 Ports of Call, strange fascinating lands beckon us, bid us revel in their exotic splendors. Come with us as we head for Ports of Call. Coasting the Pacific shore of South America, our liner cleaves the equator with inside of Ecuador, that little known country which takes its name from the equator, and is on this voyage our Ports of Call. Only a few miles inland from the tropic coast of Ecuador, with its stirring history of adventure and conquest, the snow-crowned Andes look down from majestic heights. But they are hidden from the seacoast city of Gaiquil by banks of clouds, as we steam slowly up the Gaius River between green walls of mangrove trees. We anchor in midstream where launches wait to land us on the wharf near the custom house. You win, we'll take your lunch. Come on, gracias, señor, gracias. Come on, today what are you waiting for? See those men on the shore there? Aren't they soldiers? Are you still worrying about the revolution? Don't be silly. It is silly, isn't it? Oh, there's something interesting. Where? They're swimming a lot of cattle across the river from Durán. They're tied for the horns to rafts. Remember, the cursor told us to watch for that. Oh, but I thought there were alligators in this river. Well, you need not fear the alligators, señora. My boat is very strong. I didn't mean it. Oh, never mind, kitty. Let's go. By the time we're through the customs, we'll just about make the train to Quito. See, this is train day, señora. What? Doesn't the train to Quito run every day? I can say not. Let's hurry now. Ten thousand feet above the blue Pacific lies Ecuador's remote capital, Quito. Circled by still more lofty peaks, Quito clings to its steeply sloping mountainside as it has done for uncounted generations. No one knows how old the city is. Its cobbled streets, worn smooth and polished by the bare feet of burdened Indians hold no ruins of ancient civilizations. Yet before the Spanish conquerors were the Incas and before the Incas the Kauras. Before them, another people now vanished and forgotten. Their story hidden forever in the earthquakes that have rocked the city since earliest times. Up and down the dusty narrow streets, priests and nuns hurry into countless candlelit churches. Black garb Spanish-American women, army officers in brilliant uniforms, coquetes señoritas, Indians in bright barbaric colors, kneel side by side on the stone floors. Outside, a caravan of ewells from the distant northern frontier thumbles weirdly over the cobble. The air is suddenly filled with the clamor of a hundred bells. But above the city, snowy and incredibly serene, the ancient volcanoes lift their smoking peaks to the dazzling sky. It is the spring of the year 1495, the time of the year-marriage feast of the Kauras when for all the young men and maidens of the tribe, wives and husbands are found. Under the full moon, the village of Quito is bright with garlands and gay with laughter. Hidden from side among the trees near the house of Sceery, the chief, his daughter Zala has run to greet a tall bronze man in a feathered cape and golden helmet. Zala, I've been waiting. I thought you'd forgotten me. Oh no. Your people are feasting? Yes. The sun god is with me. Tonight must be the end of meeting you secretly. Zala, you're as beautiful as the sky at dawn. Why not? You must listen. There is something I must say. Why are you troubled, beloved? I have heard you are the chief of a tribe that has come from the north to conquer our lands. Is this true? I will not deny that I am the king of the Incas. The Incas? Yes. Our lands stretch far among the mountains to the north. And you have brought your warriors here to add the land of the carers to your own? But not by conquest. I came seeking an alliance with the chief, your father. When I saw you, your beauty was so great, I was like a man under a spell. And you would take me captive with my people? No. I want you for a wife, not slave. If we married, it would unite our tribe. Oh. Your father is no longer young. When he is dead, who will rule your tribe? I know not. But why have you waited until now to tell me that you are the Incas chief? I wanted you to love me first. Say you do, beloved. I... oh, yes, I do. Then I will present myself before your father within the hour. Yes. And... no. No, there is a better way. What is it? Tonight my people feast. And tomorrow before the temple of the sun god, the marriages are tonight. Those who have chosen mates appear before my father for his consent. After that, he chooses wives for all the youths who have not chosen for themselves. It shall be as you say, beloved. The ceremony begins one hour before the sun is at its height. Will you come? I am the son of the sun. I will not be late. The people are waiting for the ceremony. Where is my father? In the courtyard, daughter of scaredy. I will go out to him. The people are waiting, my father. I am going to the temple, Zala. Have you chosen a husband for me? There is no one worthy to become a Kara chief. Surely before the next marriage feast, the sun god will give me a sign. Then I must wait another year to be married. Yes. There is no other way. I... My father, you are ill. I will come. No, no wait. Oh, but... No one must know. What is it? This pain has been upon me for many days. But while I live, I must conceal it. There are those within the tribe who would betray me and seek to become chief in my place, if they... But what will you do? I must go to the ceremony. Go, Zala. Take your place with the others. Where are the priests of the temple? They wait before the door, my father. Go then. Delighted on the altar of the sun, just of those who have chosen pride, stand before the sacred old man. Let me be the first. I claim Zala, daughter of Skiri, and ask his consent to the marriage. Let him be heard. Let him be heard. Who are you that claims the daughter of... I am Huanakapa. You wear the feathered cloak of the Incas. I am the Inca chief, son of the sun. The Inca chief dares claim the daughter of the Caras as his wife. Hear me, chief of the Caras. Let us unite our tribes. Each of us is strong, for together the Incas and the Caras could stand against the warriors of any chief, from the mountains to the sea and from north to south. None should be our masters. No! No! For five hundred years, my people have ruled this land. We need no alliance with the Incas. They must be the weaklings and cowards who dare not do battle with the warriors of Caras, but plan to rule our land by marrying our maid. I came in peace, but you have chosen war. Both the Incas cannot gain in friendship. They will take in conquest. Our warriors have no fear of Inca's threats. Let the feasts go on! Let the celebration go on! I come on, chief! How many days? This is the fourth day of battle, old chief. The Incas appeared like a cloud. They have overwhelmed our warriors. We must surrender our land before every Caras has died. No, this must not be called the better. You cannot go to the battlefield. I must. If I cannot walk, I must be carried. Call the betters. Let the betters come in. Our chief goes to battle. The Caras have surrendered to the Incas, old chief. Let the curse of the sun be upon them that they have yielded to the Incas. Way, night, way, for city, way for the Incas. And I swear by my father the sun that I will feed you and clothe you and that upon our altar the fire will never die. I cannot see. What are they doing? It is the marriage ceremony, the Princess Zala. And by the sun, I swear that I will tend the fire you build and that the sons of our house shall be taught to honor their fathers and to give their lives to defend their tribe. Zala, you do believe this was the only way? Yes, I do who I know. We love it. The Caras and the Incas are united. Together we cannot no defeat. But Atahualpa, son of Zala and Hawaena, was the last of the Incas' chiefs. The swords of Spanish soldiers humbled these proud people to the dust. Atahualpa was put to death and his followers vanished into the desolate hills of Ecuador and Peru bearing the secret of the source of their fabulous wealth. Three hundred years pass. Bitter under the Spanish yoke, Ecuador finally rebels, throws off her allegiance to Spain, becomes a republic. But the hot-blooded Ecuadorans are not easy to govern. Presidents come and go. The long years are filled with riot, bloodshed, exile, assassination. Her commerce at a standstill, her credit demoralized. In the year 1896, Ecuador elects Aloy Alfaro, president and recalls him from exile in the United States. In the executive palace in Quito, he is seated at his desk. Come in. Have the northerners arrived? Yes, Mr. President. Ask them to come in. Come in, Senorys. Senor Arthur Harmon. Good morning, sir. Senor John Harmon. Good morning, Mr. Alfaro. Senorys, you are most welcome. And I am impatient to hear what you have to tell me. Will you be good enough to seat yourselves? Thank you. Thank you, sir. Will I talk over you, John? You might as well begin, Arthur. I reckon there'd be plenty of talking for both of us before we're ready to begin construction. Well, Mr. Alfaro, you met my brother and me up in the States and said you wanted us to come down here and build you all a railroad and guy killed at Quito. We both thought you were making it sound a lot more difficult than it really was. And now, Senor Harmon. Well, I'll have to be pretty frank, sir. You all have got a long way to go before you'll be ready to start building it. You do not think it is impossible there, as others have said. How many other engineers have you had down here, Mr. Alfaro? I could not say, Senora, but for 60 years, it has been a dream of my people to connect guy killed in Quito. You cannot imagine the difficulty of us. You cannot imagine the difficulty of establishing commerce when everything must pass over the old Indian trails. Oh, yes, we can. We've just been over them ourselves. But it is the dry season now. We can imagine what it must be like when the rains come. I've never seen so many mules. There are more than 70,000 mules employed in this traffic, Senora. And this for only six months of the year, and only your presidents have been wanting to build a railroad for a long time. You mean to say you have no communication with the coast for six months of the year, sir? Only an occasional letter carrier, Senor. When I was recalled from exile, I knew that only from the United States could come in to build a railroad up the Andes. You will, Senorys. You will build it for Ecuador. Oh, just a minute, please, Mr. Alfaro. I said you all were a long way from driving your first spike. You mean we have not the money? You were right. Now don't look so down-hearted. My brother's been doing a lot of thinking about problems of construction. But I told you I'd try to help you get the money. And I've been right successful. You did arrange to form this indication? Yes, sir. With the understanding that you'll have to accept the advice of one or two men on the board of directors. Senor Harmon, you have saved Ecuador from ruin. Well, you all aren't out of the woods yet. All the details still have to be worked out. But give me no peace until we did raise the money after it once looked at your Andes. Then you do not believe this too difficult, Senor John. Well, you see, Mr. Alfaro, our father was a colonel in the war between the states. The Southerners are kind of used to fall on hopes. If only I could make you see what this will mean to Ecuador. From the seas to the mountain, she will run country. The work of the peoples can be quickly sent to the markets. The fruits of Ecuador can be shipped to all the world. The people will no longer fight among themselves. They will be busy, and they will be food and clothing for the poorest. After traveling over those steep trails from Guarquillo, we don't need any encouragement to be getting your survey, Mr. Alfaro. Besides, I believe that once northern capitalists see that it's not impossible to build a railroad over the Andes, they'll be interested in coming to South America and investing their money. And that will be a good thing for all these countries. You are right, Senor. Now I am in your hands. What is the first thing to be done? Well, I brought some legal papers for you to sign. You don't want to talk them over with your attorney general or whatever you call them down here. As soon as that's done, my brother can send for his survey. Back to the coast along the face of frowning cliffs, across primitive swaying bridges, down the mountainside go John and Archer Harmon. From the north come the engineers to challenge the forbidding Andes, rising 11,000 feet before their eager eyes. In from the coast, over 30 miles of uneven track to the foothills go carloads of carts, scrapers, wheelbarrows, tools for grading to stop abruptly at the little village of Chimbo. Hello, Archer. Glad to see you. Glad to see you, John. You're already having your trouble. Yes. The rate we're going now, Mr. Alparo's railroad won't be built in any of our lifetime. You can't expect this amount of Andes in a day. I don't, but we can't get labor. I've decided the only thing to do is to import Negroes from Jamaica and Puerto Rico. How many do you reckon we'd have to have? No use doing it by haves. About 6,000. Come over here, let me show you. Month after month, John Harmon plings his puny men against the wall of the Andes. Foot by foot, they fight their way toward the summit. Then come the rains. It's gone. That's the last of it, aren't you? The last of your greed, the last foot. All our months of work slid down the mountainside like wet paper. What are you going to do now? Begin all over. I'm going to lay out an entirely new line through the canyons of the rivers. I wonder what Mr. Alparo will say to that. Well, if he wants his railroad built, he'd better agree. What about those men of yours who are back on the road? They'll keep putting up money if you guarantee the road will be built. It'll be built if I have to sink every tire and reinforce concrete. Years and millions of dollars, and John Harmon's life went into the building of the railroad. But it was finished at last in the hands of a man. 1918. Ecuador is in the grip of an epidemic that has ravaged the country periodically since 1740. Yellow fever. An enemy no man knew how to fight. Death stalks the sea coast, marking down old and young, rich and poor. Steamers steer wide at the port of Gaiquille. Business halts. The churches fill with terrified supplicants. In the home of Maria Salas, the fiancee young doctor Esteban Castillo has dropped in for a hasty call. Send your wife and Maria up to Quito where they will be safe from this pestilence. No, I will not, Esteban. It is the will of God to visit Gaiquille with a fever. You are a doctor, Esteban. Maria, the doctors are as helpless as babies in this epidemic. How can we protect people against yellow fever when no man knows its cause? I tell you, Esteban, it is the will of God. I don't believe it. Esteban! I cannot argue with you, senor, and I must not stay. I have many patients to visit. I must take my advice and send Maria and her mother to Quito. Is there no fever in Quito? It does not break out there because it is cool and dry. We send patients there to recover, those who do recover. Is it true the president is thinking of asking doctors from the United States to come to Ecuador? How did you hear that, Maria? Mrs. Goding, the wife of the United States Council. She told me when I met her in the market on Monday. Oh, she is so sweet and gay. Is she not, Esteban? Oh, Maria. When Maria took me with a call, she trained a wild bird to sit on the back of her chair and pick up her symbol when she dropped it. She is a very great lady, Maria. Oh, I know. Why, Esteban, what is it? Mrs. Goding died of a fever tonight. Oh. That is why I hurried here to urge you to send Maria and your wife away, senor Sela. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I had to be the one to bring you the news. Good night, senor. Good night, Maria. Good night, Esteban. Good night. It is the will of God, Maria. Good night, Esteban. Thousands of miles to the north in the executive offices of the Rockefeller Foundation in New York, Dr. Michael Conner and his noted Japanese colleague, Dr. Hideo Noguchi, are standing before their chief. I have a few cables here. One from the president of Ecuador and one from our council general, Hugh Goding. It seems Goding's wife died of yellow fever last night, and you can read it for yourself, Dr. Conner. The president of Ecuador has asked me to invite your yellow fever experts to cooperate with the National Health Department to stamp out the epidemic and guard here. Well. I thought I'd send you to. What do you say, Dr. Noguchi? It is opportunity I have long wanted. Yes, I'm glad to go to. I've been watching reports from Ecuador. I'd like to see if the precautions general Gargoth used in Panama would prove generally effective in keeping yellow fever from spreading. Good. Subtle then. Take what surprise you think you'll need. Well, my guinea pigs must be included. Yes, if you like. I imagine you could get guinea pigs down there. And you'll send us reports on your progress from time to time. Oh, certainly. Yes, indeed. They want us at once, I suppose. Yes, I'll have sailings look up and let you know. In the presidential palace at Quito, Presidente Alfredo Moreno receives the two foreign doctors. Our own positions are exhausted. Some of them have caught the fever and died, but their work goes for nothing. Senorys, no one knows the cause of this plague. The death of Mrs. Garding has saddened all my country. I can only hope that if you are successful, her husband may feel she has not died in vain. Whatever help you need will be that they give in. Our National Health Department urges you to call on them. Well, thank you, Mr. Moreno. Have you been able to make any sort of plans? We've gone this far, subject to your approval. Your Dr. Pareja, and I, Keel, will work with Dr. Noguchi trying to isolate the yellow fever germ and the discoverer vaccine. Bueno, and you, Dr. Conner? Well, my part will be to find a way to eliminate the carriers of the disease and by isolating new cases and strict quarantine, see if we can't keep the fever from spreading. But Dr. Conner, how can you eliminate the carrier of this disease when you do not know what it is? Oh, but we do. Dr. Finley in the Vanna has definitely traced it to the female stegomaya mosquito. A mosquito? Well, this is indeed hopeless. Mosquitoes breed in water everywhere. Yes, I know. It's going to be my job to see that the stegomaya is exterminated or at least kept away from yellow fever patients. It seems to me a hopeless undertaking, but you are free to do what you will. Oh, thank you, Mr. Moreno. If you are able to isolate the germ, we may forever free Ecuador from fear of yellow fever. May God grant you success. 30 crowded days passed. July comes. Unabated yellow fever grips Caikio. Then one morning in Dr. Conner's office. Dr. Castile, the water tanks of Caikio must be made mosquito-proof, or we must discover some kind of fish that will eat mosquito larvae. The people of Ecuador will not understand, Dr. Conner. They will not help us. Besides, water is scarce here. Each family has small containers about the house in which it is stored. Well, all the more reason to protect them from mosquitoes. If the people won't cooperate, well, they must be forced to. But I think they will when they realize it may save their lives and those of their children. I will see what can be done. Dr. Noguchi reports. Working with Dr. Pareja, I have succeeded in transmitting yellow fever to my guinea pig. August 1st, back to New York, goes Dr. Conner's report. We have finally succeeded in screening the high-water tanks of Caikio where frequent inspection is difficult. We've also experimented with various kinds of fish and have found that Chalaco entirely satisfactory. They're very cheap so that even the poorest family may have them. The response of the citizens to our appeal for cooperation is the most consistent and intelligent I have ever found. September. I have succeeded in isolating yellow fever germs, and now I'm at work on preparation of a vaccine and preventive serum. We believe we have the disease under control. Our quarantine methods have proved extremely effective. Dr. Noguchi has begun to use his new vaccine. October. I am happy to report that the new serum, when used on or before the third day of the disease, reduces mortality of yellow fever from 56% to 13%. November. The two doctors have now been in Ecuador six months. Nearly all vaccinated persons seem to be immune to yellow fever. I am most happy to say the vaccine is highly successful. We are sailing for New York on next Wednesday, the 17th. We are obliged to discontinue our study of yellow fever in Ecuador. In Gaiquil, there are now no cases for observation. Within six months, yellow fever was wiped out after having flourished in Ecuador for nearly 200 years. The death of one woman saved the lives of millions in tropical countries throughout the world. And now our steamer is waiting at Anchorage in the river. We make our way through the narrow, tortuous streets of Gaiquil, where in the soft, traffic air, fragrant cacao beans lie drying under the equatorial sun. Regretfully, we must hurry past the cellars of finely woven hats. The finest Panama hats come from Ecuador. In the teeming marketplace, the Indians display mounds of gleaming oranges, melons, mangoes, papayas, and pineapples. Our launch sputters at the dock. We are homeward bound once more from another journey to ports of call. We invite you to join us again next week in this time as we journey to another of the world's fascinating ports of call.