To Brian P. D. Duppa, known to old timers as Darrell Duppa, a prominent member of the Swilling party, belongs the honor of suggesting the name of "Phoenix" for the settlement.

Duppa was an Englishman of good family and scholarly attainments, and had come to Arizona at an early day, about 1863, from California.

Regarding the name of the Salt River settlement, and casting at the same time a horoscope of its future, Sylvester Mowry, wrote as follows in October of 1870:

"The man who first named the present settlement did so with a last gasp at his classics, calling it 'Phoenix,' and did well in so doing. Today's civilization rises from the ashes of the past. It is doubtful if the new will surpass the old masonry, water ditches or pottery, but it will infinitely go beyond it in production, in refinement, in the useful arts, in population, and in the space that it will fill in the history of Arizona and that of the American continent."

Herbert R. Patrick, of Phoenix, gives the following personal description of Darrell Duppa.

"Duppa, like most men of his race, was tall and inclined to slenderness, had thin features, a rather poor complexion, while he wore his hair, which was inclined to curl, somewhat long."

But little is known of Duppa's early history, although it is said by Mr. John McDerwin, in 1914 a resident of Mohave County and at one time among Duppa's intimate friends, "that the latter was the son of an English nobleman and, at an early day had entered the English army, reaching the rank of Colonel

in that organization; that while still occupying this rank he had trouble with a brother officer of the same grade, which resulted in a duel, his opponent being killed; that Colonel Duppa then resigned his military commission and left his native land, finally coming to America; that his relatives and friends later made every effort they could to induce him to return to the homeland, without success; that he was what is commonly called a 'remittance man,' receiving from England the sum of $3,000 every four months through Dr. O. J. Thibodo, at one time a practicing physician and druggist of Phoenix.

Like most of the early residents of Arizona, Duppa was somewhat extravagant in his habits, and oftentimes, it is said, his rather large remittance was spent long before it reached him.

Coming with the first settlers, Duppa squatted upon a piece of land in the valley, and farmed it for several seasons. On February 1st, 1871, he settled on the quarter section immediately to the west of Jake Starar's place, which he afterwards sold to John B. Montgomery, and it was later known as Montgomery's addition to the city of Phoenix.

He next conducted what was called the "Agua Fria Station" on the Phoenix-Wickenburg road, which was known to travellers for its good appointments. Here he had much trouble with roving bands of hostile Indians and once, in March, 1872, when out cutting hay at some distance from the station with one of his Mexican helpers, they were attacked by a band of fourteen savages, and in the fight which followed Duppa was wounded in the leg. In John G.

Bourke's "On the Border with Crook," is found the following description of Duppa's Agua Fria Station:

"The antipodes of Townsend's rancho, as its proprietor was the antipodes of Townsend himself, was the 'station' of Darrell Duppa at the 'sink' of the same Agua Fria, some fifty miles below. Darrell Duppa was one of the queerest specimens of humanity, as his ranch was one of the queerest examples to be found in Arizona, and I might add, in New Mexico and Sonora as well. There was nothing superfluous about Duppa in the way of flesh, neither was there anything about the station that could be regarded as superfluous, either in furniture or ornament. Duppa was credited with being the wild, harum-scarum son of an English family of respectability, his father having occupied a position in the diplomatic or consular service of Great Britain, and the son having been born in Marseilles. Rumor had it that Duppa spoke several languages, French, Spanish, Italian and German; that he understood the classics, and that, when sober, he used faultless English. I can certify to his employment of excellent French and Spanish, and what had to my ears the sound of pretty good Italian, and I know, too, that he was hospitable to a fault, and not afraid of man or devil. Three bullet wounds, received in three different fights with the Apaches, attested his grit, although they might not be accepted as equally conclusive evidence of good judgment. The site of his 'location' was in the midst of the most uncompromising piece of desert in a region which boasts of possessing

more desert land than any other territory in the Union. The surrounding hills and mesas yielded a perennial crop of cacti, and little of anything else. The dwelling itself was nothing but a 'ramada'; a term which has already been defined as a roof of branches; the walls were of rough, unplastered wattle work, of the thorny branches of the ironwood, no thicker than a man's finger, which was lashed by thongs of rawhide to horizontal slats of cottonwood; the floor of the bare earth, of course, that almost went without saying in those days, and the furniture rather too simple and meagre, even for Carthusians. As I recall the place to mind, there appears the long unpainted table of pine, which served for meals or gambling, or the rare occasion when anyone took into his head the notion to write a letter. This room constituted the ranch in its entirety. Along the sides were scattered piles of blankets, which, about midnight, were spread out as couches for tired laborers or travellers. At one extremity a meagre array of Dutch ovens, flat irons and frying pans revealed the 'kitchen' presided over by a hirsute, husky voiced gnome, half Vulcan, half centaur, who, immersed for most of the day in the mysteries of the larder, at stated intervals broke the silence with the hoarse command: 'Hash pile, come a runnin.' There is hardly any use to describe the rifles, pistols, belts of ammunition, saddles, spurs, and whips, which lined the walls and covered the joists and cross beams; they were just as much part and parcel of the establishment as the dogs and ponies were. To keep out the sand laden wind, which blew fiercely down from the

north, when it wasn't blowing down with equal fierceness from the south or the west, or the east, strips of canvas or gunny sacking were tacked on the inner side of the cactus branches. My first visit to this Elysium was made about midnight, and I remember that the meal served up was unique, if not absolutely paralyzing on the score of originality. There was a great plenty of Mexican figs in rawhide sacks, fairly good tea, which had the one great merit of hotness, and lots and lots of whisky; but there was no bread, as the supply of flour had run short, and, on account of the appearance of Apaches during the past few days, it had not been considered wise to send a party over to Phoenix for replenishment. A wounded Mexican, lying down in one corner, was proof that the story was well founded. All the light in the ranch was afforded by a single stable lantern, by the flickering flames from the cook's stove, and the glinting stars. In our saddlebags we had several slices of bacon and some biscuits, so we did not fare half so badly as we might have done. What caused me most wonder was why Duppa had ever concluded to live in such a forlorn spot; the best answer I could get to my queries was that the Apaches had attacked him at the moment he was approaching the banks of the Agua Fria at this point, and after he had repulsed them, he thought he would stay there merely to let them know he could do it. This explanation was satisfactory to everyone else, and I had to accept it."

Later Duppa made his home in Phoenix, where he passed away in the later 80's and was