Hardyville, Mohave
County, Arizona
History
Captain W. H. Hardy—Description
Op—His Early Experiences In Arizona—Methods Of Indian
Warfare—Freighting For The Government—Experiences With Indians —Wild
Game In The Territory—Driven Out Or Killed—Indian Cunning—The First
Christmas Tree In The Territory. Mention has been made in these pages
of W. H. Hardy, who established the town of Hardyville, above Fort
Mohave, on the Colorado River. Captain Hardy ran a ferry and a store at
that place for a long time, and, as stated in a previous chapter,
established a branch store at Prescott, after the location and survey
of that town. He was among the first settlers in Mohave County. He was
a man highly respected, of great energy and force of character, and did
a great deal for the development of his county, which he represented
several times in the upper house of the Territorial Legislature. He
died June 30,1909, at Whittier, California." F. J. Wattron, at one time
sheriff of Navajo County, has the following to say about Captain Hardy:
"Captain Hardy was an old settler
upon the Colorado above Fort Mohave at Hardyville. He ran a ferry and a
store at that place, also a toll road from Hardyville to Prescott. All
parties traveling on the road had to pay Hardy in proportion to the
size of their outfit. The repairs on the road were kept up by Hardy
walking along and leading his horse and kicking out such rocks as he
could with a pair of number eleven boots. Hardy's stock consisted of
flour, $20 per hundredweight; bacon, 50c per pound; coffee, 50c per
pound; sugar, three pounds for a dollar; soldier's boots, $10 per pair;
overalls, $3 per pair, cash down, and no kicking. His ferry was also a
paying business, but if you had no money, he would give you what you
wanted out of the store, and cross you over the river for nothing."
The "Mohave County Miner," of
December 8th, 1888, contains the following letter written by Captain
Hardy, which is perhaps as good a statement of conditions in Arizona
during the period of which we are writing, as could be found: "Editor
'Mohave County Miner':
"You ask me to write some of my early
experiences in Arizona. What I write may not be worth the space it
takes in your valuable paper. Again, if printed, it may not be worth
reading. However, as I have a little leisure time to-day, I will put in
a couple of hours in telling, as I remember, what happened over twenty
years since. I distinctly remember, because trials and incidents which
happened in those days were frequently stained in blood.
"I crossed the Colorado River near
Fort Mo- have January 20th, 1864. At that time there was no real
settler in Mohave County. A company of California Volunteers under
Capt. Charles Atchison was stationed at Fort Mohave, as a road had been
partly worked from Santa Fe, New Mexico, to Los Angeles, California,
via Fort Mohave, and the Indians were found to be hostile and required the presence
of United States troops to keep them in check, as when permanent
settlers began to settle upon land, the Indians soon broke out in
general warfare.
"I came to Arizona seeking adventure.
I brought with me some money and a stock of merchandise, including
mining tools, etc. I will give a short history of what happened in the
summer of 1866.
"The Indians of Arizona were
different in their warfare from those in many other States and
Territories; it was more like bushwhacking. Small bands of Indians
would watch the roads and trails, and surprise and attack small parties
or individuals, kill them and mutilate their bodies, and hide away in
the rocks. They were rarely ever caught or punished by the United
States troops, yet after a bloody war of ten years, General Crook
managed to enlist Indians (as all Indians were then at war with their
neighboring tribes) and succeeded in conquering and making peace,
except with a part of the Apaches located at San Carlos. It seems that
a line was run around this tribe and established as a reservation.
These Indians were not first conquered and put on a reservation as they
should have been; hence the consequences that have followed.
"In June, 1866, four men came to my
place on the Colorado River. They were mounted on good horses, had
three pack animals, and were going east of Prescott to look up some
mines they claimed to have heard of through a soldier scout. In talking
with them I learned that not one of the party had ever had any
experience in an Indian country. They had read of the noble red man in Cooper's novels, but
admired rather than feared the noble red man of the mountains of
Arizona. I told the party that if they would rest at my place about
three days, I would accompany them as far as Prescott. They consented.
The real fact was I was satisfied they would not reach Prescott unless
I did see them through. So I tied my blankets to my saddle, packed a
few pounds of dried beef, jerky, a little coffee, sugar, crackers,
etc., to last four days, as the distance to travel was a hundred and
sixty-five miles, without house or inhabitant. The third day out we
reached the summit of the Aztec Range, since called Juniper Pass. It
was about 10 a. m. The grass was good, so we camped for a rest, as
before us lay a ride of ten miles through a rocky, bushy canyon. I
advised that we let our stock rest till dusk, as it would be much safer
to ride through this canyon in the night. We had hardly got our stock
unsaddled and picketed, when we heard what appeared to be a wild turkey
gobble not a quarter of a mile away. The turkey appeared to be in a
small, rocky, bushy canyon, leading up a low mountain to the south of
us. My traveling companions now declared that nothing would taste so
good as a fine, fat wild turkey. I told them it was not a turkey they
heard, but Indians imitating a turkey to lead them into the rocks and
brush so they could fill our backs with arrows, as our breechloading
rifles were too forin-midable weapons for open warfare against the bow
and arrow. But my companions did not believe me. Such was their
appetite for wild turkey that they were ready to risk their lives. I
reasoned with them and said: 'You see it is now ten in the morning. Wild turkeys do
their gobbling on the roost, never so late as this in the morning.
Again, if we have frightened a flock of turkeys, they would cry "Quit!
Quit!" and sulk off into the brush out of our reach, for it is the time
of year they have their young.'
"My reasoning they did not heed, but
turkey they must have; so I took my rifle in hand and went with them
toward the canyon. The turkey seemed to travel as fast as we did. and
kept up its gobble. As we reached the mouth of the bushy canyon, I
called their attention to footprints in the sand, some made by bare
feet, and some by moccasined feet. This took away their appetite for
wild turkey. We returned to camp and when it was dark we packed up and
rode nearly twenty miles that night to open country. I was then, and
have since been, satisfied that I saved the lives of this party.
However, a few months later I learned through the 'Arizona Miner' that
two of these men were- waylaid and killed by the Indians.
"I had taken a contract to haul
government freight from Fort Mohave to Fort Whipple, near Prescott, and
Camp Verde. There was to be about six hundred tons of freight, and the
contract commenced July 1st, 1866. I had purchased ten mule-teams of
ten mules each, also ten oxteams of twelve oxen each. With these teams
I intended to haul this freight. The country from the Colorado River to
Fort Whipple, a distance of a hundred and sixty-five miles, was
uninhabited. I was obliged to build a road first, then fit out men with
improved arms, and would generally hire men (sometimes men who were
traveling through from California would volunteer for protection) to
assist to guard the trains while en route, and improve the roads when
needed. For wagon-master and drivers I hired a party of young men who
came through. They had been driving teams on the plains from the
Missouri River to Santa Fe, New Mexico, for Russel, Majors & Co.
and were thoroughly posted on Indian tricks and Indian warfare. They
had had a little experience in the army of the South that helped
accustom them to the use of arms, and they were of the right
stripe—full of grit and dash. I believe those men would rather have
fought Indians than eat when hungry. They really enjoyed themselves.
They looked upon an Indian as a wild beast. and they always got away
with the fight. During that fall and winter many an Indian was
converted from a bad Indian into a good one, and they remained good
ever after. In fact the Indians learned to fear these drivers and gave
them a wide berth, and made but little trouble after a few brushes. I
did not lose a hoof of stock during the year those boys handled the
teams.
"I loaded the mule train with freight
about the 10th of September, and told the boys as they pulled out that
I would overtake them on the road and stop a day with them, and be at
Fort Whipple to help unload. I was detained at home two days longer
than I expected, but finally got off at 4 p. m. alone, intending to
take advantage of the darkness of the night for my protection. The
Indians were either superstitious about night or cowardly. They never
attacked at night, but were always up at daylight and would sometimes
try to stampede the herd, but with my train always lost out. I would
ride two or three hours fast,
then dismount and let my horse roll and pick grass about five or ten
minutes, then saddle up and go as fast as the horse could travel and
stand up to it. I expected to have reached the train before morning,
but it had had good luck and made more miles than I expected. I rode a
noted large buckskin horse. When daylight came I found old camping
places. I rode on until after 4 p. m., until I overtook the train, and
had ridden over a hundred and twenty miles. The train had camped on the
same ground that I had camped upon when the turkeys tried to fool me.
During the day I noticed signal smokes rise from hill and valley and
mountain tops. I could read these signal smokes. They meant war. I
could read in these pillars of smoke the number of teams I had, and the
number of men with the train.
"The question will naturally arise,
how did those Indians make those signal smokes'? In those days the
Indians had no knowledge of matches. They had no guns. Each Indian when
out on the warpath carried two sticks, one of dry stock of beargrass
with notches cut in it, and the other a hard stick like an old
fashioned fog-horn ramrod. They would place the sticks with notches on
the ground, put their feet on it, and set the other stick with the end
in the notch, then roll fast between the hands. Within half a minute
they would start a blaze of fire, caused by friction. These sticks the
Indians called 'ocacha.' They sometimes used flints. These the Indians
called' otavia.' When the fire was started they would sprinkle a little
pulverized pitch or resin on it, and this would start a black smoke
quick. Then they would ride
two or three hours fast, then dismount and let my horse roll and pick
grass about five or ten minutes, then saddle up and go as fast as the
horse could travel and stand up to it. I expected to have reached the
train before morning, but it had had good luck and made more miles than
I expected. I rode a noted large buckskin horse. When daylight came I
found old camping places. I rode on until after 4 p. m., until I
overtook the train, and had ridden over a hundred and twenty miles. The
train had camped on the same ground that I had camped upon when the
turkeys tried to fool me. During the day I noticed signal smokes rise
from hill and valley and mountain tops. I could read these signal
smokes. They meant war. I could read in these pillars of smoke the
number of teams I had, and the number of men with the train.
"The question will naturally arise,
how did those Indians make those signal smokes'? In those days the
Indians had no knowledge of matches. They had no guns. Each Indian when
out on the warpath carried two sticks, one of dry stock of beargrass
with notches cut in it, and the other a hard stick like an old
fashioned fog-horn ramrod. They would place the sticks with notches on
the ground, put their feet on it, and set the other stick with the end
in the notch, then roll fast between the hands. Within half a minute
they would start a blaze of fire, caused by friction. These sticks the
Indians called 'ocacha.' They sometimes used flints. These the Indians
called' otavia.' When the fire was started they would sprinkle a little
pulverized pitch or resin on it, and this would start a black smoke
quick. Then they would spread
a handful of green weeds or grass on the fire and a white smoke or
steam would follow. Again they would remove the grass and blow the fire
a little, and add pitch. Thus dots and dashes would be made, quite like
the old-fashioned way of telegraphing on paper. Again at night I have
seen signal fires on the side or top of mountains and a blanket or robe
passed in front of it conveyed information. There was no patent
covering this way of conveying news by the savages. I have seen on a
calm day a column of smoke with black and white spots rise near one
thousand feet high. I have known correct news concerning the movements
of United States troops in war times to be smoked through at least
three hundred miles in two or three hours, and news by courier five or
six days later would prove the news by Indians to be correct.
"As I dismounted, Jack, the
wagon-master, said: 'We will have fun to-night.' I said: 'All right,
we'll give them the best we have in the house.'
"The teams were unharnessed and
hitched to the wagons, and fed grain. There were in the train ten
drivers and one wagon-master, and two night herders. These men had
their beds on top of loads and with a wagon sheet over them, would ride
and sleep during the day. There was also a cook, and it so happened
that five tramps or extra men were along. As soon as we could get
supper the night herders took the stock, my horse included, out about
one mile in open ground to herd. Two of the drivers went along. This
time they spread their blankets under a tree and went to sleep. At a
little before day these men were called and saddled up ready for a
jump. They well knew the custom of the Indians to stampede a herd at
break of day, and the boys had fixed for them before retiring. Several
of the lead animals were hobbled side and fore so they could not run.
"With the train there was a man,
German by birth, whom they called 'Dutch Jake.' He had an old white
horse. I advised him to put his horse with the herd. This he refused to
do, and said he would take care of his own horse. So he took him some
fifty yards from camp and picketed him to a small tree, and spread his
blanket down by the tree. When I returned at 7 p. m., all was still and
quiet in camp. Having gone without sleep the previous night, and made a
long ride, I was tired and soon fell asleep. I was awakened by the
alarm clock going off in the wagon-master's bed. In five minutes all
hands, including myself, were up and dressed. The fact was that but
little undressing was done. Every man had his rifle by his side and his
revolver in his belt, so when we got up we could get up shooting if
necessary. We watched for the noble red man, who did not come but had
been. I noticed that the Dutchman's horse was missing. I called Jack,
the wagon-master, and said, 'Jack, the Indians have got the Dutchman's
horse.' He said, 'It served the fool Dutchman right, he knew so much.'
'' As soon as it got a little light,
the Dutchman went to the end of the picket rope, which had been cut. He
at once discovered prints of bare feet. He said, 'Who has been out here
mit his bare feet on?' I said, 'Indians.' Then he kicked himself and
talked broken English mixed with Dutch. Finally, as it got fairly
light, he spied his old white horse on the side of the mountain, near
the head of the little bushy rocky canyon. ' There is my horse, mein
Gott,' he exclaimed. He soon got his gun and revolver on and started
for his horse. I told him to come back, and each teamster and the
wagon-master advised him to stop with the train, but go he would. We
all saw the trap and I watched the poor fellow climbing to be shot. The
herd came in, and by this time the Dutchman had reached a little open
space near his horse, when he suddenly stopped, fired his rifle, and
gave a peculiar moan and yell. I well remember the different
expressions made by the boys. One said, 'The Dutchman has got his
dose.' Another remarked : 'We will have Jake for breakfast. We will mix
a little Indian with Dutch.' After dropping his gun the poor fellow
made fast time for camp. One of the boys said, 'He doesn't want his
horse.' Another said, 'He'll have no further use for a horse, he won't
get back.' The poor Dutchman got within thirty yards of camp and fell.
I got hold of a canteen of water and ran to assist him, but he was
dead. I pulled six arrows out of his back and sides. The blood ran out
of his mouth and nose.
"While looking at the dead man I
heard a little stir in camp. I looked up and saw all the horses saddled
(we could not depend upon a mule in a fight). My horse was also
saddled. I inquired what was up. Jack said, 'We are going after Mister
Indian.' I said, 'Let me go too.' 'No, you stay in camp, they may
attack yet,' Jack, the wagon-master, said. 'I will take Dick, Tom and
Joe, and take to the left for that open ground beyond. Sam, you take
those other three boys and climb up that open ridge to the right, and
get there, you know.' These men threw themselves into the saddle and
rode the horses up the rocky steep in remarkably quick time. The
Indian, when he gets hold of a horse, hates to lose him again. They had
double hobbled the Dutchman's horse, and tied him to a tree, so the
horse could not be easily freed. As the Indians saw the boys coming two
of them attempted to free the horse and ride him away, but Sam was too
quick for them. He rode to within about one hundred yards of the horse
and dismounted, and left one man to hold the horses. The other three
opened fire just as one Indian had got on the horse, and the other was
climbing on. Result, both Indians were instantly killed. I then heard
Jack fire. He had dismounted and left one man to hold the horses, and
the three opened fire on the red devils as they skedaddled through the
brush. I had not eyes enough. I could not see all that was going on at
once. I enjoyed the sport hugely.
"Sam soon got back to camp. He had
peeled the scalps from the two Indians he had killed. He also had their
bows and quivers of arrows. These scalps were fastened to the bridles
of the lead mules or forward team, and the long black hair would wave
and frizzle around. These scalps had to be taken as a sort of voucher
that good Indians had actually been made. Jack soon returned to camp
without scalps. He reported: 'As soon as I dismounted, I saw a big
Indian dressed in buckskin, with a feather in his cap, painted black.
He was not fifty yards from me and seemed to be giving orders. I put my
rifle to my face and pulled for his heart. At the crack of my rifle he
jumped about three feet in the air, gave a whoop and fell, and began
crawling off into the brush. Several other Indians came to his
assistance, so I got one more fair shot, and the boys all got two good
shots each.
" 'I think that old fellow was a
chief,' Jack continued. 'I would.like to have had his scalp, but did
not care to crawl around in the brush to hunt dead or wounded Indians,
as I well know that as long as there is life in an Indian he will fight
back. He is like a wounded wolf or bear.'
"During all this time the cook had
been perfectly oblivious of what was going on. He had cooked breakfast;
the balance of the teamsters had harnessed up and fed the teams, and a
man had set at work and dug a shallow grave. The Dutchman was wrapped
in his blanket and buried under a large juniper tree, without ceremony
or prayers. It would have frightened a tramp to have heard some of the
remarks that were made at that breakfast.
"When breakfast was over, Jack said:
'We have the start of the Indians, and there must be over a hundred at
least around our camp. Our trouble is not yet over, for they may try to
retaliate, but we will keep on the safe side.'
"I was ready to obey orders, and so
informed the wagon-master. Said he: 'We may be attacked in the canyon
ahead. You take those three men and follow the rear of the train, and I
will take these other men and keep along ahead on the side of the
canyon, so I can defend the advance.'
"We went all right for three or four
miles, when I heard Jack's rifle crack, and a 'whoa' all along the
line. I jumped on a rock and saw the sport. Jack had scared a fine buck
out of the thicket, and about the second jump the buck made, Jack shot
him through the heart. The buck made a few more jumps, and fell in the
road not five feet ahead of the lead team, dead. The team started to
turn and stampede, but a little help from the cook stopped them, and
got them around all right. The entrails were taken out of the deer, and
its carcass thrown on the wagon to be served for supper.
"Again we started down the rough
road. Soon Jack and one of his men fired four or five times. Again I
looked and found they had killed two wild turkeys. These were also
thrown on the wagon.
"About two p. m., we came to a little
prairie and a small spring of cold water. We camped and turned in. I at
once wrapped myself in my blanket and fell asleep, only to awake
suddenly. I dreamed I was in an Indian fight and got shot, and as I
jumped up the boys had a good laugh. However, I soon got to sleep
again. At 6 p. m., I was awakened for supper. We had venison, roast;
broiled and stewed turkey a la campfire. I was hungry, and particularly
hungry for wild meat, and I got outside of an immense quantity of this
choice fat game. Is there a man living who has spent a few years on the
frontier, or even went out on a hunt and cooked by a camp fire that
does not relish choice game when cooked to order to suit his taste ?
"After supper was over and night came
on, I saddled my horse and rode to Prescott. a distance of about
forty-five miles, arriving in Prescott before daylight.
"As soon as the teams had arrived and
unloaded, they started back. I waited in Prescott five days, then left
at sunset, reaching the train at Juniper, at the same camp that had
been made on the way out. The boys had killed three deer and one bear,
so meat was plenty, but they saw no signs of Indians. I travelled with
the train the next day, then travelled during the night and arrived
home during the next night, making the trip, one hundred and sixty-five
miles, in three nights.
"A word about these young men who
formed this little crew of teamsters or band of scouts. They were all
bricks, and had not a cowardly hair in their heads. Several of them
live in this Territory at the present time. During the two years that
these men were in my employ, not one got killed or wounded. Three men
in my employ who were at work repairing the road near Union Pass were
killed by Indians during the summer of 1866. Their names were Thomas
McCall, William Brown, and John Kil- lian. McCall was caught in the
same kind of a trap that the Dutchman was. A horse had been stolen.
McCall followed and got in sight of it, but was filled with arrows
before reaching his property.
"This trap business is an old game of
the Indians. General Custer was caught in a trap. When Custer saw the
Indians in force, had he fallen back to high ground and allowed the
Indians to attack him, he might have got away with the fight. A man to
deal with hostile Indians must have no fear. He must look and laugh the
Indians in the face, though danger and death is at hand. It won't do to
weaken.
I was several times within the ten
years from 1864 to 1874 in tight places among Indians, but got out. I
never feared but that an Indian would run or get behind a shelter to
get an advantage. When I had the advantage, I cared but little for an
Indian. I looked upon them as upon wild animals. They are wild human
beings, and when hostile are but little better than a wolf or bear.
Killing makes good Indians of them.
"About the wild game that was in
Arizona at that time. The mountains were alive with game. The
particular section described lies between two tribes of Indians, the
Wallapais, sometimes spelled in Spanish, Hualapais, and Yavapais, or
Apaches. As these tribes were at war they dare not hunt or be found in
small parties in this country.
"It was not uncommon in travelling
through the Aztec Pass, to see two or three hundred deer and antelope
in a day. A little to the north of this there were large bands of elk.
There was also the brown, the cross, and the cinnamon bear, too plenty
for fun. There were also many car- niverous animals: the cougar, the
panther, the large grey wolf, and coyotes without number. Turkeys and
quail were quite common.
"I have known three crack shots to
leave Prescott in the fall of the year, and in camping on this divide,
kill a four horse wagon load of game in three days, and return to
Prescott, not being gone from home but six days in all. Sam accompanied
this crowd. At one time as a band of antelopes ran past him, he emptied
his Spencer six shooter rifle at them, killing five, and wounding three
more that they got the next day. The five were shot through the heart
at a distance of from a hundred and fifty to two hundred yards, the
antelope on the dead run at that. You would hardly think they had time
to get their guns to their faces before they would fire, and the game
would fall. This game has all been driven out or killed off, and the
whole country around is overstocked with cattle and horses. Game is
rarely seen, but there are cattle on a thousand hills."
The last expedition of King Woolsey,
which is given in the preceding volume, was directed against the
warlike tribes along the Colorado River, and, naturally it had a
tendency to deter the Indians from open and aggressive warfare, but
their sentinels were along every road on the lookout for plunder.
In the winter of 1867, according to
Judge E. W. Wells, of Prescott, one night, when the faro banks and
saloons were running at high speed in Prescott, there came into one of
the principal saloons a Mexican youth, garbed as an Apache. He
explained that he had been taken captive a few years before by the
Indians, and that two of them had a camp upon the hill adjacent to the
present waterworks of Prescott, where they had kept a lookout for two
or three years previous. Prom this place they could spy upon Fort
Whipple and the town of Prescott and locate every outgoing body of
citizens or soldiers. He said that the two bucks who had accompanied
him had left their camp in the early evening for further investigation
around Fort Whipple, and he proposed to conduct a party to their
camping ground, that they might be ambushed and killed or captured upon
their return. There was some delay in organizing the party, and when
they reached the camp they found signs that the Indians had returned
and, not finding the Mexican captive, had immediately fled. This will
illustrate the policy pursued by the Indians at that time, which was to
send out scouts in all directions, so they were advised at all times of
any party leaving Pres- cott or Whipple on any excursion into the
Indian country, and it was extremely dangerous for any party of two or
three to go in any direction without exercising great caution and care,
for at any time their lives might pay the forfeit of their temerity.
An interesting happening in Arizona,
which, unfortunately, bears no date, but which may have occurred in
either of the years 1865, 1866, 1867 or 1868, was the providing of the
first Christmas tree. A description of this, taken from Orick Jackson's
"The White Conquest of Arizona," is as follows:
"There is one Arizonan alive to-day
who holds a unique station among men, and who enjoys a distinction that
is beautiful and praiseworthy. His name is J. N. Rodenburg, and to him
belongs the honor of being the first man who conceived the idea of
zealously and fervently observing the birth of the Savior in a wild
land, and providing the first Christmas tree to be erected in Arizona.
This tribute to Christianity was initiated by him under conditions that
would seem in this day of peace and plenty as difficult of execution,
but those who are yet alive bear evidence to it in its every detail.
"Every desert has its oasis. When the
day arrived that Arizona was to have its first Christmas tree, and the
birth of the Savior was to be fittingly celebrated, there was evidence
of much humorous curiosity among the frontiersmen as to how the plan
was to be carried out. Where were the goods and wares, toys, candies,
and the like to be had? And where were the children to come from to
brighten the occasion, as is so customary in events of this character?
A census was taken and in the skirmish seven eligible 'kids' were
rounded up, together with a half a dozen others who were still young,
but grown tall. Mr. Rodenburg then got into the theological harness,
and, with an escort of six men went into the woods to get the tree end
of the occasion. A beautiful fir was secured, and the Indians permitted
the party to return in safety. This tree was erected in Rodenburg's
house, and thus was the 'big doings' started. A call was issued to the
public for the presents to ornament the tree. In that day, over forty
years ago, the stores carried absolutely nothing in the line of toys or
trinkets, candies or bonbons, and it was here that the first serious
problem confronted the committee. A big stock of brown sugar was
purchased, and, with the assistance of a New Orleans negro, three kinds
of blackjack were skillfully moulded. This settled the sweet end of the
programme, the candy being encased in manilla paper bags glued together
with flour paste. The tree must have illumination, so the market was
searched for all the tallow candles obtainable. These were cut in two,
and after being tied to the limbs with ordinary twine, another obstacle
was conquered. There was a scarcity of ribbons to give the scene the
beauty and brilliancy necessary, but the bottom of every trunk was
scoured among the ladies who had recently arrived from the east, and a
few bolts were donated. Various crude toys and goods were then
manufactured by men conversant with the handling of tools, or skilled
in such handiwork. Quite a respectable collection was secured in this
manner, everybody contributing something that he either could
manufacture or purchase. But the most important consideration yet faced
the committee, and that was to secure music for the event. An inventory
of the burg disclosed that there was but one musical instrument to be
found—a violin, out of tune, and minus a string. The owner was
conversant with but one air—The Arkansaw Traveller. This was
humiliating to the directors, but there must be melody, and after the
operator was admonished to play something half way through and then to
repeat it with a change in cadence, the day arrived for the
event—Arizona's first Christmas tree.
"The little home was jammed, and the
men who usually wore hard-looking countenances, and in their reckless
careers were accustomed to the rougher side of human life, recalled the
long ago in old New England when they, too, were young, and when they
also went up to get what was coming as their names were called out by
the Superintendent of the Sunday School. So they weakened, as it were,
and each gave himself up to the spirit of the day with a joyousness
that was in harmony with their lives when they were home with the old
folks beyond the Rockies. Mr. Rodenburg says that electric bulbs may
glow in many colors from the Christmas trees of the present day,
trained voices may chant the melodies, diamonds and gilt-edged presents
may ornament the garments, children may devour the many colored sweets
that are run out by the ton, but that that old blackjack was just as
good, that old tree was just as handsome, and above it all there was
the genuine and the devoted spirit around that old Christmas tree of
long ago that cannot be duplicated, because, he says, we did not mix
the occasion then, as they do now, with discrimination and
commercialism— we gave them all a run for their money."
History of Arizona By Thomas
Edwin Farish
Hardyville is now called Bullhead City