The Arizona Miner
Prescott, Arizona Territory
January 20th, 1872
We arrived at Camp Date Creek late at night, and we found the
sutler open, with the owner Geo. H. Kimball ready to receive us,
which he did, in a very hospitable manner. The buildings
comprising the military post of Camp Date Creek are of adobe,-
neat, clean and comfortable. The site and surrounding are as good
and fair to look upon as could well be found in the section of
country of which the post is, or ought to be, the protector of.
Imagine a bunch of whitewashed houses, many of them covered with
shingles, in the middle of a valley, surrounded by very rough
granite hills, which show and grow but few trees; then a creek,
in whose bed and along whose banks cottonwood and willow grow
thickly, and expand to goodly proportions. Upon first glancing at
the “creek,” a stranger would think it contained no water, but,
dig down into the debris which fills its bed, or follow its
course to some point where bedrock comes to the surface, and it
will be seen that Date Creek does contain water. The post was
located in this valley mainly with the object in view of
rendering protection to mails, trains and travelers, in which,
however, it has not distinguished itself, for various reasons. It
may, however, have, done some good. It might have done a great
deal more good. Near it are mines of gold, silver and copper,
none of which, however, are now being worked.
The stage with Captain 3.P. Hargrave, Mr. Bunken, John L. Taylor,
T. Gleason, Miss Dunn, Gertrude, the woman—slayer, and poor
unfortunate Adams, who soon after, met an untimely fate, at the
hands of Camp Date Creek Indians, having passed on, ourself and
traveling companion retired for the night, and soon after having
breakfasted next morning (Sunday), had the “pleasure” of
witnessing Lieutenant Ebstein and two assistants issue corn and
beef to a lot of Indians, which issue was squarely made. Most all
the Indians seen by us wore Apache-Yuma moccasins. Men, women and
children appeared pleased, and we turned away filled with hope
that at last our red brethren to the westward of Prescott had
made up their minds to be “good.” How badly we were fooled is
known to every person who has heard of the “Wickenburg Massacre,”
by Indians of the Apache-Yuma and Apache-Mohave bands; perhaps
Indians, who, with smiling countenances, had, on that pleasant,
peaceful Sabbath morning, taken bread and meat purchased with
funds supplied by the white people! Oh!, faithless, cruel red
men, what demon, or demons, is it, that incites you to murder,
rob and torture your fellow—creatures, when, were you to do
otherwise, peace, plenty, and protection from all harm would,
most certainly, be yours! But, perhaps, it is ordained of God,
that the mission for which your race was sent on Earth for, is
almost accomplished, and that, after its final accomplishment,
there will be no longer any need for your “services.” So be it,
say we.
Off for Wickenburg: It was 10 o’clock in the forenoon when Major
The Arizona Miner- Continued.
Veil got through with his business at the post, and, after having
bade goodbye to friends, we again took the road, passing on the
way down the creek, other “landmarks” where the Indian guests
just left behind; or others of their tribe, had lain behind rocks
and brush, and from such safe retreats, shot down unwary white
men. Only two ranches— those of S.T. Cullumber and Wm. Gilson—
were seen by us, yet there is enough good bottom land for several
other rancheros.
