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Descendants of Washington Olney

Generation No. 2

2. ELIZA JANE² OLNEY (WASHINGTON¹) was born 1837 in Illinois ⁶, and died January 15, 1893 in Mineral Point, Iowa County, Wisconsin ⁷. She married JOHN KEEGAN April 25, 1865 in Mineral Point, Iowa Co. Wisc.⁸, son of FRANCIS KEEGAN and MARGARET KINCH. He was born Abt. 1822 in Ireland, and died February 12, 1902 in Mineral Point, Iowa Co., WI.

Children of ELIZA OLNEY and JOHN KEEGAN are:

10.	i.	WASHINGTON IRVING³ KEEGAN, b. August 10, 1869, Mineral Point, Iowa Co., WI; d. June 10, 1944, Mineral Point, Iowa Co., WI.
11.	ii.	MARY ELLEN KEEGAN, b. August 31, 1874; d. June 07, 1953.
12.	iii.	MARGARET KEEGAN, b. 1875, Mineral Point, Iowa Co., WI; d. October 06, 1933, Monroe, WI.
13.	iv.	IDA KEEGAN.
	v.	MARY URSULA KEEGAN, b. September 14, 1878.
	vi.	RUTH KEEGAN.

3. SARAH² OLNEY (WASHINGTON¹) was born 1840, and died 1871 in Lafayette Co., Wisc.. She married SAMUEL JACKA July 05, 1858 in Lafayette Co., Wisc.⁹. He was born 1838 in England.

Notes for SAMUEL JACKA:
Samuel Jacka married again (after the death of Sarah Olney Jacka in 1871) in 1876 to a Maria Priestley. They had two children: Nellie F. Jacka and Elias J. Jacka. Mr. Jacka was apparently related (cousin?) to the Rev. Wm Jacka, pastor of the Primitive Methodist Church. He also was a native of England who was born 5/3/1841 and came to the U.S. with his parents in 1844, and to Mineral Point July 4, 1844.

Children of SARAH OLNEY and SAMUEL JACKA are:

	i.		SARAH L.³ JACKA.
	ii.		ELIZA M. JACKA.
	iii.		SAMUEL H. JACKA.

4. HENRY² OLNEY (WASHINGTON¹) was born 1841 in Wisconsin ¹⁰, and died July 26, 1916 in State Hospital, Cherokee County, IA. He married CECELIA JANE SCHELLENGER May 21, 1871 in Sheriden Township, Cherokee County, IA, daughter of GEORGE SCHELLENGER. She was born August 20, 1846 in Wiota, Iowa County, Wisconsin, and died October 26, 1895 in Cherokee County, Iowa.

Notes for HENRY OLNEY:
Henry Olney was a friend of David James Hays and a Civil War buddy. He is mentioned in D.J. Hays autobiography as being in the same ward in a battlefield hospital, sick with "army fever" (malaria?). They lived in the same community near Mineral Point and no doubt knew each other before they enlisted. He preceeded D. J. and Mary Olney Hays in their move to Cherokee County , Iowa.
I am now in contact with Janene Crawford, a descendant of Henry's, and have obtained most of the information on this family from her. She wrote: "My mother, Ethel Sivertsen, remembers a story about Grandpa Olney (Henry C. Olney]. Somehow when he was alone (after the 1885 Iowa census which shows him as divorced) he was committed to a mental institution. Minnie and Cora (Laura's first two children) as little girls, would be sent to take tobacco

Children of HENRY OLNEY and CECELIA SCHELLENGER are:

	i.	ELSIE³ OLNEY¹¹.
14.	ii.	LAURA MAY OLNEY, b. March 11, 1872, Meriden, Cherokee County, IA; d. July 05, 1949, Roseburg, OR.
	iii.	KATE OLNEY, b. 1876, Iowa ¹²; d. November 25, 1948, Burbank, CA; m. (1) ROSS JOHNSTON; m. (2) MINOR MCGEARY.
	iv.	DAVID J. OLNEY¹³, b. 1878, Iowa ¹⁴.

5. MINERVA N.² OLNEY (WASHINGTON¹) was born January 06, 1842 in Iowa County, Wisconsin, and died November 09, 1915 in Cherokee County, Iowa. She married WILLIAM FRANCIS SANGWIN October 25, 1868 in Iowa Co, Wisconsin ¹⁵. He was born July 21, 1845 in Iowa County, Wisconsin, and died October 20, 1877 in Mineral Point, Iowa County, Wisconsin ¹⁶.

Children of MINERVA OLNEY and WILLIAM SANGWIN are:

15.	i.	BARTON HURD³ SANGWIN, b. April 17, 1871, Mineral Point, Iowa County, Wisconsin.
	ii.	SUSANNAH F. SANGWIN, b. September 1872, Iowa County, Wisconsin ¹⁷.
	iii.	LLOYD HENRY SANGWIN, b. September 17, 1873, Iowa County, Wisconsin¹⁷.

Notes for LLOYD HENRY SANGWIN:
From History of Cherokee County (Iowa), p. 215:
"Lloyd H. Sangwin, a prosperous agriculturist residing on section 35, Liberty township, is an extensive shipper of Cotswold sheep and owns the only thoroughbred herd of sheep in this part of the state. He is also a prominent factor in the public life of the community, having for the past eight years served as president of the board of trustees. His birth occurred in Iowa County, Wisconsin, on the 17th of September, 1873, his parents being William and Minerva (Olney) Sangwin, both natives of Wisconsin. William Sangwin, an agriculturist by occupation, spent the greater part of his life on a farm in the Badger state. In 1877 he came to Cherokee County, Iowa, and here purchased a farm, returning to Wisconsin for his family. He became ill, however, and died in the latter state [Wisconsin] in the same year. His widow, who has now [ca. 1914] attained the age of seventy-two years, makes her home with our subject.
Lloyd H. Sangwin, who was but four years of age when brought to this county by his widowed mother, here attended the district schools in the acquirement of an education. He has remained on his mother's farm in Liberty township to the present time and owns an adjoining tract as well as land in Canada and Colorado, his property holdings embracing five hundred and eighty acres. His was the first alfalfa crop in Cherokee county. Mr. Sangwin makes a specialty of Cotswold sheep and does an extensive business in this connection, shipping his stock to four states. He has the only thoroughbred herd of sheep in this part of Iowa, and formerly raised thorougbred hogs. He serves as the president of the Western Mutual Fire & Lightning Company and is widely recognized as a substantial and respected citizen of his community.
In politics Mr. Sangwin is a republican and for the past eight years has served as president of the board of trustees, making a splendid record in this connection. Fraternally he is identified with the Independent Order of Odd Fellows at Meriden. He is a man of many sterling qualities of character and in the community where almost his entire life has been spent holds the respect of his associates and the regard and esteem of many friends."

6. MARY ANN² OLNEY (WASHINGTON¹) was born December 07, 1844 in Iowa County, WI ¹⁸, and died October 03, 1913 in Fresno, Ca ¹⁹. She married DAVID JAMES HAYS April 04, 1866 in Iowa County, Wisconsin ²⁰, son of AMOS HAYES and MARY HOWE. He was born January 19, 1839 in Bureau County, IL ²¹, and died December 04, 1914 in Fresno, Ca ²².

Notes for MARY ANN OLNEY:
From the writings of Edith Hays Mulligan, daughter of Mary Ann Olney:
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The Olney Side

      Mother was an Olney, forceful, stern, taciturn, direct; yet underneath the hard shell was generosity and gentleness. She was a very "Seer" in quick understanding of any situation and the shouldering of any load. Neighbors were always at our back door unloading ludicrous things in her eager lap: a baby with a spasm, a drunk husband, an ailing pup or turkey, a problem child!
      Mother listened for an hour without comment to John Rostick's mother. Then, pushing her churn aside, silently led the mother into the best bedroom where the two knelt and prayed, then came out becalmed and wiping their eyes on checked aprons. Johnny is 75 now, and teaches a Bible class regularly, speaking with vast respect of the every things he so flouted then. Old Miss Musaise (a Friend), looking 90 but never owning her age, would totter in to have her "rheumatics" rubbed. And Mother Skews usually came just in time for supper, eating six of mother's cream biscuits with ham and
gravy, then belching furiously as she cried out, "Oh, me 'art, me 'art", as the gas pains struck her! Two things she adored--eating and singing revival hymns; and she never failed singing loudest at our meetings and being oftenest at our meal, so mother kept a strong chair at hand for her 230 pounds!
      Mother's spare room was open for traveling preachers of every sect and the hard-ups of every description. In August of 1888 "Long" and "Shorty" (sailors) asked for a job picking grapes and stayed a month; we children sat entranced noons and evenings over their sea tales. They wore watch chains of heavy gold with tropical cut stones, and were generous with quarters. Mother rebuked them, and considered them spendthrifts. Long always remained for family worship. He and I spoke freely of those "big thoughts" of which I was so full. He called me "Little Sister", and the tears ran down his brown
cheeks the day he tossed me up and told me good-bye. "I'll see you Up There", he whispered, then took the dusty road. I saw a tear in my mother's eyes and knew she was praying, for mother never stood long just idle.

Notes for DAVID JAMES HAYS:

From History of Cherokee County [Iowa], p. 530: (re. settlement of Sheridan township)
"Among the number who came in 1869 were: Ed McCullough, who took a homestead on section 22, and remained permanently. D.J. Hayes, from Wisconsin, settled on the northwest quarter of section 14. He remained about thirteen years and removed to California. He was county supervisor for two terms [1872 and 1874--pps. 118, 119]. A brother-in-law named Henry Olney came at the same time and took advantage of the homestead act. Lyman Pierce and his son, Charles, took each 'eighty' on the southeast half of section 10. Later they moved to faraway California, where the father died in the latter part of the '80s."
On page 422 of the same book:
"A kindly act which characterizes the early settlers is recorded in the Times of July 5, 1872, as follows: 'The people to the west of the township turned out with their teams one day last week and helped an aged homesteader by the name of John Palmer by giving him a day's breaking. Mr. Palmer is aged and poor, destitute of a team and this neighborly act was kind and creditable to the participants. Altogether, they broke twelve acres. The helpers were Olney, Pierce, Speelman, Blackman, Hayes, Worthley, Pratt.' This was one of many such kindly acts chronicled in the newspapers of that day."

In the 1870 census David is listed as David J. Hays, wife Mary, son Paul--on page 466, Cherokee County, Ohio. In the same household are Henry (age 31) and Washington (66) Olney, brother and father of Mary Ann (Olney)Hays.
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My great grandfather, David James Hays, composed his autobiography during the last decade of his life. I am quite certain that his daughter Edith, my grandmother, assisted him in the endeavor. She also kept diaries, wrote poems, and, in profuse notes and writings, passed on the legacy of her own life and that of her family. I am indebted to both of them for leaving me their memories and for granting to their children and heirs the gift of a godly heritage preserved in their words.
Joan Olsson
January 1999

From the autobiography of David James Hays:
The first school I attended was near Oneco, and at first I was only a visitor with my older sisters. The teacher was named Lewis G. Reid. He had a long hickory in every corner, and used it frequently; even so the order was far from good. My first teacher was M. L. Hutchinson, a jolly Yankee, to whom I went all six months of the winter term. I never attended but one summer school. He inspired us with a love for music, having us sing songs every day, even our geography and multiplication lessons; some of his school songs I still remember.
      His hobby was electricity. With a rude machine he gave shocks to a boy standing on a glass stool and it made his hair stand on end. Then he had us hold hands, the more valiant of us, to make a circuit--much to the horror of our parents, who thought it akin to witchcraft. In our spelling bees, I often wore home a gold 50 cent piece on a string in honor of spelling down the class, and was chosen among the first in the evening spellings. And I enjoyed the Singin' Schools immensely.
      Next term we had a young Vermonter, Andrew Hinds. He was green and shabby, about 17; but later he became a judge, a politician, and an esteemed landowner and church man. He loomed high in my boyish esteem, and was my model in later teaching -quiet, compelling order without the whip that was so common then; he was reserved, but showed appreciation of real worth. I made good advances in his school, especially in reading, spelling, and arithmetic. We all liked him; there was hardly a dry eye when school closed. It was customary then to teach even on holidays. It was thought a fine lark to fasten the teacher out on Christmas mornings, and to make him treat the school. Once the larger scholars fastened all the doors and windows. When he came to the door with an armful of wood, he said, "Open this door quicker than lightning!". One of the bravest pulled the ten-penny nail holding the latch with his teeth about that quick! Such was his influence.
      My third teacher was John Connor, an Irishman of the old style--a fine penman, but that is all I can remember to his credit as a teacher. He led his little boy Johnny to school, and always brought his coffee pot with him to school to heat up his dinner. Often he used his shillelagh, on the whole class, without apparent cause as far as I could understand. He was the only teacher that ever struck me. My sisters did not tell, but the next day when I pleaded hard to stay home and help in the sugar camp father would not listen, and that ended it. I never liked his school, and it did me little good.
      My fourth teacher was a Yankee with the reddest hair I'd ever seen; his name was Hinckley. He was probably the best mathematician of all my teachers. I was 13 that winter, getting ahead fast, and into algebra. I was also among the first chosen in the spelling matches, of which there were many in the old Mt. Pleasant School. We wondered why it was named that because it was the most unpleasant place in the winter time, located on a high open spot on the north of a fine grove of timber. Anyway, wood was cheap and the big box stove nearly always red. These four schools were about all I
had [of schooling] while living near Oneco.
      In the fall of 1849 father made a trip to Chicago. He had a good team and hauled about 2,500 pounds of wheat; the roads were not good, it was 115 miles, and he was gone two weeks. He sold his wheat for about 40 cents per bushel. He could not have even been able to pay the expenses of the trip if he had not hauled back a load of store goods for an Oneco merchant. I think this was about an average trip for those times--Oh, the"good old times!".
      But most of all we were interested in his tales of the [train] cars that ran 15 to 20 miles per hour; the train whistle could be heard four or five miles away. That seemed like a fairy tale to us, and oh how we wanted to see them.
      It was in 1852, I think, that I went with my cousin, Harvey M. Howe, to Freeport and got to see the cars. We took our old mare [Doll or Kate], and our democart wagon to get a barrel of salt for the cattle. Harvey and I were great chums, and though we started out early on our 15 mile trip it was long after dark when we got home. We took our time, seeing all we could of the great wonder of our times. And we almost forgot both time and salt! I don't think London would look as big to me now as Freeport did then. I can hardly see a train even now without that old thrill creeping up my spine.
      Howes and Van Matres were very prominent families in the neighborhood just north of us, probably composing about half of the people. Rivalry between them was such that it could almost have been called a feud. Although most of them belonged to the same church there were frequent altercations. One incident was when Uncle Jim Howe had to go over into the Territory (Wisconsin) in order to marry Melissa Van Matre; her Uncle Jeff went after them, caught up, and when he tried to haul her off the horse he was shot in the shoulder; so he desisted. The wedding went off, and a large family resulted. Hair-pulling and face-scratching were common occurrences.
      Silas Howe was born March 15, 1850, the youngest child of John Howe. His mother died, leaving six children from one day old to twelve years. Uncle John left them all with his mother and went to California. Aunt Rebecca brought him and unceremoniously left him with us to keep when he was but three weeks old. He ran away from our home at about eighteen.
      Our neighbors, brothers Seth and Dennard Shockley, often helped us with the harvest. I
always remember them because of their great dissimilarity. Seth weighed 350 pounds. He was good-natured, a good worker on the farm. He was about the best person to stack straw I ever worked with; he just flattened it right down! His brother was quite a contrast, was 6' 7" tall, and he could toss the hay good and high; he was the fastest brick-layer in that part of Illinois. Dennard [married 1/26/1837 Maria Van Winkle, Clinton County, Ohio] later moved to Freeport and became its mayor. He was not very intelligent but when he wore a tall hat he thought he was just about equal to old Abe or anybody.
      In June of 1851 there was the greatest hail storm I ever heard of. Hail stones as big as a pint cup fell, breaking roofs and exposed windows, and killing stock. The four sons of Isaac Miller [married Margaret Hildebrant 9/17/1835, Clinton County, Ohio] lived about one-and-a-half mile north of us, and were my most frequent companions. Two were older and two younger than I, all good moral boys, named Lum [Christopher Columbus], Lafe [Ralph], Newt [Newton], and Will [William]. We spent many happy hours together, often picking berries, grapes or plums for our families. Once while gathering wild onions on the creek, a big frog got up Lum's leg. He hollered, "A snake!"--then squeezed and beat it to a jelly before we could get it out! He was a very scared boy and it was a big joke on him for sure. Another time I was at their house I took colic. I would not take Mrs. Miller's medicine so she said, "I wish Polly Hays would stay home and take care of her brats!". I ran off home, though I was supposed to stay all night, for our folks were off to see a sick cousin. I think mother never quite forgave her for this.
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      In May of 1853 father sold out from where we'd lived for ten years, to a Pennsylvania Dutchman named Wohlfort. About three-fourths of the county was Dutch, so we might as well have lived in a foreign land.
      Both father and mother had been in poor health, the farm ran down and would hardly support us. My brother Nathan was only three-and-a-half. Girls were counted of little value on those pioneer farms. Our land had been good, but we were only able to improve 20 acres of it. The rest was mostly brush and small trees, and the fences were very poor. I had begun to clear off a patch of trees, intending to put in a crop of corn with a sneller plow, when father sold the place, and we had to leave. He sold for about $1200 and it took half of that to pay off his debts. I was their oldest boy and only 14, and had been working hard--too hard. I had plowed twenty-five acres that year, as father had
rheumatism. Father got discouraged and sold the place--an unwise move.
      We moved into Uncle Ralph Hildebrant's house in Oneco then, since he had moved into the Oneco store, and we stayed there until the spring of 1854. This farm was about one-and-a-half miles on the road to Oneco. That summer I picked blackberries for fifty days to dry, to sell and for our own use. Also, I gathered nuts, cut and hauled wood, and did such farm work as I could.       My youngest sister, Mary Catherine ("Sis", as we called her) was born in that house March 15, 1854.
      Some time in April we moved to Oneco, into a house owned by Uncle John Howe. The larger part was occupied by Uncle Ralph Hildebrant. Several buildings were on the premises, formerly used as tavern, store, and barn. We shared the house with him, and, as poor relations, found it hard. The business had gone to the railroad, and the town was dying. The most plentiful things I remember were the fleas.
      Since we had a good yolk of oxen, Old Buck and Tom, we rented a place from Uncle George about a mile away, and we raised quite a crop of oats and corn. I put a collar and harness on old Tom and plowed the corn with him. The greater part of our oats fell during a storm, so I had to mow with a scythe, a very hard task for a 15 year old. Uncle George scolded us because we wasted so much.
About the middle of September, 1854, we moved to near Mineral Point, Wisconsin. Father had located 120 acres, four-and-a-half miles south east of town. It was all prairie and eight miles from any timber we could get, so father rented a double log cabin and sixty-five acres of plow land from Colonel Parkinson. We had quite a time moving the forty miles [from Oneco]; we had two loads. Than Walton took his buffaloes and helped us. We had eight or ten cattle, and as many hogs, that we tried to drive. I tired myself out so that I was sick, but we lost the pigs in the brush and had to leave them--for which
we were very sorry. At about two in the afternoon on one trip it started to rain so we all stopped at a hotel. A woman named Aunt Ann paid me very fine attentions.
      That fall, before I could go to school (which began September 22), I worked harder than at any other time in my life in the same length of time. I plowed forty acres of hard plowing, hauled wood, or rails, every day for six weeks, helped neighbors thresh so we could have straw for our cattle, and the other work necessary to everyday living. The weather was favorable, but the cabins were so open we needed a big load of wood every week to keep them warm.
      This was prairie land with no timber and it made easier plowing. The next summer I put in 40 acres of corn. We raised a fair crop and were able to pay our $2.00 per acre rent quite easily, with enough left to keep us in some comfort. Father was not able to do much because of his rheumatism, and he had a very bad carbuncle on his back that laid him up for several weeks.
Water had to be hauled from half a mile away, which was a terrible chore, and the girls did that with Old Kate when I was not home. I got no schooling for two years, except that winter when I went to school for two months. The teacher, a man named Lacey, was a poor scholar and a worse teacher.
      We stayed two winters in the Parkinson cabins. The second winter I went to school to a Mr. Bass. He was pretty good in mathematics, but otherwise a poor teacher. But I went through elementary algebra this term, also won several laurels at spelling school. There were about thirty scholars. Our schoolhouse was too cold to study in. Several froze their feet when they sat still too long.
      The next spring, 1856, we moved into a little cabin belonging to Peter Lawrence, about a mile from our new place. We had twenty acres broken up and we tended that and fenced it, also quarried and hauled rocks for our new house, which we moved into when it was finished in December. Both my sisters, Jane and Ruth, were married on October 1st of that year [1856], at Dodgeville, Wisconsin. Jane married Levi Noble, a fine and pious Quaker such as she deserved. Ruth married Elijah Lieurance who, aside from a tendency to drink if allowed in town, was a kindly farmer. They had four girls and three boys. Two other couples were married at the same time.
      The winter of 1856-1857 was a very hard one with snow over two feet deep. It was about
the worst I ever saw, and at one time the crust was hard enough to bear up a man. But it would not hold up a deer, so a good many got caught and were killed with clubs. Our corn fodder (our only feed) was covered with snow, was a quarter of a mile away, and the snow had drifted around and over it some eight feet deep before the sleet came. We had to shovel it out, and carry it home on our backs nearly all winter--with the weather below zero nearly every day.
      In 1857 feeling was becoming strong on the slavery question, especially among the Quakers. Run-away slaves found refuge and were passed on from farm house to farm house among these kindly folk until they could cross the border into Canada. Some of the Howes, however, being from Virginia, were southern sympathizers. Arguments were heated on Saturday nights at the tavern and store. Abe Lincoln's name was dear to most of us. Stephen Douglas was the "city man", but the "rail splitter" was one of ourselves. His homely stories were retold at every fireside; even the school boys either worshipped or poked fun at him.
      Teaching school in winter and plowing with the oxen in spring, putting in corn, oats and wheat, harvesting from June 'till September--the years passedWar followed close on Lincoln's inauguration, and the able young men all went. No, not all, for the Quakers did not. I was 21 and drafted, though with Father rheumatic and crippled the farm work depended on me. My Quaker training prejudiced me against taking arms, especially with neighbors and cousins and uncles I loved on the opposite lines. The requirement for a substitute was to pay $225. That was a fortune then. I had never seen more than $10 at one time. But teaching school days and singing school at night, saving carefully, I managed a substitute. Hardly an able-bodied man remained behind. Quakers suffered active persecution for their beliefs. The nation seemed to be about to perish like the Kilkenny cats and the face of Lincoln reflected the sadness that lay on all our hearts. How we loved and set our hopes on Lincoln.
      One day I came home from plowing, put on my one good suit, and went to the nearest center to enlist in Grant's Army. I was a commissary sergeant, having good knowledge of figures, and not wishing to bear arms and kill. I had to stand much criticism still--for wormy hardtack, etc.. Whenever possible I got flour from the grist mill, as on the farm, and set yeast bread, getting a darky woman to oversee the kneading and baking; though I often had to do it with my own hands. It was worthwhile to see how those boys enjoyed the real home flavor of fresh bread. The food was terrible, for we had
no milk or canned foods, just salt pork, beans and porridge, often rain-soaked, stale or, even worse, cooked by men who knew nothing of cooking.
      The darkies were bewildered as to whether they were free or not. To relieve the tediousness of camp some of us spent our evenings teaching groups of them to read the Bible. Since they were used to nothing but slavery it took months to learn even the alphabet.
      In 1862, a letter was received from Mary Olney. She was sister to Henry, who was in the next bed to mine in the hospital (if one could call it that). We were laid out with army fever. Hen wasn't much at writing and the folks were pretty anxious about him. I got more than my share of letter-writing for the fellows, for this fever sure took the life out of us. We longed for home and clean beds. There was only one gawky boy to wait on twenty or thirty of us, and the food was not fit for a well man! One poor fellow
got up, wandered out and ate a lot of "love apples" in a field. We thought he would die before morning, because they were supposed to be deadly poison. But a fill of tomatoes did the poor fellow good and he went back for more!
      Mary Olney continued to write to Hen and me, and I sure didn't mind. In November of that year Lincoln was re-elected, of course. We were hopeful the war wouldn't go on much longer. It was terrible to see southern farms destroyed, and no men, or women, fit to work them. The darkies were like scared rabbits. The farms at home were neglected, too; it all seemed so useless. All the slaves could have been bought and given farms with the money the war cost. Then--WAR OVER AT LAST! We looked forward to soon being home.
      Lincoln assassinated! I went with hundreds of others to see the funeral train stop at Oneco. Strong men wept like children as they crowded near the platform at every station. America never saw the like of this. We loved him; he was dearer than a brother to each of us men. The nation wept as one man. Well, perhaps not all.
      Home again, and I was still weak and pale, heavily bearded, and traces of army fever stuck to me for the rest of my life. My stepmother did not welcome me home. [Mary How Hays died sometime between 1854 when Mary Catherine was born and 1860 when Amos Hays applied for a marriage license with Jane Reid, daughter of Lewis Reid (David's former schoolteacher) in Clinton County, Ohio. He married Jane in 1862 in Mineral Point.] All was changed and I left soon for Iowa [Cherokee County], where Henry Olney said homesteads were free and land was rich. Mary was there, whose letters
had cheered the long months of fever. And when I saw her it didn't take long to get her consent to settle on a homestead--with a borrowed yoke of oxen, a cow, chickens (that was her dowry) and a sod cabin. [Married April 4, 1866] Not long after this my sister Ruth and her growing family settled on another like homestead; also two or three of the Olney family lived near. Corn and hogs grew well, and we even used corn for fuel.
      Baby Paul was born, then Ruth. One night when I was away, I dreamed Ruth was dying. Hurrying home the following day, I found that it was true; she was already beyond help--dead! There were no churches, and no doctors within twenty miles. Neighbors did what they could to help in such times.
      Mary had much of sickness those first years. But she was one to whom others came for help in their illnesses. I had to be preacher, undertaker, and comforter, while she was both friend and nurse (without pay) to the women all about us on the prairie. A homey church grew up that we both loved. I taught school winters in Cherokee County, Iowa and the boys and girls were almost as dear to me as my own.
      It was 1883, and our boys were growing up. "Go West" had been the family motto from Virginia on. Now we were reading of California, about the fruit, the irrigation, and the sunshine. Iowa was no longer a frontier where there was need for "pioneers, neighbors, friends, pilgrims". Land was plentiful out west, cheap and new, and it called. Our former neighbors, the Prescotts and Pierces, were out in the San Joaquin Valley, prospering on raisin vineyards, and bragging about the climate.
      We had an auction, sold the farm, stock, and furniture. And in September, 1883 we went to the train depot in Aunt Nerve's [Minerva Olney Sangwin] sleigh. On the way we stopped in Santa Rosa and San Francisco, then on to the Fresno area. There we bought, through Charles Pierce, twenty acres on a canal in Easton. We put up a two-story frame house, a barn, etc. and lived there until 1910, when Nathan and Emma married and took over the farm.
      Judd and I helped build up the Northside Christian Church in Fresno as modernism was killing all spirituality in the larger churches. A nice meeting began in Clovis. In the days when Millerton was the county seat, Grandpa DeWitt and his lovely old wife had gone up and down the San Joaquin Valley for forty years, holding meetings in various little schoolhouse Sunday Schools. Clovis was one of the results. There had been rousing camp meetings at Auberry Valley where every June we spent a jolly and friendly two weeks while we drank in the sermons and song, sitting on plank benches under the pines. Paul was almost like a son to the DeWitts and they encouraged him to go to a Bible
College in Texas. He stayed on there awhile, becoming a Bible teacher in Nashville, after marrying the niece of the school's president. Paul was a life-long student of the Word. It is not in colleges though, but in simple pioneering, such as the Quakers loved, that Truth is kept out of the ruts of mere creeds, the molten and graven images of our times.
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We old folk live in memories and through eternity, whatever else shall vanish,still liveth memory!
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You who are heirs to this father's line read carefully, and see the wealth of simple things like faith, and work, and honesty!


Children of MARY OLNEY and DAVID HAYS are:

RUTH³ HAYS, b. 1868.

Notes for RUTH HAYS:
David Hays, in his autobiography, tells of being away from home and having a strong sense that Ruth was dead. He hurried home and found that it was true. She was apparently quite young when she died. There were no vital records kept in that area at that time and we have never located any family Bible records.

16.	ii.		JUDD HAYS, b. October 06, 1870, Meriden, Cherokee County, Iowa; d. May 16, 1913, Fresno, CA.
	iii.		FREDERICK OLNEY HAYS, b. 1872.

Notes for FREDERICK OLNEY HAYS:
Fred Hays was an intelligent, well-educated young man, very handsome, who began having mental problems in his late twenties or early thirties. He was eventually hospitalized in a state mental institution, where he spent the rest of his life. About ten years before his death a medication was found that relieved his symptoms.

17.	iv.	PAUL HAYS, b. 1877, Meriden, IA.
18.	v.	L. NATHAN HAYS, b. March 02, 1877, Meriden, Cherokee County, Iowa; d. March 25, 1932, Fresno, CA.
19.	vi.	EDITH HAYS, b. November 24, 1879, Meriden, Cherokee County, Iowa; d. March 21, 1952, Richmond, Contra Costa County.

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