Read Online How Teddy Roosevelt Slew the Last Mighty T-Rex by Mark Paul Jacobs - Free Book Online
Authors: Mark Paul Jacobs
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amid a torrential downpour. Before pushing away from the shore, Lieutenant Martin huddled with Colonel Rondon and Theodore Roosevelt, reminding them they would most likely encounter a native village during this day’s float.
“They are a sub-group of the Nhambiquara,” the Englishman said. “I have named them the Navaïté , but you may call them whatever you wish. I have stayed amongst them on several occasions, yet my last visit was two years ago before the onset of the rainy season. Their chief is a man named Chahknu. He is a very weak monarch, but he has accepted me into his camp in the past. Needless to say, his political position amongst these unruly natives remains tenuous at best.”
“Will they let us pass unscathed?” Roosevelt asked.
“We shall see,” Martin replied. “Nothing is certain when dealing with these volatile and unpredictable tribes.”
Colonel Rondon raised his brow and then nodded in unequivocal agreement.
The sopping morning turned into a gloomy afternoon as the dugouts wound their way down the meandering river. George Cherrie and Dr. Cajazeira sat quietly, huddling close to the canoe’s center while Luiz and Julio pushed the vessel along with long graceful strokes. Roosevelt became mesmerized by the forest’s unique sights and somewhat monotonous sounds.
Roosevelt noticed Julio lurch with fear upon hearing any strange noise coming from the woods. The camarada dropped his paddle and stared nervously before resuming his pace upon Luiz’s growing impatience and overt ridicule. “What a disgusting coward,” Roosevelt thought. “And here sits a man who has spent nearly his entire life in the Amazon and he acts like a frightened child.”
Rounding a bend, they came upon several cultivated fields just as Martin had predicted. The fields were overgrown and studded with burned-out stumps. They found an old fish-trap a few hundred meters beyond the fields—the primitive but ingenious devise lay in disrepair at the mouth of a small stream. Roosevelt ordered Luiz to catch up with Rondon’s canoe.
Just ahead, Roosevelt spied a rope bridge spanning the Dúvida. The structure was fashioned of vines and suspended just above the water. Part of the bridge was intact but much of the assembly appeared to have been swept away some time ago. On either side of the river, Roosevelt noticed remnants of palm-thatched huts riddled with weeds.
The camaradas beached the canoes on the western riverbank. Roosevelt and the other expedition members climbed upon the muddy shore.
Kermit glanced around the abandoned village, saying abruptly, “They appeared to have all gone on holiday.”
Lieutenant Martin shook his head. “These are a nomadic people. Perhaps the river’s flooding forced their hand.” He rubbed his beard. “And yet I’m not absolutely certain.”
“Then we will be safe to pass?” Roosevelt asked.
Rondon said, “They could have rebuilt farther downriver. In such a scenario, we could be placing ourselves in great danger.”
“Yes, Commander Rondon,” Martin said. “That hypothesis is quite likely, although they may have headed west to the shores of the Madeira or even the Gy-Paraná.”
“That leaves us quite a dilemma,” Roosevelt said. “Does it not?”
“Yes,” Rondon replied thoughtfully. “Indeed it does.”
The officers and Lieutenant Martin stood wordlessly for a few moments while Rondon’s dog Lobo and Kermit’s Trigueiro ran about sniffing the settlement. The other camaradas waited patiently, either standing near the officers or tending to the canoes.
Finally, Rondon said, “Mr. Martin, I hesitate sending any man on such a dangerous mission, yet knowing these native’s whereabouts would be reassuring to the entire expedition.”
Martin nodded. “I understand.”
“But I ask you to complete your assignment quickly. If the tribe cannot be tracked, you must surrender your search immediately. Under no circumstance will we wait here longer than
“They are a sub-group of the Nhambiquara,” the Englishman said. “I have named them the Navaïté , but you may call them whatever you wish. I have stayed amongst them on several occasions, yet my last visit was two years ago before the onset of the rainy season. Their chief is a man named Chahknu. He is a very weak monarch, but he has accepted me into his camp in the past. Needless to say, his political position amongst these unruly natives remains tenuous at best.”
“Will they let us pass unscathed?” Roosevelt asked.
“We shall see,” Martin replied. “Nothing is certain when dealing with these volatile and unpredictable tribes.”
Colonel Rondon raised his brow and then nodded in unequivocal agreement.
The sopping morning turned into a gloomy afternoon as the dugouts wound their way down the meandering river. George Cherrie and Dr. Cajazeira sat quietly, huddling close to the canoe’s center while Luiz and Julio pushed the vessel along with long graceful strokes. Roosevelt became mesmerized by the forest’s unique sights and somewhat monotonous sounds.
Roosevelt noticed Julio lurch with fear upon hearing any strange noise coming from the woods. The camarada dropped his paddle and stared nervously before resuming his pace upon Luiz’s growing impatience and overt ridicule. “What a disgusting coward,” Roosevelt thought. “And here sits a man who has spent nearly his entire life in the Amazon and he acts like a frightened child.”
Rounding a bend, they came upon several cultivated fields just as Martin had predicted. The fields were overgrown and studded with burned-out stumps. They found an old fish-trap a few hundred meters beyond the fields—the primitive but ingenious devise lay in disrepair at the mouth of a small stream. Roosevelt ordered Luiz to catch up with Rondon’s canoe.
Just ahead, Roosevelt spied a rope bridge spanning the Dúvida. The structure was fashioned of vines and suspended just above the water. Part of the bridge was intact but much of the assembly appeared to have been swept away some time ago. On either side of the river, Roosevelt noticed remnants of palm-thatched huts riddled with weeds.
The camaradas beached the canoes on the western riverbank. Roosevelt and the other expedition members climbed upon the muddy shore.
Kermit glanced around the abandoned village, saying abruptly, “They appeared to have all gone on holiday.”
Lieutenant Martin shook his head. “These are a nomadic people. Perhaps the river’s flooding forced their hand.” He rubbed his beard. “And yet I’m not absolutely certain.”
“Then we will be safe to pass?” Roosevelt asked.
Rondon said, “They could have rebuilt farther downriver. In such a scenario, we could be placing ourselves in great danger.”
“Yes, Commander Rondon,” Martin said. “That hypothesis is quite likely, although they may have headed west to the shores of the Madeira or even the Gy-Paraná.”
“That leaves us quite a dilemma,” Roosevelt said. “Does it not?”
“Yes,” Rondon replied thoughtfully. “Indeed it does.”
The officers and Lieutenant Martin stood wordlessly for a few moments while Rondon’s dog Lobo and Kermit’s Trigueiro ran about sniffing the settlement. The other camaradas waited patiently, either standing near the officers or tending to the canoes.
Finally, Rondon said, “Mr. Martin, I hesitate sending any man on such a dangerous mission, yet knowing these native’s whereabouts would be reassuring to the entire expedition.”
Martin nodded. “I understand.”
“But I ask you to complete your assignment quickly. If the tribe cannot be tracked, you must surrender your search immediately. Under no circumstance will we wait here longer than
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