Ed ran over to help Nate, and as he did so, he too felt the painful impact of a spear in his back. Roger, standing slightly back from the scene, watched in horror. As he turned his head away, he saw another Auca warrior sprinting across the beach towards Jim and Pete, who were crossing the river. With a single action, Nampa thrust his spear into Jim Elliot.
At the same time, Pete, who had been standing beside Jim, raced over to a log, which he climbed on and began to yell in the Auca language as best he could, “We just came to meet you. We aren’t going to hurt you. Why are you killing us?” His question was answered with a wild cry as a nine-foot spear pierced his body.
At that moment, Roger, a veteran World War II paratrooper, knew what he had to do: He had to get to the radio. He sprinted to the plane and climbed partway into the front seat. He grabbed for the radio microphone that hung on the instrument panel. Marj would be standing by, if he could just get through to her. But he couldn’t. Nimonga crept up behind him. He was puzzled by this cowodi. What was he doing? Nimonga watched as the cowodi reached down and picked up a black fruit with a vine tied to it. Nimonga couldn’t understand why a man who was about to die would reach for something to eat. Still, there was no door on the plane, and this man was an easy target. The black radio microphone dangled uselessly as Roger fell from the door of the plane and landed with a heavy thud on the wet sand.
Later, as the Waorani dragged the five bodies into the river, they talked among themselves. The cowodi had guns. In fact, the gun that belonged to the man speared in the river had gone off during the struggle and grazed one of the women hiding in the jungle. Why hadn’t they used their guns to defend themselves? They discussed this all the way back to the village, but they had no answer.
Back at Shell Mera, it was 4:30 p.m. Marj Saint strained to hear even the faintest crackle of a message on the radio, but there was nothing. She checked her watch. She told herself it may be a few minutes fast, though she knew it wasn’t. Nate was never late for a call in, but these were special circumstances. He could be in the middle of a conversation with a group of Aucas. The thought comforted Marj. She busied herself, sitting Phil in his highchair for an after-nap snack. As she peeled him a banana, she listened closely to the radio. Five minutes passed, then ten. Marj told herself to keep calm. The radio may not be working. She would just have to be patient.
Barbara Youderian called in from Macuma, and Betty Elliot from Shandia. Both wanted to know whether Marj had heard anything. She hadn’t. Their conversations were short; they had to keep the radio frequency open for Nate to call in.
Dusk fell. Marj made macaroni soup for the children and waited for the news that the Piper Cruiser had shown up at Arajuno. But the radio remained silent. In her heart, Marj knew it was too much to believe that the radio was dead and that Nate had willingly stayed the night at Palm Beach with the plane. Something was terribly wrong.
Marj tossed and turned in bed that night. She thought of every possible reason why Nate had not called or why he had not flown the plane out. But nothing made any sense. Something must have happened to the men. She hoped that whatever the problem was, the men were safe. Maybe they were making their way out on foot. She refused to let herself think the worst.
At first light on Monday morning, Johnny Keenan climbed into the Piper Pacer. He hadn’t slept much, either. He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and read it. He didn’t need to; he’d read it a dozen or more times already this morning. It was the neatly written coordinates and instructions on how to find Palm Beach from the air. Nate had left it with Johnny just in case he needed to look for the men.
Now Johnny was almost afraid to look for them. What would he find? He would know soon enough. As he buzzed over Palm Beach, the Piper Cruiser he’d flown himself so many times before lay on the beach. It had been completely stripped of all its outer fabric covering. A chill ran down Johnny’s spine. Where were Nate and the others? Johnny peered down on the muddy water, but he could see no sign of the men. With a feeling of dread, he turned the knob on the radio. “Come in, Marj,” he spoke into the microphone.
Marj was grateful to have some news. At least it explained why Nate hadn’t flown out. But what should she and Johnny do now? Perhaps the men were injured out in the jungle or were fleeing from the Aucas, who had attacked the plane. She had to think of a way to get help, but how?
Amazingly, almost unbelievably, there was a knock at the door. Marj opened it, and there stood Larry Montgomery, a pilot for Wycliffe Bible Translators. Larry greeted Marj and explained that he’d been passing through Quito when he had the strangest feeling he should get on the bus and make the thirteen-hour trip to Shell Mera. He apologized for not letting Marj know he was coming ahead of time. Quietly, she asked Larry to come in and sit down; she had something to tell him. For the first time, the story of Operation Auca tumbled out to someone not directly involved in it. Larry listened carefully, and when Marj was finished, he took charge. As it turned out, his friend General Harrison was in charge of the U.S. military for the whole Caribbean region. General Harrison was a Christian, and if Larry could get hold of him by shortwave radio, he was sure the general would help. Marj showed Larry into the radio room, and Larry sent out a message. The general’s aide received it, and within half an hour, the general was on the line.
General Harrison called Air Force Major Nurnberg in Panama and ordered him to head up a military rescue team. By lunchtime, the rescue team was on its way from Panama to Shell Mera.
As the news of the unfolding events in Ecuador hit the airwaves, key people leaped into action, as if they had all rehearsed their parts many times. Shell Mera was about to be invaded.
In Washington, D.C., famous Life magazine photographer Cornell Capa slung his camera bag over his shoulder and headed for Washington National Airport.
In Quito, Time magazine foreign correspondent Jerry Hannifin, who had interviewed Nate for a story on jungle pilots only weeks before, jumped into his jeep and roared southward toward the Oriente.
In New York, two officers from Christian Missions in Many Lands, the Plymouth Brethren mission agency that Jim Elliot, Pete Fleming, and Ed McCully worked with, booked emergency flights to Quito.
In Los Angeles, MAF president Grady Parrot threw a few clothes into a suitcase and rushed to Ecuador to help find his friend Nate Saint.
Captain Sam Saint was called out from a conference meeting to take an urgent phone call. He never even returned to the meeting to collect his papers. Instead he went straight to the airport.
From all over the world, people wanted to know what had happened to the men who had gone off to meet a group of Stone Age people. What was being done to find them, and had anyone yet found any clues as to their fate?
Abe Van Der Puy, from HCJB in Quito, came down to Shell Mera. When he arrived, the MAF house was so crowded he pushed a piano stool into a corner, and it became his office. From there he wrote all the press releases and news bulletins that went out around the world updating the search.
Johnny Keenan flew out and fetched Marilou McCully, Betty Elliot, Olive Fleming, Barbara Youderian, and Rachel Saint. By Tuesday, every room in Shell Merita was full, and the Keenans and families from the Berean Bible Institute were taking the overflow.
Kathy Saint helped her mother make up the beds. As they moved from room to room, Kathy reminded herself that it was her seventh birthday, but somehow it didn’t feel like it. Her daddy had been gone for two days now, and she was old enough to ask questions her mother couldn’t answer.
On Wednesday January 11, more bad news arrived. Johnny Keenan had made another pass over Palm Beach. This time he’d seen two bodies from the air. They were in the water, and both were wearing khaki pants and white tee shirts. Any of the men in the group could have been wearing those clothes, so he couldn’t tell whose bodies they were.
Back at the MAF house, Kathy and Steve Saint were glued to the window, watching the startling scenes. Three large military planes flew in, and a dismantled helicopter was wheeled out of one of them. Steve stared in fascination as the small helicopter was put back together. He would have loved to have asked his father to explain exactly what they were doing, and Nate would have loved to have told him, but it was not to be.
A search party was organized, and Frank Drown, who worked with Roger and Barbara Youderian, was asked to lead it. He had worked in the Oriente for twelve years, and he knew better than anyone what they were up against making it overland to Palm Beach. Roger and Nate were two of his closest friends. Dr. Art Johnston from the HCJB mission volunteered to go on the search party, as did several other missionaries in the area. They set out on Thursday morning, January 12, accompanied by thirteen Ecuadoran soldiers.
Marj spent her day tirelessly logging radio calls from military planes flying over Palm Beach and small planes from Quito flying in more helpers. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she also managed to plan dinner for the thirty or so people who were in the house by now.
Friday, January 13, 1956, was a day the men in the search party would never forget. They had spent the first night camped outside Auca territory. At dawn, they broke camp and headed into dangerous territory. They poled dugout canoes down the shallow, winding Curaray River.
About mid-morning, they met a group of Quichua Indians making their way upstream. This was surprising to Frank Drown, because they were coming from deep in the heart of their dreaded enemy’s territory. As Frank talked with them, he learned why they were in Auca territory. The Quichua Indians were Christians from the village across the river at Ed McCully’s mission station at Arajuno. Out of concern for their missionary, they had put together their own search party to go after him. But their news was not good. They had found Ed’s body downstream from the airplane. One of the Quichuas had Ed’s watch with him to give to Marilou. The Quichuas had taken off one of Ed’s shoes and carried it back upstream and left it beside the remains of the airplane.
The search team poled on downstream, keeping a sharp, grim watch for any movement or sound that might be the Auca killers.
Finally, as the skies darkened with rain, the search party arrived at Palm Beach. The U.S. military helicopter brought in from Panama swooped down near them, as planned. It headed downstream a few yards and hovered. The men knew they were showing them where the first body was. They found the body caught in a tree branch and dragged it upstream. The helicopter moved on. Within an hour, the search party had recovered the bodies of four men. The bodies had been in the water too long and were now unrecognizable. Watches and wedding rings told the members of the search party who they were: Nate Saint, Jim Elliot, Roger Youderian, and Pete Fleming. But Ed McCully’s body was nowhere to be found. The river must have washed it away. However, the search party did find the shoe beside the airplane, where the Quichuas said they had left it. There was no doubt it was Ed’s; he wore size 13 1/2 shoes. It also confirmed that the Quichuas had indeed seen Ed’s body farther downstream, where it had been carried by the current. Now, at least Marilou McCully would be spared having to wonder whether somehow Ed had escaped and lay injured in the jungle. There was no doubt; all five men were dead.
Frank Drown climbed the ironwood tree to investigate the tree house, hoping to find some clues as to what had happened to provoke the horrible scene below. But there were none to be found.
The skies darkened as a fierce storm approached. The nervous search party worked quickly to dig a common grave under the ironwood tree. The thirteen Ecuadoran soldiers stood guard on the perimeter of Palm Beach. They faced the jungle, their fingers resting on the triggers of their guns, watching for the slightest movement of the leaves.
