How Teddy Roosevelt Slew the Last Mighty T-Rex by Mark Paul Jacobs
Authors: Mark Paul Jacobs
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logging specimens, no matter how intriguing they may be. Do you understand?”
Martin’s eyes widened. “I cannot believe what I’m hearing! The great, noble, and open-minded Theodore Roosevelt refuses to investigate the most interesting mystery ever presented to him? He would simply pass right through the final domain of an animal left over from our prehistoric past?”
Roosevelt raised his finger. “Do not be insulting. We have sat here and listened to your tale in earnest. The expedition will not detour from its mission and we shall not entertain any further arguments to the contrary. And secondly, you have been deceitful when you applied to join this expedition—holding back information such as your relationship with Julio de Lima. I find this behavior disrespectful and extremely disturbing.”
Martin seethed with anger. He leaped up from the ground and stomped away toward the river.
Teddy Roosevelt sighed deeply.
Kermit smirked. “Are you not game for some dinosaur wrangling, father?”
“The man is certifiably insane…”
“Although Martin is correct, is he not? The Amazon is vast and mostly unexplored.”
“I know, but—”
“And yet I know you, father. His story must have piqued your interest in some deep-seated way.”
Roosevelt chuckled. “I can see the Times headlines now: Roosevelt diverts his Amazon mission to hunt for Osborn’s dinosaur; has appointment for straightjacket tailor upon arrival back in New York. Taft dies of heart-attack from laughter. ”
Roosevelt retreated immediately to his tent and placed the copper etching beside his diary. He hurriedly sorted through what remained of his books and magazines, setting aside ‘The Mediations of Marcus Aurelius’ and the plays of Sophocles. He halted, staring down at a single issue of Strand Magazine dated April, 1912 bearing the byline: Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s ‘Lost World’ .
He flipped through the pages, arriving at the serial’s footnotes; it confirmed what he recalled reading several months before: Sir Arthur Conan Doyle was a close friend of explorer Percy Harrison Fawcett and drew inspiration for the tale directly from Fawcett’s 1908 expedition to Bolivia’s high and mysterious plateau.
Roosevelt rubbed his chin and stuffed the magazine back amongst the others. He felt a subtle chill.
CHAPTER 11
They were back on the river by early afternoon of that same day. Roosevelt checked his calendar; it was the fifth day of March, and they had spent nearly three whole days bypassing the first serious set of rapids they’d encountered on the River of Doubt. Roosevelt shook his head, conjuring up the dimmed hope that any rapids ahead could be run without the time and energy consuming task of portage yet all reports from his experienced Amazonian hosts indicated otherwise.
The fleas and mosquitoes plaguing their last camp became an itchy memory as they navigated toward the channel’s center which happened to be mostly free of the incessant pests; the men’s swollen hands and faces serving as a bitter reminder of their battles with the tiny beasts. Through this all, Roosevelt gained a greater appreciation of the valiant workers who toiled on the Panama Canal under his presidential decree and the daily agony they most certainly endured.
The current ran strong and deep beneath them, and the dark water boiled and swirled from an occasional submerged boulder or shoal. Roosevelt glanced upon a shore stacked with rows of mighty rubber trees that seemingly touched the sky.
As usual, the survey team’s canoes played leapfrog down the meandering river. Roosevelt escorted the two supply dugouts, following a reshuffling of his crew that now included Luiz and Simplicio, with whom he had great confidence. The man-boy Julio had been demoted to the supply vessel where he could be watched over by the disciplinarian Paishon. Teddy Roosevelt noticed that Lieutenant Martin had been relatively subdued following his confession and
Martin’s eyes widened. “I cannot believe what I’m hearing! The great, noble, and open-minded Theodore Roosevelt refuses to investigate the most interesting mystery ever presented to him? He would simply pass right through the final domain of an animal left over from our prehistoric past?”
Roosevelt raised his finger. “Do not be insulting. We have sat here and listened to your tale in earnest. The expedition will not detour from its mission and we shall not entertain any further arguments to the contrary. And secondly, you have been deceitful when you applied to join this expedition—holding back information such as your relationship with Julio de Lima. I find this behavior disrespectful and extremely disturbing.”
Martin seethed with anger. He leaped up from the ground and stomped away toward the river.
Teddy Roosevelt sighed deeply.
Kermit smirked. “Are you not game for some dinosaur wrangling, father?”
“The man is certifiably insane…”
“Although Martin is correct, is he not? The Amazon is vast and mostly unexplored.”
“I know, but—”
“And yet I know you, father. His story must have piqued your interest in some deep-seated way.”
Roosevelt chuckled. “I can see the Times headlines now: Roosevelt diverts his Amazon mission to hunt for Osborn’s dinosaur; has appointment for straightjacket tailor upon arrival back in New York. Taft dies of heart-attack from laughter. ”
Roosevelt retreated immediately to his tent and placed the copper etching beside his diary. He hurriedly sorted through what remained of his books and magazines, setting aside ‘The Mediations of Marcus Aurelius’ and the plays of Sophocles. He halted, staring down at a single issue of Strand Magazine dated April, 1912 bearing the byline: Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s ‘Lost World’ .
He flipped through the pages, arriving at the serial’s footnotes; it confirmed what he recalled reading several months before: Sir Arthur Conan Doyle was a close friend of explorer Percy Harrison Fawcett and drew inspiration for the tale directly from Fawcett’s 1908 expedition to Bolivia’s high and mysterious plateau.
Roosevelt rubbed his chin and stuffed the magazine back amongst the others. He felt a subtle chill.
CHAPTER 11
They were back on the river by early afternoon of that same day. Roosevelt checked his calendar; it was the fifth day of March, and they had spent nearly three whole days bypassing the first serious set of rapids they’d encountered on the River of Doubt. Roosevelt shook his head, conjuring up the dimmed hope that any rapids ahead could be run without the time and energy consuming task of portage yet all reports from his experienced Amazonian hosts indicated otherwise.
The fleas and mosquitoes plaguing their last camp became an itchy memory as they navigated toward the channel’s center which happened to be mostly free of the incessant pests; the men’s swollen hands and faces serving as a bitter reminder of their battles with the tiny beasts. Through this all, Roosevelt gained a greater appreciation of the valiant workers who toiled on the Panama Canal under his presidential decree and the daily agony they most certainly endured.
The current ran strong and deep beneath them, and the dark water boiled and swirled from an occasional submerged boulder or shoal. Roosevelt glanced upon a shore stacked with rows of mighty rubber trees that seemingly touched the sky.
As usual, the survey team’s canoes played leapfrog down the meandering river. Roosevelt escorted the two supply dugouts, following a reshuffling of his crew that now included Luiz and Simplicio, with whom he had great confidence. The man-boy Julio had been demoted to the supply vessel where he could be watched over by the disciplinarian Paishon. Teddy Roosevelt noticed that Lieutenant Martin had been relatively subdued following his confession and
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