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Volume 062-3 - July 2008 (6 pages)
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Page: of 6
A Visit to Grass Valley
~ by Jean-René-Maurice de Kerret
. (Translated by Claudine Chalmers)
(Translator 's Note: Jean-René-Maurice de Kerret was
born in Brittany, France, in 1833 to a family of noble lineage. Atage 19 he enrolled as a sketch artist aboard the frigate La Forte, bound for the Pacific. During their long
three-year voyage from Brest to Rio de Janeiro, around
Cape Horn to Valparaiso, Lima, Peru, Tahiti, Honolulu,
Kamtchatka, with stops in San Francisco, Mazatlan, Callao
and Lima, Kerret befriended another officer from Brittany,
Henri de Kersaint, with whom he often traveled ashore for
local explorations. Kerret always did so at his own expense,
as he did when he eventually returned to France three years
later.
The hundreds of sketches he had produced during his
travels were not printed until recently as Journal de Mes
Voyages Autour du Monde, 1852-1855, edited by French
author Tugdual de Kerros. After his return to France, Kerret
married Marie-Léonie Gautier, the daughter of a wealthy
family from Lyon, in 1865. They had two daughters, and
the artist spent the rest of his life caring for his family, tending to his properties, looking after his church and local
community where he helped in particular to conserve local
pak megalithic monuments
After five months spent in battle against the Russians at
Petropavlovski, the frigate La Forte anchored in San Francisco from September 7 to November 19, 1854. After many
social activities aboard ship and on land, Kerret and
Kersaint decided to head into the Sierra foothills to observe
the famed gold placers of California. They settled for Grass
Valley, one of the richest placers in California, they’d
heard, and one where many French pioneers had gathered.
This how their story picks up after they purchased two tickets on the coach bound for Grass Valley:)
FTER WE WERE TOLD THAT WE SHOULD BE [AT THE
depot] by six o’clock, we strolled through the streets [of
Sacramento] even though it was not quite daylight yet. We
passed by an outdoor refreshment bar where we stopped for a
little “brandy and water” and a piece of Kake which had certainly not been baked by Frascatti.* When it got close to the
appointed hour, we went back to the coach office.
A large coach harnessed to four beautiful bay horses was
only waiting for us to leave. It was packed: nine people inside
and four on the seat. It was indeed there that we had to sit. We
were hardly unhappy about it since it was truly the best way to
get a decent view of the countryside. We fortunately had no
age except for our rifles and for my game-bag full of
‘change clothes.
* Frascati was a wonderful restaurant in Paris.
(~ )
Nevada County Historical Society
Dullelin
VOLUME 62 NUMBER3 JULY 2008
S
We left at the given hour, rode through Sacramento along
its longest side and promptly reached a rather beautiful bridge
built on the American River. From this moment on, we entered gorgeous plains dotted here and there with remarkably
beautiful trees. I seemed to recognize trees from Europe: oaks,
live oaks, sycamores, maritime pines, wellingtonia. Herds of
half-wild cows, horses and sheep were grazing these empty
plains. At each step, the noise of our coach chased away coveys of partridge (Wels), quail, pheasant, etc. from the road.
The California quail is different from that found in France
and even in other countries. It is the one that least resembles
the French species. Those found in Rio look much more like
those of France except for the feathers that cover their legs.
That in Valparaiso closely resembles the gray quail of France.
That of California is smaller and as plump as a good-size partridge; it has a charming black, reddish and white plumage and
it sports two delightful feathers that form a crest on its head.
Now, there is also a second species without a crest; it is a very
pretty red quail. California also abounds with deer, bears, roebuck, antelopes, hares, and rabbits. The market in San Francisco is quite remarkable on that count. Venison is sold
cheaper there than any other butcher’s meat. I forget wild
geese, ducks, teals and snipes whose cost is insignificant.
Let us return to the moment when the sound of our coach
scared away this game. The country offered the same aspect
during our entire crossing of the plain: at times we passed in
front of pretty little homes on the edge of the road, other times
in front of ranchos or farms. We stopped next to a small hotel
under the shade of some of these pretty trees I mentioned earlier. There the horses paused for five minutes to drink and rest;
the travelers had the time to light a cigar and down a glass of
Brandy, a favorite with Americans.
We reached Oak Gr. around 7:30, there we switched horses
and were served some food. I drank a cup of coffee and immediately left with my rifle, heading for a nearby field where .
had seen a covey of quail as we arrived. They flew off and
landed quite far away from me. . still managed to kill one of
these pretty crested quail. ] ran back to the coach at once since
it was about to leave. We went on, but as we pushed further
into the interior, we started to reach the edge of the plains.
The countryside started to look different. Oaks and live oaks
were decreasing and being replaced with maritime pines, Riga