Iowa County WI Archives History - Books .....John Barber Parkinson 1921
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File contributed for use in USGenWeb Archives by:
Nancy Poquette npoq@hotmail.com January 1, 2007, 10:04 pm

Book Title: Memories Of Wisconsin And The Gold Mines

From John Barber Parkinson, “Memories of Wisconsin and the Gold Mines”, 1921, 
Pioneering in the Upper Midwest: Books from Michigan, Minnesota and Wisconsin, 
Library of Congress, also found at the State Historical Society of Wisconsin at 
Madison, call number MAD 4/14/SC2147:

	Page 16-17: “The winter of 1852-1853 was long remembered by 
Californians on account of the immense snowfall in the mountains, and its rains 
and devastating floods in the valleys. The Sacramento reached out the very 
foothills, and moved with a current that carried everything before it. The 
capital city was under water. The flocks and herds from the ranches fled to the 
hills when possible, but thousands were swept away by the floods. Just one-half 
of the faithful animals which our own little company had so carefully guarded 
across the plains was buried in the sea of waters. All communication with the 
upper mines was cut off. Prices knew no bounds. Flour rose to two, three even 
five dollars a pound, and soon none could be had at any price. Salt was sixteen 
dollars a pound, potatoes twenty-five cents apiece, with little regard to size, 
and other things in proportion…The truth is, men gave as freely as long as they 
had anything to give, and then submitted as gracefully as possible to the 
situation. I have a very distinct recollection of paying as high as a dollar a 
pound for flour, but being practically a penniless pilgrim…I soon ceased to be 
a purchaser and settled down to more modest rations—baked beans.”

	Pack trains attempting to cross the mountains, were blocked by the 
snows and in some cases were compelled to winter on the spot, subsisting upon 
their animals until the snows melted. I remember passing one of these desolate 
camping grounds, high up on the Trinity Mountains, on the 4th of July, 1853. It 
was a dreary spot. The drifts were not even yet melted away. A rude hut had 
been constructed out of the scrubby pines that grew even at that height, and 
the bleaching bones of the pack-mules lay scattered about it, telling a story 
of hunger and suffering better than words could do.”

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