.

Dr.
Cajazeira
snatched the thermometer and held it forth, reading aloud its tiny markings. “One hundred and two… Not so much an improvement but certainly not worse,
senhor
.”

“Good, good”

Cajazeira eyed Roosevelt sternly. “There is nothing good about suffering from malaria in the midst of a jungle,
senhor
.”

Roosevelt became distracted by an approaching Kermit. The younger Roosevelt sat down upon the ground before him. Teddy Roosevelt squirmed uneasily.

Dr.
Cajazeira
fiddled in his bag and shook his head.

“Is there anything you’d like?” Roosevelt asked Kermit.

“I’m just checking on you, father.”

“I can handle things just fine, thank you. I have fought with doctors before. You can say it’s another hobby of mine.”

Dr.
Cajazeira
grabbed a small scope and peered into Roosevelt’s right eye. “You needn’t bother with the left,” Roosevelt said dolefully. “It has been quite useless for several years, growing dim after a boxing shot that, incidentally, I never saw coming.”

“I know,
senhor
” the doctor replied. “A first year medical student would have noticed the damage from across a smoke-filled room.”

“Oh, right.”

Cajazeira
backed away, shaking his head once again. “I see some traces of jaundice. This is likely due to some damage to your blood and liver cells that—”

“Doctor!” Roosevelt implored. “Please…”

“Father, it’s okay,” Kermit said reassuringly. “I’ve known of your malaria for quite some time. Did you not think I could recognize the symptoms of a disease for which I myself am infected?”

Roosevelt sighed. “Kermit, I do apologize from my little transgression. I simply did not want you concerned with such trifles. You have your own problems and your own work to do.”

“I will always be concerned with your wellbeing, father. And malaria is far from trivial.”

“Well,” Dr.
Cajazeira
interrupted. “Your remaining eye deteriorates further with the jaundice. I’m afraid there is little I can do for you here in the wilderness. My best advice to you,
senhor
President, is to leave the hunting to more able-bodied members of the expedition before someone is injured or killed.”

Roosevelt seethed. “No,” he said, shaking his head vigorously. “No one is going to take my rifle away, nobody! Did you hear me? I am not to be treated like a scolded child.”

Dr.
Cajazeira
nonchalantly packed his black bag.

“No, father,” Kermit said calmly. “That unfortunate incident could have happened to any one of us. And no man in this jungle should be deprived of his firearm.”

Roosevelt furrowed his brow and crossed his arms.

Kermit raised his palm. “All we ask of you is a little discretion.”

Following his visit with Dr.
Cajazeira,
Roosevelt steamed with anger for the better part of an hour. Pacing back and forth like a caged lion, he took a deep breath, and then he collected a few of his books and headed down to the river for some peace and quiet. He donned his head-netting and sat down within sight of the roaring rapids. The sound had a soothing effect and gently calmed his frayed nerves. He slowly gathered in the sights and smells of the lovely white lilac orchids that sprang from the fertile Brazilian soil in bountiful clusters. Soon, he was lost in the world of Victor Hugo, Duchamp, Ronsard, and du Bellay. He closed his eyes comforted by those wonderfully written words.

Roosevelt was suddenly roused by raised voices. He dropped his book and shuffled hurriedly toward the ruckus.

He arrived amid a full-out fist fight between two camaradas. Simplicio and Antonio appeared to be holding a third man away from the fray. Julio shoved Simplicio aside and muscled his way forward while the two men squared off. Lieutenant Lyra stepped in just in time to intervene. Colonel Rondon and Kermit rushed inward forming a wedge between the original combatants while Cherrie held the other camaradas at bay.