rose from his rush mat at the door of his cedai house and looked out. Sure enough, a ship was crossing the bar. He wrapped his rat-skin toga around him, put on a conical bear-grass hat, slipped a scalping-knife into his sheath, and called his runners. They launched the royal canoe that lifted her prow like the beak of a Roman galley, and Daniel Lee, Chenamus, and his two squaws were off. With a monotonous "Ho-ha-hoha-ho-ha," to keep time, the Indian crew sent the cedar barque like a wherry through the water.
Safely the mate in the masthead cried his orders, safely the sailor hanging far over sounded the misty breakers, safely the good ship crossed the bar. The little canoe touched her side, then all clambered up, just as the Indians had clambered into the Boston ship of discovery forty-eight years before (1792). Pressing his nephew to his bosom, the ever-directing, guiding, energetic Jason Lee lingered but a moment, then chartering the crew and canoe of King Chenamus, set out for the mission, to make arrangements for the reception of his unexpectedly large reinforcement.
All that time Dr. McLoughlin was toiling abroad for the aggrandizement of England on the Pacific, Jason Lee, the missionary, was lecturing in the States. He woke up Congress, suggested that a mile square of land be offered to immigrants. He stirred the entire country. Through him Caleb Gushing, of Newburyport, conceived the idea of trading in the Columbia. In response to his call for men and money, the Methodist Board granted $40,000, and a mission colony of fiftythree persons, ministers, mechanics, farmers, and teachers, sailed out on that ship "Lausanne "from New York harbor. At Honolulu, Jason Lee arranged a treaty of commerce with the king of the Sandwich Islands.
