Margorie May McEwen
- Born 24 August 1804 in Crieff, Perth, Scotland
- Died 15 June 1899 in Beaver, Utah
- came to America in 1856 on the ship Thornton
- was in the Willie Handcart Company
- traveled alone with her five children, the youngest being 6 years old
THE
TIRED MOTHER: PIONEER RECOLLECTIONS
By
Mrs. Betsey Smith Goodwin
of
Beaver; Utah
(Betsey Smith Goodwin was
born March 7, 1843, in Dundee, Scotland. On
December 1, 1859, she married Isaac H. Goodwin, who died about
twenty-five years ago,
during which time Mrs. Goodwin
has been a widow. She was president of the Beaver
West ward Relief Society for upwards of eight years. They lived
at Lehi, at Cache
Valley, having moved there in 1862, then to Eslcalante in 1976,
to Wayne County in
1883, and then to Beaver in 1893. Her husband died at Thurber.
They had nine children,
five of whom were dead and four were living at the time of her
writing in 1916. She is at
present a resident of Beaver.-Editors of The IMPROVEMENT ERA,
July 1919)
How well I remember when
my mother, Marjorie McEwan ~Smith, said:
"Girls, let us try to go to the Valley next season with the
hand carts. I have a letter from
your brother Robert A. Bain." Robert, by the way, was the
eldest son of my mother. We
lived in Scotland, but he had been a traveling elder in England
and had worked his
passage as cook over the sea. He drove a team across the plains
and had arrived safely at
Salt Lake City, at a place named Lehi, and has taken a farm to
work on shares, whose
owner has gone on a mission to Europe. He says he is trying to
raise as much as he can
for our comfort. He bids us exert ourselves to emigrate, next
season, and says he will
pray while we work."
We girls laughed at what
mother said, as girls would, and exclaimed that he had
"the easiest job." But the spirit of gathering to Zion
was strong upon us, and we worked
at our looms by day, our fancy work by night, and saved the
proceeds. By this means, we
gathered enough in six months to pay our passage across the sea:
and in many ways we
realized that God helps those who help themselves. ·
In view of all this, we
finally took a last farewell of the sacred graves of our dead,
the Govan braes and the heather hills of Scotland, and on the
third day of the beautiful
month of May, in 18561, we embarked on the ship Thornton, from
Liverpool, England,
leaving the steam loom mills, the shores of Great Britain, our
beloved native land, and
dear old Scotland, for the gospel's sake. After six or seven
weeks' sailing, seasickness,
an4 stormy weather, we landed in New York City, registered at
the Castle Garden and in
a few days we reached Iowa, by rail.
There we camped for weeks,
waiting for the handcarts to be completed for the
journey. While there, I was so sick with scarlet fever that I could not
open my eyes.
I heard Sisters Henderson and McPhail say, "I am sorry she
is dying; another death in
camp soon!" One baby had must died. I seemed to know that
they were speaking of me,
and when mother came in from the camp-fire, with warm broth, she
saw the tears in my
eyes.
"Are you worse?"
she asked me.
"Mother, they think I
am dying: I want to live and go to the Valley."
My dear mother, at that
time in her fifty-second year, then sent and brought the
elders, who administered to me and the rebuked the disease,
commanding it to leave both
me and the camp. My recovery was rapid. I was able to travel,
and on the 15th day of
July, 1856, we rolled out of the Iowa City camp, on our way to
cross the plains with
handcarts. Our captain was James Gray Willie, and his counselors
were Millen Atwood
and Levi Savage. There were 120 handcarts and six wagons, and
about five hundred
·people, sixty-six of whom died on the journey.
We soon became accustomed
to traveling twenty and twenty-four miles a day.
My little brother, six years of age, used to travel that
distance, by me taking his hand to
encourage him, and by telling him stories for the future and the
good things in store for
us.
Around the campfire we had
very good times. There was Brother Burt, Brother
David Anderson and others, and our girls, who sang the old songs
and hymns that
warmed our hearts. While
fair weather and full rations lasted, we were all right. We
traveled five weeks, never stopping for a Sunday. Then we were in
the buffalo country.
Our cattle, that had hauled the provision wagons and some cows
were then stampeded b
the Indians, it was supposed. At the stampeding place we camped
five days; the men
went in all directions seeking for the lost cattle. Only a few
were found. Our captain then
thought we had done wrong in not stopping to worship on the
Sabbath day, for we had
lost more than we had gained.
Following this experience,
we kept sacred the Sabbath day, for we had lost more
than we had gained. Owing to the loss of the cattle, there was
added to the load of each
cart one hundred pounds of flour.
September came, and we
were on half rations and had cold weather, but we never
forgot to pray and we sang, "Come, Come, Ye Saints,"
with great zeal and fervor. We
realized that we needed the help of God to see us through. Many
were dying from the
hardships of the journey.
Let me add that I stood by
a grave where sixteen people were buried at once; they
were sewed up in sheets and covered with brush, then with earth
and ashes. This
happened during a very cold spell, and I think it was while we
were coming through the
Black Hills. I froze my fingers, but they were saved by good
attention when we got to
Lehi. At the same time, my mother traveled fifteen miles with
Little Alex on her back, as
he couldn't walk in the snow.
I will not dwell upon the
hardships we endured, nor the hunger and cold, but I like
to tell of the goodness of God unto us. One day, especially,
stands out from among the
remainder. The wind blew as if its breezes came from the sea. It
kept blowing harder
until it became fierce. Clouds arose, the thunder and lightning
were appalling. Even the
ox teams ahead refused to face the storm. Our captain, who
always rode a mule,
Dismounted and stepped into the middle of the road, bared his
head to the storm and
every· man, as he came up, stood by him with bared head-one hundred
carts, their
pullers and pushers, looking to their captain for counsel. The
captain said, "Let us pray."
And there was offered such a prayer! He told the Lord our
circumstances, he talked to
God, as one man talks to another, and as if the Lord was very
near. I felt that he was; and
many others felt the same. Then the storm parted to the right
and to the left! K
We hurried on to camp, got our tents pitched, and fires built,
when the storm burst in all
its fury! We had camped on a side-hill, and the water ran
through the tents in little
creeks.
Another circumstance I
remember clearly. My mother was taken very sick with
cramp and cholera. ( A very fatal trouble in our weakened
condition.) We all felt bad
about mother. I remember thinking, "Many are dying; mother
may die, and what a dark
. world it would be without our dear mother!" As I gathered
the sage to bum on our
campfire, I couldn't keep from crying. When I met mother, she
asked me what was the
matter. I told-her how badly I felt.
She said, "Do not
feel like that; pray for me. I have been out yonder in the snow
praying to the Lord to spare our lives that we might get through
to the Valley. I will
never murmur nor complain whatever we pass through, when we get
there."
God heard our prayers, and
she kept her word. Even when, in years following,
she went blind with age, she never murmured.
One more incident I will relate.
One evening we camped near a marshy meadow
spring. Poison parsnips grew there in plenty. Everybody was
elated. We had found
something to cook and to eat! By this time, our ration was four
ounces of flour a day,
and neither salt nor soda. Alexander Burt brought some parsnips
to our campfire.
Mother said, "What
have you there, Brother Burt?"
He answered, "They are parsnips, Sister Smith, a sort of
white carrot; put on the
pot and let us have a mess."
"I will do
that," said mother, and we cooked and ate our fill of poison parsnips.
I confess we felt like we had been
eating rocks, so heavy they lay upon our
stomachs.
The whole camp ate of them. Our captain arrived late at the camp that night,
and
when he found what we had been eating, he groaned aloud, and cried, "Put
them
down;
every one contains enough poison to kill an ox." He said, furthermore,
that it
would
be one of the providences of the Almighty if we were not all dead by morning.
However,
many were glad that they had eaten of them before they knew. We did not
realize
the truth of his words until the next morning when one brother died-a
Scandinavian.
We supposed that he had eaten them after he knew they were poison.
It was October now. The flour was gone,
and we had enough crackers for only a
two-days'
ration. We rolled into camp.
"Come, Bessie," said Jane,
"Let us gather fuel for our fire."
We went over a little hill toward the
west. ''Look, Jennie; there is a team of
horses
and two men! See, they are stopping to speak!
Now, Jennie was eighteen and bashful,
and whispered, "you answer," as we went
towards
them. It was Joseph A Young and Cyrus H. Wheelock.
I learned this
afterwards.
Brother Young said: "Sister, where
is your camp?"
"Jump over the hill yonder."
"Is there any sickness in the
camp?"
"No," was the answer;
"Just one woman died today while eating a cracker.
"Have you any provisions/"
"Well, cheer up," he said,
"Help is coming!"
I turned to sister and said, "What ailed
that man? I saw him wiping his eyes."
"It
may be that he is sorry for us. Let us hurry to camp and hear him speak."
We did so, and he told us there were many
wagons with provisions coming soon;
and
there were. The relief was followed by great rejoicing, and we thanked the Lord
in
prayer.
Brothers Young and Wheelock went on next
morning to carry the news to Martin
and
Tyler's company; two week behind us on the road.
The boys from Utah came
the next day. How glad we were and how good they
were! They gathered the wood, and made the fires, and let the
weary ride in the wagons.
On the side, I might state, also, that many lasting friendships
were made between the
boys and the young women. It looked that way to me!
About three miles on this
side of Green River, as I was walking ahead of the train,
leading my little brother of six and encouraging him along by
telling him stories of what
he would get when we arrived at the Valley, he said: "When
we get to that creek, I wish
we could see our brother Rob."
I said, "Come along,
maybe we will, when we get to the top of the bank"
When we arrived at the top
of the bank and looked down we saw a wagon with just
one yoke of oxen. We had never seen the like before, so we
waited on the summit until
they should pass. The man stared at us, and as his team came
beside us, he yelled, whoa,
to the oxen. It was then we knew him. He jumped off the wagon
and caught his sisters in
his arms as they came up with the cart. How we all wept with
joy!
The cart was then tied
behind the wagon. Little Alex climbed into the wagon as
happy as a prince, instead of a poor, tired child.
The next question from Rob
was, "Where is mother and Sister Mary?"
"They are behind
somewhere, Robby, You will find them by the road." Mother
was still sick, and when she stopped to rest she had to lie
down; she could not sit up.
"Some had died that way; they would go to sleep and never
awaken.
Mary was afraid that
mother would do likewise and tried to arouse her by telling
her about a team coming with only one yoke of cattle on.
Mother replied,
"Well, never mind, Mary; don't bother me; I am so tired."
"Well, mother, the
man is running this way. It surely is Robert."
"O, no Mary; that
would be too good to be true!"
Well, she was soon
convinced, as Robert took her in his arms and helped her into
the wagon. As he did so, mother exclaimed, "I couldn't be
more thankful to get into the
kingdom of heaven than I am to see you, and lie here and
rest"
Explanations followed. Robert
stated that he had suffered from a mountain fever,
and was just recovering when he received a letter that we were
coming. He then
borrowed and hired an outfit to come and meet us. None too soon!
We arrived at Lehi in due
time, and Bishop Evans welcomed us to his ward. My
sister Jane married his stepson, George Coleman, that winter; my
sister Mary married
Andrew A. Anderson; and Sister May married John R Murdock; an
adopted daughter,
Euphania Mitchell, married Brother Robert. I married Isaac H.
Goodwin, on December
1, 1859. My little brother Alex lived to be twenty-four, and
died unmarried. All have
gone beyond the veil except Robert's wife, who is eighty-two and
Sister Jane, an
ordinance worked in the Manti temple and myself I am almost
seventy-three.
Brother Editor of the Era,
you said you would like my story. I have therefore
written these few recollections. For the benefit of the youth of Zion who
may read this I
bear testimony that I know God hears and answers prayers and the
Lord will help those
who help themselves.
Beaver, Utah
Memoirs of Betsey Smith Goodwin
It is just fifty-six years ago today since I left Scotland
and the town of Dundee where I was born and lived until I came to America with
my sisters and one little brother of six years.
Our names are Mae, Jane, Mary, Betsey and little Alexander Joseph. Robert Angus Bain and sister Mae Bain were
mother’s children by a former husband whose name was George Bain. Two other children from this marriage also
died before I was born. My name is
Betsey too, after Mother’s sister.
Robert was born in Scotland in 1830.
He died at Smithfield, Cache County May 12, 1905. Mae was born October 25, 1833, in Dundee,
Scotland, and died at Beaver, Utah, October 3, 1911.
Robert married Joan McKay.
She had no family by him. He
married Euphema Mitchell who had eight children by him. Euphema and son John M. Bain and seven
children survive him. He also had a wife
named Petrina Peterson who died without issue.
He filled a mission as traveling elder with John O. Angus from 1850 to
1854. Then he worked his passage as cook
across on the ship he drove an ox team across the pains for a widow whose
maiden name was McArthur. He was here
two years ahead of us. He wrote to his
dear mother who was a widow the second time to try and come out the next year
with the hand carts. He said he would
earnestly pray for us.
Sister Mae thought he had the easiest job and while walking
at the noon in the cemetery close be father’s grave, Sister Mae and
Betsey—eldest and youngest of the four girls laid their plans to come out next
year. We talked to mother who said the
Lord helped those who helped themselves.
We could do our part and go to some manufacturing town, perhaps
Philadelphia until we earned enough money to come the rest of the way. We were all first class weavers. So we sent word to Robert that we would do
our best to come out next year.
Mae was a hand loom weaver and wove on the broad looms, the
seamless sheets and earned as much as a man.
Jane was a steam loom weaver and Mary attended two looms. Betsey was a hand loom weaver. She wove the domestic or factory; they called
it sheeting there. Strangers used to
stop at her loom and watch her weave.
She was about twelve years and small for her age and used to have the
treadles up to the seat board. Like the
other weavers she liked to play Monday and Tuesday and then work like
everything to get her web out by Saturday.
D.D. McArthur was one of the missionaries from Utah and he
often called to see us, so mother asked him if he would be so good as to advise
Betsey to be more steady at her work and not to play the first two days of the
week and then have such a hard time to get her web out by Saturday. She thought Betsey would pay more heed to him
than to her. The factory was almost next
door down Millswind and when Betsey knew that Brother McArthur was there she
would go into get a drink to get to shake hands with Brother McArthur and hear
him say, “God bless you, dear Sister!”
Oh! She though he was grand and noble and could bless her. So this day she went in and took a drink,
shook hands and then went out to her work.
Then mother said, “You didn’t speak to Betsey as I asked you
to.” He looked at mother and said, “Sister
Smith, I couldn’t speak to that little child about work. Our little girls at home are playing with
their dolls her size. She is a dear
little girl.”
After Brother McArthur said that, mother thought her anxiety
to emigrate was making her hard. She
didn’t say another word. Between Monday
and Friday the web came out. A web was
108 yards. Well, we four girls worked at
the looms be day and our fancywork by night and saved every cent we could and
in six months we had enough to come to the States. We couldn’t afford to buy Easter bonnets and
fine clothes and spring suits. I used to
wonder why sister Jane always took the back streets in coming home from
meeting. I found out after we got to
Utah it was so she wouldn’t meet the girls who could dress better.
We were very anxious to come out on account of Sister
Mary. Her system was left weak from
cholera. The doctors said she was in the
first stage of consumption and might be cured by a sea voyage, which she
was. Thank God!
It was the last day of April. The auctioneer sold our household goods. We got enough money to take us up to
Liverpool and a little extra. The house
was empty. The neighbors came over and
we had a sociable dancing and singing that lasted until morning. All our friends were kind and sorry to have
us go. When we bade Uncle Thomas goodbye
he went white to the lips. He called
mother a fanatic. He prophesied mother
would die on the plains. She came very
near it, but God in his mercy saved us all.
Mother was fifty two then and she lived to be eighty four.
We were seven weeks on the sea. We came on the ship Thornton. We landed at New York at Castle Garden and
traveled by rail to Camp Iowa. There we
waited six weeks, fixing four handcarts.
Our captain counseled us not to stay in the states.
Brother Robert took us right to Lehi where he had hired us a
room. It was Lorenzo Hatch’s carpenter
shop. Brother Hatch had gone on a
mission that spring.
***********************************************************************
Sister Jane married George Coleman the next March
(1857). He was a good husband to her and
a good Later-day Saint. He died at the
age of eighty four. Her children are:
Mrs. Mary C. Williams, Mrs. Sarah Mary C. Snow, Miss Betsey Ann Coleman (died),
Mrs. Emma Jane C. Wilson who died and left two daughters, George L. Coleman,
Miss Maggie (died).
Sister Jane is an ordinance worker in the Manti Temple. She and I are all that are left at
present. Jane held many offices in the
Relief Society. She was Stake president of the Relief Society of Wayne. She is now dead, having left us last spring.
My sister Mary Smith married Andrew Alexander Anderson of
Lehi in 1857. He was of Norwegian
descent. His parents were Latter-day
Saints of early days—very good people.
He was a high priest. Mary was
Stake Relief Society councilor. Both
labored for the welfare of Zion.
Crossing the plains cured her of her illness. She lived to eleven children. Andrew S. of Menan, Idaho,(surveyed the
townsite of Rexburg), Mrs. Sarah A. Barnes of Rexburg, Idaho, Mrs. Mae Nelson
of Rexburg, Idaho, Mrs. Mary Alice Farnsworth of Rigby, Idaho, Mrs. Zina Winters
of Chester, Idaho, John A. Anderson, George Warren of Twin Falls, Idaho, Joseph
who died a young man and three children died in fancy: Jane, Robert William and
Solva Carlos.
The children of Betsey Smith Goodwin, who was born March 7,
1843 at Dundee, Scotland, the Daughter of Alexander Nichol Smith of Dundee
Scotland and Mae McEwen Smith of Dundee Scotland, who came to Utah in the fall
of 1856—to Lehi. Married December 1,
1859 to Isaac Goodwin, by High Priest Ira J. Willis of Salt Lake City, Utah.
Isaac Smith Goodwin, b. Feb 1861; m. Mary Jane Adams,
daughter of David Cook and Mary E. Armstrong
Laura May S. Goodwin, b. 22 July 1863 at Smithfield, Utah;
d. 6 Dec 1870, at Beaver, Utah.
Son, b. 8 Jan 1866 at Smithfield, Utah; d. 15 Dec 1870 at
Beaver City, Utah.
Mary Jane, b. 8 April 1868 at Smithfield; d. 12 May 1868 at
Smithfield
Alexander Smith Goodwin, b. 15 May 1869 at Smithfield
Lewis Henry S. Goodwin, b. 21 July 1872 at Smithfield, d. 30
March 1875
Edwin Abijah, b. Smithfield, July; m. Luela Lane Blackburn
at Manti temple. Luella died at birth of
first son at Beaver in 1902. Edwin m.
Cora Fisher, daughter of Joseph and Mary Fisher. They are parents of a little boy and girl.
Son, b. 9 Nov 1877 at Escalante, Utah; d. 9 Oct 1901,
unmarried at Beaver Utah
John McEwen, b. 29 Nov 1880 at Escalante; m. Alice Joseph
daughter of Lorenzo D. and Jane Jones Joseph in the Manti Temple. They had three sons
My brother who crossed the plains when he was six, died at
the age of 24, unmarried.
Additional Note: the histories listed under Mary Smith can all be read to acquire additional information about Marjorie.
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