Sarah’s Mother’s Husband

Now that I’ve disabused myself of any notion that John Jackson married his bride, Sarah Howard Ijams, in the year of 1816, where did that date come from?

I accidentally stumbled upon some information that might clear up that discrepancy. Wondering just what additional information I could find on the family—despite not being able to glean enough on Sarah’s own generation—I thought I’d jump back a step and look at her parents’ generation.

Now, I usually don’t like to make that move so soon. In most cases, I find lots to keep me occupied within one generation, discovering all there is to know on the siblings of one given family. It takes quite a while before I get the sense of having found all I can find. It’s only then that I will move back to the parents’ generation.

In this case, though, being stuck on this case of Sarah-in-Ohio marrying John-in-Missouri, I figured there had to be more to this story. Maybe the Sarahs of 2012 find no problem in saying “I do” to an eligible bachelor living several states away. But this was 1816—or, more likely, 1818—and frequent flier miles had not yet been invented.

I had hoped that just maybe I could uncover the story that connected this Ohio outpost in Fairfield County with a fort in a place that wasn’t even a state yet.

I went to one of my favorite sites for genealogy information pre-dating the usual governmental records: Find A Grave. Now, you and I know that Find A Grave doesn’t have everything there is to know about every cemetery. But it is a good start.

Fortunately, it was the right start for me. Using the Find A Grave search form, I started by searching for any results in Fairfield County, Ohio, with Sarah's father’s name: William Ijams. With a surname like Ijams, I had an edge on chances of finding something useful in the search results.

Photograph by Linda Huffman Powell

Right away, I spotted a William Ijams at the Stevenson Ruffner Cemetery just northwest of Rushville in Fairfield County, Ohio. One of the reasons I wanted to locate Sarah’s father’s gravestone was to see the dates. I thought the mention in the biographical sketch I had found—the one mentioning John Jackson’s return trip to Ohio with Sarah, her mother and siblings, but no father listed—needed some verification. The headstone provided explanation: William Ijams passed away in February, 1815.

Reading the Find A Grave entry provided a second hint: William’s entry there was linked to that of his wife. The added bonus was that her full name was listed. Not only did that confirm that her maiden name was Howard, but it revealed that, after William’s death, she had remarried.

What is interesting to find about this second man that Elizabeth Howard Ijams married is that he also served in the United States Army—and, to be more precise, that he had served, among other places, at one particular fort. Yes, you guessed it: John Whistler served at Fort Bellefontaine, the very fort near Saint Louis that we have been discussing in the case of John Jay Jackson’s travels.

Elizabeth Howard Ijams’ second husband, John Whistler, had a full and interesting military career spanning over two decades. Upon orders, after the War of 1812 was fully under way, to remove from his post at Newport Barracks in Kentucky to Fort Wayne, he received word that his own wife had died. That was in April of 1814.

By the time the war had drawn to a close, John Whistler was stationed at Fort Bellefontaine. He was honorably discharged in 1815, but stayed on as military storekeeper at the fort. It is quite possible that John and Elizabeth were married there, most likely by 1816. They remained at the fort for the rest of their lives—Elizabeth dying in or near Saint Louis in 1826, her husband following in 1829.

I still have questions about how and why Elizabeth ended up connecting with John Whistler at Fort Bellefontaine. More than that, I’m still curious to know why a recent widow in the Ohio frontier would be venturing even further west on her own. There’s more to this story, which makes me regret even more that there weren’t better documents from that era to help me out with this question.

Those of us who yearn to do so much more in researching family history than just serve as data collector sometimes find that we have to be satisfied with what little we can uncover of these stories of the past.


Above left: photograph of the headstone of William Ijams at Stevenson Ruffner Cemetery near Rushville in Fairfield County, Ohio. Information on inscription gleaned from cemetery records, as the gravestone itself is partially sunk into the ground. Photograph courtesy of Find A Grave contributor, Linda Huffman Powell. Used by permission.

A Whirlwind Tour of a Tour of Duty

Thanks to the details of an article abstracted from the September 28, 1876, issue of the New Lexington Tribune, we have a general idea of John Jackson’s service in the army during and after the War of 1812. Admittedly, there are conflicting reports, even within this article—but for now, we’ll focus on the timeline of John Jackson’s service.

Here’s what the tour of duty looked like for John Jackson, based on an excerpt from the book, Pioneers of Perry County Ohio by 1830:

            Mr. Jackson was in active service in the [Pennsylvania] Militia when it was first called on at Erie in 1812.

            On May 3, 1813, he enlisted in the regular Army in the 4^th U.S. Rifles. On October 20^th, he embarked with his company on keel boats at Pittsburgh to descend the Ohio and ascend the Mississippi bound for Prairie Du Chien. Arriving at Bellefontaine, three miles from the mouth of the Missouri River, on they went to camp for the winter….

            They left Bellefontaine about May 16, 1815, and landed June 19 at Prairie Du Chien…. He assisted in building Fort Crawford, which commenced work on July 4, 1816. On May 31, 1817, he was ordered to Bellefontaine where he remained until he was honorably discharged on May 31, 1818.

John Jackson evidently started out with the militia in the state where he resided. Thanks to his father’s decision to move from his native New York in 1804, John’s early adult years were spent in Erie County, Pennsylvania. Like many of those serving during the outbreak of the War of 1812, he originally participated as part of his state’s militia, rather than in the United States Army.

John’s travels, while in the army, can easily be traced on the map I referred to yesterday—one in which several of the forts of that era were labeled. It is interesting to review the information on the fort he helped build, Fort Crawford in the old settlement town of Prairie du Chien in Wisconsin.

It is quite possible that the timing of the mission to which John Jackson was assigned was influenced by the aftermath of the British siege of Prairie du Chien, since the British did not abandon their position until having received word, in the spring of 1815, of the Treaty of Ghent.

One of the most helpful details of this narrative is that of the time John Jackson spent building Fort Crawford. It appears he remained in that Wisconsin location until the end of May, 1817. If that report is correct, the notes I’ve found online about John’s marriage to Sarah Howard Ijams in 1816 could only mean one thing: she would have had to be with him in Wisconsin, not Missouri! Since I’ve found absolutely no mention of any possibility of marriage in Prairie du Chien, I suspect that 1816 wedding date would not apply to John and Sarah.

It might, however, have something to do with Sarah’s mother.


Above left: Map of the Upper Mississippi River During the War of 1812. Number key:
   1: Fort Bellefontaine, site of original stop of John Jackson's company
   2: Fort Osage
   3: Fort Madison
   4: Fort Shelby (taken by British and renamed Fort McKay; replaced by Fort Crawford)
   5. Battles of Rock Island Rapids and and Credit Island
   6. Fort Johnson
   7. Fort Cap au Gris
Map attributed to Bill Whitaker at en.wikipedia, courtesy of Wikipedia, licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported license.

After the War is Over

So the War of 1812 is over by, say, January of 1815. That’s fair enough. The question on my mind, though, is: “Where’s John?”

John Jay Jackson, who has yet to say “I do” to one Sarah Howard Ijams of Fairfield County, Ohio, is—as far as I know—still in the army at his last post at the close of the war. 

Thanks to the several online mentions of his history, that post has been labeled as Bellefontaine, Missouri. (I’ve also seen other mentions as Saint Louis, Missouri, which helps—mainly because, in checking Google™ Maps, entering “Bellefontaine, Missouri” brings up the map for a place called Bellefontaine Neighbors. Other than appreciating the bit of trivia that this is the longest name of a city in the entire United States, that tidbit of information doesn’t help advance my research efforts.)

That brings up a question in my mind. Where, exactly, would Bellefontaine be? Is it the same thing as Bellefontaine Neighbors, near Saint Louis? Or is it an entirely different location?

Fortunately, perusing the material posted alongside various online resources explaining the War of 1812, I stumbled upon a map indicating that it most probably was the name of a fort. It was, incidentally, located near Saint Louis—or what, at the time, was a vastly diminished version of the Saint Louis we know today.

Not to complicate things, but I do want to mention that there were actually two forts with that name. The first was established in 1805, “on the flood plain below the bluff” of a nearby river. Those of my readers who are avid shoppers might be interested to note that the first fort was located at the mouth of what is now known as “Coldwater Creek.” No, not the store—the river.

Owing to an inopportune shift in the course of that river—and, believe me, these things just can’t be planned—the location of that fort today would be approximately in the middle of the river. However, the river’s shift in 1810 pre-dates the time span we are currently targeting in our pursuit of John Jackson’s personal story. His time at Fort Bellefontaine would be spent at the subsequent facility.

The second fort was located above the bluff—right smart of them, don’t you agree?—and continued in use through 1828, when decaying conditions and changing military needs brought about the decision to abandon the fort.

Interestingly enough, the fort was replaced by an edifice known as Jefferson Barracks. Everybody all together: “Ahhhh…”

Thus ends the historical whirlwind tour of the mystery designation of “Bellefontaine.” The fort that was once the first United States military installation in the area of the Louisiana Purchase has now morphed into a county park. Knowing this does, however, provide a clearer backdrop for us to revisit the biographical sketch of John Jay Jackson. It also provides the setting for more of the story on John’s mother-in-law, and her concurrent life’s events that link to that same fort and region.

Above left: wood engraving showing Zachary Taylor defending Fort Harrison during the War of 1812; courtesy Wikipedia; in the public domain.

Don’t Know Much About History

Despite all the good intentions driving yesterday’s list-making exercise, I’ve discovered one drawback: in order to track the whereabouts of one John Jay Jackson, we have to equip ourselves with a working knowledge of the chronology of the War of 1812, the geographic ins and outs of the early environs of what eventually became Saint Louis, Missouri, and (possibly) familiarity with the biographies of a few military leaders.

Ah, history. We’re talking aftermath of the Louisiana Purchase, French and British animosities, and the impact of rivers at their confluence at key times.

Right now, I’ve got Art Garfunkel’s rendition of Sam Cooke’s 1960 hit, “Wonderful World,” rolling around in my head. I’ll join in with Paul Simon and James Taylor: when it comes to the War of 1812, I don’t know much about history, either.

Let’s take a look at some specifics which will drive our understanding of the Big Picture behind the questions of John Jay Jackson’s whereabouts between 1816 and 1818. Those are the two dates pinned by other researchers as the years of the marriage of John and his bride, Sarah Howard Ijams of Fairfield County, Ohio.

This won’t be easy, and it won’t be quick. But it provides context for the story, and we need to know that.

First of all—and you may know all this, but I didn’t, so for those of you with excellent high school history instructors that you actually paid attention to, please excuse any redundancy—the War of 1812 didn’t just happen in 1812.

I know—it seems counter-intuitive. A year is a year is a year. But the War of 1812 took longer than a year to conclude. Efficiency: leave it to the government.

The conflict began with the vote in Congress to declare war on the British, and then-President James Madison’s signature on June 18, 1812. See? Half a year already gone before anything happened.

It took almost another month before the first sign of action occurred. By the month after that, the Americans were already in retreat, and routed again in October. Likewise, the hobbled military of the early nation limped through the rest of 1812 and into the new year.

Just in time for the adversary to shake loose of prior engagements, thanks to the abdication of Napoleon.

Now it’s time to rumble! At least, that’s what the Brits must have been saying. In this turf war—and keep in mind, we’re up to the spring of 1814 by this point—escalation of effort by the British met equal retaliation by the now-better-organized fledgling American military, keeping this War of 1812 going despite resolution of other international issues overseas.

Though the French and the British kissed and made up back on the continent (that’s the European continent, by the way), the Americans—who hadn’t yet received the memo—continued to rally into yet another year, rebuffing a British attack on Louisiana. Evidently, the British troops hadn’t yet heard from the home office, either—but that’s okay, because it gave General Andrew Jackson his fifteen minutes of fame with victory at the Battle of New Orleans.

That, by the way, brings this War of 1812 up to January, 1815.

That Christmas Eve treaty that called the whole thing off? The news finally reached American shores long after the British Parliament ratified the Treaty of Ghent on December 30. And then, of course, the governmental process here yielded the final decision with Congress ratifying the treaty in February of 1815.

With news traveling that slowly, how long did it take to muster out those soldiers serving in the American troops? That’s the timeline which most likely affects our own story of John Jay Jackson, his marriage to Sarah Howard Ijams, and what became of the rest of the Ijams family.

But we’ll save that part for another day…

Deconstructing Misinformation

I’m on a mission to ferret out what is genuine fact and what is more likely the result of the genealogy version of the child’s game, “Telephone.” I want to revisit the segment from the John Jay Jackson bio that I quoted last Saturday, and examine it, bit by bit. Surely there is some truth that can be squeezed out of that seemingly enigmatic report.

Here’s what I found on page ninety-four of Pioneers of Perry County Ohio by 1830, compiled in 2003 by the Perry County Chapter of the Ohio Genealogical Society:

Mr. Jackson was first married in 1816 at Bellefontaine, Missouri to Sarah Howard Ijams, daughter of Wm. Ijams (sister of William, John and Joseph Ijams) who later died in 1825. In January 1818, he accompanied his wife, mother-in-law, and brother-in-law across the Mississippi at St. Louis to Bearfield Township, Perry County Ohio, where they arrived the latter part of August.

First, let’s take an excruciatingly painstaking approach and list each of the “facts” we can glean from this paragraph:

·        The subject is John Jay Jackson

·        He was married in 1816

·        There is a place called Bellefontaine in Missouri

·        John Jackson’s wife was named Sarah Howard Ijams

·        Sarah was the daughter of William Ijams

·        Sarah was sister of William, John and Joseph Ijams

·        Someone died in 1825 (whether Sarah or her father)

·        A trip from Saint Louis to Ohio commenced in January, 1818

·        The party included John, Sarah, Mrs. Ijams and her son

·        The party arrived in Bearfield Township, Perry County, Ohio

·        The trip concluded late in August—presumably 1818

Next, let’s determine what directions we may now take, based on those prompts:

·        Marriage records for John Jay Jackson and Sarah Howard Ijams

·        Family constellation reconstruction through other documents

·        Cemetery or probate records for Ijams or Jackson death in 1825

·        Confirmation of date and location of marriage

·        Confirmation of date and location of death

·        Search and review history on Bellefontaine, Missouri

·        Review history on Bearfield Township, Perry County, Ohio

Of course, thanks to the assistance of some of you reading this blog, it appears no marriage documentation is readily available online for the Jacksons in Bellefontaine, Missouri. On a hunch that the marriage might actually have happened in Ohio rather than in Missouri, I’m also pursuing searching through marriage records in Fairfield County, Ohio, where the Ijams family lived before 1820.

With that whole list in mind, we have quite a bit of work cut out—and that is from just one paragraph! There is yet another whole page of information to be analyzed.

While I’m thankful that such records preserve and pass down information from the past—after all, the biographical sketch was extracted from an article published in the September 28, 1876, issue of the New Lexington Tribune—I still need to cast a jaundiced eye at all information. Information is best tamed when you have made it your own by diligent examination of all facets. It’s not that anyone is out to deceive you with wily designs of misinformation. It’s just that reports can be no more accurate than the people who create them.

And people often make mistakes.


Above left: Leo Lesser Ury, "Reader with Magnifier," oil on canvas, 1895; courtesy Wikipedia; in the public domain in Australia, the European Union, the United States, and those countries with a copyright term of life of the artist plus seventy years.

Crossing Over

Sometimes a genealogy researcher finds that the boundaries become blurred between the land of the living and the resting place of the dead.

Oh, we have no trouble traipsing through innumerable cemeteries, gawking at the epitaphs of strangers long gone. Some even celebrate this oddity, adopting the moniker, “Graveyard Rabbits.”

I can hardly blame them. As long as I can remember, the fascination of the micro-histories that may be found by careful attention to headstones draws me, too.

But that fascination eludes me today.

In a move that we often wish for ourselves but would discover to be devastating for others, my sister-in-law took the opportunity, just before dawn the other day, to step over that demarcation line and join the other side. She passed quietly in the night. No one knew—well, no one, that is, until it was quite over and most irreversible.

Not that they didn’t try. A valiant effort by family and first responders ensued upon discovery. That blurry line, though, hardened its resolve to keep the one it had just captured.

And it was all over. The line, once blurred, returned firmly into place. A new boundary has been drawn.

That news has left, first, shock. As time passes, though, my memory eases the jolt in microscopic ways, as scenes from our lives together play out in the movie screen of my mind.

I see my sister-in-law in all sorts of escapades from youth and from the many times we’ve shared together. I recall what seemed to be the invincible twenty-something who—courtesy of several serious car wrecks from which she merely walked away—was the source of periodic heart-attack-worthy spates of anxiety for my mother-in-law. I see also the doting sister-in-law whose good intentions while visiting me in the hospital, post-surgery, lapsed into concern that she, herself, might become the one who needed nursing attention. Thinking of the upcoming holiday, I recall the yearly dance of coordinating schedules so that we could get together sometime between Christmas and New Year’s Eve in a way that would not conflict with our travel obligations or her husband’s gigs with his band.

I remember how she adored her “big brother,” the man I married, who unmercifully never let her forget that, when a pre-schooler, she would introduce herself complete with middle name, though she couldn’t quite pronounce it. Rather than ending with a perfectly-enunciated  “Louise,” it always came out as “Judy ’weez.”

It’s odd to think that the very ailment that claimed her brother’s life so early—Marfan syndrome—was partially what shriveled the size of her extended family. She lost her grandfather, an uncle, and father within a few years’ time. Her mother, now gone, was an only child of parents who had moved from Wisconsin to California—cut off from extended family left behind. A grand-aunt and grand-uncle were all that she and her brother had, growing up—until age claimed that surrogate grandparents’ generation. And then, her brother left, too.

With this passing, there is no one remaining in that family. That thought is not lost on a genealogist: a family gone. A stump of a branch on a hollowed-out family tree. Sometimes, life doesn’t go on.

Perhaps it’s the genealogy in me that wants me to keep on pursuing her family history. Though there is no one to pass this heritage down to, there is quite a story. My sister-in-law’s paternal  grandfather—a local, male version of Helen Keller, was blind and deaf owing to a childhood accident, yet developed skills in many areas, including publishing a book of poetry, and publicly speaking about his experiences. Her great-grandparents provided stories of spunk and vivacity, and heritages as diverse as Frenchmen from Maine traveling around the horn to California during Gold Rush days, to Irish-Americans crossing the continent to the same destination. Perhaps it is that seemingly-indestructible resilience that, passed down to her generation, powered my sister-in-law’s younger days. Perhaps seeing all that she survived throughout her life painted her with that invincible aura.

But it was not meant to be so. We all have to go at some point, we tell ourselves. And after we go, those who are left behind take up the task of looking back to see what is worth keeping—worth remembering. Father, mother, grandparents, aunts and uncles morph from family members to family memories.

And yes, even sisters-in-law.

Well, that is not entirely correct to call her my sister-in-law. She might be more correctly labeled as what my family facetiously dubs “outlaws.” Even then, that is not quite right. Because I lost my first husband at a relatively young age, though I remarried, I’ve always maintained a relationship with my original in-laws. Adding the in-laws from my current marriage, it became quite awkward to introduce this woman as my sister-in-law, yet that is what she was. It always took an inordinately long explanation to complete those introductions. It was easier to just call her Judy, Greg’s sister. Most everyone in my circle of acquaintances would then understand.

It helps to know people who know that.

A Little Help From My Forum Friends

When I groused, the other day, about my loss of research material regarding the John J. Jackson family, I didn’t want to complain too loudly. You see, I thought maybe—just maybe—I’d have another way out of the dilemma.

And I did.

I owe my thanks to the efficiency of online genealogy forums, and in particular, to one member of the message boards at Rootsweb.com and Ancestry.com. Can I help it if the very person who came to my assistance was another “outlaw” like me, married into this family which includes so many Sniders?

My query—which I actually sent to Rootsweb’s OHPerry mailinglist about the time I wrote my sniveling post—basically asked for help from anyone having access to the book, Pioneers of Perry County Ohio by 1830. That was the volume I had noted, during my family’s trip to the Allen County Public Library last summer, as the source of a biographical sketch on John Jackson—the copy I had discovered, upon return home, to be missing.

With the immediate helpfulness that is the hallmark of online connectivity, I heard back from a distant Snider relative who had the book and was willing to scan the page in question and email it to me.

The biographical sketch of John Jackson turned out to be much the same as the paragraph I located in the 1883 history book yesterday—with an added bonus: it names John Jackson’s wife. (Of course, there are several other details that will be of help, too, but I’ll cover those tidbits on another day.)

In addition, the article gave its source, citing a report in the New Lexington Tribune from September 28, 1876.

And yet, as you may see yourself, I still feel that some of the details may not be entirely correct, putting me in the awkward position of having to conjure up documents during an age where such details were not officially recorded by any government entity.

Here’s what the book had to say about John and his wife:

Mr. Jackson was first married in 1816 at Bellefontaine, Missouri to Sarah Howard Ijams, daughter of Wm. Ijams (sister of William, John and Joseph Ijams) who later died in 1825. In January 1818, he accompanied his wife, mother-in-law, and brother-in-law across the Mississippi at St. Louis to Bearfield Township, Perry County Ohio, where they arrived the latter part of August.

As I mentioned before, I do not feel confident about that wedding year or location. Of course, I can easily blame any possible discrepancies upon the source: a newspaper report. However, that won’t yield me the truth of the matter.

Yet, see that date? The one in the phrase, “who later died in 1825”? Who was it, I want to ask, who died in 1825? Does the writer mean to infer it was John’s wife, Sarah? It may not have been—not, at least, in that specific year. Could it have referred to Sarah’s father, William Ijams? If so, why would John be traveling that rugged pioneer turf in 1818 with his mother-in-law but not his father-in-law, if the man was still alive at that point?

There are some points at which a researcher may initially be overjoyed to discover a new genealogy resource, and yet, later discover that the thing invokes more questions than the answers it originally provided. Such may be the case with this man’s brief biography. And yet, I’m still grateful to have it. It provides a map to further treasure, if I can use its hints wisely.


Above left: Karl Bodmer, "Confluence of the Fox River and the Wabash in Indiana," watercolor, 1832; courtesy Wikipedia; in the public domain.