Cox, Abel - Montgomery InGenWeb Project

Abel Cox, a well respected citizen and a pioneer of this county, died at the home of his son, one mile north of Garfield, last Saturday. Mr. Cox was for many years a resident of this neighborhood, but a few years ago he deeded the home place here to his children and went to Kansas where he had purchased a large farm, and was engaged in fruit growing, spending his summers there and his winters here. He was preparing to go out there again this spring, when he was taken sick. His wife died a short time ago, and when he was here he made his home with his children. He leaves two children, Elisha Cox and Mrs. Anna Hall, thirteen grandchildren and many friends and neighbors to mourn his loss. Short funeral services were held at the house by Rev. F. S. Quigg. Interment was at the Friends’ Cemetery near Darlington. -s

Source: Crawfordsville Weekly Journal Friday, 13 April 1900

The death of Abel Cox, of near Garfield, was briefly mentioned in The Journal last Friday. Mr. Cox was eighty years of age and was the father of Elijah and Abijah Cox. The funeral took place Sunday.

Source: Crawfordsville Weekly Journal Friday, 13 April 1900

Sunday, April 8, 1900, will long be remembered by the citizens in and around Darlington as the saddest day of our history. While we may become accustomed to the burial of the dead, and attend the occasional funeral of a friend or neighbor without giving the matter much thought, yet we were wholly unprepared for such sights as we witnessed on this Sabbath day.  First came the procession from near Garfield bearing the remains of Abel Cox, one of the oldest settlers in the county, a man who had lived his allotted time, a little over three score and ten. His work was done, his labor finished, and he was called to his reward, and was laid to rest in the Friends’ Cemetery, just east of town. A little later another procession approached from the south, bringing the remains of Minnie Buchanan Vannice, she having died in the prime of life, her work seemingly just begun, the mother of six children, a much needed helpmate to her husband, a stout, robust and healthy looking woman taken from her family at a time when those little children so much need the care of a mother. We looked at the husband, surrounded by those four little bright eyed boys, the oldest of the family, his eyes red from weeping, and they were scarcely realizing the awful fate that has befallen them. Tears came to our eyes and we turned from the scene only to see many wet faces in the crowd as the pall bearers gently bear the remains of mother into the Presbyterian Church, where Rev. A. S. Buchanan preached to the large congregation assembled to hear and pay this last tribute of respect to this good sister, whom many had known all her life as she was born, grew to womanhood, married and died in this community. After services she was laid away in the I. O. O. F. Cemetery. Just as the Presbyterian Church bell ceased to toll its funeral notes, the East Christian Church bell peeled forth its tones announcing another funeral coming, and we look to the west and a large concourse of people come bearing the remains of the entire family of Jason Phelps with the exception of himself. How changed the scene from that of a few minutes before. As the pall bearers go forward with this casket we realize that it contains all that is near and dear to poor heart broken Jason, as we know in that casket lie the remains of wife and two infant children. We ask ourselves the question “is it not the better that we lose all than that part be taken and only part remain?” And we can only say that God works in a mysterious way His wonders to perform. Here again was this woman stricken down in the prime of life. While we can see where she was so much needed, yet we can see this day that God’s ways are not our ways at all times. Rev. Creighton preached the funeral discourse, while the crowd at this church was such that not more than one half got inside, after which the remains were placed in the I. O. O. F. Cemetery. With the exception of Memorial Day such a crowd was never seen in this cemetery. The two graves were close together. The procession left the Presbyterian Church a few minutes prior to the one at the East Christian Church, so that the procession going west on Main Street was a continuous one, and as both were unusually large ones the sight was most peculiar and affecting. As we write this we cannon but think of Will Vannice with his six children, the oldest a little less than nine years old, and the youngest a babe, all motherless. Jason Phelps in his loneliness, all gone, we can but wonder why, oh why, do such things come to us. While there were but three funerals, five bodies were buried, two infants but a day old, convincing all that death is no respecter of age or persons as on this day we see the dead infant, the young and middle aged mother, the aged father, all pay the same debt.