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About Henry Chariton Jacobs
Oa Jacobs Cannon’s memories of her father (Taken from Chariton, Susie, Emma Jacobs and Their Families, written and compiled by J. Smith Jacobs, p. 23)
When we saw him drag the kettle to the southeast corner of the yard we all squealed and began hunting for dead branches of trees, twigs, and paper. The boys would cut wood and the neighborhood kids gathered. I was never aware that an invitation was extended, but somehow the word got around and there they were. The contents were put into the kettle, the fire lit, and I recall father stirring and asking us if we would like to hear a story, at which we all shouted in the affirmative. I still have pictures pass before my mind of his trips back to Winter Quarters with his brother Zebulon. He painted them very vividly, because as I think of it now it seems I can feel the hot, dry desert, their making a campfire and cooking thick bacon and putting the grease on their dry bread to soak it up so they could eat it. The odor of lard always gives me a little nausea, and I remember feeling grateful I hadn’t had to do those things. Even yet as I smell pies made with lard baking, I have this story called to mind lard still makes me have an unpleasant feeling. There were also stories of the Mormon Battalion.
I also remember father’s watch, the large gold pocket watch with the train on it. When we were having family reunions and the little children would get restless, he would get one on his knee and put the watch up to its ear and let it listen for the tick. While doing this they invariably pulled at his mustache.
As I think now of father I sense that he was genteel and had a genuine refinement about him at his age to have so many little rowdy youngsters around; it must have been difficult for him.
I can’t end my reminiscing without mentioning his whistling shrilly for us at bedtime. I must have been the most irresponsible of the lot and the most inattentive because it seems I was sent to bed more often than any of the rest of the children. The big back sleeping porch seemed awfully lonesome when I could hear the rest of the family playing run-my-sheep-run. As a result I practiced my hand at whistling and the night I mastered one like father’s, I really gave it the works. I remember so well Vilate and Emma coming upstairs and getting ready for bed. I slipped into bed and pulled the covers over my head, and I could hear them wondering vocally why father had called them in so early. There was never a question in the minds of the girls once father had given the “word.” Not until many years later did I dare divulge my sin.
-------------------- "...Jacobs, Henry Chariton, a Patriarch in the Church, was born March 22, 1846, on the Chariton river in Iowa (his birthplace suggesting his name) while his mother was in the exodus with the refugees from Nauvoo. His father, Henry B. Jacobs, who was born in Jefferson county, New York, had joined the Church in 1832, his family being among the first to accept the faith...."
SOURCE: Record added: Apr 06, 2008
Find A Grave Memorial# 25775032. www.findagrave.com