How Teddy Roosevelt Slew the Last Mighty T-Rex (6 page)

Cajazeria chuckled. He grabbed his black bag as if preparing to leave.

Roosevelt noticed Kermit approach from the direction of camp. “And doctor,” he continued whispering. “I trust that any of our little visits will be kept confidential, would they not?”

“Yes, as you wish, Colonel.” With a tip of his hat, the doctor strolled back toward camp, passing Kermit on the way.

Kermit Roosevelt smirked. “A good, clean bill of health, I presume?”

“Doctors!?” Teddy waived his hand dismissively. “They worry like wives and fret over the most trivial symptoms. His diagnosis was that I was an old and broken man.”

“He is very perceptive.”

“Hmmm. And what does Amilcar and Rondon have to report?”

“The provisions are packed and ready for the Dúvida mission.”

“Excellent. And has there been any sign of Lieutenant Martin’s return?”

Kermit shook his head. “No, but Rondon insists that our contingent reach the river tomorrow so that the camaradas can begin constructing the boats.”

“I had hoped we could wait another day.”

“Amilcar and Miller’s group will remain here for a day or two, and then they hope to catch up with us before we depart.”

“Good, good.”

“And please, father, don’t fret about Martin. He was most likely a confidence man, out to swindle some money, as many do who are of their ilk. The task you assigned him was no less than brilliant. It probably saved us great embarrassment in the long run.”

“I suppose you and Rondon may have been right all along. I might have made a terrible blunder trusting this stranger. And yet I still maintain hope, but it might be wildly misguided.”

They started out the following morning even earlier than usual. Rondon and Lyra led their way along the twisting creek, followed closely by Roosevelt, Kermit, and Cherrie. The sluggish team of malnourished and over-packed oxen trailed behind, coaxed along by sixteen bare-footed camaradas.

By early afternoon they had trekked nearly four grueling miles, and the officers dismounted their mules and sat on some flat rocks beside the brook while the animals rested. Now obsessed with the thought of finally reaching the end of the overland journey, Colonel Roosevelt insisted they move forward, and the others, to a man, readily agreed.

They crept forward while the sun passed behind the trees to the west, finally descending a modest hillock where the creek merged peacefully into a larger river perhaps sixty feet across.

A simple wooden bridge spanned the river, and Teddy Roosevelt could see a solitary, naked white man sitting directly upon its center beams. Approaching closer, he noticed the naked man’s wide smile.

“I’m glad you and Colonel Rondon could make it,” Martin said nonchalantly. “I was beginning to think all my efforts would be for naught.”

Dismounting his mule, Roosevelt peered upon and beneath the structure. Before him, seven dugout canoes constructed in Nhambiquara fashion swayed upon the dark waters, their crude bows tethered to the bridge by vine-laced ropes.

With his hands braced upon his narrow hips, Colonel Cândido Rondon stood upon the Dúvida’s riverbank waiting patiently for Paishon and Lieutenant Martin to reposition the last of the seven Nhambiquara canoes to the near shoreline. The two men leaped to shore, and with the help of the other camaradas, lugged the bulky dugout onto dry land.

Paishon climbed the bank, reporting directly to Rondon and Roosevelt. He huffed deeply, speaking to the commanders in broken Portuguese, “Several of the dugouts are in need of serious repair,
senhors
.” He pointed. “Two are very old, one is small, and one is…” He shook his head. “Let us just say its structure is questionable. But the other three canoes appear to be in workable shape.”

Roosevelt scratched his stubbly chin. “We could have done better, or we might have done worse.”

“Repairable?” Rondon asked.

“
Sim
, Colonel Rondon, repairable yes.” Paishon motioned with his hands. “The two oldest can be lashed together to make them stronger.”

“For supplies?”

“Yes, for supplies. The others can be patched, almost… good.”

“How long will it take?”

“If we work very hard,
senhors
, I feel we could launch tomorrow at noon.”

Teddy Roosevelt smiled. “That is certainly grand news, good man. And it should give Amilcar and Miller enough time to meet up with us before we depart. Splendid!”

Rondon nodded. “Yes, these craft are simple, yet they should hold together and fit our needs.”

“And, more importantly,” Roosevelt added. “We will not waste an entire week of the camarada’s time constructing new boats.”

Colonel Rondon thought for a moment. He turned toward the riverbank where the camaradas were scouring the dugouts and discussing needed repairs. “Lieutenant Martin,” he called, motioning forward.

Martin’s head popped up from beside the nearest canoe. Now dressed in civilized shirt and trousers, he strode up the bank, chest forward yet unsmiling.

“Martin,” Rondon said flatly. “I want to commend you on your fine acquisition.”

Roosevelt reached out and grasped Martin’s hand. “Well done, old chap, and a hearty welcome to the expedition.”

Martin nodded politely. “The tribal chieftain at the nearest village was a difficult negotiator, but he finally succumbed to the generous gifts I offered. Let me just add that the craft were not the finest in their fleet by any estimation.”

“Regardless, you have saved the expedition a great deal of time and effort.”

Colonel Rondon motioned back toward the dugouts, waving his finger impatiently. “Well then, go now. We have more than enough work to do and in very little time.”

Theodore Roosevelt caught briefly Rondon’s dubious eye as Martin tromped down the bank to join the other camaradas.
It will take a great deal more to convince Rondon to trust the wayward Englishman,
Roosevelt pondered.
And yet, Rondon can hardly be blamed for his stubborn reluctance, perhaps it will require even more to convince me.

The sun set abruptly beyond the shrouded western skyline, and the camaradas constructed a huge bonfire following a grueling day’s work. Roosevelt sensed a jubilant mood amongst the laborers as they sat around gnawing on fresh oxen-meat and scooping rations of beans and potatoes. To a man, the camaradas patted Lieutenant Martin on the back and exulted praise, a consequence of sparing the workers several extra back-breaking days of hard labor, Roosevelt surmised. Sitting amongst the officers, Roosevelt also sensed Rondon’s private brooding as the Brazilian Colonel watched helplessly while the Englishman’s popularity surged amongst his carefully selected and tightly-knit crew; although Roosevelt knew, without any doubt, the proud commander would never admit to such a blatant insecurity.

Theodore Roosevelt also kept one eye on the lazy and conniving camarada Julio de Lima between swapping stories with Kermit, Cherrie, and the Brazilian officers. Roosevelt noticed that Julio simply kept to himself and apart from the others, which wasn’t particularly unusual in Roosevelt’s eyes, since Julio was never popular amongst the strongly bonded group. And yet the separation between Martin and Julio appeared a bit overdone to Roosevelt, solidifying Teddy’s theory of an ongoing conspiracy of some sort.

Roosevelt, owing primarily to his stint as New York City’s Police Commissioner, delighted in playing sleuth in these types of situations; although he kept his observations to himself so long as the circumstances remained relatively trivial and didn’t endanger their mission. And yet this little affair puzzled the curious former president to no end.
Why did Julio not just simply state that he knew and communicated with Martin before the Englishman strolled into their camp at Bonifácio? And why did Martin not mention Julio when he petitioned to join the expedition? And what can be gained by either man continuing this charade?

Teddy searched deeply yet found no immediate and concrete answers
. Perhaps Martin is simply embarrassed to be associated with a slug like Julio. And yet, what could a lazy termite like Julio hope to gain by bringing a lonely wanderer on an expedition where he could possibly challenge him for a lucrative job? After the incident with Captain Amilcar, Julio most assuredly would have realized that he would be the first camarada fired if the officers decided to trim excess crew.

Roosevelt’s head spun, realizing he didn’t possess all the pieces necessary to solve this puzzle, and yet he vowed to unravel its layers like a garden-fresh onion.
There’s nothing like a good old-fashioned mystery,
he thought playfully. But for now, Roosevelt would let the whole storyline play out without interference.

With full bellies and light hearts, both officers and crew retired early for the night upon a campsite nestled in the clearing beneath Rondon’s telegraph lines. Before crawling into his tent, Teddy Roosevelt glanced up at the crackling wires, lamenting perhaps the last trace of civilization the expedition would encounter for weeks, if not months, once they set out upon the mysterious waters of the Dúvida, thrusting headlong through the untamed Amazon forest.

The following day began well before dawn for the members of the Roosevelt-Rondon Expedition. By the time the stars began to fade amid brightening skies, every officer and high-ranking member was awake and sipping their second cup of coffee. Roosevelt attributed their rousing ambition to the excitement of beginning a new and perhaps final phase of their arduous mission. Meanwhile, the camaradas swarmed within the forested dimness completing repairs to the dugouts and distributing provisions under Rondon’s and Lyra’s watchful eyes.

By late morning, the dugout canoes were packed and ready for launch. Roosevelt and Cherrie cheered upon the timely arrival of Captain Amilcar and Miller’s
Gy
-Paraná
splinter expedition. The two groups of officers and scientists greeted each other with firm handshakes and fond farewells and good-lucks. With a heavy heart, Theodore Roosevelt bid farewell to his loyal mule, sending the poor creature away to an uncertain fate with Amilcar’s men.

 
As the sun reached its zenith, the camaradas stood before Rondon and Lyra receiving their assignments. The Englishman Martin, Rondon, and Lyra would take the lead canoe to execute their painstaking surveys and mapping. Kermit Roosevelt would follow Rondon, accompanied by two camarada paddlers. The largest dugout would carry Theodore Roosevelt,
Dr. Cajazeira
, Cherrie, and three paddlers. The remaining camaradas would guide the supply canoe.

Just before shoving off, Rondon and Roosevelt pulled Martin aside. Colonel Rondon asked, “What obstacles can we expect to encounter during the first few day’s float?”

Martin pointed downstream. “The river is placid for several kilometers. We will encounter our first native group within a few days. There should be signs of their habitation along the way. I hope that I can convince them to let us pass without incident, if they don’t find us first.”

Roosevelt turned to Rondon. “And one last request,
senhor
Rondon. I would like to have the Portuguese Julio de Lima as bowman on my canoe.” Roosevelt caught briefly a flash of unease amid Lieutenant Martin’s blue eyes.

Rondon sniffed. “There are certainly better men than Julio, Colonel.”

Roosevelt stood his ground. “That is what I wish.”

Rondon shrugged. “Fine, it shall be done.” Rondon whistled and waved Julio forward to Roosevelt’s canoe.

A short time later, the camaradas shoved the dugouts upon the over-flowing river while Amilcar and Miller stood upon the wooden bridge holding their cameras. With a final wave, Roosevelt settled into the canoe’s center along with Dr.
Cajazeira
and George Cherrie. And with a final push from their steersman, the creaky vessel launched into the swirling water.

Bending over his notes, Theodore Roosevelt wrote briefly:
“
12° 1´ latitude south and 60° 15´ longitude west of Greenwich. February 27, 1914, shortly after midday, we started down the River of Doubt into the unknown.”

Watching the narrow bridge disappear from view upon the river’s first bend, Teddy could not help but think:
those words are probably the greatest understatement of the young century
.