Kermit glanced around the abandoned village, saying abruptly, “They appeared to have all gone on holiday.”
Lieutenant Martin shook his head. “These are a nomadic people. Perhaps the river’s flooding forced their hand.” He rubbed his beard. “And yet I’m not absolutely certain.”
“Then we will be safe to pass?” Roosevelt asked.
Rondon said, “They could have rebuilt farther downriver. In such a scenario, we could be placing ourselves in great danger.”
“Yes, Commander Rondon,” Martin said. “That hypothesis is quite likely, although they may have headed west to the shores of the Madeira or even the Gy-Paraná.”
“That leaves us quite a dilemma,” Roosevelt said. “Does it not?”
“Yes,” Rondon replied thoughtfully. “Indeed it does.”
The officers and Lieutenant Martin stood wordlessly for a few moments while Rondon’s dog Lobo and Kermit’s Trigueiro ran about sniffing the settlement. The other camaradas waited patiently, either standing near the officers or tending to the canoes.
Finally, Rondon said, “Mr. Martin, I hesitate sending any man on such a dangerous mission, yet knowing these native’s whereabouts would be reassuring to the entire expedition.”
Martin nodded. “I understand.”
“But I ask you to complete your assignment quickly. If the tribe cannot be tracked, you must surrender your search immediately. Under no circumstance will we wait here longer than two nights.”
Paishon, upon hearing the conversation, shoved a rifle and some ammunition into Martin’s hands.
Martin inspected his rifle. “There is no reason to wait for me, Colonel Rondon,” he said, motioning downriver. “The upcoming rapids are very severe and will force you to portage the canoes and supplies. This will occupy the expedition for several days, allowing us ample time to catch up.”
“Us...?” Rondon asked.
“Yes, I would respectfully request an armed companion, preferably a volunteer from amongst my fellow camaradas. I’m confident in my ability to track the whereabouts of these natives on my own, yet some strong-armed backup might come in handy in a pinch. This tribe could be working under new management.”
Rondon pondered for a moment before responding. “Yes, senhor Martin, I cannot in good conscience send you off alone without escort of some sort.”
Julio de Lima suddenly stepped forward. “I will volunteer, Commander Rondon. I will go with senhor Martin.” Julio removed his hat and dipped his head politely.
Roosevelt’s eyes widened. He shook his head. Of all men to volunteer for such a dangerous assignment… Julio! Theodore Roosevelt couldn’t help but smirk.
“This will be acceptable,” Rondon replied, along with a seemingly disingenuous sigh.
Roosevelt believed he detected a brief twinkle in Rondon’s steely eyes. Did he just witness the crafty Brazilian colonel ridding himself of his laziest camarada while still fulfilling his promise to Lieutenant Martin? The good Colonel must be beside himself with glee.
“Simplicio!” Rondon hollered. “Take Julio’s place on the Colonel’s dugout.” Rondon turned to Roosevelt. “Of course, with Colonel Roosevelt’s implicit permission...”
“Of course,” Roosevelt replied with a subtle nod.
The camaradas quickly prepared a few days ration for two men. Roosevelt wished the men “Godspeed” and then watched Martin and Julio stride away from the river and through the abandoned village. Moments later, they were swallowed by the living forest. Teddy could not help but ask himself what game these two men were playing. Maybe they will disappear for good, he thought. Perhaps they just hitched a short ride under the protection of an armed expedition. And yet their ultimate goal remains clouded in such mystery.
But one thing was certain, he reasoned: the game had suddenly changed, and perhaps it had become somewhat more treacherous. Without question Theodore Roosevelt figured it was about time to let everyone in on his little conspiracy theory. Whether anyone would believe him, or whether anyone would even care, was anybody’s guess.”
CHAPTER 8
After watching Lieutenant Martin and the camarada Julio part with the expedition and enter the wilderness to track the native villagers, the men hurriedly climbed back into their canoes and once again set out upon the dark waters of the River of Doubt. The rain ceased for a brief period in late afternoon, and the forest came to life with bird-calls and chirping insects. Roosevelt marveled at the variety and beauty of the forest palms—curved, stately and handsome—that flourished along the riverbank in countless configurations, their leaves crawling with brightly-colored butterflies fluttering gracefully amid the sun’s intermittent rays.
While Roosevelt’s canoe ran a stretch of placid river, George Cherrie suddenly urged for silence. He stared high into the tree branches and waved his hand, motioning the crew to the river’s edge. The camaradas paddled urgently over to the near shore. They quietly dropped their oars and grasped some overhanging brush and held tight against the current. Cherrie slowly rose to his feet, balancing carefully at the dugout’s center. He raised his rifle and fired. Roosevelt watched a huge, gray monkey tumble through the branches and thump the ground.
The camaradas cheered.
“Tonight, we eat well,” Cherrie said.
That evening they made camp close to the water yet high enough to remain relatively dry and secure from the river’s reptilian predators. Paishon skinned Cherrie’s monkey, and the meat sizzled atop the fire in short order. The sun abruptly fell beneath the tree line to the west, and the forest darkened.
Colonel Roosevelt was offered the first taste of the charred and steaming primate yet deferred, granting the honor to the eagle-eyed hunter Cherrie who accepted the invitation graciously. The naturalist gnawed the first bite and then offered the rest to the officers and hard-working crew. The men proceeded to tear off chunks of monkey-meat like ravenous dogs. Roosevelt soon became a fan of the succulent protein, owing perhaps to necessity but mainly to his own hunger. The former president judged the taste a tad gamey like deer, yet it pulled apart with the texture of roast pork. Lobo and Trigueiro, wagging their tails vigorously, received the bones and gristle.
Following Cherrie’s most welcome dinner treat, Roosevelt gathered Rondon, Cherrie, Kermit, and Lyra away from the fire and out of the camaradas earshot. “I have something to say,” Roosevelt began, “with the declaration that these are my opinions and my observations for which I possess very little, if any, hard factual evidence to support my case, although I deem it important that all officers of the expedition remain informed.”
“Go on, Colonel,” Rondon said.
“I have reason to suspect Lieutenant Martin and the camarada Julio de Lima have some sort of relationship that predated Martin’s petition to join the expedition at the Bonifácio telegraph station.”
“And what is your evidence, senhor Roosevelt?”
“Just after Colonel Rondon sent Martin off on his assignment at the Sete de Setembro camp, I observed Martin and Julio conversing briefly before Martin disappeared into the woods to negotiate with the Nhambiquara.”
Rondon shook his head. “With all due respect, Colonel, that can hardly be—”
“Although,” Kermit interrupted, “this does make some sense. I have said all along that Martin must have had some assistance from within the expedition. How else could he have known our ultimate goal was the Dúvida? And how did he know where and when to intercept us at Bonifácio?”
“But your father’s expedition was fairly common knowledge throughout Mato Grosso for months prior to our departure. Word spreads quickly when generous wages are offered for labor in lands where many, unfortunately, still live in poverty.”
“I am still convinced he must have had some help.”
Cherrie asked, “Where and when was Julio hired?”
“In Tapirapoan,” Lyra replied, “at the very beginning of the overland trip. I do recall he was very eager to join the expedition.”
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p; “And he mentioned nothing about a white man living amongst the natives?”
“No, senhor Cherrie, I did not recall him saying anything of that sort.”
Kermit asked, “Or did he recommended anyone who could help the expedition?”
“No, not to my knowledge, but I will ask Paishon. He has a closer relationship with the rank-and-file.”
“I did think it odd,” George Cherrie said, “that it happened to be Julio who so eagerly volunteered to accompany Martin on today’s little side mission. Not only does Julio fear his own shadow, but he is unquestionably the laziest of the bunch. I can’t imagine him feeling secure in the wilderness accompanied by a single man, even with Martin’s skills.”
“That is precisely my point,” Theodore Roosevelt said. “Do you not find this behavior even a bit suspicious?”
“Sim, suspicious, yes,” Rondon said, “damming, I am not so convinced. Nonetheless, I must admit that I do not admire either man, although Martin has recently elevated his status in my eyes through earnest work.”
Kermit scratched his head. “Father, if what you have said is true, then why would they continue to keep this relationship secret? What can they gain by continuing this charade?”
“I simply don’t know, Kerm.”
“Could they be plotting some kind of coup?” Lyra asked.
Roosevelt noticed Colonel Rondon’s eyes widen as if Lyra struck some deeply buried nerve. Theodore Roosevelt knew this feeling all too well having led men on desperate missions several times in the past, and sometimes the balance between command and insurrection can fall on a razor’s edge. Rondon glanced at Roosevelt and shook his head in disgust.
“I think this unlikely,” Cherrie replied somewhat reassuringly. “I have witnessed and even participated in a handful of uprisings in Central and South America over the years, and this situation just doesn’t add up. What is there to gain? Colonel Rondon is not mistreating these men in any way. And just how is Martin going to convince others to join his cause?”
“And senhor Roosevelt still holds the purse strings,” Rondon added.
Cherrie continued, “To make matters worse for any potential overthrow, Julio is almost universally disliked. How is Martin going to sway the others with Julio at his side? Even at gunpoint, toughened men like our camaradas will not tolerate being led by someone they don’t trust or respect.”
Roosevelt said, “That could be the reason why Martin keeps Julio at arm’s length.”
The five men stood silently for a moment.
“Gold?” Lieutenant Lyra stated finally.
Rondon stroked his chin. “This, of course, is an intriguing possibility. Brazil is strewn with bones of fools seeking ancient myths like the lost city of El Dorado. Do not forget that Martin is a former member of a Percy Fawcett expedition, and Commander Fawcett made little effort to conceal his penchant for questionable and grandiose quests.”
“I have some doubts about this theory also,” Cherrie said. “Over these past days I have spoken to Martin on several occasions and he seems to possess a voracious intellectual curiosity, especially regarding the animal life of the Amazon. He has also shown a great interest in the Museum of Natural History and Osborn’s research and recent findings.”
Roosevelt scratched his head. “Paleontology…? But Martin is a trained Social Anthropologist, is he not?”
Cherrie shrugged. “A true scientist’s curiosity shows no boundaries, Colonel Roosevelt. And this is precisely my point—Mister Martin, in my estimation, does not exhibit the traits of a wild-eyed treasure hunter. He may have some ulterior motive but attaining material riches seems unlikely.”
“We must all remember,” Kermit said, “that we have good reason to believe this man lived and thrived in absolute austerity for many years.”
“Yes,” Cherrie replied. “Unfortunately, I have seen many men gripped by gold fever, and the look is both distinctive and ultimately pathetic. And yet, quite curiously, our friend Julio has all the earmarks of a treasure hunter. He is strong yet lazy, and he always appears to seek the easiest path while shirking hard honest work. If any relationship exists between these two men, it would indeed be quite odd.”
Colonel Rondon sighed deeply. “Well, we will know soon enough upon Martin’s and Julio’s return—if they do return. We will question these two together and get to the truth once and for all. I will not tolerate any deceit or hidden intentions amongst my men. We must all keep our minds focused on the tasks at hand such as mapping this treacherous waterway and getting through the Amazon alive and relatively unscathed.”
The morning sun arrived upon rare bright clear skies. As the camaradas began breaking down camp, the men were beset by swarms of stingless bees, and yet the expedition shared a few laughs when Dr. Cajazeira woke to find an undershirt devoured by ferocious Amazonian ants. After eating a meager breakfast, the expedition once again set off down the swirling Dúvida.
Through the morning and into the afternoon the river flowed peacefully across flat lands, twisting in many directions before ending up almost due north. Roosevelt noticed the swollen river running for several miles amid swamped trees and solemn uprooted stumps that reminded Roosevelt of the giant totems carved from red cedars by the American Indians of the Pacific Northwest. Several times during this most pleasant day Cherrie pointed out brilliantly colored birds and other camouflaged wildlife.
The pace of the water gradually quickened, and the ever-cautious Colonel Rondon peered ahead and ordered all dugouts to remain within eyeshot. A short time later, the water began to rush with even greater force. Roosevelt and his crew heard the distant sound of white water echo between the trees from directly downriver. Rondon ordered the canoes to shore.
The camaradas pitched camp while Roosevelt, Kermit, and the officers forged ahead on foot to scout the rapids.
Theodore Roosevelt soon discovered that the expedition’s watery path was strewn with obstacles. Following an hour long hike along the steepening ravine, the forest opened to massive rock formations that squeezed the placid Dúvida into an astoundingly narrow chasm. Roosevelt and Rondon stared down in awe at a stretch of foaming white water that roared down valley and twisted out of sight to the east. Within his eyeshot alone, Roosevelt counted several two-meter-high waterfalls, toppling effortlessly with both grace and terrific force.
“We must prepare for our first portage,” Rondon stated simply.
“Heaven help us,” Roosevelt replied.
Sometime later, Kermit and Lyra returned from a scouting trip that took them even farther downriver. Lyra reported that the rapids continued for about a mile before the river could be again navigated, but there was an overland route through the rugged terrain by which they could cut the distance considerably by portaging the dugouts and provisions.
“The portage will be rough, indeed,” Lyra said. “But I feel the men will be up to the challenge.”
While waiting for Kermit, Teddy Roosevelt had noticed a crude native bridge spanning the narrowest part of the rocky gorge. And beside the river, there were signs of native habitation, although none appeared very recent.
The third day of March 1914 began with angry skies and a drenching rain. Colonel Rondon gave the order to pack all of their provisions and then move them overland to a newly constructed campsite near the bottom of the rapids where they intended to re-launch their canoes. Moving the supplies was relatively easy compared to the brutal task of lugging the weighty dugouts through the woods and across the sandstone flats. The men completed their duties admirably while swatting stingless bees, gnats, and horseflies that Roosevelt figured were the size of water buffalos.
The arduous work continued though that day and into the next, with all of the men pitching in to help move the dugouts at one time or another, except for the cook who remained at the new campsite near the foot of the rapids.
At noontime upon the second full day at the rapids, Dr. Cajazeira hurriedly examined all of the camaradas and found at least one man downtr
odden with fever. Roosevelt found this a troubling sign for the expedition, especially since it occurred only a few days into their river journey and that it would be many weeks until they reached some semblance of civilization and a well-equipped and supplied modern hospital. Although Kermit had suffered from malaria throughout the trip, Roosevelt was proud his son never complained. Kermit fulfilled his duties beyond his station alongside the steadfast Brazilian laborers. Roosevelt only lamented his own personal condition; his malaria remained in check as long as they camped, collected specimens, or simply floated down the river, and yet his symptoms worsened when he attempted any manual work, no matter how fleeting. This frustrated the tenacious former president to no end.
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.
How Teddy Roosevelt Slew the Last Mighty T-Rex Page 6