Excerpt from Arizoniana by Marshall Trimble, the state’s official historian.

The first recorded Christmas in Arizona, north of the Gila River, took place in 1853 at the foot of the snowy San Francisco Peaks. And it was a wild and woolly affair. The celebrants were the Army Corps of Topographical Engineers, their military escorts and helpers who were, at the time, mapping a future transcontinental highway and railroad line across Arizona.

This region had only recently become a part of the United States and the Corps, America’s frontier rendition of the astronauts, were called upon to explore and map it. The officer in charge was a quiet, reserved young man named Lieutenant Amiel Whipple. Earlier, Whipple had equipped and provisioned his men at Albuquerque and headed towards northern Arizona along the 35th parallel. By December 23 they reached the San Francisco Peaks and a heavy snowfall brought the expedition to a halt near the site of today’s Flagstaff. Since the next day was Christmas Eve, Whipple decided to pause and let the bone-weary men and animals rest.

While unpacking the mules, Lieutenant John Jones discovered a supply of rum and wine cached by the men, no doubt, to gladden hearts on the long, lonesome journey. He also found a carton of fresh eggs that had somehow survived the rigorous journey. This unexpected surprise inspired the lieutenant to prepare a special Christmas eggnog. Late the following afternoon, while the cooks were preparing a Christ­mas meal, Jones was mixing bottles of liquid refreshment in a huge kettle hung over a hot fire. Next he stirred in the eggs, then added a few items from his own secret recipe. That evening, all hands were invited to dip their tin cups and make merry.

The next few hours were spent gathered around a camp-fire. “We sat in a circle,” one wrote, “smoked, drank toasts and told jokes—hearts became lighter, blood ran more swiftly in veins, and all joined in a hearty songfest that echoed through ravines and mountains …”

The celebration was, appropriately enough, multicultural. The joyous Mexicans sang their native songs complete with whoops and howls and performed a moving pastoral. A couple of them had been captives of the Navajo and they performed dances learned during years of captivity. The Americans bellowed traditional Christmas carols learned in their youth.

Earlier, Whipple had dispensed some of the surplus gunpowder to the Mexican herders who proceeded to use it in the celebration. At first they fired pistols and rifles into the air but soon graduated to salvos, the resounding shock waves knocked clumps of snow from the pine branches. The event reached a sparkling climax with an impromptu fire­works. Someone threw a firebrand into a dry pine tree. The dead needles, rich in resin, sent flames and sparks high above the trees. Soon, every lone pine in the area was lit up like a roman candle. During the revelry, the intrepid old scout, Antoine Leroux, looked around suspiciously and declared, “What a splendid opportunity it would be for the Indians to surprise us tonight!”

Well, there were no war parties on the prod that night and after all the booze and surplus gunpowder was gone, the hearty celebrants crawled into their bedrolls to sleep it off. According to Baldwin Mollhausen, a German artist and naturalist who chronicled the expedition, Christmas Day was “spent in perfect quiet . . .”—a euphemistic way of saying all hands were a little hungover. But they hadn’t forgotten the true meaning of Christmas, for Mollhausen added poetically, “We looked up at the sublime summits of the San Francisco Mountains and needed no temple made with hands wherein to worship our Creator.”

Excerpt from Arizoniana by Marshall Trimble, the state’s official historian.