Excerpt from: Oregon Trail Pioneer, Sept. 1994, Mulino, OR., Vol 3. No. 9
Arriving in the migration of 1852, was Sarah Ann Campbell Morris, who had been widowed on the Trail by the Cholera scourge which took a heavy toll on the pioneers crossing the plains that year. In addition to her husband, John, Sarah lost two little girls somewhere in what is now Nebraska. There was no turning back, so Sarah Ann and the other children continued on to Oregon City.
Not much is known of the background of John Morris. Sarah Ann's people were The Campbells of Camden, New Jersey, and her brother Joseph was experimenting with a concentrated tomato soup and pork and beans to be preserved in cans. He had tried to persuade his brother (John) but John was a farmer and had a homestead.
Tales of Oregon were going the rounds and Sarah Ann listened to the enthusiastic stories John brought home from every trip to town. "There're sections of free land out in Oregon, Sarah, room for all the young ones to have a farm a piece when they are old enough. Besides, Indiana is filling up too fast. You can't swing a cat without getting across a fence." The trip, that began so happily, proved to be a tragedy for the Morris family.
But, the women of the west were strong, upon arrival in Oregon City, Sarah Ann went claim hunting. It happened that land south of Oregon City was still available. She filed and moved out with her entourage that included a prairie schooner and eight children.
Jackson descendents relate the heart-warming story of a lonely widow and widower.
It wasn't long before Jackson, still hearty and robust, though white of hair and beard, went calling on the widow. "I come to pay my respects, Mrs. Morris." He introduced himself "since we are neighbors."
"That's kind of you, Mr. Jackson," said the tiny woman, while the children regarded the caller with curiosity.
"If there's anything I can do to help, feel free to send one of the boys over," Jackson said. I'm alone myself, except for Henry. I know what it is like to lose your mate." Jackson raised his hat politely as he gave a final appraisal of the neat figure with rosy cheeks and bright blue eyes, whose skirts were tucked up under her apron to keep them off the ground while she worked on the camp she was trying to make.
Not a week had gone by before Jackson was back at the Morris camp. Thoughts had been crossing his mind. "I'm a blunt man, Mrs. Morris," He began. "And I don't believe in beating about the bush."
"You're alone - ah-h, no mam that is, I'm alone. My cabin is raised and you and the children can't live like this through the winter. I can easily add on another room, we can get married and you can move in with us."
Sarag Ann's mouth fell open as she gasped, "but John's not been gone six months. It wouldn't be respectful of his memory to marry so soon." Jackson said, "you can respect him long as you want. I have my memories too. We're down to hard practical facts, now."" Let me think about it a little."
He took her hard worked hand but she pulled it away. "No not yet. Come back next week."
Jackson returned to his cabin and began to whistle as he reached for his tools and started to smooth a board he had sawed from a log. "Romantic old fool." He said to himself. "Here your are, almost old enough to be her father, anyhow a woman like her needs a man, and goodness knows, I'm lonely myself."
Sarah Ann's answer when he returned was a firm "yes." I know John wouldn't want me struggling here alone, and the children need a father. And she added, "I promise to be a good wife to you."
They were married in 1853 and, the next year a son named John B. was born to them. With a wife to keep house and direct the boys in the farm work, Jackson was free to build his factory. Little John B. was the delight of his elderly Father, and for him he made some special pieces; a cradle, a high-chair, and a trundle bed. Often a casket has to be made in a hurry, and John B. would hold a candle while Francis finished one at night. He became the delight of his father in his old age. Jackson died in 1868.
Sarah lived until 1890 and was buried beside John in the Rock Creek Cemetery.
Arriving in the migration of 1852, was Sarah Ann Campbell Morris, who had been widowed on the Trail by the Cholera scourge which took a heavy toll on the pioneers crossing the plains that year. In addition to her husband, John, Sarah lost two little girls somewhere in what is now Nebraska. There was no turning back, so Sarah Ann and the other children continued on to Oregon City.
Not much is known of the background of John Morris. Sarah Ann's people were The Campbells of Camden, New Jersey, and her brother Joseph was experimenting with a concentrated tomato soup and pork and beans to be preserved in cans. He had tried to persuade his brother (John) but John was a farmer and had a homestead.
Tales of Oregon were going the rounds and Sarah Ann listened to the enthusiastic stories John brought home from every trip to town. "There're sections of free land out in Oregon, Sarah, room for all the young ones to have a farm a piece when they are old enough. Besides, Indiana is filling up too fast. You can't swing a cat without getting across a fence." The trip, that began so happily, proved to be a tragedy for the Morris family.
But, the women of the west were strong, upon arrival in Oregon City, Sarah Ann went claim hunting. It happened that land south of Oregon City was still available. She filed and moved out with her entourage that included a prairie schooner and eight children.
Jackson descendents relate the heart-warming story of a lonely widow and widower.
It wasn't long before Jackson, still hearty and robust, though white of hair and beard, went calling on the widow. "I come to pay my respects, Mrs. Morris." He introduced himself "since we are neighbors."
"That's kind of you, Mr. Jackson," said the tiny woman, while the children regarded the caller with curiosity.
"If there's anything I can do to help, feel free to send one of the boys over," Jackson said. I'm alone myself, except for Henry. I know what it is like to lose your mate." Jackson raised his hat politely as he gave a final appraisal of the neat figure with rosy cheeks and bright blue eyes, whose skirts were tucked up under her apron to keep them off the ground while she worked on the camp she was trying to make.
Not a week had gone by before Jackson was back at the Morris camp. Thoughts had been crossing his mind. "I'm a blunt man, Mrs. Morris," He began. "And I don't believe in beating about the bush."
"You're alone - ah-h, no mam that is, I'm alone. My cabin is raised and you and the children can't live like this through the winter. I can easily add on another room, we can get married and you can move in with us."
Sarag Ann's mouth fell open as she gasped, "but John's not been gone six months. It wouldn't be respectful of his memory to marry so soon." Jackson said, "you can respect him long as you want. I have my memories too. We're down to hard practical facts, now."" Let me think about it a little."
He took her hard worked hand but she pulled it away. "No not yet. Come back next week."
Jackson returned to his cabin and began to whistle as he reached for his tools and started to smooth a board he had sawed from a log. "Romantic old fool." He said to himself. "Here your are, almost old enough to be her father, anyhow a woman like her needs a man, and goodness knows, I'm lonely myself."
Sarah Ann's answer when he returned was a firm "yes." I know John wouldn't want me struggling here alone, and the children need a father. And she added, "I promise to be a good wife to you."
They were married in 1853 and, the next year a son named John B. was born to them. With a wife to keep house and direct the boys in the farm work, Jackson was free to build his factory. Little John B. was the delight of his elderly Father, and for him he made some special pieces; a cradle, a high-chair, and a trundle bed. Often a casket has to be made in a hurry, and John B. would hold a candle while Francis finished one at night. He became the delight of his father in his old age. Jackson died in 1868.
Sarah lived until 1890 and was buried beside John in the Rock Creek Cemetery.
Excerpt from: Oregon Trail Pioneer, Sept. 1994, Mulino, OR., Vol 3. No. 9
Arriving in the migration of 1852, was Sarah Ann Campbell Morris, who had been widowed on the Trail by the Cholera scourge which took a heavy toll on the pioneers crossing the plains that year. In addition to her husband, John, Sarah lost two little girls somewhere in what is now Nebraska. There was no turning back, so Sarah Ann and the other children continued on to Oregon City.
Not much is known of the background of John Morris. Sarah Ann's people were The Campbells of Camden, New Jersey, and her brother Joseph was experimenting with a concentrated tomato soup and pork and beans to be preserved in cans. He had tried to persuade his brother (John) but John was a farmer and had a homestead.
Tales of Oregon were going the rounds and Sarah Ann listened to the enthusiastic stories John brought home from every trip to town. "There're sections of free land out in Oregon, Sarah, room for all the young ones to have a farm a piece when they are old enough. Besides, Indiana is filling up too fast. You can't swing a cat without getting across a fence." The trip, that began so happily, proved to be a tragedy for the Morris family.
But, the women of the west were strong, upon arrival in Oregon City, Sarah Ann went claim hunting. It happened that land south of Oregon City was still available. She filed and moved out with her entourage that included a prairie schooner and eight children.
Jackson descendents relate the heart-warming story of a lonely widow and widower.
It wasn't long before Jackson, still hearty and robust, though white of hair and beard, went calling on the widow. "I come to pay my respects, Mrs. Morris." He introduced himself "since we are neighbors."
"That's kind of you, Mr. Jackson," said the tiny woman, while the children regarded the caller with curiosity.
"If there's anything I can do to help, feel free to send one of the boys over," Jackson said. I'm alone myself, except for Henry. I know what it is like to lose your mate." Jackson raised his hat politely as he gave a final appraisal of the neat figure with rosy cheeks and bright blue eyes, whose skirts were tucked up under her apron to keep them off the ground while she worked on the camp she was trying to make.
Not a week had gone by before Jackson was back at the Morris camp. Thoughts had been crossing his mind. "I'm a blunt man, Mrs. Morris," He began. "And I don't believe in beating about the bush."
"You're alone - ah-h, no mam that is, I'm alone. My cabin is raised and you and the children can't live like this through the winter. I can easily add on another room, we can get married and you can move in with us."
Sarag Ann's mouth fell open as she gasped, "but John's not been gone six months. It wouldn't be respectful of his memory to marry so soon." Jackson said, "you can respect him long as you want. I have my memories too. We're down to hard practical facts, now."" Let me think about it a little."
He took her hard worked hand but she pulled it away. "No not yet. Come back next week."
Jackson returned to his cabin and began to whistle as he reached for his tools and started to smooth a board he had sawed from a log. "Romantic old fool." He said to himself. "Here your are, almost old enough to be her father, anyhow a woman like her needs a man, and goodness knows, I'm lonely myself."
Sarah Ann's answer when he returned was a firm "yes." I know John wouldn't want me struggling here alone, and the children need a father. And she added, "I promise to be a good wife to you."
They were married in 1853 and, the next year a son named John B. was born to them. With a wife to keep house and direct the boys in the farm work, Jackson was free to build his factory. Little John B. was the delight of his elderly Father, and for him he made some special pieces; a cradle, a high-chair, and a trundle bed. Often a casket has to be made in a hurry, and John B. would hold a candle while Francis finished one at night. He became the delight of his father in his old age. Jackson died in 1868.
Sarah lived until 1890 and was buried beside John in the Rock Creek Cemetery.
Arriving in the migration of 1852, was Sarah Ann Campbell Morris, who had been widowed on the Trail by the Cholera scourge which took a heavy toll on the pioneers crossing the plains that year. In addition to her husband, John, Sarah lost two little girls somewhere in what is now Nebraska. There was no turning back, so Sarah Ann and the other children continued on to Oregon City.
Not much is known of the background of John Morris. Sarah Ann's people were The Campbells of Camden, New Jersey, and her brother Joseph was experimenting with a concentrated tomato soup and pork and beans to be preserved in cans. He had tried to persuade his brother (John) but John was a farmer and had a homestead.
Tales of Oregon were going the rounds and Sarah Ann listened to the enthusiastic stories John brought home from every trip to town. "There're sections of free land out in Oregon, Sarah, room for all the young ones to have a farm a piece when they are old enough. Besides, Indiana is filling up too fast. You can't swing a cat without getting across a fence." The trip, that began so happily, proved to be a tragedy for the Morris family.
But, the women of the west were strong, upon arrival in Oregon City, Sarah Ann went claim hunting. It happened that land south of Oregon City was still available. She filed and moved out with her entourage that included a prairie schooner and eight children.
Jackson descendents relate the heart-warming story of a lonely widow and widower.
It wasn't long before Jackson, still hearty and robust, though white of hair and beard, went calling on the widow. "I come to pay my respects, Mrs. Morris." He introduced himself "since we are neighbors."
"That's kind of you, Mr. Jackson," said the tiny woman, while the children regarded the caller with curiosity.
"If there's anything I can do to help, feel free to send one of the boys over," Jackson said. I'm alone myself, except for Henry. I know what it is like to lose your mate." Jackson raised his hat politely as he gave a final appraisal of the neat figure with rosy cheeks and bright blue eyes, whose skirts were tucked up under her apron to keep them off the ground while she worked on the camp she was trying to make.
Not a week had gone by before Jackson was back at the Morris camp. Thoughts had been crossing his mind. "I'm a blunt man, Mrs. Morris," He began. "And I don't believe in beating about the bush."
"You're alone - ah-h, no mam that is, I'm alone. My cabin is raised and you and the children can't live like this through the winter. I can easily add on another room, we can get married and you can move in with us."
Sarag Ann's mouth fell open as she gasped, "but John's not been gone six months. It wouldn't be respectful of his memory to marry so soon." Jackson said, "you can respect him long as you want. I have my memories too. We're down to hard practical facts, now."" Let me think about it a little."
He took her hard worked hand but she pulled it away. "No not yet. Come back next week."
Jackson returned to his cabin and began to whistle as he reached for his tools and started to smooth a board he had sawed from a log. "Romantic old fool." He said to himself. "Here your are, almost old enough to be her father, anyhow a woman like her needs a man, and goodness knows, I'm lonely myself."
Sarah Ann's answer when he returned was a firm "yes." I know John wouldn't want me struggling here alone, and the children need a father. And she added, "I promise to be a good wife to you."
They were married in 1853 and, the next year a son named John B. was born to them. With a wife to keep house and direct the boys in the farm work, Jackson was free to build his factory. Little John B. was the delight of his elderly Father, and for him he made some special pieces; a cradle, a high-chair, and a trundle bed. Often a casket has to be made in a hurry, and John B. would hold a candle while Francis finished one at night. He became the delight of his father in his old age. Jackson died in 1868.
Sarah lived until 1890 and was buried beside John in the Rock Creek Cemetery.
Family Members
Advertisement
Explore more
Sponsored by Ancestry
Advertisement
