The men, all breathing heavily, cheered Martin for his keen engineering and decisive deeds. Even Kermit and Lyra both offered sincere praise for the English Lieutenant’s bold actions.
“A fine job, Mr. Martin,” Roosevelt said, pulling on his worn trousers. “I’m sure the men are all pleased we can advance before sundown.”
“Yes,” Martin replied dryly. “I’m certain all are eager to forge ahead.”
Roosevelt detected an odd twinge in Martin’s normally sarcastic tone. Realizing this as an unusual departure from the Englishman’s usual distant approach when interacting with his fellow camaradas, Roosevelt took particular note.
The camaradas completed moving the supplies and equipment overland by mid-afternoon, and they were once again ready to proceed downriver. Abruptly, the skies darkened with ominous thunderheads, and Roosevelt and George Cherrie took cover beneath a broad tree. The ensuing rains were the worst Roosevelt had encountered since arriving in Brazil. The sky opened like a waterfall, pounding the green earth in massive waves, such that he and Cherrie could barely discern the opposite riverbank.
It was late afternoon before they could even think of launching on the Rio Roosevelt once again. They made barely a mile in the rain before pulling ashore and setting up camp in the sopping jungle. Soaked to the bone, the men huddled beside the smoldering campfire. They tried unsuccessfully to dry some of their saturated clothing during the ceaseless downpours, finally abandoning all hope of a restful night’s sleep amidst the shrouded and sodden night.
Roosevelt woke late on the twenty-eight day of March. Crawling out of his tent and into the dripping rainforest, he noticed George Cherrie already by the fire sipping coffee. The camp appeared abandoned.
“And a good morning to you, Colonel, I’m glad to see you wake before noon.”
“I’m afraid I forfeited any restful sleep with those dreaded rains.”
“As did all of us, more or less… I can only report the downpours relenting sometime near dawn.”
Roosevelt sniffed. “Pour me a cup, George. It could very well save my dreary life.”
Teddy Roosevelt sipped the bitter brew. He closed his eyes savoring each moment while the caffeine began to surge through his half-century-old veins. “And, might I ask, where are the others?”
“Rondon and Lyra escorted Kermit and Antonio downriver on a little scouting trip.”
“And the camaradas…?”
“Scavenging for food.”
“Good, good.”
“Martin has suddenly decided to step forward and coach the men on finding edible plants. He claims to know some varieties they have overlooked in the past, putting his Nhambiquara experience to practical use.”
“Martin? I wonder what precipitated this abrupt interest in the camarada’s wellbeing.”
“Perhaps he has finally linked his own chance of survival with that of his fellow workers? Come to think about it, Colonel, I reason Martin the only man amongst us who could survive this jungle alone, don’t you agree?”
“But why did he wait over a month to do so?” Roosevelt shook his head. “George, there are things this man does that simply defy common sense.”
Cherrie raised his brow and took another sip of coffee. “Colonel, there was quite a stir amongst the camaradas after Rondon departed.”
“Oh?”
“Apparently Antonio spread word of the Wide Belt’s legend and the men are clearly on edge. I noticed most carried guns and extra ammunition into the jungle this morning.”
“The dissemination of this knowledge was inevitable, George.”
“Yes, I suppose it is, Colonel. And I’m glad the camaradas are off on their little mission. One can never underestimate the benefit of keeping the rank-and-file occupied in circumstances like these.”
“Indeed, however, I must note that one must always be vigilant of what they are occupied with, Mr. Cherrie.”
Lieutenant Martin returned with the camaradas shortly after noon. The men bore many species of plants and slabs of honey, and all of the laborers appeared content and in high spirits. Roosevelt commended the Englishman on his valuable contribution to the expedition, to which Martin responded with a polite nod between subtle glances toward Julio de Lima.
Colonel Rondon and his contingent returned to camp two hours later. Rondon immediately pulled Roosevelt and Cherrie aside. “I’m afraid I bear very discouraging news. Several kilometers ahead, the river falls through a steep gorge that appears to run for several miles. The rapids are home to a handful of high waterfall and will be impossible to run in our canoes. More disheartening is the fact that the dugouts cannot be portaged along the steep vertical cliffs of the gorge. If Mr. Kermit cannot determine a way to lower the boats through the most treacherous passages, our only hope will be to clear a route to convey our supplies over the mountain itself and then rebuild our canoes on the opposite side.”
Roosevelt shook his head. “A long and impassible gorge…? Is that not what the Wide Belt’s chief forewarned?”
“Yes, Colonel Roosevelt, the area appears to exist in fact, not merely legend.”
Cherrie said, “Then we may also be forced to contend with other matters, will we not?”
“Sim, Mr. Cherrie,” Rondon said. “Although the odds remain slim, there is a chance the land ahead may be stalked by a dangerous creature.”
Theodore Roosevelt thought this a stunning admission from both men.
The sun set over the western forest and the officers settled in around the campfire as the cook distributed their rations. The camaradas huddled away from the fire, whispering in small groups. Roosevelt could sense an unease permeate the entire camp.
Abruptly, Paishon approached the officers followed by many of the camaradas with the exception of Lieutenant Martin and Julio de Lima. Paishon removed his hat and bowed his head. Peering up, he said, “Senhors Rondon and Roosevelt, the men have voted. Many of us firmly believe we should not enter the Wide Belt’s sacred lands.”
CHAPTER 22
Theodore Roosevelt stood silently, watching the disheveled camaradas gather before the officers with their hats in hand and their eyes downcast. Roosevelt had prepared himself for some time to tackle the real possibility of insurrection amongst the laborers, but he never imagined in might occur in such an orderly and polite manner. Colonel Rondon and Cherrie appeared equally bewildered.
“And just what do the men fear?” Roosevelt asked finally.
Paishon scratched his head. “The men have learned that the Wide Belts consider the lands beyond the gorge to be holy, and also that a terrible beast lurks in the jungle more ferocious than any previously known.”
“These are just myths, Paishon,” George Cherrie said. “Stories handed down through generations of native oral tradition, most likely meant to frighten rivals from good hunting grounds.”
Cherrie’s words appeared to cause some stir amongst the men. Several crossed their chest asking God’s blessing. Luiz and another camarada whispered nervously into Paishon’s ear.
“Senhor Cherrie,” Paishon continued. “Most of us were raised good Catholics, but native blood also flows through our veins—some of us more than others. To say our father’s and forefather’s traditions do not matter to us is…”
“No, Paishon, I did not mean to imply—”
“Wait, George,” Roosevelt interrupted with a raised palm. “I believe we should all be respectful of these men’s beliefs. But I also think we officers have done a poor job keeping the rank-and-file informed on such matters. And for this, I offer humble apologies to all.”
“Sim, senhor, but now the story of the Wide Belts has been shared, and I’m afraid all are not convinced the best way is forward.”
Roosevelt sensed a stalemate forming between the two groups, and upon looking at Rondon and Cherrie’s blank stare, it appeared they too had quickly run dry of any solid ideas to break the logjam.
Abruptly, Lieutenant Martin stepped forward. “Colonels, if I may interject som
e of my own thoughts on this issue?”
Roosevelt glanced toward Rondon, who replied with a subtle shrug. Roosevelt nodded curtly to Martin. “Any ideas will be welcome, Lieutenant.”
Martin turned and addressed the camaradas. “It is true the Wide Belts covet the land beyond this gorge as sacred and forbidden to any outsider, and it is also true they believe the surrounding jungle is home to a terrible beast of which there is little equal in the Amazon or elsewhere on this continent or on earth, for that matter.”
The camaradas stirred once again.
Martin waved his hand reassuringly. “But the Wide Belts have not encountered this beast in a generation, even though they have ventured to this land each year to fulfill ritualistic traditions. Antonio can bear out these statements, owing to his presence at the Wide Belt’s village and his direct interpretation of the chieftain’s words.”
Paishon looked to Antonio, who acknowledged with a quick nod. “Then, senhor Martin,” Paishon said. “Are you saying that the beast no longer exists and that our worries are unfounded?”
Theodore Roosevelt glanced toward Cherrie.
Martin hesitated. “That I cannot say, although the Wide Belts did describe the beast as a forest dweller and not a creature of the water.”
“Then, the river may be safe?”
“Yes, if we don’t venture far from its bank.”
The camaradas huddled amongst themselves. Finally, Paishon said, “The men are still reluctant to tread on any sacred tribal land. They believe doing so will bring great misfortune to us all.”
“Of course,” Martin replied diplomatically. “And I sympathize with your plight. But all of you must make a very hard decision and you must decide quickly.” Martin pointed toward the dense forest. “There is deep jungle to either side of us. If you decide to take that route, you could walk a hundred kilometers and not reach another river tributary; whereas proceeding back upriver will take you back into the midst of the hostile Wide Belts. Personally, I feel the choice is clear. Together we can work our way forward or we can all die slowly on this very spot. What is your choice?”
The camaradas conferred amongst themselves once again, but Roosevelt noticed much heated debate this time around. After several tense minutes, Paishon turned back to Martin. “We have decided to move forward, but we do so with great reservation.”
Roosevelt did not see a solitary happy face amongst the gathered men.
“Good, good,” Colonel Rondon replied dolefully.
The camaradas settled around the fire still jabbering quietly. Martin sat alone and away from the rest.
“Well, that was certainly unexpected,” Roosevelt said to Rondon. “Another unfortunate roadblock thrust into our midst, confounding this already heartrending journey. What more could go wrong?”
“Sim, yes, and it was Martin who ended up seizing the initiative where we officers apparently failed to do so. He should be commended for resolving a rather tricky situation, don’t you think?”
Roosevelt inhaled deeply and cleared his throat. “Yet do you not worry that Martin may seize the upper hand with the workers? He could be quite an adversary if he gains clout politically?”
“These men are in an all-out fight for survival, Colonel Roosevelt, and nature itself is their primary enemy. Senhor Martin certainly knows this fact.” Rondon sighed. “And yet, if he does have ill intentions, there may be little we can do about it at this point.”
Colonel Rondon did very little to sooth Roosevelt’s pressing concerns. Rondon nodded politely and then retired for the night.
Roosevelt could not resist watching Lieutenant Martin’s eyes sparkle amid the fire’s light, and he sensed George Cherrie doing exactly the same. He pulled close to the naturalist, saying softly, “Interesting…”
“Indeed,” Cherrie replied.
“I would certainly like to know what’s going on in that Englishman’s head.”
“As would I, Colonel, as would I.” Cherrie smirked mischievously. “Well, I think I may have a ruse that just might work.”
“Oh?”
“But it may involve some actions that—let us just say—employ less than honorable methods.”
Roosevelt grinned. “Mr. Cherrie, you oftentimes surprise me, but I’m all ears. Go on.”
“With your permission of course, honorable President Roosevelt, I would not wish to do anything that could blemish your good name.”
Roosevelt chucked. “George, you do realize I have been involved in politics for many years, right? I think Robespierre once said, ‘Sometimes you have to break a few eggs to make an omelet’. Now, out with it! What is your plan? I can’t tell you how much I enjoy a good caper.”
“Let me just say for now it involves a good portion of Kermit’s remaining scotch whiskey and a certain Mr. Julio de Lima.”
CHAPTER 23
The twenty-ninth day of March dawned with much angst and anticipation amongst both officers and laborers of the Roosevelt-Rondon Expedition. Following another rationed breakfast, Colonel Rondon and a contingent of camaradas set out to carve a path over the closest mountain to portage their remaining supplies. In the meantime, Kermit, Lyra, Martin, and three of their best paddlers were tasked with lowering the canoes down the rapids that sliced through the mile-long gorge. Theodore Roosevelt fretted over all of the monumental tasks standing before them.
Following a day of intense labor, Rondon and his men finally hacked their way to the mountain’s peak. From a high vantage atop the trail, Roosevelt stood on an open rock face and gazed over a grand vista comprised of thick forested green hills and a distant mountain range that reminded him of the low-ridged Alleghenies of central Pennsylvania. Beneath him, he could discern a ribbon of rapids upon the river, ending at their planned campsite amid the forest below.
Three full days passed, and the entire expedition settled into their newly organized campsite at the base of the gorge. Under the heading: April 1, 1914 Roosevelt wrote of the favorable weather they enjoyed over the past several days and of his deep desire to experience the end of the seemingly ceaseless Brazilian rainy season.
Kermit and Lyra reported to Rondon that all of the canoes had been successfully moved down to the last set of rapids above the campsite and that they could be on their way by noon of the following day. This was welcome news to the camaradas who kept vigil each night whilst passing through the gorge, their eyes and ears trained on any odd or unusual disturbance emanating from the bleak Amazonian forest, beyond.
Colonel Rondon shot and killed a large monkey, and the men welcomed the fresh meat despite their meager allotments. The entrails of the beast were boiled down and given to the emaciated and ravenous Trigueiro.
Roosevelt and George Cherrie sat beside their tent amid the pleasant moonlit night. Cherrie poured Roosevelt a shot of scotch and both men shared a silent toast to seal their imminent conspiracy.
Roosevelt noticed Julio de Lima’s face emerge from out of the darkness. He removed his hat and nodded respectfully. “Paishon has sent me at your request, senhor Colonel.”
“Oh, yes, good fellow. Kermit and Lieutenant Lyra have kept me informed of your hard work in getting those dugouts through the gorge. I just wanted to commend you personally. Bravo!”
“Sim, obrigado, senhor Roosevelt.”
Roosevelt reached out and offered Julio a small bag of tobacco. “And here, take this and enjoy. This is simply a small token of our appreciation for a job well done.”
“Sim, thank you!”
George Cherrie maneuvered the scotch bottle in plain view, its glass sparkling in dim moonlight. Roosevelt noticed Julio’s eyes widen like saucers. The camarada’s parched lips slid back and forth against his discolored teeth.
“Ah, my good man,” Cherrie said. “Where are my manners? Perhaps you would like to partake in a small drink amongst comrades and friends?” He motioned. “Sit down, please.”
Cherrie poured a healthy portion of the scotch into a tin cup. Julio sat on the ground and raised
his hands like a street panhandler. He accepted the cup with shaking hands and then chugged its contents in a single swift motion. He released a deep gasp of satisfaction.
Roosevelt caught Cherrie’s eye.
“More?” Cherrie held the bottle forward and refilled Julio’s cup.
“I was just telling Mr. Cherrie,” Roosevelt said, “of how I greatly admire the hardy and good-natured men of the Brazilian highlands.”
Julio nodded curtly before taking another sip of scotch.
“You realize, Julio, I shall be organizing and financing other missions to Brazil in the years to come, and I always have an eye out for good leaders. I can pay quite well, much more than you can earn on the docks in Tapirapoan.”
Julio snorted in what Roosevelt could only interpret was a rebuff of his gracious yet disingenuous offer.
“Then a solid, high-paying job is not to your liking? Have you other plans?”
“With all due respect, Colonel, a wealthy man like you cannot appreciate the struggles of the working poor in my country.”
Theodore Roosevelt smirked. “Yes Julio, of course I cannot. And I sincerely apologize for my lack of understanding of your countrymen’s plight. But a smart man like you cannot be satisfied with slogging sacks of wheat for a pittance, will you?”
Julio smiled through crooked teeth. He took another sip of scotch. “What else do you have in mind?”
“A stake in a Brazilian gold mine, for instance?”
Julio’s eyes danced. “That is certainly an interesting offer, Colonel. Please, go on.”
Roosevelt leaned closer. “I could always use a good foreman, someone who could crack some heads if the native laborers, let us just say, become unruly or troublesome.”
Julio waved his hand contemptuously. “I am not interested.”
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