by Mike Resnick
“Tomorrow morning,” said Roosevelt, his teeth flashing as he finally returned Boyes’ grin. “By God, it’ll be bully!”
2
“Father?”
Roosevelt, sitting on a chair in front of his tent, continued staring through his binoculars.
“Kermit, you’re standing in front of a lilac-breasted roller and a pair of crowned cranes.”
Kermit didn’t move, and finally Roosevelt put his binoculars down on a nearby table. He pulled a notebook out of his pocket and began scribbling furiously.
“Remarkable bird viewing here,” he said as he added the roller and the cranes to his list. “That’s 34 species I’ve seen today, and we haven’t even had breakfast yet.” He looked up at his son. “I love these chilly Ugandan nights and mornings. They remind me of the Yellowstone. I trust you slept well?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Wonderful climate,” said Roosevelt. “Just wonderful!”
“Father, I’d like to speak to you for a few moments, if I may.”
Roosevelt carefully tucked the notebook back into his breast pocket. “Certainly,” he replied. “What would you like to talk about?”
Kermit looked around, found another canvas chair, carried it over next to his father, and sat down on it.
“This entire enterprise seems ill-conceived, Father.”
Roosevelt seemed amused. “That’s your considered opinion, is it?”
“One man can’t civilize a country half the size of the United States,” continued Kermit. “Not even you.”
“Kermit, when I was twelve years old, the best doctors in the world told me I’d always be underweight and sickly,” said Roosevelt. “But when I was nineteen, I was the lightweight boxing champion of Harvard.”
“I know, Father.”
“Don’t interrupt. People told me I couldn’t write a proper sentence, but I’ve written twenty books, and four of them have been bestsellers. They told me that politics was no place for a young man, but when I was 24 I was Minority Leader of the New York State Legislature. They told me that law and order had no place in the West, but I went out and single-handedly captured three armed killers in the Dakota Bad Lands during the Winter of the Blue Snow.” Roosevelt paused. “Even my Rough Riders said we couldn’t take San Juan Hill; I took it.” He stared at his son. “So don’t tell me what I can’t do, Kermit.”
“But this isn’t like anything else you’ve done,” persisted Kermit.
“What better reason is there to do it?” said Roosevelt with a delighted grin.
“But—”
“Ex-Presidents are supposed to sit around in their rocking chairs and only come out for parades. Well, I’m 51 years old, and I’m not ready to retire yet. Another opportunity like this may never come along.” Roosevelt gazed off to the west, toward the Congo. “Think of it, Kermit! More than half a million square miles, filled with nothing but animals and savages and a few missionaries. The British and French and Portugese and Belgians and Italians all have had their chance at this continent; Africa ought to have one country developed by someone who will bring them American know-how and American democracy and American values. We’re a rustic, frontier race ourselves; who better to civilize yet another frontier?” He paused, envisioning a future that was as clear to him as the present. “And think of the natural resources! We’ll turn it into a protectorate, and give it favored nation trading status. There’s lumber here to build thirty million houses, and where we’ve cleared the forests away we’ll create farms and cities. It will be America all over again—only this time there will be no slavery, no genocide practiced against an indigenous people, no slaughter of the buffalo. I’ll use America not as a blueprint, but as a first draft, and I’ll learn from our past mistakes.”
“But it isn’t another America, Father,” said Kermit. “It’s a harsh, savage country, filled with hundreds of tribes whose only experience with white men is slavery.”
“Then they’ll be happy to find a white man who is willing to redress the balance, won’t they?” replied Roosevelt with a confident smile.
“What about the legalities involved?” persisted Kermit. “The Congo is a Belgian colony.”
“They’ve had their chance, and they’ve muddled it badly.” Roosevelt paused. “Suppose you let me worry about the Belgians.”
Kermit seemed about to argue the point, then realized the fruitlessness of further debate. “All right,” he said with a sigh.
“Was there anything else?”
“Yes,” said Kermit. “What do you know about this man Boyes?”
“The man’s a true pioneer,” said Roosevelt admiringly. “He should have been an American.”
Kermit shook his head. “The man’s a scalawag.”
“That’s your conclusion after being wined and dined in his tent for a single evening?”
“No, Father. But while you were taking your morning walk and watching birds, I was talking to some of his companions about him. They thought they were bragging about him and telling me stories that would impress me—but what I heard gave me a true picture of the man.”
“For example?” asked Roosevelt.
“He’s always in trouble—with the law, with the British army, with the Colonial Office.” Kermit paused. “They’ve tried to deport him from East Africa twice. Did you know that?”
“Certainly I know it,” answered Roosevelt. Suddenly he grinned and pointed to a small book that was on the table next to his binoculars. “I spent most of the night reading his memoirs. Remarkable man!”
“Then you know that the British government arrested him for…” Kermit searched for the word.
“Dacoity?”
Kermit nodded. “Yes.”
“Do you know what it means?” asked his father.
“No,” admitted Kermit.
“In this particular case, it means that he signed a treaty with the Kikuyu and got them to open their land to white settlement, and some higher-up in the Colonial government felt that Mr. Boyes was usurping his authority.” Roosevelt chuckled. “So they sent a squad of six men into Kikuyuland to arrest him, and they found him surrounded by five thousand armed warriors. And since none of the arresting officers cared very much for the odds, Mr. Boyes volunteered to march all the way to Mombasa on his own recognizance.” Roosevelt paused and grinned. “When he walked into court with his five thousand Kikuyu, the case was immediately thrown out.” He laughed. “Now, that’s a story that could have come out of our own Wild West.”
“There were other stories, too, Father,” said Kermit. “Less savory stories.”
“Good,” said Roosevelt. “Then he and I will have something to talk about on the way to the Congo.”
“You know, of course, that he’s the so-called White King of the Kikuyu.”
“And I’m an honorary Indian chief. We have a lot in common.”
“You have nothing in common,” protested Kermit. “You helped our Indians. Boyes became king through deceit and treachery.”
“He walked into a savage kingdom that had never permitted a white man to enter it before, and within two years he became the king of the entire Kikuyu nation. That’s just the kind of man I need for the work at hand.”
“But Father—”
“This is a harsh, savage land, Kermit, and I’m embarking on an enterprise that is neither for the timid nor the weak,” said Roosevelt with finality. “He’s the man I want.”
“You’re certain that you won’t reconsider?”
Roosevelt shook his head. “The subject is closed.”
Kermit stared at his father for a long moment, then sighed in defeat.
“What shall I tell Mother?”
“Edith will understand,” said Roosevelt. “She has always understood. Tell her I’ll send for her as soon as I’ve got a proper place to house us all.” Suddenly he grinned again. “Maybe we should send for your sister Alice immediately. If there’s any native opposition, she can terrify them into submission, just the w
ay she used to do with my Cabinet.”
“I’m being serious, Father.”
“So am I, Kermit. America’s never had an empire, and doesn’t want one—but I made us a world power, and if I can increase our influence on a continent where we’ve yet to gain a foothold, then it’s my duty to do so.”
“And it’ll be such fun,” suggested Kermit knowingly.
Roosevelt flashed his son another grin. “It will be absolutely bully!”
Kermit stared at his father for a moment. “If I can’t talk you out of this enterprise, I wish you’d let me stay here with you.”
Roosevelt shook his head. “Someone has to make sure all the trophies we’ve taken get to the American Museum on schedule. Besides, if we both stay here, the press will be sure I died during the safari. You’ve got to go back and tell them about the work I’m doing here.” Suddenly he frowned. “Oh, and you’ll have to see my editor at Scribner’s and tell him that I’ll be a little late on the safari manuscript. I’ll start working on it as soon as we set up a permanent camp.” He paused again. “Oh, yes. Before you woke up this morning, I gave a number of letters to Mr. Cunninghame, who will accompany you for the remainder of the journey. I want you to mail them when you get back to the States. The sooner we get some engineers and heavy equipment over here, the better.”
“Heavy equipment?”
“Certainly. We’ve got a lot of land to clear and a railway to build.” A superb starling walked boldly up to the mess tent, looking for scraps, and Roosevelt instantly withdrew his notebook and began scribbling again.
“The Congo’s in the middle of the continent,” Kermit pointed out. “It will be very difficult to bring in heavy equipment from the coast.”
“Nonsense,” scoffed Roosevelt. “The British disassembled their steamships, transported them in pieces, and then reassembled them on Lake Victoria and Lake Nyasa. Are you suggesting that Americans, who could build the Panama Canal and crisscross an entire continent with railroads, can’t find a way to transport bulldozers and tractors to the Congo?” He paused. “You just see to it that those letters are delivered. The rest will take care of itself.”
Just then Boyes approached them.
“Good morning, Mr. Boyes,” said Roosevelt pleasantly. “Are we ready to leave?”
“We can break camp whenever you wish, Mr. President,” said Boyes. “But one of our natives tells me there’s a bull elephant carrying at least one hundred and thirty pounds a side not five miles from here.”
“Really?” said Roosevelt, standing up excitedly. “Is he certain? I never saw ivory that large in Kenya.”
“This particular boy’s not wrong very often,” answered Boyes. “He says this bull is surrounded by three or four askaris—young males—and that he’s moving southeast. If we were to head off in that direction”—he pointed across the river to an expanse of dry, acacia-studded savannah—”we could probably catch up with him in a little less than three miles.”
“Have we time?” asked Roosevelt, trying unsuccessfully to hide his eagerness.
Boyes smiled. “The Congo’s been waiting for someone to civilize it for millions of years, Mr. President. I don’t suppose another day will hurt.”
Roosevelt turned to his son and shook his hand. “Have a safe trip, Kermit. If I bag this elephant, I’ll have his tusks sent on after you.”
“Good-bye, Father.”
Roosevelt gave the young man a hug, and then went off to get his rifle.
“Don’t worry, son,” said Boyes, noting the young man’s concern. “We’ll take good care of your father. The next time you see him, he’ll be the King of the Congo.”
“President,” Kermit corrected him.
“Whichever,” said Boyes with a shrug.
3
It took Roosevelt six hours to catch up with his elephant, and the close stalk and kill took another hour. The rest of the day was spent removing the tusks and—at the ex-President’s insistence—transporting almost three hundred pounds of elephant meat to the porters who had remained with Kermit.
It was too late to begin the trek to the Congo that day, but their little party was on the march shortly after sunrise the next morning. The savannah slowly changed to woodland, and finally, after six days, they came to the Mountains of the Moon.
“You’re a remarkably fit man, Mr. President,” remarked Boyes, as they made their first camp in a natural clearing by a small, clear stream at an altitude of about 6,000 feet.
“A healthy mind and a healthy body go hand-in-hand, John,” replied Roosevelt. “It doesn’t pay to ignore either of them.”
“Still,” continued Boyes, “once we cross the mountains, I think we’ll try to find some blooded horses to ride.”
“Blooded?” repeated Roosevelt.
“Horses that have already been bitten by the tsetse fly and survived,” answered Boyes. “Once they’ve recovered from the disease, they’re immune to it. Such animals are worth their weight in gold out here.”
“Where will we find them, and how much will they cost?”
“Oh, the Belgian soldiers will have some,” answered Boyes easily. “And they’ll cost us two or three bullets.”
“I don’t understand.”
Boyes grinned. “We’ll kill a couple of elephants and trade the ivory for the horses.”
“You’re a resourceful man, Mr. Boyes,” said Roosevelt with an appreciative grin.
“Out here a white man’s either resourceful or he’s dead,” answered Boyes.
“I can well imagine,” replied Roosevelt. He stared admiringly at the profusion of birds and monkeys that occupied the canopied forest that surrounded the clearing. “It’s beautiful up here,” he commented. “Pleasant days, brisk nights, fresh air, clear running water, game all around us. A man could spend his life right here.”
“Some men could,” said Boyes. “Not men like us.”
“No,” agreed Roosevelt with a sigh. “Not men like us.”
“Still,” continued Boyes, “there’s no reason why we can’t spend two or three days here. We’ll be meeting our party on the other side of the mountains, but they probably won’t arrive for another week to ten days. It will take time for word of our enterprise to circulate through the Lado.”
“Good!” said Roosevelt. “It’ll give me time to catch up on my writing.” He paused. “By the way, where did you plan to pitch my tent?”
“Wherever you’d like it.”
“As close to the stream as possible,” answered Roosevelt. “It’s really quite a lovely sight to wake up to.”
“No reason why not,” said Boyes. “I haven’t seen any crocs or hippos about.” He gave a brief command to the natives, and pointed to the spot Roosevelt had indicated.
“Please make sure the American flag is stationed in front of it,” said Roosevelt. “Oh, and have my books placed inside it.”
“You know,” said Boyes, “we’re using two boys just to carry your books, Mr. President. Perhaps we could leave some of them behind when we break camp and push inland.”
Roosevelt shook his head. “That’s out of the question: I’d be quite lost without access to literature. If we’re short of manpower, we’ll leave my rifle behind and have my gunbearer carry one of the book boxes.”
Boyes smiled. “That won’t be necessary, Mr. President. It was just a suggestion.”
“Good,” said Roosevelt with a smile. “Just between you and me, I’d feel almost as lost without my Winchester.”
“You handle it very well.”
“I’m just a talented amateur,” answered Roosevelt. “I’m not in a class with you professional hunters.”
Boyes laughed. “I’m no professional.”
“You were hunting for ivory when we met.”
“I was trying to increase my bank account,” answered Boyes. “The ivory was just a means to an end. Karamojo Bell is a real hunter, or your friend Selous. I’m just an entrepreneur.”
“Don’t be so modest, John,”
said Roosevelt. “You managed to amass quite a pile of ivory. You couldn’t do that if you weren’t an expert hunter.”
“Would you like to know how I actually went about collecting that ivory?” asked Boyes with a grin.
“Certainly.”
“I don’t know the first thing about tracking game, so I stopped at a British border post, explained that I was terrified of elephants, and slipped the border guards a few pounds to mark the major concentrations on a map of the Lado Enclave so I could avoid them.”
Roosevelt laughed heartily. “Still, once you found the herds, you obviously knew what to do.”
Boyes shrugged. “I just went where there was no competition.”
“I thought the Enclave was filled with ivory hunters.”
“Not in the shoulder-high grass,” answered Boyes. “No way to sight your rifle, or to maneuver in case of a charge.”
“How did you manage to hunt under such conditions?”
“I stood on my bearer’s shoulders.” Boyes chuckled at the memory. “The first few times I used a .475, but the recoil was so powerful that it knocked me off my perch each time I fired it, so in the end I wound up using a Lee-Enfield .303.”
“You’re a man of many talents, John.”
A yellow-vented bulbul, bolder than its companions, suddenly landed in the clearing to more closely observe the pitching of the tents.
“Lovely bird, the bulbul,” remarked Roosevelt, pulling out his notebook and entering the time and location where he had spotted it. “It has an absolutely beautiful voice, too.”
“You’re quite a birdwatcher, Mr. President,” noted Boyes.
“Ornithology was my first love,” answered Roosevelt. “I published my initial monograph on it when I was fourteen.” He paused. “For the longest time, I thought my future would be in ornithology and taxidermy, but eventually I found men more interesting than animals.” Suddenly he grinned. “Or at least, more in need of leadership.”
“Well, we’ve come to the right place,” replied Boyes. “I think the Congo is probably more in need of leadership than most places.”
