How Teddy Roosevelt Slew the Last Mighty T-Rex (9 page)

As the night fell on the fourth day of March, the task of moving the dugouts was finally complete. Two of the canoes were damaged during the overland portage and one promptly sank when placed back into the bloated Dúvida, never to be recovered.

That evening over a cracking campfire, the exhausted officers discussed and argued over the direction of the river ahead. Lyra believed the river would bend to the west and merge with the
Gy
-Paraná
or
Madeira
rivers, whereas Colonel Rondon thought they would eventually turn east and enter the Tapajos river system or directly into the mighty Amazon itself. Roosevelt sat quietly listening to all the theories being thrown about. His mind drifted while the forest’s nighttime sounds roused to a crescendo upon the darkening night—he could not help but think that their fragile timeline was ticking away without pause while they speculated whether just a hundred, or eight hundred or even a thousand kilometers, lay ahead of them.

The following morning Roosevelt awoke suddenly upon hearing a loud human call from close within their campsite. Both Cherrie and Kermit sprung from their slumber and reflexively grabbed their guns. All three men hurriedly exited the tent, stepping into the pre-dawn twilight.

Roosevelt noticed Rondon, Lyra, and Paishon standing unarmed alongside several camaradas, all staring into the surrounding forest. George Cherrie motioned toward a few dozen native warriors crouching silently in the shadows holding cocked bows. Cherrie and Kermit slowly set their rifles on the ground. Roosevelt analyzed the situation instantly—even if they could snipe off a few of the warriors, the others would undoubtedly slaughter them all with little effort. Theodore Roosevelt suddenly became incensed realizing that the expedition had been caught so completely off-guard, yet he had to keep those feelings in check at the moment. He had far bigger problems requiring his immediate attention.

Roosevelt watched helplessly as Lieutenant Martin stepped slowly though the line of warriors followed by his smirking companion Julio.
Seeing his fellow camaradas squirm must tickle Julio’s fancy to no end,
Roosevelt thought,
especially after they treated him with such willful distain for nearly two months; although the mistreatment was certainly well deserved and was brought on by nobody but himself.
Roosevelt shook his head.
This lays bare Julio’s darkest personality—these are diseased thoughts coming from a lazy and twisted mind.

Lieutenant Martin and the camarada Julio stood on the camp’s periphery amid a group of stern-faced Amazonian warriors, basking in early morning light and palpable tension. An unarmed and stately native man sauntered up beside the Englishman. Martin leaned over and whispered a few words in the native’s ear. The man flicked his hand and the warriors slowly lowered their bows.

Roosevelt exhaled, feeling almost instantaneous relief.

Rondon placed his hands squarely upon his hips. “I hope you realize
senhor
Martin that your stealth could have resulted in great catastrophe.”

Martin stepped forward and lowered his gun. He shrugged. “I adhered to the proper protocol, Colonel Rondon, three yells in rapid succession.”

“Still, you had probably risked too much, having arrived at dawn while most of us slept, exhausted after a long portage.”

“There will be many more portages in the days ahead, Colonel.” Martin handed his rifle and ammunition to a jittery Paishon. “There will be many twists and turns in the river and as much white water as you can stomach. And there may be other unimaginable dangers along this route.” He chuckled. “And the greatest danger may not even come from the humans occupying the lands that you are about to traverse.”

Roosevelt asked, “What do you mean? I’m growing weary of your riddles.”

Martin raised his palm. “In time, Colonel Roosevelt, in time… But first, we don’t want to slight our gracious host. His followers refer to him as Chahknu. He is chieftain of this tribe and ruler of this domain.”

The stately native and one of his assistants stepped forward to the campfire’s rim. Roosevelt noticed that the other native warriors slowly merged back into the forest and out of sight but still well within earshot; although Roosevelt continued to feel their menacing presence. The Navaïté chieftain and his companion, along with Martin, sat on the ground, cross-legged.

Paishon tossed a few logs onto the fire. Rondon caught Paishon’s eye and nodded. The burly camarada rushed off and returned a moment later bearing what appeared to Roosevelt to be a broken pulley from a block and tackle set. Colonel Rondon smiled widely, holding the useless item aloft like a precious ruby-studded crown. He handed the pulley to the wide-eyed chieftain, who accepted the gift amid nods of less than sincere concurrence from his amenable underling.

Roosevelt and Rondon were joined at the fire by Kermit, Cherrie, and Lyra.

Rondon waved toward Paishon. “Paishon, o
brigado
, stay and translate for us,
sim
.”

“Following our departure,” Martin began, “Julio and me instantly deciphered the direction of the native’s recent migration. Clearly they had moved downstream just before the onset of the rainy season. Chahknu informed me that the river’s water level dictates their movements during most years. They migrate to land less susceptible to flooding and where crops can be cultivated and fish can be trapped. Traditionally, the land just south and west of these rapids is one such area they frequent during these times.

“We slogged through the woods northward following the river for a day and a half, finally reaching the village at sundown, two days past. What I found there disturbed me greatly. Warriors danced and whooped around blazing fires with their faces painted red and colored in black soot in the unmistakable manner of impending warfare. Chahknu greeted me warmly and informed me that oddly-garbed strangers had trespassed upon their land by way of the river and were now struggling past the rapids due to their ill-advised choice of burdensome and bulky dugouts. The chieftain was infuriated that the visitors had not announced their arrival, nor did they present any offerings or show any sign of respect whatsoever. As a footnote to this story, Julio and I had stripped naked before entering the village to avoid suspicion.

“Chahknu told me that his warriors had been observing the expedition for an entire day with great stealth, fading in and out of the forest or behind huge boulders as they had been trained since childhood. When the warriors returned to the village and reported to Chahknu, he issued orders to eliminate the invaders under the cover of night when he deemed them most vulnerable. Chahknu told me the warriors openly mocked the intruders for their apparent lack of skill in protecting themselves against outside attack in such a hostile land.”

Teddy Roosevelt shuddered. He glanced first to Kermit and then to the expressionless Rondon.

“I pleaded my case to the chieftain, explaining my involvement and alliance with the invaders and even offered up a plausible explanation: the required gift was merely an oversight and would be immediately rectified upon visiting the invaders’ campsite and speaking to their leaders.”

Colonel Rondon looked at Chahknu and smiled graciously. He pointed at the broken pulley despite the obvious fact that the chieftain hadn’t understood a single word Martin had just spoken. Unsmiling, the pair of natives raised their noses and nodded.

 
Chahknu uttered a few sentences in his native tongue and Lieutenant Martin translated: “The chief Chahknu offers his gratitude and is satisfied with the offering. He has decided to let us live, under the simple stipulation that we pass through his lands promptly and without deviating from our course.”

Following a series of tepid and diplomatic nods from around the campfire, Roosevelt spoke, “Perhaps our host can offer some insight of what lies ahead?”

Martin relinquished his translation obligations to Paishon with a gentle nod. The camarada addressed the natives directly in the Nhambiquara tongue, although Roosevelt sensed he struggled with some subtle differences in dialect.

Chahknu pointed downstream and to the north. “The water flows in many directions, right and left,” he began, translated by Paishon. “But roars like thunder just a day’s journey distant.”

“Can our canoes run these rapids?” Rondon asked.

 
Chahknu shook his head. “No, not all… There are some that you may try, but most will shred your dugouts to firewood. Even our finest paddlers would not attempt these, fearing death.”

Roosevelt asked, “How many rapids are ahead, and how far until the river runs flat?”

“Many days of hardship,” Chahknu replied, spreading forth fingers on both hands. “Many…”

“And what can we expect beyond the rapids?”

Paishon chatted briefly with the native and then paused. He scratched his head and conversed again. Paishon shrugged his shoulders. “Death,” he said finally. “The chieftain said, ‘death with certainty’, or ‘certain death’.”

“Certain death?”

“Yes, Commander Roosevelt, that is what he said, quite clearly.”

“Can you ask him to clarify?”

Paishon stroked his chin and turned to Rondon. The Brazilian Colonel responded in Portuguese, “
esclarecer
.”

Paishon nodded. “
Sim, sim
.” He turned back to the Navaïté chieftain speaking in Nhambiquara.

Following Paishon’s latest inquiry, Chahknu nodded and continued, “The land beyond the rapids is the domain of the Wide Belts. They are sworn enemies and neither side dare tread on the other’s rightful domain. Encountering them, even by mistake, in the wilderness leads to almost instant death, and they consume the flesh of their enemies, a practice we avoid unless hunger overwhelms us.”

“Is there a way around this tribe?” Rondon asked.

“No,” Chahknu said, motioning with his hands and fingers. “The river flows straight through their territory and their tribes inhabit a wide section of forest to both sides. There is no way around.”

Roosevelt turned to Lieutenant Martin. “Have you ever engaged this Wide Belt tribe?”

“I’m afraid not,” Martin replied, “although I am quite familiar with the rapids ahead, though I have never progressed into the Wide Belt domain, fearing for my life while travelling alone.”

“Then do you still think we have any chance of passing through their territory without conflict?”

“I believe any tribe in the Amazon can be appeased by applying the proper skills.”

“You are a very confident man, Mister Martin,” Rondon stated coolly.

“Once again, Colonel” Martin replied somewhat impatiently. “You appear to have but two alternatives. You can either turn around and trek back to your telegraph wires and attempt to save face with the Brazilian people, or you can trust me and forge ahead—making history alongside President Theodore Roosevelt and be hailed as Brazil’s greatest explorer.” He shrugged mockingly. “The choice is yours, Colonel Rondon, which will it be?”

Roosevelt could feel the dripping distain Rondon felt for Martin as the two men stared each other down across the campfire, and yet he also admired Cândido Rondon for his leveled-headed restraint. This was not the time to pick a fight with the arrogant Englishman with hostile native warriors surrounding his camp. Roosevelt empathized deeply with the Brazilian Colonel, who was forced to stand down following this sudden challenge to his authority, and yet the mission had to continue despite such animosity—the lives of all of the expedition’s members were at stake.

Roosevelt waved his hand. “I think it is quite clear that we are all dedicated to continuing this journey.”

“Brilliant!” Martin said with a drip of sarcasm. “And yet something else lies ahead beyond the Wide Belts that is equally dangerous and yet may actually be more exciting to our esteemed naturalists, Mr. Cherrie and Mr. Roosevelt.” Martin turned once again to Chahknu, speaking a few sentences in the chieftain’s native language before turning back to the others. “I can very well explain everything that I know at this moment, but I thought the full effect of what I’m about to reveal would best be served coming from the mouth of a local inhabitant.”

The Navaïté chieftain started the exchange with Paishon slowly. “The Wide Belts are a very strong tribe, and their warriors are fearless,” he said. “They have many rites-of-passage when their men become of age, like drinking
hoasca
made from
the sap of
cipó
vine that will force you to listen to the voices of dead ancestors for many days, or withstanding the beatings of the tribe’s females using a whip made of thin tree branches. But to become a true leader amongst the Wide Belt warriors, you must pass a test called the
Kariati
. You must travel downriver several days accompanied by other experienced warriors and enter the land inhabited by the ferocious
Arawuua
. Once there, you must
stalk and slaughter one of its kind and consume its flesh. Many warriors—young and old, strong and weak—are lost in this pursuit… many.”

“What manner of beast is this
Arawuua
?” George Cherrie asked.

Chahknu motioned upward with his hand. “My ancestors told me they can grow three-warriors high and that they have large grinding teeth, but their bite must be avoided at all costs—even a small scratch from the
Arawuua
can result in a long drawn-out death where even the bravest afflicted will beg the elders to quickly end their suffering.”

“Is it a serpent?” Cherrie asked.

“Or perhaps some large species of caiman?” Roosevelt added.

Lieutenant Martin laughed. Theodore Roosevelt was somewhat taken aback by Martin’s rudeness, yet almost everything the Englishman did was a tad off-putting.

Paishon relayed the questions to Chahknu, and the chieftain shook his head. “No, the
Arawuua
is a creature like no other. My ancestors told me they were once plentiful but their numbers have slowly dwindled since ancient times, and now they live only within a small valley just beyond the Wide Belts and downriver. That is all I know.”

And with a few utterances and a nod from Martin, Roosevelt watched the Navaïté chieftain and his assistant rise to their feet and quietly exit the camp like the rustling of fallen autumn leaves on a gentle breeze. Roosevelt immediately sensed the eyes in the surrounding forest slip away with them. A moment later, Roosevelt felt alone in the wilderness once again, and he sighed deeply.

Martin said, “I assure you that a few of Chahknu’s warriors will shadow us until they are assured we are long gone.”

Cherrie rubbed his chin. “A new, large species… How exciting!”

“Yes, exciting is an understated word in this regard,” Martin replied matter-of-factly. “But ‘new’ is laughably inappropriate as you will soon find out.”

“It sounds like you know more about these creatures than you have led us to believe?”

“Indeed, Mr. Cherrie, indeed I do. But first I must explain a bit more about myself and my companion Julio before we continue onward.”