But soon the picture changed. Fewer and fewer houses appeared. The skies grew dark and the silence deepened. I had always heard you could cut the jungle quiet with a knife, and now I believe it. Now all we could discern along the river banks were deep, dark thickets. The sultry stillness was only broken by the chattering of the monkeys in the tops of the trees, the chug-chug of our motor, and occasionally the call of some gorgeously-colored bird. It was evident we were leaving civilization, and this was the real thing. We battled sleep because we did not want to miss any thing, but finally the lethargy of the tropics overcame us, and after some salmon sandwiches, a few mangoes, and hot coffee, we retired to our bunks. We had planned a non-stop trip, so our two missionaries were relieving each other at the wheel. Suddenly, about 3 A.M., we were awakened by a terrific jolt. We sprang to our feet to discover to our dismay that, making our way in the pitch black ness without any lights on the boat, we had stuck fast on a sandbar. Our Dyak boy was the calmest of us all, and in his child-like faith in God, he assured Mr. Mouw that all would be well. We tugged at the boat for some time; then we prayed. Almost at once a Chinese trad er craft, equipped with a powerful motor, drew alongside. Throwing us a line, they pulled us free into the deeper channel. This was a real answer to prayer; the missionaries stated that boats were often held up for weeks in this manner. Monkey Stew for My Birthday The next three days and nights were broken only by a stop overnight at the station of Mr. and Mrs. Williams and breakfast at the home of Mr. and Mrs. Schisler. Mr. Schisler’s parents are mem bers of the Church of the Open Door; it was heartwarming to be welcomed at their dock by forty or more native Christians singing “ Follow, follow, I will follow Jesus.”
As we continued slowly up the river, we plied the missionaries with questions. Our hearts were moved as they rehears ed God’s ways with them throughout the years, and told almost unbelievable tales of these twice-born men. One day Mr. Mouw shot a monkey in the top of a tall tree in the forest. Quickly Rambu swam over and retrieved it. It was skinned, and soon monkey stew was cooking in our little kitchen. This was a special treat for me for my birthday which I celebrated on the third day of our river trip! Yes, I ate it, but my stomach asked many questions. At least, it was different from my usual birthday dinner at home! About 7:30 on the evening of October 20th we reached Mr. Mouw’s station. Mrs. Mouw had prepared a delicious American meal which tasted like manna from heaven to us. After a good night’s sleep, we prepared for our next great adventure—the trek into the jungle. Deep in the Jungles About noon the next day, after the “ tenderfeet” had been equipped with heavy clothing and stout boots, the two missionaries, Dr. Bauman and I, ac companied by eleven Dyaks with packs on their backs, took the narrow path above the Mouw’s houseboat home, and immediately plunged into the jungle. Our objective was the Christian Dyak churches, the first of which was thirty miles away, and could only be reached on foot. My powers of description fail in pic turing a jungle like that—as primitive as it was at its original creation. A foot path twelve inches wide had been gouged out by the natives. Beneath our feet lay a web of inextricably-entangled roots which caught our feet and gave us no end of trouble. In addition, there were tough grasses, moss, vines and ferns. Over our heads hung an impenetrable thicket of trees and vines, striking us in the face, and shutting out air and light. Everywhere were inch-long ants, spiders, scorpions, and millions of mos-
Rev. J. Arthur Mouw, native of Pasa dena, California, and a former student of the Bible Institute of Los Angeles, who with his family has labored for sev enteen years in the jungles of Borneo. quitoes and fleas. We knew there were pythons, boa constrictors and king cobras lurking in the bush, but fortu nately we did not encounter them. It had rained heavily the night before, and although some branches had been laid lengthwise along the path, they did not help much. We walked in ooze, occasion ally sinking to our hips and once to our waists in the water. Mr. Mouw told us he often went down as far as his arm- pits, so we were thankful to be spared that. It was unbearably hot' and humid. When we came to a pool, I could not re sist plunging in, clothes and all. It was a great relief, and in a short time my (Continued on Page 15)
One of the famous “ longhouses” of Borneo, where almost the entire village resides. Families live separately in beliks, or private apartments, usually consisting of one room, opening onto a runway the length of the building. The livestock live beneath the house.
The Kapoeas River in Borneo. Dr. Talbot traveled four days up this river to reach Mr. Mouw’s station. It was in the river that their boat was stuck on a sandbar. Note the dense jungle on either side.
Page Ten
T H E
K I N G ' S B U S I N E S S
Made with FlippingBook HTML5