How Teddy Roosevelt Slew the Last Mighty T-Rex (15 page)

“Once again it was my own silly pride being forced upon those I love dearest.”

“No, no, you must understand that we all thought the game delightful fun. They continue to be some of our most cherished childhood memories.”

“Well, that is good to hear, son.”

“My point is much broader. I urge you wholeheartedly to view our predicament as your own personal ‘scramble’. Only this game is of utmost importance.”

“The Amazon is not Oyster Bay. We will not receive a hearty bowl of soup at day’s end to mollify our hunger.”

“But you do understand my point, do you not?”

Roosevelt released his grip from his wound. “Yes, your old and decrepit father still retains some measure of wit. But always remember that I am still the most expendable member of this expedition.”

“You will never be expendable to those that love and adore you, like mother and all of your grateful children.”

Roosevelt sighed. “Granted, I have been a tad morose here. I merely felt compelled to get a few nagging thoughts out of my silly head. Rest assured I will persevere as always. I guess this proclivity will always course through my veins until the day I see my maker.”

“Good, good.”

“But it troubles me to see many of my most destructive traits in you, Kerm. And I feel mostly to blame.”

Kermit took another sip from his canteen. “In what way?”

“In preparing you to overcome all obstacles, I fear that I may have gone too far. Like me, your fearlessness will most likely lead to recklessness, and recklessness will almost certainly lead to disaster.”

“Father—”

“A great general must be fearless, but he must also know his own army’s limitations. A man can overcome most obstacles, but he mustn’t be greedy with the all-leveling forces of fate. Sadly it has taken me five decades, but I think this truth has finally managed to penetrate my thick skull.”

“Father, I am not as fearless as you may believe…”

“I want you to promise me, Kermit. I want you to promise me that you will not fall victim to this most alluring and destructive trap—this false concept that everything can be overcome by force of will alone.” Roosevelt shook his head and sighed, feeling that he had just unburdened countless years of private, self-imposed angst. “And with your declaration I can die a content and happy man.”

Kermit Roosevelt wiped his mouth on his shirt’s sleeve. Turning to his father, he said, “I will.”

Teddy Roosevelt deeply believed he should have experienced relief upon hearing his son’s simple words, but instead he felt continuing doubt. Kermit’s self-destructive disposition was already deeply ingrained and now impossible to undo.
If only I could accept Kermit’s statement upon its face...

Upon the dawning of a new day, even fair weather could not lift the men’s gloomy mood. Colonel Rondon lined the men up for their morning orders and then immediately put them to work on the new dugout, and the camaradas all grumbled at not receiving their usual breakfast allowance.

“Your daily rations will be distributed in time,” the Colonel shouted, “but only after we have made significant progress on the dugout.”

Theodore Roosevelt shook his head subtly upon observing Rondon’s latest strategy to motivate his beleaguered laborers, and for the first time since the expedition began, he disagreed wholeheartedly with the Brazilian Colonel’s unorthodox methodology. Yet he remained silent as he had pledged to himself at the expedition’s onset. “The camaradas must receive orders from one man only,” Roosevelt whispered to Cherrie. “They mustn’t think for a moment Rondon’s commands can be circumvented simply by offering their complaints to me. If father says ‘no’, the answer should be a resounding ‘no’; they must not think for a moment they can just ask mother.”

Colonel Roosevelt was not surprised that Julio de Lima was the most visibly upset of the laborers. The lazy and violent camarada stomped around like a child, hissing and whispering his poisoned opinions to anyone or everyone unfortunate enough to be within earshot. Some of his fellow laborers, including Simplicio, would simply wave their hands in disgust upon Julio’s frequent and vociferous ravings; although most just moved away and worked the opposite end of the dugout where they could find some measure of peace.

Kermit and Lyra set off on a hunt at mid-morning, leaving Roosevelt, Rondon, and Cherrie to oversee the laborer’s backbreaking work and to motivate any man who slackened his pace.

With hat in hand, Simplicio approached Colonel Rondon. “We are starving,
senhor
Colonel,” he said humbly. “Many ask if we can search for
palmito
or milk-root. We only wish a short break to regain our energy. All of us realize the importance of finishing the dugout.”

“No,” Rondon replied emphatically. “Not until we have made significant progress.”

Theodore Roosevelt stroked his stubbly chin.
Why would Rondon blatantly alienate one of his most loyal workers? This did not seem to be a productive strategy while morale remained unmanageably low.
Relaying his concerns to George Cherrie, the naturalist readily agreed. Even Colonel Rondon’s trusted Paishon shook his head without comment, swinging his axe into the dugout with newly incensed energy.

Colonel Roosevelt sensed the situation coming to a boil a short time later. George Cherrie, who had been mingling amongst the workers, pulled close to Roosevelt’s ear. “I’ve overheard some discussion amongst the men. Something is about to happen but there is some discord in their ranks. Not all are convinced of their way forward.”

“I’ve noticed the open talk has diminished rapidly,” Roosevelt said. “A sure sign something is afoot. I see Julio’s eyes darting back and forth like a cat.”

“Be prepared for anything. Keep your rifle handy.”

Roosevelt smirked. “You needn’t remind me, Mr. Cherrie.”

George Cherrie nodded subtly.

The camaradas labored for a half-hour in near silence. Julio suddenly halted, and with great flourish, the camarada dropped his axe upon the ground drawing everyone’s attention. Roosevelt watched with amusement as Julio crossed his arms and stared directly at Colonel Rondon. One by one, the other camaradas reluctantly followed Julio’s lead. Simplicio and Paishon complied lastly, standing in firm solidarity with their brethren. As usual, Lieutenant Martin stood to the side showing little outward expression, whereas Julio de Lima grinned from ear to ear.

Colonel Rondon strode forward gesturing wildly. He barked his orders in Portuguese. “Get back to work!”

Julio uttered something unintelligible and Rondon’s nostrils flared like an angry dragon. In four quick steps Rondon confronted the burly camarada face to face. Theodore Roosevelt would have deemed the scene quite comical if the situation were not so deadly serious—the diminutive Colonel stood almost a foot shorter than the fiery camarada. Rondon gestured upward like an angry school teacher scolding an over-sized teenager. The two men exchanged angry words in rapid-fire fashion, and even George Cherrie could not quite make sense of their conversation.

Roosevelt and Cherrie cocked their rifles and moved forward.

Rondon turned. “No, no,” he said, motioning downward with his palms. “No firearms. We will work this out like rational men. I will never condone turning arms on one of my own. If you do so, turn your guns also on me!”

Roosevelt and Cherrie slowly lowered their guns.

Paishon stepped tepidly between Julio and Colonel Rondon. Paishon spoke to Rondon in a mere whisper. Roosevelt moved closer but could not discern anything they discussed. Paishon pointed to the forest and then rubbed his own stomach. With a broad sweep of his hand, he waved toward the group of stationary camaradas.

Rondon spoke a few brief sentences, and the two men nodded civilly.

Julio raised his nose like a newly-crowned king. With an abrupt wave of his hand, Julio motioned the other sixteen camaradas toward the forest, and they began to move slowly away from the canoe. Several of the men nodded curtly and apologetically toward Colonel Rondon as they passed.

“And don’t forget to take some rifles and ammunition,” Rondon said firmly.

Theodore Roosevelt and George Cherrie exchanged glances. Roosevelt shook his head while Rondon strode slowly back to Roosevelt and Cherrie.

Roosevelt believed he detected a subtle smirk upon the Brazilian Colonel’s face. The former president seethed. “Do you think it wise to offer these men firearms after this… this blatant insubordination?”

Rondon shrugged. “Every one of them knows where the rifles are stored,
senhor
Roosevelt, and the men do have the right to defend themselves. You know as well as I they can raid the stockpile any time they desire. We must be crafty in the way this situation is handled. All will be lost if we rely on overwhelming force that we do not, and never will, possess.”

“Then you have some sort of plan?” Cherrie asked.

“Sometimes an open wound must be allowed to boil and fester before its poison can be removed.”

Roosevelt’s thought for a moment and his eyes narrowed. “I hope your little gamble pays off, Commander Rondon. With only God to witness our actions, the stakes are high.”

The camaradas remained away from camp until well past noon. They began trickling back to the campsite each carrying stalks of
palmito
or other edible Amazonian plants. Colonel Rondon, Roosevelt, and Cherrie spent the time taking turns at the hollowed-out tree, swinging the axe until sweat poured off their glistening foreheads. Colonel Roosevelt took only two or three good whacks in succession before he had to retreat and catch his breath.

Roosevelt took a long gulp from his canteen and watched Julio and two of his closest allies wander in lastly. Julio laughed openly when he noticed the officers performing such excruciating labor. Colonel Rondon simply ignored the loathsome camarada and continued his work in earnest.

Eventually, after eating a good portion of their newly collected bounty, Paishon, Simplicio, Antonio, and Martin relieved the officers at the dugout. Julio and the rest of the most strident laborers lounged around amid the shade of the great rubber trees, laughing and joking.

Roosevelt’s blood boiled. Nothing incensed the former president more than men who did not pull their own weight or refused to share in the sacrifices of others. He strode forward determined to put a stop to this outrageous charade, but Rondon calmly stepped into the former president’s path. “Colonel Roosevelt,” Rondon said with a tempered hand. “Please
senhor
let us see where this situation leads. Please…”

“We cannot let this continue, Colonel Rondon. I will not stand for this!”

“Please…” Rondon pleaded calmly.

Roosevelt took a few deep breaths. “I will not watch this expedition disintegrate before my very eyes. I simply refuse!”

“You must have patience,
senhor
.”

Roosevelt turned in a huff and retreated to his chair beside the campfire. He snatched a book and began to read.

Kermit and Lyra returned from their hunt just before the sun reached its afternoon apex. Kermit presented a meager Jacu-bird to Colonel Rondon, the result of over seven grueling hours in the unforgiving jungle. Lyra noticed the scanty progress on the dugout and turned to Colonel Roosevelt for an explanation.

Roosevelt waved his hand dismissively. “Ask Colonel Rondon about the men. Apparently the patients are now running the asylum. I have washed my hands of the whole affair.”

A heated argument erupted amongst a handful of camaradas congregating near the dugout. Roosevelt assumed it was a battle between those working diligently on the canoe and those not pulling their weight. Colonel Rondon appeared to ignore the spat.

“See!” Roosevelt said, motioning dramatically to Kermit and Lyra. “Now even less will be accomplished!”

Suddenly a gunshot rang out from just beyond camp. Roosevelt sprang from his seat and grabbed his rifle. Lieutenant Lyra peered around frantically, trying to determine the shot’s direction. Lyra gestured toward the woods near the provision stockpile, and the officers scrambled forward. Roosevelt hurried along, followed by the remaining camaradas.

Roosevelt arrived at the stockpile panting heavily. Simplicio stood over the provisions pointing his rifle at Julio de Lima’s head. Julio held his hands locked behind his own neck. Roosevelt noticed several emptied tins beneath Julio’s feet. Julio cocked his head and spat toward Simplicio, whereas Simplicio stepped aside, keeping his gun steady. The camaradas jabbered amongst themselves, all pointing at the empty cans.

Two camaradas lurched forward toward Julio. Paishon jumped between them, trying his best to hold the vigilantes back. The men argued vociferously, but Roosevelt sensed without doubt that not a single man took Julio’s side. Roosevelt grinned wryly, knowing the men were only arguing over the severity of Julio’s impending castigation.

Roosevelt turned to Rondon, stating calmly. “A case can be made for summary execution, Colonel. Stealing food under such circumstances can be considered a capital offense.”

“Absolutely not,” Rondon replied. “That may be true in America’s Wild West or on the battlefields of Europe, but the laws of Brazil state otherwise. The man must be brought to justice in a civilized courtroom.”

“Then you expect to hold him in cuffs for the duration of the expedition?”

“No,
senhor
Roosevelt, but I will allow his comrades to decide his immediate punishment.”

Theodore Roosevelt smirked. “Yes, of course, my dear Colonel. I can now see where before my anger struck me temporarily blind to your overt wisdom.” He nodded.

The camaradas stripped Julio of his shirt and bound his wrists. Antonio cut a wispy tree-branch and removed its bark. He tested the contrivance’s effectiveness by thrashing the trunk of a rubber tree. Julio’s open defiance of only hours before transformed presently into uncontrollable shaking and cowardly pleas for mercy. Roosevelt turned his head in disgust.

Lieutenant Martin secured a rope to Julio’s cuffed hands and tossed its opposite end over a high tree branch. The Englishman tightened the rope drawing Julio’s arms sharply upward and exposing his bare back. The camaradas agreed to each take a single turn with the whip.

The laborers lined up without uttering a word. Antonio stepped forward, first in line. Antonio reared back and cracked Julio’s back. Julio began crying like a child. Simplicio stepped up next. He thrashed the whip hard enough to draw a narrow column of blood beneath Julio’s slumping shoulders. Julio’s harrowing wail echoed through the thick forest. Roosevelt cringed with each successive snap.
Dr. Cajazeria could not bear to watch.

The last man in line, Lieutenant Martin, stood silently before the blubbering Julio. Despite Julio’s begging, Martin stepped forward and landed the final blow. Martin tossed the whip aside.

The men all stood silently for a few moments; it seemed like an eternity to Roosevelt.

Finally, Rondon said, his voice cracking, “Cut him down and get him cleaned up.” He motioned to
Dr. Cajazeria. “
We all have more than enough work to do before nightfall.”