by Mike Resnick
“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.
III.
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 bird-watcher, 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.”
“That’s what we’re here for,” agreed Roosevelt. “In fact, I think the time has come to begin formulating an approach to the problem. So far we’ve just been speaking in generalizations; we must have some definite plan to present to the men when we’re fully assembled.” He paused. “Let’s take another look at that map.”
Boyes withdrew a map from his pocket and unfolded it.
“This will never do,” said Roosevelt, trying to study the map as the wind kept whipping through it. “Let’s find a table.”
Boyes ordered two of the natives to set up a table and a pair of chairs, and a moment later he and Roosevelt were sitting side by side, with the map laid out on the table and held in place by four small rocks.
“Where are we now?” asked Roosevelt.
“Right about here, sir,” answered Boyes, pointing to their location. �
�The mountains are the dividing line between Uganda and the Congo. We’ll have to concentrate our initial efforts in the eastern section.”
“Why?” asked Roosevelt. “If we move here”—he pointed to a more centrally-located spot—“we’ll have access to the Congo River.”
“Not practical,” answered Boyes. “Most of the tribes in the eastern quarter of the country understand Swahili, and that’s the only native language most of our men will be able to speak. Once we get inland we’ll run into more than two hundred dialects, and if they speak any civilized language at all, it’ll be French, not English.”
“I see,” said Roosevelt. He paused to consider this information, then stared at the map again. “Now, where does the East African Railway terminate?”
“Over here,” said Boyes, pointing. “In Kampala, about halfway through Uganda.”
“So we’ll have to extend the railway or build a road about 300 miles or more to reach a base in the eastern section of the Congo?”
“That’s a very ambitious undertaking, Mr. President,” said Boyes dubiously.
“Still, it will have to be done. There’s no other way to bring in the equipment we’ll need.” Roosevelt turned to Boyes. “You look doubtful, John.”
“It could take years. The East African Railway wasn’t called the Lunatic Line without cause.”
Roosevelt smiled confidently. “They called it the Lunatic Line because only a lunatic would spend one thousand pounds per mile of track. Well, if there’s one thing Americans can build, it’s railroads. We’ll do it for a tenth of the cost in a fiftieth of the time.”
“If you extend it from Kampala, you’ll have to run it over the Mountains of the Moon,” noted Boyes.
“We ran railroads over the Rocky Mountains almost half a century ago,” said Roosevelt, dismissing the subject. “Now, are there any major cities in the eastern sector? Where’s Stanleyville?”
“Stanleyville could be on a different planet, for all the commerce it has with the eastern Congo,” replied Boyes. “In fact, most of the Belgian settlements are along the Congo River”—he pointed out the river—“which, as you can see, doesn’t extend to the eastern section. There are no railways, no rivers, and no roads connecting the eastern sector to the settlements.” He paused. “Initially, this may very well work to our advantage, as it could be months before news of anything we may do will reach them.”
“Then what is in the east?”
Boyes shrugged. “Animals and savages.”
“We’ll leave the animals alone and elevate the savages,” said Roosevelt. “What’s the major tribe there?”
“The Mangbetu.”
“Do you know anything about them?”
“Just that they’re as warlike as the Maasai and the Zulu. They’ve conquered most of the other tribes.” He paused. “And they’re supposed to be cannibals.”
“We’ll have to put a stop to that,” said Roosevelt. He flashed Boyes another grin. “We can’t have them going around eating registered voters.”
“Especially Republicans?” suggested Boyes with a chuckle.
“Especially Republicans,” agreed Roosevelt. He paused. “Have they had much commerce with white men?”
“The Belgians leave them pretty much alone,” answered Boyes. “They killed the first few civil servants who paid them a visit.”
“Then it would be reasonable to assume that they will be unresponsive to our peaceful overtures?”
“I think you could say so, yes.”
“Then perhaps we can draw upon your expertise, John,” said Roosevelt. “After all, Kikuyuland was also hostile to white men when you first entered it.”
“It was a different situation,” explained Boyes. “They were warring among themselves, so I simply placed myself and my gun at the disposal of one of the weaker clans and made myself indispensable to them. Once word got out that I had sided with them and turned the tide of battle, they knew they’d be massacred if I left, so they begged me to stay, and one by one we began assimilating the other Kikuyu clans until we had unified the entire nation.” He paused. “The Mangbetu are already united, and I very much doubt that they would appreciate any interference from us.” He stared thoughtfully at Roosevelt. “And there’s something else.”
“What?”
“I didn’t enter Kikuyuland to bring them the benefits of civilization. The East African Railway needed supplies for 25,000 coolie laborers, and all I wanted to do was find a cheap source of food that I could resell. I was just trying to make a living, not to change the way the Kikuyu lived.” He paused. “African natives are a very peculiar lot. You can shoot their elephants, pull gold and diamonds out of their land, even buy their slaves, and they don’t seem to give a damn. But once you start interfering with the way they live, you’ve got a real problem on your hands.”
“There’s an enormous difference between American democracy and European colonialism,” said Roosevelt firmly.
“Let’s hope the residents of the Congo agree, sir,” said Boyes wryly.
“They will,” said Roosevelt. “You know, John, this enterprise was initially your suggestion. If you feel this way, why have you volunteered to help me?”
“I’ve made and lost three fortunes on this continent,” answered Boyes bluntly. “Some gut instinct tells me that there’s another one to be made in the Congo. Besides,” he added with a smile, “it sounds like a bully adventure.”
Roosevelt laughed at Boyes’ use of his favorite term. “Well, at least you’re being honest, and I can’t ask for more than that. Now let’s get back to work.” He paused, ordering his thoughts. “It seems to me that as long as the Mangbetu control the area, it makes sense to work through them, to use them as our surrogates until we can educate all the natives.”
“I suppose so,” said Boyes. “Still, we can’t just walk in there, tell them that we’re bringing them the advantages of civilization, and expect a friendly reception.”
“Why not?” said Roosevelt confidently. “The direct approach is usually best.”
“They’re predisposed to dislike and distrust you, Mr. President.”
“They’re predisposed to dislike and distrust Belgians, John,” answered Roosevelt. “They’ve never met an American before.”
“I don’t think they’re inclined to differentiate between white men,” said Boyes.
“You’re viewing them as Democrats,” said Roosevelt with a smile. “I prefer to think of them as uncommitted voters.”
“I think you’d be better advised to think of them as hostile—and hungry.”
“John, when I was President, I used to have a saying: Walk softly, but carry a big stick.”
“I’ve heard it,” acknowledged Boyes.
“Well, I intend to walk softly among the Mangbetu—but if worst comes to worst, we’ll be carrying fifty big sticks with us.”
“I wonder if fifty guns will be enough,” said Boyes, frowning.
“We’re not coming to slaughter them, John—merely to impress them.”
“We might impress them more if we waited for some of your engineers and Rough Riders to show up.”
“Time is a precious commodity,” answered Roosevelt. “I have never believed in wasting it.” He paused. “Bill Taft will almost certainly run for reelection in 1912. I’d like to make him a gift of the Congo as an American protectorate before he leaves office.”
“You expect to civilize this whole country in six years?” asked Boyes in amused disbelief.
“Why not?” answered Roosevelt seriously. “God made the whole world in just six days, didn’t He?”
IV.
They remained in camp for two days, with Roosevelt becoming more and more restless to begin his vast undertaking. Finally he convinced Boyes to trek across the mountain range, and a week later they set up a base camp on the eastern border of the Belgian Congo.
The ex-President was overflowing with energy. When Boyes would awaken at sunrise, Roosevelt had already written ten or tw
elve pages, and was undergoing his daily regimen of vigorous exercise. By nine in the morning he was too restless to remain in camp, and he would take a tracker and a bearer out to hunt some game for the pot. In the heat of the day, while Boyes and the porters slept in the shade, Roosevelt sat in a canvas chair beside his tent, reading from the 60-volume library that accompanied him everywhere. By late afternoon it was time for a long walk and an hour of serious bird-watching, followed by still more writing and then dinner. And always, as he sat beside the fire with Boyes and those poachers who had begun making their way to the base camp, he would speak for hours, firing them with his vision for the Congo and discussing how best to accomplish it. Then, somewhere between nine and ten at night, everyone would go off to bed, and while the others slept, Roosevelt’s tent was always aglow with lantern light as he read for another hour.
Boyes decided that if Roosevelt weren’t given something substantial to do he might spontaneously combust with nervous energy. Therefore, since 33 members of his little company had already arrived, he broke camp and assumed that the remaining 15 to 20 men would be able to follow their trail.
They spent two days tracking down a large bull elephant and his young askaris, came away with fourteen tusks, six of them quite large, and then marched them 20 miles north to a Belgian outpost. They traded the tusks for seven blooded horses, left three of their party behind to acquire more ivory and trade it for the necessary number of horses, and then headed south into Mangbetu country.
They were quite a group. There was Deaf Banks, who had lost his hearing from proximity to repeated elephant gun explosions, but had refused to quit Africa or even leave the bush, and had shot more than 500 elephants. There was Bill Buckley, a burly Englishman who had given up his gold mine in Rhodesia for the white gold he found further north. There was Mickey Norton, who had spent a grand total of three days in cities during the past twenty years. There was Charlie Ross, who had left his native Australia to become a Canadian Mountie, then decided that the life was too tame and emigrated to Africa. There was Billy Pickering, who had already served two sentences in Belgian jails for ivory poaching, and had his own notions concerning how to civilize the Congo. There were William and Richard Brittlebanks, brothers who had found hunting in the Klondike to be too cold for their taste, and had been poaching ivory in the Sudan for the better part of a decade. There was even an American, Yank Rogers, one of Roosevelt’s former Rough Riders, who had no use for the British or the Belgians, but joined up the moment he heard that his beloved Teddy was looking for volunteers. Only the fabled Karamojo Bell, who had just killed his 962nd elephant and was eager to finally bag his thousandth, refused to leave the Lado.
