Identifier: cu31924029860644 (find matches)
Title: A Salem shipmaster and merchant; the autobiography of George Nichols
Year: 1921 (1920s)
Authors: Nichols, George, 1778-1865 Nichols, Martha
Subjects:
Publisher: Boston : The Four seas company
Contributing Library: Cornell University Library
Digitizing Sponsor: MSN

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ecomequite familiar with their cant phrases. And now imagine me on a Sunday afternoon inan outer kitchen, on the top of a high pump, withmy head up in a scuttle, the children assembledaround me, and I addressing them in the trueMethodistical style. Oh, my dearly belovedbrethren! Sweet Sister Pishley! Dear BrotherCrosswell, etc., and so on. And now Aunt Pishley comes in. She listens.Her anger arises, she becomes more and moreexcited, till at last she breaks out, Get down, youSatan, get down. The uproar reaches mothers ears. She comesout—What is all this disturbance about? Istill keep on preaching, Oh, my dearly beloved!Oh, Brother Crosswell, the child is ruined, etc.Convulsed with laughter, mother turns upon herheels and leaves me to finish my sermon. My father had a fine large garden in Ports-mouth and I was early put to work in it. I did agreat deal in it and I enjoyed it, as I have everenjoyed working in a garden. Besides this, I hadto drive the cow to pasture, feed the pigs, etc.
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BOYHOOD AND YOUTH 23 Indeed a great deal of care came upon me, partic-ularly when my father was away. And I had towork very hard in order to get any time to play.I think it was in the year 1783 I was sent to Benj. Dearborns1 school. Mr. D was the most unsuitable person for a teacher that I everknew, being very tyrannical towards all the schol-ars, girls as well as boys, but particularly sotowards me; but being a very high spirited boyhis severity had a bad effect upon me. I felt thatI was not made to be flogged and I would notsubmit to it. One day entering the room, justafter the school had commenced, Dearborn, whowas standing near the door, gave me a blow withhis fist on the side of the head. I fell, but beforereaching the floor he caught me and gave me ablow on the other side. These blows were re-peated until I became nearly insensible. His i Prom Rambles About Portsmouth, I find the follow-ing sketch of Mr. Dearborn, written by the widow of Capt.Wm. Brewster, when she was eighty-fi

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