Rondon shook his head. “No, doctor, you have done well to keep us informed.”
Roosevelt turned to Rondon. “Needless to say, Martin and Julio were the first to locate Simplicio’s body?”
“Yes, senhor Colonel, and yet I questioned both of these men separately after the incident and neither stated anything contradicting the other. And both assured me the other was never out of sight.”
“Although, we can say Julio most certainly had motive, can we not?”
“Yes, but Lieutenant Martin, despite his outlandish stories and his occasional impertinence, has proved to be a trustworthy guide and a tireless worker. I can’t see a man of Martin’s military and intellectual background as an accessory to murder.”
“We can never peer into the true heart of men.”
“You are correct once again, Colonel Roosevelt. But we cannot accuse men of homicide unless we have ample evidence or a solid eyewitness. Here we have some evidence and a motive, but both principal suspects have perfect alibis.”
“I feel strongly we should be very cautious with these two going forward.”
“Yes,” Rondon replied. “I could not agree with you more.”
They awoke the following morning to a steady rain. The camaradas packed up camp quickly and then all gathered around the small mound marking Simplicio’s shallow grave. Colonel Rondon uttered a few words in remembrance and then offered up a brief prayer.
At that very moment, the skies erupted into a torrential downpour. Theodore Roosevelt removed his spectacles and raised his head to the uninviting skies. He closed his eyes as the water splattered mercilessly upon his weather-beaten face and dribbled across his cracked lips.
Brushing clear his eyes and peering down once again, Roosevelt saw Colonel Rondon driving a small placard into the soft earth. On its surface, written in Portuguese, it read simply: “In these rapids died poor Simplicio.”
CHAPTER 17
Soaked by a torrential downpour and laden with heavy hearts, the expedition once again continued down the mysterious river for which Roosevelt reasoned cynically, had no foreseeable end to mitigate our misery. And yet once again, they only progressed a few kilometers before encountering rapids they could not navigate safely with the dugouts fully burdened.
Colonel Rondon and Lieutenant Lyra pushed ahead and scouted the right side of the river. Pulling back even with Roosevelt’s canoe, Rondon said, “The eastern side will provide the easiest route for the heavy dugouts. The vessels can be lowered using ropes secured from shore. We can portage the provisions along the western shore.”
The camaradas unloaded the dugouts and began cutting a temporary road through the dense vegetation under Paishon’s watchful eye. Antonio and Luiz paddled over to the right shoreline and began uncoiling rope and setting up block-and-tackle to lower the boats. Roosevelt stated openly his concerns about hostile natives and stood guard with his loaded rifle near the head of the rapids; although truthfully, his malarial fever had worsened owing to the sopping rain, and he was simply feeling miserable.
With his workers and officers fully occupied, Colonel Rondon decided to scout the terrain downriver. He whistled, drawing his favorite companion Lobo to his side.
Rondon return alone an hour later. Clearly shaken, he stood before the collected and transfixed expedition team bearing a harrowing tale. “Just a small way downriver, I thought I heard a spider monkey calling from the trees. Hoping to secure a decent meal, I sent Lobo ahead and followed him shortly thereafter. Yet then, I heard a loud yelp followed by another, and I halted. It was then I noticed the spider monkey sounds advancing toward me, and I ducked for cover.”
“No doubt a mimic,” Lieutenant Martin said. “A ruse used by the natives to lure their real prey forward to be harvested. Interesting…”
“Yes, there is little doubt we are in the midst of indigenous peoples,” Rondon replied.
“And what fate befell Lobo?” Kermit asked tepidly.
Roosevelt noticed Rondon’s eyes misting. “I’m afraid he may be the latest victim of this ill-omened journey.”
Kermit, Lyra, and Martin grabbed their rifles, and Rondon led them to the area where the encounter occurred. They returned an hour later, all bearing long faces. Kermit reported that the natives had fled before Rondon returned. Rondon shook his head and recounted how he found Lobo’s dead carcass riddled with two oddly-constructed arrows.
Martin’s bearded face exhibited the deepest concern. “The arrows were constructed of bamboo,” he said. “And tipped unlike any Nhambiquara weapons I have ever encountered. I can only assume these natives are members of the Wide Belt peoples. We left some beads and a few trinkets. Both I and Colonel Rondon believe this a practical way to promote calm dialog and to show peaceful intentions. We must remember that these people have never seen a gun, and even the dugouts would most likely be foreign to their lifestyles. Living on such an impassable stretch of river would render such transportation quite useless.”
“I have more bothersome news to report,” Roosevelt said. “While you were gone, the largest and newest dugout was destroyed when the rope bearing its weight snapped suddenly. The vessel and poor Luiz were thrust upon the river’s shoals. Luckily, Luiz was saved by our brave camaradas, but the dugout was shattered beyond repair.”
“Along with the block and tackle,” George Cherrie added. “A vital piece of equipment lost to the river’s bottom.”
Roosevelt shook his head bitterly. “We spent three full days working on that canoe. Three days of wasted time and expended energy.”
“I bear full responsibility for the dugout,” Rondon said. “The Aripuanã tree upon which it was constructed was selected for girth not buoyancy. We will seek araputanga mahogany for our next canoes. It is much easier to carve and as light as balsa. The new craft will be modestly sized and easier to handle whilst slogging through the portages.”
“Now only four dugouts remain,” Roosevelt said. “Some of the men must proceed on foot until more craft are manufactured. It would be unthinkable to compel our men to walk a thousand kilometers through this jungle.”
“I must remind the commanders,” Lieutenant Martin interrupted, “that we are currently surrounded by potentially dangerous natives. I respectfully ask that you order us through this land with some measure of urgency. The Wide Belts will likely study us from a distance until they are certain of our capabilities. With a bit of luck and maintaining the status quo, we may possibly slip through their domain unmolested.”
Roosevelt rubbed his chin. “That does present quite a dilemma, does it not? Either we spend several days under the native’s gaze carving new canoes, or we proceed slowly on foot and risk ambush in the forest, where the natives hold the stronger hand.”
Rondon glanced about the surrounding forest. “I don’t see any araputanga trees amongst these rubber and palm. Constructing canoes upon this spot is not an option. We must move on, at least for now.”
The expedition endured a sleepless night. When morning finally arrived, the camaradas lashed the four remaining canoes into two separate and presumably more stable craft. Colonel Rondon ordered every member of the expedition to purge most of their personal belongings and a great deal of their scientific equipment. Roosevelt quipped to Cherrie that, “Rondon wanted everyone to toss away everything they brought with them, except perhaps a few cameras, the rifles, and the clothes on their back.”
Theodore Roosevelt and Dr. Cajazeria settled in to ride one of the two canoes, along with their best paddlers and a few camaradas whose feet were so battered by cuts and infection that the officers thought they would be more hindrance then help. The remaining men would proceed through the jungle on foot.
The route through the dense jungle was painfully slow, but the men persevered, slicing their way through the foliage with axes and machetes. The dugouts were forced to shore repeatedly to allow the footmen time to catch up.
When the sun finally began its journey downward, Kermit and Rondon came upon a sma
ll river that merged with the Dúvida from the west. Colonel Rondon immediately named the river Rio Kermit and the men began setting up camp at the river’s merge. Lieutenant Lyra did some fishing at the river’s mouth and caught two huge Pacu, and the men dined that evening in fine style on the fish’s tender and flaky flesh. The men’s spirits were lifted further when Antonio, a native Pareci Indian, stated: “This is a good sign. Large fish do not advance upriver past waterfalls they cannot leap over.” He motioned with his hands. “We may be beyond the worse of the rapids.”
Roosevelt shook his head. “If only that were true, my friend—I pray this is true.”
At dawn of the next day, the eighteenth day of March 1914, Colonel Rondon lined up all of the expedition’s members and christened the Dúvida River the Rio Roosevelt. This came as little surprise to Colonel Roosevelt—he had known about the Brazilian government’s plans for several months. Roosevelt guessed the addition of the Rio Kermit to the river’s volume now ensured the Dúvida a waterway of some significance and thusly prompted Rondon to act at this most inopportune moment. Roosevelt bit his tongue, resisting the temptation to remind the proud Brazilian commander that they were currently standing openly in hostile native territory.
And yet Theodore Roosevelt accepted the honor gracefully and basked amid several hardy cheers. Thanking the men one final time, Roosevelt urged Rondon to order the men forward and downriver: “Before we are all christened with arrows.”
In modest spirits, the expedition meandered north along the shoreline of the Rio Roosevelt as the dugouts floated ahead upon the placid current. The men trudging along shore soon reported finding a human-made trail, a discovery that appeared to concern Lieutenant Martin greatly. “We are very near to their main village,” the Englishman said tersely. “I cannot stress the importance of remaining vigilant at all times.”
“Please take the lead, Lieutenant Martin,” Rondon said.
Martin nodded dutifully and moved quietly ahead. Antonio and Kermit followed closely behind.
The men soon heard human voices coming from the jungle. With their hearts racing and their eyes peeled to the path, they stumbled upon a small native village shortly thereafter. The paddlers silently pushed Roosevelt’s raft to shore, whereupon Theodore Roosevelt noticed deserted huts surrounded by smoldering fires. “They must have fled in panic upon our arrival,” he told Rondon.
“Do not be mistaken,” Martin cautioned. “They are watching our every move from the forest. They will probe for weakness.”
Colonel Rondon left an axe, knife, and a few trinkets behind as a gesture of goodwill, and then he ordered the men onward with great haste. Roosevelt felt the eyes of the forest upon him.
A few hours later, they came to another small river entering the Rio Roosevelt from the east. After stopping to admire a small waterfall at the tributary’s mouth, they continued onward encountering some mild rapids only a few miles later. They ran the rapids with only a trifling portage and then set up a campsite at the rapid’s foot.
Colonel Rondon declared with great satisfaction that he had discovered a grove of araputanga mahogany trees growing upon the riverbank close to camp. The co-commander’s conferred and then announced plans to build two new canoes before advancing any further. “Risking the construction within the native’s domain is dangerous,” Roosevelt told the others. “But slowly slogging through the jungle on foot would be riskier still.”
Following the next sunrise, the camaradas were hard at work on the new dugouts. They located and felled two great araputanga trees in short order and by mid-morning began the arduous task of shaping the canoes.
Roosevelt, Cherrie, and Kermit took turns bathing in the dark river despite taking some deadly piranha from the very same spot only a day before. Each of the officers also took shifts guarding the camp against hostile intruders.
At noontime, a ruckus broke out amongst the camaradas. Paishon hurriedly reported back to Rondon. The burly camarada pointed excitedly toward the forest. “I saw three natives move through the forest. They were well hidden and crouched down very low. They each wore wide belts of mahogany around their stomachs.”
Roosevelt raised his rifle. “Where are they?”
“They are gone, senhor Roosevelt. We grabbed a rifle and moved forward, but they were gone in the blink of an eye.”
Rondon rubbed his chin. “They appear to be growing bolder each day.”
Lieutenant Martin stepped forward. “May I confer with the commanders for a moment?”
“Of course,” Rondon said.
“Might I suggest granting me leave to study and negotiate with these people?”
“This is a very risky move, Lieutenant,” Roosevelt said. “Some might even say, suicidal.”
Rondon shook his head. “We simply cannot afford to lose your strength and dedicated labor, senhor Martin.”
“I am well aware of the risks, commanders, and I am willing to die for my cause. I have approached previously un-contacted tribes in the past and have achieved satisfactory results. I fear that we are all sitting ducks whilst standing out here in openly hostile country.”
“Very well,” Rondon replied, sighing deeply.
Martin shaved his beard and cut his wavy hair within a touch of his skull. He removed his clothes and wrapped a strip of mahogany bark several times around his narrow waist. Bidding his fellow camaradas farewell, he stepped away and into the dense jungle.
Theodore Roosevelt shook his head and stared off into the wilderness. Whatever suspicions he had regarding the Englishman’s intentions and actions, paled when compared to his own admiration of the man’s unwavering bravery. I cannot speak of his morals, he thought. But of his manhood, I have little doubt.
CHAPTER 18
The camaradas labored on the new canoes during every daylight hour for two nerve-racking days. Swinging their axes with great tenacity, the men kept their eyes peeled on the outlying forest and any movement whether perceived or imagined. Even the expedition’s officers were not immune to the palpable sense of entrapment and claustrophobia felt by the rank-and-file. Kermit and Lyra prowled the camp’s periphery armed with rifles while Theodore Roosevelt scanned the forest holding fast to the slim hope for Lieutenant Martin’s successful return.
The canoes were taking shape nicely following the second full day of construction. Paishon reported to Rondon his optimistic estimate that only one more day of labor should suffice to finish the project. The men sat around the crackling fire that evening dining on fresh piranha caught amid the river’s swirling eddies.
Suddenly, they all heard a loud holler come from the dark forest, and the men around the campfire silenced. Kermit and Cherrie grabbed their rifles. Paishon rose slowly to his feet and released a high-pitched howl. Another yell emanated from the woods, this time a bit closer.
The solitary figure of Lieutenant Martin slowly emerged within the campfire’s flickering light.
“I trust you are alone?” Roosevelt asked nervously.
“I come with no others,” Martin replied.
Following some friendly greetings from his fellow camaradas and offers of a meager portion of fish, Martin urgently pulled the officers aside.
Even amid the dimmed light Roosevelt noticed Martin’s face showing deep concern. Missing was the over-confident and somewhat conceited anthropologist he’d observed upon first meeting the wayward Englishman just a month before at the Bonifácio station. Roosevelt now stood before a man somewhat out-of-sorts, a man whose arrogance had transformed to angst.
Lieutenant Martin began slowly. “Yes, I was granted an audience with the Wide Belt peoples. Their main village is located a few kilometers from this spot along the small tributary we had passed just a short way back upriver.
“The initial greeting was unpleasant and I was even taken hostage at first. They understood I was an outsider, but they did not place me as a member of this expedition until I explained I was so.”
“Then you understood their language?” Rond
on asked.
“The Wide Belts speak a dialect of Old Tupi. It is similar to the Nhambiquara tongue but closer to Pareci. Our Antonio, a Pareci himself, would make a competent interpreter.”
“Then you were very fortunate,” Roosevelt said. “It must have been of some consolation to understand their concerns and retain the capability to articulate your own, was it not?”
“Yes, Colonel Roosevelt, I was fortunate indeed. Their chief is a man named Tataire; although chief is a relatively misleading term when describing the Wide Belt leadership structure. It appears each major household has its own chief in any practical sense, but Tataire seems to hold a great deal of sway amongst this particular community.”
Rondon stroked his chin. “Do you suppose we could use this loose power structure to our advantage?”
“Yes,” Martin replied, “although it will only get us so far.”
“What do you mean?”
“The Wide Belt chief told me that all of his tribe fled when they first heard us thundering through the woods, scaring away their game. Many saw our long beards and our strange garb and our senseless hollowed trees that floated upon the river, not realizing we were human like them!”
“Is that not good?” Roosevelt asked. “If they fear us, then they may let us pass without incident. A stalemate, some might say.”
Martin shook his head subtly. “Let me pose a simple question to Mr. Cherrie. What do indigenous peoples do to creatures they determine are not human?”
George Cherrie smirked. “Why, you know the answer to that question, Mr. Martin—they have them for dinner.”
“Precisely.”
Theodore Roosevelt shook his head, glancing at Kermit and then to Rondon.
Martin continued, “And yet that may not be our most pressing concern. Tataire told me in no uncertain terms that we are prohibited from advancing downriver under penalty of death. The lands to their north and west are considered sacred to the Wide Belt people and forbidden to outsiders.”
How Teddy Roosevelt Slew the Last Mighty T-Rex Page 13