How Teddy Roosevelt Slew the Last Mighty T-Rex (18 page)

The camaradas labored on the new canoes during every daylight hour for two nerve-racking days. Swinging their axes with great tenacity, the men kept their eyes peeled on the outlying forest and any movement whether perceived or imagined. Even the expedition’s officers were not immune to the palpable sense of entrapment and claustrophobia felt by the rank-and-file. Kermit and Lyra prowled the camp’s periphery armed with rifles while Theodore Roosevelt scanned the forest holding fast to the slim hope for Lieutenant Martin’s successful return.

The canoes were taking shape nicely following the second full day of construction. Paishon reported to Rondon his optimistic estimate that only one more day of labor should suffice to finish the project. The men sat around the crackling fire that evening dining on fresh piranha caught amid the river’s swirling eddies.

Suddenly, they all heard a loud holler come from the dark forest, and the men around the campfire silenced. Kermit and Cherrie grabbed their rifles. Paishon rose slowly to his feet and released a high-pitched howl. Another yell emanated from the woods, this time a bit closer.

The solitary figure of Lieutenant Martin slowly emerged within the campfire’s flickering light.

“I trust you are alone?” Roosevelt asked nervously.

“I come with no others,” Martin replied.

Following some friendly greetings from his fellow camaradas and offers of a meager portion of fish, Martin urgently pulled the officers aside.

Even amid the dimmed light Roosevelt noticed Martin’s face showing deep concern. Missing was the over-confident and somewhat conceited anthropologist he’d observed upon first meeting the wayward Englishman just a month before at the Bonifácio station. Roosevelt now stood before a man somewhat out-of-sorts, a man whose arrogance had transformed to angst.

Lieutenant Martin began slowly. “Yes, I was granted an audience with the Wide Belt peoples. Their main village is located a few kilometers from this spot along the small tributary we had passed just a short way back upriver.

“The initial greeting was unpleasant and I was even taken hostage at first. They understood I was an outsider, but they did not place me as a member of this expedition until I explained I was so.”

“Then you understood their language?” Rondon asked.

“The Wide Belts speak a dialect of
Old Tupi. It is similar to the Nhambiquara tongue but closer to Pareci. Our Antonio, a Pareci himself, would make a competent interpreter.”

“Then you were very fortunate,” Roosevelt said. “It must have been of some consolation to understand their concerns and retain the capability to articulate your own, was it not?”

“Yes, Colonel Roosevelt, I was fortunate indeed. Their chief is a man named Tataire; although chief is a relatively misleading term when describing the Wide Belt leadership structure. It appears each major household has its own chief in any practical sense, but Tataire seems to hold a great deal of sway amongst this particular community.”

Rondon stroked his chin. “Do you suppose we could use this loose power structure to our advantage?”

“Yes,” Martin replied, “although it will only get us so far.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Wide Belt chief told me that all of his tribe fled when they first heard us thundering through the woods, scaring away their game. Many saw our long beards and our strange garb and our senseless hollowed trees that floated upon the river, not realizing we were human like them!”

“Is that not good?” Roosevelt asked. “If they fear us, then they may let us pass without incident. A stalemate, some might say.”

Martin shook his head subtly. “Let me pose a simple question to Mr. Cherrie. What do indigenous peoples do to creatures they determine are not human?”

George Cherrie smirked. “Why, you know the answer to that question, Mr. Martin—they have them for dinner.”

“Precisely.”

Theodore Roosevelt shook his head, glancing at Kermit and then to Rondon.

Martin continued, “And yet that may not be our most pressing concern. Tataire told me in no uncertain terms that we are prohibited from advancing downriver under penalty of death. The lands to their north and west are considered sacred to the Wide Belt people and forbidden to outsiders.”

Cherrie asked, “You’re not imparting ridiculous stories about prehistoric monsters again, are you?”

Martin waved his hand. “I am only relaying the message given to me by their chief, Mr. Cherrie. Take of it what you will. However, Tataire told me they may allow us to retreat upriver, but only if satisfactory remuneration can be agreed upon.”

“What kind of remuneration?” Rondon asked.

“I simply do not know—but neither, I surmise, does Tataire. Therefore I can deduce we may have a measurable chance to escape our doom, if the payment is right.”

Roosevelt crossed his arms. “I don’t like being held for ransom under any circumstance, especially when we possess rifles and ample ammunition. I say, let us die with dignity and with our heads held high. A good man has already sacrificed his life for this expedition. I have not come this far simply to turn tail and run.”

“The tribal elders have asked for a contingent of our leaders to meet at the village.”

“Please,
senhor
Roosevelt,” Rondon said. “Think this through rationally. We will run out of bullets before the natives run short of men, bows, and poison arrows. What you propose is a death sentence for us all.”

Roosevelt waved his hand dismissively. “Very well, commander Rondon, but I am not strolling into this village without my rifle.”

“Indeed,” Lieutenant Martin added. “I think it wise to arm our contingent the best we can. The Wide Belts will care little about the ‘sticks’ we carry—they will not know our rifle’s deadly capabilities. It may be our strongest edge, and one we can keep secreted.”

Rondon shook his head. “I cannot in good conscience advocate the killing of indigenous peoples no matter—”

“Good night,” Roosevelt interrupted, rising to his feet. Colonel Theodore Roosevelt had heard quite enough of Rondon’s blathering about native’s rights at present. “I will meet you at sunrise with my gun loaded and readied. And I can assure all of you that my pockets will be full of ammunition. Good day, gentlemen.”

They awoke the next morning to menacing skies. Rondon chose Antonio to accompany Roosevelt, Cherrie, Martin, and himself as ambassadors to the Wide Belt village. Kermit and Lyra were tasked to stand guard at the campsite while the remaining camaradas hurriedly completed the two canoes.

Kermit, to nobody’s surprise, refused to leave his father’s side despite Roosevelt’s and Rondon’s pleas to the contrary.

The party armed themselves the best they could, except for Colonel Rondon who steadfastly refused to carry his rifle into the native’s settlement. Rondon gathered as many trinkets and other items that he could spare and then tied them securely in a cloth sack. Theodore Roosevelt shook his head with disapproval.
Now is the time to show strength, not compromise,
he reasoned.

Before setting out, Roosevelt glanced around stealthily and then ducked into his tent. He sped through his belongings until he found the copper slab with the etching of the Dark Beast that Lieutenant Martin had given to him. He shoved it into his pocket.

The six men slipped out of camp and into the forest, retracing the winding Rio Roosevelt up and to the southeast. The slog through the heavy brush was brutal on the undernourished men. Roosevelt in particular had the toughest time traversing the gradual uphill route—stopping to rest on several occasions flush with malarial fever and crippled with bouts of his ever-problematic asthma.

They reached the small tributary described by Martin by late morning. With their rifles readied, they began to trek eastward along a well-worn native trail. Lieutenant Martin treaded lightly whilst leading the way forward. Teddy Roosevelt watched with great interest as the bark-clad and clean-shaven Englishman stepped forward and hollered a warning every two or three hundred steps.

Several solemn and fierce faces soon emerged from the folds of the great Amazonian trees; although the moment they saw Roosevelt and his men, they fled back into the jungle.

“They will go to the village and warn the elders of our impending arrival,” Martin said. “We must be on our guard from this point forward.”

After a few more brief encounters, the wary ambassadors strode through an opening in the woods and directly into a village of twenty-five or thirty crudely thatched huts. Roosevelt noticed a smoldering fire-pit amid a cluster of palm-laced structures. Cherrie caught Roosevelt’s attention and motioned toward the huts. Dozens of native women and small children peered forth from low-cut doorways. Roosevelt caught their faces briefly before the natives retreated back inside. Beside one of the huts, a miserable-looking wild tapir stood tied to a post.
Waiting to be dinner,
Roosevelt thought.
These people could certainly use the protein, as long as their intended meal is not us!

Martin led Rondon, Roosevelt, and Antonio to the central fireplace and sat promptly on the ground. George Cherrie and Kermit, with their rifles readied, flanked their comrades to either side.

Roosevelt saw several native men slip cautiously from their huts and out into the open courtyard. Moving like stalking cats, they surrounded the ambassadors on all sides. The native’s faces were long and gaunt and many bore brightly colored paint and odd tattoos. Wordlessly, two proud men moved forward toward Lieutenant Martin. The second man, perhaps twenty years older than the first, remained a few steps behind. Roosevelt noticed a family resemblance and guessed the second man was the other’s father.

“The chief Tataire,” Martin whispered.

Tataire and his companion sat on the ground directly in front of the oddly-dressed strangers.

Firstly, Lieutenant Martin spoke a few lines in Old Tupi, and Antonio interpreted for Roosevelt and Rondon. “Greetings, chief Tataire. As you can see I have brought a group of my contingent before you to pay homage to the Wide Belt people.” Martin bowed slightly.

“Yes, I can see,” Tataire replied, waving his hand. “And I see they carry no bows and arrows, so this is quite satisfactory.” Roosevelt noticed Tataire’s eyes wander around the clearing as if the chief were noting his adversary’s strength and number.

“We have brought with us several generous gifts. We will present these to your village so that we can pass peacefully through your tribal lands.”

Colonel Rondon leaned forward and handed the cloth bag to Tataire. The chief opened the bag and carefully removed a tin cup and small hand-axe. Tataire grabbed the axe’s handle and made several chopping motions in mid-air.

“This is very wise,” Tataire said. “Our warriors are many, and we can slaughter you any time we desire.”

“So, you will allow us to proceed downriver?” Roosevelt asked somewhat impatiently.

Before Antonio could interpret, Martin raised his palm in protest. “Please, Colonel Roosevelt…”

“Ask him, Antonio! I’m giving you a direct order.”

Antonio posed the question to Tataire and the native chief’s eyes flashed with anger. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “You will not be allowed to pass the rapids where you are now making sleep-times.”

“Why?”

“The lands are forbidden to peoples who are not of our tribe.” Tataire pointed southward and backwards. “If the gifts are satisfactory to the elders, you will be allowed to return upriver. But only if they agree.”

“Can you tell us why it’s forbidden?” Cherrie asked.

Tataire turned to the older man sitting behind him. The older man responded with a quick shake of his head.

“No,” Tataire said emphatically.

Theodore Roosevelt promptly removed the copper etching from his pocket and handed it directly to the native chief. Roosevelt noticed a slight smirk cross Lieutenant Martin’s leathery face.

Tataire looked the slab over and then offered—what Roosevelt could only describe was—a native’s version of a disinterested shrug. Martin’s eyes widened and his mouth lay agape. Without even looking, Roosevelt could almost sense Colonel Rondon’s mocking glare. Cherrie shook his head and snorted with annoyed amusement.

Tataire turned and offered the copper slab to the older native man. The elder stared down for a moment and then rubbed his weathered hand across the medallion’s metallic face. Suddenly, the man looked up excitedly and rose on spindly legs. “
Arawuua,
” he cried with widened eyes. “
Arawuua
!”

Theodore Roosevelt sat at the center of the Wide Belt village watching chief Tataire confer with a cluster of painted Amazonian warriors and village elders. Roosevelt guessed from their animated gestures and the tone of their chatter that the native’s debated with great passion, and yet some division remained within their festered ranks. Finally, the Wide Belt chieftain appeared to have heard quite enough of the bickering and raised his hand for order. Tataire held his nose high and turned back to Roosevelt and Colonel Rondon.

“The elders believe witchcraft has empowered the strangers to draw images of the sacred Arawuua through their sleep-dreams or through other herbs or medicines, known or unknown. The mighty beast allows itself to be seen only to the bravest of spirit and the strongest of body. And yet it requires an even greater warrior to slay the Arawuua and return to our tribal lands triumphant and proclaim one’s self a chieftain of the highest order.”

Tataire glanced at the elder man sitting behind him. “My father was the last warrior to see the Arawuua with waking eyes, so we grant him high status in our tribe until the day he sleeps forever and is consumed by the forest. He tells me the strange flat stone you have offered shows a likeness of the Arawuua and that great witchcraft is likely at work. We also believe that the witch’s spell can only be broken if we speak to you and answer your questions without deceit.”

Roosevelt glanced at both Rondon and George Cherrie.

“Does the Arawuua still live?” Cherrie asked. “Or does the Arawuua only exist in men’s dreams?”

Tataire shook his head. “Warriors journey to the land of the Arawuua each dry season during a ritual we call the Kariati. The land of the Arawuua is many days travel along the great river in the same direction as the water flows. The journey is long and harsh, and only the fit among us dare attempt its passage. The Arawuua live just beyond a stretch of river that runs between high rock cliffs that block the skies. The way is marked by rock etchings made by our ancient ancestors to warn all not worthy to witness the beasts.

“I have made this journey each season since I first came of age, but it brings me great sadness that the Gods have not yet granted me the privilege of fulfilling my destiny like my forefathers.”

“Please do not take offence, great chief Tataire,” Roosevelt said. “But do you think the Arawuua beast lives no more?”

“Several seasons ago, I and my warriors heard the great cries of the Arawuua far in the distance but could not find the elusive beast after days of hunting. We have also seen its tracks, but the great footprints were not fresh and led us nowhere. Despite our offerings, the Gods have not allowed us our highest honor and tradition.”

“Offerings…? Colonel Rondon asked.

“Our ancestors built a large stone hut within the Arawuua’s domain. The hut has a high wall and protects the warriors as they sleep and wait to hunt the beast. To prevent witchcraft, it has been our tradition to offer the Arawuua gifts, like arrows, beads, and sacred rocks that we sift from the ground. All of the items are left at the hut to honor the beast’s sacrifices.”

A notion suddenly struck Roosevelt, but he couldn’t quite align his thoughts.
Rocks from the ground...?
S
omehow this had to be a missing piece from the grand puzzle of Lieutenant Martin and Julio’s odd relationship.

Rondon said, “If you allow us to pass, Chief Tataire, you will have my word that we will not disrespect your sacred lands. We will remain in our hollowed-out logs and pass swiftly through the Arawuua’s abode on the river’s current.”

Following Antonio’s translation, the elders behind Tataire buzzed with hushed chatter.

Tataire raised his hand. “The land of the Arawuua is sacred. We will never allow non-humans to pass within its realm.”

Roosevelt glanced at each of his men.

Colonel Rondon rubbed his chin. “Then you will allow us to pass back from the direction we have just journeyed and away from your sacred lands?”

Antonio translated Rondon’s words carefully, but the chieftain simply sat quietly. Roosevelt noticed Tataire’s eyes shifting ever so slightly. Several painted warriors slipped forward in an ever tightening circle around the expedition’s men. Roosevelt watched one warrior pull close to Kermit. The native reached out to touch his son’s rifle. Kermit pulled away forcefully.

Antonio’s hands shook. He said in English, “Colonel Roosevelt, I do not think—”

“Kermit!” Roosevelt shouted.

Kermit raised his rifle.

“No,
senhor
Kermit!” Rondon sprang to his feet, waving his hands.

Kermit pointed his gun directly at the emaciated tapir and pulled the trigger. The beast shrieked and collapsed, its chest oozing blood. Kermit cocked his rifle and fired again. The beast’s skull splattered red. The warriors scattered, yelling madly. Roosevelt, Cherrie, and Martin jumped to their feet and raised their rifles.

Amid the pandemonium, chief Tataire trotted to the tapir’s bloodied corpse. He bent to inspect its remains. With widened eyes, he ran into the nearest hut.

“Go!” Roosevelt cried to his men.

The six men flew down the twisting path and away from the Wide Belt village as fast as their legs could carry them. Lieutenant Martin trailed behind purposely, checking every so often to see if they were being pursued. Following a good half-hour trot, they halted to catch their breath.

Martin caught up to the group and reported to Roosevelt and Rondon. “I see no sign of pursuit.”

Roosevelt gasped for breath. “That does not mean… we should not make good time. Our guns may have frightened them in the short term… but they may work up the nerve to follow… nonetheless.”

“I agree,” Rondon said. “We should vacate these lands with great haste.”

Martin nodded curtly. “Herein the Wide Belt’s power structure based on consensus may be to our advantage, though.”

“Indeed, a valid point,” Roosevelt said. “It may take days for them to organize a posse. Or… they may be on the chase… right now.”

“Yes, we can never be certain.”
 
Rondon motioned. “Onward!”

They moved swiftly through the forest and down along the Rio Roosevelt to the north, consuming the afternoon’s remaining hours. Nearing evening and totally exhausted, they finally arrived back at their campsite below the rapids. Roosevelt, near collapse, was relieved to see the two new canoes on the riverbank ready for launch.

“Attention, everyone,” Rondon hollered, strolling into camp. “We must leave now and quickly. There is no time for explanation.”

The camaradas sensed Rondon’s urgency and sprang into action. The officers jumped in to lend a hand, and the men broke down camp in record time. By sunset, the six dugouts were loaded, manned, and ready to launch.

“We will have the light of the half-moon until well past midnight,” Rondon said. “I realized the way forward on this river is suicidal by night, but trust me when I say that what pursues us may be more dangerous still.”

The camaradas needed no further explanation, Roosevelt assumed.

Under the dim moonlight they meandered down the creeping river. Theodore never felt so insecure upon every turn and swirl, and upon every strange and odd sound emanating from out of the Amazonian forest’s shrouded darkness. Roosevelt pulled his coat tight as the camaradas dipped their paddles and uttered orders amongst their ranks trying valiantly to keep their precious canoes and cargoes from disaster.

Finally, several hours after midnight and after hearing the hiss of a potential run of rapids ahead in the darkness, Colonel Rondon ordered the dugouts to shore. Roosevelt calculated they had run a respectable twenty kilometers along the shadowy river, but he was somewhat relieved when Rondon decided to call a temporary end to their dangerous escape. Remaining on their respective canoes, the men curled up and attempted to get some sleep, although Roosevelt got little or no rest until the stars disappeared and the skies brightened with the dawn of a new day.

The camaradas labored hard throughout the following morning to bypass the rapids that had stopped them in the wee hours of the previous night. They climbed back into their dugouts with great hope but were once again halted by more white water just an hour later. While the workers struggled to bypass the new rapids, the officers and Lieutenant Martin scouted ahead and found an abandoned native village.

“Thankfully,” Martin said “The natives appear to occupy this settlement only during the dry season. We should be safe to pass without fear.”

The camaradas completed the portage by early evening and settled around the campfire to receive their meager rations.

George Cherrie and Theodore Roosevelt strolled to the river’s edge as the forest darkened and the insects began their nocturnal chatter.

“Well, George,” Roosevelt began. “It seems like we made a narrow escape. We were very fortunate.”

“Yes, Colonel, but I will not feel secure until we are well beyond these lands.”

Roosevelt smiled wryly. “George, I’m curious. Do you suppose the sacred rocks mentioned by the chieftain as offerings to their beasts could be gold?”

Cherrie shook his head. “Colonel, did you not notice the shaman standing behind the chieftain’s father?”

“No, I cannot say… I was a bit occupied.”

“When the shaman moved closer, I could clearly see a braided vine necklace hanging from his neck.”

“And...?”

“At the proper angle I could see plainly, the necklace was interlaced with rough-cut diamonds.”