On the return trip to Guayaquil, the Cristobal Carrier had only 13 passengers—not counting goats, cattle, ducks and chickens. Terry was feeling sick and sank into her sagging lower bunk. She wanted nothing but tea to soothe her burning throat. Sick with chills and fever, she remained in her bunk for the entire trip.
When the boat made a stop at San Cristobal, I got off, and for 30 cents, bought a 100-pound gunny sack full of the best-tasting oranges on earth. Terry ate nothing but oranges for the next three days. I ate my fill of oranges, but I also ate meals with the other passengers. At one meal, I was asked, “Is your sister is getting well or dying?”
The Captain came to our quarters with a needle to give her an injection. Terry mustered all her strength to say, “I don’t think I need that. I’m feeling much better now, thank you.” After he left, she dozed off into delirium. When she awoke, she didn’t know if she was on a train or plane, only that she was going somewhere. When she heard a rooster crow, she asked if she was on a farm.
It was mid-afternoon of the third day when we docked at Guayaquil and checked into the Humboldt Hotel. We had been away for 41 days.
While Terry baked in the hot sun and got plenty of rest, I shopped for all the items I knew the Hornemans needed. (Mrs. Horneman had only three pair of panties left and they were five years old.) I took the bundles to the shipping office to be delivered to Santa Cruz on the next boat.
When Terry had completely recovered, we were off on another travel adventure, this time to the jungles of Jivaro Indian territory (of shrunken head fame), where we went down the Rio Napo in a dugout canoe. (Read about that trip to Ecuador.)