Chapter Xviii
CHAPTER XVIII
Silence
At four-thirty sharp Marj Saint eagerly switched on the radio receiver in Shell Mera. This was the moment when the big news would come. Had the men been invited to follow the Aucas to their houses? What further developments would Nate be able to report?
She looked at her watch again. Yes, it was at least four-thirty. No sound from Palm Beach. She and Olive hunched close to the radio. The atmosphere was not giving any interference. Perhaps Nate's watch had run a little slow.
In Arajuno, Marilou and Barbara had their radio on, too. Silence. They waited a few minutes, then called Shell Mera.
"Arajuno calling Shell Mera. Arajuno standing by for Shell Mera. Any word from Palm Beach, Marj? Over."
"Shell Mera standing by. No, no word as yet. We'll be standing by."
Not a crackle broke the silence.
Were the men so preoccupied with entertaining their visitors that they had forgotten the planned contact? Five minutes . . . ten minutes ... No, it was inconceivable that all five would forget. It was the first time since Nate had started jungle flying in 1948 that he and Marj had been out of contact even for an hour.
But-perhaps their radio was not functioning. It happened occasionally. The women clung to each little hope, refusing to entertain the thought of anything's really having gone wrong. Their suspense was the sharper because most of their missionary friends on the network were unaware that Operation Auca was in progress. In Arajuno, Barbara and little Beth Youderian had primped up a bit, since it had been planned that Roj would come to Arajuno that night, while Pete took a turn sleeping in the tree house. Surely the little plane would come winging over the treetops before sundown. They walked up and down the airstrip, waiting ...
Just after sundown Art Johnston, one of the doctors with Hospital Vozandes, affiliated with the missionary radio station HCJB in Quito, came into the radio room in Shell Mera. The radio was still on, but Marj sat with her head down on the desk.
"Is something the matter, Marj?"
She told him the situation briefly, but asked that he not divulge it yet. If nothing serious had actually happened, it would be disastrous to publicize what was taking place. There was little sleep that night for any of the wives.
By seven o'clock on the morning of Monday, January 9, 1956, Johnny Keenan, Nate's colleague in the MAF, was in the air flying toward the sand strip which Nate had earlier pointed out to him. As he flew, Marj called me in Shandia: "We haven't heard from the fellows since yesterday noon. Would you stand by at ten o'clock for Johnny's report?"
It was the first I knew that anything was amiss. A verse God had impressed on my mind when I first arrived in Ecuador came back suddenly and sharply: "When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee, and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee...." I went upstairs to continue teaching the Indian girls' literacy class, praying silently, "Lord, let not the waters overflow."
At about nine-thirty Johnny's report came through. Marj relayed it to me in Shandia:
"Johnny has found the plane on the beach. All the fabric is stripped off. There is no sign of the fellows."
In Shell Mera, a pilot of the Summer Institute of Linguistics, Larry Montgomery (who is also a reserve officer in the USAF), lost no time in contacting Lieutenant General William K. Harrison, commander in chief of the Caribbean command, which included the United States Air Rescue Service in Panama. Radio station HCJB was also informed and news flashed around the world: "FIVE MEN MISSING IN AUCA TERRITORY." By noon, all possible forces which might contribute to their rescue, including the prayers of thousands of people in all parts of the world, were set in motion.
Barbara and Marilou were flown from Arajuno to Shell Mera. They felt confident that there would be some survivors, and so left a note on the door of the house in Arajuno, stating where medicine and food could be found. What if one of them should stagger home wounded, or if all of them arrived back after a grueling trip in the jungle? Marilou decided that she must return, to be there to help them. Late Monday afternoon she was flown home again, where she was to remain three more days. On Monday evening it was decided that a ground search party should be organized, on the assumption that one or more of the men still lived, and Frank Drown, Roger Youderian's colleague, a man with twelve years of jungle experience among the Jivaros, was unanimously elected to lead the party. Dr. Art Johnston offered to go along in his capacity as physician. Thirteen Ecuadorian soldiers promptly volunteered.
The news "put me in a cold sweat," said Frank, "but I asked my wife, Marie, if she minded if I went." "Of course you must go," was her reply, and Frank accepted without hesitation.
On Tuesday morning I was flown out of Shandia with Nate's sister Rachel, who had been with me while the men went on the Auca trip. Frank was brought out from Macuma, and many of the missionary men arrived in Shell Mera from Quito, some as volunteers to go on the ground party. Word was received via short wave that a helicopter was on its way from Panama, which lifted the spirits in Shell Mera. That night the pilot of an Ecuadorian airline came to the house to tell the wives that he had flown over the scene at about six o'clock in the evening, and saw, a short distance upstream, a large fire, "without any smoke," which would indicate perhaps a gasoline fire or a signal fire. Nate always carried signal flares in his emergency kit. This was a ray of hope for the five wives to sleep on that night.
On Wednesday Johnny Keenan took off again in MAF's second Piper Cruiser, a twin to Nate's plane, on his fourth flight over Palm Beach to see if there were any signs of life. Marj, who had hardly left the radio since Sunday afternoon, stood by for his reports. Barbara, Olive, and I were upstairs. Suddenly, Marj called: "Betty! Barbara! Olive!"
I raced down the stairs. Marj was standing with her head against the radio, her eyes closed. After a while she spoke: "They found one body."
A quarter mile downriver from the little denuded plane Johnny had sighted a body, floating face-down in the water, dressed in khaki pants and white tee-shirt, the usual uniform of the men. Barbara felt it was not Roger; he had been wearing blue-jeans.
Some of the land party went over to Arajuno to prepare the airstrip for the big planes which would be arriving soon from Panama. Late on Wednesday afternoon the roar of the planes was heard, and far on the western horizon where the volcano Sangay stands, a smoking pyramid, the great planes were silhouetted. As they drew near and circled the strip, the red, white, and blue of the United States Air Force became visible.
During the day the remaining volunteers who made up the ground party were transported to Arajuno where Indians, soldiers, and others of the missionaries were milling around the airstrip, waiting to start. In spite of the strain she was under, Marilou remained her efficient self; she had a meal ready for all the men before they headed downriver. There was some difficulty in securing Quichua carriers; they had long lived too close for comfort to the Aucas and did not want to get any closer. However, their loyalty to the men who had worked among them overcame their hesitancy, and about ten-thirty the party was ready to move off on foot, guns handy, eyes sharp.
Dee Short, a missionary from western Ecuador, who happened to be in Quito when news of the disaster arrived, had come to Arajuno. As the party left, Marilou turned to him and said with finality: "There is no hope. All the men are dead." Probably most of the ground party would have agreed with her, but, nonetheless, every time they rounded a bend of the river they looked expectantly for one or more of the missing men.
Back in Shell Mera the radio crackled again. Marj answered: "Shell Mera standing by."
Johnny Keenan reported. "Another body sighted, about 200 feet below Palm Beach."
And once again, God, who had promised grace to help in time of need, was true to His word. None of us wives knew which two these bodies might prove to be but we did know "in Whom we had believed." His grace was sufficient.
At about four o'clock in the afternoon the ground party reached Oglan, an Indian settlement situated at the place where the Oglan River meets the Curaray. Here camp was set up for the night. Frank Drown organized the group, appointing one man to hire canoes, one in charge of cargo, one to plan seating in the canoes, one as mess chief, two for safety precautions. That night they slept on beds of banana leaves. Watches were kept all night.
Before the party set off on Thursday morning, the missionaries offered up prayer, committing themselves into the hands of God; and the Ecuadorian soldiers, of a different faith, prayed with them. The party moved cautiously down the Curaray; the river was at its lowest, making navigation difficult, and special care was exercised in rounding the many bends, for it was feared Aucas might be lying in wait.
At about ten o'clock Johnny Keenan again flew over the ground party in the Piper, and Frank Drown was able to make contact with him by means of a two-way radio which the Air Rescue Service had supplied. Johnny told them of two canoes of Quichuas, proceeding upriver in the direction of the ground party; he feared that in their excitement some one of the men in the party might shoot at the first sight of an Indian on the river. Soon the two canoes of Quichuas appeared. They were a small group of Indians from McCully's station at Arajuno. On their own initiative they had boldly pressed into Auca territory ahead of anyone else, and had gone all the way to Palm Beach. The ground party was saddened when one of the Indians, a believer who had come to know Christ since Ed had gone to Arajuno, told them of having found Ed's body on the beach at the edge of the water. He had Ed's watch with him.
Now the missionaries knew who one of their fallen colleagues was, but a chance remained that at least three others had survived. They pressed on.
In the big house at Shell Mera, children played, babies were fed and bathed, the members of the Rescue Service came and went, Mad maintained contact on the short wave, meals were somehow cooked and served, visitors greeted and informed of the latest word, and prayer went up to God continually. The mechanics were making the final adjustment on the blades of the Army helicopter which had been dismantled and shipped from Panama in an Air Force cargo plane.
My diary recounts the events of Thursday afternoon, as the helicopter was dispatched to Palm Beach:
"2:00. Johnny's Piper and helicopter headed for Arajuno. Also Navy R-4D, Captain McGee and Major Nurnberg in helicopter.
RIGHT First evidence foreshadowing the tragedy of Operation Auca: the mutilated missionary plane sighted by Pilot Johnny Keenan Monday moming. He radioed a terse report to Marj Saint, who was keeping vigil beside her short-wave receiver at Shell Mera. She flashed word to the other wives at their jungle stations: "Johnny has found the plane on the beach. All of the fabric is stripped off. There is no sign of the fellows." Fellow missionaries and American and Ecuadorian military men quickly organized a rescue party. On Wednesday it set off from Arajuno for Palm Beach. Many of its members still had hope in their hearts that at every bend of the river they would meet at least one of the five missionaries coming out on foot.
ovERLE4F When members of the rescue party reached Palm Beach they discovered four bodies. Here, the men are towing the body of one of the missionaries, found in the river, to the common grave. A broken Auca lance protrudes from the right hip.
The ground party conducted a brief burial service. While it was in progress, a violent tropical storm broke around them, drenching everyone and terrifying the Indian guides (who are convinced that the Auca witch doctor conjures up a storm every time his people plan a murderous attack). In the darkness of the storm (LEFT) the group offers up a prayer of praise and dedication, led by Frank Drown.
ABOVE Soldiers stand guard over the little company, shielding themselves from the rain with a sheet of aluminum roofing.
Immediately after the burial, the ground party left Palm Beach and headed out through Auca territory. At first the engine of the helicopter coughed and sputtered and everyone feared that it might have to be left behind. Finally, however, the craft rose into the air. RIGHT To ease the load in the canoes traveling upstream, and to shortcut the tortuous bends of the river, the ground party crisscrossed the Curaray-altemat- ing by foot and canoe.
OVERLEAF Members of the ground party on the long trek home, their guns at the ready as they pass through Auca territory.
While still on the march, members of the ground party read a newspaper account of the massacre. The helicopter brought them a Quito newspaper. Wet from jungle rains, it was hung up to dry.
RIGHT The men pray before a meal in Auca territory.
OVERLEAF Camping overnight on the way home, the ground party maintains a sharp watch. When the Indian guides insisted that animal cries from the surrounding jungle were Auca signals, Major Numberg fired his carbine as a warning. The sounds ceased.
By midday Saturday the ground party had pushed its way out of Auca territory. The rest of the trip was just weary footslogging. Saturday night was spent about six hours' march from Arajuno. By three o'clock Sunday afternoon the men started straggling into Arajuno. The Indians arrived carrying the Auca lances that had been found on the beach, and also the struts of the Piper plane. These were brought back for use as spare parts for the MAF's second plane.
OVERLEAF Eyes haunted by tragedy: Dee Short, a member of the ground party, photographed on his return to Arajuno.
The end of the record of Operation Auca: These sheets, torn from Nate Saint's pocket diary and laid out to dry, were found on his body and were brought back to Marj by the ground party.
ABOVE In Arajuno the widows discuss Major Numberg's report of the massacre. Left to right. Betty Elliot, Olive Fleming, Marilou McCully, Barbara Youderian, and Marj Saint.
TOP RIGHT Marilou listens to an account by Fermin, an Arajuno Christian, as he demonstrates the position of Ed's body.
BOTTOM RIGHT Marj listens to Major Nurberg's story.
FAR RIGHT Olive and Barbara pause while helping Marilou pack.
TOP LEFT On Saturday the widows are flown over Palm Beach in one of the Rescue Service planes and given a brief glimpse of their husbands' common grave under the tree house.
LOWER LEFT Despite the overwhelming stress of these days, Marj continues her radio contact work, keeping in touch with the Air Rescue Service planes as they fly over the Curaray.
RIGHT On her way back to the United States for the birth of her third child, Marilou says good-by to the Quichua community of Arajuno.
OVERLE4F The Quichua death wail arises around Betty Elliot as she leaves Shandia by plane. She had come to Shandia to tell the Indians personally what had happened.
The work of caring for the children continued all week. ABOVE. Betty holds ten-month-old daughter Valerie, and Marj feeds young Philip, while Kathy Saint looks on.
LEFT On the back porch of the house at Shell Mera, Marj Saint copes with the laundry problem created by the presence of four babies in the house.
RIGHT One week after the martyrdom of the five missionaries, a memorial service is held in the Bible Institute at Shell Mera.
OVERLEAF Around the kitchen table in Shell Mera, the widows listen as Dr. Art Johnston tells of the discovery of their husbands' bodies.
A living reminder of the once-friendly contacts with the Aucas:
Stevie Saint with a gift-parrot received from the tribe.
Among the objects brought back from Palm Beach were Auca lances. This one, pulled from Nate Saint's body, had a Gospel tract wrapped around it. The tract had been dropped to the Aucas, probably as a giftwrapping. Members of the ground party speculated that Nate, as the pilot of the missionary plane, had been singled out by the Aucas to be killed by this particular lance.
Surviving fragments of Operation Auca: Nate Saint's Spanish New Testament, wedding ring, camera, watch, and diarynotebook.
OVERLE4F Out of Nate Saint's camera, found at the bottom of the river, came these last pictures of "Delilah" and the older woman
"3:00. The aircraft are stacking up over the site of the incident now. I feel sick at my stomach.
"3:20. 'Blessed is she that believed ...' The aircraft are circling the site.
"3:30. 'Yea, in the way of Thy judgment, 0 Lord, have we waited for Thee. The desire of our soul is to Thy name.'
"4:00. Still circling. `Hope thou in God, for f shall yet praise Him ..."'
As the wives hoped and prayed and waited the procession of flying machines moved slowly down toward Palm Beach, the airplanes circling to keep pace with the slower helicopter skimming along at treetop level and following the bends of the river. The airplanes chose different altitudes to avoid danger of collision as pilots circled with eyes on the jungle below. Johnny Keenan in the little yellow Piper was lowest. A few hundred feet above were the U.S. Navy R-4D (the Navy version of the familiar DC-3), and higher, the big amphibian of the Air Rescue Service. Close by, Colonel Izurieta in a plane of the Ecuadorian Air Force flew in wider circles ready to help should decisions be needed. The teamwork of the United States Army, Air Force, and Navy and of the government and military services of Ecuador was heartwarming to the wives.
Air Force Major Nurnberg, riding in the Army helicopter, landed briefly to talk with the ground party, still some distance up the river from Palm Beach. Ed McCully's name was mentioned guardedly on the radio. Those hearing guessed that somehow Ed's body had been identified. Was his one of the two bodies that had been seen from the air? Had three perhaps escaped into the jungle? Or been taken captive?
After a few moments the helicopter moved on. Finally, rounding a bend, it came at last to Palm Beach and landed. Nurnberg, carbine at the ready, jumped out and looked around. Anxious minutes went by. Back in the "chopper" he radioed: "No one here." Hope flickered brighter in those who heard.
The helicopter was off again and started slowly down the river. Crossing to the other side it stopped, hovering, the force of its downwashing disturbing the muddy surface of the water. Minutes later it moved on, only to stop again two hundred yards farther on. A third and a fourth time Nurnberg and McGee hung motionless ten feet above the water, rotor blades beating dangerously close to overhanging jungle trees. Hearts sank in the aircraft above as those watching guessed the meaning of those stops.
The aircraft returned to Arajuno. Once on the ground, Nurnberg, his face showing strain, confirmed suspicions. Speaking in low tones to the tight circle of military men, he explained that McCully's body, identified by the small party of Quichuas the day before, was now gone from the beach, no doubt washed away by the rain and higher water in the night. He leafed through his notebook for a moment. A few Indians stood silent in the tall grass nearby, listening and watching. "We found four in the river," Nurnberg said, finally. "I don't think identification will be possible from what I have here-" indicating his notebook. "One of them may be McCully."
He did not have to say what was in every mind. There might be one who got away, possibly wounded, still in the jungle.
How to inform the wives was the question uppermost in military minds. Should Marilou be told? She was right there at Arajuno in the house.
"We'd better wait," Nurnberg said. "DeWitt is running this show. Let's get back to Shell and talk it over." Captain DeWitt in the big Air Force amphibian was overhead, not wanting to risk a landing on the small strip at Arajuno. All returned to Shell and the military men gathered in the cabin of the amphibian. The wives would have to be told. But how?
Someone else had wisely decided to tell Marilou that four bodies had been found. Later in the afternoon Johnny flew her out to Shell to be with the other four wives.
In the end it was the wives who persuaded DeWitt and Nurnberg that there was no need to soften the blow. We wanted to know everything in detail. We gathered in Marj's bedroom away from the chil dren. Major Nurnberg opened his notebook and in tense sentences described what he had found. It was immediately evident that identification could not be positive. One body was caught under the branches of a fallen tree; only a large foot with a gray sock appeared at the surface of the muddy water. In reading his notes of another, Nurnberg said: "This one had on a red belt of some woven material." Four of us turned our eyes toward the fifth, Olive Fleming.
"That was Pete," Olive said simply.
As the Major concluded, it was still not known whether Ed's body was one of those in the river. There was still the hope that one might have got away.
The military men, to whom the breaking of such news to loved ones was no new thing, left the bedroom silently. Their news had been met with serenity. No tears could rise from depth of trust which supported the wives.
Barbara Youderian wrote in her diary:
"Tonight the Captain told us of his finding four bodies in the river. One had tee-shirt and blue-jeans. Roj was the only one who wore them.... God gave me this verse two days ago, Psalm 48:14, 'For this God is our God for ever and ever; He will be our Guide even unto death.' As I came face to face with the news of Roj's death, my heart filled with praise. He was worthy of his home-going. Help me, Lord, to be both mummy and daddy. 'To know wisdom and instruction.. 'Tonight Beth prayed for daddy in Heaven, and asked me if daddy would come down from Heaven to get a letter she wanted to write him. I said, 'He can't come down. He's with Jesus.' She said, 'But Jesus can help him come down, and God will take his hand so he won't slip.'
"I wrote a letter to the mission family, trying to explain the peace I have. I want to be free of self-pity. It is a tool of Satan to rot away a life. I am sure that this is the perfect will of God. Many will say, 'Why did Roj get mixed up in this, when his work was with Jivaros?' Because Roj came to do the will of Him that sent him. The Lord has closed our hearts to grief and hysteria, and filled in with His perfect peace."
That Thursday night the ground party pitched camp at "El Capricho," the former hacienda where there had been some Auca killings. Throwing up some little leaf shacks, a guard was set up of two missionaries, two soldiers, and two Indians. The missionaries, when not on guard duty with the others, tried to decide the best course of action, knowing, through contact with the helicopter, that four of their colleagues were dead. It was a long night, and Frank Drown felt an old fear that had haunted him all his life of touching the body of a friend: "Here I was, getting nearer and nearer to seeing the bodies of five fellows who were as dear to me as my own brothers."
Starting out again at six in the morning on Friday, January 13, the party was on the last lap of its mission, with a date to meet the helicopter at Palm Beach at ten. The men had to hurry to get there and everyone was jittery from the strain of the trip and the thought of the job that lay ahead. At this point the course of the Curaray is a series of short, sharp bends and twists and offers an ideal ambush for an Auca attack.
At last the beach was reached. Quichuas were sent up first, as they were best able to spot evidence of recent Auca visits. There was none. The rest of the party followed. "I remember," says Frank Drown, "that the first thing that struck me as we hit the beach was the smell from a pot of beans that had been overturned and were spread all over. I don't think that I'll ever forget that terrible, rotten smell."
There was no sign as yet of the helicopter. The ground party set to work, everyone having been assigned different duties: the Ecuadorian soldiers spread out in a semicircle in the jungle behind the beach to act as cover, two Indians set to digging a common grave under the tree house, others waded into the river looking for the men's possessions. Dee Short and Frank Drown crawled up into the tree house to try to find a clue to what had happened. Some of the men began to dismantle the plane, others looked for bodies. It was not until the helicopter arrived at twelve-fifteen and hovered over the bodies where they lay in the muddy waters of the Curaray, that the ground crew was able to find them. Frank Drown told of the scene:
"First Nurnberg pointed out one body downstream and Fuller jumped into the water and pulled the body across. Then Nurnberg showed us Nate Saint's body, and we got in a canoe and went downstream, and saw an arm coming out of the water, so I tried to attach a string to the arm and I just could not bring myself to do it. I'd reach out and try and then pull back, and have to try again until finally the man who was in the canoe with me did it. Now we were three canoes with three bodies attached to them, going upstream. We laid all four face down in a row on the beach. We never did get the fifth, which was Ed McCully's body. Then I got over my feeling of hating to touch the bodies, because a body is only a house and these fellows had left their house and, after the soul leaves, the body isn't much after all. The thing that is beautiful to us is the soul, not the body."
Identification of the four bodies was finally positive from wedding rings and watches, change purse, notebooks. Ed was not one of the four, so it was finally definite: all five were dead. In the providence of God the missing body was the one identified by the Quichuas the day before. Not only had they brought back his watch, but also they had taken off one of his shoes (a tremendous shoesize thirteen and one-half) and thrown it up on the beach. The day before, Nurnberg had picked it up and brought it back to Shell Mera.
While the bodies were drawn ashore a violent tropical storm was gathering. At that moment the helicopter came in low and fast. Cornell Capa, a photographer-correspondent on assignment for Life magazine, jumped out, camera in hand, and ran across the beach. Then the full fury of the storm struck and the missionaries felt as if the powers of darkness had been let loose.
Later Capa wrote an account of his landing and of subsequent events:
"We floated above the jungle about two hundred feet over the treetops. The Naval Mission plane circling overhead did not let us out of their sight. Suddenly the sun disappeared and we headed into a tropical storm. The pilot looked grim and wasted not a minute landing on Palm Beach.
"The atmosphere on the beach was fantastic. Everybody's hand was on the trigger, looking toward the jungle. I did not have to ask why. The rain was coming down in buckets; my handkerchief served no more to clean my water-soaked lenses. Suddenly I saw a struggling group of men carrying the last of the missionaries to his common grave. He was on an improvised stretcher, made out of the aluminum sheets that had covered the tree house where the men had lived.
"It was a terrible sight. The light was eerie. The pallbearers struggled against a muddy bank that led to the grave. I just made it in time to see the lifeless legs disappearing into the hole. Grim, weary missionaries looked for the last time at their friends, whom they could no more identify. One said: 'It's better this way. I feel less miserable.' They lingered for a moment, offering up a few words of prayer. At the end, Major Nurnberg, facing the jungle with carbine in hand, turned back toward the small knot of men about the grave and called: 'Let's get out of here!'
"The rain let up a bit, the helicopter was ready to leave and the time was near for decision. I could either go back with the pilot or stay with the ground party starting the overnight homeward trek. It was an easy decision. To leave now would be cheating. I gave my exposed film to the pilot. The struggle of the living to stay alive had just begun.
"At last, they were off. The canoes were overloaded and at the slightest movement water poured through the side. This was to be no fun at all, I thought quietly to myself. Major Nurnberg was in front with his carbine and I could see from the back of his head that he had a mean look in his eyes. Nurnberg leaned back on Dee Short (a redheaded, very long-legged missionary, in a very small boat), who in turned leaned on me, and I leaned on the dismounted wheel of the ill-fated plane which we had salvaged. My back ached. Like a mother hen, I tried to protect my film pouches and to hide my cameras from the rain. It was futile.
"Soon my rangefinder clouded up. I had to guess the focus. A little later my viewfinder fogged up as well. Now I only aimed the camera and prayed-like a missionary-that it was pointed in the right direction.
"In and out of the canoe ... marching with water squelching out of my boots. Anxious eyes everywhere. I unbuttoned my.45 holster. Fortunately, no sign of Aucas. This lasted for about two hours; then it was time to bed down for the night.
"Major Nurnberg, Missionary Drown and the Ecuadorian underofficer picked an open site for the camp. Their aim was to give us a chance to spot the Aucas before they had a chance to throw their spears. Guards were posted all around the perimeter and changed every two hours. We had a meal, cooked by one of the missionaries. Shelters were erected from the metal sheets we carried, and palm leaves formed the side walls and the floor. It was a temporary paradise.
"Missionary Don Johnson, sitting in the darkness of the house, buried his face in his hands, and offered a prayer. He thanked the Lord for helping them to reach and bury their friends. Then, with great feeling, he evoked the modest and loved characters of the departed men. In the darkness of the night, with the firelight flickering on his face, and the sound of jungle birds and pumas' groans punctuating the air, this clearly spoken 'conversation' with God was of great emotional impact. Don was not expressing sorrow for the departed so much as testifying to his faith in the Lord's will. When he finished only the crackling of the campfire filled the air.
"But there was to be no sleep. All through the night we were in a wakeful readiness.
"The rushing waters of the River Curaray were always in the background. There was the sound of an occasional tree falling to set off the trigger fingers of the nervous guards. And at intervals came the beams from their flashlights as the guards made their rounds. Slowly dawn came and our nervousness increased for this was the hour, we had been told, when the Aucas liked to attack. Our Indian guides stirred, particularly when they heard the continuing sounds of a puma. The Aucas are well known for their clever imitation of the jungle animals, and the guides were sure that in the shadows of the early morning light our 'neighbors' were everywhere. Major Nurnberg crawled forward and with a sudden burst of fire silenced the 'puma.'
"Breakfast was oatmeal and coffee. Then we collected our gear and the march was on. Dried socks became wet again. Tired feet dragged. The searching eyes and ready fingers of Nurnberg and Drown brought up the rear. Sudden excitement: the 'chopper' appeared overhead, always watched by its `Big Brother,' the Navy's R-4D. Suddenly the Twentieth Century descended in the wilderness of the jungle. The helicopter had come for me.... As I took off I was sorry to leave my friends, but, no, not sorry to leave."
On Saturday morning Captain DeWitt of the Rescue Service asked us five widows if we would "care to fly over Palm Beach to see your husbands' grave?"
We replied that if this were not asking too much, we would be grateful. The Navy R-4D took us out over the jungle, where the Curaray lay like a brown snake in the undulating green. Pressing our faces close to the windows as we knelt on the floor of the plane, we could see the slice of white sand where the Piper stood. Olive Fleming recalled the verses that God had impressed on her mind that morning: 'For we know that if our earthly house of this tabernacle were dissolved, we have a building of God, an house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens.' He who has prepared us for this very thing is God ... 'Therefore we are always confident, knowing that, whilst we are at home in the body, we are absent from the Lord.' "
As the plane veered away, Marj Saint said: "That is the most beautiful little cemetery in the world."
Marilou McCully with Michael.
Betty Elliot with Valerie.
Olive Fleming.
Barbara Youderian with Jerry.
Mad Saint with Philip.
ABOVE: Betty Elliot, accompanied by the women and children of the Shandia community, walks down the path leading to the schoolhouse. Behind her stands the home that Jim built.
RIGHT Betty comforts Eugenia, a Quichua friend. Betty is staying in Shandia to continue the work that Jim had begun three years earlier.
Young Venancio, a Quichua convert at Shandia, preaches there on the Sunday following Jim's death. He had been among the first of the Shandia Indians to make overtures of friendship to Jim and Pete, and is now assistant teacher at the Shandia school.
Dayuma, the escaped Auca woman who taught Jim Elliot his vocabulary for Operation Auca, is helping Rachel Saint prepare a list of key tribal words and phrases. This list will be used by future missionaries who will seek to take the Gospel to this savage tribe.