Rolf Boldrewood
War to the Knife
And here he began to hum a song in which the glories of Britain on land and sea were set forth, and for the moment forgot his virtuous indignation against the occupation of Taharaimaka and the injustice of the Waitara business.
And so the war progressed, sometimes with passages of toilsome marching, daring attack of pah or redoubt, hairbreadth escapes, wounds, and inevitable incidents of warfare. Ever and anon a brilliant surprise, a masterly manɶuvre on the part of the troops or allies, followed by an ambuscade planned by the natives with consummate skill, or a desperate stand in their entrenchments, where the loss of officers was unduly great, and the rank and file suffered severely. When it was considered that nearly three years had elapsed in a campaign where ten thousand British regulars, and nearly as many volunteers and native allies, were arrayed against the Maoris, who at no time could have had five thousand men in the field, it seemed amazing that no decisive victory should have been obtained.
"Talk of its being 'one of Britain's little wars,' as the newspapers call it!" grumbled Mr. Slyde. "My belief is that it is going to last as long as that confounded Carthaginian business. How they used to bore us with it at school! Beginning bad enough – end probably worse. Fellows die of old age, unless we hurry up."
"It does drag fearfully; it's only bearable when we're in action. This lagging guerilla business, with such a commissariat – all the privations of war, and none of the excitement – is simply unendurable. However, when Warwick comes in from his scouting prowl we may hear something."
"Wonder he doesn't get 'chopped' some of these fine days. Certainly manages to pick up information in a wonderful way. Von Tempsky says he's thrown away upon us two. Wants to get him for scout business pure and simple."
"For some inscrutable reason he has attached himself to me," said Massinger. "I suggested that he might do good service by acting in that capacity – alone. He didn't take kindly to it at all – seemed hurt; so I let him alone."
"Best thing you could do. Not a bad thing to have a fidus Achates born a Trojan. Put you up to their wiles. Shouldn't wonder if he'd given you a hand as it is?"
"Now I come to think of it, he did once. We were having some brisk work that day at Katikara, where we couldn't dislodge the natives from the redoubt. The firing was sharp, when he motioned me to change position. The next minute a bullet struck the tree just where I had been standing, and a fellow put his head over the parapet to see if he had bagged me. Warwick was waiting for him, and as he fired I saw my friend fling up his arms and fall backward."
"'Close call!' as the backwoodsmen say; but that sort of thing's all luck. Look at Ropata! You'd think he stood up on purpose to be shot at – shilling a shot kind of business. Never been touched yet. No wonder they call him 'Waha Waha.' 'The devil or some untoward saint' has an eye to him, the Tohungas say."
"He's a grand soldier. It's lucky for us that he's on our side. Reckless and ruthless, a true Ngatiporou. – Hallo! what tribe do you belong to?" continued he, as he pointed to a tall Maori standing within a few paces of them. "Why, it's Warwick! How in the world did you get so close to us without our hearing you?"
"Only in the way some Waikato will sneak you, lieutenant, if you are not more careful – when you'll be shot before you have time to lift your hand. My native relatives taught me that and other things when I was young."
"And what news have you? Anything important?"
"That's as it may be. Large bodies of the Ngaiterangi have commenced to move forward towards the Orakau. We shall have a big affair soon. I fell in with a scout of the Arawa named Taranui, and he was of the same way of thinking. Said the Ngaiterangi were closing up. But I must deliver my report at headquarters first."
Whereupon Warwick departed. He had divested himself of his European garments, and was attired chiefly in a flax mat (pureke), a tapona (war-cloak), and other strictly Maori habiliments, with a heitiki suspended from his neck; his muscular arms and lower leg were bare. He looked so like a native that only by close inspection could he be detected.
"The gods be praised!" said Mr. Slyde, fervently. "Men getting mouldy here. Another month or two like this would demoralize them. Out of hand a trifle already. Look at Warwick! Doesn't he glide along, at that half run, half walk of the natives? At this distance no one would take him for a white man. Have all the news when he comes to supper."
With this hope before them, the friends addressed themselves to such occupations as were available, and awaited the evening meal, when Warwick would have an opportunity of unloading his budget. When the bugle-call sounded the welcome invitation, they descried him lounging down from the other end of the camp in undress uniform, having taken the opportunity to remove every trace of his recent experiences.
"And now for your adventures, Warwick," said Massinger, as, having settled to the after-supper pipe, the little party seated themselves on a rude bench constructed of fern stems some ten feet in length, and supported on blocks of the pahautea. "It doesn't happen to rain now, wonderful to relate, and the moon, taking heart and encouragement, 'diffuses her mild rays,' as the poets say, through this ancient and darksome woodland. Did you see any of the Ngaiterangi?"
"I did indeed, nearer than I liked," answered Warwick; "and but for a lucky chance they would have seen me, in which case you would never have seen me again – alive that is."
"Thrilling in the extreme," assented Mr. Slyde. "What was it – a taua?"
"More than that; a whole hapu– a strong one too, women and all. They were travelling fast, and heading straight for Kihikihi."
"How far off were you?"
"Barely sixty yards. What saved me was that I was in the bed of a creek, among the ferns on the edge of the water. I had just been going to climb to the top, when I heard a girl laugh. I could scarcely believe my ears. However, I crawled up and peeped through the manuka. Sure enough, there they were, three hundred strong, besides women and children – marching in close order, too. If they had straggled at all I was a gone man."
"So they didn't see you?"
"No. What saved me was a bend in the creek, which they had crossed higher up; so they steered for the other point which they could see – there are some rocks on the bank – and left me in the loop of the circle. If they had struck the creek nearer to me, I must have been seen. But they had camped at the other point, and having had their kai, were marching to recover the time. I was very glad when I saw their backs."
"How long would they be in reaching Kihi-kihi?"
"Not before tomorrow night. Their intention is, of course, to get into Orakau and strengthen the defences. There's only a sufficient number there now to hold the earthworks against a moderate force."
"What do you think the general will do?"
"Move to intercept them before they can get into the pah."
"And is there time for the march?"
"Barely. Don't be surprised if we have the order to start at daylight. I went back on their trail for the rest of that day, and found that they had only made one halt, having come right through from Maungatautari. Just at nightfall I picked up the tracks of Taranui, and got to his camp, in a cave that I knew all about."
"Then you compared notes?"
"Yes. He says it will be the biggest fight of the war; that Waka Nene and Patuone were on the march, with every warrior of the Ngapuhi and the Rarawa. Mannering and Waterton were with them, also Erena. Taranui said she never leaves her father. There were many other women, which makes me think that it is a more serious affair than usual."
"Why should that be?" asked Massinger, heroically concealing his personal interest in this phase of the expedition.
"Because they do not care to leave them at home. They have a notion that in case of defeat the Waikatos might double back and raid their villages."
"What an absurd idea! Surely they can't imagine that, with the forces at our command, such a thing could be possible!"
"Such things have happened in old days," said Slyde. "Defeated tribe suffered horrors unspeakable. Ngapuhis felt no hesitation in inflicting when they were uppermost. Tribal custom. No grounds of complaint if they receive same in turn."
"Fortunately, there's no slavery now; otherwise," said Warwick, "one could hardly describe the condition of a conquered tribe. The missionaries may be thanked for that. I have heard tales that would make your hair stand on end."
"Much worse than could happen now?" asked Massinger.
"Worse – worse a hundredfold. First of all, the old and helpless would be killed and eaten – yes, eaten before their blood was cold. Any particular family among the captors that had lost relatives would have men or women handed over to them to torture at their pleasure; and great pleasure it seemed to be to prolong the agony and refine the cruelty. All the able-bodied men and women would be carried off as slaves – not only to be used as beasts of burden, but to be held degraded for life as having been slaves. Their lot was a hard one, though occasionally some lived through it, and were now and then freed. Others became distinguished, like Te Waharoa."
"I have heard his history," said Massinger. "What a remarkable man he must have been!"
"He was indeed. Found crying, a small child, among the ruins of his pah at Wanganui, and carried away to Rotorua by Pango, a chief of the Ngatiwhakane, who in after-years piously repented (in 1836) that he had not there and then ended the life of one fated to become the destroyer of his tribe. It did seem ungrateful when he, forty years afterwards, declared war against the tribe that had liberated him, and slaughtered them wholesale at Ohinemutu."
Sleep did not appear to be likely to visit Massinger after what he had heard from Warwick. Long after his comrades had retired he remained on watch, gazing into the forest, as if he expected the Ngapuhi to debouch thence, with Mannering and Waterton at the head of their warriors, and Erena beside her father, a warrior-maid too proud to remain behind when the great Ngapuhi tribe was on the war-path.
What would be the fate of this strange girl, so subtly compounded of diverse elements, the twin natures within her – the forest life and the civilized – each struggling for the mastery?
And what were his feelings now with respect to her? Could he deny that her image was constantly in his thoughts; that the recollection of her haughty, graceful bearing, her superb form, her lustrous eyes, her radiant smile, combined to form a picture dangerously enthralling? From one fateful syren, so destructive to his peace, his every aim and prospect in life, he had been removed. And now, must a newer "phantom of delight" reappear to disturb his faculties and assail his reason? Whatever might be the result, one thing was certain – his heart swelled with unwonted emotion at the thought of seeing her again.
And under what circumstances were they once more to meet? Not under the fern-arched glades of that enchanted forest, wherein they had wandered side by side so many a mile, carelessly gay as the bird that called above them, looking forward but to the halt by rushing stream or fire-lit camp, amid the silent splendours of the antarctic night. He had thought to regard this fantastic friendship as one of the inevitable episodes of a roving life, productive, doubtless, of a transient series of pleasurable emotions and interesting experiences, but to be disengaged from his career when serious action was demanded, like the drifting weeds and flowers that for a time impede the flowing tide.
How many men have so judged! How many have discovered that the fragile bonds, to be cast aside as pleasure or interest might dictate, have changed mysteriously into shackles and fetters that hold with inflexible tenacity a long life through?
But who thus argues in the halcyon days of youthful dalliance, when reason is stilled, and every natural feeling exults in joyous possession of the magical hours? The sky is blue and golden, the birds sing, strains of unearthly melody float through the charmed air – immortal, enthralling. Care is defied, sorrow banished. The "vengeance due for all our wrongs" is immeasurably distant. Yet Nemesis – slow-footed sleuth-hound of Fate – is rarely evaded.
A train of depressing reflections may probably have arisen in his midnight musings, not wholly to be disregarded, sanguine as was his nature. But he comforted himself as a last resource with the idea that there was a chance of his being knocked over in the coming engagement, which promised to be of a yet more bloody and obstinate nature than those in which he had already taken part. Having thus arrived at some sort of a conclusion, if not wholly satisfactory, he disposed himself to a slumber from which the bugle-notes of the reveillé only aroused him.
The march had been arranged on the calculation that they would reach Orakau, where the enemy would in all probability join the hostile forces in sufficient time to intercept them, and so destroy the strength of the combination. The order of the day, therefore, required a continuous march until sundown, after which a halt for refreshment would take place.
The troops would then continue the advance until daylight under the guidance of trusted scouts, of whom Warwick was the leader and interpreter. They would then, it was hoped, be enabled to fall upon the Ngaiterangi unprepared, and deal one of the most decisive blows of the war, besides capturing the Orakau pah, a stronghold of great strength in itself, and the key to a most important position. Artillery, too, would be brought to bear on the pah for breaching purposes. The full strength of the Ngapuhi and Rarawa would also be available. All things looked like an assured victory.
CHAPTER XIII
While in one hemisphere Roland Massinger was revolving these momentous questions concerning love, duty, happiness, in this world and the next, Hypatia Tollemache was considering almost equally important decisions at the other end of the world.
Her range of thought and feeling was by no means so comprehensive as his, inasmuch as, by adhering to the strict line of duty embodied in altruistic sacrifice, she had considerably narrowed the field of argument. She had definitely abandoned the idea of "slum missionary" effort, having discovered by experience what had been previously suggested to her, that there is an unpleasant, even undesirable, side to these ministrations when the evangelist is a young and handsome woman.
She saw clearly that there were many worthy labourers in that vineyard who, possessing equal zeal, did not suffer from such disqualifications. The illness which she had contracted when weakened by overwork, possibly through infection, had chilled her enthusiasm, perhaps caused her to doubt the expediency of her mission.
She was on the point of reviewing the respective conditions of missionary life in China and Hindostan, where the Zenana offered so fair a field for reformation by cultured sisterhoods, when she received a letter from her friend Mary Summers, the interpretation of which was, to Hypatia's sympathetic spirit, "Come over and help us."
With Mary Summers she had long since formed a close friendship. They had corresponded regularly since her departure to New Zealand as the wife of the Reverend Cyril Summers. He had been a protégé of Bishop Selwyn, and, as a curate, a favourite attendant during the long, quasi-dangerous journeys in which the soul of that latter-day apostle delighted.
As often happens in friendships, and even closer intimacies, the schoolfellows were strongly contrasted in appearance and disposition. The one was tall and fair, with grey-blue eyes, which could flash on occasion. An air of hauteur, chastened by philosophic self-repression, distinguished her. The other was scarce of middle height, with a petite but perfect figure, dark hair, and wistful hazel eyes.
Hypatia was impetuous, disdainful of obstacles, hating the expedient, and scorning danger. Mary was persuasive, self-effacing, soft of speech and manner, of a goodness so pervading that it seemed an impertinence to praise it. Many people were strengthened in their convictions as to a future state by the belief that any such scheme must include a heaven for Mary Summers.
She and her husband had encountered trials and privations, borne unflinchingly. They had reached a moderate degree of success, and, so to speak, prosperity, having come to inhabit a comfortable cottage near Tauranga, when this lamentable war bade fair to ruin everything, destroying the work of years, and even endangering their safety.
The epistle which decided Hypatia as to locality ran as follows: —
"My dearest Hypatia,
"Wars and alarms still prevail, I grieve to say. The colonists are determined, and the natives desperate, each race fighting as if for existence. Blood has been shed on either side, so that all hope of peace or mediation is at an end. I do not give any opinion as to the policy of the Government. My husband believes that an act of injustice provoked the contest which led to the war. The side on which the fault lay has a heavy account to settle. But now all agree that unless the natives make unconditional submission there is no hope of peace.
"And how terrible are the consequences! It is positively heartbreaking to see the dispersion of native schools, the empty churches, and to hear of promising pupils and converts in the ranks of the enemy – though they have not unlearned, poor things, all that we have been at such pains to teach them. Continually we hear of acts of humanity performed by them while fighting bravely in their own ranks. Poor Henare Taratoa went under fire to fetch water for a wounded soldier in the trenches at the Gate Pah. He himself was killed soon afterwards at Orakau.
"It is affecting to hear, as we did, from a man in active service, of their reading the lessons of the day and singing their psalms in the intervals of the hottest fighting.
"These were once our friendly natives, many of whom we know well by name. They will not fight on Sunday, or break the Sabbath in any way, which is more than our troops can say. Though at times downhearted and anxious, Cyril and I feel that we have enjoyed a high privilege in doing our Master's work.
"As to position, we are certainly not too far from the seat of war, but Cyril says they have not as yet harmed any of the missionaries. Outlying settlers have been murdered, and one poor family – but I cannot bear to think of the details.
"We are in God's hands. So far we have been shielded from evil. We are steadfast in faith and trust in the power of our Redeemer. The children and Cyril are well. If only I were a little stronger, and servants were not things of the past, I should be nearly quite happy. Always (in peace or war)
"Your devoted friend,"Mary Summers."
"Poor dear Mary! Nearly quite happy indeed! Just like her to think of every one but herself. 'If she were only a little stronger!' No servant, too; and here am I, Hypatia Tollemache, as strong as ever I was, now that I have got over that horrid fever; safe, protected, in luxury even, only disturbed by the thought of where I shall betake myself with my gifts and endowments (such as they are), and all uncertain of what good I shall do when I get there. From 'India to the Pole' seems prophetic. I was nearly going to India; now shall I go to the 'Pole'? Yes, I am resolved. Writing to and condoling with poor dear Mary will be saying in effect, 'Be ye warmed and fed' – the lowest hypocrisy of all, it always seemed to me. I am determined – that is to say, I have fully made up my mind. I will go out and help poor Mary, the Reverend Cyril, and the dear children, besides taking my turn with the heathen, unless they bring their tomahawks to church. It will be a charity worthy of the name. There can be no mortal doubt about that. As for the danger, do they not share it? So can I. That never put me off anything, I can safely say. I shall write to Mary when I have taken my passage – not before."
So fixed in the resolve to offer up herself on the altar of friendship, duty, and danger delightfully combined was this latter-day damsel, that she went off to London, and, having no parents or near relatives to control her – only a couple of trustees, who, provided she did not spend more than her income, permitted her to do pretty well as she pleased – took her passage to New Zealand by the very next boat, the Arawatta. The said trustees raised their eyebrows when informed of her intention, but consoled themselves, being men of sense and experience, remarking that if young women of independent means and ideas did not do one foolish thing they would be sure to do another, even perhaps less desirable. So, the decisive step being taken, she had only to tell a few friends – Mrs. Merivale, née Branksome, being one – and get ready a suitable outfit for the voyage to this Ultima Thule of Maoriland.
Up to this time, though hard knocks, hard fare, and hard marches had convinced Massinger that volunteer soldiering in Northern New Zealand was no child's play, yet, on the whole, the experience had been less depressing than exciting. The health of the triumvirate was unimpaired. The youth and uniformly good spirits of Massinger had served him well. Mr. Slyde's pessimistic philosophy had much the same effect, apparently, leading him to assert that "nothing mattered one way or another in this infernal country; that all things being as bad as they could be, any change would probably be for the better; that if they were killed in action, as seemed highly probable, it would be perhaps the best and quickest way out of the hopeless muddle into which the Governor, the ministers, the settlers, and the soldiers had got the cursed country. The alternative was, of course, to desert, which, for absurdly conventional reasons, could not be thought of. His advice to Massinger was to marry Erena Mannering and join the Ngapuhi tribe, which, under Waka Nene's sagacious policy, was bound to come out on top. That would be, at any rate, a decided policy, such as no party in the island had sufficient intellect to grasp. He might then give all his support to the King movement, and possibly in course of time be elected Sovereign of Waikato and surrounding states, do the Rajah Brooke business, and found an Anglo-Maori dynasty."
These and similar suggestions, delivered with an air of earnestness, and the slow persuasive tones which marked his ordinary conversation, never failed to produce a chorus of merriment, in effective contrast to the unrelaxing gravity of his expression.
As for Warwick, the war-demon which had possessed his Maori ancestors had temporarily taken up its abode with him, for, as the campaign progressed, he seemed day by day to be more resolute and unflinching, in action or out of it.
"Seems to me," said Mr. Slyde, as they commenced their march in the discouraging dawn of a dismally damp day, "we're in for a deucedly hot picnic. Colonel been blocked two or three times in his advance; made up his mind to go for this Orakau pah, spite of all odds. Hope he won't start before he's ready. Pluck and obstinacy fine things in their place, but the waiting business pays best with Tangata Maori. Devilish cool hand at the game himself."
"How about our artillery?" asked his friend.
"Not weight enough, fellows say. Guns always beastly bother to transport. See when we get there."
Another scout had just come in with the news that Paterangi had been abandoned, and that Brigadier-General Carey was in force at Awamutu. The Ngati Maniapoto had crossed the Puniu river, and at Orakau one of the chiefs had shouted out, "This is my father's land; here will I fight." Rifle-pits were formed, and a determined stand was resolved upon. Before the position, however, could be strongly fortified, three hundred men of the 40th Regiment had been sent to occupy the rear. At three o'clock next morning a force of seven hundred men, artillery and engineers, the 40th and 60th Regiments, marched past the Kihi-kihi redoubt, picking up a hundred and fifty men from it on the way. The Waikato, the 65th and 3rd Militia, with a hundred men, moved up from Rangi-ohia to the east side. At day-dawn thirteen hundred rank and file had converged upon Orakau, strengthened by a contingent of the Forest Rangers, among whom were Messrs. Massinger, Slyde, and Warwick, expectant of glory, and by no means uncertain as to taking part in one of the most stubborn engagements they had as yet encountered. The defenders of Orakau numbered under four hundred, inclusive of women and children.
"There goes the big gun from the south-west ridge," said Slyde. "It ought to make the splinters fly. A breach is only a matter of time."
"Yes, but what time?" asked Warwick. "I don't know Rewi, if he hasn't blinded the outer lines with fern-bundles tied with flax. It's wonderful how they will stop a cannon-ball. Yes, I thought so. No making for a breach just yet."
"They can't have any food or water to speak of," said Slyde. "Have to give in if we wait."
"True enough; they're short of water, and have only potatoes and gourds, I hear," said Warwick. "But Maoris can live upon little, and fight upon nothing at all."
"There goes Captain King and the advanced guard," said Slyde.
"Too soon – too soon!" said Warwick. "There's a devilish deep ditch, besides earthworks and timber. Ha! there the Maori speaks. The troops have made a rush; they're driven back. The reinforcement comes up. Another assault. My God! Captain King's down – badly wounded, I know. See, Captain Baker has dismounted, and calls for volunteers. Rangers to the front! Hurrah!"
And like one man, the little band joined the 18th. But though the assault was made with desperate courage, the close fire again forced them to retire with a heavy loss. No breach had as yet been made, while the fire from behind the earthworks was incessant and accurate.
Seeing that it was not a case for a cheer and a bayonet rush, the general decided to take the place by sap.
"Might have thought of that before," growled Mr. Slyde, "and saved my hat." Here he pointed to a bullet-hole in his headpiece with so rueful a face that his smoke-begrimed comrades burst out laughing. "Are you hit, Warwick?"
"Only a graze," replied he, feeling his right arm, from which the blood had stained his sleeve. "I was afraid the bone was touched. It's all right."
"Here come those Maunga-tautari fellows," said Warwick, pointing to a compact body of natives now appearing on the scene. "Ha! you may fire a volley and dance the war-dance, my fine fellows; you're out of this game. There goes a shell among them. How they scatter! Too late for this play."
So it proved. Within the next twenty-four hours a British reinforcement, four hundred strong, appeared. The sap had been carried on; none could escape. Another day, another night, passed. At length, about noon, an Armstrong gun was carried into the sap, a breach was made, and the siege was virtually over.
On the score of humanity, women and children being in the pah, the garrison was called upon to surrender, with a promise that their lives should be spared.
Now was heard the immortal rejoinder: "Ka whai-whai, tonu – ake – ake – ake!" ("We will fight on to the end – for ever – for ever – for ever!")
The interpreter pleaded for the women and children. "Why not send them out?"
The answer came back: "Our women will fight also."
But they commenced to find the rifle-pits untenable. The hand-grenades made terrific slaughter. The rifle-pits had been too hastily formed for safety; but still they fought stubbornly on.
When the assault was made, half of the first troops that entered fell; nor was the second assault more fortunate. Then the enemy's ammunition failed. It was pathetic to note them in their deep despair. Standing amid their dead and dying, the blood-stained warriors sang a mission hymn of old days, and raised their voices – which were plainly heard – in passionate supplication to the Christian's God.
"But there was no voice, nor any that answered." Still pressed nearer, with hail of shot and shell, the resistless pakeha. Once again their mood changed, and they turned to the heathen gods of the children of Maui. Chanting an ancient karakia, or imprecation, they marched forth in a solid column. The women and children, with the high chiefs, were placed in the centre.
An opening had been made in the ranks to enable the heavy gun to open fire. Through this, in the full light of the afternoon sun, the unconquered garrison marched out steadily, as if going to church in the peaceful days of missionary rule. Rewi ordered that no shot should be fired. The scanty ammunition would be all needed for the marsh passage, on the route to the Puniu river.
Like the Moorish monarch giving his last sigh to the glories of the Alhambra and the snow-crowned Sierras, did Rewi cast a lingering look on his ancestral possessions? Eastward frowned Maunga-tautari, on the flank of the great Waikato plain. Pirongi on the west held watch and ward over the Waipu. Kihi-kihi, his own settlement, was in the hands of the pakeha. But, the Puniu once crossed, there was refuge in the forests of Rangitoto.
The marsh was reached, though many fell before the converging fire of the troops. The cavalry intercepted them at the neck. Many were thus slain; but, in spite of all losses, the main body gained the Puniu river and escaped, after a pursuit lasting over six miles.
Orakau had fallen; of the garrison, nearly one half lay dead around the pah or on the Puniu river trail. How stubborn a fight had they made for three days and two nights against fearful odds, short as they became of food, water, and ammunition! The sap had reached the last ditch. Even then they did not despair. They might die, but would not yield. Maunga-tautari was abandoned. Rewi's warriors were scattered. It was the Maori Flodden; and the crossing of the Puniu was akin to that of the historic river, immortalized in the verse of the Magician of the North —
