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Chasing El Dorado
P.S. Linscott
Copyright 2014 by P.S. Linscott
I dedicate this work to the memory of my Dad, Raymond, who taught me that kindness and loyalty are the true measure of a man.
Special thanks to my wife and my daughters, for their unwavering support and encouragement.
CHAPTER 1
Walter was not ready to die. He had promised his friend Jack that he would carry back to England both the story and the proof of the incredible journey and unimaginable discovery they and Jacks father had made together. Jack had sacrificed his life for Walter and had asked only this one thing of him in return, that his father’s name be awarded the honor, regard and prestige it so richly deserved. It seemed however that the great South American jungle would keep her secrets still.
Walter looked down at the tattered satchel hanging at his side. He was keenly aware of the weight of the object inside. He raised his hand and felt the shape of it through the worn leather. As he did so he observed that his right hand was bleeding profusely. Raising his hand in front of his face he could see that two of his fingernails had become dislocated from the nail bed.
He recalled that earlier this morning he had brushed his hand against some unseen plant which caused such severe pain in that limb that it had knocked him from his feet. As the day progressed the hand that had touched the offending plant had burned as if being dipped in hot wax. Walter realized now that the pain had subsided and he had eventually forgotten about it. He now understood that this was due to the fact that the hand had gone completely numb.
As he examined his hand he could see that it was three times its normal size and horribly red and inflamed. He gingerly removed the two loose fingernails and quickly discovered that the hand was not completely devoid of all feeling.
Walter knew that in his present feeble condition he could not withstand the loss of any blood therefore he quickly removed what was left of his cotton shirt and, tearing it into strips, wrapped it tightly around his hand.
Unfortunately for Walter Ramsell this latest injury was just the most recent in a horrific list of assaults upon his mortal parts. He had been constantly harassed by every form of flying insect. One of these was the sand-fly from which he had contracted a nasty parasite. The little buggers were eating away at the flesh inside his mouth and nose. He had large gaping wounds at the corners of his mouth and he no longer had a septum dividing his nasal passages.
He had contracted Malaria and had a constant fever and chills. He had dysentery which caused frequent abdominal cramps and bloody diarrhea. He was pocked with mosquito bites that would not heal due to the constant wet environment. Several of these had become grossly infected, oozing green and yellow puss and producing a putrid smell which was no doubt gangrenous. He was starving, dehydrated and quite likely going out of his mind.
Walter peered forward into the thick jungle in front of him. Behind was more of the same. There had been no sign of his pursuers for the last three days and he was sure that they had either lost his trail or given up following him. It must have been the former for he could not imagine them willingly abandoning the pursuit of an object which they held so sacred.
He lowered himself to the ground leaning his back against a tree. He knew this was not a good idea. He should keep moving while he still had the strength to do so. Just a few moments of rest and he would be on his way again, he convinced himself.
It had been almost a year ago that Walter Ramsell had been standing on the dock at Hoboken, New Jersey early in the morning. The salty winter air blowing in from the sea was cold and so he went to don his long tweed overcoat. Reaching behind he could not seem to find the left sleeve. He began to flail his left arm behind himself and then spin in a circle like some wounded bird. Snickering, Jack Forster advanced around before him holding the coat sleeve just out of reach.
“Damn you Jack!” Walter chided, “What if one of those damn Newspaper Photographers captures a picture of that?”
“I can just see the headline now” Jack countered “Monkey Boy to Accompany Forster Expedition”.
“It is time to board the ship… children!” Perry Harrison Forster had approached the two young men after concluding one final round of questioning by the horde of newspaper and magazine reporters that had gathered to see him off on another one of his legendary South American expeditions.
Colonel Perry Forster was an English gentleman, six feet two inches tall and lanky. He was wearing his traditional gabardine traveling clothes and Stetson hat. For the last twenty years Colonel Forster had been exploring and mapping the vast unknown regions of the Amazon jungle. Forster had become famous for his unorthodox methods of exploration and his hard almost tyrannical way of leading his team.
Forster refused to travel by boat as other explorers did. Instead he opted to set out across the unforgiving jungle terrain. This method of travel would often prove too much for the men that accompanied him. Men who were experienced explorers would find that they did not possess the mental or physical fortitude to endure the rigors and trials of traveling the Amazon on foot and had either died in the jungle or given up in disgrace.
Forster had gained great fame for his almost godlike endurance and worldwide notoriety as an intrepid explorer. His exploration had gained him firsthand knowledge and insight of the deepest parts of the unexplored Amazon jungle and he had come to believe that he alone possessed knowledge of the one thing that white men had been searching for in this Green Hell since the days of the Conquistador’s.
Hundreds of men had searched the jungles before him but they were all “weaklings and fools” Forster had told Jack and Walter in a secret meeting. “They lust for treasure, for gold” he had said “They were all greedily chasing El Dorado to satisfy covetous desires, this is why they fail.”
Perry Forster believed the lost city of El Dorado did indeed exist in the Amazon. He believed however that her treasure was more than that of gold. Forster had set out in search of this city once before resulting in the near death of one of the most famous and loved Arctic explorers who had accompanied him and thus nearly destroying his own reputation in the process.
Perry Forster was determined that this time would be different. He was confident that his past failure had been due to the weaknesses of those men whom he had chosen to follow him. This time he had chosen only two for his expeditionary party and these were trusted men well known to him.
First was Forster’s twenty one year old son Jack. He was a tall man, six feet three inches, lean and athletic. While it was his first expedition he had been groomed his entire life, not only physically but mentally and emotionally for this trek. Jack had grown up with his father’s stories of exploring the dangerous and exciting Amazon therefore he was both excited and unconcerned with the potential dangers that lay ahead.
Next was Jack's best friend twenty one year old Walter Ramsell. At five feet ten inches he was not as tall as Jack and he neither possessed the physical agility nor the life time of specialized training and education of his friend. Walter however was tough, tougher than Jack would ever be. Walter was also excited to be accompanying Colonel Forster on this expediti
on, excited and not just a little apprehensive.
Two months after leaving Hoboken the three men found themselves on the Rio Paraguai traveling up river in an overcrowded little steamer ship headed for Cuiaba, Brazil. Two months after that they were deep in the Amazon jungle. It was here that Walter Ramsell began to question his decision to accompany the Forster men. The party had arrived at Dead Horse Camp which according to Colonel Forster was the last outpost of civilization in the Mato Grosso, a great open unexplored wilderness plain in the jungle of South America. It was here also that the team would release their Brazilian guides and Indian runners to continue on alone.
While both Jack and the Colonel seemed to be immune to the ravages of the savage jungle, Walter had been annoyed by the biting insects that constantly pestered the men and he had been troubled and pained by sores on his feet that would not heal. The most distressing ordeal that he had to endure these past two months however was that Jack, his oldest and dearest friend, was losing confidence in his ability to continue. Jack was becoming disillusioned with his friend. Whenever he would attempt to encourage Walter or rekindle his excitement for their quest Walter would remain gloomy and despondent.
Walter wanted to go back. He knew that Colonel Forster and Jack felt he would encumber the expedition. Jack felt badly for his friend.
“Perhaps you should return to Cuiaba with the guides” Jack had said, “Get your feet treated by a physician.”
Walter wanted nothing more than to go home. He wanted to see his mother and his brother again. He wanted to find a girl and fall in love and raise a family. He wanted to forget this obsession of the Forster family, this fools adventure. But he would not quit. He had given his word to a man he called friend and he would honor that promise. Colonel Forster had clearly described the hardships to which the young men would be exposed. He had made no misrepresentation and had not deceived them in any way as to the difficulties they would endure. If he quit now Walter knew that he would hold himself in contempt.
“No” Walter said resolutely, “I will see this through.”
Astonished Jack peered at the man before him. He could see in Walter’s face a look of determination that would not be denied. He had never seen this particular characteristic in his lifelong friend before. Jack was at once both proud and yet very concerned for him.
The three men stayed three days at Dead Horse Camp to gain rest and strength for the arduous journey ahead. It was here that Colonel Forster revealed to the young men the course he intended to traverse. The company would travel north along the Kuluseu River. Years earlier Colonel Forster had received reports from local Indians near Cuiaba of a mountain range that lay to the east of this river. It was said that at the feet of these mountains and between Rio Kuluseu and Rio Kuluene to the south, were the ruins of an ancient dead city.
“El Dorado?” the two young men asked in unison.
“No!” Forster replied with a chuckle “it will not be that easy lads.”
Perry Forster reached behind the fallen tree upon which he sat. Retrieving his canvas pack he reached inside to withdraw a small bundle wrapped in a tattered grey rag. He gingerly laid the object in the palm of his hand and began un-wrapping it. The young men leaned in closer as sunlight suddenly flashed off polished gold.
Colonel Forster held in his hand a circular metal disk about four inches in diameter. As the two men looked closer they could see the edge had four crescent shaped indentations about one half inch in diameter at equal points around the circumference. In the center of the disc was a one and a half inch hole. Inscribed on the face of the disc were what appeared to be hieroglyphs, when turned over a crude image of a whale covered the back.
“What is it Father” Jack asked mystified.
“I do not know” said Colonel Forster.
“That it came from a lost city here in the Mato Grosso is the only thing I know for a certainty” He continued. “Nothing of its kind has ever been seen on this continent.”
“It almost appears to be Egyptian” Walter offered.
“Exactly my boy, well said” Colonel Forster gave him a rare smile.
“When Hiram Bingham found his lost city in 1911 he proved what men have been seeking since the days of the Conquistadors, men such as Pizarro and Orellana. He discovered proof that ancient advanced civilizations existed here in South America in the pre-Columbian age.” Forster expounded.
“This medallion was found by Georg von Speyer and Phillip von Hutten sometime between 1535 and 1546 in just such a city. After nearly ten years lost in the Amazon jungle Hutten suddenly reappeared in Venezuela, alone and quite mad.”
“As former Governor of the region his unforeseen return caused a political upheaval that led the new Governor to plan an assassination. Those loyal to Hutten tried to spirit him safely away back to his home and family in Germany. As he was boarding a ship for home he was captured and later beheaded, however this,” he lofted the medallion so that the sun shimmered on its golden surface, “this was safely returned to his family.”
“Where was it found exactly?” Jack asked.
“Hutten said that he had discovered a large city of the Omagua people north of the Amazonia’s.” Forster continued. “He described it as being inhabited by tens of thousands of Indian’s living in an advanced, organized society”
Jack and Walter looked at Colonel Forster incredulously.
“Father” Jack pressed “we are familiar with Phillip von Hutten, however neither this lost city, nor this golden medallion, have ever been mentioned.”
Walter nodded his head in agreement while Colonel Forster was gently rewrapping the golden disc with a wry grin on his face.
“When the disc was turned over to his family it was hidden away.” Forster continued. “Due to the tense political hostility in the region they could not return to seek further treasure or proof of the lost civilization. At the same time in Germany the Protestant Reformation led to the Thirty Years war and the disc and its story were hidden away and eventually lost or forgotten. After returning from my last expedition a letter from Hutten’s family estate had arrived notifying me of an item in trust awaiting my authorization for shipment. It seems the last surviving member of the Hutten family had discovered the disc and its story. She had watched my career for many years and had willed the disc to me upon her death to ‘Aid in my quest for El Dorado’ as the letter had read.”
“Father this is amazing!” Jack exclaimed springing to his feet. “It is fantastic! With this kind of proof you could have petitioned King George himself to fund this expedition. Why this need for secrecy? We have come all this way with barely enough to get us this far and you are now informing us our journey has just begun. We could have been the most well equipped expedition in history. Our success would have been assured.”
Colonel Forster did not reply to his son’s passionate plea for an explanation. Instead he placed the wrapped disc back in the ruck sac and withdrew his pipe and smoking tobacco as if he meant to ignore his son’s query completely.
“Because this is to be Perry Forster’s expedition” Walter offered “not an expedition of King George of England or the Royal Geographical Society or any other group that could possibly take credit for any discovery he might make. Your father has brought us here under false pretenses Jack. We are not here for the altruism of discovery and knowledge, but for the exaltation of his ego”
Jack Forster looked at his father sitting on the fallen tree. Jack had always seen his father as a paladin, an archetypal idealist. Perry Forster had led an austere life dedicated to discovery and exploration. Because of this the Forster family had lived moderately and free of economic entanglements. Jack had been keenly aware that even though his father was known and respected worldwide his financial background was often a source of embarrassment. Jack’s Mother Nina would often find it necessary to take in laundry to pay rent and provide food for Jack and his siblings while the Colonel was away on one of his expeditions.
Looking at his father now the fifty-seven year old, gray-haired adventurer appeared exhausted. The age of discovery in South America was passing him by. Perry Forster was becoming a broken down relic of a bygone age. Was he still the benevolent explorer searching for truth and knowledge? Or had he become a modern Conquistador filled with a rapacious greed to plunder El Dorado’s gold?
Colonel Forster stood up turning his back toward the two young men.