Adventures in Genealogy

Photo: My grandparents, Jackson Co. natives Cecil and Pearl (Hopson) Stoll on their wedding day in 1937.

I love doing genealogy! It's like putting a puzzle together or solving a mystery, sometimes working from the tiniest of clues. And most of my genealogical adventures have a link to Jackson County, Iowa, home base for all of my family lines at some time. So I am inviting you to join me on my quests and enjoy the ride with me. Please let me know how you like my blog. [sic] - means that I left the spelling just as I found it in the original record. Anything else in [square brackets] is my addition for clarity. And since genealogy research works best as a group effort, feel free to add corrections or point me to more information. But most of all, Enjoy! LuAnn

Sunday, October 15, 2017

The Zophial Mystery

The following was written by Don Wentworth, my brother and Jackson County historian. The Zophial by Don Wentworth The Zophial Found One day in 2002, a gentleman, (whose name I will omit) came into the Jackson Co. Historical Society museum with a copy of a small tabloid newspaper. He asked if anyone knew anything about the Rev. Wm. E. Reed. Due to the creation of the North Bend Community Center & Assoc. the year previous, much about the Rev. Reed was known. His biography will be found else where in this work. The small tabloid newspaper the gentleman held was very old and had the title of, The Zophial. It had been published in Andrew, Iowa, in Oct. of 1878 and was Vol. I., No. I. and the publisher was Rev. Reed. It was stated on the front page that the paper would, “be published as occasion requires and the interest of the people demand.” Up until that time The Zophial was unknown, as, apparently there was never another issue published. After some discussion of the paper, the gentleman related the tale of how the newspaper came to be in his possession. About 20 years earlier his sister had gone on vacation in upper Wisconsin. She and her family had stayed in a rented log cabin, and, as many people will do, she checked out every nook and cranny of the cabin. In one of the bedrooms, there was an old trunk, which she opened, to find it empty, except for a newspaper covering the bottom. For some reason she decided to lift up the newspaper to see what was beneath it. Under that newspaper was The Zophial. She, of course, knew nothing about the paper nor its publisher, but knowing about the town of Andrew, picked it up on a whim and brought it home, to Jackson Co., with her. Nothing further was done with it until that day. On the top of the original copy of The Zophial was inscribed with pencil the name, Wm. Hockley. Mr. Hockley was a member my family and of the Rev. Reed’s congregation at the North Bend Baptist Church. The building which this congregation built in 1861-1864 was sold to the Fairfield #2 school district in 1866. In November, 2001, the structure became the home of the North Bend Community Center & Assoc. This rare piece of early Jackson Co. history had traveled from North Bend, to upper Wisconsin, and back “home” to the people who now cherish it. What mysterious hand guided its journey? Wm. Hockley? Rev. Reed? Or was it just pure luck and coincidence? You decide. This article was published in the Zophial, a religious themed newspaper edited by Rev. Wm. E. Reed. The article was a personal reminiscence of Rev. Reed. At the time of the event described, Rev. Reed would have been 18 years old, and a resident of Fairfield Township for about 2 years. All Gone. “It is now thirty-six years, since I settled in Fairfield Township, Jackson County, Iowa. The Indians were then quite numerous, so they frequented our house for the purpose of begging and trading. One morning in June, 1844, before I had breakfasted: a big, stalwart Indian made his appearance, and I saw at once that he was up for a trade: but as he had nothing with him but his gun, I was at a loss to know what he wanted to trade: but an Indian is never at a loss to know how to convey his ideas. He snatched up a piece of board that had a hole in it, and began running his finger to and from the hole, and the same time going oo-oo-oo: trying to make a noise resembling bees. He had found a bee tree, it was a large one, (and he was too lazy to cut it down.) extending his arms out wide to show the size and shape of the tree, he said, “big, heaps, heaps, ommo (honey) and he wanted to trade it for connabin and souah, (corn meal and flour) As I had not seen the tree, and knowing the “Ingins” to be a little trickey; it took us a long time to make the trade. But finally we agreed; and he took his connabin and souah on his back, and started to show me the tree. The trail followed the ridge from the mouth of Rock Creek where I was then living, to *Hillyard’s ferry: near where the “Iron Bridge” is now. As we walked along, I was before, and looking back I discovered a look of sadness, and I thought also of revenge on the redman’s face; that caused me to feel a little suspicious; so I kept watching him closely. Every now and then, he would cast a glance across the hills on Rock Creek and mutter something I did not understand. But as I had my gun and butcher knife along, (as it was customary for every on to carry such weapons then.), I felt but little fear, as my gun never missed fire, and I was a dead shot. Finally he suddenly stopped, and squaring himself around with his face to the south, and pointing towards the head waters of Rock Creek, said; with deep emotion; **”Mocoman; Waungsheegra pocheeta; heaps, heaps, pchucks. Waungsheegra heaps big; ALL GONE! Mocoman oah tschoosqunee noh.” A tear started from the redman’s eye, but returned to its fount. His sorrow was too deep for tears. It is said that nothing is forgotten: it is only laid by, to be called up by circumstances in after life; and verily it is true. Paul says, “The things that are seen are temporal, but the things not seen are eternal.” The mind is not seen; and therefore is eternal. And all the impressions made upon it, is for eternity: if they are never called up by circumstances in this life, they will sure to be in the next and doubtless give us pain or pleasure. All gone. Yes, ALL GONE! Coming past the same spot the other day, (which I have past thousands of times,) my mind reverted back to the scene just related: and it came up before me as vividly, as though it was the day it happened and I began to recount the: ‘ALL GONES.’ As I had just come up a hill, as the road does not follow the ridge; I found my youthful vigor and elasticity, was: “All gone.” And then remembering my old comrades, with whom I used to hunt and fish; and have such great enjoyment. “All gone. Alas! ALL gone.” And then my scholars, whom I tried to train up for useful lives; and they were ‘All gone.’ Those I tried to teach to sing the songs of Zion. “All gone.” Those with whom I met to worship God. Alas! Alas! ALL G-O-N-E-¬ Where is the Sainted Rowley, that officiated at the first funeral, (outside of our own family,) that I was at in Iowa? Gone to Glory. Where is Butler, the Faithful? Gone to Kansas, soon to pass on to Glory. These two, old, veterans of the Cross were ever ready with a Prayer, or, Exortation, whenever such services were needed: and were the seeds of all the piety North Bend ever possessed. Where are all the others that frequented the house of God, and confessed the Lord Jesus Christ to be their Saviour, and took part in the divine worship of God. ALL GONE. Some to their reward: many moved away; and some are gone a fishing; and some, alas! have returned to the flesh-pots of Egypt. Where is the prayer-meetings, sabbath assemblies, and churches, that flourished in their day? “All gone.” The piety? All gone! Wanngsheegra old. (tears.) The poor Indian was driven to leave the country of his birth, because of the approaching white man had destroyed his only means of support. (the game) Little did he think, when with joy he returned from the chase, with the spoil, to his beloved.” *More commonly known as Mann’s Ferry. **Whiteman, when I was young, deer was plenty on those hills; but now when I am old, they are all gone. (There is more, but it cannot be read.) Photos are of Rev. Wm. E. Reed, and the front page of the Zophial.