Jonathan W. Thatcher
Mr. Jonathan W. Thatcher, one of Berkeley County’s most
respected and influential citizens, while attending the funeral of Miss Katie
Sperow on last Sunday and just as he was about to lead in the singing, fell back
in his chair and died almost instantly. Mr. Thatcher had just returned from
Washington and was to all appearances in good health. He was taken from Mr.
Sperow’s to his home from where he was buried Wednesday in the Tuscarora
graveyard. Five sons and one daughter survive him, his two wives and one son
having gone before. He was born February 13, 1818, on the same farm on which he
lived at the time of his death and was 73 years, 11 months, and 2 days of age.
His son, David, was a member of Capt. Hammond’s Co., in the Confederate Army and
was killed at Warrenton, Virginia, in 1863. His wives were Nancy and Evoline
Miller, sisters, all his children being by his first wife, who died about 1861.
His last wife died in 1890. In Mr. Thatcher’s death, the community has lost a
true citizen and friend, his children a fond and affectionate father, the
Presbyterian Church, of which he was a member for many years, a true and devoted
Christian. His generous and jovial nature gained for him, friends wherever he
went, friends who will miss him sadly and sorrowfully.
In Memoriam
Died January 17th, 1892, in the 74th year of his age, Mr. Jonathan Thatcher. A
few more weeks, and he would have been turned into his 75th year, having been
born the 13th of February 1818. Few men have been better known throughout the
county than Mr. Thatcher. Free and affable in his manners, he made friends
easily and held them firmly. Being a very active and energetic nature; he was
thrown in contact with a great many people, who esteemed him highly. He was a
careful manager of his affairs, and was a prosperous man. His success in life
well illustrates Solomon’s proverb, “the hand of the diligent maketh rich.” It
was always pleasant to see Mr. Thatcher in church. He enjoyed it thoroughly. His
heart was wrapped in the old Tuscarora Church, in which for many years, he was a
ruling elder. He loved to sing; death found him at last with his hymnbook in his
hand. He was just preparing to raise the tones, which were to be sung at the
funeral of a neighbor’s daughter, which occurred that Sunday morning. Almost in
an instant, his voice was hushed, to be awakened no more to the strains of
praise on earth. The life militant was exchanged for the life triumphant, earth,
for the glory that excelleth. The active busy career of the hard-working man was
surrendered, and the sweet repose of eternity enfolded him in its embrace. As he
was about to sing, “Asleep in Jesus”, at the open grave of another on that
Sabbath morning, so around his own bier on the Wednesday that followed, friends
gathered and sang, “Asleep in Jesus, blessed sleep, from which none ever wakes
to weep,” “Blessed are the dead that die in the Lord from hence forth” – from
the moment of their death. In an hour when he thought not, when no one imagined
it, the swift messenger came and the soldier fell with his armor on. “Be ye also
ready.”