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Volume 062-3 - July 2008 (6 pages)
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Page: of 6
NCHS Bulletin July 2008
Jean-René-Maurice de Kerret
pines, crossed fir trees, northern pines, etc. It was no longer
flat country covered with cultivated fields, it was no longer
immense meadows where immense herds grazed.
It was the beginning of the mines. The smallest river, the
smallest creek had its bed torn apart by the gold diggers’
gigantic work. There were Americans here, Frenchmen there,
and a little further Irishmen, Germans, Italians, Mexicans,
Chinese, etc. Each continent, each nation was represented
within a small area. They had all come from three to four thousand leagues for the same reason: what reason? GOLD.
After being rolled and tossed about in this coach, we
reached a very rich placer, Auburn. There were the real mines.
From the top of the mountains to the bottom of the valleys, every inch of ground was being worked. One has to behold the
attraction and, at the same time, the emotion caused by this
sort of work. Even though it is very hard, no one ever seems to
tire of it. The miner who stands with his pan in hand at the
edge of a creek keeps thinking I can find 25, 30, 50, 100 piasters and sometimes he does not even find even one piaster
worth of gold. He starts over, ten, fifteen times, always with
the same emotion since enormous amounts have often been
found in a single pan.
We lunched again when we arrived in Auburn and switched
coaches.
Auburn, like all the cities of the placers, is a conglomeration of the miners’ homes on the very spot where they work,
together with the homes of a few merchants. For a foreigner, it
2
is quite curious to see men working in the streets or under their
homes.
After a very poor American-style lunch, we left aboard 2™
dreadful small coach a hundred times worse than the first, yet
it provided an attraction we did not have during our trip from
Sacramento to Auburn. A young “sefiorita” twenty-two to
twenty three years of age, who was on her way to see a friend
in Nevada, was now our travel companion. At first we had a
difficult time getting her to speak, but soon she saw that she
was dealing with two “juventos.” So at last she gladly relented
and started to speak as if she were a one-eyed magpie.
I started the conversation by mentioning Peru and the
“Valientos del Peru,” which brought her charming country
back to her mind. We had a long conversation about Lima,
Callao, and the valor of these troops who had shed their blood
for the independence of their country. We talked in this fashion all the way to Grass Valley. The rest of the day vanished
like a dream for us.
Around seven in the evening, we passed through a camp of
Chinese with big campfires burning close to their tents. We
could no longer see anything, so we were entirely captivated
by our conversation with this young Peruvian woman who
could now no longer stop talking. When we reached Grass
Valley we took our leave from our young friend who was traveling another two leagues, and we went to settle at the hotel de
France, a hotel or inn where we were not badly fed.
As soon as it was known that two French officers had ar-4™
rived, every Frenchman in the country, miner or otherwise,
came to see us. We had to tell them that we were only stopping in Grass Valley for one day, that we wished to see the
mines, and that early the next morning we intended to go visit
the river bed, that is the Boston River. Several of them offered
to accompany us. We were quite happy to be able to find,
without even trying, someone who could inform us and who
was willing to show us the mines in detail.
We started to dine with great pleasure since we had only
eaten American food all day, and I don’t take to it very much.
We had a good little French dinner. As we were dining, a very
nice and well-mannered young French miner came to offer his
services to take us wherever we wished the next morning. We
promptly agreed and thanked him.
After dinner, we walked through the streets and took a look
at these frightful gambling houses where unfortunate miners
are ruined. There we saw one “gambleur” and one “gambleuse”
who encouraged and excited these luckless men who arrived
with their little bags of gold dust, their revolver at their hip,
and who could not even see how they were being fooled.
Grass Valley, one of the richest placers in California, is situated in the midst of an immense forest of northern pines at the
edge of a small river whose bed has completely been turned
over. It is a pretty little town of five to six thousand souls with
rather pretty streets for so new a town, handsome stores, and
decent hotels. It does not lack in any way when it comes to
amenities and personal comfort. It is the city where there is the