1025 John Northey
b. 28 Feb 1605
Holburn, London. England
d. 30 Jun 1694
Marblehead, Essex, Massachusetts, USA

Dorothy (LNU)

Marblehead, Essex, Massachusetts, USA
Relationship Events:
about 1645 Marriage John Northey and Dorothy 1645 probably in Marblehead, Essex, Massachusetts
  John Northey, Jr. b 1645 in Marblehead, Essex, Massachusetts; d. before 1 Mar 1731 in Scituate, Essex, Massachusetts
Sarah Ewell about 1675 in Scituate, Essex, Massachusetts Children: John, David, Samuel, Bethiah, Sarah, and James Northey
  Dorothy Northey b. About 1650; d. 1687
Nicholas Pickett Jul 1670 in Marblehood, Essex, Massachusetts Child: John Pickett
920 Sarah Northey b. About 1658 in Marblehead, Essex, Massachusetts; d. 20 Nov 1714 in Marblehead, Essex, Massachusetts

John Martin about 1673 in Marblehead, Essex, Massachusetts

Children: John, Peter, Robert, Samuel, and Thomas Martin
What We Know



SARAH NORTHEY and her husband John Martin are our direct ancestors. Their Martin descendants were plentiful in Marblehead where many remain to this day.

DOROTHY NORTHEY and her husband Nicholas Pickett began generations of Pcketts who include General Josiah Oickett, who servedin the nin Army 1861 - 1865.


JOHN NORTHEY, JR. and his wife settled on a homestead near her parents, Henry and Sarah Anable Ewell in Scituate. The Ewell home was burned by Indians in 1676 (and rebuilt) during King Philp's War.


The poet Samuel Woodworth lived on the Northey homestead and based his famous poem on a feature that exists today (even though the house itself is gone).

This poem, the one for which Samuel Woodworth is best known, has been described as one of the most beautiful in the English language.  In 1826 the poem was set to music by George F. Kiallmark (1824-1887) and has been sung by generations of American schoolchildren.  It was recorded in 1899 by the Hayden Quartet, the most famous barbership quartet of the time.

The Old Oaken Bucket House in Scituate, Massachusetts is on the National Register of historic Places.




The Old Oaken Bucket
Samuel Woodworth
How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood,
When fond recollection presents them to view!
The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled wild-wood,
And every loved spot which my infancy knew!
The wide-spreading pond, and the mill that stood by it,
The bridge, and the rock where the cataract fell,
The cot of my father, the dairy house nigh it,
And e'en the rude bucket that hung in the well-
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket,
The moss-covered bucket which hung in the well.
That moss-covered vessel I hailed as a treasure,
For often at noon, when I returned from the field,
I found it the source of an exqusite pleasure,
The purest and sweetest that nature can yield.
How ardent I seized it, with hands that were glowing,
And quick to the white-pebbled bottom it fell;
Then soon, with the emblem of truth overflowing,
And dripping with coolness, it rose from the well
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket,
The moss-covered bucket arose from the well.
How sweet from the green mossy brim to receive it,
As poised on the curb inclined to my lips!
Not a full blusing goblet could tempt me to leave it,
The brightest that beauty or revelry sips
And now, far removed from the loved habitation,
The tear of regret will intrusively swell,
As fancy reverts to my father's plantation,
And sighs for the bucket that hangs in the well
The old oaken bucket,
The moss-covered bucket that hangs in the well!


Descendants of John Northey