Here is an except of an autobiography written by her daughter Mary Macaulay.
My Mother, Bridget Quinlan, was born in the village of Ross Crea, not far from the City of Limeric, Ireland. She came to Montreal, Canada with an older sister and her husband, in the year 1847. On Christmas day 1849, she was married to my Father, a young man about twenty years of age. They made their home in Montreal where my Father was a tutor in wealthy families. About 1850 they moved with my Mother's relatives to Wisconsin, as the U.S. government was giving large farms to settlers. My Mother's first child - a boy - was born on a prairie in Wisconsin. The Indians used to come to the rude cabin to look at the little white child, much to my poor Mother's discomfort, for these Indians were dressed in robes of skins and wore moccasins on their feet. A second child, another boy named Thomas Weston Macaulay, was born there also. He lived to a good old age and died in San Francisco in 1929.
About 1851, the Gold excitement reached the people in the east. Upon hearing this my Father gave up farming, for which he was totally unfitted, and prepared to leave at once for the land of Gold (California). My poor Mother was broken hearted as she worshipped my Father and it might be for years, or maybe forever, before she would see him again. It was an easy matter to sell the farm on Dell Prairie, Wisconsin for a large sum: And, it was enough to take my Father on the long journey to California, and to provide for my Mother and her two children for a year or more. As soon as Father was gone, my Mother moved into her sister's family and continued to live there, in Portage City, for seven years. Her first son died when he was four years old.
My Mother received a letter and some money for her to go out to California. So, she began to get ready for the long trip. My brother, Thomas, was then eight years old. They left Portage City and went to New York, and then by water to the Isthmus of Panama. It was a tempestuous voyage, but nothing to what lay ahead of her. I do not remember her telling me about crossing the Isthmus, but she and my brother were put aboard a steamer which finally reached San Francisco. She received a letter there from my Father telling her to cross the San Francisco Bay and take a train to Sacramento. This was a terrible shock to my Mother as she expected, after her long sea voyage, to see my Father in San Francisco.
Once in Sacramento, the train terminus, she was introduced to a new kind of transportation. Early the next morning she was awakened by a gruff voice saying, "Hurry and dress as the mule train is all saddled and ready to start." She and brother ate a hurried breakfast and were ready. My poor Mother was shocked when a man approached her and said, "Now, lady, I'll help you up into the saddle. This mule is very gentle and used to carrying women, but you are the only lady passenger today. I have a nice little curly mule for the boy to ride." Of course, my brother was delighted. My Mother had never been on a horse and she had never heard of a mule. It was a long train, the passengers all men, going to the various 'gold diggins'. My Mother had to be lifted off of the mule whenever they reached the stopping place at the close of the day. Mother told me that if it had not been for my brother, she could have gone no further. But, finally, after traveling for over a week, over mountains, rough, trails and hazardous canyons, she reached her destination at a little place by the name of "Callahan's Ranch". There was a good hotel in this flourishing mining camp. Located in the heart of the Siskiyou Mountains about seventy miles west and south of Yreka. But my Father was not there to meet them. My Father's partner was there, and he took them over a rough trail about five miles to her final home---a rude log cabin in a great forest. Father came out to meet them. Mother hardly knew him; the past seven years had changed him greatly. The only thing that seemed to cheer my Mother was a huge fireplace, and on the hearth there was a big pot of pork and beans. She was so tired and so hungry that I guess she thought more about eating than anything else. My Mother did not tell me any of the details that took place upon her arrival at the cabin, or anything more until in the course of two years I was born, March 6th, 1861. My dear Mother was all alone, no doctor or nurse. She sent my brother to the village three miles away for help. A neighbor there came at once and did everything she could. I relate this to show what the pioneer women often had to endure.
My Mother, Bridget Quinlan, was born in the village of Ross Crea, not far from the City of Limeric, Ireland. She came to Montreal, Canada with an older sister and her husband, in the year 1847. On Christmas day 1849, she was married to my Father, a young man about twenty years of age. They made their home in Montreal where my Father was a tutor in wealthy families. About 1850 they moved with my Mother's relatives to Wisconsin, as the U.S. government was giving large farms to settlers. My Mother's first child - a boy - was born on a prairie in Wisconsin. The Indians used to come to the rude cabin to look at the little white child, much to my poor Mother's discomfort, for these Indians were dressed in robes of skins and wore moccasins on their feet. A second child, another boy named Thomas Weston Macaulay, was born there also. He lived to a good old age and died in San Francisco in 1929.
About 1851, the Gold excitement reached the people in the east. Upon hearing this my Father gave up farming, for which he was totally unfitted, and prepared to leave at once for the land of Gold (California). My poor Mother was broken hearted as she worshipped my Father and it might be for years, or maybe forever, before she would see him again. It was an easy matter to sell the farm on Dell Prairie, Wisconsin for a large sum: And, it was enough to take my Father on the long journey to California, and to provide for my Mother and her two children for a year or more. As soon as Father was gone, my Mother moved into her sister's family and continued to live there, in Portage City, for seven years. Her first son died when he was four years old.
My Mother received a letter and some money for her to go out to California. So, she began to get ready for the long trip. My brother, Thomas, was then eight years old. They left Portage City and went to New York, and then by water to the Isthmus of Panama. It was a tempestuous voyage, but nothing to what lay ahead of her. I do not remember her telling me about crossing the Isthmus, but she and my brother were put aboard a steamer which finally reached San Francisco. She received a letter there from my Father telling her to cross the San Francisco Bay and take a train to Sacramento. This was a terrible shock to my Mother as she expected, after her long sea voyage, to see my Father in San Francisco.
Once in Sacramento, the train terminus, she was introduced to a new kind of transportation. Early the next morning she was awakened by a gruff voice saying, "Hurry and dress as the mule train is all saddled and ready to start." She and brother ate a hurried breakfast and were ready. My poor Mother was shocked when a man approached her and said, "Now, lady, I'll help you up into the saddle. This mule is very gentle and used to carrying women, but you are the only lady passenger today. I have a nice little curly mule for the boy to ride." Of course, my brother was delighted. My Mother had never been on a horse and she had never heard of a mule. It was a long train, the passengers all men, going to the various 'gold diggins'. My Mother had to be lifted off of the mule whenever they reached the stopping place at the close of the day. Mother told me that if it had not been for my brother, she could have gone no further. But, finally, after traveling for over a week, over mountains, rough, trails and hazardous canyons, she reached her destination at a little place by the name of "Callahan's Ranch". There was a good hotel in this flourishing mining camp. Located in the heart of the Siskiyou Mountains about seventy miles west and south of Yreka. But my Father was not there to meet them. My Father's partner was there, and he took them over a rough trail about five miles to her final home---a rude log cabin in a great forest. Father came out to meet them. Mother hardly knew him; the past seven years had changed him greatly. The only thing that seemed to cheer my Mother was a huge fireplace, and on the hearth there was a big pot of pork and beans. She was so tired and so hungry that I guess she thought more about eating than anything else. My Mother did not tell me any of the details that took place upon her arrival at the cabin, or anything more until in the course of two years I was born, March 6th, 1861. My dear Mother was all alone, no doctor or nurse. She sent my brother to the village three miles away for help. A neighbor there came at once and did everything she could. I relate this to show what the pioneer women often had to endure.
Here is an except of an autobiography written by her daughter Mary Macaulay.
My Mother, Bridget Quinlan, was born in the village of Ross Crea, not far from the City of Limeric, Ireland. She came to Montreal, Canada with an older sister and her husband, in the year 1847. On Christmas day 1849, she was married to my Father, a young man about twenty years of age. They made their home in Montreal where my Father was a tutor in wealthy families. About 1850 they moved with my Mother's relatives to Wisconsin, as the U.S. government was giving large farms to settlers. My Mother's first child - a boy - was born on a prairie in Wisconsin. The Indians used to come to the rude cabin to look at the little white child, much to my poor Mother's discomfort, for these Indians were dressed in robes of skins and wore moccasins on their feet. A second child, another boy named Thomas Weston Macaulay, was born there also. He lived to a good old age and died in San Francisco in 1929.
About 1851, the Gold excitement reached the people in the east. Upon hearing this my Father gave up farming, for which he was totally unfitted, and prepared to leave at once for the land of Gold (California). My poor Mother was broken hearted as she worshipped my Father and it might be for years, or maybe forever, before she would see him again. It was an easy matter to sell the farm on Dell Prairie, Wisconsin for a large sum: And, it was enough to take my Father on the long journey to California, and to provide for my Mother and her two children for a year or more. As soon as Father was gone, my Mother moved into her sister's family and continued to live there, in Portage City, for seven years. Her first son died when he was four years old.
My Mother received a letter and some money for her to go out to California. So, she began to get ready for the long trip. My brother, Thomas, was then eight years old. They left Portage City and went to New York, and then by water to the Isthmus of Panama. It was a tempestuous voyage, but nothing to what lay ahead of her. I do not remember her telling me about crossing the Isthmus, but she and my brother were put aboard a steamer which finally reached San Francisco. She received a letter there from my Father telling her to cross the San Francisco Bay and take a train to Sacramento. This was a terrible shock to my Mother as she expected, after her long sea voyage, to see my Father in San Francisco.
Once in Sacramento, the train terminus, she was introduced to a new kind of transportation. Early the next morning she was awakened by a gruff voice saying, "Hurry and dress as the mule train is all saddled and ready to start." She and brother ate a hurried breakfast and were ready. My poor Mother was shocked when a man approached her and said, "Now, lady, I'll help you up into the saddle. This mule is very gentle and used to carrying women, but you are the only lady passenger today. I have a nice little curly mule for the boy to ride." Of course, my brother was delighted. My Mother had never been on a horse and she had never heard of a mule. It was a long train, the passengers all men, going to the various 'gold diggins'. My Mother had to be lifted off of the mule whenever they reached the stopping place at the close of the day. Mother told me that if it had not been for my brother, she could have gone no further. But, finally, after traveling for over a week, over mountains, rough, trails and hazardous canyons, she reached her destination at a little place by the name of "Callahan's Ranch". There was a good hotel in this flourishing mining camp. Located in the heart of the Siskiyou Mountains about seventy miles west and south of Yreka. But my Father was not there to meet them. My Father's partner was there, and he took them over a rough trail about five miles to her final home---a rude log cabin in a great forest. Father came out to meet them. Mother hardly knew him; the past seven years had changed him greatly. The only thing that seemed to cheer my Mother was a huge fireplace, and on the hearth there was a big pot of pork and beans. She was so tired and so hungry that I guess she thought more about eating than anything else. My Mother did not tell me any of the details that took place upon her arrival at the cabin, or anything more until in the course of two years I was born, March 6th, 1861. My dear Mother was all alone, no doctor or nurse. She sent my brother to the village three miles away for help. A neighbor there came at once and did everything she could. I relate this to show what the pioneer women often had to endure.
My Mother, Bridget Quinlan, was born in the village of Ross Crea, not far from the City of Limeric, Ireland. She came to Montreal, Canada with an older sister and her husband, in the year 1847. On Christmas day 1849, she was married to my Father, a young man about twenty years of age. They made their home in Montreal where my Father was a tutor in wealthy families. About 1850 they moved with my Mother's relatives to Wisconsin, as the U.S. government was giving large farms to settlers. My Mother's first child - a boy - was born on a prairie in Wisconsin. The Indians used to come to the rude cabin to look at the little white child, much to my poor Mother's discomfort, for these Indians were dressed in robes of skins and wore moccasins on their feet. A second child, another boy named Thomas Weston Macaulay, was born there also. He lived to a good old age and died in San Francisco in 1929.
About 1851, the Gold excitement reached the people in the east. Upon hearing this my Father gave up farming, for which he was totally unfitted, and prepared to leave at once for the land of Gold (California). My poor Mother was broken hearted as she worshipped my Father and it might be for years, or maybe forever, before she would see him again. It was an easy matter to sell the farm on Dell Prairie, Wisconsin for a large sum: And, it was enough to take my Father on the long journey to California, and to provide for my Mother and her two children for a year or more. As soon as Father was gone, my Mother moved into her sister's family and continued to live there, in Portage City, for seven years. Her first son died when he was four years old.
My Mother received a letter and some money for her to go out to California. So, she began to get ready for the long trip. My brother, Thomas, was then eight years old. They left Portage City and went to New York, and then by water to the Isthmus of Panama. It was a tempestuous voyage, but nothing to what lay ahead of her. I do not remember her telling me about crossing the Isthmus, but she and my brother were put aboard a steamer which finally reached San Francisco. She received a letter there from my Father telling her to cross the San Francisco Bay and take a train to Sacramento. This was a terrible shock to my Mother as she expected, after her long sea voyage, to see my Father in San Francisco.
Once in Sacramento, the train terminus, she was introduced to a new kind of transportation. Early the next morning she was awakened by a gruff voice saying, "Hurry and dress as the mule train is all saddled and ready to start." She and brother ate a hurried breakfast and were ready. My poor Mother was shocked when a man approached her and said, "Now, lady, I'll help you up into the saddle. This mule is very gentle and used to carrying women, but you are the only lady passenger today. I have a nice little curly mule for the boy to ride." Of course, my brother was delighted. My Mother had never been on a horse and she had never heard of a mule. It was a long train, the passengers all men, going to the various 'gold diggins'. My Mother had to be lifted off of the mule whenever they reached the stopping place at the close of the day. Mother told me that if it had not been for my brother, she could have gone no further. But, finally, after traveling for over a week, over mountains, rough, trails and hazardous canyons, she reached her destination at a little place by the name of "Callahan's Ranch". There was a good hotel in this flourishing mining camp. Located in the heart of the Siskiyou Mountains about seventy miles west and south of Yreka. But my Father was not there to meet them. My Father's partner was there, and he took them over a rough trail about five miles to her final home---a rude log cabin in a great forest. Father came out to meet them. Mother hardly knew him; the past seven years had changed him greatly. The only thing that seemed to cheer my Mother was a huge fireplace, and on the hearth there was a big pot of pork and beans. She was so tired and so hungry that I guess she thought more about eating than anything else. My Mother did not tell me any of the details that took place upon her arrival at the cabin, or anything more until in the course of two years I was born, March 6th, 1861. My dear Mother was all alone, no doctor or nurse. She sent my brother to the village three miles away for help. A neighbor there came at once and did everything she could. I relate this to show what the pioneer women often had to endure.
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