“Indeed,” Martin replied to Rondon. “My feelings on this are resolute, and I have sacrificed five years searching for any fragment of confirmation. In fact, this diary has changed my life forever.”
Roosevelt waved his hand. “Go on…”
“As I turned and read each page, the parchment fell to dust and scrap. I held no hope of recovering any part of the document. Frankly, the young Julio was visibly disappointed that the box contained no gold or gems, and yet to me this vessel housed the greatest treasure imaginable.
“Before closing the box, I noticed a glint of copper beneath the shredded remains of the book. I reached in and retrieved the flattened metal slab. It fit snuggly in the palm of my hand and bore the etching of a fierce beast of a type I have never seen, but now I could view with some understanding and in some context after reading the dairy.
“Pressed for time, we returned to the expedition bearing only as evidence the copper artifact from the old church. Colonel Fawcett was now obsessed with returning his men safely to civilization, so I delayed discussing the incident for many days. Finally, after twenty days without food, Colonel Fawcett miraculously shot a deer and the expedition ate and became rejuvenated.
“It was at this time that I discussed with Fawcett the content of the Spanish book and I showed him the copper slab.
“But much to my shock and dismay, Percy Fawcett was not totally convinced with my discovery. He argued that the early Spanish explorers were brutal tyrants and often presented horrific tales to the natives for the explicit purpose of keeping them frightened and thusly subjected. The copper artifact was simply a figment of the artist’s fertile imagination, he contended.”
“Well...?” Roosevelt interrupted. “Don’t keep us in suspense. Out with it! Tell us what was in the book.”
“The diary detailed the travels of a Spanish conquistador named Alonso Rojas. Rojas was tasked with creating the mission overlooking the Franco Hills and also to explore the vast Amazonian Highlands down and into the deep jungles, searching for possible areas rich in gold ore for the Spanish crown.
“On one such mission into what is now called Mato Grosso near the source of the Juruena River, Rojas encountered and subjugated a native group whose chieftain warned the Spanish that they were about to tread upon the domain of what they referred to as The Dark Beast. The chief explained that meeting a pack of these ferocious creatures meant a quick death and that just a single animal could battle many men armed with spears or swords.
“Rojas ignored the native’s warnings and ventured into the forest with twenty of his best men. The ensuing attack he described was both brutal and decisive. He lost eighteen of his men to just five of the beasts in the flash of an eye, he wrote. Rojas and one of his companions escaped while the monsters ripped the rest of his men to shreds and consumed their bloodied corpses with powerful gnashing jaws. Rojas wrote of hearing horrible crunching sounds of human bone mixed with metallic armor that would haunt him to ‘the end of his days’ and well into the afterlife.
“The imposing conquistador was so shaken by the ordeal that he prayed to God nearly every hour upon returning to Bolivia, and never again did he step foot back into what we now call Brazil. He dedicated his remaining life to higher powers and completed this mission overlooking the border and repented his conquistador past. The people native to this region eventually moved onward and Rojas was left with his one remaining loyal soldier. He wrote of spending his days in prayer and staring out and over the high and desolate hills wondering what other deep mysteries God hath bequeathed mankind to test their mettle upon this earth.”
“And yet,” Roosevelt said. “We have just passed through the area of the Juruena River, and I don’t recall seeing any large beasts, nor did we hear of any tales of such living horrors from the natives.”
“I have my theories,” Martin replied confidently. “More than three hundred years have passed since Rojas’ encounter with the Dark Beasts and the encroachment of humankind has surely been constant and unrelenting.”
“That could be a possible explanation,” George Cherrie said. “The domain of large predators can often be restricted by pressuring their resources. Yet, more often than otherwise they are simply hunted to extinction.”
“I don’t contend that the Dark Beasts are extinct, Mr. Cherrie.”
“Exactly… You believe the Dark Beasts and the Arawuua described in Wide Belt lore are one in the same, do you not?”
“Precisely.”
“And do you still possess the copper etching of the creature?”
Lieutenant Martin smiled broadly and then hollered, “Julio!”
Julio sauntered up to the fire. Martin rattled off a few words in Portuguese and Julio replied, “Sim.” Julio reached into his pocket and removed a three-by-three inch copper slab and handed it to Cherrie.
Cherrie looked down at the etching for a brief second before erupting in laughter. He jabbed his finger toward Martin. “You, sir, are a complete and total madman.” Cherrie composed himself long enough to hand the copper slab to a puzzled Roosevelt.
Roosevelt looked the etching over. He recognized the creature almost immediately. “This is Osborn’s Tyrannosaur,” Teddy Roosevelt said bluntly. “I believe he referred to it as ‘lizard king’ or Tyrannosaurus Rex. This creature became extinct tens of millions of years ago.”
“With all due respect,” Martin said. “I feel the evidence points otherwise—”
“You,” Cherrie said, “have been the victim of a very elaborate practical joke.”
“—the accounts put forth by the Spanish conquistadors, the oral histories of the local natives in this area—?”
Cherrie shook his head. “Listen Mr. Martin, there are countless ways to discount your hypothesis, but foremost is the fact that creatures of this size must maintain a breeding population numbering in the hundreds—if not thousands. I simply don’t think that’s possible in present day Brazil.”
“Their numbers have dwindled dramatically over the past fifty years, perhaps to four or five dozens. And their domain has been reduced to under a thousand square kilometers.”
“Then why do we not find any remains of these creatures?” Roosevelt asked. “They should be rather easy to recover.”
“The Amazonian rainforest,” Martin replied earnestly, “consumes all carcasses quickly and efficiently. Even bones decay rapidly in the sweltering jungle. Fossilized remains, however, are an altogether different issue.”
Roosevelt nodded. He had to hand it to the Englishman on that last point. He did present a valid argument.
Colonel Rondon appeared to have his fill of the conversation, and with a dismissive wave of his hand, he abruptly rose and began directing his camaradas to dismantle camp. “Daylight is burning quickly,” he said loudly and with great emphasis. “We have little time for such foolishness.”
George Cherrie sat with his arms crossed and staring at the fire. “Granted there are unclassified living creatures on this earth, and there may be large and unknown predators such as those described by the local natives.” Cherrie shook his head. “But living dinosaurs…? The very concept is absurd.”
Lieutenant Martin turned to Roosevelt. “President Roosevelt, can you not recognize the greatest scientific discovery in the history of mankind? As a naturalist, is your legendary curiosity not fully aroused?”
“Yes, Mr. Martin, I am certainly interested in any new species. But the expedition’s stated goals are paramount at this juncture. Getting these men through and out of this jungle alive most assuredly takes precedence over collecting and logging specimens, no matter how intriguing they may be. Do you understand?”
Martin’s eyes widened. “I cannot believe what I’m hearing! The great, noble, and open-minded Theodore Roosevelt refuses to investigate the most interesting mystery ever presented to him? He would simply pass right through the final domain of an animal left over from our prehistoric past?”
Roosevelt raised his finger. “Do not be insu
lting. We have sat here and listened to your tale in earnest. The expedition will not detour from its mission and we shall not entertain any further arguments to the contrary. And secondly, you have been deceitful when you applied to join this expedition—holding back information such as your relationship with Julio de Lima. I find this behavior disrespectful and extremely disturbing.”
Martin seethed with anger. He leaped up from the ground and stomped away toward the river.
Teddy Roosevelt sighed deeply.
Kermit smirked. “Are you not game for some dinosaur wrangling, father?”
“The man is certifiably insane…”
“Although Martin is correct, is he not? The Amazon is vast and mostly unexplored.”
“I know, but—”
“And yet I know you, father. His story must have piqued your interest in some deep-seated way.”
Roosevelt chuckled. “I can see the Times headlines now: Roosevelt diverts his Amazon mission to hunt for Osborn’s dinosaur; has appointment for straightjacket tailor upon arrival back in New York. Taft dies of heart-attack from laughter.”
Roosevelt retreated immediately to his tent and placed the copper etching beside his diary. He hurriedly sorted through what remained of his books and magazines, setting aside ‘The Mediations of Marcus Aurelius’ and the plays of Sophocles. He halted, staring down at a single issue of Strand Magazine dated April, 1912 bearing the byline: Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s ‘Lost World’.
He flipped through the pages, arriving at the serial’s footnotes; it confirmed what he recalled reading several months before: Sir Arthur Conan Doyle was a close friend of explorer Percy Harrison Fawcett and drew inspiration for the tale directly from Fawcett’s 1908 expedition to Bolivia’s high and mysterious plateau.
Roosevelt rubbed his chin and stuffed the magazine back amongst the others. He felt a subtle chill.
CHAPTER 11
They were back on the river by early afternoon of that same day. Roosevelt checked his calendar; it was the fifth day of March, and they had spent nearly three whole days bypassing the first serious set of rapids they’d encountered on the River of Doubt. Roosevelt shook his head, conjuring up the dimmed hope that any rapids ahead could be run without the time and energy consuming task of portage yet all reports from his experienced Amazonian hosts indicated otherwise.
The fleas and mosquitoes plaguing their last camp became an itchy memory as they navigated toward the channel’s center which happened to be mostly free of the incessant pests; the men’s swollen hands and faces serving as a bitter reminder of their battles with the tiny beasts. Through this all, Roosevelt gained a greater appreciation of the valiant workers who toiled on the Panama Canal under his presidential decree and the daily agony they most certainly endured.
The current ran strong and deep beneath them, and the dark water boiled and swirled from an occasional submerged boulder or shoal. Roosevelt glanced upon a shore stacked with rows of mighty rubber trees that seemingly touched the sky.
As usual, the survey team’s canoes played leapfrog down the meandering river. Roosevelt escorted the two supply dugouts, following a reshuffling of his crew that now included Luiz and Simplicio, with whom he had great confidence. The man-boy Julio had been demoted to the supply vessel where he could be watched over by the disciplinarian Paishon. Teddy Roosevelt noticed that Lieutenant Martin had been relatively subdued following his confession and emotional flare-up back at their previous camp. Perhaps he had seen the error of his ways and was now going to settle into his assigned role and assist the expedition as he had originally promised, Roosevelt reasoned hopefully.
They had covered a respectable amount of distance before evening approached. Roosevelt and Cherrie scouted the lowlands for a suitable campsite. The search continued for an entire hour before they found a high and relatively dry area to beach their dugouts.
The camp was surrounded by dense forest. Roosevelt and Cherrie listened to the distant screeches of playful monkeys and wild bird-whistles. Giant ants, half the size of a man’s thumb, swarmed beneath their feet. Kermit fell victim to one of these colossal insects and agonized for hours before the pain subsided enough for him to finally bed down for the night.
The next day dawned bright and clear, and they broke camp early. Paishon reported by mid-morning that the men complained of hunger, and they pulled to shore to search for bee’s honey and a wondrous Amazonian tree that—the camaradas said—could produce a drinkable milk-like substance from any slash upon its flesh. The men relished the treat and offered a sample to Roosevelt who eagerly partook. But the former president shook his head vigorously owing to its bitter yet not unpleasant taste. And the camarada’s spirits were lifted upon sharing a hearty laugh.
Most of the remaining day slipped by without incident, and they advanced nineteen kilometers by Lyra’s estimation. Roosevelt ordered his dugout to the head of the flotilla in late afternoon, and Luiz and Simplicio dutifully obliged with deep graceful strokes. Roosevelt suddenly noticed the river narrowing and the current picking up pace, and then he heard rushing water in the distance. By the time he hollered a warning, the camaradas were already paddling for shore.
“Just as Martin and the native chieftain predicted,” Cherrie said.
“I’m afraid so,” Roosevelt replied.
Roosevelt and Cherrie grabbed their guns and immediately set out down a worn Amazonian pig trail. Simplicio tagged along, leaving Dr. Cajazeira and Luiz upstream to mind the dugout. Roosevelt received the answer he sought in less than fifteen minutes. Peering between the trees, they could clearly see the water rage past them and out of sight to the north.
They retraced their steps along the shoreline and arrived back at their beached dugouts just in time to greet Rondon and the rest of the expedition’s canoes as they landed ashore. Colonel Rondon, Lyra, and Kermit stretched their legs and then began another more prolonged reconnaissance mission an hour later.
Upon his return, Kermit wiped his brow. “The rapids continue onward for a half-mile. I counted at least three waterfalls in its midst. I’m afraid we must prepare for our second portage. There appears to be no alternative.”
“I could have saved you the time and wasted energy of scouting,” Martin mumbled flatly. The Englishman waved his hand dismissively before turning away.
The camaradas cleared the way for camp just above the rapids. The men finished their chores and settled around the fire where they were given only half-rations. Teddy Roosevelt sensed a bit more grumbling amongst the camaradas, although most accepted the situation with heads held high. These men of the wild Brazilian frontier are as tough as steel, he thought. I could conquer a continent with men of half their caliber.
However, Roosevelt’s lofty ideals were dampened just before retiring for the night when Simplicio reported offhandedly to both he and Rondon that he had noticed Julio and another camarada snooping suspiciously near the supply stockpile. “When I asked him what he was doing,” Simplicio said. “He turned an evil eye to me and simply walked away.”
Theodore Roosevelt nodded curtly before sending Simplicio away.
Roosevelt and Rondon exchanged concerned looks. Rondon said, “We had better turn our sights to hunting while these men attend to the portage. Hungry men are dangerous men.”
“I agree wholeheartedly,” Roosevelt replied.
The portage began in earnest upon the following day’s sunrise. Rondon directed the first step, which was to move the supplies and the camp just beyond the first set of rapids. Kermit embarked on a hunting expedition with a Pareci Indian camarada named Antonio. Kermit returned a little after midday with a turkey-like bird named a Jacu, but the real hero was Antonio who bagged a huge monkey destined to be featured at the evening meal.
Heartened with the knowledge they had secured much needed fresh meat for the workers, Roosevelt grabbed his shotgun and joined Cherrie on a collecting expedition into the surrounding woods.
Wordlessly, they meandered away from the river and in
to the silent forest of rubber trees towering amid clusters of brilliant white lilac and wild banana. The land was essentially barren of life except for an occasional ant-thrush or tanager upon which the naturalist Cherrie made note before motioning Roosevelt onward.
After hiking an hour through the dense brush and under the sweltering afternoon haze, Roosevelt finally beckoned the ever-energetic and fit Cherrie for a merciful break. Roosevelt inspected a fallen log for biting pests before sitting down gingerly. He removed his hat and glasses and wiped his brow. He grabbed his canteen and took a long drink.
Cherrie smirked. “I see that your stamina has improved.”
“Oh, oh yes.”
“Just three weeks ago, you could barely walk five minutes before requesting rest.”
“Asthma, my friend, asthma… This heat is intolerable.”
“And a few inches off your waist helps also, does it not?”
Roosevelt rubbed his belly. “I’ve probably lost twenty-five pounds since we departed the Nyoac. My belts require some new holes and my suspenders need tightened.”
“Truly impressive, Colonel, yet how do you manage your fever?”
Roosevelt sat silently for a moment. He raised his canteen and took another gulp.
Cherrie shook his head. “Colonel Roosevelt, very few secrets are kept on an expedition through the jungle, especially when it comes to malaria. You are surrounded by men of the Amazon; they can smell its symptoms like bloodhounds. Your own son may be the only remaining victim of your poorly hidden deceit.”
“I can manage myself, thank you. Kermit has his own health problems, and he has his own duties to perform—duties he is performing quite admirably, by the way.”
“Suit yourself, Colonel, but we are all here to help. Hunting and collecting specimens in the jungle is a difficult enough task—”
“I said, I will be all right, sir.” Roosevelt leaped to his feet and replaced his hat and glasses. He snatched his shotgun and set off past Cherrie and into the woods.
How Teddy Roosevelt Slew the Last Mighty T-Rex Page 8