How Teddy Roosevelt Slew the Last Mighty T-Rex

by Mark Paul Jacobs

  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.

  CHAPTER 9

  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, obrigado, 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.”

  Theodore surmised from the stern look on Colonel Rondon’s face that the Englishman had to do more than a bit of explaining before he got even close to being back in Rondon’s good graces.

  CHAPTER 10

  “Several years ago,” Martin began, “I was assigned to Commander Fawcett’s expedition by Her Majesty the Queen to map the Rio Verde River which runs to the southwest of here along the Bolivian border. I was pleased with this assignment and proud to be a part of a mission led by a man of Fawcett’s stature, which appeared to be a good fit owing to my background as both a field anthropologist and a military officer. Julio de Lima, then just a lad of seventeen years, was a porter on this particular expedition.”

  Roosevelt and Colonel Rondon exchanged quick glances.

  “Our journey began without incident. The hunting and fishing was excellent and we made good progress moving upriver, but things began to unravel very shortly after we were forced to abandon the canoes because of rapids, and we continued along the riverbank and up the valley on foot.

  “The slog through the forest soon became desperate. The jungle was choked with thick thorny bamboo and the game disappeared. Even more disturbing was the fact that no fish could be found in this section of the river. Our supplies soon run dry but we pressed onward for ten days until Fawcett finally found the stream’s source and he mapped it for record.

  “Percy Fawcett immediately tried to calculate our quickest way of returning to civilization while still retaining the opportunity of securing food for the expedition’s members.

  “Several of the local Indian porters pointed out the Ricardo Franco Hills which ranged high to our left and to the east. None of the locals had actually been through the high, flat-topped and forested ranges, but Fawcett made the decision to attempt their crossing, nonetheless. The Franco Hills were surrounded by deep gorges and canyons which functioned like a medieval castle’s moat. Needless to say, our attempt to traverse the mysterious plateau came to an abrupt halt just a day or two later.

  “Before we left the area, Commander Fawcett sent me and Julio out into the forest to hunt for food. The high jungle was thick and tangled, but we came to an area that appeared to have been cleared some years before. This was the first sign of human habitation we had seen in weeks. The area was choked with palms, and hearty vegetation broke through the stone placements pushing the well-intentioned human development asunder through the passing of time. At its center lay a small stone dwelling several meters in length and a two meters in height that remained mostly intact. The doorway lay open where the wood had presumably disintegrated, and only its ornate and rusted hinges remained, most of which were scattered upon the stone floor.

  “Before entering and inspecting the building, young Julio pointed out a modest gravesite covered with moss and bamboo and decorated with a Christian cross. The headstone read in Spanish: Alonso Hurtado de Rojas laid to rest before God and the Holy Mother in the year of our Lord 1576. The caption appeared to be hurriedly and crudely scribed.

  “Inside the cramped building and amid the shadows, we found a smooth stone altar overrun with plant
s and small burrowing rodents. We also noticed the remains of what appeared to be benches facing the altar arranged in the style of a Christian church.

  “Julio and I hurriedly searched the abandoned church as we were extremely hungry and eager to resume the hunt, but it was only by my prompting and my intellectual curiosity that I convinced Julio to continue assisting me with my task, and our efforts were finally rewarded when we found a strong-box, enclosed yet unlocked.

  “I opened the box slowly under Julio’s curious eye, thereupon finding a battered tome covered in ornate Spanish script. I reached down and opened the book’s cover with the gentlest of touch, but to no avail, the leather binding fractured and splintered between my fingers and I simply brushed its remains away. The box was too heavy to move efficiently, and yet the light from the doorway was adequate to read the text, I supposed, so I began to read the Spanish text and commit its contents to memory.

  “What I read was absolutely astonishing. From the very first time I digested the words I felt that it could possibly alter the course of human history and even our view of the ancient world before the proliferation of mankind.”

  Rondon said, “Those are lofty statements, Mr. Martin, and all of this from a conquistador’s diary?”

  “Let him finish,” Roosevelt urged diplomatically.