Colonel Roosevelt - Edmund Morris [198]
WHAT WITH SURVEY stops and the inclination of the camaradas to march barefoot, or sandaled, through the fly-infested jungle (resulting in three invalids, who had to be taken aboard the canoes), the expedition proceeded more slowly than ever. Another set of rapids necessitated a four-hundred-meter portage. Roosevelt and Cajazeira had no sooner reembarked than they were drawn, like Kermit earlier, into a second fall. Their lead pontoon very nearly capsized as it crashed around some boulders hiding a serious stretch of broken water. The second pontoon came down more carefully, but now fear was added to Roosevelt’s sense of mounting frustration. “Our position is really a very serious one,” Cherrie wrote in his diary.
Rondon decided to issue a morale-boosting order the following morning. It was his habit to address the expedition at the start of every day, stern and rigid in military khaki, trying to impose discipline on the polyglot, often quarreling assembly. Despite his small size, he was a formidable figure, austere to the point of monkishness, never ill, never tired, taciturn and unsmiling. The men had little affection for him, yet it was he, not the American commander (genial, tolerant, regularly handing out candy) whom they respected most.
When Roosevelt and Kermit attended the general assembly, they found the Brazilians standing at attention by the river. In the background, a small but strong stream flowed in from the west. Rondon cited it as hydrological evidence that the Dúvida was not an affluent of the Gi-Paraná. No matter where the larger stream led, it had come to dominate its own basin, and therefore could no longer be called a “River of Doubt.”
On behalf of Minister Lauro Müller, Rondon announced, he was renaming the Dúvida “Rio Roosevelt.” Its tributary here would henceforth be known as “Rio Kermit.” He then called for cheers for the two honorees, and a general cheer for the United States.
Roosevelt was taken aback by this extravagant double gesture. The renaming struck him as premature. He liked the romantic concept of a river shrouded in mystery. But he could not help being touched, and relieved that Kermit had been forgiven. He dutifully led an American cheer for Brazil, followed by another for Rondon, Lyra, and Cajazeira, and one more for the camaradas. Lyra asked why nobody had yet cheered Cherrie. So the naturalist got the loudest roar of all, “and the meeting,” Roosevelt wrote later, “broke up in high good humor.”
There was little to cheer about in the days that followed. Kermit fell sick with fever. Indians were again heard in the forest, and smelled in small dark huts that showed signs of hasty flight. Rondon was so uneasy about them that he could not sleep past two in the morning. Two more dugouts were carved out of light, red araputanga wood, but they hardly sped progress as the number of portages proliferated. Nor, during spells afloat, did Rondon and Lyra moderate their incessant demands upon Kermit to paddle ahead with his sighting rod.
One morning, Roosevelt lost patience and drew Rondon aside.
“First of all, Kermit was extraordinarily lucky to have escaped with his life from that accident which killed Simplício. I’m not saying that with these Indians around, he’s in more danger now than other members of the expedition, just because he sits in the lead canoe. But it’s not right to continue mapping the Dúvida the way we have been. We must limit ourselves to a quick survey. Leaders of a big enterprise like this should just focus on establishing the principal points.”
“Personally, I can’t accept that,” Rondon replied.
They were speaking French, the language of diplomacy. Even as he objected, Rondon recalled that he was in the presence of a distinguished guest of the Brazilian government, and backed down.
“However, I stand ready to escort you on through this wilderness as you wish, reducing the length of the expedition to a minimum.”
“Important men,” Roosevelt said, “do not bother themselves with details.…”
Rondon deflected the pomposity.