From the first at school I had been a mental genius. When eight years old I could calculate in my head problems intended for large scholars to work out with slate and pencil. The knottiest problems in Colburn's old mental arithmetic were as simple for me as three times ten, and this I could do without ever looking at the rules. But, oh, my spelling, reading and writing were shockingly deficient, and my grammar was laughable. Once the master compelled me to write a composition, and when he read it he laughed and said, "The ideas are good, Merrick, but it needs a Philadelphia lawyer to connect them."
I would as soon fight as eat and was ready to hammer any boy of my size who had broken up a bird's nest, and was ready to protect the girls to the limit of my strength and ability. Whether I was right or wrong, I can now see that I was unconsciously following the dictates of conscience. When fourteen years old I took a serious dislike to punishment of any kind, and the result was that I left school for good.
WABBAQUASSETT GIRLS. NEWELL HILL IN THE DISTANCE.
COUNTRY BOYS IN TOWN
My boyhood days were spent in what might be termed, the upper strata of the last stages of the tallow candle age. Mother dipped candles each fall to light us through the year. Whale oil was also used, but a little later coal oil from Pennsylvania came into vogue.
In order to obtain whale oil, vessels for that purpose were sent out from New Bedford, New London, New York and other harbors along the northern Atlantic Coast. Accordingly, four of us youngsters, my brother Collins, Lucius Aborn, Lyman Newell and myself, formed a scheme to go catching whales and decided to visit New York and look the matter up and, if possible, learn why our parents so seriously objected to having us become sailors.