Death on the River of Doubt

by Samantha Seiple

  CHAPTER 16

  Do or Die

  March 29, 1914

  Day 31

  Kermit and Cherrie refused to leave Roosevelt behind.

  “There wasn’t a moment from that time forward,” Cherrie stated, “that either Kermit or myself didn’t watch the Colonel [Roosevelt], to prevent him from carrying out what he felt was necessary … that he must relieve the party of what he considered a burden.”

  If Kermit was going to save his father’s life, he knew what he had to do. From sunup to sundown, Kermit, along with Lyra and four camaradas, worked on getting the canoes down the six waterfalls. At times, the men were forced to cling to the steep, rocky mountainside with nothing to hold on to but narrow ledges, all while guiding the empty canoes down the rapids and waterfalls with long ropes.

  After two days, Kermit and the men managed to maneuver three canoes down five of the waterfalls. But a fourth canoe smashed into some rocks and was destroyed.

  “Men very disheartened,” Kermit wrote in his journal. “Hard work; wet all day; half ration.”

  On the bright side, Rondon had managed to kill two barrigudo monkeys to supplement their meager dinner.

  “The flesh gave each of us a few mouthfuls,” Roosevelt wrote. “And how good those mouthfuls tasted!”

  Their hunger made everyone start obsessing about food. A favorite topic of conversation was what they wanted to eat. Roosevelt craved a mutton chop with a tail to it; Kermit was hungry for strawberries and cream; and Cherrie couldn’t stop thinking about pancakes smothered in maple syrup.

  Roosevelt (left) and Rondon pose with a bush deer they hunted during the overland journey. Large game was much harder to come by on the river, and finding food was a constant worry.

  The lack of food was also taking a toll on their strength. Roosevelt was very concerned about the physical hardship the camaradas were forced to endure on so little food. Since he was sick and unable to help with the workload, he tried to give his food rations away.

  “We had to watch him constantly,” said Cherrie. “And [it] reached the point where if he didn’t eat all of his share, either Kermit or I would take what was left and guard it until a later meal. We had so very little that every mouthful counted.”

  Even with all the watchful eyes on the food supplies, one person still wasn’t deterred from stealing more than his share. One evening Paixão Paishon caught Julio red-handed stealing from the boxes of rations. That was all the proof Paishon needed, and he punched the thief in the mouth.

  Julio ran to Roosevelt, crying. Roosevelt could see the fear and hatred on Julio’s face as he complained bitterly about being mistreated. Although he got off easy—Julio was lucky they didn’t kill him for the crime—his rage still simmered.

  * * *

  By March 31, Rondon and his men had transported all of the cargo to the bottom of the falls. Kermit, Lyra, and the camaradas had the remaining five canoes down to a point where they could be dragged over land.

  That same day, Roosevelt and Cherrie, who was sick with indigestion, started the climb up and over the mountain, making their way to the new campsite at the foot of the rapids. But the pain was too much for Roosevelt.

  Hunger, exhaustion, malaria, an infected leg, and now his heart were giving him trouble. Roosevelt threw himself onto the ground and begged Cherrie to go on without him—not once, not twice, but four times. Each time Cherrie adamantly refused to leave him. Cherrie not only respected Roosevelt as the former president of the United States, but he genuinely cared about him, like a brother.

  Lying on the ground, Roosevelt tried to catch his breath. He didn’t want to be a burden. If he was left to die, Kermit and the others had a better chance of surviving. But just as he was about to give up, a troubling thought invaded his mind.

  “It came to me, and I saw that if I did end it [his life], that would only make it more sure that Kermit would not get out. For I knew he would not abandon me, but would insist on bringing my body out, too. That, of course, would have been impossible. I knew his determination. So there was only one thing for me to do,” Roosevelt stated. “And that was to come out myself.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Criminal

  April 3, 1914

  Day 36

  A few days later, on the morning of April 3, the expedition found themselves just one hour away from their previous camp. The men had traveled only a mile and a half before the river’s ferocity forced them to stop. Their slow progress down the River of Doubt continued to intensify everyone’s growing anxiety.

  “Instead of getting out of the hills at once, as we hoped to do, we are deeper among them!” Cherrie wrote in his diary. “The river’s course is really a narrow rocky gorge where it runs like a mill race and wherever there is an obstacle of any kind the water becomes rough and dangerous … How much more of this we have no one knows.”

  A bright spot in their morning was eating turtle soup for breakfast. Kermit had found the turtle yesterday when he scouted the area. But, unfortunately, he had also discovered more rapids.

  Their latest portage wasn’t going well at all: One of the canoes had smashed into the boulders.

  “A disaster, for we now have only four canoes!” Cherrie wrote.

  Meanwhile, Rondon and a group of camaradas were clearing a trail over the hills and cliffs so they could drag the remaining canoes overland. The rest of the camaradas were busy carrying the cargo to the midpoint, which was the top of the first set of waterfalls. Paishon—who had continued to wear Roosevelt’s spare pair of pants—was in charge of them.

  Roosevelt, who was still weak and tired, was propped up against a tree. Cherrie—suffering from severe indigestion—and Kermit had helped Roosevelt walk to the spot where they were now keeping him company. While they sat reading, they occasionally glanced up to see the progress of Paishon and his group.

  The men were nearly finished when Roosevelt happened to glance up and see Paishon set down a box. Wasting no time, Paishon turned around and headed back down the trail toward the camp to pick up another load. Roosevelt noticed that Paishon had left his rifle leaning up against the pile of boxes, but he didn’t give it another thought.

  Roosevelt focused his attention back to the book he was reading. Then he heard some muttering and groaning.

  “One would know who that was by the groans,” said Cherrie.

  Roosevelt and Kermit laughed in agreement.

  Julio was in a particularly foul mood this morning. A fellow camarada, Pedrinho Craveiro, who was assigned to guard the food and cargo at their last camp, had caught Julio stealing again. This time Julio had stolen some of their precious meat. Pedrinho and Julio had gotten into a fierce argument about it, and Pedrinho had told their supervisor, Paishon.

  This time Paishon didn’t punch Julio in the mouth. There was too much work that needed to be done by everyone, and he needed Julio to help. Instead, he gave Julio a stern warning.

  Julio begrudgingly helped carry the cargo. But when Paishon reprimanded him for lagging behind, Julio became enraged.

  After dropping his box, Julio, who was still muttering under his breath, picked up Paishon’s rifle before heading back down the trail. Cherrie saw him take it, and he mentioned it to Roosevelt and Kermit.

  They wondered aloud what type of animal had been spotted. Roosevelt suggested it was probably some monkeys or big birds, but either would be a welcome meal. A few moments later, they heard the gun blast.

  “I wonder what he has shot at,” Cherrie said.

  Suddenly, the camaradas could be heard shouting: “Julio mato Paishon!”

  “Julio has killed Paishon!”

  Roosevelt jumped up and grabbed his gun.

  “You boys guard the canoes and the food,” he said to Kermit and Cherrie. “I’ll go and warn the others.”

  Before Cherrie and Kermit could stop him, Roosevelt took off down the path, not thinking about his health. Dr. Cajazeira, who was nearby, followed him.

  They quickly found Pai
shon. He was facedown, lying in a pool of blood. The doctor could see that Paishon had raised his right arm to defend himself when Julio shot him at point-blank range. The bullet had ripped through Paishon’s heart, killing him instantly.

  Roosevelt was now worried that Pedrinho—who was alone—would be Julio’s next victim. Ignoring the pain in his leg, he forced himself to keep going.

  As Roosevelt headed back to the camp, he turned his head from side to side, keeping a lookout for Julio, who might be hiding among the thick vines. When they finally reached the camp, the doctor walked in front of Roosevelt.

  “My eyes are better than yours, Colonel,” Dr. Cajazeira said quietly. “If he is in sight, I’ll point him out to you, as you have the rifle.”

  But Julio was nowhere to be found.

  It wasn’t long before Rondon and Lyra arrived at the camp.

  “Julio has to be tracked, arrested, and killed,” said Roosevelt.

  Although Rondon and Lyra were both so angry they were ready to kill Julio, Rondon knew that legally he couldn’t kill him.

  “In Brazil, that is impossible,” Rondon said. “When someone commits a crime, he is tried, not murdered.”

  As a former deputy sheriff in the wild Badlands of the Dakota Territory, Roosevelt, however, believed that killing Julio was justified.

  “He who kills must die,” said Roosevelt. “That’s the way it is in my country.”

  Despite what Roosevelt may have wanted, the responsibility of bringing justice for the crime fell on Rondon since he was the highest-ranking Brazilian military officer. Though Roosevelt was also a colonel and a former president, he was an American guest of the Brazilian government and could not risk going against his host country’s laws.

  To make Julio pay for his crime, the expedition would have to find him first. That would take time and resources—two things they couldn’t afford. But if Julio still had the rifle, no one could stop him from killing again.

  “We all felt that the cowardly assassin had run amuck and might be lurking in the thick forest waiting a chance to get another victim,” Cherrie wrote.

  When camarada Antonio Correia found the rifle not far from Paishon’s body, Rondon decided not to go looking for Julio. The men speculated that when Julio ran away, the thick vines had snagged the rifle from his hands. After examining the beaten-down tracks through the forest, it appeared that Julio had turned around to come back for the gun, but, for whatever reason (likely fear), he had turned back around and went straight up over the hill.

  For now, everyone was greatly relieved to find the murder weapon. Although they hadn’t found Julio, and they were still worried that a killer was on the loose, they also knew that Julio most likely wouldn’t survive on his own in the harsh and unforgiving jungle.

  “It was questionable whether or not he would live to reach the Indian villages, which were probably his goal,” Roosevelt wrote. “He was not a man to feel remorse … but surely that murderer was in a living hell, as with fever and famine leering at him from the shadows, he made his way through the empty desolation of the wilderness.”

  With the rifle now in hand, the men turned their attention to giving Paishon a proper burial. One of the camaradas had already respectfully placed a handkerchief over Paishon’s face.

  Though they didn’t have any shovels, the camaradas used axes, knives, and their bare hands to dig a grave. They carefully lifted Paishon’s body—Roosevelt and Rondon holding his head and shoulders—and lowered him into the shallow grave.

  Out of respect, everyone removed their hats. After burying him, a cross was placed by his head. To honor Paishon, they gave a salute.

  “We fired a volley for a brave and loyal soldier who had died doing his duty,” Roosevelt wrote. “Then we left him forever, under the great trees beside the lonely river.”

  CHAPTER 18

  A Turn for the Worse

  April 4, 1914

  Day 37

  The following morning, Roosevelt woke up with a fever. He was weak and his infected leg was in excruciating pain from the stress and exertion he had endured the day before, hunting for Julio.

  While Roosevelt tried to gather his strength, the men continued to haul the cargo and canoes. After Paishon’s murder, Rondon had assigned armed guards to protect the men against a possible second attack by Julio.

  Cherrie kept watch over Lyra and Kermit while they lowered the canoes down the rapids. With his rifle loaded, Cherrie made sure Julio wasn’t on top of the cliff, ready to throw boulders down on them. Armed guards were also protecting the food and supplies as well as the canoes.

  The camaradas made slow but steady progress. Roosevelt, however, took a turn for the worse.

  Dr. Cajazeira, who had stayed behind to take care of him, noticed at 2:30 p.m. that the color suddenly drained from Roosevelt’s face. His teeth started chattering so violently that the doctor couldn’t get the thermometer into his mouth.

  The doctor covered Roosevelt with a blanket and made him drink some quinine. An hour later, his fever went down.

  After another hour, the canoes and cargo were ready to go. The camaradas helped Roosevelt get into the biggest canoe. He was lying down on top of the boxes, too sick to sit up. Soon it started raining; then came a hailstorm.

  Roosevelt was wearing his rain poncho, and the doctor covered Roosevelt’s face with his own felt hat. As the canoe made its way down the river, Roosevelt’s temperature began to rise again.

  Half an hour later, they paddled the canoes ashore to the right side of the river, away from the left side, where they believed Julio may have been hiding.

  The rain beat down and the black river roared while Roosevelt shivered under the towering trees. It took time to set up the new camp, and by nightfall, Roosevelt’s temperature was so high he was delirious.

  He kept repeating, over and over again, the lines from Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s famous poem “Kubla Khan”:

  “ ‘In Xanadu did Kubla Khan a stately pleasure dome decree

  In Xanadu did Kubla Khan a stately pleasure dome decree

  In Xanadu did Kubla Khan a stately pleasure dome decree …’ ”

  Kermit was feeling panicked. He sat by his father, watching over him.

  When Roosevelt wasn’t reciting the haunting poem, he talked randomly. He was worried about the decreasing food supply. Sometimes he was aware that Kermit was there by his side, and he would ask his son, “Did Cherrie have a good dinner tonight?”

  “Yes, Father, Cherrie had a fine dinner,” Kermit replied, trying to soothe his father’s mind.

  “That is good,” Roosevelt said.

  But other times Roosevelt wasn’t aware that Kermit was there, and he would keep saying to himself, “I can’t work now, so I don’t need much food, but he [Kermit] and Cherrie have worked all day with the canoes, they must have part of mine.”

  Then Roosevelt would become aware of Kermit’s presence and again ask, “Did Cherrie have a good dinner tonight?”

  Cherrie, who was resting nearby in a hammock, could hear the conversation. He feared that Roosevelt wouldn’t live through the night.

  Roosevelt was so sick that he couldn’t sit up. To protect him from the sun and rain, a tent was put up over his canoe.

  At midnight, Dr. Cajazeira came to Roosevelt’s bedside. He told Kermit to try to get some rest. In a last-ditch effort to save Roosevelt’s life, the doctor filled his syringe with quinine and injected it directly into Roosevelt’s abdomen.

  At two o’clock in the morning, Roosevelt realized that even though he didn’t want to die, he might not have a choice in the matter. He felt desperate to make it clear that if he fell into a coma or died, they were to leave him behind. So instead of calling out to Kermit, Roosevelt called out to Rondon.

  Rondon quickly got out of his hammock and went over to Roosevelt. When Roosevelt looked at him, his stern expression startled Rondon.

  “My dear Colonel Rondon,” said Roosevelt. “This expedition must proceed without further
delay. It must go on at once. Please give the order.”

  Rondon could see that Roosevelt was near death, and he tried to reassure him. At first, he told Roosevelt that he would give the order. But then Rondon tried to convince him otherwise.

  “Colonel Roosevelt, this is your expedition,” said Rondon. “If it went on, it would have to go without you, and therefore it couldn’t be the Roosevelt expedition any longer. You see, you are the expedition. So the rest of us must wait for you.”

  Roosevelt looked unconvinced, but he was too sick to argue. A few hours later, when the sun began to rise, Roosevelt’s fever slowly inched down.

  Miraculously, he had lived through the night. A feeling of relief swept through the men, especially Kermit. But the nightmarish sight of his father near death and his feelings of helplessness were forever seared in Kermit’s mind, haunting him.

  Despite Roosevelt’s improvement, Kermit knew that even though his father was no longer delirious, he was still weak and vulnerable to a relapse. It would be a long fight for everyone to make it out of the jungle alive.

  CHAPTER 19

  Left for Dead

  April 5, 1914

  Day 38

  Roosevelt wasn’t the only expedition member fighting malaria. Two of the camaradas were also so sick they couldn’t work. And on the very morning that Roosevelt’s temperature began to drop, Kermit’s began to rise.

  “I have fever but not very bad … much worried,” Kermit wrote in his diary.

  Ignoring his fever and still worried about his father, Kermit worked with the camaradas to get the canoes down the rapids. He also hiked for miles with Rondon and Lyra, scouting the area ahead to find out what they were up against.

  The men brought back unexpected good news.

  “R[ondon], L[yra], and I … found that after these rapids we’re out of the hills,” Kermit wrote.