How Teddy Roosevelt Slew the Last Mighty T-Rex (13 page)

Moments later, all of the men stood around breathing heavily.

“Enough!” Colonel Rondon cried. “Get back to work! You mustn’t waste energy on such foolishness.”

Julio laughed like an imbecile and then strolled calmly away. Roosevelt noticed Lieutenant Martin standing expressionless and well clear of the fracas. Martin simply lowered his head and resumed his labor.

Theodore Roosevelt exhaled.

The men’s spirits lifted somewhat upon the onset of the following day when they once again shoved the dugouts out and onto the turbulent waters of the Dúvida River. They didn’t get far, however; just a half-mile later the river narrowed once again and the waters quickened. Roosevelt delighted in pointing out a small caiman crocodile zigzagging toward the shore. It scurried upon a sandy stretch and then directly into the jungle before anyone could get a fair shot. The camaradas groaned with disappointment at yet another lost opportunity to harvest fresh meat to mollify their intensifying hunger.

Rondon assigned Lieutenant Martin the lead canoe alongside Lieutenant Lyra. Rondon supposed that Martin, having the only experience on this particular stretch of river, could provide the flotilla fair warning of any impending hazards upon the waterway ahead. They pushed their canoes as far as they dared before Martin and Lyra signaled back to the others, directing the dugouts to shore.

Lieutenant Martin and the officers gathered on a tiny patch of sandy beach to discuss the task before them. Prompted for his advice, Martin pointed downstream. “I recall these series of rapids being less severe than those we encountered previously. Our dugouts could survive these stretches with two paddlers, if the provisions are moved overland and the officers proceeded on foot.” He pointed. “The double-wide canoes could be lowered with ropes through the roughest water.”

“That appears to be our best alternative,” Roosevelt said. “Asking these men to execute another brutal portage under these circumstances would be devastating to morale.”

Martin stood expressionless.

Rondon sighed. “Well, let us get started.” He waved his hand. “Lieutenant Lyra, get those canoes emptied. Daylight is wasting.”

One by one, the camaradas emptied the canoes and painstakingly bore the provisions on their brawny shoulders down and through the heavy thicket to the base of the white water run. Three teams of the best paddlers were tasked with steering the smallest and lightest of the dugouts through the rapids. Simplicio and Antonio would lead the way. When they completed a pass, they planned to offer experienced advice to Julio and his partner, who would then pass information regarding the river’s sharp turns and deadly boulders to another set of camaradas guiding the third canoe.

Kermit and Lyra supervised the lowering of the heaviest canoes by rope and hand. This turned out to be the cruelest task of all, struggling against the full force of onrushing water. Swarms of biting ants clung to plants crowding the rugged shoreline, and the men were bitten repeatedly until they swelled with blisters the size of silver dollars. Several times—and despite their best efforts—the burdensome canoes became swamped in the whooshing quagmire, yet luckily the rickety boats were rescued by the beleaguered and exhausted workers.

They had bypassed the first set of rapids by early afternoon and embarked once again. And just as Martin predicted, they came to a stop just an hour later. Amid the men’s grumbling, they began the tedious process of unloading the vessels once more. Like the previous stretch of swift water, Kermit and Lyra used ropes to lower the heavy canoes, and Simplicio and Antonio prepared to run the first light dugout down the six-hundred-yard long passage. Roosevelt, Cherrie, and the expedition’s cook forged ahead to scout an area suitable for camp near the base of the rapids.

A half-hour passed. Roosevelt watched Simplicio and Antonio guide the canoe skillfully through the treacherous waters. At about a hundred yards distant, Roosevelt heard loud yells over the water’s rush as the men were forced to paddle frantically and bring the craft sharply to Roosevelt’s left, before straightening the canoe again and finally pulling to shore.

A visibly-shaken Simplicio reported directly to Roosevelt. “Most of the run is not so difficult,
senhor
Colonel. And yet, as you have seen, there is a stretch of water that is quite dangerous.” He pointed. “There is a huge rock outcropping at the stream’s center which cannot be bypassed. A sharp turn to the right must be executed with skillful timing, otherwise…” He made a hard chopping motion with his hands.

Roosevelt nodded.

Julio arrived at the base camp carrying a few of the officer’s items. He awaited instructions from Simplicio before he was to return upriver and guide the remaining two canoes. Julio listened carefully while Simplicio spoke in Portuguese. Roosevelt and Cherrie watched Simplicio point toward the hazardous turn. Julio listened to his fellow camarada’s apparent warning and nodded smugly. “
Sim
,
sim
,” he repeated.

Theodore Roosevelt took note of Julio’s vapid smirk.

Roosevelt glanced at his pocket watch accounting for the passage of another half-hour. Wordlessly, Antonio and Simplicio stared upstream waiting for the next set of dugouts to emerge on the river above. Antonio hollered suddenly and pointed wildly, catching sight of Julio riding the canoe through the churning water. Roosevelt watched Julio easily maneuver the boat ninety degrees when they approached the problem area. Julio straightened the canoe with broad sweeping strokes and paddled the crude dugout into shore near Simplicio.

At that very moment, the third canoe barreled straight down the rapids. Simplicio and Antonio yelled and waved, but it was far too late. The canoe knocked the rock and the steersman catapulted headfirst into the water. The vessel’s bowman managed to hold firm and then hurriedly seized control. He immediately began to search for his lost companion. The canoe ran upon more tranquil water a few seconds later.

Simplicio ran down the shoreline and dove into the water. Antonio yelled and pointed at a set of flailing arms being carried across the swift current. Simplicio intercepted the man just as he was about to be lost downriver. Struggling mightily, he pulled the man toward shore. Antonio waded into the water and helped both rescuer and victim onto dry land.

Breathing heavily, the injured camarada staggered to a fallen tree trunk and plopped down. He held his forehead while blood oozed between his roughened fingers. Roosevelt tore a strip from his shirt and tied it firmly around the man’s skull. Colonel Roosevelt noted this same man partook in the previous day’s altercation.

Suddenly the injured man stood and yelled wildly in Portuguese. He lurched toward Julio while Julio backed away, shaking his head. The man gestured toward the rapids, and Julio waved his hand dismissively. Simplicio stepped into the fray, directing some calmer words toward Julio. Julio once again waved his hand meekly and stood his ground. Clearly frustrated, Simplicio shook his head.

George Cherrie overheard the ruckus and attempted to translate, but the words were flying at breakneck speed and he could only decipher some choice Brazilian profanity.

Finally, Roosevelt intervened. “What is going on here?”

The three men quieted.

Simplicio spoke directly to the injured man in English. “Is there some kind of problem here?”

The man hesitated for a moment and then shook his head. “No,
senhors
, there is no problem.”

Simplicio shook his head. He turned to Roosevelt and shrugged, saying warily, “I guess there is no problem,
senhor
Colonel.”

The men had just completed a pitiless full day’s work swollen with insect bites and on half-rations with no fresh meat to replenish their energy, when the skies opened up with a drenching rain, making their evening clustered around the smoldering campfire even more miserable.

The officers and camaradas sat separately, huddling in their raincoats and whispering in small groups while the rain poured down upon their heads and drenched their backs. Some of the more sensible camaradas remained busy cutting immense ten-foot-long wild banana leaves that they used to construct shelters over their customary hammocks, while others, Roosevelt noted, simply didn’t seem to care.

Roosevelt discretely pulled the expedition’s officers aside. Lieutenant Lyra spoke first. “Paishon has informed me that the camaradas appear to have broken into two factions. Julio has managed to convince a few others to his cause, opposed by Simplicio and Antonio and many of the remaining men, who remain loyal to Colonel Rondon and the expedition’s goals. Nobody appears to know exactly what Julio wants out of all this maneuvering, but he clearly wishes to undermine Colonel Rondon’s and
senhor
Roosevelt’s authority.”

“Power,” Kermit said, “the opium of malcontents.”

Roosevelt rubbed his chin. “This is all extremely disconcerting. All of these men have access to guns and ammunition.”

“Let me just say, if I may,” George Cherrie said. “I would strongly suggest we do not limit the rank-and-file’s access to firearms. Restricting them in this fashion can have disastrous effects on an expedition, often resulting in opposite the desired outcome. I have seen this scenario play out many times on previous jungle missions.”

“I agree wholeheartedly,” Rondon said. “Any effort we officers make in this regard will be met with scorn and paranoia. It could very well tip the balance in favor of those with ill intent.”

“Then, we must keep some sort of equilibrium?” Roosevelt asked.

“Yes,
senhor
, the seeds of discontent must be contained and not snuffed out completely. We must always remember that these men’s objectives are similar to our own in many respects. They wish to return to their homes and families quickly and safely, and they care little of who may be in charge. Whilst in the wilderness these men must be thought of as co-workers—not as servant and master, or military commander and foot-soldier.”

Roosevelt felt Rondon’s last statement a bit odd coming from such a strict disciplinarian, and yet it did make sense in this situation, appealing to Roosevelt’s more pragmatic disposition. “But these minor insurrections can be dangerous,” Roosevelt said. “It could even turn deadly if left unchecked. One needn’t look further than the incident at the rapids this afternoon.”

“
Sim
, yes, it can be very dangerous.”

“A good man might have been killed.”

“Yes, yes, although none have come forward to complain of any criminal actions. These men are like all others when cast together in the harshest of situations—they will be more fiercely loyal to one another than they will ever be to any of us.”

Roosevelt nodded in agreement. “That is a brutally honest truth, Colonel Rondon. And our Mr. Julio de Lima certainly knows this fact; consequentially, he may feel free to operate unimpeded.”

“That is true to some extent, Colonel Roosevelt. Julio knows well that he will fail if he pushes too hard. And if he fails, he will lose any respect he may have accumulated, whether earned or otherwise.”

 
“And what do we make of Lieutenant Martin? Has he any stake in this?”

Lieutenant Lyra shook his head. “Paishon has found no evidence of Martin’s involvement, but he does suspect Martin of some ‘unseen hand’ in many of these disagreements—‘stirring the pot’ as some would say.”

“Yes, Martin has been unusually quiet and circumspect,” Cherrie said, “ever since he presented his story and his outlandish theories.”

“Perhaps he feels humiliated,” Roosevelt added.
 
“Although I have to say he has performed his duties honorably and has certainly upheld his end of our contract.”

“
Sim, senhors
,” Lyra said. “He is a tireless worker and is a crack shot with the rifle, and yet his relationship with Julio both concerns and puzzles me.”

Colonel Rondon sighed deeply. “There is an overriding truth that the likelihood of insurrection grows with each day of hunger these men are compelled to endure. We must make certain to provide fresh meat to satisfy the expenditure of their energy.” Rondon glanced at each officer in turn. “We officers must understand our extreme vulnerability in the deep wilderness. We depend on these rugged men more than they depend on us.”

Theodore Roosevelt shivered. He could find no objections to anything just said.

Roosevelt woke the next morning to the sounds of the Brazilian forest and not the usual drone of rain pelting his tent’s roof. He crawled from his tent and into the soaking-wet clearing. Roosevelt overheard some clamor near the riverbank and set off to investigate.

A large contingent of camaradas stood overlooking the river which appeared swollen from overnight rains. Colonel Rondon and Lyra stood amongst the chattering men. Roosevelt noticed the largest cargo canoe and another old dugout missing from the bank. Luckily, he surmised, the supplies were all unloaded the night before any anticipated floods.

Paishon approached Colonel Rondon presenting him a two foot shard of shattered canoe. Paishon pointed downstream. Rondon shook his head.