Through Gates of Splendour
by
Elizabeth Elliot


Acknowledgments

Many people, scattered from the jungles of Ecuador to the skyscrapers
of New York, have helped in the writing of this story.  The four other
widows, Barhara Youderian, Marj Saint, Mafilou McCully, and Oli, e
i:}cming, when they suddenly found themselves with doubled
responsibility, took time to gather their husbands' diaries, letters,
and other writings, and were willing to share them.  Abe C. Van Der
Puv, of the missionary radio station ItCJB in Quito, Ecuador, spent
many, months assembling material lot The Reader's Digest article,
prepared by Clarence XV.  Ilall, which appeared in the issue of August,
1956.  I have freely drawn on this material in the expanded version the
story.  Cornell Capa, of Magnum Photos, flew to Ecuador for Lite
magazine within hours after the news of the martyrdom of the
missionaries was radioed to the American press.  With his perceptive
and sensitive pictures, he tells a part of the story which words could
not have told.  This skillful guidance could not have been bought with
money.  Life has generously made available the photographs taken for
them by Cornell Capa.  Jozeta Stuart.  of the Magnum research staff,
made a special trip to Ecuador for the publishers to collect extensive
additional data which I needed in writing the book.  Many of the facts
on the Auea Indians came from Rachel Saint, sister of the missionary
pilot, who learned them from an escaped member of the tribe.  Nate
Samt's brother Sam played a unique role as adviser and official
representative for the five of us widows.  Decisions which would have
been beyond our ability to make, Sam made, consulting with us by
overseas telephone, personal conference, and mail.  The hours and the
miles of travel he devoted on our behalf cannot be counted.  The
editors of liar per & Brothers were un stinting in giving of themselves
to make this book what it ought to be.  Their counsel and
encouragement have been invaluable.  To all of these people I am deeply
grateful.  With Barbara, Marj, Marilou, and Olive, I thank God for
allowing us to share so intimately in the lives recorded in these
pages.  And to I lira who made them what they were, we repeat the words
which our husbands sang a few days before they died:

"We rest on Thee, our Shield and our Depender,

Thine is the battle, Thine shall be the praise

When passing through the gates of pearly splendor

Victors, we rest with Thee through endless days."

Elisabeth Elliot e Uito, Ecuador bruary, 2957


"I Dare Not Stay Home"

"Tim Santa luana is under way.  White stars breaking through a high
mist.  Half moon.  The deep burn of phosphorus running in the wake.
Long, easy rolling and the push of steady wind."

It was hot in the little cabin of the freighter.  Jim Elliot, who was
later to become my husband, was writing in the old clothcovered ledger
he used for a diary.  It was a night in February, 1952.  Pete Fleming,
Jim's fellow missionary, sat at a second desk.  Jim continued:

"All the thrill of boyhood dreams came on me just now outside, watching
the sky die in the sea on every side.  I wanted to sail when I was in
grammar school, and well remember memorizing the names of the sails
from the Merriam-Webster's ponderous dictionary in the library.  Now I
am actually at sea--as a passenger, of course, but at sea
nevertheless--and bound for Ecuador.  Strange --or is it?--that
childish hopes should be answered in the will of for this now?

"We left our moorings at the Outer Harbor Dock, San Pedro, California,
at 2:o6 today.  Mom and Dad stood together watching at the pier side.
As we slipped away Psalm 60:12 came to mind, and I called back,
through our God we shall do valiantly."  They wept some.  I do not
understand how God has made me.  Joy, sheer joy, and thanksgiving fill
and encompass me.  I can scarcely keep from turning to Pete and saying,
"Brother, this is great' or "We never had it so good."  God has done
and is doing all I ever


 desired, much more than I ever asked.  Praise, praise to the God of

Heaven, and to His Son Jesus.  Because He hath said, "I will never
leave thee nor forsake thee," I may boldly say, "I will not fear ....

Jim Elliot laid down his pen.  He was a young man of twenty five tall
and broad-chested, with thick brown hair and blue-gray eyes.  He was
bound for Ecuador--the answer to years of prayer for God's guidance
concerning his lifework.  Some had thought it strange that a young man
with his opportunities for success should choose to spend his life in
the jungles among primitive people.

Jim's answer, found in his diary, had been written a year before:

"My going to Ecuador is God's counsel, as is my leaving Betty, and my
refusal to be counseled by all who insist I should stay and stir up the
believers in the U.S. And how do I know it is His counsel?  "Yea, my
heart instrueteth me in the night seasons."  Oh, how good!  For I have
known my heart is speaking to me for God!... No visions, no voices, but
the counsel of a heart which desires GOd."

Jim's mood of the moment was felt by Pete.  Pete was shorter than Jim,
with a high forehead and dark wavy hair.  The two had learned to
understand and appreciate each other long before, and their going to
Ecuador together was, to them, one of the "extras" that GOd threw in.
Pete, too, had met with raised eyebrows and polite questions when he
had made it known that he was going to Ecuador.  An MA.  in literature,
Pete was expected to become a college professor or Bible teacher.  But
to throw away his life among ignorant savages--it was thought absurd.

Only a year or two before, the problems of Ecuador, on the northwest
bulge of South America, had seemed remote.  The two young men had
talked with several missionaries who had been there, who described the
enormous problems of transportation, education, and development of
resources.  Missionary work had done much to help the country bridge
the cultural span of a millennium between primitive jungles and modern
cities.  But progress was pitifully slow.  Evangelicals had been
working among the head shrinking Jivaros for twenty-five years, among
the Qmchn:  f he high Andes, and among the red-painted Colorados of
the western forest.  The Cayapas of the northwestern river region had
also been reached with the Gospel, and advances were soon to be made
into the Cofan tribe of the Colombian border.

But there remained a group of tribes that had consistently repelled
every advance made by the white man: the Aucas.  They are an isolated,
unconquered, semi nomadic remnant of age-old jungle Indians.  Over the
years, information about the Aucas has seeped out of the jungle:
through adventurers, through owners of haciendas, through captured
Aucas, through missionaries who have spoken with captured Aucas or
Aucas who have had to flee from killings within the tribe.  Whatever
Jim and Pete had been able to learn about them was eagerly recorded, so
that by now the very name thrilled their young blood.  Would they
someday be permitted to have part in winning the Aucas for Christ?

They were aware that the first missionary to have entered Auca
territory--a Jesuit priest, Pedro Suarez--had been murdered by spears
in an isolated station near the confluence of the Napo and Curaray.
That was in 1667.  His murderers were Indians who might have been the
ancestors of some present-day Aucas.  For about two hundred years after
this the Indians had been left in peace by the white man.  Then the
coming of rubber hunters wrote a dark page in the history of this
jungle area.  For some fifty years--from about 1875 to 1925 these men
roamed the jungles, plundering and burning the Indian homes, raping,
torturing, and enslaving the people.  It was a time when the concept of
"lesser breeds without the law" was almost universally accepted.  For
the Auea to have no love for the white man was understandable.  Could
Christian love wipe out the memories of past treachery and brutality?
This was a challenge to Jim and Pete as they hoped to bring the message
of God's love and salvation to these primitive people.  It was a
challenge and leading for which they had both been prepared since
childhood.


 God had led Jim since boyhood, when, in his home in Portland, Oregon,
he learned that the Book of all books is the Bible, and that to follow
its teaching is not necessarily to live a cloistered, dull life.  Now
as he sat in his cabin on shipboard his mind went back to his family
house on a hillside facing snow-covered Mt.  Hood.  Jim's father, a
red-haired, iron-jawed Scotsman, would gather his four children each
morning after breakfast and read to them out of the Bible, trying
always to show them that this Book was to be lived, and that the life
it depicted was a happy and rewarding one.  The children would squirm
in their seats in the little breakfast nook, but some of the truths
sank in, and Jim, third of the Elliot sons, soon received Jesus Christ
as Saviour and Lord.

When he entered high school, Jim, following the example of the Apostle
Paul, was "not ashamed of the gospel of Christ."  A Bible always rested
on top of his stack of textbooks when he entered the classroom.
Academically his early interest was in architectural drawing.  His
talent in this was exceptional, and his drawings were kept by the
teacher to be used as examples to future classes.  Before finishing
Benson Polytechnic School, however, he began orienting his life toward
the mission field.  )

While at Wheaton College in Illinois Jim limited his extracurricular
activities, fearing that he might become occupied in nonessentials and
miss the essentials of life.  He refused requests that he run for
several offices on the campus.  He did, however, go out for wrestling,
explaining his choice in a letter to his mother:

"I wrestle solely for the strength and coordination of muscle tone that
the body receives while working out, with the ultimate end that of
presenting a more useful body as a living sacrifice.  This God knows,
and even though He chose to allow it to be strained, the motive was for
His glory and the faith He honors mpj;wily 5 of heart and freedom from
anxiety He expects of us, and gives grace to have both."

During his sophomore year in college Jim came to the conclusion that
God wanted him in a Latin-American country, preaching the Gospel to
those who had never heard it.  This decision was immediately followed
by action; he began the informal stu& of Spanish.  He chose Greek as
his major, preparatory to translating the Bible into some unwritten
language.  His professors remember the vigor, if not always the
accuracy, with which he translated some of the ancient
classics--Xenophon, Thucydides, patristic literature.  It was a thrill
to him to read for the first time in Greek the old stories of the New
Testament, so familiar in English

"Today I read the story of the Cross in John 19 for the first time in
the original," he wrote to his parents.  "The simplicity and pathos
made me almost weep; something which has never occurred in my English
reading.  Surely it is a wonderful story of love."

In November, 1947, Jim wrote a letter to his parents which showed
where his ambition lay: "The Lord has given me a hunger for
righteousness and piety that can alone be of Himself.  Such hungering
He alone can satisfy, yet Satan would delude and cast up all sorts of
other baubles, social life, a name renowned, a position of importance,
scholastic attainment.  What are these but the objects of the 'desire
of the Gentiles' whose cravings are warped and perverted.  Surely they
can mean nothing to the soul who has seen the beauty of Jesus Christ
.... No doubt you will hear of my receiving preliminary honors at
school.  They carry the same brand and will lie not long hence in the
basement in a battered trunk beside the special gold "B' pin, with the
'ruby' in it for which I studied four years at Benson.  All is vanity
below the sun and a 'striving after wind."  Life is not here, but hid
above with Christ in God, and therein I rejoice and sing as I think on
such exaltation."

Jim and my brother, Dave Howard, were both members of the class of 1949
at Wheaton, but although I was also at Wheaton, I had not met Jim until
Christmas, 1947, when Dave brought him home with us for the holidays. I
smiled later when I learned Jim had written his parents about "a tall,
lean girl, far from beautiful, but with a queer personality-drive that
interests me."

His junior year at college completed, Jim wrote to his parents: "Seems
impossible that I am so near my senior year at this place,


and truthfully, it hasn't the glow about it that I rather expected.
There is no such thing as attainment in this life; as soon as one
arrives at a long-coveted position he only jacks up his desire another
notch or so and looks for higher achievement-process which is
ultimately suspended by the intervention of death.  Life is truly
likened to a rising vapor, coiling, evanescent, shifting.  May the Lord
teach us what it means to live in terms of the end, like Paul who said,
"Neither count I my life dear unto myself, that I might finish my
course with joy .... '"

During that summer, after preaching to a group of Indians on a
reservation, Jim wrote: "Glad to get the opportunity to preach the
Gospel of the matchless grace of our God to stoical, pagan Indians.  I
only hope that He will let me preach to those who have never heard that
name Jesus.  What else is worth while in this life?  I have heard of
nothing better.  "Lord, send reel'"

In his diary of the summer he wrote: ""He makes His ministers a flame
of fire."  Am I ignitible?  God deliver me from the dread asbestos of
'other things."  Saturate me with the oil of the Spirit that I may be a
flame.  But flame is transient, often short-lived.  Canst thou bear
this, my soul--short life?  In me there dwells the Spirit of the Great
Short-Lived, whose zeal for God's house consumed Him.  "Make me Try
Fuel, Flame of God.""

The man who wrote these words was no recluse.  He was an American
college senior, school-champion wrestler, consistent honor student,
president of the Student Foreign Missions Fellowship, amateur poet, and
class representative on the Student Council.  Jim was warmly admired by
fellow students.  He was known as "one of the most surprising
characters" on campus.  Able to recite such poems as "The Face on the
Barroom Floor" and Robert Service's "The Cremation of Sam MeG e," he
was at the same time recognized as a man of spiritual stature above his
classmates.  George Macdonald said, "It is the heart that is not yet
sure of its God that is afraid to laugh in His presence."  Jim spoke of
"joking with God."  "Every now and again," he said,

"I ask for something--a little thing, perhaps, and something answers.
Maybe it's only me, but something answers, and makes the request sound
so funny that I laugh at myself and feel that He is smiling with me.
I've noticed it several times lately, we two making fun of my 'other
self' who does so hate to be laughed aft'

Sure that he belonged to God by faith in His Son Jesus Christ, Jim was
equally sure that the GOd who had redeemed him would also guide hifn,
"I'am as sure of His direction as I am of His salvation," he wed, to
say.  During his senior year a large convention was held at the
University of Illinois for students who were interested in foreign
missionary work.  Jim attended and asked God to show him what He wanted
him to do.

At the end of the convention he wrote: "The Lord has done what I wanted
Him to do this week.  I wanted, primarily, peace about going into
pioneer Indian work.  And as I analyze my feelings now, I feel quite at
ease about saying that tribal work in South American jungles is the
general direction of my missionary purpose.  One more thing: I am quite
confident that God wants me to begin jungle work single.  Those are
good-sized issues to get settled finally in a week, but just now I am
happy about them."

Toward the end of the summer of 195o Jim's "general direction" became
specific.  He met a former missionary from Ecuador who told him of the
needs in that field, and mentioned the great challenge of the dread
Aucas.  This was the climax to several years of seeking direction from
God.  Jim devoted ten days largely to prayer to make sure that this was
indeed what God intended for him.  He was given new assurance, and
wrote to his parents of his intention to go to Ecuador. Understandably,
they, with others who knew Jim well, wondered if perhaps his ministry
might not be more effective in the United States, where so many know so
little of the Bible's real message.  He replied:

"I dare not stay home while Quichuas perish.  What if the well filled
church in the homeland needs stirring?  They have the Scriptures Moses,
and the prophets, and a whole lot more.  Their condemnation is written
on their bank books and in the dust on their Bible covers."

This feeling is reflected in his diary account of Gospel meetings that
he and his college pal Ed McCully conducted in southern

Illinois: "Sterile days.  Have had thirty-two nights of "Youth

Rallies' in Sparta, with fifty or sixty out in the public school
gymnasium.  There is little interest, and very few young people are
reached in this way, I'm beginning to see.  This problem of meeting a
culture with truth from God is the most difficult kind of thing.  One
comes as a renovator, a conditioner of society, and society is in no
mood to be conditioned.  The fixedness of the human mind is the 'wall
of Jericho' to Gospel preaching.  God must shake, or there will be no
shaking.

"There has been  sense of discouragement and doubt come over me
through this .... There is a strong pull to the philosophy that 'chaos
created this lump of clay in his own image'--and to let fall the whole
gamut of theological arguments.  Again, I'm held by the resurrection of
Jesus Christ.  Were it not that I believed that Jesus was seen of men
and proved Himself to be supernatural in outwitting death, I would
throw the whole system back to the troubled skies and take a raft down
the Mississippi today.  But the fact is founding, settling,
establishing.  It holds as nothing else, and gives the sense that there
are answers, not yet discovered, for which I must wait."

It was typical of Jim that, once sure of God's leading, he did not turn
aside easily.  The "leading" was to Ecuador, so every thought and
action was bent in that direction.  Jim practiced what he preached when
he wrote in his diary: 'where ever you are, be all there.  Live to
the hilt every situation you believe to be the will of God."

Jim had been praying for some time that God would give him a comrade
with whom to go to the mission field, a single man ready to enter
tribal work with him.  For a while he thought that it might be Ed
McCully, but when Ed married in June, 195   0


Jim began to pray for another.  In August he saw an old friend, Pete
Fleming, who had just obtained his masters degree and as at that
time seeking God's direction for his lifework.  Jim later wrote to
him:

"I would certainly be glad if God persuaded you to go with me, but if
the Harvest-Chief does not move you, I hope you remain at home.  To me,
Ecuador is an avenue of obedience to the simple word of Christ.  There
is room for me there, and I am free to go.  Of this I am sure.  He will
lead you too, and not let you miss your signs.  The sound of 'gentle
stillness' after the thunder and wind have passed will be the ultimate
word from God.  Tarry long for it.  Remember the words of Amy
Carmichael: "The vows of God are on me.  I may not stay to play with
shadows or pluck earthly flowers, till I my work have done and rendered
up account.""

Jim's hopes were to be fulfilled when he and Pete set sail from San
Pedro in 1952.

Their paths had crossed when groups of young people interested in
studying the Bible had gotten together from Seattle and Portland for
conferences and mountain-climbing expeditions.

Pete had once gone east to join Jim Elliot in a series of speaking
engagements at religious conferences and other meetings.  Six weeks of
traveling together brought them into a deeper comradeship than they had
known before.  Driving back across the country to the northwest, Jim
wrote:

"Pete is a most engaging traveling partner, interested in all the
things that I notice--geology, botany, history, and the sky and all the
good things God has scattered through the west in such extravagant
variation."

Pete, who was born in Seattle, Washington, in 1928, early learned to
appreciate the Bible and to hold it as his supreme rule of life and
conduct.  Those who knew him in his late teens and early twenties were
impressed by his intelligent grasp of Scripture, and by the breadth of
his spiritual knowledge.  Converted at the age of thirteen after

hearing the testimony of a blind evangelist, Pete, like Enoch, "walked
with God" in a way that set him apart in the eyes of fellow high school
students.  He earned his letters in basketball and golf, and the
members of the letter club asked him to be their chaplain.  In his
valedictory speech at graduation he said: "Where shall we look?  Where
shall we go?  I believe that we have a right to go back to the Bible
for our anchorage.  Here we have a recognized foundation ... let us
build upon it."

This conviction stood Pete in good stead when, in the fall of 1946, he
entered the University of Washington as a philosophy major.  He was a
man with a critical mind, and the study of philosophy challenged him to
re-examine his whole view of life and of the world around him.  For a
while he almost foundered on the shoals of conflicting thought, but at
last the God to whom he had long since "committed the keeping of his
soul" brought him back to the harbor of truth, His eternal Word.

Pete worked part time, studied hard, and was president of the
University Christian Fellowship.  He was a man who drove himself, yet
in his busy schedule he took time for prayer and study of the Bible. In
1951 he received a master's degree, his thesis being on Melville's The
Confidence Man.

In the meantime, having seen and corresponded with Jim, he reached a
decision about his lifework.  He surprised his friends by announcing
that he believed God was calling him to Ecuador.

"I think a 'call' to the mission field is no different from any other
means of guidance," he once wrote to his fiancee, Olive Ainslie.  "A
call is nothing more nor less than obedience to the will of God, as God
presses it home to the soul by whatever means He chooses."

He had known Olive since childhood; the two of them had attended the
same worship group on Sundays.  When he responded to God's call to
Ecuador, however, he went with the intention of serving Him without the
responsibilities of home life--at least for the first year or so.

On September 6, 1951, he wrote to Dr.  Wilfred Tidmarsh, an

English missionary with twelve years' service in the Ecuador Jan
jungle, who had addressed many Christian groups in the States:

"Since your visit I have been very much in prayer about going to
Ecuador.  In fact, I have never prayed so much before the Lord about
anything.  Jim and I have exchanged several letters in which I told him
of the increased desire to go forth, and of the Scriptures which God
seemingly had brought to mind to confirm it.  My thinking, both in and
outside of the Scriptures, was directed toward the stringency of
Christ's words to His disciples, when he sent them forth: "I send you
forth as sheep among wolves .... "He that loveth father or mother more
than me is not worthy of me .... "He that taketh not up his cross, and
followeth after me is not worthy of me .... "He that findeth his life
shall lose it: and he that lo seth his life for My sake shall find it."
It has seemed that the severe requirements of a difficult field like
Ecuador are matched on a spiritual level by the severe requirements
placed on real disciples.  Ecuador, as it seems, is a God-given
opportunity to place God's principles and promises to the extreme
test.

"This door seems to be opening at a time when I was looking to the Lord
regarding the future, and thus is the Lord's answer to my prayers."

On the verge of his sailing from the States, Pete said to one of his
college friends: "Remember the last few verses of I Corinthians 3: "For
all things are yours .. . and ye are Christ's; and Christ is God's."
Throughout all our personality we are God's, and since God has made our
whole selves, there is great joy in realizing who is our Creator.  This
realization is to permeate every area and level of life.  In
appreciation of beauty, mountains, music, poetry, knowledge, people,
science--even in the tang of an apple--God is there, to reflect the joy
of His presence in the believer who will realize God's purposes in all
things."


Destination: Shandia

After eighteen days at sea Jim Elliot and Pete Fleming arrived in
Guayaquil, Ecuador.  "About half-way up the Guavas River," wrote Pete,
"I finally comprehended that this, this was Ecuador.  I felt a tingling
sensation for the first time.  Jim and I sang quietly, "Faith of our
Fathers," as the boat pulled into the harbor:

""Faith of our Fathers, holy faith

We will be true to thee till death.""

Leaving the ship, the two young men made their way through the stacks
of baggage out into the hot sunlight on the Malacon, the parkway beside
the Guavas River.  The tide was coming in, and out in the center of the
current, great masses of water hyacinths rode swiftly upriver.  A
gleaming white fruit ship stood at anchor, and beside it crowded the
barges and long slim dugout canoes of banana vendors.  A ferry was
disgorging its sweating, shouting multitudes, with their straw
suitcases, cloth bundles, chickens, and baskets.  Jim and Pete stopped
to watch the faces until the crowd dissipated in all directions; then
they turned and crossed the street.  Portals over the sidewalk shaded
them from the tropical sun, and they gazed at the store windows with
their astonishingly heterogeneous displays: sweaters and typewriters,
frying pans and automobile tires, fake shrunken heads from the Jivaro
Indians,

and Camay soap.  In one side street, cocoa beans were spread out like a
nubbly red-brown carpet to dry' in the sun.  Business men, dressed in
crisp white suits and Panama hats, were coming out of the buildings for
their two-hour lunch break.  Cadillacs and donkeys, nudging each other
for the right of way, epitomized this land of contrasts.

With a growing population of over three hundred thousand, Guayaquil is
the country's largest and most modern city, with wide streets and
imposing office buildings.  The streets are crowded, as owners,
managers, and clerks from the various importing and exporting firms
bustle about their business.  Guayaquil is the banana capital of the
world, and also from here, since World War II, more than three million
bags of coffee, some seventy million pounds of cocoa, and more than
three hundred million pounds of rice have annually been loaded for the
export market.  An air of prosperity prevails, production is constantly
rising, and this port city serves as the country's trade barometer.

Pete and Jim spent their first night in a third-class hotel.  Heat,
mosquitoes, the occasional bray of a burro, and the Latin rhythm of a
dance band nearby made the night a memorable one.  The next day they
took a plane to Quito, traveling up over the western cordillera of the
Andes, crossing a 13,000-foot pass, and landing in the capital of
Ecuador.  )uito is 9,3o0 feet above sea level, and to the west rises
the volcanic mountain Pichincha.

Here was a new opportunity to "live to the hilt."  This old-world city,
with its adobe houses, high mud walls, cobblestone streets, ornate
churches, with its red geraniums and eucalyptus trees, was to be their
home for the next six months.  For before they could get to the
Oriente--the eastern jungle area of Ecuador, goal of their tireless
preparation and planning--there remained this last requirement, the
learning of Spanish, the national language of Ecuador.

They signed up for Spanish lessons with a senorita who expected nothing
short of perfection, and they also engaged a room in the


 home of an Ecuadorian doctor who had five children.  Here was an
unparalleled opportunity for practice.  They were forced to speak
Spanish, and the children were quite uninhibited in pointing out the
mistakes and peculiarities of their guests.

"Senor Jaime," said little Moquetin, a bright-eyed imp of six, "why is
it that your face is always red?"  Jim countered, "Why is it that your
face is always brown?"  "Because it is much prettier that way," was the
unexpected reply.

"Language is a tyranny of frustration," Pete once said.  But learn it
they must.  During those months of study Pete wrote in his diary: "I am
longing now to reach the Aucss if God gives me the honor of proclaiming
the Name among them .... I would gladly give my life for that tribe if
only to see an assembly of those proud, clever, smart people gathering
around a table to honor the Son--gladly, gladly, gladlyl What more
could be given to a life?

"These almost six months have been crammed full of goodness and God has
given us special privileges by way of having no set responsibilities,
of giving us the money and the freedom to live with a national family
and undoubtedly we have learned things that will stand us in good stead
all our missionary lives.  And it has been a terrific boom praying
together and seeing God give us faith, getting more and more from the
Spanish Bible, gradually finding Spanish easier and getting useful
phrases fixed in my mind so I didn't have to think out every one.  It
has all been good and we have learned things: how to cope with
situations and how to keep our mouths shut on some subjects, how to get
along with the nationals, what their perspective on missionaries is
.... God is going to give us Spanish by one means or another, and
Qnichua as well."  Finally the day came when Jim and Pete were to leave
Quito.  They saw their gear thrown up on top of a fat, ungainly vehicle
that served as a bus.  An American truck bed had been surmounted by an
amazing superstructure that protruded on both sides, accommodating
perhaps thirty or more passengers inside, and as 6

many as dared cling on the outside.  Squeezing themselves and their
cameras, halt mark of the missionary as well as of the tourist, in
among the other riders, they each found a seat a board perhaps ten
inches wide, with as much room again for the legs, between it and the
next seat.  They were fortunate indeed to be in a bus with an aisle,
for in some vehicles passengers cheerfully clamber over the backs of
the seats to their places.  And they were able to sit up straight and
still see out of the low windows.  To have one's knees close to one's
chin is not the most comfortable position, but then, they could take
turns sitting by the aisle to stretch their legs.

"Vamos!"  called the driver.  Jim and Pete rejoiced that the bus was
going to start on schedule.  But no such luck this time--for this is
the land of mafiana.  Everywhere there are unexplained delays, and
perhaps most trying thing of all to an outsider is the fact that no one
seems to be the least interested in giving an explanation.  No
questions are asked.  Silence.  In this case, the delay lasted only ten
minutes or so; and, without warning, the driver gunned his motor and
the bus lurched to a start.

Leaving the city, the bus climbed up over the paramo, where a cold
drizzle added to the bleakness of great stretches of brown grass.  An
occasional Indian galloped by on horseback, red wool poncho flying in
the strong wind.  A woman dressed in a heavy wool skirt and embroidered
blouse passed at a dog trot, the usual gait of the Indian of the high
Andes.  Her baby, dressed exactly as she was, complete with fedora,
joggled in a cloth on her back.  The mother's hands moved nimbly,
spinning wool on a spindle.

At 10,000 feet the men could see the small grass huts of the highland
Quichuas.  They eke out a living herding cattle and sheep, growing
potatoes and certain grains.  This scene was soon replaced by the arid
territory surrounding Ambato, the city of the earthquake of 1949, and
the "gateway to the Oriente."  Here the bus stopped, and was
immediately besieged by women with their trays of fried pork, meat
pies, glasses of fruit drink, or slices


of pineapple piled into an enamel basin.  Each called her wares in a
peculiar singsong.

The trip was resumed once more, with the bus climbing up between lofty,
snow-clad peaks, then tipping forward to swoop down in dizzy, hairpin
turns into the vast gorge cut by the Pastaza River through the eastern
cordillera of the Andes, past the cone shaped Tungurahua, an extinct
volcano.  With startling suddenness the desert of the western slope and
the high mountain pass were replaced by lush greenness on the
breathtaking eastern descent.  Purple orchids nodded out over the road
as the bus swayed and jerked along the narrow shelf of road, a
precipice on the tight, a steep wall of rock shouldering up on the
left.  Toward late aft moon the bus rounded another curve, and the
Pastaza spread itself out before them, flowing in broad ribbons over
black beaches.  This was the western extreme of the mighty Amazon
basin, which terminates three thousand miles to the east, as the river
empties into the Atlantic Ocean.  Another little town or two, and Shell
Mera was reached.  A former base of the Shell Oil Company for
prospecting operations in the area, it is now an unpretentious huddle
of dilapidated wooden buildings: houses, a hotel, and stores on one
side of the road, and an army base and mission-sponsored Bible school
on the other.

The Ecuador base of the Missionary Aviation Fellowship was at the
southern end of town.  Here Jim and Pete met Dr.  Tidmarsh, the
missionary with whom they had corresponded before coming to Ecuador.
And with him they were soon flying north from Shell Mere, over the
green sea of jungle, following the Ansuc River toward the Atun Yaku,
headwaters of the Napo.

They were headed for Shandia, the Quichua mission station which Dr.
Tidmarsh had had to abandon because of his wife's health.  They planned
to reopen the station, Dr.  Tidmarsh staying till they could get
established.  Shandia did not at this time have an airstrip, so the
three flew to another station nearby.  Here they landed and set out on
foot through the jungle.  It was

late in the afternoon when they started, and knowing that it was
normally a three-hour hike, they raced against the sudden tropical
twilight.  Slipping on grassy roots, stumbling and struggling through
deep mud at times, they pressed eagerly on to the place that would be
their home for months to come.  They were full of anticipation for what
lay ahead, but at the same time they drank in the beauties of the great
Amazon rain forest through which they passed.

It was virgin jungle.  Trees with great buttress-shaped roots grew to
tremendous heights, often with no branches except at the top.  Under
these umbrellas an incredible variety of flora thrives.  It was often
impossible for Jim and Pete to distinguish the leaves which belong
properly to the trees, for the huge tangle of lianas, air plants, and
fungus that sponge a living from them.  OrchicIs everywhere lent their
soft colors to the living green.  Fungus grew in vivid colors and
bizarre shapes--vermilion, shaped like the raffle on a lady's dress;
turquoise, shaped like a shell, half hidden under a rotten log.

Just as the moon rose over the forest, the three men burst into the
clearing that was Shandia.

"Indians immediately gathered around," wrote Pete, "and I remembered a
Couple of faces from Tidmarsh's pictures, and felt a kind of pride in
remembering.  My first thought was, "Yes, I can love these people." The
ink-colored designs on the women's faces interested me and the pitiful
drape of the faded blue skirts.  Lots of children were about, smiling
shyly.  Babies sucked on big, tremulous breasts, and the young, eager
faces of boys looked up at us.  Heard Tidmarsh's first conversation in
Quichua; wondered how I would ever learn it."

At the same time Jim wrote: "We have arrived at the destination decided
on in 195o.  My joy is full.  Oh how blind it would have been to reject
the leading of these days.  How it has changed the course of life for
me and added such a host of joys!"

At the far end of the clearing stood the small thatched house


in which Dr.  Tidmarsh had lived.  It was walled with split bamboo,
floored with boards, and set on posts to insure cimulation of air and
to give protection from both the damp ground and the invasion of
insects.

"At my first glance the house looked spacious and comfortable," Pete
wrote in his diary, "and I thought how easily Olive and I could live in
such a set-up, feeling joy in the knowledge and anticipation.
Afterwards we got cleaned up a bit, washed our muddy feet in the
ice-cold Napo, took a look around, and settled down to a meal of rice
soup, plantain, manioc, and flee, with coffee.  Now by the light of the
kerosene lamp I am writing on the dining room table.."  tired but full
of thankfulness to the Father, who leads on.  In reality, this is not
an end but a beginning."

"All Things to All Men"

IN Shandia, Jim and Pete became full-fledged missionaries for the first
time.  They had come to reach the Quichuas with the Word of God, a task
for which they were prepared but could accomplish only if they gained
the Quichuas' confidence and love.  So by living among them, sharing in
their lives and thus laying the foundations of mutual trust they hoped
to open the minds and hearts of the Indians to the Christian message.
And Jim and Pete knew that whatever knowledge they gained from their
experiences among the Quichuas would prepare them for work among other
tribes further removed from today's civilization.

The two young missionaries learned quickly that the Quichuas hunt a
little, farm a little, and work occasionally for a neighboring hacienda
owner.  They are subject to a variety of diseases and debilitating
intestinal parasites.  They are caught between two cultures --the
disappearing one of their forebears and the rising white man's world of
today.  They are a gentle people, unlike their neighbors to the south,
the headhunting Jivaros, and to the northeast the feared Aueas.  Every
facet of the lives, health, language, education, birth, and death of
the Indians was of immediate interest to Jim and Pete.

Night after night they sat in their little hut, listening to the jungle

tuning up its nocturnal orchestra, and recording their experiences in
diaries and letters.  Moths and flies swarmed against the lantern,
dropping to the paper and clogging pen points  Great beetles zoomed at
their faces, which glistened with sweat from the heat of the lamp.
Every evening they were surrounded by a circle of dark, laughing
faces--schoolboys who came in to watch whatever the missionaries might
be doing.

"Don't white people ever get tired of paper?"  said one to Dr. 
Tidmarsh in Quichua.  "These two, all they do is look at paper and
write on paper.  My father says white men smell like paper.  He gets
mad at me for smelling like paper when I come home from school."

Pete Fleming smiled as Dr.  Tidmarsh translated.  How was a man to
concentrate for five minutes?  But then--he loved these Quichua boys.
This is what he had bargained for--this is why he had renounced the
solitude and silence for study, which had been his pleasure before.

I was by this time in the western jungle of Ecuador, and Jim kept in
touch with me as frequently as jungle mail service would permit.  Soon
after he reached Shandia he wrote: "Days begin at 6 a.M. with the
swooshing of the gas stove on which Dr.  Tidmarsh heats his shaving
water.  The box we use for a wash stand sits on the corner of the front
porch, and the drain is over the wall, where you aim the basin at a
ditch which runs right around the hoOse.  Breakfast, usually consisting
of a bowl or two of banana soup or ground corn, a fresh banana and a
cup of coffee, has so far been intermpted at 7:x5 each morning to make
radio contact with the other mission-stations of the region.  At
meal-time we speak only Spanish.  Breakfast is followed by a reading of
Daniel in Spanish, and morning prayer.

"So far my mornings have been consumed in watching the doctor do
medical work, studying, or making some gadget to bring things to a
little better state for comfort, and interspersed with visits to the
airstrip to see if the men are working.  Today, as a 8


herd of wild pigs upriver sent most of them scurrying to the hunt,
there were only a dozen or so working.  They, had arrived at that part
of the strip which was planted in patches of plantain la tropical
fruit, 'cooking cousin' of the banana] and they were loath to cut them
down.  I helped them push over the trees to get them started.  It's
like destroying food to them, and it hurt me a little, too, but there
are other plantains and no other airstrips.

"Our room is exceedingly pleasant; a huge window that looks out on a
beautiful view.  The Door is monk's cloth curtain, between our room and the
living room.  Two throw rags and the two aluminum chairs make the place
look very civilized and the Indian, Venancio, sweepa it daily to clean
out the mud and dead cockroaches."

Old Venaneio, a typical Quichua, was Dr.  Tidmarsh's right-hand man. He
dresses as the white man does, in ordinary pants and shirt, his parents
having years ago left the old costume of the Quichuas, the kushma. 
Travel on jungle trails, sometimes in knee deep mud, makes shoes an
absurdity for him, though a few others wear them on special occasions
as a sign of prestige.  A safety pin adorns a conspicuous spot on the
front of his unironed shirt, handy for removing chonta palm thorns from
his feet.  As he travels the trails, he carries a well-worn machete,
which he swings aimlessly at trees.  If he comes to a steep or slippery
bank, he can cut steps for his toes as he ascends.  If a vine hangs in
his way, one swipe moves it.  His wife Susanna trudges behind him,
carrying her baby in a cloth on her side, and a great basket containing
cooking pot, chickens, blanket, and plantains.  This basket is strapped
with a jungle "rope," a strip of bark or a long, fibrous leaf, which is
passed around the basket and up over Susanna's forehead. She, too,
carries her machete, with which to dig and peel the manioc which is
their main diet, trim her ting emails or discourage the weeds around
their front door.  The machete is their most valued implement--indeed,
often the only implement.  It makes an excellent hoe, shovel, ax,
knife, scissors, or what have you.  Jim and g,1


Pete soon learned that it is indispensable in the jungle, and wondered
how they had ever done without one in the States.

Venancio spends much of his time making small baskets for storing eggs,
tmmpet-shaped traps and nets for scooping fish, woven sieves, and
monkey-skin drums.  His wife does all of the heavy work, such as
clearing the land of trees and other jungle growth, planting, carrying
water and firewood, washing of clothes on the rocks by the river,
hauling of heads of plantains, which may weigh up to one hundred pounds
each.

Venancio's bed is made of a few slabs of split bamboo laid across a few
poles.  For chairs he has chunks of wood, five or six inches in height,
on which he squats by the fire.  A soup plate and spoon make up his
eating utensils, and he uses half-gourds for drinking, along with the
clay bowls.  The staple food of Venancio and his fellow tribesmen is a
drink known as chic ha  This is made from manioc, a starchy tuber dug
daily by the womenfolk, peeled with deft whacks of the machete, and
steamed in a clay pot.  When it is cooked, the women pound the manioc
with a wooden pestle to the consistency of mashed potato, but coarser
and heavier.  Taking mouthfuls of this, they chew it and spit it into a
tray, thus beginning the fermentation which continues as the mass is
put back into the great clay urns.  It is left for a day or two, or
even a week if strong chic ha is desired, The Quichuas literally live
on this stuff for most of their lives, supplementing it when they can
with wild meat or fish, perhaps a little jungle fruit, and eggs.

Day by day in their observation of the Indians as individuals and in a
group, Jim and Pete learned to fit themselves into this new fabric of
living.  One night as the two men, with their senior worker Dr.
Tidmarsh, sat with the schoolboys in their little bamboo house, running
steps were heard outside.

"Doctorl Doctorl Tiangichu?  Are you there?"

"Iimi.  Ilmi.  Come in."

"My sister:m-law is dyiug!"

This, in Quichua, may mean anything from a headache to a snakebite.  If
one is in excellent health, he is "living."  Otherwise, he is
"dying,"

"What is the matter with your sister-in-lawF'

"She is causing a child to be born.  Will you come?"

Unless there is some complication, the missionary is not usually called
to attend a delivery, but Dr.  Tidmarsh knew that in this case the
woman had lost five babies.  He was a doctor of philosophy, not a
medical doctor, although he had studied homeopathy.  So he collected
the simple equipment he had for such emergencies, and with Pete,
started down the river.  Venancio, serving as guide, plunged ahead in
the darkness, while they swung their flashlights to try to augment the
little circle of light they threw on the muddy trail.  The Talac River,
a shallow stream perhaps fifty feet wide, had to be crossed two or
three times, and finally the house was reached, a rectangular building
constructed of split bamboo and palm-leaf roof, woven beautifully and
evenly.  As they entered the narrow doorway, stepping over a low sill
designed to discourage pigs and chickens, they could see several fires
glowing dimly through the smoke that always fills the house and
incidentally acts as a preservative for the roof leaf, coating it with
tars that resist insects.  In one corner sat a man, weaving a string
fishing net.  Another sawed away on a homemade violin.

"The woman was lying on a bamboo board," Pete wrote later in his diary,
"partly shielded from public view by two loosely hung blankets, and was
attended by the 'midwife."  Gradually all became dark, the smoldering
fires died to embers, and the families went to their boards for the
night, the little children with their parents, older boys together in
one corner, girls in another.  They gave Tidmarsh and me a bed and we
lay down as there was no sign of the baby's arrival, labor pains still
seven minutes apart.  As the bamboo had none of the usually-associated
attributes of flexibility which it has in the minds of many, and as our
shoes and pants were still wet from walking in the river, we soon
chilled, and g*


later rose and sat on small log seats around a smoky fire which
refused to stay alight.  In company of two mangy skeleton-ribbed dogs
we sat listening to the whine of the crickets, the strange goose-like
honking of the tree toads, the occasional waking cry of a ehikt, the
creaking of the bamboo as someone rolled over, and the periodic moans
of the woman which rose shrilly to a short scream.

"Gradually as the pains increased and intensified the girl rose to her
knees and reached for the vine-rope which hung from the ceiling above,
intertwining her hands in the rope and lifting her body when the pains
came.  For me, those small brown hands held high over the head, and the
arms, lined with taut tendons, communicated something of the simplicity
and yet binding custom of their means of giving birth.  After she had
passed the water, the pains waned and finally the baby began to
descend.  The midwife gave a word, everybody woke up and moved sleepily
to the corner and stood peering over the curtains.  Privacy is a word
and concept unknown.  They prepared a drink for the mother by scraping
the claw of a sloth and mixing the powder with water.  I think this is
supposed to hasten the arrival of the baby.

"Venancio, our cook, then stepped inside, grasped the girl by the
shoulders and began shaking her violently which he continued to do
until the baby arrived, dropping half onto the banana leaves, half on
the earthen floor, a tiny white frail thing attached to an
intestine-like cord, motionless in the flickering kerosene light.  It
burped a couple of times, sputtered and cried, then adopted normal
breathing.  Tidmarsh stepped in to tie off the cord, and the midwife
cut it with the sharp edge of a bamboo stick.  The midwife then took
the baby, took a mouthful of water from an iron pot, and spat it out
over the baby, thus washing it.  Then wrapping it in an old dirty cloth
and tying it with a woman's embroidered belt, she handed it to a small
naked child who tottered across the floor with it.  A woman took it,
laid it on a bamboo plank, where it was apparently forgotten. Meanwhile
the mother continued in her martyr-like position, wincing and writhing
under the continuing contractions.  Tidmarsh committed the baby to the
I,ord  ;raver"

Slowly the men became more familiar with the language.  They were never
without their little black notebooks and pencils.  Since the language
was not a written one, they had only to write down what they heard, try
to find out by one means or another what it meant, and then memorize.

it find the language fascinating," Jim wrote home.  "The freshness of
discovering a language from the speaker's mouth, without the aid of a
textbook, is most stimulating.  And an especially interesting feature
to me now is the onomatopoeic value of certain words.  For example, I
heard it said of a free-swinging broken wrist, "It goes whi-/ang,
whi-/ang."  The word has no dictionary meaning, so far as we can
discover.  Or a lamp flickering goes 'liping, li-ping, tiung, tiung,
and dies."  The word 'tukluk, tukluk' describes rapid swallowing or
gulping.  And there are myriads more."

As Pete and Jim's knowledge of the language grew, so grew the Indians'
confidence in them, and they began to invite the missionaries to
greater participation in their life and customs.  "You speak uichua
better than we do," said Wakcha, a proud young Indian who always wore a
pith helmet, a sign of great prestige among his people.  "You hear us
too well.  We are talking away, saying to ourselves, They do not hear,"
and then you answer us"

Dr.  Tidmarsh eventually left the forest to return to his family in the
mountains, but before he went he gave Jim and Pete a few simple
instructions about caring for the sick.  On their own, they would have
to give what medical aid they could with the help of medical books and
prayer.  Sick calls had to be answered.  One night in January a
distraught father came to them on behalf of his baby who was ill.

"Will you not stick it with medicine?"  he pleaded.  It had not

A5


taken the Indians long to learn the healing power of antibiotics for
their frequent tropical infections, and they soon began to feel that
unless they were injected, the missionary had really done nothing at
all.  It was useless for the missionary to try to explain that if a man
had a bad case of worms, penicillin would not cure him.
"Drinking-medicine" was not nearly so effective, in the Indian mind, as
"sticking-medicine."  This time, however, the baby's case seemed to be
pneumonia, so Jim gave penicillin.  The parents were satisfied that he
had clone what he could--but the baby did not show immediate signs of
recovery.  They fell back, then, on the greatest power they knew, the
witch doctor.  Jim asked if he might stay to watch the ceremony.  "A
bed was pointed out to me," he recalled later.  "I was told they were
going to drink ayak waska and that I was to stay on the cane bed and
not turn on my flashlight.

"All lamps were extinguished by 8:30, and the three Indians who were to
drink the herb, ayak waska, could be heard speaking across the room
occasionally.  I reigned sleep and drowsed but woke when one of the
watchers sleeping on the floor beside me was roused to be alert to
listen as the drinking passed and the 'swoon speech' expected.  I heard
the quick, steady, swish beat of what sounded like a bunch of dry
leaves being shaken, and from somewhere, I cannot say if it was from
the same source, the rather melodious whistle of the three-tone pattern
so usual among them.  This was interspersed with aspiring retching
sound, and the curious pop of the smoke blowing on the patient's head,
as I had seen done earlier.  (I had offered another injection of
penicillin and been refused at supper time.  The witch doctor insisted
that we wait till morning.) The swishing and blowing and whistling were
joined by an occasional heavy snore and I dropped off to sleep.

"At eleven I was awakened by an Indian playing a violin.  We chaRed.  I
checked the baby at midnight and was told that the witching had not
amounted to much as the drinkers had not taken enough to do much
talking.  Fever seemed a little higher, breathing and general condition
not changed.  Around one I fell asleep again.  The mother and an old
woman were awake, making applications of leaves and tobacco.  Lamps and
kerosene lanterns made things somewhat less eerie than earlier.  I
slept until the death wail awakened me at three.  No struggle; just
quit breathing.  Made our third small coffin this morning."

These happenings gave insight into the life of these people.
Superstition and fear bound them tightly.  Would the New Testament
answer the longing of the Quichua for freedom from fear, peace of
heart, deliverance from evil spirits?  The missionaries prayed and
discussed these proN ems but still they felt themselves
foreigners--felt that they would always be foreigners.  The Indian
himself must be the answer--he must learn the Scriptures, be taught,
and in turn teach his own people.  To this end Pete and Jim reopened
the missionary school at Shandia that Dr.  Tidmarsh had been forced to
close.  Here in a one-room schoolhouse the youngsters of the community
were taught to read and write so that ultimately they could read the
Scriptures for themselves.

But there were others, Indians who had as yet never had one chance to
hear the story which these boys listened to daily.  Would God send Jim
and Pete to take the message to the Aucas?

"The thought scares me at times," wrote Pete, "but I am ready.  We have
believed God for miracles, and this may include the Aucas.  It has got
to be by miracles in response to faith.  No lesser expedient is a
short-cut.  O God, guide!"


Infinite Adaptability

Eve since their college days Jim Elliot and Ed McCully had wondered if
someday they might work together on the mission field.  When Ed, his
wife Marilou and their towheaded toddler Stevie arrived in Quito in
December, 1951, it seemed that the ix hopes would be mined.  The
McCullys planned to stay in Quito for their required Spanish study and
then join Jim and Pete in Shandia.  In June, 1953, Ed left his family
in Quito and made a quick trip to his future home in the jungle.  He
wrote to his folks in the States of the scenes he had witnessed:

"I have just returned to Quito, after spending twelve days in the
jungles with Jim Elliot and Pete Fleming among the lowland Quichua
Indians.  If the Lord permits, we hope to be located there in a few
months.  During these twelve days, after viewing the Indian boys in
school and the endless line of people seeking medical aid, after
visiting Indian homes, after hearing the weird chant of witch calling,
and the hopeless cry of the death mourners, I praise Cod for bringing
us to this land to work with these people.  I pray that we might be
faithful to our calling and that God will use us to bring many of these
Indians to Himself.

"I stood by the bed of an eighteen-year-old Indian boy in the eastern
jungle.  I watched him vomit blood and in a few minutes

I watched him die.  In that hour, as I stood looking at his lifeless

form lying on bamboo sticks on the dirt floor of the hut.  i was to
realize more fully what Paul meant in I Thessalonians _ "Ye sorrow not,
even as others which have no hope."  I will not soon forget the
screaming-chanting wail of these heathen folk as they' beat their
breasts and mourned for two days and nights it was a pathetic picture of
'no hope."  Tonight I pray a peculiar prayer... that God will spare the
lives of these Indians until He grants us the opportunity to bring to them the
message of hope, of eternal life, of salvation in their own
language."

The Oldest son of a Milwaukee bakery, executive, Ed McCully grew up in the
Midwest, in a home which knew something of sacrifice for the work of
the Lord.  Ed's father was active in preaching, traveling throughout
the United States, speaking of Christ to his business associates at
every opportunity, and to Christian groups in many places.  When Ed
entered Wheaton College in the fall of 1945, it was not with the idea
of becoming a foreign missionary.  He chose business and economics as
his major.

Six feet two inches tall, weighing one hundred and ninety pounds, he
soon distinguished himself as star end on Wheaton's championship
football team.  His surprising speed for so big a man made him a track
star as well.  His track coach, the national champion miler, Gil Dodds,
tells of an incident in Ed's senior year.  Ten 44o-yard men were in
training for a special meet in Boston; from the ten, five would be
picked to go.  Ed wanted to go to Boston.  So, in spite of the fact
that he was a 100-22o-yard man and had never run 440 in his life, he
asked if he could try out with the others.  It was typical of Ed that
he made the relay team by one-tenth of a second.  "He was always coming
through with the impossible when the chips were down," was Dodds'
concluding comment.

Ed was at his best on the platform.  His simple, direct approach to his
audience enabled him, with no formal training whatever in public
speaking, to win the 1949 championship in the National Hearst
Oratorical Contest in San Francisco, a competition in which

4o


over ten thousand students had competed.  His essay on Alexander
Hamilton was nearly memorized by his classmates, who insisted on his
reciting it at every class gathering.  When he came to the climax,

"And like a silver clarion rung,

The accents of that unknown tongue," the class would rise
simultaneously and shout with Ed,

"Excelsfort"

Such was the spirit which Ed, senior class president, had generated. Of
his election my brother Dave wrote: "Ed was elected (or shouted in)
without a contrary vote.  I frankly doubt if anyone even entertained
the idea of proposing anyone else for the position.  It was a foregone
and unanimously accepted conclusion."

The following year Ed McCully, having turned his thinking toward the
bar, entered the law school at Marquette University.  At the beginning
of his second year there he took a job as hotel clerk at night,
intending to spend the time studying.  But God, who ordains men of HIS
own choosing and moves in them to the accomplishment of HIS eternal
purposes, had other plans.  Ed told his Wheaton classmate Jim about it
in a letter dated September 22, 1950:

"Since taking this job things have happened.  I've been spending my
free time studying the Word.  Each night the Lord seemed to get hold of
me a little more.  Night before last I was reading in

Nehemiah.  I finished the book, and read it through again.  Here was a
man who left everything as far as position was concerned to go do a job
nobody else could handle.  And because he went the whole remnant back
in Jerosalem got right with the Lord.

Obstacles and hindrances fell away and a great work was done.

Jim, I couldn't get away from it.  The Lord was dealing with me.

On the way home yesterday morning I took a long walk and came to a
decision which I know is of the Lord.  In all honesty before the

Lord I say that no one or nothing beyond Himself and the Word has any
bearing upon what I've decided to do.  I have one desire now--to live a
life of reckless abandon for the Lord.  putting all my energy and
strength into it.  Maybe He'll send me someplace where the name of
Jesus Christ is unknown, I'm taking the Lord at His word, and I'm
trusting Him to prove ]its Word.  It's kind of like putting all your
eggs in one basket, but we've already put our trust in Him for
salvation, so why not do it as far as our life is concerned?  If
there's nothing to this business of eternal life we might as well lose
everything in one crack and throw our present life away with our life
hereafter.  But if there is something to it, then everything else the
Lord says must hold true likewise.  Pray for me, Jim.

"Man, to think the Lord got hold of me just one day before I was to
register for school!  I've got my money put away and was all set to go.
Today was registration day so I went over to school to let them know
why I wouldn't be back.  I really prayed like the apostle asked the
Ephesians to pray, that I might 'open my mouth boldly."  I talked to
all the fellows that I knew well.  Then I went in to see a professor I
thought a lot about.  I told him what I planned to do, and before I
left he had tears in his eyes.  I went in to see another professor and
talked to him.  All I got was a cold farewell and a good luck wish.

"Well, that's it.  Two days ago I was a law student.  Today I'm an
untitled nobody.  Thanks, Jim, for the intercession on my behalf. 
Don't let up.  And brother, I'm really praying for you too as you're
making preparations to leave.  I only wish I were going with you."

Ed's period of boot-training came when he went with lira Elliot to
Chester, Illinois, in the winter of 1951.  Besides the tent meetings
and children's classes which they held in an attempt to preach the
Gospel in that town, Ed frequently preached on a weekly radio broadcast
which he and Jim shared.  As the Apostle Paul wrote, "I am debtor both
to the Greeks, and to the Barbarians; both to the wise, and to the
unwise.  So, as much as in me is, I am ready to preach the gospel to
you that are at Rome also.  For I am not ashamed of the gospel of
Christ: for it is the power of God unto


salvation to every one that believeth .... "So Ed believed and so he
preached.

On May 16, 1951, he used civic law as an illustration in one of these
radio messages.  Ed's sermon explains better than most theological
statements the belief shared by all five of the men who were ultimately
to combine forces in Operation Auea.

"The fate of the criminal," Ed said, "is to fulfill the condemnation by
being punished--for some this means serving a term of years, for others
it means imprisonment for life, for others it means death.  God's
condemnation upon all sinners is death.  "The wages of sin is death
.... One sentence, and one punishment for those who do not believe.

"But, you say, God is a God of love.  He will not punish anyone
eternally.  It is true that He is a God of love.  And His condemnation
does not in any way alter the fact.  God is not willing that you or I
experience the punishment we justly deserve.  Therefore He offers us an
escape, if we choose to accept it.  At the price of His only begotten
Son, God provided pardon.

"This is the simple, plain, and clear Word of God from His book, the
Bible.  "He that believeth on My Son," says God, 'is not condemned, but
he that believeth not is condemned already, because he has not believed
on my only begotten Son.""

As in the days when the Lord Himself walked on the earth, the results
were not startling.  A few wrote to the radio station for further
information.  A handful of people professed conversion as a result of
the meetings held in school auditoriums and tents.  But Ed knew that he
had been obedient to God in the work of those months.  Just prior to
going to Chester, Ed had accepted an invitation to speak at a young
people's banquet in Pontiac, Michigan.  God had more in mind than Ed
had imagined.  It was there that he met Marilou Hobolth, a pretty
dark-haired pianist in the church where he was to speak.  During the
months in Chester, Ed sent more letters, no doubt, to Marilou than he
had posted to others in several years.  Early in the correspondence he
wrote: 

"I'm praying definitely for two things: first, that the Lord will give
us wisdom in our relationship--even in the business of letter writing.
Second, that as long as we've got anything to do with each other, that
each of us will be an influence upon the other for closer fellowship
with the Lord.  I don't mean that we'll be preaching to each other--but
just that our attraction for each other will be a means of attracting
us more to the Lord.  I know that's the way you feel too."

Their friendship ripened fast and in April Ed and Marilou became
engaged.  A few days later Ed wrote her:

"When you pray, ask the Lord definitely to show us where He wants us to
spend our lives, and that we'll be willing to spend them there, even
anxious to."

Ed's love for the gift he was going to marry was wholehearted: "When
anybody speaks to me, it takes everything I've got to stay with them in
conversation.  It's the craziest sensation!  I'm beginning to believe
everything the poets and songwriters have to say about love"

On May 29, 1951, he was writing: "One month from today you will have
lost all your freedom and will be subject to my iron role, my
unflinching law, and my creel command.  You have exactly thirty-one
days to reconsider.  Do you think you'll really be able to put up with
me for the rest of your life?  It won't be easy.  There'll be plenty of
times you'll wonder why on earth you married me.  Have you
reconsidered? Now let me tell you that I love you with all of my
heart."

Marilou did not reconsider.  They were married in June in her home
church, the First Baptist of Ponthe, Michigan.

Ed's decision to become a foreign missionary led him to enroll at the
School of Missionary Medicine in Los Angeles, where he spent a year of
intensive study in tropical diseases and their treatment, obstetrics,
dentistry, learning the fundamentals in order not only to be of help to
the Indians, but also to keep himself and family in shape.


 On December 10, 1952, with eight-month-old son Stevie, Ed and Marilou
sailed for Ecuador, the country where God had indicated He wanted them
to spend their lives.

In the jungle, Jim and Pete had been looking forward to the day when
the McCullys would join them.  They were building a house for them,
along with other mission buildings.  In the meantime, the McCullys were
living in a stucco house in Quito with an Eenadorian family, learning
Spanish.  It was not an easy life and they found themselves subject to
discouragement and a sense of uselessness.  "We ask in prayer that we
might have aptness and accuracy in the studies, and grace to carry us
over the 'hump' so we will be able not only to converse but also speak
the Word of Life," Ed wrote to friends who had promised to pray for
them.  He and Marilou were eagerly looking forward to having their own
home down in the jungle, and to getting into the work which they longed
to do.  One day Ed was called to the short-wave radio.

"I didn't read that transmission too well--did you say all of the
buildings?"  he asked.  "Over."

"All of the buildings at Shandia have been destroyed by flood.  31/of
the buildings at Shandia have been destroyed by flood.  Jim and Pete
would like you to come down as quickly as possible.  Over."

"Okay.  Okay.  Tell them I'll be right down."

Ed McCully handed the microphone back to the short-wave operator.  The
message had been relayed to him from Shell Mera.  Jim and Pete had sent
a runner to Dos Rios, a mission station six hours' walk from Shandia.
The missionaries there had informed Shell Mera by radio of the flood.

Ed was dazed.  He walked over to the window and stood looking out
across the valley of Quito, toward Antisana, the mighty snowcap between
him and the little mission station he had visited only a few weeks
before.

The mission station at Shandia had been wiped out.  In one day

of thunderous rising water, followed by a nightmare that lasted
through the long hours of darkness, the rampaging river destroyed
everything.  Five hundred hand-planed boards--each representing one
full day's work for one man--stacked up for a new house, a new clinic,
and a new school kitchen had disappeared in the night.  Most of their
personal belongings were saved but Jim and Pete's invaluable Quichua
vocabulary manuscript was strewn all over the ground and tracked in
mud.  Three hundred and thirty feet were sliced off the end of the
airstrip.  It was a poignant reminder to the men of the temporal
quality of their present "city."

Just as they had instinctively sought Ed's help, so now he turned to
Marilou.  "Babe, the whole station at Shandia has been destroyed by
flood"

Marilou was incredulous.  Ed told her of the disaster and of Jim and
Pete's having asked him to go down to the forest.  She agreed
immediately that this was the right course of action.

"But--what about you and Stevie?"  he asked.

"Oh, we'll be fine," Marilou replied.  "We'll just stay right here, and
you let us know by radio whatever you plan to do.  I'm sure it'll work
out okay."

As usual, Ed was cheered by her spirit, and began making preparations
for the trip.  "Elliot," he had said one day to lira, "I've married an
efficient wife.  She plans--and she makes me plan.  And we get it
done!"

She got him ready in record time, and soon thereafter he was seated on
a canvas chair in the tent which lira and Pete had pitched in Shandia.
Discouragement gave way to planning and the young men quickly turned to
rebuilding the mission station and getting things ready for the
McCullys.  As soon as possible Ed went to Quito to move his family
down.  An excerpt from Eds diary tells of their first days in the rain
forest:

"September, 1953.  We are well settled by now.  Life gets to be a
routine of buying, selling, treating sick, fixing kerosene and gasoline
appliances, trying to learn a language.  It's a fight to try to get

time for the latter.  Also time for Bible study and prayer.  It's hard
to stay on top of it all, hard to keep rejoicing, hard to love these
ungrateful Indians.  It's hard to keep our primary purpose in view when
we get so swamped with secondary things."

The life of a missionary calls for infinite adaptability from winning
a national oratorical contest to struggling with an unwritten
language.." from starring on the college football field to teaching a
bunch of small Indians to play volleyball.."  from prospects of a law
career in a North American city to a life in the jungle of South
America. Marilou, who had been director of music in a large church,
slowly and carefully taught Indian children to sing two-line songs
which she and Ed had written in the Quichua language.  With all this,
they were ready.  They were fully prepared to be "fools for Christ's
sake."

"Expendable for God"

"Avioneta uyarimun!  The little plane is coming into hearing?

These words, shouted by the Indians, announced to Jim, Ed, Pete, and
other missionaries in the Oriente that the bright yellow Piper of the
Missionary Aviation Fellowship was about to land on the station
airstrip.  The most welcome sound in the jungle was the approaching hum
of its engine.  The missionary would interrupt his business for the
morning--treating a baby for impetigo, selling a bottle of worm
medicine, teaching a Bible class, or sawing boards for a building.
There would be a grand scramble to clear the strip, the missionary
would pace it for a final check of the surface, and then, when dogs and
children were at a safe distance, the plane would glide onto the grass.
As the prop stopped spinning, the door would swing open, and a
sunburned, sandyhaired man with a wide grin and frank, blue eyes would
hop out Nate Saint, the man whose vision had changed missionary life in
the jungle.

Nate would dig out the cargo listed for that station, checking aloud
the list which his wife Marj had made out for him beforehand:

"Let's see--a sack of flour, fifteen gallons of diesel oil, meat,
vegetables, two brooms, and the mail.  Your penicillin is in the mail

sack.  Guess that's it.  How's it going, Ed?"  As the two men talked
beside the plane Indians would eagerly gather round.  One would stand
robbing one leg down the back of the other continually, to keep off the
flies.  A baby would cry, or a dog would escape from the captivity of a
child--nothing would distract the Indians from looking at the plane, no
matter how many times they had seen it.

And then, without warning, a tiny alarm would sound--Nate's watch!  A
methodical man, he had figured out exactly how much time he could spend
in that station and still make his deadline home before sundown, or, if
he had another flight scheduled, he would know precisely when he must
take off for that.  After piling and lashing down the empty diesel oil
cans in the back of his plane for refilling at his headquarters in
Shell Mera, and rechecking his list, he would jump in, fasten safety
belt and shoulder harness, wave good-by, and take off.  It was a bright
spot in the week for the isolated missionary.

"Man, there's nobody like old Nate," Ed would say to Marilou, as they
walked back to the house.

Truly the coming of Nate Saint with the Piper had marked the beginning
of a new way of life on the isolated mission stations of this jungle
area.  Heretofore the missionary and his family would be completely cut
off from the outside world long months at a time--four, six, eight days
of heartbreaking struggle on a dangerous jungle trail separated him
from medical and other help.  Then, one by one, airstrips were hacked
from the jungle.  Radio transmitters and receivers were installed, and
the airplane, when it came, covered in five minutes the distance of a
long hard day on the trail.  Homing was vastly improved--from
vermin-ridden bamboo and short-lived thatch to boar cut and planed by
machinery brought in by air.  Nate worked out a special frame
underneath his plane for hauling sheets of aluminum.  These provided a
durable and easily erected roof.  Electric light plants and fuel to
run them, kerosene refrigerators, filing cabinets, stoves, power saws,
and cement -all helped to make life in the jungle safer, healthier, and
more efficient.

Nate and his wife Marj arrived in the Oriente in September, 1948.  His
first job there was to set up some kind of living quarters for himself
and Marj in Shell Mera.  A tent sufficed during the weeks he was
building a small frame house, which soon became
"warehouse-dormitory-toolshed."  But the job of serving the
missionaries was not allowed to wait until the Saints were comfortably
settled.  Nate had come down as a pilot of the Missionan, Aviation
Fellowship, an interdenominational organization founded by two ex-Navy
pilots whose aim it was to transport evangelical missionaries, their
supplies, their sick, to and from remote outposts.  Thus, by lightening
the physical burden which the missionary ear ties because of the
primitive nature of his surroundings, the MAF could give him more time
and energy for his spiritual ministry.

Almost at once Nate started ferrying missionaries in his plane,
transporting their cargo, making courtesy flights, and handling all the
maintenance on the plane himself.  Marj began entertaining all the
missionaries and their visitors who came through Shell Mera.  These
were numerous and she was the only available hostess for miles around.
She never knew whether supper should be cooked for two or twelve.  "And
they eat like han, est hands!"  she said.  "I cook what I think
ordinary people would eat, and then double it."

For the stringent requirements of their unique job, Nate and Marj were
eminently suited.  Nate's appreciation of Marj's role was once
expressed in a letter: "How glad I am to have you working at my side
always.  I have felt that I had sufficient 'snort' and drive for the
sprints, but God knew I would need a flywheel to steady me for the long
haul."

Nate's first concern in flying was that it should be safe, efficient,
and economical: "Missionaries who used to travel the old trails made
sure they weren't carrying anything that wasn't necessary.  Today, in
the airplane, we, too, make sure we don't carry anything that isn't
necessary.  When our mission bought the plane, it had nice, soft seats
in it.  But we found that these seats weighed almost eight pounds each.
So we decided to use harder seats that weighed $0


only one pound, and take seven pounds of extra food and cargo."

Every ounce counted in a plane of this type.  When Nate found that the
streamlined wheel covers were collecting mud, he took them off.
Characteristically, Nate turned this to spiritual illustration: "When
life's flight is over, and we unload our cargo at the other end, the
fellow who got rid of unnecessary weight will have the most valuable
cargo to present the Lord."  Nate had always regarded himself a.
"expendable" for the cause of Christ.  In a short sermon delivered over
the missionary radio station HC}B--The Voice of the Andes in Quito--he
shared his belief with others:

"During the last war we were taught to recognize that, in order to
obtain our objective, we had to be willing to be expendable .... This
very afternoon thousands of soldiers are known by their serial numbers
as men who are expendable .... We know there is only one answer to our
country's demand that we share in the price of freedom.  Yet, when the
Lord Jesus asks us to pay the price for world evangelization, we often
answer without a word.  We cannot go.  We say it costs too much.

"God Himself laid down the law when He built the universe.  He knew
when He made it what the price was going to be.  God didn't hold back
His only Son, but gave Him up to pay the price for our failure and
sin.

"Missionaries constantly face expendability.  Jesus said, "There is no
man that hath left house, or brethren, or sisters, or mother, or wife,
or children, or lands for my sake and the Gospel's but shall receive an
hundred fold now in this time and in the world to come eternal
life.""

However, Nate's convictions about expendability did not lessen that
sense of caution which is ingrained in the fiber of any first-rate
flier.  On the contrary, his brain teemed with ideas for improving the
safety of his plane.  "I am trying to steer clear of gimmick lug for
the sake of gimmicking," he wrote.  "Nevertheless, I can't help the
gadgets that run through my head, but I do try to sort out stuff that
might have some value."

One of the devices of real value which he invented  was an alternate
fuel system.  He often tried out his idc with his older brother Sam,
an airline pilot with long experience :: the field of aeronautics.

"As I sit above the jungle listening for the symptoms of trouble that I
never want to hear," Nate wrote to Sam.  "I have in the back of my mind
little things like the fuel line that fell off in my hand in Mexico a
few years back.  The flare had broken off one end of the tubing, but
natural spring tension had kept it in place.  I also think of the quick
work of mud wasps when they decide to plug up a fuel vent.  To be sure,
I am impressed by the 'long end' of statistics but I am also impressed
by the dire consequence to my passengers, not to mention my own bones,
if I should come out on the short end somewhere over these tall
trees."

While turning over in his mind methods of eliminating a breakdown in
the fuel system, Nate was working one day at the hangar at Shell Mera
when he noticed a truck en route to Ambato, high in the Andes.  Trucks
in that region were not common and this one had an additional
attention-catcher.  A small boy was clinging to the roof of the cab
holding a five-gallon can of gas and a syphon, while an older boy sat
on the front fender holding the lower end of the syphon, pointed in the
direction of the carburetor under the partially opened hood.  Whatever
had caused the failure of the regular fuel system, here was a truck
preparing for an ascent of six thousand feet, most of the way in second
or third gear with a great deal of shifting, while a boy metered gas to
the engine through a rubber hosel

Nate's lively imagination immediately transferred this method of
feeding gas to his own need.  He lifted the cowl of his plane, removed
the temperature-gauge fitting from the intake manifold, and squirted in
gasoline.  Each squeeze on the gas-loaded tube produced a burst of
power.  Encouraged by his experimentation, he went into the kitchen and
borrowed one of Marj's cooking-oil tins to use as an auxiliary

three-gallon tank.  To provide a streamlined fairing for the tank he
sent an Indian boy for a piece of balsa wood, which the lad obtained by
chopping clown an eighty-foot balsa tree.  The tank and fairing were
then strapped to the struts under the left wing.  Salvaged fittings,
strainers, and a screw-type valve finished the rig.  Nate mounted the
valve on the fire wall and extended a control rod to the instrument
panel.  So far so good, but darkness forced him to wait until morning
to test his homemade safety device.

He put in a sleepless night, thinking of various reasons why his idea
was totally impracticable -but still there was that truck racing along
in second gear without its normal fuel source.  Then, too, from his
long experience as a mechanic he knew that the complexity of a modern
carburetor arises from the need to accelerate smoothly from slow speeds
to higher speeds.  And a dead engine in the air, he told himself, will
windmill fast enough to stay out of those critical lower speeds.

The next morning, first tests proved that the alternate fuel system
could work without a hitch on the ground.  The moment had come to test
it in the air.  He described the experience:

"Two thousand feet above the landing strip I pulled the mixture control
to idle-cut-off.  It was quite a novel experience for a fellow who had
listened so long, hoping never to hear it happen.

But a turn of the new little T-handle on the instrument panel brought
with it a wonderful feeling as the engine wound back up to smooth
fun-power.  For the next twenty minutes the normal fuel source was shut
off tight.  Even though the carburetor was by-passed completely the
engine never missed.  It picked up from the windmilling condition
without a cough.

"I put the plane into every imaginable attitude at various power
settings.  It never faltered.  "Feeling' for the best mixture setting
with the emergency T-handle was no more difficult than 'leaning' the
engine with the regular mixture control.  Same thing.

"The whole rig, tank and all, weighs only four pounds.  The only thing
it has in common with the ship's fuel system is the 6

engine.  It takes care of all the common troubles such as clogged vents
and broken lines.  With the simplicity and low cost of a deal like
this, why do we fly along with our only source of fuel supply in
jeopardy at several points between tank and engine, and no alternative?
We are all sold on dual ignition: why not an alternate fuel system for
emergencies?"

With government permission, every MAF plane now goes out to the jungle
a safer machine because it is equipped with Nate's alternate fuel
system.

Another ingenious invention of Nate's has astonished many in the
aviation world.  He developed a method of lowering a canvas bucket from
an airplane in full flight into the hands of a person on the ground.
This "spiraling-line technique," as he called it, later made possible
the first direct contact with the Aucas.  A canvas bucket is let out
behind the airplane on a line about fifteen hundred feet long.  As the
airplane goes into a tight turn, the bucket moves toward the center of
the circle--the drag of the cord across the circle overcoming the
centrifugal force tending to throw the bucket outward.  As the bucket
moves toward the center it falls until it eventually hangs almost
motionless at the bottom or vortex of an inverted cone.  Not only could
the person on the ground receive mail, medicine, and small parcels,
but, more important, could send messages or other things back to the
airplane as the bucket is pulled up again.  Sometimes Nate substituted
a telephone wire for the cord, with a field telephone in the bucket. 
In this way he could talk by telephone to a missionary on a sandbar or
in a jungle clearing in areas where there was no landing strip.

One of the essential safety measures was the maintenance at all times
of short-wave contact with the plane.  This was Marj's job.  Whenever
the plane was in the air, she stood by for regular checks of location,
altitude, and fuel load.  She checked on weather conditions in Shell
Mera, and kept in touch with the missionary to wheae gait ion Nate was
flying for a check from that end.  Each missionary station was
equipped with transmitter and receiver, and at


seven o'clock every morning the missionaries called in to Shell Mera.
If a medical emergency had arisen since the previous call, help could
be obtained, and flights arranged for evacuating the patient.  Routine
supplies were ordered, and flights scheduled by means of this contact.
It meant hours and hours of sitting by the radio, but Marj was as
convinced that this was her share of missionary work as Nate was that
flying was his.  Thus on any morning a visitor to Shell Mera might have
heard something like this:

"Shell Mera is standing by for Macuma, Macuma.  Over."

"Macuma standing by.  We'd just like to know how many carriers to have
at the airstrip when our cargo arrives.  Over."

"Good morning Macuma.  I think two will be enough: Over."

"Okay, thanks.  And how is the boy we sent out to the clinic?  Over."

"I'll phone the clinic and find out if he can come home on Thursday's
flight.  Incidentally, you'll be having a visitor on Thursday.  A
missionary just came in on the bus and would like to see a typical
jungle station.  Over."

"Okay, Marj.  We'll be glad to have him.  Better send us a little more
food than our usual order this week, though.  Over."

"Okay.  Okay, Macurea.  Shell Mera calling Shandia, Shandia.  Do you
have any traffic?  Over."

"Shandia standing by.  No traffic, Marj.  Over."

And so the morning would pass, Marj taking orders for food, supplies
for the Indian schools, medicine for the dispensaries; standing by
while one station talked with another, relaying messages from
missionaries to the doctor, getting his answer by telephone and
relaying it back to the missionary, and calling "56 Henry," Nate's
plane, as he flew out over the jungle, carefully noting down his
position every five minutes.

There were those back home who smiled at Nate's constant concern for
safety.  "After all," they said, "a missionary is supposed to trust
the Lord!"

"Perhaps my reasonings pagan, as I've been told," Nate wrote home.  "I
do believe in miracles.  They are nothing to God, surely.  But the
question is one of finding the pattern that the Lord has chosen us to
conform to.  I wouldn't be here if I weren't trusting the Lord. Chances
are that those who shrug it off by saying.  "the Lord will take care
of you," are the same ones who would hardly expose themselves to the
bacteriological risks of working in a downtown rescue mission. Forgive
me if I feel a little strongly at this point.  I'm concerned about
safety, but I don't let it keep me from getting on with God's business.
Every time I take off, I am ready to deliver up the life I owe to God.
I feel we should be quick to take advantage of every possible
improvement in carrying out the job before us."

Besides facilitating the work of the jungle missionaries, Nate had a
direct influence on the Ecuadorians at his own doorstep.  He never
appeared to be hurried, and many a national came to him just to talk
recognizing in him a love for God and a sympathetic heart which drew
them.  He improved steadily in the Spanish language, and was respected
for this effort.  Street meetings, Sunday School and literacy classes,
personal chats--these things made Nate a missionary as well as a
pilot.

Small contrivances to add to the convenience and pleasure of his family
also took his attention.  He built a concrete cistern to catch rain
water from the roof, and also built up a lower outer wall so that the
children--Kathie born in 1949 and Stevie born in 1951 -could have a
place to wade in the overflow from the larger tank.  He put a
bell-ringing timer on the washing machine to save Marj steps while she
was at the radio.  Dampness is a major problem in Shell Mera, so Nate
created a drying room behind the kitchen by buffing the kerosene
refrigerator flush with the kitchen wall and backing the heating unit
into the little room, into which he also put the hot water heater. Thus
clothes and other equipment could be kept dry.

What had brought a man with this inventive, ingenious mind, with
these modern technical skills, into the primitive jungle of Ecuador?

Like Ed, Pete, and Jim, Nate came from a family whose guiding
principles of life were rooted deep in the teachings of the Scriptures.
As a small boy, he understood the personal implications of the New
Testament, and placed his faith in Christ as the only ground for his
hope of salvation.  In the Saint home in Philadelphia, where Nate was
born in 1923, movies and dancing were not allowed, nor any form of
gambling, from pitching pennies to playing poker.  But it was no
monastery.  The children went fishing, trapping, sledging in
wintertime, and were allowed such' adventures as sleeping out-of-doors.
Nate blueprinted and built model gliders, boats, and locomotives.  His
older sister Rachel was "like a little mother" to him, reading him
missionary books about Africa, Japan, India, and South America.  His
imagination fastened eagerly onto these stories, and he once said, "I
don't expect ever to be a preacher, but someday I would like to talk to
someone who has never heard about Jesus."

His oldest brother Sam took him flying when Nate was seven-so small
that he had to stand on the seat to see out of the cockpit of the old
biplane.  From that time on he was captured by wings and the wide
sky.

At thirteen he suffered a severe case of osteomyelitis in his leg, and
enforced inactivity gave him time to think.  Could it be that

God wanted him to be a missionary?

Later he recorded: "Through high school everything was evaluated in
terms of flying machines and all emotions were tuned to imagined air
adventures.  All else became almost unbearably confining, in fact, any
occupation that keeps me where I can't see the sky for a day is still
one of my rougher tribulations."

The four walls of the classroom finally did become unbearable, and in
his senior year Nate took a daytime job in a welding shop and went to
night school, completing his high school course in a few months.  A job
at a small airport, where he learned to fly small planes, took up the
next six months.  After this he worked in an airline overhaul shop and
gained a mechanic's license.  The next step was to sign up for the Air
Force pilot cadet program.  "It looked as though the Eagle was about to
lay the golden egg?  he said.  "Twenty-five thousand dollars' worth of
pilot training!"  By this time he had piloted a 4o-horsepower light
plane about eighty hours, but he had dreamed long of flying the big
powerful planes of the military.

The night before he was to report for his first military flying
instruction he became aware of pain around his old osteomyelitis scar.
Yanking up his trouser leg, he knew the truth.  It was inflamed.  All
his boyhood ambitions of the past years, wrapped up and focused on this
shining opportunity to get into big-time flying, suddenly collapsed. 
"I didn't say a word to my roommate, but jumped into bed and turned out
the light without a word.  There I barred myself into the small, dark
confines of my heart, which had now become a dungeon for solitary
confinement.  Except for the tossing, and choked, then sighing,
respiration, no one would have known the thing that was almost
overwhelming me.  No fooling; I was heartbroken."

The shock of losing the opportunity of getting out of the flying
"put-puts" into real airplanes left Nate in a state of numbness, not
caring much about anything.  When he came out of the hospital the Air
Force made him a maintenance crew chief.  On this job he had time to
burn and he used it for Bible reading, which he had neglected.  One
year after he was grounded, he was sent to Detroit on detached service
to study new and larger engines that were soon to be on the line, and
there, at a New Year's Eve worship service, he felt that the Lord was
turning his heart to the mission field.  "What was going on in the
service wasn't important," he recalled later.  "I wasn't hearing
anything with my ears, anyhow.  I pleaded helplessly with my Heavenly
Father for the answer that stood between me and the peace that Jesus
had said should be ours.  Now, you've heard about people being spoken
to by God.  I don't know about the other fellow, but that night I saw
things differently... BING... like that.  Just as though a different
Kodachrome slide had been tossed onto the screen between my ears.  As
soon as I could, I stepped out


of the building and started out.."  just to get away from people.  It
was snowing and there was already a deep virgin snow on the ground, and
the moan of city traffic had been muffled as it is when deep snow is
around.  A joy, such as I had never known since the night I accepted
Jesus' forgiveness for my sins, seemed to leave me almost weak with
gratitude.  It was the first time that I had ever really heard that
verse: "Follow me, and I will make you to become fishers of men."  The
old life of chasing things that are of a temporal sort seemed
absolutely insane."  It was at this juncture, when Nate thought that he
would have to say good-by to planes and flying and buckle down to a
couple of years of college in preparation for the mission field, that
he heard of the Missionary Aviation Fellowship.  He wrote to his
mother: "Metrinks the aircraft industry has suffered the loss of a 'big
operator," and the Lord has won for Himself a 'loyal operator."" Shortly
after VE.  Day he was shipped out to Salinas, California, to work as
crew chief with the Fourth Air Force.  There he met the two ex-Navy
pilots who had founded MAF.  It sounded like the perfect, made-to-order
spot for Nate Saint.  He got hold of an old, beaten up, 4o-horsepower
airplane, fixed it up, and began flying in every spare
minute--practicing, always practicing.  While he was still in the Army
he met Marj Fards, whom he later described in a letter: "Among other
blessings, the greatest.  She has just finished her State exams and is
now a practicing registered nurse in California.  She is a graduate of
U. of California at Los Angeles, an ardent student of the Word, and has
a challenging love for the lost.  She is the most selfless person I
have met in my life except my Mother.  She is a meek gift of deep
conviction, ready for service for the Lord of the Harvest .... "

When Nate was discharged from the Air Force he asked

God specifically to show him his next move.  Suddenly he found himself
with his first assignment with MAF.  Early in July, 1946, he was asked
to go down to Mexico to repair a plane that had crashed there during a
landing.  "When God took over my life a couple of years before," Nate
said, "He had not defined my duties but somehow it seemed immediately
clear that this was to be my first [missionary aviation] assignment."
Less than two weeks after he accepted the job, he found himself near
the Guatemalan border, in the town of Tuxtla Guti&rez, with a knowledge
of Spanish "limited to my childhood acquaintance with the Lone
Ranger."

He knew he was something of a sight, with a duffel bag containing forty
pounds of tools, plus all his worldly goods.  He wondered, too, if he
might have difficulty at the customs office--"It's not exactly usual
for tourists to carry seven-foot airplane propellors under their
arms."

"I tried to imagine the damaged plane.  It wouldn't be too bad-a
damaged landing gear, and probably a splintered prop.  Little did I
dream that I would later find two completely demolished wings in a
bushel basket."  The plane had crashed in the bush at the edge of a
jungle airstrip.  Pieces of wing struts, landing gear, and the panels
had been brought out to the Tuxtla airport for Nate to rebuild.  With
the help of a Mexican cabinetmaker to whom everything had to be
explained by drawings, he set to work to put the pieces together again.
He was impeded by the fact that the blueprint he had been given did not
match the plane and that a factory made wing spar sent down as a
replacement matched neither the blueprint nor the plane.  When he had
finally reassembled the parts, the problem arose of taking the wing
panels out to the airstrip in the bush where the wrecked plane lay.  It
was not feasible to crate them and send them on the trail, where narrow
canyon walls had to be scaled; the crates would never make the turns.
So the wings were built up like a model plane kit, piece by piece
without any glue, then each piece labeled, the whole works
disassembled, tied up in bundles, and flown out to the jungle airstrip.
When Nate got to the wrecked plane, he found that some parts had been
stolen and that mud wasps had lodged in the fuel tank and lines.  For
lack of rigging data, he had to prop the tail up on a stump and rig the
new wings to match the old by eye, just


as he used to rig model planes as a child.  Thus he finished his first
MAF assignment, the plane being flown out barely within the work-permit
time limit.

Later Nate went to Los Angeles and spent ten happy days with his little
nurse.  As he bade her good-by he said, "Well, Marj, as far as I'm
concerned, it's all settled but the hardware!"

The winter of 1947-48 found him enrolled at Wheaton College, and in
January Marj took a nursing job in a nearby town, studying Bible at the
college in preparation for the missionary life they anticipated
together.  They started a Bible club for teenagers.  Nate called the
program "a sort of candy-box, loaded with Gospel dynamite."

But their training practice period was shorter than they had expected.
The need of a pilot in Ecuador was presented to them.  They cut short
their courses, pooled their funds, bought an engagement ring and a
Model-A Ford, and set out One midnight for Long Island, New York,
nearly a thousand miles away.

They stayed with his brother Sam, and were married.  After a four day
honeymoon, they headed their old Ford west, all their worldly goods
stacked up in the back seat.  Meals were cans of food heated on the
engine.  Finally they reached California and Nate began final work on a
plane that had been purchased by the MAF for its operation in Ecuador.
Marj took another nursing job.

On September 8 the plane was ready and Nate, with another

MAF pilot, flew it to Ecuador, leaving Marj to follow later that month
by commercial transportation.

The years at Shell Mera passed quickly.  The house grew into a large
chalet of dark wood, with spacious porches, wide caves for protection
against tropical rains, a running water system for kitchen and shower,
connected with the rain pipes from the aluminum roof and with tanks
under the caves.  After they raised the roof and built in a second
story, there were ten bedrooms to accommodate the many guests who came
through, and a radio room where Marj could work efficiently "here
radio repairs for the missionaries could be made.

Another pilot, Johnny Keenan, arrived with an airplane to help in the
work, and Nate soon had a comfortable l'Jlse well on the way for the
Keenans, plus accommodation in t]:,: h:mzar for the two planes. He
installed a hydroelectric plant feeding from the river behind his house to
furnish electricity for the establishment.

They were now set up to operate with the ground stations in the   jungle
stations were all being supplied, and Nate and Marj began to ask God in
what new way they might command this work in the Ecuador Jan jungle.

Nate, despite the unceasing load of responsibility that weighed on him,
had never forgotten that the Auca Indians lived only some sixty air
miles from Shell Mera.  Shortly after arriving in South America Nate
had written home: "Not long ago we talked with another missionary who
is longing to reach a tribe of killers, the Aueas.  Few white persons
have contacted them in a friendly way and lived to tell about it.  We
expect the airplane to play an essential part in reaching these people
with the Gospel."  Nate used his plane to make an occasional survey
flight over Auca territory, but not much was located on any of the
flights--only a house or two which had been abandoned.  He was
beginning to wonder where they were.  Then one day in July, 1954, the
jungle grapevine carried the news that there had been another Auea
killing and this time Nate became personally involved.  He wrote home
his own account of what happened:

"Yesterday I landed at Villano, about 45 miles west of here.  Just
after I got on the ground a runner came up and told me of an Auca raid.
Later two Quichua survivors arrived at the airstrip.  The woman was
being carried on a bamboo stretcher and had a serious-looking lance
puncture under the armpit.  They told us that the lance broke off in
the wound.  Her attacker was going to jab at her again but she grabbed
the end of the lance and


hung on to save her life.  She is about six or seven months pregnant.
The man arrived under his own power although considerably crippled up
with chest punctures, a hole all the way through one thigh and a hole
through his hand where he had apparently tried to stop one of the
deadly shafts.  We loaded the two patients onto the plane.  Once in the
air I told Marj what had taken place so that when we arrived here in
Shell Mera she had cots set up and, with another woman helping, the
Indians got the best care that local facilities would permit.

"We can't talk directly to our patients but our hired couple speak
Quichua and converse easily with them.  Last night our hired man read
the Bible to them in Spanish, interpreting into Quichua as he went
along.  They had never heard of the Bible.  Apparently the truth had
not yet found its mark because this morning the man asked if I couldn't
fly back out there in the plane and kill at least one of the Aucas for
him. Again the hired man explained that we were not interested in
taking life but rather in saving it through the Lord Jesus Christ."

Greatly as this incident intensified Nate's sense of urgency about
reaching the Aucas, there were also other tribes whose ignorance of the
Gospel offered a spiritual challenge to missionaries.  In 1954 came an
unusual opportunity for Nate to help push deeper into the dark reaches
of the jungle.  One of the key figures in this new page of' missionary
history was Roger Youderian.


Missionary to the HeadShrinking Jivaros

Ax Macurx, a mission station in the southern jungle served by the
little yellow plane, lived Roger Youderian, his wife Barbara, and their
two children, Bethy and Jerry.  Macuma, run since 1945 by Frank Drown,
is reminiscent of a busy farm in the United States.  As the plane comes
in, chickens scatter off the airstrip, while cows continue chewing
their cud undisturbed.  Buildings are made, not of split bamboo, but of
sturdy wooden planks, and an atmosphere of stability and permanence
pervades the compound.  Macurea is located in Jivaro territory.  The
Jivaros, whose lives are punctuated by fierce inter family feuds, are
famous the world over for their custom of shrinking human heads.  They
live throughout seven thousand square miles in the southern part of the
jungle, independent of the white man who has nominally ruled their
country for four hundred years.

Roger, tall and thin, with a shock of black hair, had been born on
January 21, 1924, on a ranch near Sumatra, Montana, the seventh child
of a ranching family.  From his mother he received a devoted and
thorough Christian training.  Roger had been an active youngster, and
on the way to becoming a good pianist, when polio struck him at the age
of nine.  This crippled him so that


he not only lost his musical touch but for the rest of his life walked
and ran like an old man.

In high school in Lewistown, Montana, he overcame the effects of polio
sufficiently to play basketball.  From high school, Roger went to
Montana State College with three scholarships.  He planned to become a
teacher in agriculture.  He was chosen the outstanding freshman of his
year in 1942 and worked during the following summer drawing maps of
farms around Lewistown that are still used by the Federal Land Bank. In
October, 1943, Roger enlisted in the Army, eventually becoming a
Paratrooper.  He was stationed in England where he became assistant to
Army Chaplain Paschal Fowlkes, who wrote to Roger's parents: "Christian
work in the Army is not greatly different from Christian work outside,
in that the leader must learn to depend on a comparatively small number
to carry the load and give inspiration to others.  I thought you would
be proud and happy to know that I count Roger one of those 'strong
pillars."" During this time in England, Roger's faith was deepened and
strengthened and in December, 1944, we find him writing to his
mother:

"The happiest day of my life was the day I accepted Jesus

Christ as my Saviour for the remission of my sins, duly repented for,
and with God's help I hope and pray for the faith and strength to
glorify our Father through my daily living as a witness and follower of
Christ.  Searching the Scriptures is my greatest source of hope and
inspiration, having yet to learn the full power of prayer.  I used to
say, "This is a great world."  With this new faith, this feeling has
increased a thousand fold and I fairly ache within from happiness and
rejoicing in sharing God's manifold blessing which He gives to this
world with Infinite mercy and grace."

Roger survived the Rhine jump of 1944 and was decorated for action in
the Battle of the Bulge.  The idea of dedicating his life totally and
completely to the Lord was taking root in Roger's mind and in August,
1945, he wrote from Berlin: "I've a secret to tell you, Mother, in this
more than anything in the world I want the action to precede the
announcement.  Ever since I accepted Christ as my personal Saviour last
fall and wanted to follow Him and do the will of the Lord, I've felt
the call to either missionary, social or ministerial work after my
release from the service.  Can't say now what the calling will be but I
want to be a witness for Him and live following Him every, second of my
life."

Roger returned to Montana in January, 1946, and during that winter his
conviction that he had been called to the mission field was confirmed.
He enrolled in the College of Liberal Arts at Northwestern Schools in
Minneapolis, where he met Barbara Orton, a quiet, fair-haired girl who
was also studying Christian Education with the mission field in mind.
She came from a Baptist family in Lansing, Michigan, and all her
childhood she had heard of mission work, listened to missionaries speak
at her church, and met them in her home.  "I believe that the Lord just
spoke to me, while I was a child," she says now, "and made me feel that
that was what I should do."  In September, 1950, Barbara and Roger
enrolled in the missionary medicine course at Northwestern Schools. 
All winter they sat next to each other in a little classroom with nine
other students, learning how to set bones, deliver a baby, give
injections.  They were engaged on Easter Day, 1951, and married in
September.  They were accepted as candidates by the Gospel Missionary
Union, a nondenominational board, and left immediately for six months'
probation work in Kansas City.  Here they had Spanish classes, learned
how to/pproach some of the practical problems of a mission station,
took turns leading Sunday services, and worked with groups of children
from the city slums.

In January, 1953, they set out with six-month-old Beth Elaine for
Ecuador.  After a period of Spanish study in Shell Mera, the Youderians
went to Macurea.  Frank and Marie Drown, senior missionaries at the
Macurea station, had come to Ecuador eight


years before from the farm country of Iowa.  It was through letters
written back to the States by Marie that Roger became interested in
working with the Jivaros.

Once settled on the station to which God had sent them, Roger and
Barbara plunged into a study of the Jivaro language and were soon able
to help in the development of a method of teaching the Jivaros to read
and write their own language.  Roger made little pen-and-ink drawings
of famfriar sights -a sloth hanging upside down on a branch, a blow
gun, a lizard lazing on a tree trunk-and next to the drawing he printed
the sound of the Jivaw words.

Although Roger had come to preach the Gospel there is much a missionary
must accomplish and learn before he can expect to make successful
contact with a primitive tribe.  And even after he has mastered the
language, built himself a home, gained the confidence of the Indian, he
still has to spend a large amount of time in what is best described as
maintenance.  The jungle grows with incredible speed and therefore has
to be kept at bay by the constant use of the machete.  The generators
that are used for current at the bigger stations break down with
irritating frequency, roofs leak in the hard tropical rain, and the
only person who can cope with all this is the missionary himself.
Roger's skill as a carpenter and his pleasure in this kind of work
stood him in good stead when he first came to Macuma.  Barbara wrote:
"Roj is in his glory in Macurea; they have two men sawing boards, two
fellows are planing, two are grooving, two more sawing and planing 2 by
4's.  Roi has his power saw going and they have poured pillars to set
the house on.  Roj has planted 74'tomato plants from the seeds he got
from the station in Costa Rica."

It was not to do construction work, however, that Roj had left his
home.  Soon he was driving himself to reach the Jivaro Indians with the
Gospel.  A fiercely independent people, the Jivaros combine warlike
hostility and a boisterous sense of humor.  "All they do is laugh and
spit," said one missionary in describing them.

They seem to laugh with little provocation, and have a way of
punctuating their conversation by spitting through the second and third
finger with an explosive sound.  Like the Ouichua, the

Jivaro never tires of pressing his face to the screen of the missionary
window, watching all that goes on inside.  Roj became accustomed to
this after a short time, though he found their sotto voce comments and
sudden outbursts of smothered giggles upsetting at first.

Wearing shorts, a sweat shirt, cotton cap, and canvas leggings and
sneakers, Roger spent much of his time visiting Jivaro houses.  He
followed the twisting and exhausting jungle trails, more often than not
knee-deep in mud.  He might pause sometimes, arrested by an
indescribably sweet fragrance, sweeter than orange blossom, but because
of the forest, he would be unable to locate the source.  The most
striking flowers are found high up in the treetops, nearly smothered by
the ubiquitous green foliage.  He would also have to be on his guard
against the most dangerous of jungle fauna, the snakes.  Protective
coloring renders many varieties almost impossible to detect.  The tiny
viper may lie in the center of the path, but the dappled pattern of its
skin so blends with the pattern of sunlight on fallen leaves that the
traveler seldom sees it.  The bushmaster carries enough poison in his
sacs to kill one hundred men.  The coral snake, whose poison attacks
the central nervous system and causes death without previous symptoms
in twenty-four to forty-eight hours, is one of the smaller species, and
therefore more difficult to see.  Suddenly, the forest path would end
and Roger would step into a clearing, his eyes blinded by direct
sunlight after the twilight zone of the jungle.  Each Jivaro house
stands in its own clearing.  It is oblong-shaped, a narrow slit about
five feet high at either end serving as window and door, and covered
with a palm-thatched roof of pointed leaves whose fringe almost touches
the ground.

Strict rules of etiquette govern the behavior of the }ivaro host and
the visitor who enters his clearing.  A formal greeting, which may take
ten or fifteen minutes, is proper.  It is a series of utterances which
may go something like this:

"I have come."

"You've come?"

"Yes, I've come to your house."

"You have come well."

Roj learned that no matter how many people are present, the newcomer
goes through this dialogue with each one.

Bending his head to get his five feet eleven inches through the slit,
he would enter the murky interior through which he could just barely
see the dim figures of women moving about at the far end of the house,
trailed by several little naked children.  Hard-packed earth serves as
a floor in these houses and small fires glow at intervals down the long
thirty-foot interior, the smoke creating an acrid odor and adding to
the lack of visibility.  The Jivaro house is strictly divided between
the men's section, the front part, known as the tangamash--somewhat the
equivalent of the small-town front porch, a place where men can sit and
gossip for hours on end--and the back part of the house, which is
exclusively for the use of women.  The women wear a long piece of cloth
that hangs down straight to the knees, the two ends tied at one
shoulder.  The men are bare-chested but wear a cloth tied around their
waists.  Like the Quichuas, the Jivaros have long, straight black hair.
It hangs loosely around the women's faces, little attempt being made at
any kind of coiffure.  The men, as befitting their position as superior
beings, go in for an elaborate hair-do.  The waist-long hair is combed
and then dressed in bright red, yellow, or blue tropical bird
feathers.

Roger would be invited to sit down on a bench alongside the wall, and
facing him, on a low stool, sat the head of the house.  If the man were
trying to impress his visitor with his position, he would go through an
elaborate charade for the first five minutes before he permitted
conversation to begin.  One of his two or three wives would bring him a
bowl of water, from which he took a mouthful but not to swallow.  He
spat it out over his hands and then washed his face with his wet hands.
After that he combed his hair slowly and deliberately.  The entire
performance was carried through wordlessly and with dignity and
deliberation.  He would then be served his chic ha the bowl offered to
his guest and conversation begun.  Thus Roger spent many hours talking
to the Jivaros in their houses, slowly acquiring their language,
absorbing their way of life, and above all, telling them the story of
Jesus.

Among the Jivaros, witchcraft and sorcery, hate and murder, take deep
Roots early in life.  Children as they fall asleep at night are taught
to repeat a list of names of those they must learn to hate.  Writing of
the tribe, Nate said: "They aren't cruel except that they are made that
way by the religion of fear and evil spirits with which they hope
somehow to cope with their sin problem.  For instance, a witch visited
the Macurea Indians a couple of months ago.  He was from another
section of the forests.  For some reason or other he got mad and cursed
a certain woman.  Usually Jivaro difficulties are over women, who are
soulless possessions of the man and are frequently stolen or traded in
business deals.  At any rate, the woman that had been cursed died
within twenty four hours.  Her husband, brothers and father then felt
duty bound to avenge her blood because the witch was as guilty as if he
had shot her outright.  They went over to the other tribe and brutally
killed the witch and another fellow.  The thing is a couple of months
old now so life goes on as usual but one of these days there will be
another killing.  It's routine in the Jivaria.  There's no end to the
killings. The miserable part is that to pay off these debts, as they
call them, they don't necessarily have to kill the murderer
himself--any relative will do.  Their consequent fear determines even
the constitution of their houses which are very much like military
fortresses.  They often put traps in the trails for their suspected
enemies.  Not long ago one missionary in the Jivaria was out doing
visitation work in the jungles.  His barefoot carrier was in front and
as they approached a Jivaro clearing,


he pulled up to a sudden, painful halt.  A needle-sharp palm wood
spike was sticking out of the top of his bloody foot."

These were the people with whom Roger had lived for over a year.  He
had learned their language on the Macuma station, and helped make up
primers for the literacy program.  At times the atmosphere of vengeance
and murder affected Roger deeply, but with typical energy he kept
driving ahead.  Nate Saint once said of him: "Roj is one of the few
missionaries I know who display a real sense of urgency in the task of
winning souls."

Now this sense of urgency was prompting Roger to consider making a
move.  Knowing that Frank Drown could carry on the work of this
established station alone, Roj began to pray for a wider sphere of
service, as the Apostle Paul wrote: "fIt is] my ambition to preach the
Gospel, not where Christ has already been named, lest I build on
another man's foundation."

VII

Breaking Jungle Barriers

AMONG the tribes where Christ had not yet been proclaimed were the
Atshuaras, first cousins of the Jivaros but their deadly enemies. 
Roger prayed often for an opening in this group and talked it over with
Nate, who had shared his concern for some time.  Frank and another
missionary had tried to contact them five years before.  On that
occasion, Frank and his colleague had almost reached the house of the
chief when they were met by a boy carrying a verbal message: "If you do
not turn around at once, you will be killed."  The reputation of the
chief was such that there was no doubt about the accuracy of the
message.  The missionaries turned around.  Roger finally decided to
move closer to the Atshuaras. On June 5, 1954, he left Macuma and
traveled southeast two days on foot to a place called Wambimi, where
the Shell Oil Company had abandoned an airstrip and a few dilapidated
houses.

"This location is particularly important as a possible doorway [to the
Atshuaras]," he wrote.  "It was marvelous how the Lord worked for us in
preparing this outstation.  He enabled us to erect a new building 20 by
60 feet, with a permanent roof to augment the small houses already
available on the spot.  He protected us in those eleven days from
snakes (I stepped on one), scorpions, tarantulas, injury, complications
from nails, from roofs caving in while dismantling old buildings,
etcetera."


 The airstrip needed only a little grass-cutting, and was ready for
Nate's plane to land.  Nate recorded the subsequent events on magnetic
tape: "We flew,; in Barb and the two children, and they set up
housekeeping, started language study and literacy work among the local
Jivaros as well as evangelism.  While Roj was down there, as any
missionary does, he carried on medical ministry.  One of the sicknesses
that plagues the Jivaro is leishmaniasis.  It affects nasal cavity,
nose and the back of the throat, the roof of the mouth.  It's a hideous
disease that is long and drawn out, eventually kills them and, of
course, is very shameful--it disfigures the face terribly and the
Indians dread it with a passionate dread.  Several years ago missionary
doctors ran down a cure, a drug called "Repodral."  Roi had some with
him and he scored a couple of notable cures among the local Jivaros.
Despite the continual running feuds that go on between the Jivaros and
Atshuaras, as well as within both groups, there is some liaison on the
trail and word of the cures got across the line to the Atshuaras.  One
of the chiefs over there in the Atshuara country was called Santiaku (a
chief in this case as in most jungle situations is just a Number One
man in a given small area; Jivaros and Atshuaras don't group up;
they're scattered all over Timbuktu and the fellow that's the strongest
or the most feared in a small area is a chief).  The chief, Santiaku,
had come down with this dread disease, and despite fear and happenings
of the past, he finally showed up at Wambimi.  And, of course, it was a
milestone and a cause for great rejoicing because it was an answer to
prayer.  Roi did help him; the Repodral helped his nose condition and
he showed up again later and invited Roj to go back to his house.  Of
course, this is what everybody had been waiting for, but as in the case
of the spider and the fly, Roi wasn't going to accept this offer
carelessly.  So he said to Santiaku, "Okay, I'll come over to visit you
at your house if you come and take me over there."  And so, good
enough, the escort did come and escorted Roi Youderian, Frank Drown and
another missionary into Atshuara country.  8

"Somewhere along the way Frank coughed and the Atshuaras stopped right
there; that was as far as they were going to because they are
deathly afraid of catching cold.  Apparently  it's a cold or
grippe--what we call flu--that kills them off because they haven't much
resistance to it, the disease never having touched their group while
the generation was younger.  It was with great difficulty that Frank
convinced them that he was just clearing his throat.  Frank says that
that night when they were camping along the trail somewhere he felt a
tickle in his throat again and he just didn't know what in the world to
do, so he feigned that he had business off in the bush and got away
from them and cleared his throat, fearing, of course, that he might
break up the whole expedition by coughing and being heard by the
Atshuaras.

"When they got to Santiaku's place it turned out to be a great big
house, about three times the size of the long Jivaro houses.  Roj says
it was just about big enough to put a basketball floor inside.  The
Atshuaras speak a somewhat different dialect but understand }'ivaro,
their facial features are different, and the women have narrow hips,
instead of wide hips like Jivaro women.  When they got there, Frank
started to give them the Gospel in Jivaro, telling them of the love of
Christ and how he had died for us.  It was a question of giving these
Indians a story from scratch that they had never before heard any
suggestion of.  Frank talked until he was hoarse and exhausted.  They
had a little wind-up phonograph with them and they played Gospel
recordings made in the }'ivaro language and they would play these until
Frank got his voice back and then the Atshuaras would say: "All right
now, Panehu (an affectionate Spanish nickname for Frank), tell us
more."  And for three days, the Atshuaras went on like that--just
sitting around, listening to the story of Christ, a most amazing
opportunity and Santiaku showed real interest.

"Because of the isolation of the Atshuaras and the tense situation with
the neighboring Jivaros, it seemed as though the key to getting in

there and actually doing some good was air communication.  Frank
suggested right off the bat that they.  build themselves an airstrip.
It seems to me that it was a really bold stroke of genius and I'm sure
I wouldn't have had the faith to suggest it the very first time.  The
idea took hold--the Lord blessed the suggestion and brought it to
fruition, because they started clearing an airstrip; the missionaries,
while they were there, showed them where they could cut down the trees
in line with their manioc patches, so that they would have some natural
approaches to take advantage of the forest they had already cleared.
Then the missionaries retired.

"After several months, we thought it time to encourage the Atshuaras,
so we flew down over there to see how they were coming along and found
that they had cleared about 150 yards of the jungle floor for an
airstrip.  But 300 feet with trees standing all around it, trees that
grow to maybe 12o or 150 feet, is hardly an airstrip.  So we
dropped them a couple of pieces of cloth to encourage them, and then we
went away again and a few more months went by.

"The other day we went down and had a look again.  And to our
disappointment we found that the direction of the strip in the forest
was such that it was lining right up with the great big house, and, of
course, it's not ideal to have a house sitting right on one end of a
strip in the approach.  And the work didn't seem to have gone very
far--looked like they needed help at this point.  So we went back and
had a short council of war and Roj said: "Well, it sounds to me like
they need help and I think I should go."  He had a little hand-crank
radio, but he didn't have enough provisions.  He really hadn't
contemplated such a trip at all.  Well, I guess he had a machete.  But
the need was there, the opportunity was there, and he could be there
within two days' walk.  He decided to try to get some Jivaro to help
him carry the radio and guide him over the trail from Wambimi to the
Atshuara country.

"We left Roj at Wambimi on a Wednesday and on Thursday we listened on
the radio for him.  We thought it might just be s4

that he would have set it up along the trail somewhere or he
was still in XVambimi.  We didn't hear from him on Thursday  Friday
or Saturday.  Monday we thought surely we'd hear from him--that he'd
be with the Atshuaras and surely be on the air.  We still didn't hear a
word from him and there he was with no other missionary, but with
those unconverted Jivaros who were known to be rascals.  And, I guess
many of them out there have killed--they're killers and some have
survived killings--not the choicest group to have for company on a
dangerous trail.  At any rate, we decided on Monday when we didn't hear
from him that we ought to go in and check on him and make sure he was
all right.  So we assembled provisions, notes to drop him, food and
medicine.  And we took out the air-to-ground telephone.  Frank and I
went together in the airplane.  We flew with the door off, of course,
so we could operate the telephone if necessary.  We got down there and
when I first saw the strip my heart sank.  In the first place, because
I couldn't see right off the bat that anything at all had happened to
it--and I knew that if Roj had gotten there, something would have
happened to that strip, because Roj just doesn't have anything in hand
very long before something happens to it-- especially if it needs
something to happen to it.  Then I started looking around for a white
shirt.  We looked for several anxious minutes before we finally
distinguished him down there on the airstrip.  I'll tell you for sure,
I hadn't realized how anxious I was about his safety until that moment
when I looked for him' and the thing was in the balance-either yes or
no.  Then I realized how concerned we had been about him on the trail,
with Just a Jivaro guide and a few provisions.  There are snakes out
there.  But we saw him and our hearts were very rejoiced by seeing
him.

"We made a couple of low passes over the field.  First we flew low over
and throttled back the engine to quiet it down and I shouted down to
Roj to ask him to get the Indians off the strip, that we had some stuff
to drop to him.  He heard us perfectly and cleared the Indians out of
the way.  We made about four runs,


dropping the food and some ax heads and cloth to the Indians as gifts
for them.  We needed to know what the situation was down there, so we
pulled up and put out the telephone on a double-wire cable, using the
spiraling-line technique.  We reeled out about ,500 feet of telephone
cable and then started to circle.  The telephone on that long line
duplicated our circling, then slowly slid toward the center and began
to drop.  Finally it hovered, drifting around in a slightly unruly way,
its horizontal velocity perhaps six or eight miles an hour, while we
above were circling at sixty miles an hour.  With a little trial and
error and compensating for the drift, we were able to finally get the
phone down close to Roger.  I heard Frank's voice saying: "Hello, Roj;
hello, Roj," and I knew that we had contact with him down there.

"Frank talked with Roj for about ten minutes there on the phone,
getting data from him.  And then he apparently had all the information
he needed and we started to pull up to put tension on the line.
Meanwhile, Roj had tied his mail sack onto the cable--his outgoing mail
and a note to his wife--and turned the phone loose.  It went soaring up
inst about vertically, cleared all trees and we had it trailing behind
us on the end of 150 feet of wire that we then had to reel in.  We
waved good-by to Roj and shoved off for Wambimi."

When Nate landed again in Wambimi, Frank informed him that Roger had
asked for a landing on the following Friday.  "It's impossible said
Nate.  "The strip won't be ready.  But then, he added, "I guess that's
not my department.  I'd better get in there as requested and then
decide whether or not the strip is land able

Roger had also explained over the ground-to-air telephone that he
needed medicine.  The Atshuaras had contracted the flu from a group of
soldiers who had passed through.  This accounted for Roger's not having
a radio.  The Jivaro who had promised to carry it in had gotten wind of
the sickness among the Atshuaras, and, knowing how deadly flu can be,
refused to go near the place.

"Friday came along and I was getting kind of keyed up about this
business of inaugurating a new field," Nate continued on the tape
recorder.  "It isn't child's play; it isn't a Sunday joy ride as
they say; it is a very serious business, where you need your
best possible calculating and double checking on everything and then
trusting the Lord -go in and do your duty.

"Friday morning woke up, as they say in Spanish, raining.  By noontime
we knew that it was out of the question for that day: the field would
be wet anyway, and we can't add mud to other unavoidable hazards of
such an operation, so we canceled out for that day.  We took it that it
was God's indication that it was not the day to go and we left it
pending for the next day.  The next morning we made the preparations
and Frank and I flew down to Wambimi after lunch.  Frank got out and we
unloaded the extra cans of gasoline and I took off alone with a very
limited supply of gas.  The airplane was completely stripped, with even
the right seat taken out, so that it was as light as you could possibly
get and have enough gasoline to be safe.  I had a safe reserve--perhaps
an hour and a half of gasoline aboard, and the round trip over to
Santiaku's place and back would have been about forty minutes; so I had
a hundred per cent reserve."

Taking off, Nate headed for a little river halfway between the Maeuma
River and the Pastaza, which was the only landmark for Santiakn's
place.  When he found it, figuring he must be south of the spot, he
turned north, scanning the horizon near and far in search of the little
island in the sea of green.  Nothing.  Suddenly, just below him, he saw
a little house--of the square stockade style, but without a chacra fan
agricultural clearing in the forest].

"That's strange," thought Nate.  "Maybe it belongs to some Indian who's
just killed somebody and is lying low here for a while.  Probably his
chaera is off somewhere else, to confuse the enemy."

Mystified, he kept on.  Ah there it was!  He called in to Marj on the
radio: "56 Henry I'll be over Iimmy's place in two minutes.  56 Henry
---I'll be over Iimmy's place in two minutes.  Over."  Since Santiaku


 is a form of the Spanish name for James, they had nicknamed the spot
for secrecy.

"Lo and behold," Nate's record continued, "when I got over it two
minutes later, there was no airstrip there!  Looked just like his
place, but no strip.  That was a little disconcerting, because I didn't
have a great deal of gas along, so I flew a little farther north and
climbed on up, gaining altitude, trying to decide what I should do.  I
decided I'd better beat a track for Wambimi.  Landed there around
four-thirty.  I hadn't been in a hurry before, because I wanted to get
to Jimmy's place late in the afternoon when the air is cool and
buoyant.  It's steadier for this type of operation.  Frank was a little
surprised to see me back so soon.  I described the house I'd seen and
he recognized it as one they'd passed on the trail to Santiaku's.  He
passed me about five gallons of gas, and I took off, heading due east,
picked up the little river and turned south."

Nate's blue eyes squinted through the plexiglass.  Visibility that day
was about a hundred miles, and "you can almost imagine you see
steamship smoke on the horizon," but in all that expanse there was not
a sign of life.

"I went south," he continued.  "I went farther south.  I was really
beginning to make bets that I had never seen anything before, and
goodness, I thought, there's no percentage in this About that time I
stumbled onto a house that was on a river bank, well stockaded, and the
way that house was situated you just wouldn't see it unless you flew
directly over it, that's all.  Tucked down there in the forest, it was
made differently from the other houses that I'd seen, Quichua or
Jivaro.  I didn't feel that I was exactly in a friendly neighborhood. I
decided that the Lord's hand must be in this somehow (I was farther
south than I had ever flown on survey)."

Even though Nate by this time was greatly concerned about finding
Roger, he looked this new house over carefully and made a mental note
about its location, "because they would need to hear the Gospel, too,
way out there in their isolated places.  You feel convinced that it is
the will of the Lord that we do every thing possible, that each Indian
have an opportunity to know of the grace of God, and to hear that Name
that is above all other names.

"So I went on.  I felt buoyed up by the challenge of the yen, isolation
of these people and the challenge to help other mission aries to get
the Gospel to them, so the risk involved seemed to be offset and
justified by the spiritual challenge of the situation."

Nate kept on flying till he figured the gas load was getting down. 
Then he switched on his transmitter: "56 Henry to Shell Mera.  I've
looked up and down the river.  Can't find Jimmy's place.  I'm turning
around now, heading upstream, gaining altitude.  Do you read, Shell
Mera? Over."

"Okay, Okay," came Marj's answer, and Nate started looking for smoke on
the horizon, for surely he must be in Atshuara country, and if Roj had
heard him he'd get a smudge going.

Presently he saw it--there, apparently to the southwest, was a column
of smoke.  But it seemed to be in the wrong direction.  Was his compass
off?  Or was it that he was not as well oriented as he had thought he
was?  The situation seemed incongruous, but, Nate thought, "once in a
while you get in a situation like that, and the answer, when it comes,
is a kind of surprise.  So with that in mind, and with the fact also
that where there's smoke there's fire, and where there's fire there are
people, I decided to trust the Lord and head out across the stuff and
see what in the world was producing that smoke.  When I got there, I
was well rewarded, but not in the way I'd expected.

"Down a steep bank that had been cleared, in a little hidden river, set
in the trees, there was a little flat place.  And down in the flat
place, sunken way down deep, was a big house, with rounded ends, and
Indians all over the clearing."  Again Nate made a mental record for
future use.  After a quick look, with gas getting low, "I rolled out of
the turn and started climbing and looked to the left, and, I1 be
switched, there was a great big house, bigger


 than the one on the bank of the river, tucked down in there just off
to one side.  I just don't know how in the world it is that you can't
see something until you're right on it.  It's like hunting needles in a
haystack."

Nate then started climbing, still circling.  "I thought it just
possible that if I got up really high, where I could look down into
those little barrels of isolated pockets of mankind," he said, "I just
might see some more interesting things.  I was all eyes and quite
excited over these finds and thrilled to find myself completely thrust
into the arms of the Almighty, because down there there's no question
at all about that.  If that old engine had quit up there, God alone
could have saved me.  I might just as well admit it frankly right
here-, I don't like to fly over stuff like that and I have to have a
pretty good reason to be over it without a good position-check and a
good river to identify my position by.  But these are people for whom
Christ died, and you have to find them before you can take the Gospel
to them, so I was happy to have stumbled on them.

"I had one last look around before turning over to Wambimi and on that
inspection I noticed a little blemish, off to the east, and I thought I
could afford to fly just a minute or two and see what it turned into.
And so I did.  And within two minutes I could distinguish a house and
then a few seconds later I could see a clearing; some solid earth
behind some trees, some tall trees that indicated that it was Jimmy's
place, and there, completely hidden behind those tall trees, was the
runway I finally realized I'd had all this trouble finding the place
because the late afternoon sun was hitting the low ridges at a
different angle than I had been used to on previous trips over the
area.  Anyway, when I saw that clearing I got on the radio, but quick,
and started down.  That old airplane really let down in a hurry and
when I looked over at the vertical speed indicator I was docking about
500 feet a minute.  I was spiraling down at a good clip, reporting in
to Shell, getting confirmation of the position, circling over the
clearing and having a look--a heart-saddening look--at the strip.  It
just wasn't what you would describe as an airstrip at all.  My heart
sank.  I knew Roj needed to get out of there, because I know the way he
works; he never spares himself.  He'd been in there a couple of weeks
almost and I knew he would be a wreck and needing badly to get clear of
the place.  So I was anxious to do my best, consistent with safety and
our responsibility to MAF and the other folks that MAF serves.

"While I circled back I shook my head and said to myself, audibly: "No,
that just is no good; it's just impossible."  Nevertheless, I figured I
owed Roj a better look, so I came by low a time or two, and one time I
was about to cut the engine and yell down to Roj and tell him: "I'm
sorry; it's no goap."  But I went on by and took another look at it. He
had it nicely marked with bandage material.  He had 5 yards on the lead
end toward the big house marked off, and then he had a line with the
word "WHEELS' on it.  I knew I could touch down from where the "WHEELS'
sign was.  Down at the far end he had marked off 250 yards. Then I got
to thinking that I can't just say 'no' on a hunch; but I can, too. 
Sometimes a hunch saves a fellow's life, when a slide-role says 'yes'
and a hunch says 'no."  So I thought: "Well, the airplane is light;
about 250 yards more or less of strip; maybe I should try one
approach."  The air certainly was quite steady and I thought that if I
could get down there closer it might look different.  So, I prepared to
buzz the field, let down steeply over the trees, and down over the roof
of Santiaku's house, going about a hundred miles an hour.  When I got
down in there, there was one tree sticking out along the edge of the
strip, and I said to myself as though someone could hear: "Roj, man,
this thing does have wings sticking out," and I pulled up and got to
thinking the problem over.  The surface looked all right; I trusted Roj
on that; I know he's careful about making sure that there are no soft
spots; he's been through two other strip inaugurations with me.  That
is to say, he's gone ahead to prepare and check the ground, so I felt

confident.  "There wasn't much time left; I was well down in gas
again; so, "Here goes," I said to myself, 'maybe I can get by that
tree."

And then the thought came to me that I might not be able to get out of
there later.  I figured that between the two of us, with the

Indians, we could fell enough trees in a couple of days to get out of
there.  The radio was working on the airplane; I could tell Marj where
we were; I told Barb that Roj was okay.  "Okay," I called in quickly,
'preparing to land at Santiaku's place."

"I reeled the antenna in, slowed the plane down, and put it in the
approach toward the trees.  As I cleared the trees, I took it into a
very steep sideslip, pulled the flaps into full position and cleared
Santiaku's house by about 15 to 20 feet.  As I measured the situation,
I wasn't measuring just the tree sticking out but the whole thing,
seeing everything at once.  As a matter of fact, I didn't even see that
tree; at least, I wasn't conscious of it.  In a situation like that a
pilot's subconscious drives him pretty much.  It's a kind of automatic
pilot that takes over because you haven't time to think out individual
problems.  They had been thought out while I was circling above,
thinking through objectively and I'd decided that I could go in there
safely and, as an old-timer said, from there on the seat of your pants
guides you."

"I went on in there and I slipped that plane Just as steep as she'd
slip--a pretty solid forty-five miles an hour; I straightened out just
over the 50 yard rough stretch, plunked the wheels down just beyond the
"WHEELS' sign and got stopped in a little over half of the 25o yards
that was available.

"I thanked God first of all for my being on the ground safe and sound.
Naturally, the first thing you do in a situation like that is to get
the trailing antenna out and transmit the news of the successful
arrival without accident or incident to Mari and other loved ones and
colleagues who are listening on their radios prayerfully.  But this
time I didn't.  It never came to mind; there were too many things
happening there too fast.

"Roj came running up and said, "Have you got any medicine?"


"Yes," I answered; 'it's in here," and I tossed him the sack.  I had it
all bundled up ready to throw out of the plane.  There wasn't any
"Hello, I'm glad to see you' or "Dr.  Livingstone, I presume' sort of
Roj was haggard; he had a week's beard; a dirty" tee-shirt,
ripped full of holes; he was a really pitiful sight; emaciated He was
at the bundle, tooth and nail, taking that stuff out.  then he started
shouting at the top of his lungs--voice almost breaking --to the
Indians down the strip, barking orders.  I've never seen Roj behave
quite like that, I know that he can snap at people when things are
tight, but in this case I didn't know quite what to make of the whole
situation, so I grabbed him kind of firmly by the hand and said: "Slow
down now, Roj; slow down; we've got time."  He looked up out of those
eyes and said, "We haven't got time; we haven't got time."  So I didn't
argue with him.  he handed me two bottles of penicillin and said:
"Here, shake these," so I did.  He was barking orders at the Indians
and I thought to myself, "My goodness, how on earth can these people
think he's a friend when he talks to them like that?"

"The first thing I knew, everyone and his brother were getting shots.
It was soon evident that just everybody was sick with grippe.  Some of
them looked as though they were ready to die right there while we were
working with the medicines.  I did what I could to help Roj.  Santiaku
was sitting on a log, stoop shouldered looking sick, painted up 'fit to
kill," doing his best to look like a chief, but very, very sick.  Roj
told me while he was 'shooting' that one of the chiefs had already died
the week before.  When he got there he had shot all the worst cases and
they recovered and this was the next batch of light cases that were
getting worse and worse and the people--well, you can imagine how they
felt without any medical help.

"We had two little bottles of penicillin.  How precious those bottles
were, standing between life and death.  When Roj threw down the first
bottle, I said: "Take it and try to see if there isn't another drop in

it."  Mothers would shove their little bare-bottomed  babies toward
Roj.  He'd give them a swipe with a cotton swab of alcohol.  It was
just a tiny bottle that Roj might so easily upset because his hand was
shaking like a leaf.  He'd holler out at the

Indians: "Now, don't move," and everybody just obeyed his orders.

He was the chief in that outfit, at the moment, the real master of the
situation.  There was no question about it."

Roj peered into the faces of the Indians as they came along.

The graver cases got the medicine.  He looked across the clearing, and
there coming out of the forest was Tysha, a close Atshuara friend.  The
Indians had tried to save his life by carrying him out to an army base,
but the river was too great an obstacle for him in his weak condition.
He arrived in time to get the last drop of penicillin from Roj's
needle.  "Praise the Lord," said Roj, "it's unbelievable, but here he
is, and this will probably save his life"

Roj straightened up for the first time, looked at Nate, and smiled. The
strain was off his shoulders.  Nate looked at his watch --just a few
minutes before their deadline for getting out of there.  While Roj
walked toward the plane, now at long last relaxed and at ease, Nate ran
over and offered his hand to the bewildered chief.  "He didn't know
what to do with it, but I just grabbed his and started talking English.
They'd understand as much of that as of Spanish.  "So long, glad to
have known you fellows," I 'said, and headed for the plane."

Roj was shaking his head, smiling.  "Well, God is certainly in this
thing."

Nate took off alone to satisfy himself that he could get out with the
heavier load, and then came back in to pick up Roger.  In the plane on
the way to Wambimi, Roj told how the work on the strip had been
hindered by sickness; how, bet muse of the sickness, his Indian carrier
had refused to bring the radio, and how he had worked on the strip
himself for lack of anyone else to do it.  At one point an Indian had
shouted at him: "Watch out!  There's a snake by your foot Don't move!"
Roj froze, and there, not two feet away from his foot, lay a
bushmaster, coiled to strike.  The

Indian grabbed a stick.  "Nothing doing -that's too short!"  cried
Roj.  With the words "God help me" on his lips, Roj slashed his machete
at the snake's head, cutting it off cleanly.

"You can't imagine how I prayed that you wouldn't make it on Friday, as
we had originally planned," said Roj.  "Then Saturday I prayed you
would get here, and began to wonder if you'd make it.  It got to be
four o'clock, and no plane.  I was getting pretty discouraged. 
Finally, there it was.  We heard it con ling all right, but no--it was
turning away I just died a thousand deaths out on that field.  I was
really shot.  After working all day in the rain on Friday, straining
every muscle to get it done, and then straining our ears all day
Saturday, well .. . then half an hour later, we heard you again. 
Again, instead of growing louder, the sound faded away.  The Indians
tore down to the chacra, and saw the plane disappearing.  This was it. 
I decided to call it a day, and gathered the Indians together for a
meeting and a little Gospel teaching.  We had just started when the
Indians yelled that the plane was coming back.  Some said, "No, you're
hearing it with your heart!"  But soon we saw it.  Man, you can't
imagine what it does to a guy to see this little yellow job coming in
over the trees"

These two men, imbued with the Christian pioneering spirit of the first
century, using the tools of the twentieth, had pushed back the
boundaries of their faith one more step.  Not only Roger and Nate, but
also Jim, Pete, and Ed were missionary pioneers always looking to the
regions beyond immediate horizons.  Just over the distant ridges were
the Aueas.  "One of these days we're going to spot those boys," Jim
Elliot had said, "and from then on they ll be marked men"


VIII

The Aucas

"FOR a number of years," Nate Saint once wrote, "the Aucas have
constituted a hazard to explorers, an embarrassment to the Republic of
Ecuador, and a challenge to missionaries of the Christian ospel."

Since his arrival in the Oriente, Nate had often flown over Auca
territory, his trained eye trying to find houses or villages.  It is no
easy matter to find a people numbering perhaps five hundred to a
thousand, in a dense jungle covering twelve thousand square miles.  No
census, of course, has ever been made; the area is merely estimated by
the Quichuas-an area undoubtedly far larger than the Aucas themselves
would claim, as the uiehuas (quite understandably) give them a wide
berth.  This part of the jungle lies about one hundred and fifty miles
east of Quito.  It is bordered by three rivers: on the west by the
Arajuno, on the north by the Napo, on the south by the Villano.  To the
east it runs into the Peruvian border.

The history of the region goes back to the early days of the Spanish
conquest of Ecuador.  In 1541, Gonzalo Pizarro, brother of the famous
Francisco Pizarro, who brought the Inca Empire to an end, crossed the
Andes, explored their eastern slopes, and permitted one of his
adventurous lieutenants to follow the Amazon to its mouth.  In his
astounding explorations he lost all but ninety seven of his hundreds of
soldiers.  Some died of hardship but many were killed by hostile
Indians.  Some of these Indians were undoubtedly the ancestors of the
Aucas.  The conquistadors were followed in the seventeenth century by
Jesuit missionaries, many of whom also were killed by hostile Indians.
Little was done to settle or exploit the area from the seventeenth
century to the middle of the nineteenth.  Then the demand for rubber
the industrial parts of the world brought robber hunters to the
Amazonian basin, at that time the source of the best rubber in the
world.  Unscrupulous, treacherous, cruel, the rubber hunters wooed the
Indians with presents only to raid their villages, plunder whatever of
value they might find, carry off the able-bodied young men as slaves to
work on haciendas, and murder the rest so that there would be no one
left to drum up reprisals.

In 1874 a later Jesuit missionary made a trip down the Curaray
intending to found a mission but instead spent his time--according to
his own report--protecting the Indians from the rapacious rubber
hunters.  Another record called the rubber traders "civilized savages
against unbaptized savages."  Certainly from that time on, hatred
spread throughout the Auca country, and a legacy of reprisal has been
passed on from father to son.  It was the behavior of the white man
that closed off this area to colonization.  There was a time when the
country could have developed with the co-operation of the Aucas but
that time is now past.  In the early days of this century, haciendas
were scattered throughout what is now a "closed" country.

The Aueas' growing distrust of the white man is illustrated in a story
told in the Oriente of a hacienda owner, a Senor Santoval, who lived in
the Aucas' domain shortly after the turn of the century.  Senor
Santoval had two captured Auca families working for him and managed to
carry on a lively rubber trade with the Aucas still in the jungle. They
would leave rubber for him at the edge of his property and in exchange
he would leave machetes, knives, and clothing for them.  For about ten
years this peaceful


trading continued with no violence on either side.  The captured Aucas
were such superior workmen that Sanroyal asked them to approach their
tribesmen with offers of work on the hacienda.  Through his
intermediaries, the patron offered them fair pay, good living
conditions, clothing, anything they felt they wanted.  The offer was
refused out of hand and the answer came back that the Aueas wanted
nothing whatever of the white man's world, that they were independent
and wished to remain so.  Santoval died in 1917 and his death was the
signal for an Auca attack on the hacienda.  Almost all his Indian
workers were killed; those that survived, including some of the
captured Aucas, moved permanently out of range of Auca attacks.

The Shell Oil Company, prospecting for oil in the Oriente from 194o to
1949, had to contend not only with the usual hazards and inconveniences
of the jungle but with attacks from Aucas on their workmen.  In 1942
three of their employees were killed in the company's camp at Arajuno.
The incident is described in a letter written by a Shell Oil Company
executive: We regret to have to inform you that a most unfortunate
incident occurred on Wednesday, January 7th last, in our camp at
Arajuno.  A group of hostile Indians attacked a gang of our laborers
working near our camp and our foreman and two other Ecuadorian laborers
were killed with spears.  This attack caused some panic among our
laborers which was aggravated when the following morning these Indians
made another appearance and seemed to be surrounding the camp .... We
fear it will become more difficult than before to engage an adequate
number of laborers for our camp at Arajuno."

One year later the company lost eight employees.  In an attempt to win
the confidence of the tribe and ward off further killings, a visit was
made to an Auea house.  Gifts of machetes, shirts, magazines, and empty
bottles were left for the inhabitants, who proved to be absent when the
white men arrived.  The Aueas responded with a present of a vine-woven
basket which they left on the trail.  This encouraged the oil men, and
one of them reported: "It seems that our hope of friendship is going
the right way.  I think that this will become a reality in the near
future, so long as our personnel always follow the indicated line of
conduct which could be put down as 'absolute respect of private
property'..."  a stray bullet might, in my opinion, constitute
something like a declaration of war, which could be fatal to our
party."

An attempt at dropping gifts from an airplane was also made by the
Shell Oil people, but, as Nate later observed, "a two-thousand
horsepower transport, roaring over the village at a low altitude, would
seem sure to scare anyone, not to mention particularly a stone-age
people with no knowledge whatsoever of science."  In spite of all these
overtures, the hopes of the Shell Oil Company were not realized and no
one made any further serious attempts to win the Aucas.

It was becoming increasingly important for these young missionaries to
know every available fact about the Aucas.  They read the reports of
the Shell Oil Company and talked to anyone who had ever had any contact
with the Aucas.  An invaluable source of information was Senor Gaffos
Sevilla, who owns and operates a hacienda about ten minutes' flight
from Shandia.  Don Carlos had lived in Auca territory for twenty-six
years, before he was driven out by repeated attacks.  He is a tall,
spare Ecuador Jan in his middle sixties who has probably had more
experience with Aucas than any other living man.  His body still bears
six scars in flitted by Aucas during his last encounter with them.

His first narrow escape came in 1914 when seven Indians and one
Colombian who were working for him were killed on the hacienda "El
Caprioho" on the Curaray.  In 1919, while Sevilla was hunting for
rubber, he left fifteen Indian families at a camp on the Tsupino River
while he went upstream to get medicines.  On his return, he was met by
an Indian boy who was wounded in the arm, the sole survivor of an Auea
attack on the camp.  Hurriedly


rounding up sixty Quichuas, Sevilla set off to find the Aucas
responsible for the massacre at his camp.  He found an Auca house, and
one woman peacefully working in the manioc patch.  She was captured,
but as Sevilla's men surrounded the house, she broke away from her
guards, and ran screaming into the bush.  This sounded the alarm, and
those who had been in the house were able to escape while the guards
rushed to recapture the woman.  As Don Carlos repeats this story, so
many years later, there is still a note of bitter disappointment in his
voice.

He has been able to observe Auca strategy closely.  It seems that
attacks are always by surprise, and that the Aucas invariably outnumber
their opponents.  One method of surprising travelers is to wait at the
bend of a river until the current forces a canoe close to the shore,
and while the polers are frantically trying to pull the canoe back into
the mainstream, the spears are hurled, accompanied by wild yells to
confuse the victims.  The advantage is all with the Aucas.  Sevilla's
advice to any adventurer in savage territory is that he travel with at
least two canoes, so that one canoe could fire to protect the other
should an attack come.

In 1925 Don Carlos and his Indians were attacked twice within four
months.  Sevilia and his men were traveling by canoe upstream on the
Nushino when, at a narrow bend in the river, they found themselves the
target of dozens of Auca lances.  The canoe capsized, five Indians were
slain immediately, and Sevilla and one other escaped.  Fighting his way
through the hail of spears, he succeeded in killing two of the
attackers with their own weapons, but merged severely wounded himself.
Eight days later he reached his hacienda on the Ansuc River, his body
rotting with infection, his wounds worm-eaten.

An attack in 1934 finally drove him out of the territory, but it has
not discouraged his making plans for a possible re-entry

"I don't think it is too late," says Sevilla.  "True, we've lost our
best chances, but perhaps if we build a strong, lance-proof house
fairly close to the Auca houses, make a large clearing around it,

keep constant watch, and never use a gun, they would ultimately accept
our friendship."

But there are men in the Oriente, who roamed the region looking for
rubber, gold, or oil in the days when this was "open country," who say
that never, never will the Aucas allow the white man to live peacefully
in their land.  It is too late.  By the flickering light of kerosene
lamps on the verandas of haciendas, these old-timers sit evening after
evening recalling their experiences and conjecturing about the Aucas'
real motives.  Are they natural born killers?  Do they kill only to
preserve their land from outsiders?  Do they kill to rob?  No one knows
and there is no set pattern that shows any one single motive behind the
killings.

It is known that a few killings have been followed by robbery. 
Articles which the Aucas considered useful, particularly the machete,
have been stolen.  Other things, whose use they do not understand, they
leave behind.  In some cases all possessions of the victims have been
left intact.  Surprisingly, Quichuas are allowed summer fishing
privileges in the heart of the Anca domain; undisturbed, they take
their canoes down the Napo or the Guraray for weeks at a time.  Then
for no apparent reason, the Aueas will attack.  They may kill or wound
a group of Quichua fishermen within Auca boundaries, or they move just
beyond their frontiers and attack a Quiehua family working in its
chacra.  One fact only seems firmly established: the white man is
unwanted.  When he sets foot within the area that the Aucas have marked
off for themselves, he risks his life.

Killings, however, also occur within the tribe.  Anger finds immediate
expression in a killing.  As it was with the Hatfields and McGoys of
the Kentucky mountains, feuds flare up frequently, each death to be
avenged by the surviving members of the family to form a chain-reaction
of murder.  Thus, the taking of life is not alien to the Aucas.  From
an early age on, young boys are trained in the accurate use of their
nine-foot hardwood lances.  Don Gados tells of coming upon a deserted

Auca hut, and finding there a life sized human figure carved of balsa
wood.  The heart and facial features were clearly outlined with bright
red achiote and the entire figure was torn with lance marks.  This
method, as modern as bayonet training for combat troops, had been used
to develop the deadly marksmanship for which the Aucas are famous.

Don Carlos has working for him on his hacienda an Auca woman who
escaped some years ago from a tribal killing.  There had been a typical
family feud, in which both her parents and brothers and sisters were
killed by a neighboring group.  Dayurea, then in her mid-teens, had
managed to escape by hiding out in the chaera until the invaders left.
She then made her way to the nearest settlement of Quichuas, who took
her to Don Carlos.

Like any refugee, Daytuna spent her first years among the Quiehuas,
adapting herself as quickly and totally as possible to their customs.
One of her hardest adjustments was the food of her hosts.  Aucas have
no salt and it took her almost a year before she could enjoy seasoned
food.  Clothing was another major change.  Aucas are entirely naked,
except for vines that are tied tightly around wrists, ankles, and the
waist.  Now Dayurea wears the customary shapeless cotton dress of the
Quiehua woman.  In an effort to hide her Auca ancestry she combs her
hair down to cover her disfigured ear lobes-- ear lobes once adorned with
round balsa wood plugs more than an inch in diameter.  Watching her go
about her work on the hacienda, feeding the animals, helping in the
kitchen, there is little else to distinguish her from her Quichua
fellow workers.  The Aucas have the same straight black hair, the same
teaolored skin, and about the same height--a few inches over five
feet.

Dayuma has been able to give many facts of ethnological interest.
Although the Aucas drink chic ha made just as the Quichuas make it,
they drink it unfermented; consequently Dayuma never saw drunkenness
until she reached the outside world.  Wifebeating was also unknown to
her.  Auca houses are long, oblong shaped, with mud-packed floors, and
hammocks used as beds hanging from the roof.  Living in each house may
be anywhere from 10

twenty to fifty members of a clan.  The women work in the plantations
of manioc and cotton.  The men work on their lances, shaping the sharp
points with stolen machetes.  Every, man in the household has his
collection of nine or ten spears, which he takes with him on a foray
for food or on a raiding expedition, l)axuma says that the Aucas can
recognize a footprint--in much the same way that we would recognize a
familiar face, they can identify the i,dividual Indian who has passed
by.  She told Don Carlos that every step he had ever taken in Curaray
country was known to her people.  They also spent many hours spying on
the Shell camp at Arajuno.  At one time during the Shell occupancy, the
people had considered approaching the white man.  They had talked
seriously among themselves of the possibility of sending in two men as
a scouting party and, if they were not killed, the rest of the group
would follow.  In actual fact, just the opposite happened; the Aucas
attacked and killed three Shell employees.

Pets are common among Aucas; they snare parrots, monkeys, and the wild
bear when they are still young and keep them in small huts surrounding
the large main house.  Like other people the world over, they have
their legends and fairy stories.  At one time, so goes the Anea legend,
"fire fell from heaven," spread out all over the world, and burned all
the trees.  The Aucas hid under the leaves of the sweet potato plant
until the fire was over and then came out and repopulated the earth.
They fear evil spirits, as do all jungle people.  They like their
children and amuse them with tales.  Dayuma tells one of the tales
whose hero is a turtle:

One day a baby turtle met a powerful jaguar on the road.

"Hal" said the jaguar.  "Your parents are far away and there is no one
here to protect you."

The little turtle in fear drew in his head.

"Put out your head," the jaguar commanded.

And the turtle, hearing the mighty voice, put out his head.  Then,
looking into the jaguars savage mouth, he said: "What terrific teeth
you have"

The jaguar was flattered.  He opened his mouth still wider to


display all of his fine fierce teeth.  So the little turtle, who  was
much quicker than he looked, jumped into the jaguar's mouth and bit his
throat so hard that the jaguar forthwith died.

Then the little turtle left the jaguar and went to the neighboring
Aueas and told them that he had killed a jaguar and left it !)ing ia
the path.  The Indians went to see, and there was the dead ;in guar
Happily they snatched out the teeth and claws to make ornaments for
themselves and went off, entirely forgetting to thank the little
turtle.  So the little turtle simply returned to the jungle and grew up
to be a big turtle!

Dayuma is constantly asked why the Aucas kill, and she can only answer
that they are killers.  "Never, never trust them," she repeats with
emphasis; "they may appear friendly and then they will turn around and
kill."

There are those, however, who have not and will not accept this verdict
as finally those who cannot rest in peace while generations of Aucas
remain beyond the frontiers of Christianity.  Pete Fleming was one of
those who could not be content while the Aucas remained in darkness. In
his diary he wrote: "It is a grave and solemn problem; an unreachable
people who murder and kill with extreme hatred.  It comes to me
strongly that God is leading me to do something about it, and a strong
idea and impression comes into my mind that I ought to devote the
majority of my time to collecting linguistic data on the tribe and
making some kntensive air surveys to look for Auea houses .... I know
that this may be the most important decision of my life, but I have a
quiet peace about it."

04 September, 1955

September,  1955, was the month in which Operation Auca really started,
the month in which the Lord began to weave five separate threads into a
single glowing fabric for His own Glory.  Five men with widely
differing personalities had come to Ecuador from the eastern United
States, the West Coast, and the Midwestern States.  Representing three
different "faith-missions," these men and their wives were one in their
common belief in the Bible as the literal and supernatural and perfect
word from God to man.  Christ said "Go ye"; their answer was "Lord,
send me."

The missionaries who were about to join forces in Operation Auca had
made several moves.  After the flood it had been decided to rebuild
Shandia, keep it as the main station of this area, and build
outstations.  The technique of maintaining a number of outstations is
particularly important in the Oriente because' the Indians in this part
of the world, as already pointed out, do not congregate in large
villages, but are scattered in small groups throughout large areas of
the jungle.

It was agreed that an outstation should be established in Puyuptmgu.
Jim and Ed and Pete had visited this little settlement of Quichuas on a
survey trip down the Bobonaza River in August, 1953 There they had met
Atanasio, the chief who had invited them to establish a school for his
children.  "Because of God, will

I1


you not stay?"  he had asked.  "We need you very much.  I have-let's
see--thirteen, fourteen, and another one, yes, fifteen children.  No
one has taught them.  They want to learn to see paper.  I have some
orphans too in my house.  Will you not come?"

Usually it is an uphill struggle to win the confidence of the people in
a new area.  Here, however, was not only an open door, but an outright
invitation.  The three men saw it as the answer to their prayer for
enlarged borders.  So plans were made.  The McGullys moved to Shandia
to begin their study of Quichua, and Pete, who was still single, was
chosen to stay and help them learn the language and get established.
Jim and I decided it was God's time for us to marry so that we could,
together, open the station at Puyupungu.

Thus it was that Jim and I arrived there in November, 1953, with all
our worldly goods in four canoes.  After greeting us with much
backslapping, handshaking, and laughter, the men carried the white
man's incredible quantity of equipment up the high bank where
Atanasio's two wives and throng of children waited expectantly.

The building of the house and airstrip did not take all of Jim's time.
Together we began having meetings for the Indians, telling them in
their own language the most wonderful story in the world, that of the
Son of God who had come to earth and paid the price of man's sin with
his own blood.  The recognition of God's great love dawned slowly in
the Indian mind.  But one day we rejoiced as Atanasio said to Jim, "I
am very old.  Perhaps too old to understand well.  But it seems to me
your words are true.  I will die in your words."

Meanwhile, the McGullys were making good progress learning the language
in Shandia.  Pete Fleming had built himself a little shack near their
bamboo house, and took meals with them.  He wrote in his diary: "It is
surprising what joy and pleasure I had in building my little two-room
house.  I really got a kick out of it,


and though it took only four or five days, I could hardly wait to move
in.  It is very comfortable and it is pure luxury to have a place to
myself, a bed, a desk, and chair where I will not be under observation.
Best of all, it aids in leading a disciplined life, things are in a
convenient place, and privacy for prayer is now possible.  I have begun
again to add to my file system on the New Testament, a thing I haven't
done since I left the U.S. I am happy inside myself to be getting
things done in an orderly way again.  There is no question that it is
the way I was meant to live, with regular bedtime, evenings free for
study, and a full hour's devotional time in the morning."

As Pete watched the McGullys become oriented in the work, he began
thinking more specifically about his own future.  And about his fiance
Olive Ainslie, a slim and beautiful girl, with dark eyebrows in
striking contrast to lighter hair and blue eyes.  They had become
engaged in an exchange of letters while he was in the jungle.  With
typical candor this quiet, studious man wondered if there were any
conflict between his coming marriage and his "call" to the Aucas?

"Last night Nate and I talked a long time about the Auca problem," he
wrote.  "Strangely enough, I do not feel my coming marriage will
prohibit me from being eligible to help in efforts to reach them.  I
feel that if pushed to it, Olive would rather have me die after we had
lived together than to indefinitely postpone our wedding on the
possibility that something fatal might happen.  Our life has become
one, and I do not feel that God will separate us in our discernment of
the will of God."

In June, 1954, Pete felt free to return to the United States to marry
Olive.  After Pete's departure Jim and I moved back to Shandia with Ed
and Marilou McGully.  Puyupungu having been established as an
outstation, we arranged for future visitation and teaching sessions.
Shandia, with a school, medical clinic, and small store, was considered
our permanent base of operations.

We all agreed that Jim and I could take the responsibilities of



the Shandia station, so Ed and Marilou began to consider a move to an
area of their own--another place where the Gospel had not been carried.
The McCullys knew of Arajuno, the abandoned Shell Oil Company base on
the very edge of Auca territory.  In survey flights over the area, Ed
had estimated the Quichua Indian population to be somewhere around one
hundred.  Why not take advantage of the excellent airstrip which the
company had built, and move in there for a while to preach to these
Indians?  The run way would need only a day's work at the most to clear
it of grass, and the gravel base would be good as new.  Arajuno, one of
several Shell Company projects aimed at finding oil in the area, had
been fabulously expensive.  A small city had been hacked out of the
forest; roads had been laid out; brick houses, with electricity and
running water, had been built; a hotel and tennis courts, bakery, and
even a narrow-gauge railroad had been included in the project.  Now,
abandoned since 1949, the buildings had been claimed by the rot and
ruin of the jungle.  However, some useful materials might be salvaged.
The idea of opening a station at Arajuno seemed a good one.

Ed began visiting Arajuno each weekend, flying over with Nate on
Friday.  Ed visited the Indians' homes and conducted meetings for them
on Saturday and Sunday.  The welcome he received encouraged him to
build a simple house, using the foundations of one of the abandoned
Shell Oil buildings and boards salvaged from round about.  Finally when
Ed decided to stay on full time at Arejuno, he moved Marilou and the
two children to their "new" quarters.  Marilou soon had an attractive
home fixed up-bright u/ains at the screened windows, a "sofa" made of
a pile of salvaged bricks covered with a mattress and a sheet of
plastic, pictures on the bamboo walls, and colorful Ecoadorian rags on
the cement slab floor.  Nate Saint spent several nights rigging up a
burglar-alarm system and an electric fence, for the McCullys and their
co-workers on other stations were fully aware of the dangers of living
near the Aucas.  The Arajuno River forms the western boundary of the
Auca territory and the new mission station was on the Auea side of the
river.  It was the very site here the Shell Oil employees had been
killed some years before.  Such sporadic raids, with the Aucas darting
from the jungle to kill swiftly and disappear again, had made the Aucas
fearful and fascinating to their Quichua neighbors.

The Quichuas never allowed the McCullys to forget the possibility of a
visit from the Aucas.  The Quichuas refused to remain after four
o'clock on that side of the Arajuno River.  "This is the Auca part,"
they would say.  Every so often minors would spread around that Auca
footprints had been found near the house, or that the grass was pressed
down, indicating that Aucas had been lying there, spying on the
foreigners.

The electric fence was set up a good thirty yards from the house,
beyond accurate spear-throwing range, and Ed and Marilou always kept a
pistol or gun handy.  "Even though we don't think they're around," Ed
said, "it gives you a good feeling to know that the fence is buzzing.
With our lights on in the house at night we'd make a good target!"

Thus it was that the Lord had placed Ed and Marilou in the strategic
spot that was to become the base of Operation Auca.

Meanwhile, Pete had returned from the United States to Quito with his
bride, Olive.  They spent a year in the mountains while she learned
Spanish and he translated Scriptures into Quichua, spoke at Indian
gatherings, and refreshed his own knowledge of Spanish.  In the fall of
1955, Pete and Olive came to the Oriente to begin Indian work together
at Puyupungn, where they settled in the little thatched house which Jim
and I had built.  Pete began again to teach the Indians there, slowly
and carefully, reviewing the things they had learned before, leading
them into new truths.

Olive's initiation into jungle life included a spectacular display by
the active volcano Sangay, visible from the living room at Puyupungu.
"At night," Pete wrote, "it looks like a huge bonfire


out of which shoot flares in a long graceful are landing a couple of
thousand feet down the mountainside.  With the binoculars we could see
individual balls of fire burst and spray out all over.  It was a real
show.  Clouds of steam coming from the lava on the snow would
momentarily blot out the pyrotechnic display, only to have it clear and
start over again."

Their hearts were sometimes saddened by the drunken behavior of many of
the Indians at a fiesta.  The results of such fiestas can be
imagined--husbands beating their wives; pitiful naked children left to
find their own place to sleep at night while parents stagger about
until dead drunk.  On one occasion a drunken mother rolled on her
two-week-old baby, smothering it.  An Indian will sometimes attempt to
find his way home through the dark forest, usually ending up asleep on
the muddy trail, waking hours later to find huge scavenger beetles
digging under his legs in an attempt to bury him.

But there were signs, too, that the Gospel message was getting through
to these sons of the jungle.  Pete's journal records: "Today the angels
are rejoicing over Puyupungn, and so are we.  How faithful God is. This
morning a number of Indians decided for Christ.  I felt led to speak on
baptism since I had noted several misunderstandings while I listened to
Indians talk.  So after speaking from the story of Philip and the
eunuch, I tried to explain simply and clearly the difference between
faith and baptism.  After an early fight with squalling babies the
attention was excellent and I felt the Spirit moving in hearts, so
asked for a show of hands after carefully explaining what a decision
for Christ would involve.  A number of hands showed Tito, Benito,
Pascual, and others.  A number more began to put up their hands when
Alejo broke out from the back telling them that it would mean giving up
drinking and living immorally.  Some of the hands went down at that.  I
closed in prayer, inviting those who were really repentant to go into
the back room of the school where I could deal more carefully with
them.  Twelve came.  We encouraged and exhorted them and

arranged for a believers' meeting on Friday afternoon.  Several others
are very close.  What joy!  This is what we came here for.

"At twenty-six years how good God has been and how full and blessed His
ways.  How continually I thank God for bringing me here, almost
overcoming the impossible and pushing me out.  I felt 'thrust out' and
how grateful I am for God's impelling."

In September, 1955, "God's impelling" moved five pioneering missionary
families to crystallize their plans of months and years into common
action.  Truly they were being "thrust out" to carry the Word of God to
the Aueas.  The McCullys, in the station at Arajuno, provided the
vanguard.  Jim and I were in Shandia.  The Flemings were in Puyupungn.
Roger Youderian and his family had returned from their outstation at
Wambimi and were again helping the Drowns at Macuma.  Nate Saint with
his little yellow plane and Marj at the radio remained at Shell Mera,
their penn anent base at the hub of these outlying jungle stations.



Operation Auca Begins

ON the evening of the second day of October, 1955, Nate Saint fed some
yellow tissue into his old typewriter and began:  this will be an
attempt to note developments that have led to the recent decision to
hunch efforts toward contacting the Auca tribe.  These notes, of
course, will record only personal points of view of the situation and
will not touch past efforts of other missionaries.

"Last night Ed Me Gully Jim Elliot, Johnny Keenan, and I were on the
living room floor on elbows and knees poring over a map of the eastern
jungles of Ecuador.  We had just decided that it was the Lord's time to
try to contact the savage Auca tribe located somewhere east of Ed's
Quichua Indian mission station at Arajuno.

"Later, in the kitchen over a midnight cup of cocoa, we decided that
our efforts should be carried forward as secretly as practicable so as
to avoid arousing other non-missionary groups to competitive efforts.
Their efforts would undoubtedly employ a heavily-armed invasion party
going in overland.  This we fear might set back for decades the
missionary effort among these stone-age people.

"This afternoon, in meditating on the situation, it seemed to me a
shame that the secrecy required might deny our prayer-supporting
colleagues at home the blessing of a fresh running account, reported at
tint-hand, of our efforts and of the Lord's good hand


upon them.  Therefore I have taken it upon myself to set down the
status quo and hope to add to it as we progress in the days ahead.

"A number of sporadic efforts have been made to change the status of
these killers of the forests.  Armed attacks and counterattacks on the
part of whites only thinned out the tribe and fanned the furor of
hatred already present.  Fear of firearms did not diminish the Aucas'
desire for revenge even though it had to be carried out from ambush
with hardwood lances.

"The story of the exploration attempted by Rolf Biotaberg, a Swedish
explorer, and guided by a missionary in 1947, has been written in
detail.  The party was approaching the Aucas' location on balsa rafts
when they were ambushed at a point where the current pushed the rafts
close to the riverbank.  An Indian porter in the party opened fire
immediately and then dove into the river, following the missionary who
was swimming underwater.  This experience makes us wary of combining
our efforts with those who have no love or special regard for these
people."

When Ed McCully moved his family to Arajuno he asked Nate for an aerial
survey of the Auca territory, and together they looked up and clown the
Nushino River valley, where the Aucas were known to have been some
seven years before.  They found nothing more than had Pete and Jim in
their survey two years earlier-only the vast ocean of dark green
treetops that stretches off into a smudgy horizon.  The effect of an
ocean is heightened by the choppy, wavelike hills that break up the
terrain.  The coffee-with cream-colored rivers snaking through the
trees serve as a reminder that it is landscape, not seascape.  Only the
trained eye, however, would be able to spot human habitation in this
wilderness--perhaps a ragged scarf of smoke rising above the green, or
the infinitesimal spot which indicates an Indian ehacra.

Nate's diary continues: "The actual search did not get under way until
the morning of September 19, when I was letting down for Arajuno on the
regular weekly vegetable: run  It was around 8:30 a.M."  as I recall,
and the atmosphere was unusually clear.  Visibility


was about seventy-five miles and all the little river valleys, which
are usually camouflaged by the more common light-haze foliage
combinations, were clearly discernible in the distance.

"When I climbed out of the plane and greeted Ed, I asked him how he'd
like to go looking for his 'neighbors."  He was all for it, so we set
to work raiding Marilou's larder for canned goods and scrounged around
for other special emergency equipment and took off about half an hour
later.

"We followed the Nushino east, but flying the north side this time.  We
were able to scan a six- or eight-mile swath.  About fifty miles east
of Efts place, out over the middle of nowhere, we turned due north
toward Coca on the Rio Napo.  About five minutes later we spied some
spots that looked as if they might have been planted manioc patches
years ago.  It's hard to be sure from a bird's point of view, even
after you've been studying the woods for some time.  We circled and
then went on north until the Napo was getting close, without seeing
anything more.  The left turn toward home was inevitable.  We didn't
have gas enough to press on much farther and we had covered what we had
outlined for this particular trip.  However, it was hard to give up. It
takes so long to get that far out, and it is so difficult to find such
ideal weather.  I'd been eyeing a blemish, barely discernible in the
jungle, maybe five miles away.  Ed couldn't make it out, but we decided
to fly that way for just a couple of minutes, and if we didn't turn up
something more concrete we'd beat it for home.

"The blemish grew into a well-defined pockmark, and then into a
good-sized clearing covered with well-cleaned manioc.  This was it.
We'd been cruising very slowly and our fuel consumption was getting
low, but we could still hang around for fifteen minutes without cutting
into the reserve.  So we hung around.  All told, we must have seen
about fifteen clearings and a few houses.  It was an exciting old
time.."  a time we'd waited for.

"We never did let down for a close look.  In the first place, we had to
watch fuel consumption; in the second, we didn't want anyone to get
frightened on our first visit.  Wed be b.: k :,.n: with more thoughts
on the best manner to approach the situation.

"On the way back Ed observed that he thought that he saw some other
clearings closer to his place.  He felt it could be at ,;n; Mke for
Aucas from this settlement to show up at his station 
environment.  I didn't think so.  To me it seemed a idea that they should
all the way out there in the wild country sm,e there had been a raid at
their old location on the Nushino.  \\'e decided to keep thinking about
the whole thing and to compair notes later We also decided to keep the
'find' in the family until we were sure it was okay to spill it.  The
news was exciting to Marl and to Ruth and Johnny Keenan.  As we
reflected, it seemed providential that we had investigated that tiny
spot that turned into the first Auca clearing we had ever laid eyes
on.

"A couple of weeks later (September 29) I was to take Jim Elliot and
Pete Fleming over to Villano where they were to spend several days
preaching among a group of Quichuas who had never heard the Gospel. Our
route was to go via Arajuno, so we decided that since we'd be flying
over what was Auca territory, and since it would take two trips to move
in the men and their equipment and two Indian guides--which would mean
that I would cross the area four times--we would keep our eyes open and
fly slightly different routes each time.

"On the first trip over with Jim and the equipment we didn't see a sign
of life.  The return trip also yielded nothing.  Then Pete and the two
guides and I started out.  ttaving decided to go far enough east to see
an area that hadn't been covered by the previous two crossings, we
zigzagged slowly, favoring the more hospitable looking jungle
valleys.

"About fifteen minutes from Arajuno we spotted some clearings.  Pete
and I spoke only in English, but there was no hiding our excitement. 
Our Indian guides spotted the clearings also.  They were shat pies and

immediately said "Aucas."  It was their first time up in a plane, yet
they knew just where they were and could name the rivers.  We flew down
a little river and spotted a half-dozen big houses with smaller ones
around them.  That was it.  There they were as plain as the nose on
your face and only fifteen minutes from Ed's place a few minutes by
plane.

"As we approached Villano we talked over the problem of keeping the
guides quiet.  We decided that we would have to impress on them the
danger to them personally if word of the location of the Aucas got
around and if, as a result, there were attacks on the Aucas by the
Quichuas or others followed by Auca reprisal raids.

"I landed from the inhabited end of the Villano strip, coming in fast
so as to appear to have to use most of the strip.  That took us away
from the waiting crowd and gave Pete time to admonish the guides as per
our agreement.  They agreed to keep the secret... (probably as secret
as a full-sized toy elephant under a Christmas tree).

"Everyone who was in on our plan was again thrilled by the news.  To
some of us the most significant thing was not the information gained
but the fact that after so much fruitless searching we had located the
first group of Aueas and then in a couple of weeks had stumbled over
the other group.  It seemed to mean that now was the Lord's time to do
something about them.  Again we agreed to pray about the matter and
compare notes further, after the whole episode had a chance to sink
in.

"Several days later when Johnny Keenan was moving Jim and Pete and
their guides from Villano back to Arajuno, he hit bad weather and
finally had to come on back to Shell Mera to land and spend the night.
That was the night that the map was on the living-room floor surrounded
by four men who were now laboring under the conviction that the Lord
was leading us to do something about the Aucas.

"That night and into the wee hours of the morning we circumnavigated
the problem a dozen different times.  It is most fascinating

to try to imagine how those people would respond to different
approaches."

One of the problems that the missionaries grappled with that night was
that of language.  The need to convince the Aucas that here were
friendly white men, could best be effected by communicating with them
in their own language.  This was of the essence As the men talked over
this problem, Jim Elliot came up with the answer.  He remembered having
seen Dayuma on Senor Carlos Sevilla's hacienda, which lay only four
hours' walk from Shandia.  He offered to go and talk to her to pick up
phrases that could be useful in case contact were made.

A few days later, Jim trekked over.  He found Dayuma cooperative,
although he was very careful not to divulge to her the reason for his
desire to be taught some simple Auca phrases.  Among Quichuas gossip
spreads as quickly as anywhere else.  Fortunately, Dayuma--accustomed
to the strange ways of strange People--assumed he was only casually
interested in learning the language.

"Biff miff punimupa," which means "I like you; I want to be your
friend," Jim wrote carefully in his notebook.  This was followed by
"Biti winki pun gi amupa"--"I want to approach you," or, more
colloquially, "Let's get together."

"How do you say, "What is your name?"" Jim asked in Quichua.

"Awum irimi," Dayurea answered in Auea.

And so Jim built a practical vocabulary list.

Thus, one of the obstacles that lay in the path of the missionaries was
partly overcome.  A presentation of gifts seemed the obvious next step.
Perhaps a carefully-planned, regular program of gift drops made over a
period of time, would show the Indians that the intentions of these
white men were friendly, and the repetition would gradually convince
them.


A Line from Plane to

Ground

The men decided to begin the gift-drops to the savage Aucas at the
earliest possible moment, employing the spiraling-line technique that
Nate Saint had pioneered in Atshuara country.  There, the accuracy of
delivery had been of paramount importance.  In the new venture, the
technique would have the additional value of making it clear to the
Aucas that the visitors in the plane had the power to give or retain
the gift right up until the moment of delivery.  From captive Aucas it
had been learned that the Indians thought that the gifts from the Shell
plane fell out of its "stomach" as a result of its being wounded or
scared by the lances they had thrown.

Nate typed Out his continuing record of the start of Operation Auea:

"That night on the living-room floor it was decided that we would make
our aerial visits regularly, leaving something different each week in
order to work on their curiosity.  We calculated that under the
circumstances, sooner or later the hostile spirit would melt.

"The following plane Journey flew Jim and Ed back to Araiuno.  At Shell
Mera I began tests with the line to see what kind of simple, dependable
mechanism we could use to release our gifts when they touched the
ground.  Johnny red flew most of the tests and Mar and
Ruth looked on the tests and watched their release on the runway. 
with marks on the runway and tried to hit it.

Finally we were ready for a dress rehearsal.  Every thing went off
fine, except that when we flew over the ,trip to drop the line,
fouled the strut and we had to tie a knife on a stick so that we could
try to cut it loose.  There was no danger except that it could have come
loose by itself while we were not over the field.  And that is just
what happened.  I saw the line drape itself in some tall trees just
beyond the end of the runway and by the time we landed and got
in there to hunt for it, it was too dark, so that it had to remain
there till morning.

"That night I was so keyed up I couldn't sleep much.  On the other
hand, I realized that the whole thing was in the Lord's hands.  I had
no way of knowing how long it would take the next morning to get the
line out of the trees, but I told Marj that if I could be ready to take
off by 9 a.m. we would go through with it; if not, we'd cancel until
the following day.

"Next morning I rigged a 'fishing line' with a weight that I could toss
over the lost line high in the trees.  with that and a lot of trudging
around through brush I finally got all the line and by 9 a.M. we were
ready for take-off.

"October 6, 1955.  The first gift was a small aluminum kettle with a
lid.  Inside we put about twenty brightly colored buttons-obviously not
for their nonexistent clothes!  But buttons do make good ornaments.
Also we included a little sack with a few pounds of rock salt.  We
understand that they do not have any salt of their own.  If only they
could discover what the stuff was good for we felt sure we'd win
friends.  To these things we attached some fifteen brightly colored
ribbon streamers about a yard long.  All was ready.

"Out at Arajuno all was readiness and happy anticipation.  I was very
anxious lest by some fault of mine we might miss on this first
attempt.

"We loaded in our emergency equipment, rigged our special lg5


gear, made a 'dry-ran' test of getting the rig overboard, and took off
for points east.  We could hardly believe that we were to have the
privilege of making the initial effort.  Fifteen minutes' flying
brought us over the first clearings.  It was Ed's first look at his
'neighbors," and he was plenty keyed up about it.

"We decided to try to find the downstream edge of their domain so that
if we had a forced landing we could travel downstream away from their
territory.  About fifteen minutes more of looking around assured us
that we were over the house that interested us.

"We were about 3,000 feet above the ground, and could not see anyone
below; yet every indication showed that the house was occupied.  The
large house was thatched, with round ends, Jivaro style, and around it
were several smaller squarish houses with thatched roofs, square on the
ends.  Well-beaten paths linked the smaller houses to the large central
one.  The main house was about forty yards from the edge of the stream
and had a nice playa [sandbar] in front of it, perhaps seventy-five
yards long and twenty-five yards wide at the widest place.  A path
showed that they used the playa frequently.  It would be our target.

"We slowed the plane to fifty-five miles per hour and held the gifts
over the side--the door having been removed at Arajuno-and hooked up
the automatic-release mechanism.  Slowly we lowered the gift packet
until it was well clear of the plane.  Then we allowed the airspeed to
come up to sixty-five and began the hear tracking job of reeling out
the line.  I say heart-racking became if there is a bad knot anywhere
in that bundle of cord, the whole effort is lost for that time.  But
all went well and we began circling at about sixty-five miles per
hour.

"Since our altimeter reads only the altitude above sea level, we had no
way of knowing how high we were above the ground.  No sign of life
below.  We continued circling until the gift was drifting in a small,
lazy circle below us, ribbons fluttering nicely.  If no one was
watching, it made it more important that we put the gift in an obvious
place.  The gift still seemed pretty little, so we started spiraling
down, noting a considerable wind blowing from the north, necessitating
correction every time around in order to keep us over the target.

"Finally the gift appeared to be pretty close to the trees below.  Time
for the attempt.  The wind was making it difficult and the hills on
either side of the stream were covered with tall trees.  A couple of
times it seemed that we snatched our charge upward Just in the nick of
time to keep it out of trees bordering the sandbar.  Once I believe the
ribbons dragged across a tree and hung up momentarily.  At any rate,
that gave us our working elevation.  We made about six attempts at this
elevation, gradually drifting the prize against the wind until it was
over the bar.  Then we rolled the turn steeper and held our breath
while it lowered toward the earth.  It wouldn't be ideal for it to hit
the water, and it was heading close.."  close.."  closer.."  plunkl It
hit about two or three feet from the water, directly in line with the
path to the house.  They couldn't miss it, since they probably got
their water for cooking right at that spot.

"Now another problem.  I thought I saw our gift move just a little as
we began a slow climb, still circling.  That raised the question as to
whether it was released or dragging on the line.  But finally we were
sure the line was free.."  and there was our messenger of good will,
love, and faith, 2,000 feet below on the sandbar.  In a sense we had
delivered the first Gospel-message-by-sign language to a people who
were a quarter of a mile away vertically, fifty miles horizontally, and
continents and wide seas away psychologically.

"How much do these People know?  What do they think of what little they
have seen of the outside world?  We know they used to watch airplanes
of the Shell Oil Company land and take off at Arajuno, for the Shell
workers saw the spots where they hid in the bush to watch these
monstrous messengers of another world.  "The trip back to Arajuno was
short and happy.  Back home


again every body who was in on the secret wanted to know if we had
seen any Aucas.  They were a little skeptical about anyone's finding
our gift when we confessed we hadn't seen a soul.  Nevertheless, a
start had been made.

"Friday, October 4, 1955.  I haven't brought the narrative up to the
moment but rather than let the hottest stuff cool off while I catch up,
I'm going to go ahead with what just happened today.

"This morning the weather was good, so we took off around 8 A.m. On the
way out we could see some early-morning fog still lingering in the
river valleys to the east so we were in no great hurry.  We landed at
Arajuno and began to prepare for the 'drop," which was to be a new
machete.  We understand that these people have killed for machetes.
That is, they have killed people working in the fields in order to
steal their machetes or axes.  It is easy to imagine the importance of
such items among a stone-age people.  We wrapped the blade in canvas so
that no one would get cut and then tied on a number of colored ribbon
streamers.  After rigging the automatic touch-release gadget, we
climbed in the plane for a dress rehearsal.  Going over all our plans
and precautions again, it seemed that we were ready, so we had a word
of prayer for the success of the trip and took off.

"It is always a bit of a strain on me to reel out the line in the air.
But I slowed the plane down and we carefully lowered our second
'messenger of good will' over the side.  By the time the line was all
out we were almost at our destination.  We used a little less line this
time than last.

"Our plan was to check the sandbar where we left the gift last week.
There were some low clouds but we found the house and the sandbar.  The
gift was gone.  The binoculars removed any doubt.  Either they had
'accepted' it or a flood had taken it away.  We saw no one, but it was
evident that the site was well occupied.  The plan was to fly upstream
to the next house this time and leave the gift there.  We figured that
if we specialized on one house, the others might get jealous or become
suspicious that the occupant

of that house was in league with us, or was in some way a traitor to
their cause.  When we got to the target house, we found it directly
under a cloud so we inferred that the Lord would have us go on to the
next.

"As we approached the house we had decided on, we spotted three or four
canoes pulled up to the stream bank in front of the house.  That was
interesting because one report has it they don't have canoes.."  but
there they were.  That meant, too, that somebody must be around
nearby.

"As we started to circle about 2,500 feet above the house it became
apparent that we were going to be inside the cloud about ten per cent
of the time, but all other conditions seemed so favorable that we
decided to go ahead.  The high-tiding machete was behaving nicely.  Ed
was glued to the binoculars.  All of a sudden he let out a yell and all
but crawled out the open door to get a better look.  We were seeing our
first Auca!  He was running around but not hiding.  Pretty soon there
were three of them out in front of their big leaf-covered house.  Now
we felt sure that they had received our gift of last week and that the
idea had caught on in a hurry.  If it was half the sport for them that
it was for us, their excitement was understandable.

"After about four circles we had compensated for the wind, etcetera,
and started letting the gift down.  I was no longer worried about their
getting it because we felt sure they were already watching the dangling
prize.  We let on down.  At first it looked as if it would hit the
house, but it drifted toward the stream .... Splash!  Then, quicker
than you could bat an eye, another splash; an Auca had dived after the
treasure.  Minutes later there must have been a half dozen or eight of
the men on the bank examining the prize.  Our hearts were grateful.  We
had not hoped to see this for perhaps months.  Of course, we wonder
what they were thinking.

"Several things seemed evident: They got our first gift.  They aren't
afraid of us in this type of approach.  They are as animated, in one
way or another, about this thing as we are."


 Back at Arajuno, Ed learned another interesting bit of news.  His
local Indians reported the tracks of Aucas who had apparently hidden in
the brash near Ed's house to observe what was going on there.  Although
there was no way of verifying this conjecture, it was credible.  A
Quichua woman, Joaquina, who had been captured by the Aucas and later
escaped, had once told Dr.  Tidmarsh that it was the Aucas' practice to
sit on a certain hill overlooking the camp at Arajuno to observe what
went on.  It seemed that they had an intricate espionage system, which
perhaps at this very moment was operating near the McCullys' house.

The men planned to make a wooden model of the plane--with ribbons
dangling from it--to hang outside Ed's house in order to identify Ed
with the operation.

Eight days after writing the previous report, Nate Saint typed a
heading on a fresh sheet of tissue: "Report on the third visit to the
'neighbors."" He continued: "We refer to the Aucas as 'neighbors' and
to their area as the 'neighborhood' to avoid the use of the name on the
radio, or in the hearing of those who aren't supposed to be
interested.

"We couldn't go out on 'visitation' on Thursday as we ha(} planned
because the Army called on us for a flight down the Cureray River in
the interior looking for the body of a soldier who had drowned.  We did
not see any sign of the missing man but we did see a lot of Ecuador
that lies beyond habitation.  We understand that beyond the area we
checked, out toward the Napo, some vestiges of civilization reappear.
However, we flew for forty-five minutes, following every curve in the
river without seeing a single sign of human life.."  saw a little wild
life: several tapir, some giant turtles, and an abundance of birds of
paradise.."  beautiful things gliding over the woods below.

"Next day, Ed and I got away from Arajuno at about eleven o'clock while
Marilou kept all the Indians in school so they wouldn't ask too many
difficult questions.

"First we flew down the Curaray looking for possible camp sites or
temporary landing strip sites.  (This was forty or fifty miles above
the start of the area searched yesterday for the missing soldier.) We
saw some interesting possibilities, but nothing ideal for an
airstrip.

"However, up on the horizon along the ridges we saw something that
looked like smoke.  It seemed to be about the place where the Aucas
are, so we decided to have a look.  Maybe the boys had a smudge going
so we'd be sure to find them with our gift bag.  The smoke turned out
to be the remnants of a low cloud, but we found ourselves over the Auca
neighborhood at a lower altitude than we'd ever been before, and took
the occasion to circle each of the four main houses and take some
pictures.  We saw Indians all over, some running down the stream bed
from the manioc patch toward home, others coming from other directions.
They didn't seem at all afraid.  We shouted Auca phrases until we were
hoarse.

"After we circled the house where we had received such an open
reception last week, and flew on toward the next house, the Indians
apparently thought the show was scheduled there for this week, and all
took off down the stream bed to try to be in on it.  At any rate, when
we decided to repeat at the same house to reward their confidence, we
came back over and found the place deserted except for what appeared to
be two women.  But soon the menfolk came charging back up the stream
bed.  There must have been big excitement down there.

"This week our gift was to be another aluminum pot containing a bunch
of trinkets and beads, well ribboned.  We also tied on a little
ten-inch Indian basket (empty) in hopes they might put something in it
and send it back up.  But somehow or other after we got the whole thing
clear of the plane, the automatic release failed and we lost the kettle
to the jungle below, perhaps 300 yards distant from a smaller manioc
patch.  It seems likely that they might find it, but not too probable
since everyone was over at the big clearing waiting for the show to
begin.  We were already


getting a little tired from all the photographing and shouting to
them, but we felt we mustn't leave without giving them something, so we
tied on a new machete from our emergency kit, left on the little
basket, and lowered the whole works without any release mechanism.

"One of the more tiring elements on this trip was the rough air.  We
were constantly bouncing around and had a snappy drift from the
northeast, so that our machete drifted badly.  Several times when it
was lowering near them they would scramble helter-skelter in that
direction.  It is really great sport.  We don't know whether or not
they have any system for determining who gets the prize.  But as long
as the supply bolds up they should all keep encouraged.

"Finally after a couple of near misses, we set the packet within ten
feet of the front door of their house.  They had it immediately and
took it out on the riverbank.  Here the wind fouled up the works
because every time around I had to roll completely out of the turn to
compensate for drift and thus stay over the house.  And every time I'd
roll out of the turn the pull on the line got really hard.  They must
have had the line for several minutes.  We could not tell whether they
were putting anything in the basket or not.

They may have put in something too heavy to pick up, or they may have
tied the line to something.  At any rate we finally saw one fellow run
diagonally into the river and stop abruptly and do something,
suggesting that he was un snagging the line.  I felt the line loosen
and we were free.  We shouted at each other about the thrill of holding
a line, the other end of which an Auca held.

"Our next decision was to fly past them low enough so that they could
see us.  That meant pulling in the entire line, a tough job, but after
ten minutes of hard work we had it all in.  Then down we circled.  As
we got lower, the crowd, formerly eight or ten, thinned out until there
were only two or three in sight.  We had another little bundle of
ribbon to throw out as we went by.  We tossed the ribbon from about 200
feet and a brown-skinned man had it like the spider takes a fly.  We
shouted.  From the man's gestures and from past experience in similar
operations among them I feel sure that the man shouted back to us,
t];iii..iiz il irrt?  Iv was the only oue in sight and when we
circled around the tizer side of the house he ran in one side of the
house and out the other

"I felt a keen disappointment as I thought how frightened they must
have been when we swooped low.  However, as we circled slowly higher
and higher, they seemed to regain confidence and slowly reappeared.
Finally everyone seemed to be present.  we hope that they
regained their 'party' spirit and laughed off their fright.

"Going away, we flew directly toward the Curaray, since we feel more
and more that that will be the site of the first contact if the Lord is
pleased to continue blessing our efforts."


The Savages Respond

From all appearances the Aucas understood the white man's attempt to
introduce himself.  They seemed to recognize the regularity of the
flights, and in successive weeks appeared in large numbers, more eager
than ever to receive the gifts.  Had they any idea of reciprocating?
What were their real reactions?

For the fourth flight Nate rigged up the plane with a battery powered
loudspeaker.  As they approached the clearings, Jim called out the Auca
words, "I like youl I am your friendl I like youl" Then they dropped
another machete, wrapped and decorated as usual.  Jim's diary describes
the reaction:

"A group raced back into the trees behind the house and one lone man
walked to the beach.  He cupped his hands and seemed to shout, then
flashed the new machete over his head.  We dropped a small aluminum
pot, with ribbons.  It contained a yellow shirt and beads.  The Aucas
below us converged on it 'like women at a bargain counter," as Nate put
it, and one was soon flailing the shirt.  AS we approached the house,
two canoes some distance below it going downstream turned and came back
upstream hurriedly.  At one time I noticed people come running up
through the water onto the beach, and another time a single one with a
white cloth.

"We returned via the Curaray, looking for possible landing beaches.
Hopes not good.  Guide us, Lord God."


Back at Arajuno, the three pioneers had a council of war.  deciding
that the next full moon would witness the first attempt at a contact on
the ground with these remote people who had won their hearts.  Nate
wrote that night: "May God continue to put His good hand on the project
and may we drop it when not fully assured of His direction.  At present
we feel unanimously that God is in it.  May the praise be His, and may
it be that some Auca, clothed in the righteousness of Jesus Christ,
will be with us as we lift our voices in praise before His throne.
Amen."

On the next trip their reception was even more favorable.  McGully
manned the mike to call out, "We like you!  We like you!  We have come
to pay a visit."  The Aucas danced about eagerly, grabbing the machete
the men had thrown, and stripped its canvas so that it shone in the
sun.  While circling low Ed leaned far out the door and held out both
hands.  The Indians, about three of them, responded by reaching out
their hands too.  Ed's observations on this trip were:

"No fear manifest today, even when the plane was down low.  No running
inside or away.  Most stood under the banana trees, possibly because of
the sun.  The plane gets close but somehow one longs to get closer.  No
sign of malice or anger.  No lances seen.  If there were a ladder down
from the plane to them it would seem a good and safe thing to go among
them."

By this time each man on the team had had time to form a judgment. "The
team has a spectrum that ranges from impatience to conservatism," wrote
Nate.  Pete, who constantly conferred with the other three, did not
feel that the next full moon was the right time for the first attempt
at contact.  It was too soon to assume that a long-standing hatred of
white men had been overcome.  The language problem was a big one--and
it lay within their power to gain more knowledge of it, by working with
Dayurea, the escaped Auca woman from whom Jim had gathered his
material.  Ed's reaction was that the next move should not necessarily
be an effort at contact, but rather the establishment of a usable
airstrip


down the Curaray, perhaps within five miles of the "neighborhood."
Meanwhile Jim was "chewing the bit."  If a friendly contact were made,
Jim and I were prepared to leave the work in Shandia for a time, and go
in and live among the Aucas.  Nate felt that the men should follow the
already-established course of making regular contacts and that nothing
should be done suddenly, but that each advance be allowed to "soak in"
before pressing another.

On November 12 Nate Saint returned to his self-imposed task of keeping
the record of Operation Auca.  He wrote:

"This was the sixth week in succession that we have visited the
'neighbors."  It was a beautiful Saturday morning.  There wasn't much
cargo to go along, nor much fog in the river valleys, so I got out to
Ed's place at about 8:30 A.M. He was waiting at the airstrip when I
arrived.

"We took off with the public-address system and reel aboard.

Ed had a machete and a small aluminum pot and a large aluminum pot set
up with ribbons.  Again we flew down the Curaray at low altitude so as
to familiarize ourselves with the sandbars and various possible landing
locations along the river.  With familiarity, the sandbars look
increasingly useful for our purposes.  When we got to the point where
we were closest to the 'neighbors' we decided that rather than turn in
to them, we would fly on down the big river to see if perhaps there
might not be some ideal landing spot farther down.  We found none. Then
we decided that since we were down that far we'd go a little farther
and turn back up the little branch river along which the Aueas live.

"We flew perhaps eight to ten minutes up the small river before we
stumbled onto a house.."  one that we hadn't seen before.  It had the
coarser-leaf type of roof which slanted all the way to the ground, a
gable roof.  The ends of the house were also of leaf and slanted
perhaps ten to fifteen degrees out from the vertical.  We saw no one by
whom we could judge the size of the house.  It appeared to be smaller
than the others, but if in reality it is smaller, then the doors in the
ends were such as to require one to stoop quite low to enter.  Outside
the house were two disriper plantings--two patches.  The taller growth
was darker green and covered perhaps an acre.  It did not appear to be
manioc, being taller and thicker in the foliage cover.  But, the
interesting thing was that the plot was surrounded by a well-made fence
comprised of upright posts perhaps six feet apart, interwoven with
what could have been opened-up bamboo basket-weave style, so that
apparently an animal larger than a cat might not be able to pass
through the fence.

"After circling three times to have a good look, we headed up stream to
the next house, which was the one we had previously supposed to be the
most easterly of this group.  This house is also the one at which we
did the first 'line' drop of the little pailful of buttons.  Here for
the first time now on this trip we saw people, about six, I would
guess.  One went out on the sandbar where we had left the kettle before
and waited patiently.  When we waved and yelled, he waved but not with
the enthusiasm that is always displayed at the other place.  We
supposed that he was an older fellow.  His body appeared to be smeared
with something opaque such as clay.  There were no clothes in evidence.
We made a run and dropped him a machete, free-fall.  It landed right on
the sandbar and was carried off with relatively little ceremony or
enthusiasm.  Nevertheless, there seemed to be no demonstration of
hostility whatsoever; nor fear.  We went on, after shouting with the
publicaddress system that we were friends.

"At the next house we ran across a few of the 'neighbors' on the
sandbar.  We flew quite low, shouting and waving to them without using
the public-address system.  Then we dropped them the little pot.  It
hit the playa near them and was enthusiastically received.  They jumped
around quite excitedly.

"Also at this house let's number them from the east, making this one
No.  3) we noticed two items especially.  First, at either side of the
doorway were boards perhaps twenty-five inches wide and about five feet
high, decorated with bold, bright red decorations.  I suppose they are
doors of some sort.  The other item of note was that the owners had
made a woven-leaf end for their house; heretofore it has been open
where it faced on the river.

"From there we went on to house No.  4, which is the one we've visited
most often and at which we've been received with the most evident
enthusiasm.  There was a good crowd on hand to welcome us.  And to our
surprise, out behind their house where there had been a stand of trees
and undergrowth, there was now a clean clearing about seventy-five to
ninety yards in diameter.  Some of the stumps were still there, but
aside from that it was as clean as a basketball court.  From the
reaction of the people below I would guess that they couldn't decide
whether to expect the drop on their new clearing, or whether we would
drop it down by the house as has been the custom."

Ed's diary picks up the account of this day's operation:

"We went in low and threw an axhead, wrapped in canvas.  It lit just on
the west side of the clearing in the bushes.  They pounced
immediately.  Then we yelled, "We will give you a pot," and went up
higher.  Tied on the pot, and reeled it out.  This was a definite
leading of God, for we had almost decided to throw the pot free instead
of bothering with the line.  Nate made a perfect drop.  I held the line
and could feel their holding onto it.  They cut the pot off--and tied
something on!  Nate spotted it and praised the Lord.  When we got back
to Arajuno we found that it was a llaitu or headband of woven feathers.
A real answer to prayer; another sign to proceed, an encouragement that
friendly relations are possible and that they will hear the Gospel!" 
On November 26 Nate Saint recorded later developments: "Last week,
since Ed was not back from Quito in time for the usual ran, Jim Elliot
took it on with me.  I picked him up in Shandia after doing some
shuttling between Pano and Tena and Pano and Shandia.  We stopped by
Arejuno and picked up the 'gear."  There were two Indians near the
plane and despite our caution they apparently managed to find out what
was in the '

supply and said to Jim, "Why do you crazy fellows give all that good
stuff to Aucas?"  Jim ignored the question: but it meant quite surely
that the secret was more or less out, even though they could not know
any of the details.

"We flew, as I recall, quite directly to the 'neighborhood' and started
visiting around.  At No.  4 house two men }lad climbed up on top of
what we had previously thought of as a sun shelter--a high bamboo roof
or platform perhaps six feet off the ground.  We circled low several
times and decided to go ahead with a previously-discussed plan aimed at
getting them to cut down the trees at the far side of the clearing as a
sort of approach or go around which would permit us to fly low enough
for them to see us so as to be able to recognize us later on the
ground.  The plan was to drop our gifts into the trees we wanted
down.

"First we dropped an axhead.  Unfortunately it landed at the foot of
the trees in question.  Next time around we tossed out four plastic
combs with streamers of bandage material tied on them.  Happily a
couple of them at least got hung up in the trees.

"Next we went to No.  3' Everyone was out in great style.  One man had
one of our gift shirts on.  (The rest were in more typical uniform.) We
circled and waved and then went on down to the old man's house.  He was
out with his two women.  We didn't feel that he warranted too good a
gift, so we tossed him a pair of 'store-bought' trousers.  After
circling back to make sure he got them okay, we went on back to No.  3'
We tossed the people there a machete with a pair of shorts attached.

"From here we climbed on up over No.  4 to get ready to let down the
kettle for the last act of the day.

"I neglected to mention earlier that in rummaging in the emergency kit
Ed had made up, we found a roll of tissue.  We thought it might help to
get those tall trees down if we were to drape the tissue along the
treetops.  Such a drop might seem to be utilizing their curiosity to an
unfair advantage but on the other hand they were amply m-paid for any
trouble that they went to.


\When we tossed the roll, however, it reeled off about six feet and
then the wind tore off that length.  This process was repeated until
there was a curious white dotted line floating down into the trees.

"The wind was rather strong today and I had trouble staying over the
clearing as we let the kettle down.  It required some six or eight
attempts before the kettle landed in the little river at the edge of
the clearing.  They were at it in an instant.  But in that same instant
I had to roll out of the turn upwind to keep from getting too far from
the clearing.  That put quite a pull on the line at the moment they
were trying to work with it.  In about thirty seconds they let it go.
It appeared to have a gift on it... something small, perhaps, like the
combs [received earlier with the headband].

"As we left the area I called in and reported that we were on our way
back.  Marj answered that the Drown baby was sick and that I should
make the Best possible time so as to Be able to fly into Macurea if
necessary.  Therefore, I flew at seventy miles per hour and somewhere
along the line we lost the gift.  About halfway back I noticed that it
was missing.  It was a keen disappointment

In Jim's account of this day's operation, he said: "I saw a thing that
thrilled me--it seemed an old man who stood beside the house waved with
both his arms as if to signal us to come down!  Aneas, waving to me to
come!  God send me soon to the Aueas!"

At the end of his record of the eighth visit, Nate wrote: "One of the
problems we face now is getting another man to bring our manpower up to
strength.  The Lord is abundantly able"

Although five men would eventually make up "Operation Auca," only
three--Nate, Jim, and Ed--were definitely committed at this time. Pete,
who had been as vitally interested as these three, was, however, not
clear whether God's leading was for him to go or to stay.

It was now that Nate thought of Roger Youderian.  They had worked
together opening up the Atshuara country, building two other outstation
airstrips, and Nate was sure of Roger's capabilities.  He saw him as a
soldier of Christ, "a man capable of rear effort, trained and
disciplined," he wrote of him "He knew the importance of unswerving
conformity to the will of Hin.  Captain Obedience is not a momentary
option; it is a die cast decision made Beforehand.  He was a
disciplined paratrooper.  he gave Uncle Sam his best in that battle
and now he is determined that the Lord Jesus Christ shall not get less
than his Best.  everything that made him a good soldier has been
consecrated to Christ, his next Captain!"

Ed and Jim hardly knew Roger; working with different Indians in another
part of the Oriente, they had had little occasion for more than a
passing acquaintance.  But they trusted Nate's judgment implicitly.

As it happened, Roger was in Shell Mera at this time He had come out
from Macuma to help build a mission-sponsored hospital there.  So one
day, as Roger was nailing down sheets of aluminum on the roof, Nate
came to him, told him of Operation Auca, and asked him to go along as
the badly-needed fourth man.  Nate did not want to leave his plane on
the beach at night where it might be open to damage.  Neither was he
anxious to leave the two men alone overnight.  Would Roj go?

Roger agreed immediately.  But all unknown to the others, he was, at
that time, passing through a deeply personal spiritual struggle, and he
began to wonder if he should join the others in the physical venture
when not with them completely in spirit.

Only he and Barbara were aware of the struggle he was going through. He
questioned whether, after all, he was accomplishing anything whatever
in the mission field.  He had broken the language barrier, to be sure,
but why had there not Been an immediate show of fruit for his labors?

A missionary plods through the first year or two, thinking that things
will be different when be speaks the language.  He is baffled to find,
frequently, that they are not.  He is stripped of all that may


be called "romance."  Life has fallen more or less into a pattern. 
Day follows day in unbroken succession; there are no crises, no mass
conversions, sometimes not even one or two to whom he can point and
say: "There is a transformed life.  If I had not come, he would never
have known Christ."  There will be those among the Indians who say that
they accept Christ, but what of the forsaking of heathen custom and
turning from sin to a life of holiness?  The missionary watches, and
longs, and his heart sickens.

The forces of evil, unchallenged for so long, are now set in array
against the missionary.

Roger Youderian was finding out the power of these forces.  He wrote in
his diary: "About ready to call it quits.  Seems to me there is no
future in the Jivaria for us, and the wisest thing for us to do will be
to pull stakes.  Will wait until I've had a chance to talk it over with
Barb and see what she has to say.  We might pass Christmas here, finish
the hospital in Shell, and head home.  The reason: Failure to measure
up as a missionary and get next to the people.  As far as my heart and
asperations are concerned, the issue is settled.  It's a bit difficult
to discern just what is the cause of my failure and the forces behind
it.  Since March, when we left Wambimi, there has been no message from
the Lord for us.  I just picked up my Bible to share with the same Lord
who made me a new creature in England eleven years ago.  There was no
word of encouragement from Him.  He had kept us safe wonderfully, and
met our needs, but the issue is far greater than that.  There is no
ministry for me among the Jivaros or the Spanish, and I'm not going to
try to fool myself.  I wouldn't support a missionary such as I know
myself to be, and I'm not going to ask anyone else to.  Three years is
long enough to learn a lesson and learn it well.  Some people are slow
to catch on.  It will be tough on Barb and the children, but I've
always been convinced that honesty and sincerity pays.  The milk is
spilled--I'm not going to cry over it.  The cause of Christ in the
Jivaria will not suffer for our having been there, but I must be honest
and confess that it has not been helped.

I don't think it will come as much of a surprise to main a:.i wd!
only be an "I told you so."

"There is no spiritual pressure in the issue, and in fact very little
of emotion or stress; perhaps none.

"I realize that many along the way will say that we gave up too easy.
Perhaps.  But I believe that God's way is to face the issue and let our
yea be yea and our nay be nay.  I'm amen for the cause of Christ but
believe that the part I chose, no I cannot say the part I chose; I
believe that the Lord chose the Jivaria for us but I just didn't
measure up to it.  You will say that when the Lord calls, He supplies.
You can have my boots anytime you want them.  It isn't there.  I'm not
good at pretending.

"I do not put any blame on personalities or circumstances involved; the
failure is mine, and my failure to achieve the personal experience of
Christ that could meet the needs tie re  It didn't pan out.  It is not
because of wife and family.  Macuma station is ample for a home for
them and all we need has been offered.

"The issue is personal, and personal it shall remain.  What is the
answere I do not know.  And I'm discouraged about finding any
satisfactory solution.  Have been battling and thinking the issue for
many months.  There is no answer.  It is a combination of situations
and talents that has me buffaloed.  This is the first time in my life
that I have turned my back, but they say there is a first time for
everything.

"We are a happy family.  He has kept us well and given us sound bodies
and, we trust, sound minds.  Whatever He has for us is fine but I'm
afraid that anything along missionary' lines has been seared out of me.
If I couldn't make the grade here in Macuma I'm not foolish enough to
expect a change of setting would change me.  This is my personal
"Waterloo' as a missionary.

"It seems strange to try and sit back and view it in an impersonal way.
Of this much I'm sure: it will draw me to read His word more, be more

tolerant of others, and less venturesome in my activities.  "Some will
wonder why we don't seek a place in the Spanish or Quichua work.
Frankly, I'm not interested.  And, especially after this experience,
I'm not begging for any more headaches.  Only a fool makes the same
mistake twice.  One mess seems to me ought to be enough.

"Here I sit at 11 a.M. Wednesday listening to the services.  I told
them from the window that I would not come.  First they.  sang
"Wonderful Words of Life," and then "Oh Say but I'm Glad."  I've found
an English hymn book to see if there might be some consolation in a
hymn.  There is none.  It is beyond me.  My, what a world of time I've
wasted.  The rots are worn deep and it won't be easy to change habits
and give up the lost ground or let it be gained by the Lord.  But
surely it will be worth the battle.  My mind was made only to love Him;
my body, also, which includes my tongue in all its activities.  How
slow some of us are to learn.

"I will be led and taught of the Holy Spirit.  God desires full
development, use and activity of our faculties.  The Holy Spirit can
and will guide me in direct proportion to the time and effort I will
expend to know and do the will of God.  I must read the Bible to know
God's will.  At every point I will obey and do.

"A week spent in Shell IVLera, prior to this period, when I reiterated
many times a day "Thy will be done' helped much to fortify me for this
struggle."

Roger had not yet emerged from his "dark night of the soul" when Nate
approached him.  The days which followed found him in a desperate
struggle to know the will of God.  He had no doubt of his own
desire--he would go if that were all that mattered.  But to go without
the smile of God--that would be impossible.  "If Thy presence go not
with us, carry us not up hence."  Roger recognized something of what
this decision might mean for him, and the hours spent on his knees with
God witnessed agony of soul.  But God, "who causes us to triumph,"
brought him out of his slough of despondancy.

"He was cleansed through the Spirit for the task that lay ahead of
him," said Barbara afterward, "and went with a happy, expectant mind
and his heart full of joy."

On December 19 he wrote in his diary: "I will die to self.  I will
begin to ask God to put me in a service of constant circumstances
where to live Christ I must die to self.  I will be alive unto God. 
that I may learn to love Him with my heart, mind, soul, and body."

Just before he left Macurea to join the four in Arajuno, he wrote:

"There is a seeking of honest love

Drawn from a soul storm-tossed,

A seeking for the gain of Christ,

To bless the blinded, the beaten, the lost.

"Those who sought found Heavenly Love And were filled with joy divine,
They walk today with Christ above

The last line eluded him and, as he put down his pencil, he said:
"Barb, I'll finish it when I get home."


The Search for "Palm Beach"

Atruouc plans for meeting the Aucas on the ground occupied more and
more time, the regular weekly visits to "Terminal City," the name the
men had given to the Auea village, were continued without a break.  On
December 3 Nate recorded the ninth visit:

"We left Arajuno at about 8:45 with good weather.  Before taking off,
Ed and I shot some pictures that we hope will be suitable for
enlargement up to almost life-size so that the 'neighbors' will
recognize us when they first see us on the ground.  We took close-ups
of our faces, together with the combs and headdress they had given
us.

"When we got over the first house, No.  4, we noted that a couple of
pretty big trees were chopped down where we had tossed the gifts into
the trees for that purpose.  There are not many trees left now between
the two clearings.  If we can get them to cut down the rest, we will be
able to make low passes.

"Once this morning we swooped down so low that the two men who were up
on the platform 'directing traffic' ducked down.  When we swooped down
again the two were content to view the proceedings from the ground. The
platform appeared to be perhaps eight feet off the ground.  Both the
platform-men had on shirts, period: shirts we had given them, of
course.  In these runs we dropped an axhead, a plastic cup, and a cheap
knife.  We tried again to put these in the trees that still separate
the two clearings.  There were perhaps a half dozen other people around
No.  4'

"From there we went to No.  3As we made a low pass we nearly fell out
of the airplane, for there on the grass roof of the house was a model
plane!  We wondered if they made it after observing the model plane at
Ed's place.  In any case it indicates good will, and a craftsmanship
hitherto unsuspected among such primitives.

"We noticed another platform, larger and higher than the other and made
of chonta.  I'd guess it is fifteen feet off the ground.  On top was a
man complete with his uniform (shirt).  He waved responsively as we
waved to him.  We made a couple of passes and tossed out a machete so
that it fell just beyond the 'director."  We noted that the east wall
of leaves was off the house, so that we could see inside.."  fire
sites, etcetera.  It was a very friendly-looking deal, but it's
possible that they are going to put in a chonta wall to replace the
leaves.  Yes, I just checked the photo of No.  3 taken a while back,
and it shows leaf-wall all the way around except at the river end which
was open.  It is easy to see how the availability of even so simple a
tool as the machete can profoundly alter a culture.

"Next we decided to have a close look at a fresh clearing that has been
made on the ridge-crest just above No.  3. No one was there.  We
discussed briefly the possible benefits of trying to lure them up and
decided to try.  First time around we tossed out an aluminum kettle. It
was a poor shot and fell into the forest, fortunately on the slope
facing the No.  3 house.  It was then that we noticed that the
undergrowth on the slope was in the process of being cleared out.  That
means that they will be tipping over the trees on that edge of the
clearing which will enable us to fly within twenty feet of them in
perfect safety.  As a further lure Ed decided we should toss out a
cheap, plastic-handled knife.  (All these gifts are generously tea fled
by ribbon and bandage material.) In


view of the miss with the kettle I said to Ed as we approached, "Let's
put this one right on top of the house," referring to the sketchy
shelter that must serve as a sun-shade while they work on the new
clearing project.  And that's exactly where it landed .. . right on the
roof.  ""Let's go see how the old man liked his new pants," I
suggested. "Okay'... so we went.  He is about two minutes away from No.
3. He was waiting for us in pants and tee-shirt.  His two women were
out, too. One 'wore' a baby and the other nothing.  The area around
their house was nicely cleaned up, grass cut down to roots, etcetera. 
The old man evidenced the usual reserve and lack of enthusiasm.  We
dropped him a machete.  One of the women had to go get it.  His
gestures are willing but slow.  We flew by within 120 feet of them
about three times, and headed back up river to No.  3'

"Back at No.  3 area we checked the hilltop clearing again.  From a
quarter-mile away I could see that someone was there.  We were thrilled
by this quick result since we had thought it might take weeks to coax
them up.  The figures proved to be two women, young; I would say about
sixteen and twenty, maybe.  They had got the knife and we passed within
fifty feet of them taking pictures.  We made about four passes and for
the first time looked full into an Auca face.  She was good looking
with hair cropped to bangs in front.  The 'controller' of No.  3 was
still on the platform.  We waved good-by to him and headed on toward
No. 4'

"Back at No.  4 the boys were all waiting for the last act, the 'bucket
drop."  We climbed up to 3,000 feet and slowed down to forty-five miles
per hour with power off.  In this slow, power-off glide the kettle gets
clear of the plane very nicely.  It took only about three times around
to set the kettle in the middle of the big clearing behind the house.
They ran back and forth in a group, curiously to us.  I was afraid that
I was piling loose cord in after the kettle.."  however it seemed to
have too much tension on it for that.  Finally, after a minute and a
half, they turned it loose and up it came with a gift.."  bright red
and good ,.zcd.

"We flew back to Arajnno at fifty-five to sixty miles per hour. as
not to lose the gift if we could help it.  We had no trouble setting
the gift down on the runway and then we dropped the cord.  On the
ground we ran to the spot.  We found another feathered crown --a new
one, freshly made, and attached to it a little hank of hand-spun cotton
string.  It was all attached to our drop-line with a square knot."

That night Ed noted in his diary: "It is time we were getting closer to
them on the ground."  To Jim he wrote: "I've been giving the trip some
thought, and I feel this way: we should set a definite limit on the
number of days we will wait on the Curaray for them, and if they don't
show, we should be ready' to go in to them.  For myself, I am
definitely ready to go in and feel that it would be reasonably safe.."
if we can ever use that term in our initial ground contact with these
people!  We should go in (1) wearing the headdresses, (2) carrying
small airplanes such as I have hanging here, (3) carrying gifts wrapped
as we have been wrapping them, (4) shouting 'biti miti punimupa' (I
like you) or other phrases that we are making familiar from the plane.
God being with us--and up to this point we have every confidence that
He is, I think this would put us in.  The whole project is moving
faster than we had originally dared to hope, and while I'm not for
getting ahead of God, I feel that we shouldn't lag."

On December 10 Nate's journal continues with an account of the next
visit:

"In spite of our evasive maneuver Ed's Indians tell him that they were
down the Curaray last week and saw us go by.  They say (what a sense of
humor!) that they stripped off their clothes when they heard us coming
and got sticks like lances so that we would think they were
'neighbors."  They probably thought that we would drop them gifts.

"During the week, in talks with the members of the team it was decided

that January 2 would be the tentative date for the entry, attempt.  We
were thinking in terms of going down with Indians, setting up a house
and then having the Indians retire while the team would wait for a
contact.  Then with the plane we would try to get the 'neighbors' to
come over and pay a visit.  We know how to say 'come to my house' and
also "Curamy' in their tongue.  And I feel confident that by repeated
circling right over the ridge from them we can use curiosity to bring
them over to the big river.

"Roughly, the strategy calls for the carrying of arms only by
missionary personnel, and that out of sight.  We presume that the first
shot fired signals the failure of the entire project and the scuttling
of any hope in the near future.  Therefore utmost care will be taken
and the guns will be used only to frighten the savages in case of need
of self-defense.

"There were two views or two possibilities under consideration: (1) Set
up a little house at Palm Beach [the name agreed upon to designate the
river beach chosen for landing the plane] and then retire until the
'neighbors' would have had time to visit the site, and go back later;
or, (2) Set up and attempt to make contact on that first trip.  Since
the events of this morning further affect this decision, I'll leave
further discussion of it till later.

"This morning we took off from "Centerville' [Arajuno] at about 9:15,
armed with gift-wrapped machetes, axes and small knives and plastic
items.

"We also had three pairs of one-pound paper packages of paint pigment
powder in three bright colors.  These were for measuring playa sites
that might serve for Palm Beach.  Yesterday we ran tests here at Shell
and found that when flying at sixty-five miles per hour we could drop
little bags of flour at seven-second intervals and pretty consistently
mark off from 190 to 210 yards.  This measure was taken in view of the
impossibility of satisfactorily estimating the length of sandbars where
there is nothing that would serve as a basis for comparison.  "We took
a route down the Nushino, inasmuch as some of the Indians from Ed's
station were down on the Curafar River fishing again this week.  We
gradually eased over to the south and moved up the Curaray in the
area where we hoped to find a good strip for Palm Beach.  It wasn't
long before we located a possibility. \l,rot the larger playas are on
bends and therefore of no value without having approaches cut first.
The river is so serpentine that there are few possibilities of a
sandbar along a straight stretch.  We dragged [flew low over] the
first.  It seemed reasonable.  The only drawback was that this beach
would require take-offs with the prevailing wind.."  a serious
difficulty.  Nevertheless, after dragging it a time or two we 'bombed'
it with pigment and found that it had about 200 yards usable.  Another
difficulty was a big dead tree lying on the sand which forced the
landing area very.  close to the river-bank foliage.

"The next one we found was about a mile or less downstream.  It looked
better--better approaches, especially into the prevailing wind.  The
approach would be steep but possible.  The playa is low to the water so
that a flood would easily cover it, but it is pebbly and firm-looking.
We 'bombed' it and found a conservative 200 yards usable.  I should not
be surprised if a measure would show it to be more like 230 yards
usable.  Also it is such that an overshot landing would only put us
into shallow water.  We dragged it once, keeping good airspeed until
more familiar with the pull-out area.  In the pull-out the trees along
the banks overhang enough that it is a little squeaky, but by tipping
over two trees after we land, we can take care of that problem.

"It began to look as if this would be our "Palm Beach."  We decided to
shoot a simulated landing on it.  Down close to it I could see the
surface well and I put the wheels down lightly twice as we accelerated
again for the pull-up.  The surface was smooth as a gravel ran way and
seemed hard.  It is really ideal, except for vulnerability to
flooding.

"This finding brings into focus the possibility of landing the team
right there with a prefabricated tree house and aluminum for


 a roof.  It would mean that no Indians need to be in on the deal at
all, and barring flood it would mean that I'd be able to fly them all
out following a contact or whenever they should be ready to come.

"The picture would be something like this: (x) On a Friday morning,
Lord willing, free-fall supplies and equipment onto the Palm Beach site
from very' low (just off the runway) so as to be sure they would not be
in the landing area.  (2) We land with Jim and Roger, keeping the plane
very' light.  (3) We land with Ed and aluminum.  (4) We land with Pete
and more supplies (if Pete should feel led to go.)

"On arrival, Jim and Roj would go to work tipping over the two or three
medium-to-small trees in the approach.  Then they would pick out a
suitable tree for mounting the prefab tree house and start clearing
around it.  When the others are with them, all would go downstream to
the first bend and tip over at least one of the two trees on opposite
banks which make the pass rather narrow.  (This is not an absolute
must, but would be highly desirable.) During this part of the operation
someone should always have a hand on a weapon inside a bag so that it
could be fired on a moment's notice and thus upset the equilibrium of
any possiNe lancer.

"Next, back to the sandbar, with two men widening the clearing at the
foot of the tree while two work on getting the tree house up in place
and the aluminum roof on.  Once the house is all set, the men would
rotate on the clearing, perhaps with one fellow still concentrating on
getting food supplies, stove, water, etcetera, up onto the platform.
One man, resting from the clearing crew, could sit on the platform and
cover the men on the ground, always keeping arms strictly out of sight.
By evening, there ought to be a fair-sized clearing at the base of the
tree, connected by clearing to the playa.  The plane returns to Arajuno
after checking radio set-up in the tree house, etcetera.

"Next day the plane begins the invitation of the 'neighbors' to the
Palm Beach site, both by calling phrases as well as by co-axing,
circling in that direction from where they are and their village at
Palm Beach and repeating every hour or so until we're sure they've
caught on.  Another detail will be the installation f a good-sized
model plane on the site.

"Maybe five days would be committed to the effort.  If unsuccessful we
would withdraw, either by air or by sending a crew of Indians down
river in canoes.  Supplies in the tree house should be sufficient for
two weeks to cover possible loss of the playa by flood or siege, the
two rougher possibilities to be faced.

"The practicability of a raft composed of air mattresses and bamboo
should be reckoned with as a downstream exit to an Army base on the
Curamy in case the Indians should refuse to go to the rescue.

"Back to the narrative: We checked course and distance from the Palm
Beach possibility to Terminal Cite'--135 degrees and three minutes at
ninety miles per hour.  That makes about four and one-half miles from
the beach on the Curaray to the Auca village.

"While letting down we headed east to the old man's house.  The old boy
wasn't there but a young man was waving something like bark cloth and
clearly offering it for trade.  In the course of four passes we dropped
(I think) a small knife, plastic cup, and possibly some article of
clothing.."  not sure of the latter.

"Next we moved up to the clearing on the hill above the airplane house,
or No.  3' There were two women there.  We dropped a small knife.  The
head man was down by the house on his platform directing traffic.  He
had on a red and black checkered shirt we dropped last week.  We
signaled and shouted to him, indicating that we wanted him to come up
to the hilltop.  While we circled some more he disappeared from the
platform and two younger boys took up his post.  Next we made a low
pass to drop an axhead beyond the platform.  We must have scared the
younger fellows because one of them had a lance in his hand as we
circled


back.  That was an unkind gesture and we swooped down low again to see
if they would show any hostility.  Someone must have given them the
word because the lance had disappeared and all seemed well.  Now we
spotted the boss-man in the checkered shirt up on the hill.  We
couldn't afford to slight him so we made two passes and on the second
dropped him a pair of pants which he caught in mid-air.  (These fellows
will be dressed like dudes before we get to see them on the ground.)

"Next, up to No.  4 and the main act.  The big shots, four of them,
were clad in white tee-shirts.  Youngsters and women were in the older
uniform.  The trees that we had tried to get them to cut down by
tossing stuff into them, were now cut down.  Also the walls (chonta)
were off the house.  (I failed to mention that they were also off No.
3-) And beside the house they had built a new and higher platform like
No.  3's.

"We made a couple of low passes, calling to them, "I like you, I like
you," etcetera.  On the last low pass we tossed them a machete.  While
passing low we saw one of the four Big Wheels holding up a package,
roundish and brown.  We figured this was our trade item.  We pulled up
and climbed slowly.  Ed was feeling pretty rough.  It has been an
unusually strenuous workout and Ed had had to attend to a sick baby
across the river from his place earlier in the morning.  He hadn't been
feeling too sharp then.  I was also feeling as though I'd been dragged
through a keyhole but it was worth it.  At 3,000 feet I throttled all
the way back, pulled flaps, and settled into the quiet of a
forty-five-mile-per-hour glide while Ed got the gift overboard on the
line.  This week we gave them a couple of little bundles of string, a
few smaller items, and four 6 by 9-inch portraits of the team-members,
tinted and bearing the insignia of the operation, a drawing of the
little yellow airplane.  These were glue-mounted on Masonite board.

"When this stuff got down over by the trees, they got it and quickly
took it out to the center of the clearing.  They went into a loo per
cent huddle over the contents of the white cloth mail sack that carried
the mentioned items, except for the fellow busy fastening on
their gift to us.  I saw the gift swinging lazily.  I
rolled out of the turn and added power.  Within four seconds the
package was swished skyward from hem and the last man joined the
huddle over the pictures.  What we would have given to see those
boys studying out our pictures and see their reactions!

"We headed home at sixty-five miles per hour with the prize dangling at
the end of the line.  At Arajuno we set it down at the edge of the
strip, cut the line and landed.  On the ground, I bashed my way through
the brush at the edge of the strip while Ed lost his breakfast.  This
is the first time I've beat him to the prize.  (His legs are at least a
foot longer than mine.) When I got to the bark-cloth bag, it was
moving.  Since we had given them a chicken last week I figured it would
be a bird, but as I started to peek in a hole the thought of a snake
crossed my mind.  However, it was a nice parrot in a basket covered
with bark.  It was well tied and was complete with a partially-nibbled
banana inside for the trip

"I had lunch with Ed and Marilou and talked of the possibilities opened
to us by the finding of a beach we could land on.  We praise God for
this--another indication of His leading and care.  We believe that in a
short time we shall have the privilege of meeting these fellows with
the story of the Grace of God."


An Auca on the Path

"FumAv A.M.I" Nate tapped out this opening on a borrowed typewriter in
Arajuno, and continued: "liais morning in Shell Mera as I was dressing
in the bedroom adjoining the office-radio room, I heard Marj checking a
message just received from Marilou McGully, who was holding down
Arajuno alone while Ed helped in a conference ministry at Puyupungu.
Marilou said she had rather sound reason to believe that Aucas were in
the neighborhood.

"Two things flashed through my mind: first, the opportunity to make
contact with them, then the danger that a shot by one of the local
Indians would ruin all the efforts made up till now-and the consequent
closing of the door that seems to be opening to us.

"While Marj got the message relayed to Ed down at Puyupungu, I was
rolling the plane out of the hangar.  Too much was at stake to
hesitate.  Also, the weather was threatening to sour to the north.  The
mission house at Puyupungu is about five minutes from the airstrip.  I
got to the airstrip about one minute before

Ed.  We returned to Shell Mera immediately.  Then while Johnny gassed
the plane, Marj and Ruth got some cat go and vegetables ready, Ed
loaded, and I got some equipment together for the special nature of the
expedition; I found that the little blank pistol

I had just bought in Quito felt very nice in my pocket.  It must be
because I feel that it would surely break up an attack, and I feel
confident of not accidentally hurting anyone with it.  It also shoots
tear gas cartridges, but as Ed notes, if there is an attack on and I
get close enough to use tear gas.."  well.

"The weather held okay until we got over the Arajuno headwater valleys.
There, low ceilings pushed us down into the valley and within five
minutes of Arajuno the clouds were on the mesas that line the
half-mile-wide valley.  I kept a weather eye on the valley behind, got
a final look at the clear area beyond the edge of the overcast and
weighed the alternatives.  In case of trouble, I could spiral up to
5,000 and head southwest into the clear area five minutes away.  I
yawed the plane to check the turn-and-bank indicator, without which
this maneuver would be impossible.  It was okay.  Light rain--heavier
in patches--made us circle a time or two to get a good look ahead.  We
slipped across the ridge and down the other valley.  In about another
minute (these are the long kind of minutes that seem to last about five
minutes each) we had the strip under us.  We kind of figured the Aucas
might have wanted to take a look at the plane on the ground, and, not
having found it at Arajuno, they might have headed for home.  We then
circled several times to let the 'neighbors' know we'd come to welcome
them.  We landed around 8:30.  As the bad weather moved southwest it
became apparent that if we had delayed five or ten minutes we would
have been too late.

"Walking from the strip to the house we wondered if we were being
watched.  Ed went ahead with both hands full.  If they are looking for
large steaks on long bone, they passed it up this time.  I had one hand
in my pocket nonchalantly flipping the safety on and off on my blank
pistol, all the while wondering how far things should go before
allowing a shot to signal the end of the whole operation.  Again we
felt the need of God's guidance and intervention in a special way.

"As we neared the house we heard a Christmas carol in Quichua.


Ed explained that Marilou was rehearsing the local Indians for a
Christmas program.  When we got in the house, Ed took over for a few
minutes and gave the locals a pep talk on "How to win friends and
influence people," also exhorting the Indians regarding our Christian
obligations to reach the Aucas with the Gospel.  It would seem that at
this point the measure of missionary zeal among these new converts
would depend pretty much on who saw whom first and under what
circumstances.

"The rehearsal for the Christmas program proceeded rather anemically a
few minutes longer and was then dismissed.  Ed politely asked the
Indians to hit the road for home.  But they hung around.  Finally, Ed
offered them candy if they'd go.  They agreed.  He gave the two leaders
some special candy for extra bravery.

"When we were finally alone, Ed ambled into the living room like the
friendly local patrolman and said to Marilou, "Now get ahold of
yourself, lady.  Everything's going to be okay.  All we want are the
facts."  (The capacity of these guys to toss something like this into a
serious situation is a great asset.  It kind of doubledutches you into
second gear when you've been pulling too hard in high.)

"It seems that at 5:4 A.M."  Fermin, the Indian who has been sleeping
in the schoolhouse to help guard while Ed is away, went down the path
toward the chacra to take care of the exigencies of nature.  When about
as far as the pole that holds the model plane aloft, he spotted a man
at the end of the path .. . naked, with lance, and with hair tied up in
a bun on the back of his head.  As they saw each other the Auca ran
into the forest.  At 5:4o and ten seconds past, Fermin was calling at
Marilou's window.  Fortunately his gun (in the schoolroom) was not
loaded and he needed powder and shot.  Of course Marilou would not give
him any.  He was sure she had gone mad and proceeded to try to convince
her with round advice on how to take care of Aucas.  He was genuinely
pale and excited.  It looked like the real thing.

"First Marilou took the empty gun from the poor fellow's hand although
she is seven months pregnant, Marilou took a machete for a gift and
headed down the path calling 'biti miti Dllrirrn?(I I like you... I
like you.  In between her calls she could hear Fermin calling after her
in Quichua .. . "You're crazy .. you're crazy.."  they'll kill you
first."  When she was two-thirds the way to the spot where the savage
had been seen, Fermin and Carmela, the Indian girl who lives with
Marilou to help in the house, both came running and caught up just in
time for them all three to see a fresh wet footprint on a dry board
across a little ditch.  The print was headed toward the house.  Across
the path they found grass recently stepped on, leading to the forest.
Marilou then tossed the machete on the fresh path, called out some
more, and returned to the house.  Half an hour later when the local
witch doctor arrived for school, he accompanied Marilou to the spot.
Finding no further indication of visitors, Marilou picked up the
machete and they came back to the house.  Carmela expressed a common
feeling when she said she would have suspected that Fermin imagined
seeing an Auea until she saw the footprint.  When Marilou asked her if
she was afraid she said she was only a little afraid, and that she was
sure God would take care of them.  Then Marilou heard Fermin call in to
Carmela and ask if the Senora was scared.  Carmela answered that as far
as she could tell, she wasn't; to which Fermin answered that she would
be when night came and he wasn't there to protect them.  Marilou then
asked him if he was going to stay that night.  "I will stay," he said,
'if I have a loaded gun.  Without a gun we will all be killed."

"We talked things over while Ed prepared a machete and a pot the way we
do when we deliver them at the 'neighborhood."  At 10:30 (still raining
lightly) we paraded down the airstrip decked out in the feather
headdresses they have given us on the line and calling in Auca phrases
while waving the gifts over our heads.  We must have looked like a
couple of Don Quixotes in the role of Santa Claus delivering goodies to

the trees.  "At 2:30 P.m. we made another safari down to the far end
of the airstrip making our most unusual offer.  Then we decided that
evening would be the most probable time to contact them here so we'd
fly down to the 'neighborhood," count heads, and do tomorrow's drop
today.  We got ready and off, arriving over Palm Beach at 3:30.  Spent
about ten minutes there rechecking the beach.  Dye and bandage material
still on the sand although nearby playas seem to have been under water
at some time since last week's visit.  We rolled the wheels of the
plane on the beach about seventy-five yards and then poured on the
coal.  The approach is really difficult but the pull-out is good except
for one narrow place, but that is a good way downstream.  The whole
site had a friendly look to us this time.  We checked trees along the
beach that might be suitable for the tree house and then took the three
minute trip over to the 'neighborhood."

"We found our friends scattered, with no waiting traffic manager,
making us think that maybe indeed we had gotten them on a seven-day
week by the regularity of previous visits.  We made a couple of low
passes over the old man's house, taking movies in slow motion.  One
person showed up holding the same piece of material as last week.  We
dropped nothing.  At the airplane house we found about four people
around the house and platform and three up on the cleared hill.  The
fellow on the hilltop had on the red swimming trunks an earlier gift].
We dropped him a small knife with appropriate ribbons and hurried on to
the main house since by now we were convinced that men were clearly
missing, making it probable that the visit at Arajuno was indeed
real.

"We made a couple of low passes taking movies and then pulled up and
let out a pot on the line.  The contents of the pot this week were:
little packages of food wrapped in banana leaves, beef, chocolate,
manioc, cookies, candy, and some beads.  They received these gifts and
helped themselves to about twenty to fifty yards of line and tied on a
gift.  It was larger and heavier than any so far.  We made tracks for
Arajuno with it.  We let it down, cut the line, landed, and hit out
through the brush trusting that any intelligent snake would know enough
to get out of our way.  (There's anti-venin in the plane.) The gift was
a large black bird, apparently their chicken, in a basket cage
reinforced with netting and a piece of bark cloth.  We still haven't
decided what to do with the bird.  Also in the cage there was a
spinner's distaff loaded with cotton yarn, a well-received gift.

"Evening and night in Arajuno..."


Why Did the Men Go?

Tue time was ripening fast.  The men and the other wives and I spent
long hours discussing this project of which we had dreamed for so many
months and years.  Olive Fleming remembered what she had read in Pete's
diary of his willingness to give his life for the Aucas.  I reminded
Jim of what we both knew it might mean if he went.  "Well, if that's
the way God wants it to be," was his calm reply, "I'm ready to die for
the salvation of the Aucas."  While still a student in college Jim had
written: "He is no fool who gives what he cannot keep to gain what he
cannot lose."

Marilou MeCully said: "I hope no one feels any pressure is being put on
Ed to go.  This is a thing for each couple to face by themselves."

Two gift flights remained before the actual ground operation was to
begin.  On December 23, when the Elliots and Flemings had gone to
Arajuno to spend Christmas with the McCullys, Nate flew

Jim over the Auca settlement.  Seeing the same old man they had noticed
before standing in a clearing, they swooped down past him at no more
than fifty feet.

"Wowl" said Jim, "That guy's scared stiff!"

Nate agreed.  "It's as though they had steeled themselves against doing
anything that would express either fear or hostility," he wrote later.
"Possibly afraid that they might scare away the chicken that lays the
golden eggs.  But their eyes don't lie--they're full of terror.

Understandable, though.  The expression is that of a child in
the front row when the circus clown points a big gun right in his
face.  He's sure it's all in fun, but.."  oh.  brother!

"At the main house the 'chief traffic director' was in his
uniform-shirt and pants -everyone else more typically tires cal, or
undressed.  Jim counted thirteen on hand.  On our first loop past, one
of them held up what was apparently to be our gift.  we dropped them a
carrying net containing white cloth, a flashlight, a pair of pants, and
other trinkets.  What wouldn't we give to see them trying to make sense
out of that flashlight[

"Jim announced the take-off of their gift on the line, and I rolled out
of the turn to hold it up.  It is the heaviest yet.  We cruised at
sixty-five back to Arajuno, and let the bark-cloth bundle down hard. It
hit in some bushes about twenty yards from Ed's house.  Contents:

"Cooked fish

Two or three little packets of peanuts

A couple of pieces of cooked manioc

A cooked plantain

Two squirrels, very apparently killed by the hard fall

One parrot, alive but a bit nervous

Two bananas in with the parrot

Two pieces of pottery, clay, busted to bits in the fall

A piece of cooked meat and a smoked monkey tail

"This is by far the most all-out effort at a fair-trade arrangement on
the part of the neighbors.  We are all delighted.  Jim and Ed sampled
the meat, and we all ate some of the peanuts.  Then, meaning no ill to
the kind folks who mailed all those goodies to us, we sat down and ate
the meal that Marilou had prepared."

Even though Pete had not yet made his final decision, he and Olive with
three other couples who would be directly involved in the project were
together on the 23rd for discussion.  (Roger and Barbara Youderian
still were on their station in the southern jungle.) The wives were
particularly concerned to know exactly what provisions were to be made
for safety.  It was decided that arms


would be carried, concealed, and that if the situation appeared to be
getting delicate, they would be shown, simply to let the Aucas know
that the white man held the upper hand.  If this were not enough, shots
would be fired with the intention only of scaring them.

Roger had drawn up a plan of operation.  Jim was assigned to the task
of prefabricating a house to put up in a tree.  This would insure
safety at night, especially if a gasoline pressure lamp were kept
burning to illumine the area at the foot of the tree.  Ed was
responsible for collecting items for trade with the Aucas.  Roj would
make up the first-aid kit, Nate saw to the communications and
transportation, Jim took charge of arms and ammunition, and when later
on Pete decided that he would go too, he was to be responsible for
helping Nate on the flights to and from Arajuno, for flights over the
Auea houses when he would shout over the loudspeaker, and for keeping
supplies on the beach.  Roj prepared a set of code signs to be drawn in
the sand on the beach in case of emergency, and drew maps for each man
with the code names he had made up for the strategic points.

The language material which Jim and I had gathered in previous weeks
was organized and memorized by each member of the party.  Marj's place
was to be at the radio in Shell Mera, standing by at all times when the
plane was flying, and keeping set schedules of contact with the men on
the ground.  It was decided that Barbara would stay in Arajuno, helping
Marilou with the preparation of food which Nate was to fly daily to
Palm Beach.

The appearance of the Auea at Arajuno, the fact that the Quichuas were
guessing a little too shrewdly for comfort, the great encouragement in
the drop flights--indeed, even the weather itself --seemed to be
catapulting-them toward their D-day with now-or never emergency.  Within
a month the rainy season would start, flooding the rivers and making
landings impossible.  The ideal time for establishment of their
beachhead in Auca territory would be early January during the full of
the moon.

They set the date for Tuesday, January 3, 1956'

Christmas at Arajuno was made as much like Christmas at home'

as Marilou's genius could make it.  She even had a little Christmas
tree, made of bamboo and decorated with lights and tinsel and Jim,
who already had "reserved seats" for the trip to Palm Beach, were keyed
up.  Pete was still waiting on God in prayer before making his final
decision to go.

The other wives and I talked together one night about the possibility
of becoming widows.  What would we do?  God gave us peace of heart, and
confidence that whatever might happen, His Word would hold.  We knew
that "when He puttcth forth His sheep, He goeth before them."  God's
leading was unmistakable up to this point.  Each of us knew when we
married our husbands that there would never be any question about who
came first--God and His work held first place in each life.  It was the
condition of true discipleship; it became devastatingly meaningful
now.

It was a time for soul-searching, a time for counting the possible
cost.  Was it the thrill of adventure that drew our husbands on?  No.
Their letters and journals make it abundantly clear that these men did
not go out as some men go out to shoot a lion or climb a mountain.
Their compulsion was from a different source.  Each had made a personal
transaction with God, recognizing that he belonged to God, first of all
by creation, and secondly by redemption through the death of His Son,
Jesus Christ.  This double claim on his life settled once and for all
the question of allegiance.  It was not a matter of striving to follow
the example of a great Teacher.  To conform to the perfect life of
Jesus was impossible for a human being.  To these men, Jesus Christ was
God, and had actually taken upon Himself human form, in order that He
might die, and, by His death, provide not only escape from the
punishment which their sin merited, but also a new kind of life,
eternal both in length and in quality.  This meant simply that Christ
was to be obeyed, and more than that, that He would provide the power
to obey.  The point of decision had been reached.  God's command "Go
ye, and preach the gospel to every creature" was the categorical
imperative.  The question of personal safety was wholly irrelevant.


 On Sunday afternoon, December 18, Nate Saint sat at his typewriter to
tell the world why they were going--just in case.  In speaking these
words he spoke for all: "As we weigh the future and seek the will of
God, does it seem right that we should hazard our lives for just a few
savages?  As we ask ourselves this question, we realize that it is not
the call of the needy thousands, rather it is' the simple intimation of
the prophetic Word that there shall be some from every tribe in His
presence in the last day and in our hearts we feel that it is pleasing
to Him that we should interest ourselves in making an opening into the
Auca prison for Christ.

"As we have a high old time this Christmas, may we who know Christ hear
the cry of the damned as they hurtle headlong into the Christless night
without ever a chance.  May we be moved with compassion as our Lord
was.  May we shed tears of repentance for these we have failed to bring
out of darkness.  Beyond the smiling scenes of Bethlehem may we see the
crashing agony of Golgotha.  May God give us a new vision of His will
bringing in the lost and our responsibility.

"Would that we could comprehend the lot of these stone-age people who
live in mortal fear of ambush on the jungle trail... those to whom the
bark of a gun means sudden, mysterious death those who think all men in
all the world are killers like themselves.  If God would grant us the
vision, the word sacrifice would disappear from our lips and thoughts;
we would hate the things that seem now so dear to us; our lives would
suddenly be too short, we would despise time-robbing distractions and
charge the enemy with all our energies in the name of Christ.  May God
help us to judge ourselves by the eternities that separate the

Aucas from a comprehension of Christmas and Him, who, though

He was rich, yet for our sakes became poor so that we might, through
His poverty, be made rich.

"Lord, God, speak to my own heart and give me to know

Thy Holy will and the joy of walking in it.  Amen."


XVI

"We Go Not Forth Alone"

NEw Year's Day, 1956, saw Ed and his family, and Pete and Olive
Fleming, in Shandia with Jim and me, while Roger and Barbara Youderian
stayed in the McGully house in Arajuno, to be on hand in case the
"neighbors" came calling.  Nate was completing his preparations for the
very serious task of transporting the missionaries and their equipment
to the beachhead.  Monday momingo January 2, was a clear day for
flying.  By this time Pete had decided to go, so Nate had planned to
get Pete and Olive and the MeCullys back to Arajuno from Shandia that
day, and to shuttle Jim over on Tuesday.  But on the morning radio
contact he said: "Think you better get ready to go to Arajuno today,
Jim.  We need time tonight for plans, and ought to take advantage of
the good weather."

Jim began throwing his things into an Indian carrying-net while the
MeCullys and Flemings were flown over to Arajuno.  Everything he could
think of that might help or amuse the Aucas, should they pay the men a
visit, Jim put into the bag: harmonica, snakebite kit, flashlight,
View-Master with picture reels, yo-yo, and, above all, the precious
notebook of Auca language material, with the carefully arranged
morphology file.  I helped Jim get his things together, wondering all
the while, "Will this be the last time


I'll help him pack?  Will this be the last lunch he'll eat in
Shandia?"

When the little plane returned, circling over the airstrip, preparing
to land to pick up Jim, his baggage and the last few pieces of the
prefabricated tree house he had made, we went together out the front
door.  Jim did not look back.  At the strip he kissed me good-by, and
the plane was off.

That night in Arajuno the five men made a tentative schedule of timing
for the next day's landings on Palm Beach in order to see whether the
whole setup on the beach could be ready by evening.  No detail was
omitted; lists of equipment for each flight were made, and copies
distributed among members.  After supper and schedule conference, the
stuff was laid out.  The place began to look like a full-scale
beachhead as each man checked and completed his equipment lists.

When they turned in, sleep did not come easily for Nate, on whom rested
the greatest burden of responsibility.  He was spending the night at
Arajuno in order to save time in the morning.  HIS diary tells of that
night:

"I drowsed off quite soon, but was checking the luminous face of my
watch dial at 12:30, again at 2:00, and from then on I was on
horizontal listening-post guard duty.  I prayed, tried repeating verses
from memory, and even counting.  My entire share in this business
seemed to hinge on that first take-off and landing.  Then, too, I had
told the fellows that I would only take one in alone on the first trip.
That meant a lonely vigil for someone.  Roj was ruled out, because he
spoke only Jivam.  Ed had already beat Jim by pulling straws, but Jim
held out, chiming to be lighter.  When I said a difference of fifteen
pounds would be decisive, they dragged out the bathroom scales.  Ed was
only seven pounds heavier than Jim.  "Why, you cotton picker' said
Jim.  "You've lost weight.""

Nate continued in his diary: "If I should misjudge, Ed and I would
really be in a fix.  If the plane were damaged it would mean
vulnerability in a flood, possibly even dismantling it and making a
strip on higher ground -all this in a forest inhabited by aucas!  We
had faced it in the light of past tests and decided to) go ahead.  As I
slept, or tried, it was still a rough decision But there was no doubt
in my mind that we should forge ahead.  The takes warranted it.

"The last time I 'punched in' was 4 A.m.  From four until movement in
the house woke me at 5:45, I slept."

The morning of January 3 dawned clear.  Somehow Nate found time later
to record the events of that day--the day of the first landings in Auca
territory:

"Roj and I got right out to the plane.  We'd been losing fluid out of
the right brake.  With a ten-cc syringe and a No.  22 hypodermic needle
we sucked brake fluid out of the left master cylinder and injected it
into the right.  No soap.  Not enough.  We'd lost too much when I fixed
the brake fitting the night before.

"The others were hauling boards and equipment and aluminum to the strip
and arranging all in order of priority.

"At the 7 A.M. radio contact we asked Marj to ask Johnny to bring us
brake fluid as quickly as possible.  Also, Olive had had a rough night
(sick) and planned to go back to Shell with Johnny.  This delay gave us
a peaceful breakfast and time for prayer together."

At the close of their prayers the five men sang one of their favorite
hymns, "We Rest on Thee," to the stirring tune of "Finlandia."  Jim and
Ed had sung this hymn since college days and knew the verses by heart.
On the last verse their voices rang out with deep conviction.

"We rest on Thee, our Shield and our Defender,

Thine is the battle, Thine shall be the praise

When passing through the gates of pearly splendor

Victors, we rest with Thee through endless days."

Nate's terse account continues: "It was a beautiful day.  Chiggers kept
us scratching, but spirits were all high.  Johnny hove in sight at

7:4o.  We decided he should stand by till we'd see how the first
landing turned out.  Ed and I got airborne at about 8:02 a.M. Curiously
enough we had started the tentative schedule on paper at 8 A.M.--and
when we got up over the first ridge we could see by the river fog over
the Curaray that we never could have made it earlier.  The fog got
uncomfortably thicker under us but file holes allowed us to keep in
touch with the river.  The sun was shining and we figured it better to
wait, if necessary, for the right holes rather than turn back and make
a later attempt.

"As we got within two minutes of the site, the fog thinned so that we
could safely slip down under it and make an approach.  We went in,
simulating a real landing, checked the full length for sticks and other
hazards and pulled up.

"I had planned three runs before landing, but the thing was exactly as
we had seen it several times before.  As we came in the second time we
slipped down between the trees in a steep side slip.  It felt good as
we made the last turn and came to the sand, so I set it down.  The
right wheel hit within six feet of the water and the left ten feet
later.  As the weight settled on the wheels I felt it was soft
sand--too late to back out now.  I hugged the stick back and waited.
One softer spot and we'd have been on our nose--maybe our back.  It
never came.

"We jumped out, rejoicing in the deliverance.  The relief at being past
that hurdle without damage dampened my sensitivity to the glaring
possibility that I might not be able to take off.  It was great just to
be there.

"We ran up and down the sand hunting the best course for a take-off
attempt and removing sticks that could puncture a tire.  Then Ed took
the movie camera to the far end while I taxied back toward a take-off
position.

"About thirty yards from the end I felt the right wheel sink, and my
heart sank with it.  I cut the engine and Ed came on the double.  He
lifted the low wing and I hoisted the tail around.  Then using the
engine, and with Ed lifting the wing, we got out of the softer stuff
and cut the engine.  Again we searched for harder spots.  Finally we
pushed the airplane backward into some bushes right at the edge of the
beach.  It meant losing thirty yards of the total 200 available
critical loss in view of the generally soft consistency of the whole
area.  However, the plane had been lightened and we were now working
only 110, feet above sea level, where we would get more lift out of
the wing.

"As I got back into the plane, Ed went again to the far end of the
beach.  It shook me a little to think what Ed might record with that
movie camera.  After a final check I let ergo.  The sand really grabbed
the wheels, but the acceleration still seemed satisfactory, so I hung
on and was airborne in about ;3 yards (about forty or fifty before
being over the water) at about thirty miles per hour.  I held it down
close to the water to gain speed and then pulled up steeply out of that
hardwood canyon; circled back, saluted Ed, and beat a trail for
Arajuno-not quite sure yet what I should do next.  At least I knew now
what I was in for.

"At Arajuno everyone was glad to see the plane back, but my story
dampened the festive spirit appreciably.  We scrapped the scheduled
list for flight No.  2 and took, instead, Jim and Roj and such basic
equipment as was absolutely essential--like the walkie talkie and a
little more food.  The men gave me more ballast aft.

If anything went wrong--if we nosed over in landing--there would be
four of us at least.  Johnny continues to stand by now.  He suggested
softening the tires to keep them up in the sand.  It never occurred to
me, but having taken them down to about twelve pounds each, I felt much
better.

"We took off three minutes behind schedule.  The fog was almost gone.
We circled once, checked safety harness and slipped down between the
trees.  The soft tires stayed on top of the sand much better and the
sun was drying things out.  ' the meeting of the three musketeers was
jubilant.  They set to work clearing debris from the playa while I got
the plane into position for take-off just as I had done last time--same

deal: cut  over the water, and then up and out.

"Trip No.  3 took in their radio and some tools and the first priority
boards for the tree house.  Running about ten minutes behind schedule,
I believe.

"The three fellows on the beach located a good tree, close to the open
sand and slanted very slightly, in which they started to nail up the
ladder and tree house.  They hadn't figured on its being an ironwood
tree, but that is what it proved to be--a wood which lives up to its
name.  Next flights brought in personal items, a larger radio, more
food, and the last boards and aluminum."

Later Nate recorded: "Now twenty-five minutes behind schedule because I
was spending time in unscheduled committee meetings on the beach."

Working with safety belts, plagued by myriads of sweat bees and tiny
gnats, the men managed to nail up the two platforms on which they were
to sleep, with an aluminum roof overhead.

With Nate's fifth flight completed, he headed for Terminal City, where
he called out to the Aucas over the public-address system:

"Come tomorrow to the Guraray."  The Indians "showed puzzlement at
hearing this message."  Nate swung briefly back to Palm

Beach and called to the fellows that he had given the message to the
Aucas.  Then he flew to Arajuno to sleep.

Next morning, Wednesday, January 4, Jim wrote me a letter:

"Just worked up a sweat on the hand crank of the radio.  Nobody is
reading us but we read all the morning contacts deafly.  We had a good
night with a coffee and sandwich break at 2 A.M.  Didn't set a watch
last night, as we really feel cozy and secure thirty-five feet off the
ground in our little bunks.  The beach is good for landings, but too
soft for take-offs.  We have these three alternatives: () wait for the
sun to harden it up and sit until a stiff breeze makes a take-off
possible; (2) go make a strip in Terminal City; (3) walk out.  We saw
puma [jungle lion] tracks on the sand and heard them last night.  It is
a beautiful jungle, open and full of palms.  Much hotter than Shandia.
I Sweat with just a net over me last night.  Our


hopes are up, but no signs of the 'neighbors' yet.  Perhaps today is
the day the Aucas will be reached.  It was a fight getting this hut up,
but it is sure worth it to be up off the ground.  We're going down now.
Pistols, gifts, novelties, and prayer in our hearts.  All for now ..

Ed wrote to Marilou:

Dearest Baby:

It is 2:00 P.M. and we've just finished dinner and Nate is taking off
to see if he can spot the boys.  We are waiting for them to show up.
Meals are fine and plentiful.  I'll send some dirty clothes back with
Nate this evening Bugs are bad.  Here's a list of things we need: 1.
Two air mattresses--we are sending plastic ones back.  2. The pricker
for gasoline pressure stove.  3' Three shigras [Indian carrying-nets]
to hang up in our tree house to put stuff in.  4' 1 empty milk can to
put candy in.  5' Alcohol for pressure stove.  6. My sun glasses.  7'
Insect repellant.  8. More milk and lemonade.  9' Old scraps of meat
for fish bait.

I love you very much.  Give my love to the boys.

Ed

Thanks for everything.  lo.  Sun helmet, if around.

On Wednesday morning Nate and Pete took off from Arajuno, flew over
Terminal City, and noticed a definite "thinning out of the crowd"
there.  This encouraged them to think "the boys" were on their way to
Palm Beach.  Landing on the sand strip at Palm Beach, they found Ed,
Roj, and Jim pacing the beach, holding out gifts and shouting welcome
phrases to the trees.  Nate set to work checking the radio and found
the transmitter had not functioned because of a loose connection in the
microphone.  He was relieved to re-establish contact with Marj in Shell
Mera.  Roj and Nate built a beach house, then went swimming


while Ed and Jim "sacked out" in the tree house.

The afternoon drowsed by, and as the tropical sun began to slide down
behind the great forest trees, Nate once more elbowed the little plane
out of the river valley, and he and Pete headed for Arajuno to spend
another night.  "Thank God for the unusually evident blessing we have
seen yesterday and today," Nate wrote in his diary.  "Thank God for a
good team, and forbid that any man should fail to praise God."

Again on Thursday, January 5, Nate, with a driving sense of urgency,
was writing of events as they happened.  His account of the day's
events, in that last week, was scrawled in pencil in a schoolboy's
notebook (there was no typewriter on Palm Beach):

"All's quiet at Palm Beach.  However, we feel sure we are being
watched.  On the way in this morning Pete and I flew over Terminal
City; two women and two children at Old Man's house.  Airplane house is
deserted.  Probably women and children have gone up to big house.  Big
house showed five or six women, several children and possibly one old
man.

"While letting down for Palm Beach we checked about a mile of playas
below camp site.  Saw several tracks, probably of tapir and other
smaller stuff.  On way up to camp site we were down in river bed
thinking to salute the fellows and pull up and around to land when,
just one bend below camp, we sighted footprints.  We pulled up and
doubled back for another look.  They were unmistakable.  We buzzed on
up past camp, saluted, pulled up and around checking the two playas
above camp (no soap) and landed.  News of the footprints livened up the
party considerably.

"Everyone had had a good night's sleep in the tree house.  At 9 p.m.
strong wind swayed trees and made such sounds that woke up the three
men.  But all three were soon asleep again.  They had a lighted lantern
up there to keep the target well lit.  At 5 A.M. they shined the
flashlight down on the playa to check a gift machete left the night
before.  It was gone For the next fifteen minutes the jungles rang
with Auca phrases -perhaps with a Midc.tern accent.  They then
shined the light for a closer look.  A big ica!  had fallen on the
knife so as to hide it.  Tough!

"As Pete and I pulled in here Jim was out in the river fishing almost
in Auca uniform.  Modesty seems a small consideration after seeing
the dress of our 'neighbors."  If our dress is any criteria, here
giving them everything.  Pete's long-sleeved shirt, pants, and straw
hat make him look like a beachcomber.  Flies keep the rest of us pretty
well clad in tee-shirts, pants, and tennis shoes Jim sits in the smoke
from the fire when not fishing or standing in the middle of the river
'preaching' out of his notebook of phrases.

"Except for forty-seven billion flying insects of every sort, this
place is a little paradise.  With the help of smoke and repellant we
are all enjoying the experience immensely.  A little while ago Jim
pulled in a fifteen-inch catfish.  It is roasting over the fire now. Ed
and Roj are up at the bend clearing a bad group of trees out of the
approach.  It's pretty close dropping down through there-will be much
better now.

"Pete is stirring.  Getting interested in lunch.  Just emptied a
plastic bag of prepared raw vegetables into a pressure cooker already
partly filled with meat chunks.  He's gone up to the tree house now for
salt.

"The 'armor' Roj made (breast and tummy plate) out of a gas drum worked
very' well for a stove.  While getting steam up on the stew we tossed
termite nests on the fire to chase the gnats like the Indians do.  By
the time the three musketeers got back the stew was done and everyone
was ready to test it.  It went down easily, flushed along by generous
quantities of lukewarm lemonade.

"Ever since Pete and I landed and reported the human footprints among
the tapir and others, we were the objects of boisterous ridicule.
However, curiosity brought on the acid test, and Jim and Roj started
downstream, wading and scanning the beaches to check up at close range.
We agreed that if they didn't show up in an


 hour, we'd look for them from the air.  Fifty minutes later we saw
them coming.  I waded out to meet them and get the word--"Tapir," they
called.  Then at closer range--"Aucas--at least thirty of them."

Characters!  Sure enough, there were footprints--an adult, a youngster,
perhaps twelve years old, and a little tot, but the prints were maybe a
week old.  The mud they were stamped in was cracked from drying.  Sixty
miles per hour or no, we had sure enough distinguished the prints from
the many animal tracks.

"Among other tracks there were alligator, puma, tapir, etcetera.

We also saw some good-sized ducks.  Someone said, "Too bad they're out
of season."  (We banned firing guns for fear of frightening the
Indians.)

"When someone noted with humor that although in Ecuador, we weren't
speaking any Spanish, the response was, "No one else around here does
either."

"We had all discovered the benefits of lolling in the shallow water
nine-tenths submerged, and since I had just finished with the 2 p.M.
contact, I shed my clothes and raced the gnats to the water, taking the
sun helmet along.  The fellows thought it a regal sight--nothing but a
helmet and two bare feet sticking out of the water, so they dug out a
couple of cameras.  We enhanced some of the shots by adding Time
magazine to the 'hydraulic siesta."

"Jim then started reading us a novel.  We roared over even remotely
funny suggestions and finally skipped to the end to see who married
whom and set it aside in favor of some readings from Time magazine. One
indulgent description really rolled us--"He looked like a tenement Tom
starting his ninth life in the garbage can circuit."

"At 3 P.M. I went aloft and circled up to 6,000 feet, where I could see
the Auca clearing and Palm Beach at the same time.  And then I glided
down slowly, pausing now and then to circle tightly at full throttle so
that anyone could hear me and judge the direction from the sound.  As I
approached to land I thought I saw fresh human tracks just two bends
upstream from palm.  They were among old tapir tracks--couldn't arouse
any enthusiasm over it at camp.  I was about fresh out of enthusiasm
too --for everything.

"By 4:30 everyone felt that the Aucas had not yet found our location.
Yet everyone was determined to 'sweat it out' till they should locate
us and show themselves.  One thing sure is that if we are lagged just
waiting on the beach--the Aucas are really going to lose their zip by
the time they locate us after tramping two or three days through the
jungle.  Pete and I were ready to take off for Arajuno at 4:45.  The
air was dead.  We left all unnecessary weight behind.  As we started
slogging down through the soft sand on the take-off run we weren't
doing at all well.  At about the half-way point I cut the throttle and
we stopped in about thirty, yards.  It looked like Pete might help
guard the tree house for the night, but we plowed back to take-off
position for one more try.  Roj talked us into shutting the engine off
and pushing the plane by hand just as far back as we possibly could. 
The tail wheel was just a few feet from the water!  Then Jim went down
to the wind sock to give signals and with Ed and Roj pushing the wing
struts we started out.  This time we made it okay and made a bee-line
for Terminal city.  We circled the main house twice, repeating the
words "Gummy Apa' (River).

"Engine skipped a beat over Terminal City (sparkplug trouble).  A man
was on the platform kneeling toward the direction of the camp site and
pointing with both hands.  This really gave us a boost.  We hurried
back and glided down over camp shouting the news.  They signaled okay
and we hit for home.  At Arajuno we circled a couple of times, shouting
a welcome to 'anyone' who might be in the bush, then landed.  After
landing, Pete and I walked the airstrip with a gift machete--no soap.


"We find we have a friendly feeling for these fellows all the time.
We must not let that lead us to carelessness.  It is no small thing to
try to bridge between twentieth century' and the stone age.  God help
us to take care.

"Everyone is in bed and asleep here now.  So it is left to me to go
down the path and shut off the diesel.  My little blank revolver is a
welcome companion on such a venture.  But safety is of the Lord.  May
we see them' soon.  Nite."

XVII

Success on Friday

ABOUT eleven o'clock Friday morning January 6, Nate and Pete sat in the
small cooking shelter they had built on the sand.  Ed was at the upper
end of the beach, Roj in the center, Jim at the lower end, continuing
their verbal bombardments of the jungle.  At 11:1 5 their hearts
jumped when a clear masculine voice boomed out from across the river
answering Ed's call.  Immediately three Aneas stepped out into the
open.  They were a young man and two women--one about thirty years of
age, the other a girl of about sixteen--naked except for strings tied
about the waist, wrists, and thighs, and large wooden plugs in
distended ear lobes.  The missionaries, temporarily struck dumb by
surprise appearance, finally managed to shout simultaneously, in Auea:
"Puinani! .. . Welcome?

The Auca man replied with a verbal flood, pointing frequently to the
girl.  His language was unintelligible, but his gestures were plain.
"He's offering her for trade," exclaimed Pete, "or maybe as a gift."

When it seemed that the Aucas wanted someone to come across, Jim peeled
to his shorts and began wading over to them.  The others cautioned him
to go slow.  Jim hesitated and the Aucas were slightly hesitant, but as
Jim gradually approached, the girl edged toward the water and stepped
off a log.  The man and the other


 woman followed shortly.  Jim seized their hands and led them
across.

With broad smiles, many "puinanis" and much reference to their phrase
books, the five conveyed the idea that their visitors had "come well"
and need not be afraid, The Aucas' uneasiness fell from them, and they
began jabbering happily to themselves and to the men, "seemingly with
little idea that we didn't understand them."

Roj brought out some paring knives, which they accepted with cries of
delight.  Nate presented them with a machete and model airplane.  The
others, suddenly remembering the guns in the cook slack and tree house,
went back to hide the weapons beneath their duffel.  They dug out
cameras and shot dozens of photos, while the women looked through a
copy of Time magazine, and the man was being doused with insecticide to
demonstrate civilization's way of dealing with the swarming pests.  The
group spontaneously began referring to him as "George."

Presently the girl -the men called her "Delilah" -drifted over toward
the Piper, rubbing her body against the fabric, and imitating with her
hands the plane's movement.  She seemed "dreamy," wrote Pete, "while
the man was natural and self-possessed, completely unafraid.  They
showed neither fear nor comprehension of the cameras."

Pete continued: "Soon the fellow began to show interest in the plane
and we guessed from his talk that he was willing to fly over the
village to call his comrades.  We put a shirt on him (it's cold up
high), and he climbed into the plane with no sign of any emotion except
eagerness to do his part.  He acted out how he was going to call and
repeated the words.  Nate taxied down the strip and took off while
"George' shouted all the way.  After circling and shouting briefly Nate
landed again, thinking to give the fellow a rest before making the
flight to his village.  Nothing doing!  He was ready to go right
then."

Up they went again, this time to circle Terminal City.  What must have
been the thoughts of that primitive man as he pierced down at the
treetops and at the green sea below and recognized a
familiar clearing, with familiar figures in it?  "George" chortled with
delight, and leaned out to wave and looked at his fellow villagers.  "The
woman at the Old Man's house," wrote Nate, "--her jaw dropped on seeing
"George". expression of delight on the face of the young man on the
platform"

Back on the sand strip, "George" leaped out, clapping his hands.  The
five men immediately gave thanks to God, with heads up to try to show
their visitors that they were addressing their Heavenly Father.  As
Ezekiel said, "The Word was in my bones as a living fire," and for
these men the drive to deliver to the Aucas the message of redemption
through the blood of Jesus was blocked only by the language barrier. If
only theY, might suddenly leap over the barrier and convey to the
Indians one hint of the love of God!

The missionaries demonstrated for their guests such modern marvels as
rubber bands balloons and a yo-yo; served them lemonade and hamburgers
with mustard, which they evidently enjoyed.  Then they tried to get
across the idea that an invitation to visit the Auca village would not
be scorned.  For this notion "George" displayed no enthusiasm.

"Why is it he's so reluctant whenever we broach the subject?"  one of
the five demanded.

Another replied: "Maybe he lacks the authority to invite us on his
own."

"At 4:15," Nate wrote, "we decideD to fly again.  "George' decides to go
along.  We say 'no."  He puts his machete and envelope of valuables in
the plane and looks at Pete as though he had already said it was okay
and climbs in.  On the way over we finally get Marj on the radio. Great
rejoicing.

"Back on Palm Beach we held a strategy meeting; talked of going over to
AuCa houses if a delegation of, say, six AuCas arrive and seem happy to
escort us.  After that, every effort would be


bent toward building an airstrip in their valley.  The fellows tried
to explain to "George' how an airstrip should be cleared in his
village."

At first he did not understand their word for trees.  When he finally
got it, he corrected their pronunciation.  They stuck sticks in the
sand to represent trees; then, with one of the model planes, Nate
showed "George" how the airplane would crash and tumble among the
trees.  With the model lying on its back among the sticks in the sand,
the fellows all shook their heads and moaned in evident distress.  The
scene was then re-enacted, only this time the fellows took machetes and
cut down all the trees (sticks) and smoothed the sand carefully.  The
model airplane approached for a smooth landing, accompanied by great
rejoicing.

As the day wore on, "Delilah" showed signs of impatience.  Once when
Jim Elliot left the group to climb up to the tree house, she leaped up
and followed.  When he then turned and rejoined the others, she acted
downcast.

Later, as Nate and Pete got ready to return to Arejuno, "George" seemed
to understand that he could not accompany them.  Before the airplane
took off the fellows carefully gathered all of the exposed film and
everything that had been written to fly it out for safekeeping.  If
something unforeseen should happen, they did not want the record
lost.

When the Aucas indicated that they might spend the night on the beach,
the three musketeers hospitably offered them the small shack they had
been using for cooking, motioning that it was theirs to occupy if they
wished.  "Delilah," however, had other ideas.  She wheeled and walked
off down the beach.  "George" called to her, but she kept going.  He
followed her into the forest.  The older woman stayed by the fire halKING
a blue streak with Roj."  She stayed on the beach most of the
night.  The next morning when Jim came down to start the fire, he found
her gone, but the embers from her fire were still red.

The events of the next day, Saturday, January 7, were anti climactic.
The men waited hopefull expecting the Aucas to arive momentarily with
an invitation to their village.  But no one came.  Around noon Jim
looked at his watch.

"Okay, boys," he said.  "I give them five minutes.  If they don't show
up, I'm going over!"  Wisdom prevented him from carrying out his
threat, but he did go back into the forest on a rudimentary trail he
had discovered behind the tree house, hoping to find some trace of
them.  He found the forest floor remarkably open, and abounding in
animal trails, but no human footprints.

Nate and Pete then flew over Terminal City and were disheartened to
find some signs of fear.  On the first trip all of the women and
children ran to hide.  A few men in sight seemed relieved to hear Nate
call "Come, come, come!"  He threw them a blanket and a pair of shorts
to reassure them.

On the second flight "George" appeared with a group of men.  One old
man pointed toward Palm Beach, and "seemed friendly but not exuberant."
The third trip showed that fear had vanished.  Nate reported: "I got
some good smiles from "George' and another young man who, one can
imagine, probably aspires to ride in the plane."

Ed wrote a note to Marilou that afternoon:

Dearest Baby:

It's 1:30 and no sign of our visitors yet but we believe they'll
arrive, if not tonight, then early tomorrow.  Thanks for the clothes
and food again.  We are certainly eating well.  This has been a
well-fed operation from start to end.

We feel now that we ought to press going over there and get the
airstrip in as fast as possible--but we'll have to wait and see how God
leads us, and them, too.  Looks like Pete will be there to help you
tomorrow morning.  Give Stevie and Mikey my love and tell them I'll see
them soon, and Carmela too.

All for now.  All of my love,

Ed.

Tossing on his bunk that night at Arajuno Nate wondered if everything
possible had been done to interest the visitors and



encourage them to return with their friends.  "Why had they been so
casual?  they seemed almost bored at times as he looked back on it.
Jim's explanation had reassured him:

"That's Indian.  If you landed him on the moon, he'd be satisfied in
five minutes."

As they climbed into the Piper on Sunday morning, Pete called: "So
long, girls.  Pray.  I believe today's the day."

At Palm Beach the fellows enjoyed the ice cream and warm blueberD,
muffins, fresh from the oven, Marilou had sent along.  All then agreed
on a visit to Terminal City.  This time Nate went alone.  Circling over
Terminal City, he found only a handful of women and children.  This
sent his spirits soaring.  Undoubtedly the men were at last on their
way to the Curamy!  And, sure enough, on the flight back he spotted a
group of men "en route" to Palm Beach.  As he touched his wheels down
he shouted to the four, "This is it, guys!  They're on the way!"

A contact with Marj in Shell Mera had been arranged for twelve thirty.
Breathlessly and still using their code words, Nate told of spotting "a
commission of ten" on the way from Terminal City, adding, "Looks like
they'll be here for the early afternoon service.  Pray for us.  This is
the day!  Will contact you next at four thirty

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, Marilon 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 pass est 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 over'flow."

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
Sen'ice 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 Araiuno to Shell Mera.  They felt
confident that there would be some survivErs, 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 selected 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 Shall 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 flare.  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 team before they headed downriver. 
There were some Quichua careers; they had long
lived too close for comfort to the Aucas and did not want to get any
closer, however, the 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 arived, 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, nevertheless, every time they rounded a bend
of the river they looked expectantly for one or more of the missing
men.

Back in Shell Mere 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 Curamy.  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 Ecuador

Jan 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 as exercised in rounding the
many bends, for it was feared ),ucas 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 Senice 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 MeCully'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
Eds 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 amongst 
First evidence foreshadowing the tragedy of Operation Auca: the
mutilated missionary plane sighted by Pilot ]ohnny Keenan Monday
morning.  He radioed a terse report to Mari Saint, who was keeping
vigil beside her short-wave receiver at She11 Mera.  She flashed word
to the other wives at the jungle stations: "]ohnny has found the plane
on the beach. some of the fabric is stripped off.  There is no sign of
the fellows."  Fellow missionaries and American and Ecuadorinn millitary
men quickly organized a rescue party.  On Wednesday it set off from A.
raiuno 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.

When the 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.  and bathed, the members of
the Rescue Sen'ice came and went, Marj 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 Numberg in
helicopter.  "3:00.  The aim raft are stacking up over the site of the
incident now.  I feel sick at my stomach.  "3:2o.  "Blessed is she that
believed..."  The aim raft are circling the site.  "3:3o.  "Yea, in the
way of Thy judgment, O Lord, have we waited for Thee.  The desire of
our soul is to Thy name."  "4:00.  Still ekeling  "Hope thou in God,
for I 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 Ecuador Jan Air
Force flew in wider circles ready to help should decisions be needed.
The teamwork of the United States Army, Air Force, and NaW and of the
government and military services of Ecuador was heartwarming to the
wives.

Air Force Major Numberg, 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.  Numberg, 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
downwash 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 Numberg 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, Numberg, his
face showing strain, confirmed suspicions.  Speaking in low tones to
the tight circle of military men, he explained that MeCully'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," Numberg 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," Numberg 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 four other wives.

In the end it was the wives who persuaded DeWitt and Numberg 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 children.  Major
Numberg opened his notebook and in terse 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, Numberg 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 the 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
was 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 Gapricho," 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 of 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 Ecuadorjan
soldiers spread out in a semicircle in the jungle behind tire 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 Curamy, that the ground crew was able to find
them.  Frank Drown told of the scene:

"First Numberg pointed out one body downstream and Fuller jumped into
the water and pulled the body across.  Then Numberg showed us Nate
Saint's body, and we got in a canoe and went down steam 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 MeCully'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 shoe--size
thirteen and one-half) and thrown it up on the beach.  The day before,
Numberg had picked it up and brought it back to Shell Mera.

While the bodies were being 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 Numberg, 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, we 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 Numberg 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.  Numberg leaned back on Dee Short (a redheaded, very
long-legged missionary, in a very small boat), who in turn 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 Numberg, Missionary Drown and the Ecuador Jan under officer
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 deafly 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 Curamy 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 Numberg 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 Numberg and Drown brought up the
rear.  Sudden excitement: the 'chopper' appeared overhead, always
watched by its "Big Brother," the Navy's 4o


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, Malj Saint said: "That is the most beautiful
little cemetery in the world."


"Yet Have We Not Forgotten Thee"

Two days later we widows -already we were adjusting ourselves to the
use of the word sat together at the kitchen table in Shell Mera.  Dr.
Art Johnston was describing the finding of the bodies.  He had just
returned with the weary, straggling ground party.  When he hesitated,
we urged him to give us all the facts.

It was evident that death had been caused by lance wounds.  But how had
ten Aucas managed to overwhelm five strong men who were armed with
guns?  Over and over we asked ourselves this question.  The only
possible answer was an ambush.  Somehow, the Aucas must have succeeded
in convincing the men of their peaceful intentions.  Nate had assured
Marj that they would never allow Aucas with spears in their hands to
approach them.  Perhaps the "commission of ten" that Nate mentioned on
the radio had been a decoy party.  Certainly if this party had carried
spears Nate would have reported this and the men would not have looked
forward so eagerly to their arrival.  This group may have walked
peacefully on to the beach while a second party, carrying spears, moved
up under cover of the jungle foliage to carry out a surprise attack. It
seems likely that the missionaries and the unarmed Aucas had been
mingling together, as they had on the previous Friday, with friendly
words and gestures.  And then, at a secret signal...

There was evidence of a struggle on the beach--mark's of Ed's leather
heels in the sand; one bullet hole through the windshield of the plane.
However, no blood was found.  If any Aucas had suffered, it was not
apparent.  Had the men tried to avoid shooting by backing into the
river?  A lance was found thrust into the sand in the river bottom near
the body of Jim Elliot.  The fact that all of the bodies were in the
water might indicate that they had tried desperately to show the Aucas
that they would shoot only as a last resort.

The condition of the Piper showed real malice.  Possibly some Auca had
punctured the fabric of the plane with a spear, and, finding it
vulnerable, had begun to peel it off.  Others helped, and soon they had
denuded it completely, tossing the strips into the water nearby.  But
someone intended to put this man-carrying bird out of commission once
and for all.  Some of the framework was bent, and a part of the landing
gear, made of tubular steel, was bared in as if by a very heavy
object.  The propeller and instrument panel, however, were intact.
Perhaps to touch the "soul" of the creature was taboo, but they had
torn the stuffings from the seats, as if to disembowel the flying
beast.

Why, after the overtures of friendship on Friday, had the Aucas turned
with such sudden and destructive anger on their white visitors on
Sunday?  The answer can only be guessed.  Among the most qualified to
venture a guess is Frank Drown, whose work with the Jivaros has given
him shrewd insight into Indian thinking.  He says: "An Indian, when he
first hears or sees something new, will accept it.  Perhaps he accepts
merely from normal curiosity, but he does accept.  But after he has had
time to think about the novelty he begins to feel threatened, and that
is the time when he may attack.  A group of Indians will sit back and
discuss a new contrivance or a new way of doing things with some
eagerness; but the witch doctors, who are the real conservatives can
be counted on for rejection.  They have a lot of authority and, when
they work on their fellow tribesmen to reject an innovation, the

people seldom go contrary to their advice.  As in any culture, the
younger men may be looking for a new way of life but the older ones
hang on to their traditions and maintain the status quo.  Furthermore,
most Indians are basically and understandably skeptical of anything the
white man offers him.  And don't forget that, after all, this was the
first time within memory that the Aucas have had an encounter with the
white man which was completely friendly.  We can only hope they are
pondering that fact right now."

In the kitchen we sat quietly as the reports were finished, fingering
the watches and wedding rings that had been brought back, trying for
the hundredth time to picture the scene.  Which of the men watched the
others fall?  Which of them had time to think of his wife and children?
Had one been covering the others in the tree house, and come down in an
attempt to save them?  Had they suffered long?  The answers to these
questions remained a mystery.  This much we knew: "Whosoever shall lose
his life for my sake and the Gospel's, the same shall save it."  There
was no question as to the present state of our loved ones.  They were
"with Christ."

And, once more, ancient words from the Book of Books came to mind: "All
this has come upon us, yet have we not forgotten thee .... Our heart is
not turned back, neither have our steps declined from Thy way, though
Thou hast sore broken us in the phee of dragons, and covered us with
the shadow of death."

The quiet trust of the mothers helped the children to know that this
was not a tragedy.  This was what God had planned.  "I know my daddy is
with Jesus, but I miss him, and I wish he would just come down and play
with me once in a while," said three-year old Stevie McCully.  Several
weeks later, back in the States, Stevie's little brother, Matthew, was
born.  One day the baby was crying and Stevie was heard to say, "Never
you mind; when we get to Heaven I'll show you which one is our daddy."
Was the price too high? 

To the world at large this was a sad waste of five young lives.


But God has His plan and purpose in all things.  there were those
whose lives were changed by what happened on Palm Beach.  In Brazil, a
group of Indians at a mission station deep in the Mato Grosso, upon
hearing the news, dropped to their knees and cried out to God for
forgiveness for their own lack of concern for fellow Indians who did
not know of Jesus Christ.  From Rome, an American official wrote to one
of the widows: "I knew your husband.  He was to me the ideal of what a
Christian should be."  An Air Force Major stationed in England, with
many, hours of jet flying, immediately began making plans to join the
Missionary Aviation Fellowship.  A missionary in Africa wrote: "Our
work will never be the same.  We knew two of the men.  Their lives have
left their mark on ours."

Off the coast of Italy, an American naval officer was involved in an
accident at sea.  As he floated alone on a raft, he recalled Jim
Elliot's words (which he had read in a news report): "When it comes
time to die, make sure that all you have to do is die."  He prayed that
he might be saved, knowing that he had more to do than die.  He was not
ready.  God answered his prayer, and he was rescued.  In Des Moines,
Iowa, an eighteen-year-old boy prayed for a week in his room, then
announced to his parents: "I'm turning my life over completely to the
Lord.  I want to try to take the place of one of those five."

Letters poured in to the five widows--from a college in Japan, "We are
praying for you"; from a group of Eskimo children in a Sunday School in
Alaska; from a Chinese church in lions ton from a missionary on the
Nile River who had picked 'up Time magazine and seen a photograph of
her friend, Ed McCully.

Only eternity will measure the number of prayers which ascended for the
widows, their children, and the work in which the five men had been
engaged.  The prayers of the widows themselves are for the Aucas.  We
look forward to the day when these savages will join us in Christian
praise.

Plans were promptly formulated for continuing the work of 


the martyrs.  The station at Arajuno was manned to be ready in case
the Aucas should come out for friendly contact.  Gift flights were
resumed by Johnny Keenan, so that the Aucas would know, beyond any
doubt, that the white man had nothing but the friendliest of motives.
Revenge?  The thought never crossed the mind of one of the wives or
other missionaries.

Barbara Youderian returned to her work among the Jivaros, with the two
little children, and I went back to Shandia with ten-month hold Valerie
to carry on as much as I could of the work of the Quichua station.
Another pilot, Hobey Lowrance, with his family and a new plane, were
sent to the mission airbase in Shell Mera, while Marj Saint took up a
new post in Quito.  After the birth of her third son in the United
States, a few weeks after the death of her husband, Marilou McCully
returned to Ecuador with her boys to work in Quito with Marj.  For
Olive Fleming, who had spent only two months in the jungle when her
husband died, the problem regarding the future has been more difficult.
But for her, as for all, one thing is certain: her life belongs to God,
as had her husband's, and He will show the way.

In the months since the killing of the five men, Nate Saint's sister
Rachel has continued with the study of the Auca language, working with
the Auca woman, Dayuma.  Many flights have been made over the houses of
the Aucas.  The first group of houses was found to have been burned, a
common Auca practice after a killing, but not far away new houses were
discovered, and gifts were dropped to the waiting Indians.  When Johnny
Keenan swoops over, "George" appears, jumping and waving the little
model plane given him by Nate Saint.  "Delilah" also seems to be there
with him.  Patches of bright yellow fabric from Nate's plane adorn the
roofs of some of the houses.

Thousands of people in all parts of the world pray every day that "the
light of the knowledge of the glory of God" may be carried to the
Aucas, a people almost totally unheard of before.

How can this be done?  God, who led the five, will lead others.  in

His time and way.

From among the Quichuas withe whom Jim, Ed, and Pete worked, several
have surrendered their lives to God for his use, to preach to their own
people--or even to the Aucas, if tie chooses.  They have carried on the
work begun by the missionaries, speaking to their relatives of Christ,
reading the Scriptures that have been translated for them, traveling
sometimes in canoes and over muddy trails to teach the Bible to others
who do not know its message.  A converted Indian, formerly a notorious
drinker, came to me one day and said, "Senora, I lie awake at night
thinking of my people.  "How will I reach them?"  I say.  "How will
they hear of Jesus?"  I cannot get to them all.  But they must know.  I
pray to God, asking Him to show me what to do."  In the little prayer
meetings the Indians never forget to ask God to bless their enemies: "O
God, You know how those Aucas killed our beloved Senor Eduardo, Senor
Jaime, and Senor Pedro.  O God, You know that it was only because they
didn't know You.  They didn't know what a great sin it was.  They
didn't understand why the white men had come.  Send some more
messengers, and give the Aucas, instead of fierce hearts, soft hearts. 
Stick their hearts, Lord, as with a lance.  They stuck our friends, but
You can stick them with Your Vord, so that they will listen, and
believe."

For the wives and relatives of the five men, the mute longing of their
hearts was echoed by words found in Jim Elliot's diary: "I walked out
to the hill just now.  It is exalting, delicious, to stand embraced by
the shadows of a friendly tree with the wind tugging at your coattail
and the heavens hailing your heart, to gaze and glory and give oneself
again to God -what more could a man ask?  Oh, the fullness, pleasure,
sheer excitement of knowing God on earth!  I care not if I never raise
my voice again for Him, if only I may love Him, please Him.  May be happy in
mercy He shall give me



a host of children that I may lead them through the vast star fields
to explore His delicacies whose finger ends set them to burning.  But
if not, if only I may see Him, touch His garments, and smile into His
eyes ah then, not stars nor children shall matter, only Himself.  O
Jesus, Master and Center and End of all, how long before that Glory is
thine which has so long waited Thee?  Now there is no thought of Thee
among men; then there shall be thought for nothing else.  Now other men
are praised; then none shall care for any other's merits.  Hasten,
hasten, Glory of Heaven, take Thy crown, subdue Thy Kingdom, enthrall
Thy creatures."


EPILOGUE

NOVEMBER 1958

Nearly three years have passed since that Sunday afternoon.  Today I
sit in a tiny leaf-thatched hut on the Tiwanu River, not many miles
southwest of "Palm Beach."  In another leaf house, just about ten feet
away, sit two of the seven men who killed my husband.  Gikita, one of
the men, has just helped Valerie, who is now three and one-half, roast
a plantain.  Two of his sons have gone to the forest, shouldering their
skillfully-made blowguns in search of meat to feed the fifteen or
twenty Auca Indians who are at present in this clearing.

How did this come to be?  Only God who made iron swim, who caused the
sun to stand still, in whose hand is the breath of every living
thing--only this God, who is our God forever and ever, could have done
it.

After the death of the five men the pilots of the Missionary Aviation
Fellowship continued making gift-drops to the Aucas.  Apparent
friendliness on their part was unchanged, but we know now that we could
never base our judgment of their attitudes on that.

Rachel Saint, sister of Nate, the pilot, patiently keeps on with her
study of the Auca language with the help of Dayuma, who came to know
the Lord Jesus and began to pray, with thousands of others, for the
entrance of the Light to her tribe.


 One day in November, 1957, I was at the McCullys' former station,
Arajuno, when two Quichua Indians from the Curaray River arrived to
tell us that there were two Auca women at their house.  I went with
them immediately, and there at the Quichua settlement where the rescue
party had spent a night, I met Mankamu and Mintaka.  Mintaka was the
older of the two women who had come to "Palm Beach."

Later these two women went with me back to Shandia, where I began the
study of their language, praying constantly that the Lord would take us
into their tribe.  His answer came first in a promise which He gave
from Nehemiah 9:19 and 24---"Yet thou in thy manifold mercies forsookest
them not in the wilderness: the pillar of the cloud departed not
from them by day, to lead them in the way; neither the pillar of fire
by night, to shew them light, and the way wherein they should go ....
So the children went in and possessed the land, and thou subdued
before them the inhabitants of the land.."  and ga vest them into their
hands."

When Rachel and Dayuma returned from a visit to the United States, we
went to see them, and the three Auca women--united after more than
twelve years--started to talk of returning to their people together.
This they did, on September 3, 1958.  Remaining among them for three
weeks, telling them of the kind foreigners they had come to love, the
three returned once more to Arajuno where Marj Saint and I were waiting
for them.  They brought with them seven other Aucas, and an invitation
for Rachel and me to come and live with them in the tribe.

Thus, on October 8, 1958, we arrived.  The longed-for entrance had been
made.  The Aucas were friendly and helpful, receiving us as sisters,
building us houses, sharing their meat and manioc.  They say they
killed the men only




because they believed them to be cannibals.  Basically it was fear that
led them to what they now regard as a mistake

But we know that it was no accident.  God performs all things according
to the counsel of His own will.  The real issues at stake on January 8,
1956, were very far greater than those which immediately involved five
young men and their families, or this small tribe of naked "savages."
Letters from many countries have told of God's dealings with hundreds
of men and women, through the example of five who believed literally
that "the world passeth away, and the lust thereof: but he that doeth
the will of God abideth for ever."

So, with this entrance we ask that those who have helped us by prayer
will continue.  We would remind you that it is only an entrance.
Besides this group of fifty or so with whom we have contact, there is a
"downriver group" who are the mortal enemies of these.  Will God also
lead us into that "strong city"?

"Thou art worthy .. . for thou wast slain, and hast redeemed us to God
by thy blood out of every kindred, and tongue, and people, and
nation."


 EPILOGUE II

JANUARY 1981

This time it's not a leaf-thatched hut on the Tiwanu River, but a small
house with big glass windows and real walls, high above the Atlantic
Ocean on Massachusetts' rockbound coast.  The book lies beside me--a
beautiful dark green leather-covered copy, gold-embossed, with an
inscription: "Presented to Elisabeth Elliot in celebration of the sale
of over one hundred and fifty thousand copies .... "Back in 1958 that
seemed like a very good number.  Recently I read that at least fifty
"evangelical" authors have written books which are now selling in the
millions.

Yet Through Gates of Splendor, out of print for only a year or so
during the past twenty-five, is asked for again, and I am asked to add
another chapter.

I sit at my desk looking out at a nearly pure white sea, reflecting a
white sky with no horizon to divide them.  A winter sun makes a pale,
shimmering pathway on the calm water where two little boats idle as the
lobster men pull their pots.  It is a long way from the jungle.

Although the pathway of my life has taken many unimagined turns since I
wrote this (my first) book, I have not been allowed to forget the
story.  I would not have wanted to forget it, but there have been times
when I have wondered if others might.  Perhaps they have tired of it.
Should I


continue the retelling as I am so often asked to do?  I spoke of my
misgivings to Miss Corrie ten Boom who, as an old lady, indefatigably
traveled the world to tell her own story over and over again, of her
family's providing refuge to Jews in Holland during World War II, of
their being betrayed and imprisoned in a concentration camp, and of the
death of her sister and aged father as a result.  "Sometimes," she told
me, "I have said, "Lord, I must have something fresh.  I cannot go on
telling the old story."  But the Lord said to me, "This is the story I
gave you.  You tell that one."" So Corrie encouraged me to go on
telling mine.

Readers will want to know what has happened to the people in this book.
It is easy enough to answer the questions about the widows.  Two of
them are still in Ecuador.  Marj Saint is now Mrs.  Abe Van Der Puy,
wife of the president of the World Radio Missionary Fellowship in
Quito.  They have six children between them and an impressive crowd of
grandchildren.  Barbara Youderian, also in Quito, runs a missionary
guest house for the Gospel Missionary Union.  She has a married
daughter, Beth, and a son, Jerry.  Marilou McCully works as accounting
supervisor in a hospital in Auburn, Washington.  Two of her sons are
mar tied Steve, who is a schoolteacher, and Matt, a sportswriter.
Mike, the middle one, travels around the country working with
racehorses.  Olive Fleming married Walter Liefeld who is head of the
New Testament Department at Trinity Evangelical Divinity School in
Deerfield, Illinois.  They have three children, David, twenty, Beverly,
eighteen, and Holly, twelve.  My third husband (the second died of
cancer) is Lars Gren who, when he is not "managing" me and our travel
and book sales, works for a private foundation.  My daughter Valerie is
married to a minister in Laurel, Mississippi, and has two small
children, Walter Shepard III and Elisabeth.  Rachel Saint, Nate's
sister, lived with the Aucas in Tiwanu until 1976.  She is now ill
Dallas where her mission headquarters are.

It is not nearly so easy to put down what has happened to the Aucas.
Many preposterous tales have been circulated about them.  Many which
sound preposterous are true.  I have had a hard time sorting out all
the reports that come in roundabout ways.  Several books have been
written about them, so the best I can do here is to touch on a few
facts.

It is important first of all to understand the context in which the
story is seen.  Is it a television drama?  An adventure story?  A
"western," chronicling a last frontier?  We have had, in recent years,
stories of other primitive peoples such as the Tasaday in the
Philippines, "discovered," invaded by photographers and
anthropologists, scrutinized, transplanted, written about, and
otherwise meddled with.  Media attention was in fact so concentrated on
them that one would have thought they were the first "Stone Age" people
ever known in this century, or perhaps the last tribe left.  The Aucas
have, rather belatedly, come in for their share of publicity when they
appeared on national television with Rachel.  Two of them accompanied
her to a conference on world evangelism in Berlin.  The BBC has done a
two-part special on the Auca story.  A documentary film is available.
Besides the books mentioned above, a play or two and even a musical
have been written.  Everywhere I go people ask: What has happened to
the Aucas?  How many are saved?  Is it true that they now have a
church, ministers, hymn writers missionaries to other tribes?

Some years ago Phil Saint, another of Rachel's brothers, produced a
film called I Saw Aucas Pray, advertising it as "a thrilling story of
savage fear and hate conquered by God's message of divine love and
forgiveness.  Thousands have been waiting for word of Aucas being saved
and transformed.  Here it is!"


 It is difficult not to grasp after thrills.  It was this kind of
thing which focused what has sometims seen led to be undue attention
on that small jungle group, deflecting (some said) much interest from
other vital kinds of missionary work.  There can be little doubt that
the drama of the story awakened many to the existence of "harvest
fields" they had not thought of.  At least hundreds were jolted by the
sacrifice of five young men to whom obedience to their Lord was quite
literally a matter of life and death.  In a civilization where, in
order to be sure of their manhood (or, alas, even their "personhood"),
men must box, lift weights, play football, jog, rappel or hang-glide,
it was startling to realize that there was such a thing as spiritual
commitment as robust, as total, and perhaps more demanding than the
most fanatical commitment to physical fitness.  It was a shock to learn
that anybody cared that much about anything, especially if it was
invisible.

The Auca story, at the time of the death of the men, later when I lived
with the Indians themselves, and during all the years since as I have
recounted it and reflected on it in the light of my own subsequent
experience, has pointed to one thing: God is God.  If He is God, He is
worthy of my worship and my service.  I will find rest nowhere but in
His will, and that will is infinitely, immeasurably, unspeakably beyond
my largest notions of what He is up to.

This is the context in which the story must be understood--as one
incident in human history, an incident in certain ways and to certain
people important, but only one incident.  God is the God of human
history, and He is at work continuously, mysteriously, accomplishing
His eternal purposes in us, through us, for us, and in spite of us.

Recently Lars and I breakfasted with a woman who has been closely in
touch with Rachel and the Aucas.  We asked the crucial question: How
many Christians do you think there are down there?  "I haven't the
slightest idea.  she replied.  She was not denying that there
were some allowed that possibility, but felt as I do that
salvation is not to be tallied up by anybody but the Author of Salvation.
Rachel has translated many parts of the Bible.  Aucas have
learned to read.  Some of them take turns "preaching."  The Downriver
Group has been contacted and there are now friendly relations where
there was once nothing but hostility.  Five foreigners now work among
them

There is always the urge to oversimplify, to weigh in at once with
interpretations that cannot possibly cover all the data or stand up to
close inspection.  We know, for example, that time and again in the
history of the Christian Church, the blood of martyrs has been
shed.  So we are tempted to assume a simple equation here.  Five men
died.  This will mean X-number of Auca Christians.

Perhaps so.  Perhaps not.  Cause, and effect are in God's hands.  Is it
not the part of faith simply to let them rest there?  God is God.  I
dethrone Him in my heart if I demand that He act in ways that satisfy
my idea of justice.  It is the same spirit that taunted, "If Thou be
the Son of God, come down from the Cross."  There is unbelief, there is
even rebellion, in the attitude which says, "God has no right to do
this to five men unless .... "

Those men had long since given themselves without reservation to do the
Will of God.  So far as they knew, they were to be plain ordinary
missionaries--Roj to the Atshuaras, Jim, Ed, and Pete to the Quichuas,
Nate to serve all the jungle stations with his airplane.  But small
things happen (Nate found some inhabited Auca houses).  Small decisions
are made (he told Jim and Ed), which lead to bigger ones (they began to
pray with new vigor for an entrance into the territory), and ultimately
a man's individual choices become momentous.  Plain, ordinary
missionaries


with wives and children whom they loved found themselves faced with a
life and death decision.  They were not looking for anything bigger to
do, let alone for fame.  The need of the Aucas simply became the
categorical imperative.

For us widows the question as to why the men who had trusted God to be
both shield and defender should be allowed to be speared to death was
not one which could be smoothly or finally answered in 1956, nor yet
silenced in 1981.  God did not answer Job's questions either.  Job was
living in a mystery--the mystery of the sovereign purpose of God--and
the questions that rose out of the depths of that mystery were answered
only by a deeper mystery, that of God Himself.  The Lord answered Job
out of the tempest:

Who is this whose ignorant words cloud my design in darkness?

Brace yourself and stand up like a man;

I will ask questions and you shall answer.

Where were you when I laid the earth's foundations?

Tell me, if you know and understand.

Who settled its dimensions?  (Job 38:1-4, NEB)

On and on the unanswerable questions went, overwhelming the man on the
ash heap with proofs of divine control, origin, generation,
legislation, authority, and wisdom.  Job's only reply was that he had
none.  "What reply can I give Thee, I who carry no weight?  I put my
finger to my lips."  (40.4)

Again God told him to brace himself, stand up like a man and answer.
"Dare you deny that I am just or put me in the wrong that you may be
right?"  (40:8)

Job stood the test.  He recognized who God is.  He "melted."  But he
then became the intercessor for his friends, and God restored to him
more than he had ever had to begin with.


I believe with all my heart that God's Story has a good ending.
Julian of Norvich wrote, "All shall be well all things shall be well
and all manner of thing shall be well."

But not yet, not necessarily yet.  It takes faith to hold into that in
the face of the great burden of experience thie) seems to prove
otherwise.  What God means by happiness and goodness is a far higher
thing than we can conceive.  John Oman said that "a true belief in
Providence cannot be held either as an instinctive trust that God is
kind or as an inference from life that He is benevolent, but only as
the last and highest victory of a faith which has won a sion of a true
and abiding good, which is not of the world, even while all things in
the world become a new creation to forward it."  (Grace and Personality
p. 12o1.)

The massacre was a hard fact, widely reported at the time, surprisingly
well remembered by many even today.  It was interpreted according to
the measure of one's faith or faithlessness--full of meaning or empty.
A triumph or a tragedy.  An example of brave obedience or a case of
fathomless foolishness.  The beginning of a great work, a demonstration
of the power of God, a sorrowful first act which would lead to a
beautifully predictable third act in which all puzzles would be solved,
God would vindicate Himself, Aucas would be converted, and we could all
"feel good" about our faith.  Bulletins about progress were hailed with
joy and a certain amount of "Ah!  You see!"  But the danger lies in
seizing upon the immediate and hoped-for, as though God's justice is
thereby verified, and glossing over as neatly as possible certain other
consequences, some of them inevitable, others simply the result of a
botched job.  In short, in the Auca story as in other stories, we are
consoled as long as we do not examine too closely the unpalatable data.
By this evasion we are willing still to call the work


"ours," to arrogate to ourselves whatever there is of success, and to
deny all failure.

A healthier faith seeks a reference point outside all human experience,
the Polestar which marks the course of all human events, not forgetting
that impenetrable mystery of the interplay of God's will and man's ("He
did not many miracles there because of their unbelief"; "Jesus was
handed over to the power of men"; "Thou hast set me free to range at
will."  Ps.  31:8, NEB).

I think back to the five men themselves, remembering Pete's agony of
indecision as to whether he shouldd join the others in the venture,
Ed's eagerness to go even though Marilou was eight months pregnant, his
strong assurance that all would be well, Roj's depression and deep
sense of failure as a missionary, Nate's extreme caution and
determination, Jim's nearly reckless exuberance.

I think of the tensions that developed after the men died among those
who had to try to "pick up the pieces" of the work they had left
behind.  There was misunderstanding between some of the mission boards
as to what part each was to play in continuing efforts to reach the
Aucas.

I think of how, when Rachel and I finally arrived in the Aucas' jungle
clearing, we found that what she and Dayuma had been using as the Auca
language was not readily understood.  Dayuma had forgotten a large part
of it, and had unwittingly jumbled up Auca, Quichua, a smattering of
Spanish, and a little English intonation for good measure.  Then
gradually I saw, to my dismay, that Rachel's approach to linguistic
work, her interpretation of what the Indians did and said, and the
resulting reports she sent out were often radically different from my
own.

I think of the Indians themselves--what bewilderment, what
inconvenience, what disorientation, what uprooting, what actual
diseases (polio, for example) they suffered be cause we missionaries
got to them at last!  'l'he skeptic point, with glee to such woeful
facts and we dodge them neatly fearing any assessment of the work
which may cast suspicion at least on the level of our spirituality 
not the validity of our faith.

But we are sinners.  And we are buffoons.  I am reminded of an occasion
in Bible school when I nearly laughed aloud in the middle of a prayer.
Following a long session in which one student after another had
confessed his sins, real and imaginary, our principal, L. E. Maxwell,
stood up and boomed out, "O Lord, deliver us from our sad, sweet,
stinking selves!"

It is not the level of our spirituality that we can depend on.  It is
God and nothing less than God, for the work is God's and the call is
God's and everything is summoned by Him and to His purposes, the whole
scene, the whole mess, the whole package--our bravery, and our
cowardice, our love and our selfishness, our strengths and our
weaknesses.  The God who could take a murderer like Moses and an
adulterer like David and a traitor like Peter and make of them strong
servants of His is a God who can also redeem savage Indians, using as
the instruments of His peace a conglomeration of sinners who sometimes
look like heroes and sometimes like villains, for "we are no better
than pots of earthenware to contain this treasure [the revelation of
the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ ], and this proves that
such transcendent power does not come from us, but is God's alone." (II
Cor.  4:7, NEB)

We are not always sure where the horizon is.  We would not know "which
end is up" were it not for the shimmering pathway of light falling on
the white sea.  The One who laid earth's foundations and settled its
dimensions knows where the lines are drawn.  He gives all the light we
need for trust and for obedience.  The End..........