This is the story of Sarah Cawood’s younger brothers - Robert, Charles, Allen, and Stephen and their triumphs, tragedies, and the mark they left in this part of Illinois.
James E Cawood:
James, born in the winter of 1857, was the eldest son of John and Martha. At the age of 22, James took his first step towards independence, following a well-trodden path for young men of his time. He became a hired hand for the Denny family, a common starting point for those aspiring to climb the agricultural ladder from laborer to landowner. James's skills, honed on his family's farm, now served him well as he broke new ground for crops, cleared timber to expand farmland, and repaired the essential tools of rural life.
Little did James know that this job would lead him to love. Elizabeth, the daughter of his employer William Denny, caught his eye, and a romance blossomed. Their story was not unique; the tale of a farmer's daughter falling for a hired hand was a familiar one in rural Illinois. In March 1882, James and Elizabeth sealed their love in marriage. By 1900, the couple, along with their daughter Iona, were renting a farm in Arenzville, working towards their dream of land ownership. A decade later, life had taken them to Alexander, where James found employment with a local businessman, Joel Strawn. But fate had other plans for James Cawood. On a spring day in May 1912, at the age of 53, James's life was cut tragically short. The screech of metal on metal shattered the peace of Alexander as a Wabash passenger train struck James, throwing him against the depot platform. He died 45 minutes later. In a cruel twist of irony, the very symbol of progress that had brought so much change to Illinois had claimed one of its own.
In the aftermath of the tragedy, Elizabeth sought justice, suing the Wabash Railroad Company for damages. She was awarded $1000, though $400 of that sum went to the lawyers. It was a bittersweet victory, a small comfort in the face of such a devastating loss.
On a somber Friday afternoon, friends and family gathered at Zion church to bid farewell to James Cawood. As he was laid to rest among generations of Cawoods, those present might have reflected on a life that embodied the spirit of rural Illinois – a tale of hard work, family bonds, and the unforgiving march of progress.
James’ story, from his barefoot childhood days to his untimely end, serves as a poignant snapshot of life in 19th-century Illinois. It reminds us of the strength found in community, the dignity of labor, and the unpredictable nature of life on the American frontier.
Robert Cawood
In 1859, Robert Cawood, the third child of John and Martha, entered a world of endless possibilities and heart-wrenching challenges. As he came of age, Robert followed in his brother James's footsteps, becoming a hired hand. It was on this farm that he met Mary, his employer's daughter. A love story as old as agriculture itself began to unfold. But unlike his brother, Robert's tale would not be rooted in Illinois soil.
The siren call of Missouri, with its promise of available and affordable farmland, proved irresistible. Perhaps it was the excitement of a new frontier, or maybe the gentle nudge of family or community members who had already settled there. Whatever the reason, by the dawn of the new century, Robert and Mary had packed their hopes and dreams into a wagon and set out for Folker, Missouri. In Folker, Robert found himself not just a farmer, but a farm manager. One can imagine him standing tall in the Missouri fields, his keen eye surveying the land, making decisions that would shape the harvest and the lives of those who depended on it. But the winds of change were not done with Robert Cawood. By 1910, the narrative takes another turn. Robert and Mary had returned to Illinois, settling in Virginia, where Robert once again took up the mantle of farm laborer. One might wonder what dreams were left behind in the Missouri soil, what hopes pulled them back to their home state.
But it was not the changing landscape of his work that would define Robert's life, but rather the profound heartbreak that seemed to shadow his every step. Of the ten children born to Robert and Mary, four did not live past 18. In an age before modern medicine, when every cough could herald pneumonia and every fever might signal typhoid, parents lived in constant fear for their children's lives. Diphtheria lurked in every public gathering. The lack of prenatal care meant that even before birth, a child's life hung in a precarious balance.
Among these nameless tragedies, one stands out in stark relief. Omer, a boy of fourteen, met his end in the waters of Wolf Lake. One can almost hear the desperate shouts, see the frantic search, feel the crushing weight of discovery. In a cruel twist of fate, Robert's sister Elizabeth would later face the same heartache when her own son was claimed by drowning. As the seasons turned and the harvests came and went, Robert Cawood's life drew to a close. In September 1914, at the age of 56, he died in Virginia, Illinois. Robert Cawood's story is more than a tale of one man's life. It is a reflection of an era, a time when America was still young and growing when the promise of the West beckoned, and when every family lived with the shadow of loss. His story reminds us of the courage it took to build a nation, one family, one farm, one life at a time.
Charles Cawood:
In 1861, a child was born in rural Illinois who would grow to shepherd souls rather than livestock. Charles Cawood, the fourth child of John and Martha, entered a world where the rhythms of farm life seemed to dictate the future of every child born to the prairie. Yet, destiny had different plans for young Charles. Picture the Cawood farm, where Charles's early years were spent much like those of his siblings - hands in the earth, eyes on the sky, learning the ways of the land. But even as he worked alongside his brothers, something stirred within Charles, a calling that whispered of a different kind of harvest.
As a young man, Charles still found himself laboring in the fields of Shelby County, the sun on his back and the rich Illinois soil beneath his feet. It was here, among the waves of wheat, that he met Mary Smith, a woman who would become his partner not just in life, but in his spiritual journey. The exact moment when Charles decided to trade his plow for a pulpit remains a mystery lost to time. Perhaps it was a quiet epiphany under the vast Illinois sky, or a gradual realization born of long nights pondering the scriptures by candlelight. Whatever the catalyst, Charles Cawood found himself answering a higher calling, becoming a Baptist minister in Morgan County. In an age when formal religious education was a luxury few could afford, Charles relied on his innate understanding of the scriptures and his ability to connect with the hearts of his flock. Imagine him, astride his faithful horse, saddlebags bulging with well-worn Bibles and handwritten sermons, traversing the dusty roads between Franklin and Nortonville. The hoofbeats of his steed keeping time with the hymns he hummed, preparing to bring the word of God to the scattered congregations that dotted the rural landscape.
Charles was more than just a preacher; he was a pillar of the communities he served. In these small rural towns, the church was the beating heart of social life, and Charles found himself wearing many hats. One day he might be delivering a fiery sermon, the next mediating a dispute between neighbors, and the day after organizing a community picnic or teaching children their letters.
Picture a typical Sunday in one of the small churches Charles served. The wooden pews filled with farmers and their families, work-worn hands clutching hymnals, all eyes on the earnest young preacher as he delivered words of hope and guidance. His sermons, likely peppered with agricultural metaphors that his congregation could relate to, bridged the gap between the divine and the everyday lives of his parishioners.
In 1917, in the town of Jacksonville, Charles Cawood's earthly journey came to an end. He was laid to rest in the Youngblood Church cemetery in Nortonville, a fitting resting place for a man who had dedicated his life to serving rural congregations. While we can't say for certain if he preached at Youngblood Church, the choice of his final resting place suggests a deep connection to this community.
Charles Cawood's life story is a testament to the diverse paths that could unfold from a single family farm in 19th century Illinois. From the fields of his youth to the pulpits of Morgan County, Charles's journey reflects the spiritual awakening that was sweeping through rural America during his lifetime.
John “Allen”
On a warm summer's day, August 11, 1872, the Cawood family farm in Arenzville, Illinois, welcomed a new addition. John "Allen" Cawood, the eighth child of John and Martha, entered a world where the rhythm of rural life beat steady and strong. Allen's childhood unfolded much like that of his siblings - days filled with farm chores, the smell of fresh-cut hay, and the satisfaction of watching crops grow under the vast Illinois sky. But as he grew, it became clear that Allen's path might diverge from the expected course. Unlike his brothers who ventured out into the world at 21, Allen remained close to home. By 27, he was still living with his parents in Bluff Springs. The reason for this deviation from tradition may lie in a fateful day in 1880, when his father, John D. Caywood, met with a serious accident.
Picture the scene: John D., on his way to Jacksonville with his team, realizes he's lost his whip. As he prepares to search for it, his horses spook, throwing him from the wagon. The result? A broken right arm and left leg. Two neighbors found him and rushed him to Jacksonville where Dr. Prince tended to his injuries. This accident likely changed the dynamics of the Cawood farm. With John D. facing difficulties in managing the farm, young Allen may have felt compelled to stay, stepping up to shoulder more responsibilities. At 32, Allen's life took another turn when he married Lucy Friend in Jacksonville.
By 1910, we find Allen living on his own farm in Bath. But it's what came next that truly defined Allen's legacy. Somewhere along the way, Allen discovered his true calling - carpentry. In rural Illinois of the early 20th century, carpenters like Allen were the unsung heroes of community development. They learned their trade through apprenticeships or on-the-job training, facing the challenges of outdoor work in all weather conditions. Their skills were diverse - from constructing houses and barns to crafting furniture and tackling general woodworking tasks.
Picture Allen traveling between job sites, his tool belt heavy with hand tools, gradually incorporating the newfangled power tools as they became available. Imagine Allen in his element: sawdust clinging to his hair, worn calluses on his hands, the satisfying thud of hammer meeting nail.
The years 1906, 1907, and 1908 brought family tragedies that surely tested Allen's resilience. In 1912, the loss of his brother James in a train accident added another layer of grief. Yet, through it all, Allen persevered, finding solace perhaps in the rhythmic work of his hands, in the creation of something lasting from raw materials.
By 1920, records show Allen working full-time as a carpenter. A decade later, in 1930, he was still plying his trade in Bath. One can imagine the satisfaction he felt, looking out over the town, seeing the homes he'd built, the barns he'd raised, each structure a testament to his skill and dedication.
Allen died in 1931. His journey from farm boy to master carpenter is a quintessential American tale. It speaks of adaptability, of finding one's true calling, of building a life and a community with one's own hands.
George “Stephen”
In the waning days of 1875, as the Reconstruction era drew to a close and America stood on the cusp of a new age, George "Stephen" Cawood entered the world. The youngest of John and Martha Cawood's nine children, Stephen's arrival in Virginia, Illinois, marked the beginning of a life that would straddle two worlds - the practical and the magical. Born to parents in their early 40s, Stephen's childhood likely differed from that of his older siblings. Picture a young boy, wide-eyed and curious, in a household where the hustle and bustle of farm life had begun to quiet. His older siblings were grown or nearly so, leaving Stephen with a unique vantage point - part of a large family, yet experiencing a childhood almost akin to that of an only child.
But fate had more in store for young Stephen. At the tender age of 11, his life took an unexpected turn when three young nephews - the Moss boys - came to live with the Cawood family. Suddenly, the quiet house was filled with the energy of youth once more. It was here that Stephen's compassionate nature first shone through. Despite being a child himself, he became a source of comfort for his nephew Ralph, making the boy's life "a little more bearable" during what must have been a challenging time. As Stephen grew into a young man, he found his first calling in the art of painting. Imagine him, tall and slender, his blue eyes focused intently as he transformed the homes of Virginia, Illinois, with his brush. Each stroke of color breathed new life into weathered walls, each finished house a testament to his skill and dedication. But it was in the evenings that Stephen truly came alive. As twilight fell and the workday ended for most, Stephen would make his way to the local vaudeville halls. Here, in the smoky, excitement-filled atmosphere, he transformed from a simple painter into a master of illusion.
Picture the scene: The curtain rises, revealing Stephen. His brown hair neatly combed, his painter's clothes exchanged for a dapper suit, he would captivate the crowd with his sleight of hand. Cards would appear and disappear at will, coins would multiply in the blink of an eye, and ordinary objects would perform extraordinary feats. Stephen's act was a "filler" - one of the many diverse performances that made up a vaudeville show. In a typical 2-4 hour program, audiences might see opera singers, comedians, trained animals, and acrobats. And then, sandwiched between the famous and the bizarre, there was Stephen, bringing a touch of magic to the hardworking folks of rural Illinois.
It was perhaps this combination of practical skill and mystical talent that caught the eye of Flora Collins. In 1899, Stephen and Flora tied the knot, and a year later, they welcomed their daughter, Clara. One can imagine little Clara growing up surrounded by the smell of paint and the wonder of her father's magic tricks.
He lived to the remarkable age of 89, carrying with him a lifetime of memories - of paint-stained hands that could make the impossible possible, of gasps and applause from awestruck audiences, of a time when entertainment was immediate, visceral, and truly magical.
As we reflect on Stephen's journey, we're reminded that magic isn't just about grand illusions on a stage. Sometimes, it's found in the simple act of bringing color to a home, comfort to a child, or a moment of wonder to a hardworking audience. In Stephen Cawood, we see the magic that can unfold when one embraces both the practical and the fantastical sides of life.
The story of the Cawood brothers is more than just a family history. It’s a glimpse into the heart of America during a time of great change. From the tragedy of James to the wanderlust of Robert, the faith of Charles, the resilience of Allen, and the magic of Stephen, each brother’s tale is a thread in the rich tapestry of American life. Their stories remind us that even in the face of hardship and change, the human spirit endures, adapts, and sometimes, even finds a little magic along the way.
Share this post