Holiday Letters from the Frontier

We had a flurry of snow early in the week, and the cold winds which came down from the mountains reminded us in no gentle way of home; still it really seemed Christmas like to prepare What was the holiday season like in the Arizona of a century and more ago, when this land was still very much a remote frontier? What, among the scattered handfuls of miners, farmers, ranchers, shopkeepers, missionaries, and soldiers, were the thoughts, hopes, and activities at this time of year? Thanks to various archives that preserved some of the pioneers' correspondence, we can eavesdrop a bit....

Army Surgeon Dorsey M. McPherson, 21, reported to Fort Grant, Arizona Territory, in October of 1878. Therefore after he spent much of his time in the field with soldiers who were pursuing hostile Apaches. Yet he found time to write long, detailed letters to his fiancee, Ida DeLande of Washington, D.C. Here is part of one of them:

Fort Grant, A.T. Christmas Day, 1878

My Dearest Ida: It is snowing here, has been for hours, I can hardly believe my senses. YesterToday it was as warm as summer and today I can scarcely see across the parade grounds, and Mt. Graham is invisible. Yesterday I remarked that it would not seem like Christmas unless it were cold and snow on the ground. My wishes are fully gratified. But the beautiful snow does not prevent me from feeling a little homesick. This is the first Christmas that I ever spent away from home.

The post trader has just sent me a present, a box of real De Cabañas Cigars. I have visited a number of the officers today. They all seem blue, particularly the bachelors. Dr. Worthington and Lt. Cheever have gone hunting for quail. They said it was too quiet at the post for them.

We celebrated Christmas Eve by pistol target practice. I scored 14 out of a possible 15; this is considered fair shooting.

Thursday, Dec. 26th. Well, Christmas is over. I dined at Capt. Thompson's [the commanding officer). Dinner was served at 4 P.M., and we left the table at 7 P.M. How is that for eating? We had a splendid dinner, wild turkey, deer, quail, etc. About 8 o'clock we all went over to Capt. Smith's to a hop, so called. There were about twenty of us, only four ladies, none single. The music was good, furnished by enlisted men. It was very hard to get up a dance. Several waltzes had been played before anybody could muster up courage to dance, all "so tired." I started it by waltzing with Mrs. Thompson. The next was a quadrille, and I did have a good laugh, impromptu figures and fancy steps.... This morning's mail brought me a letter from you. The slippers youmention did not arrive but will prob-ably be brought in by the mail that takes this letter out, Sunday morning. I thank you very much and shall wear them full of holes as directed....

Dear Bro Now merry Christmas and Happy New ye to you and tomme The homes and cattle are all at home and doing well, except are ye which thin and wash. that sure We lead a sough life I have furt se am contantes, Arizona Territory was separated from New Mexico Territory in 1863. A party of appointed officials dispatched to establish a seat of government spent the latter part of December traveling from Santa Fe to the fringe of the new territory. Joseph Pratt Allyn of Connecticut, who would become associate justice of the territorial Supreme Court, wrote to a Hartford newspaper: We determined to celebrate Christ-mas Eve, for in this sort of traveling, one never knows what a day may bring forth. A wagon was sent off for wood and greens. It went three times, and just as we got all ready it began to snow. The wood, however, was heaped up, the wagons corralled to keep off the wind, and draped with the old flag. The rear of a wagon served for the orchestra, and a feed box, for the rostrum, while a huge cauldron of hot water was hissing on the fire. Speeches were made that, no matter what was their merit, had attentive, earnest, and enthusiastic listeners. Captain Chacon made a speech in Spanish, translated by Col. Chavez [New Mexico Volunteers made up the military escort], that was touch-ing and eloquent; he told of the love he had for the flag, of his sacrifice and aspirations for the republic; it thrilled the mixed audience that stood in that pelting storm, and three rousing cheers went up. The toddy proved excellent, though we had no eggs. The music was admirable, the John Brown chorus carrying the Mexicans off their feet.... The whole affair was closed, just as the moon peeped out of the clouds, by some remarks by the chap-lain and a short prayer.

Phoenix was founded in 1867 and was a bustling farming village by 1875. Ed Irvine, a merchant and lawyer, described the town's Christmas of 1875 in a letter to the editor of the Arizona Miner at Prescott: On Christmas eve the great hall of the stage office was densely filled with brave men, fair women, smart boys and pretty girls. The curtain was raised punctually at seven o'clock, and there was the Christmas Tree, a fine large pepper tree, brilliantly illuminated, on a raised platform at the upper end of the hall, surrounded by a bevy of young girls dressed in white, while the band gaily played the Tallahassee Waltz.

The girls then sang a Christmas carol and the committee began distributing the presents... The girls got a nice handkerchief each, to keep their pretty noses clean, and books and toys.... The young boys got books, knives, candy, etc. Some of the grown people got presents on the tree also, some were...valuable and will be treasured up as coming from loving hearts.... A nice young man got a...book put on the tree expressly for him by a very nice young girl....

During all this time there was such laughing and joking, noise and confusion and everybody happy. The little schoolmam, the life and soul of the occasion, was around full of animation, pleased, proud and happy. The little folks trudged home loaded with presents, the seats were quickly cleared out and the dancing began and was kept up till nearly morning. About eleven o'clock the dancers repaired to the Capital House and sat down to a capital supper....It is said a better supper was never set in Phoenix.

Miss Minnie Whitaker of Tucson wrote to the Home Mission Monthly (denomination and location unknown) about carrying Christmas to Papago Indian (Tohono O'odham) children. The church workers made up packages from boxes of gifts sent by congregations in Philadelphia. The year was 1887.

The teacher of the little day school sent us a list of...names, and then we proceeded to select from three delightful Christmas boxes, just the gifts which would make each little dark-eyed boy and girl happy....

We had a flurry of snow early in the week, and the cold winds which came down from the mountains reminded us in no gentle way of home; still it really seemed Christmas-like to prepare for a ride in the cold. Our party of four was packed into a two-horse carriage with great disregard as to the comfort of the gentlemen, and extreme care as to the safety of sundry boxes, baskets, etc....

Holiday Letters

Nearing the reservation we passed women moulding clay and bright-faced girls who came running to see the strangers. Still nearer and up the hill to the adobe school-house where the teacher stood waiting with the chiefs little son beside him....

The chief arrived with his interpreter, and was given the place of honor in the only chair. Supper out of the way, we blew a blast on an immense tin horn, and in a few minutes the adobe was full of bright-eyed boys and girls. Such hurrying and skurrying [sic] and stowing away of little folks, the chief sitting all the time in dignified state and admonishing now and then when it seemed expedient. When all was quiet a little talk was given. One of the gentlemen led in prayer, and then, guided by the teacher, the children repeated the prayer we all love so much. Hesitatingly, brokenly, but following to the end the little voices went through with the petitions. Then they sang for us one or two hymns.

The Doctor [apparently a Tucson minister] spoke in Spanish to the chief, telling him...how we had come to bring them gifts, reminding them of God's thought for us all. And then to the children in their own language, the chief repeated the story. And if you could have seen the faces of those children.... I wanted to know how many good children there were in Papago land, and would they hold up their hands. So the Doctor told the chief, and the chief told the children, and the result was grat-ifying in the extreme. All hands upright and left-with every distinct finger and thumb making emphatic statement that they were good children. How the chief did laugh and so did the missionaries. Of course, after such proof there was nothing to do but present all these very good children with gifts, which was done amidst much merriment and delight. Everybody received something from the chief. It was a happy time.

And as we drove home through the quiet valley, we watched above the mountains the shining of a star which seemed to be another messenger bringing to our hearts the remembrance of the Christ-child-God's best gift to us.

In the spring of 1886, five brothers-the Babbitts from Cincinnati-began arriving in the raw lum-bering town of Flag-staff. David, the eldest, led his brothers in the establishment of a ranch and a building supply business. The Babbitt enterprises multiplied and became a commercial empire that survives today.

As Christmas of 1887 approached, David was in Cincinnati with his wife and infant son. George, too, was in Cincinnati, where he had recently married. On December 21 in Flagstaff, the youngest brother, Edward, wrote a letter on lined notebook paper. He brought David up to date on business matters: the demand for lumber and wainscoting, the low price of cattle (three cents a pound), various rental properties the Babbitts owned.Then he added a personal note from himself and on behalf of brothers Charles and Will: We all miss you and you all know how pleased we would be to join you, and yet we make a virtue of what is. We all gather round the fire, we sing and play everything, and we are all content even though we might be more so.... If we ain't contented, we are as near to what is as wayward man can come.... Mrs. Reardon [sic] is to have a grand meeting Christmas eve of course, we are all invited and we will attend. [The Riordan brothers were pioneer Flagstaff lumbermen.]I had almost forgotten this will greet you sometime about Xmas. We have no cards to send or at least I have none and knowing that the good wishes are all that is needed or were asked for, I

Holiday Letters

(LEFT) “We celebrated Christmas Eve by pistol target practice,” reported Army Surgeon Dorsey M. McPherson from Fort Grant. (RIGHT) A century ago, personal correspondence was still an appreciated art; letters were kept and reread over the years.

I think writing them on such high-toned paper as this will answer for a card....

W. C. Monk apparently had a ranch near the foothills of the Chiricahua Mountains in the southeastern corner of Arizona Territory. On Christmas Eve, 1888, he wrote reflectively to his brother and partner, J. A. Monk, in Topeka, Kansas: Dear Bro: Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to you and Emma. The horses and cattle are all at home and doing well, except one orphan calf which is thin and weak but seems to be well....

We lead a rough life, yet it is the first thing I have struck, with which I am contented and enjoy life. The grand scenery of the mountains and pretty valleys, the delightful climate, blue skies and bracing and invigorating atmosphere may have something to do with it. This country is a sure cure for debility and lazziness [sic]. I never get lonesome and don't want any social cares.

I guess I am something of a savage. The Chiricahua Apache Indians fought desperately for their home and this was one of their favorite camping grounds as the remains of their numerous [camps] testify. Most of them were killed, some escaped to Mexico....

The hillsides are dotted with live oak which remain green all winter and which have the appearance of fruitful orchards in the early fall. We have plenty of wild grapes, walnuts, prickly pears &c. For the last week we have had fine summery weather and to have the cattle graze as in summer is way up above cutting hay half the year and feeding it the other half.

We ought to have more cattle, and if we can find a partner agreeable to get along with to furnish the money to get them, better encourage it as there will be plenty [of others here] at any rate....

Surgeon Dorsey M. McPherson, whose letter home began this collection, was the next year reassigned by the Army to another frontier post and again spent Christmas alone. He wrote his beloved Ida:

Fort Apache, A.T. Christmas Morning, 1879

My Dearest Ida: Another Christmas is here and we are still separated. Indeed this is no Christmasmas at all to me. This day, last year, I was at Grant and was sad enough; but today I feel 100 times worse.

It is very cold here; the ground is covered with snow. The thermometer this morning at sick call registered minus two degrees....

Last night we called on the C.O. just when they were filling the children's stockings. It was too cute to see those three little socks hanging at the mantelpiece. My thoughts went back to my early childhood and I wished myself a child again. It seems as if Christmas is not what it used to be; but never mind, there will be a day when I will enjoy Christmas in the old-fashioned way....

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