. Marcus Whitman, pathfinder and patriot. of seven and eighteen, and several older peo-ple, gathered on the shady side of the new mission house, atthe ringing of a hand bell, and seated themselves in an orderlymanner on ranges of wooden benches. The Doctor then wrotemonosyllables, words, and instructive sentences on a largeblackboard suspended on a wall, and proceeded first to teachthem the nature and power of the letters, in representing thesimple sounds of the language, and then the construction ofwords, and their uses in forming sentences expressive ofthought. The sentences written during t
. Marcus Whitman, pathfinder and patriot. of seven and eighteen, and several older peo-ple, gathered on the shady side of the new mission house, atthe ringing of a hand bell, and seated themselves in an orderlymanner on ranges of wooden benches. The Doctor then wrotemonosyllables, words, and instructive sentences on a largeblackboard suspended on a wall, and proceeded first to teachthem the nature and power of the letters, in representing thesimple sounds of the language, and then the construction ofwords, and their uses in forming sentences expressive ofthought. The sentences written during these operations wereat last read, syllable by syllable, and word after word, and ex-plained, until the sentiments contained in them were compre-hended. And it was delightful to notice the undisguised avid-ity with which these people would devour a new idea. Itseemed to produce a thrill of delight that kindled up the coun-tenances, and animated the whole frame. A hymn in the NezPerce language, learned by rote from their teachers, was then. THE PRINTING PRESS Mission Work 1 1 5 sung, and the exercises closed with prayer by Dr. Whitmanin the same tongue. Twenty-fifth. I was awakened at early dawn by the merrysounds of clapping boards, the ax, the hammer, and the plane—the sweet melodies of the parent of virtue at the cradle ofcivilization. When I rose, everything was in motion. I saideverything was alive. Not so. The Skyuse village was inthe deepest slumber, save a few solitary individuals, who werestalking with slow and stately tread up a neighboring butte todescry the retreat of their animals. Their conical skin lodgesdotted the valley above the mission, and imparted to the land-scape a peculiar wildness. As the sun rose, the inmates beganto emerge from them. This is the imperial tribe of Oregon. They are also a tribeof merchants (often doing the trading between the Indianseast of the Blue Mountains and those towards The Dalles).They own large numbers of horses. A Skyuse is th
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