Once again weeks were spent in preparing supplies. Tom and Betty Young as field leaders were occupying mission headquarters. Harold and Harry planned to go alone by air as far as possible. The tiny government plane took off from the ground and flew hour after hour over a verdant rolling ocean of dense jungle. The men could discern occasional clearings and the long houses of Indian encampments below. These were the Waura and Kamaiuras they had visited the year before. The plane finally circled over a charred clearing, bounced over uneven ground, sighed to a stop. Ordinarily curious Indians would be swarming about the plane, but only a few could be seen at a distance. Harold and Harry made their way to the long communal houses and entered. An oppressive odor hovered in the atmosphere. In every house the campfires had died out. Naked, fever-racked Indians lay in hammocks or on the ground beside piles of ashes. The dread measles had struck. Even while the men looked on, men were trying to smoke the evil spirit of death away in a final effort to save a warrior from death. Billows of smoke curled from seven-inch-long cigars made of dry weeds rolled in a green leaf. Witch doctors blew smoke into his ear, over the heart, and around. Suddenly he sat up and indicated with frantic gestures an invisible something in the air . The men took after the invisible evil spirit with their smoking cigars, but death came anyway. The death wail echoed against the jungle wall. Women relatives gathered his few possessions together and lay them in order around his mat.
128
Made with FlippingBook - Online Brochure Maker