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Browsing named entities in a specific section of Oliver Otis Howard, Autobiography of Oliver Otis Howard, major general , United States army : volume 1. Search the whole document.

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John Otis (search for this): chapter 1.2
t my grandfather and one of the strangers had lighted their pipes. My father said, as his curious little boy was noticed: Otis, you must speak your piece. Step up on the bench there beside the door. I did so. My father then said: Now, Otis, makeOtis, make your bow and go on. I did the best I could and stammered through that wonderful speech which children learn without knowing for many years its meaning: You'd scarce expect one of my age To speak in public on the stage, And if I chance to fallr. Just then my father came in, and I never quite forgave him for reproving my mother for not having taken better care of Otis. Indeed, Otis was wholly to blame. The next day we proceeded to Bangor, Me. There two things occurred which have becoOtis was wholly to blame. The next day we proceeded to Bangor, Me. There two things occurred which have become part of my life. One was the impression produced by Mrs. Richmond's large music box that she wound up several times for my benefit, and the other was a misfortune which I had while playing with a little girl about my age. I shut the door upon her
Elizabeth Moore (search for this): chapter 1.2
iculum. Reading, writing, and spelling were for all. Geography, arithmetic, and English grammar were for those who were advanced enough to be classified in these branches. I was fond of my teachers, and remember distinctly that I could be governed by kindness and by praise, interspersed with an occasional punishment. One of my earliest instructors was Ben Murray. To keep me out of mischief he would take me and put me in his lap and let me play with his watch chain. A little later Elizabeth Moore would try to shame me by making me sit with the big girls. Hannah Knapp, on one occasion, kept me in at recess on a back seat. Here I shed some tears and meanwhile surreptitiously drew out the ginger cake from my dinner, which had been placed for safety on the little shelf below the desk. I had hard work to eat the dry cake for the crying and the scattering of the crumbs from my overfull cheeks. Thomas Bridgham, one winter, was obliged to punish me with the ferule, giving several
George Washington (search for this): chapter 1.2
beautiful uniforms and bright plumes of the company and excited as boys always are by the music. This was a new experience. Suddenly one of the boys told us that our father, Rowland B. Howard, had been drafted and would have to go to war. Little Rowland and I ran home sobbing and crying, not half understanding what the thing meant. Our mother soon explained that father accepted the draft, but on account of his rheumatism would send a substitute. He did so. The substitute's name was George Washington George. He was cross-eyed, but avoided the examining surgeon, declaring that he could shoot as well as anybody by closing one eye. George's full equipment in the old style, with the flint-lock musket and all that went with it, so much interested me that I have never forgotten any article of its make-up. The so-called war was brief, for the controversy was settled by General Winfield Scott in 1838 before there was any actual exchange of shots. This was called the Madawaska War.
Hannah Knapp (search for this): chapter 1.2
c, and English grammar were for those who were advanced enough to be classified in these branches. I was fond of my teachers, and remember distinctly that I could be governed by kindness and by praise, interspersed with an occasional punishment. One of my earliest instructors was Ben Murray. To keep me out of mischief he would take me and put me in his lap and let me play with his watch chain. A little later Elizabeth Moore would try to shame me by making me sit with the big girls. Hannah Knapp, on one occasion, kept me in at recess on a back seat. Here I shed some tears and meanwhile surreptitiously drew out the ginger cake from my dinner, which had been placed for safety on the little shelf below the desk. I had hard work to eat the dry cake for the crying and the scattering of the crumbs from my overfull cheeks. Thomas Bridgham, one winter, was obliged to punish me with the ferule, giving several smart slaps upon the palm of the hand, because I went off with some other b
Howell Cobb (search for this): chapter 1.2
f heart. She wrote: I think if we cannot fill so high a station in life as we could desire, we may possibly do as much good in some less exacting situation. Our children, though humbly educated, may fill important stations in life. Let us hope for the best and bear with patience whatever crosses our path in life. At the church on Sunday there was preaching in the morning and in the afternoon. During the recess between the sermons the children were gathered into a Sunday school. Deacon Cobb had six or eight of us boys shut into one of those old-fashioned pews with back and front and door so high that we could not look out of the pew when on the floor. The usual routine was to recite verses previously learned at home. My parents must have been very faithful in having me prepare my lessons, for I committed to memory a great deal of Scripture about that time that has'since been of great service to me. There was no sign of religiousness in my first home. We did not even have
Jesse Howard (search for this): chapter 1.2
dfather, Captain Seth Howard, was, next to my mother, my favorite companion. His usual stories concerned the Revolutionary War, in which he had served, during the last part, as a private. Subsequently during Indian troubles he obtained the rank of captain in the militia. He was born in Bridgewater, Mass., and was known as Captain Seth Howard in Massachusetts, as in Maine after his migration to that State, which was on his arrival but a province, a part of Massachusetts. His father was Jesse Howard, who at the breaking out of the Revolutionary struggle entered the service against the British as a lieutenant in Captain Ames's company; he was subsequently a captain himself, according to the Bridgewater record. Tracing the family back through three generations beyond Jesse, we find John Howard, who was an aide and helper to Miles Standish. This John Howard came from England to America shortly after the arrival of the Mayflower. If a Howard can trace his relatives in the line of her
Cicero (search for this): chapter 1.2
of the strangers had lighted their pipes. My father said, as his curious little boy was noticed: Otis, you must speak your piece. Step up on the bench there beside the door. I did so. My father then said: Now, Otis, make your bow and go on. I did the best I could and stammered through that wonderful speech which children learn without knowing for many years its meaning: You'd scarce expect one of my age To speak in public on the stage, And if I chance to fall below Demosthenes or Cicero, Don't view me with a critic's eye, But pass my imperfections by. This was the event, and the whole sweet picture of it is still before me, more than seventy years after its occurrence. Grandfather, with his thin, silvery hair and very genial face, was already infirm with age. He helped mother about the house more than he did father in the farm work, yet he did many chores in the woodhouse and in the garden and around the barn, which gave father hours of time. My father, a man about
Henry Millet (search for this): chapter 1.2
f. Several boys were on their way to school. There had been a freshet, and the deep ditches were full of water. At one place there was quite an excavation comparatively full. The surface in the early morning was skimmed over with thin ice. Henry Millet, one of the companions of about my age, called out and said: Ote, you dasn't slide across that ditch! As quick as thought I sprang forward and started to slide. When I reached the middle I went through to my neck in the cold water. Of coursand was born. Just after he was old enough to accompany me the fearful excitement attending the settlement of the northeast boundary came to a head. With other lads we ran from school to find the Leeds Company drilling with fifes and drums in Mr. Millet's large front yard. On arriving we were delighted with the beautiful uniforms and bright plumes of the company and excited as boys always are by the music. This was a new experience. Suddenly one of the boys told us that our father, Rowland
Francis (search for this): chapter 1.2
have hindered me from doing the work for the freedmen which, years afterwards, was committed to my charge. In the year 1838 my younger brother, Charles, was born. In the early settlement of Leeds, before there were any school privileges, Mr. Francis, a young Englishman, came with a party of prospectors from England. They were entertained by my great — grandfather, Thomas Stanchfield. After leaving his home, situated then in a wilderness near the eastern border of Leeds, the party kept on westward. After a few days, Mr. Francis, much broken and bruised by the journey, returned alone and accepted the offer of Mr. Stanchfield to remain and teach the children of the scattered families in that section of Maine. At a later period, seeing the moral and religious condition of this frontier, he began to give religious instruction to the adults as well as to the children, and was soon after ordained as the first Baptist minister in that community. He was still preaching in the meeti
Rowland Bailey Howard (search for this): chapter 1.2
ade, its white color, and green blinds, the structure was as noticeable as a lighthouse upon a promontory. It was seen and known for miles around as the residence of Captain Seth Howard. At that time the family consisted of my father (Rowland Bailey Howard), my mother, and my grandfather, who was a little past seventy. Occasionally a neighbor, assisting father in the work of the farm, sat at our table, but habitually we four made up the household. During the winter, probably in Februallet's large front yard. On arriving we were delighted with the beautiful uniforms and bright plumes of the company and excited as boys always are by the music. This was a new experience. Suddenly one of the boys told us that our father, Rowland B. Howard, had been drafted and would have to go to war. Little Rowland and I ran home sobbing and crying, not half understanding what the thing meant. Our mother soon explained that father accepted the draft, but on account of his rheumatism would
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