Days Past
The Prescott Courier
Monday, June 11, 1990
Lonely, forgotten grave
belies captain’s heroism
By Bill W. Smith
Special to the Courier
Perhaps it was fitting that my res
earch on old Camp Date Creek, an
abandoned military post of the Ari
zona Territorial Indian Wars, led
me to the Prescott National Cemete
ry last Memorial Day weekend.
There, in grave No. 10, row D,
section 2, lies the lonely and forgott
en grave of Philip Dwyer, captain
of the 5th Calvary, who swept
across Arizona history and into
legend.
His grave marker bearing just
name and rank seems lost among
the newer stones surrounding it.
Philip Dwyer was born in Ireland
about 1837 and emigrated to the Uni
ted States atan early age.
He enlisted in the service on Aug.
21, 1858, joining the Old 2nd, which
later became the 5th Cavalry. He
rose to the rank of quartermaster
sergeant by 1862 when he was comm
issioned 2nd and 1st lieutenant,
and was promoted to the rank of
captain in 1866.
Just a few of the many Civil War
engagements Philip Dwyer partici.
pated in include The Battle of Bull
Run, The Charge at Fairfax Court
House, The Manassas, Virginia Pen
insular, Antitum and the battle of
Fredricksburg.
He was captured near Charleston
in 1864, and held as a prisoner of
war for the remainder of the
conflict.
On Feb. 11, 1872, Capt. Dwyer arr
ived at Camp Date Creek, Arizona
Territory, where he commanded
Company E, 5th Cavalry.
Located 60 miles southwest of
Prescott, and on the junction of the
Prescott, Wickenburg and La Paz
roads, Camp Date Creek was establ
ished in 1867.
The main purpose of Camp Date
Creek vas to help reduce Indian att
acks on wagon trains traveling the
roads, by providing them with milit
ary escorts.
From Camp Date Creek, Capt.
Dwyer headed many scouting exp
editions into the Territory against
marauding Indians.
During the month of Aug. 1872,
Capt. Dwyer was acting post comm
ander, and the only commiss
ioned officer left at the post, when
he died of an unknown illness Aug.
29, 1872.
“On the Border With Crook,” by
John G. Bourke, describes the
death and funeral of Capt. Dwyer.
“The surroundings were most
dismal and squalid; all the furnit
ure in the room in which the corpse
lay was two and three plain wooden
chairs, the bed occupied as des
cribed, and a pine table upon
which stood a candlestick, with the
candle melted and burned in the
socket.
“Dwyer had been ‘ailing’ for seve
ral days, but no one could tell exa
ctly what was the matter with
him; and, of course, no one susp
ected that one so strong and athlet
ic could be in danger of death.
“One of the enlisted men of his
company, a bright young trumpet
er, was sitting up with him, and
about the hour of midnight, Dwyer
became a trifie uneasy and asked:
‘Can you sing that new song, ‘Put
Me Under The Daisies?”
“Oh, yes Captain,’ replied the
trumpeter, ‘I have often sung it and
will gladly sing it now.’
“So he began to sing, very
sweetly, the ditty, which seemed to
calm the nervousness of his superi
or officer. But the candle had
burned down in the socket, and
when the young soldier went to rep
lace it, he could find neither
candle nor match, and he saw in the
ifickering light and shadow that the
face of the Captain was strangely
set, and of a ghastly purplish hue.
“The trumpeter ran swiftly to the
nearest house to get another light,
and to call for help, but upon returni
ng found the Captain dead.
“Many strange sights have I
seen, but none that produced a
stranger or more pathetic appeal to
my emotions than the funeral of
Phil Dwyer; we got together just as
good an apology for a coffin as that
timberless country would furnish,
and then wrapped our dead friend
in his regimentals, and all hands
were than ready to start for the
cemetery.
“At the head marched Mr. Hug
us, Doctor Williams (the Indian
agent) myself, and Lieutenant Hay,
of the Twenty-third Infantry, who
arrived at the post early in the
morning; then came the troop of Cav
alry, dismounted and all the civil
ians living in and around the
camp; and lastly every Indian —
man, woman, or child — able to
walk or toddle, for all of them,
young or old, good or bad, loved
Phil Dwyer.
“The soldiers and civilians
formed in one line at the head of the
grave, and the Apache-Yumas in
two long lines at right angles to
them, and on each side. The few,
short, expressive, and tender sent
ences of the burial service were
read, then the bugles sang taps, and
three volleys were fired across the
hills, the clods rattled down on the
breast of the dead, and the cerem
ony was over.”
Camp Date Creek was abandoned
in August of 1873, one year after the
burial of Captain Dwyer. The post
cemetery at Camp Date Creek with
the remains of 28 soldiers and 14
civilians, was to be neglected and
forgotten for the next 19 years.
In 1892 the government removed
the remains of all the military pers
onnel at Camp Date Creek, and reb
uried most of them at the Presidio
in San Francisco.
The remains of Capt. Philip
Dwyer, however, the only commiss
ioned officer buried at Camp Date
Creek, were transported the 60
miles up the old wagon road to their
final resting place in the Prescott
National Cemetery.
As I left the cemetery a newsp
aper reporter approached me
looking for a Memorial Day story.
When I showed him the grave
marker of Capt. Philip Dwyer, and
started to tell his story, he interj
ected, “That’s neat, but I’m looki
ng for a good human interest story,
from someone that has a relative
buried here.”
