The natives alleged that they had taken up arms against manifest wrong
and injustice; but underlying all other motives and actions was the
land question. The more sagacious chiefs entertained fears of the
alienation of their territories. The growing superiority of the white
settlers troubled them. Outnumbered, fighting against superior weapons,
the day seemed near when, as in their songs and recitations, they began
to lament, "The Maori people would be like a flock of birds upon a
rock, with the sea rising fast around them." The time seemed propitious
to unite the tribes against the common foe. The natives were estimated
at sixty thousand, a large number being available fighting men. One
determined assault upon the whites, who were not, as was supposed, more
than eighty thousand, might settle the question.
Mr. (afterwards Sir) William Fitzherbert said in the House in 1861 that
"the remark that we were living at the mercy of the natives was _true_,
and reflected the greatest credit upon them. They had that knowledge,
and yet forbore to use their power." Now, however, war was declared
between the two races; the untarnished honour of the British flag must
be maintained.
At that time in the distracted colony there lived, strange to say,
a body of men whose interests were primarily concerned neither with
the acquisition of land, the profits of trade, nor the so-called
prestige of the British crown. Voyaging to New Zealand long years
ago, they announced themselves to be the bearers of a Divine message,
the significance of which was nearly two thousand years old. With the
weapons of peace and good will they confronted the savage conquerors
of the day. They lived among them unharmed, though not always able to
prevent the torture of captives, the execution of enemies taken in
fight, or to stay the hand of the fierce tribes thirsting for conquest
or revenge. But they had done much. They had laboured zealously and
unselfishly. They had risked their lives, and those of the devoted
wives who had accompanied them into the habitations of the heathen.
Following the example of their pioneer pastor, the saintly Samuel
Marsden, they had introduced the arts of peace. They had ploughed
and sowed, reaped and garnered. Favoured by the rich soil and moist
climate, the cereals, the plants, the edible roots of older lands had
flourished abundantly.
The heathen, though slow to perceive the benefit of such labours,
had come to comprehend and to imitate. They shared in the fruits of
the earth so abundantly provided. Trade had sprung up with adjoining
colonies; and, with the white man's tools, his grain, his horses,
his cattle, and sheep, in all of which the Maori was allowed to
participate, came the revelation of the white man's God, the white
man's faith, the white man's schools; the missionary's example did
the rest. Gradually these agencies commenced to sway the rude and
turbulent tribes. A highly intelligent race, they deduced rules of
conduct from the _mikonaree_, who was so different from any species
of white man they had previously known. He was brave, for did he not
from time to time risk his life, for peace' sake alone, between excited
bands of enemies? He made war on none; he was slow to defend himself;
he trusted for protection in that Great Being who had preserved him,
his wife and little ones, in the midst of dangers by land and sea. From
time to time he took dangerous journeys, he crossed swollen rivers, he
traversed pathless forests, he risked his life in frail barks on stormy
seas, to prevent war, to release captives.
After years of toil and trial the reward of these devoted servants
of the Lord appeared to be assured. Many of the older chiefs, men
of weight and authority, were baptized as earnest converts. Others
protected the missionaries, though they refused to quit the faith of
their ancestors. The schools flourished, and, unprecedented among other
races, aged men learned to read and write. The Bible was translated
into the simple yet sonorous Maori tongue. Saw-mills and flour-mills,
owned by natives, arose; vessels even were built for them, in which
their produce was taken to other ports. As far back as the bloodthirsty
raids of Te Waharoa, the ruthless massacres of Hongi and Rauperaha, the
missionary lived amidst the people for whose spiritual welfare he had
dared danger and death, exile and privation.
The members of the different Christian Churches had shared emulously
in the good work. Wesleyans and Presbyterians, the Church of England
and the Roman Catholic hierarchy, all had their representatives; all
supported ministers vowed to the service of the heathen. Not always
went they scathless. These soldiers of the Cross had seen their
cottage homes burned, their families driven forth to seek shelter
and protection at a distance. But, even when the worst passions of
contending parties were aroused, there never failed them a chief or a
warrior who took upon himself the charge of the helpless fugitives.
The earlier missions were organized by remarkable men. Their
descendants occupy high positions, and inherit the respect which to
their fathers was always accorded. But the most commanding figure in
the little army of Christian soldiers, the most striking personality,
was Selwyn, the first bishop of New Zealand. No ordinary cleric was
the dauntless athlete, the apostolic prelate, the daring herald of
good tidings, reckless of personal danger whether in war or peace.
When the Waikato warriors, three hundred strong, went down the river
from Ngarua-wahia under the young Matutauere, the bishop, travelling
_on foot_, carried a message to friendly chiefs, who undertook to bar
the war-party from passing through their territory. The settler at
whose house the bishop arrived soon after sunrise, dripping with water
from the fording of a creek, told the story. Had his remonstrances,
strengthened by those of the venerable Henry Williams, Chief Justice
Martin, and Sir William Denison, received the consideration to which
they were entitled, "the great war of 1860, with its resultant, the
greater war of 1863," would never have been fought. England's taxpayers
would have been richer by the interest paid on a sum of several
millions, and England's dead, whose bones are resting in distant
cemeteries, or in unknown graves on many a ferny hillside, would have
been saved to family and friends.
However, at this stage all developments lay shrouded in the veil of the
future. On whosoever lay the blame, war _had_ commenced in earnest,
and, according to British traditions, must be fought out. It was arming
and hurrying with all classes and all ages in Auckland, A.D. 1860.
Volunteers, militia, regulars, marines, bluejackets, were all under
marching orders; martial law was proclaimed around Taranaki; all the
ingredients of the devil's cauldron were simmering and ready to burst
forth.
If Massinger had desired the excitements of danger, of battle, murder,
and sudden death, this was the place and the time, to the very hour.
He had found no difficulty in enrolling himself among the force known
as Von Tempsky's Forest Rangers. It was composed of the most resolute,
daring spirits of the colony, many of whom had either been born in
New Zealand or been brought up there from infancy. As a rule, used
to country life, they rode well, and were good marksmen. A large
proportion of them were the sons of farmers, but there were also men
who had held good positions in their day. Having lost their money, or
otherwise drifted out of the ranks of the well-to-do, they cheerfully
enlisted in this arm of the force, which, if irregular in discipline,
had a prestige which the ordinary militia and volunteer regiments
lacked.
In such a corps the personal character of the leader is everything;
and in this respect they were exceptionally fortunate. Carl Von
Tempsky, the son of a Prussian officer high in service, was a soldier
of fortune in the best sense of the word. He had served for several
years with credit, if not distinction, until the temptation of a free
adventurous life proved too strong for him. He quitted the ranks of the
3rd Fusiliers for a long ramble in Mexico, during which he held various
military commands.
After this foreign service he travelled through Central America, and
knew Bluefields Bay and the Mosquito Shore, finally reaching New
Zealand a year before the troublous time which supplied the warlike
excitement in which his nature revelled. Producing his credentials, he
was at once appointed to the force which, under his leadership, became
so celebrated. His career was assured. Daring to recklessness, he was
yet a thorough disciplinarian. Suave in manner, but unyielding, he
controlled the wilder spirits in his regiment, while his confident and
successful generalship roused his men to a pitch of enthusiasm which
rendered them well-nigh irresistible in the field. As scouts they were
invaluable, often securing information of the movements of the enemy,
which the superstitious natives believed to be derived from witchcraft
or sorcery. Their sudden onslaught upon outlying camps and redoubts
demoralized the foe. While, whenever they had brought anything like an
equal force to bay, they invariably routed them with loss, Von Tempsky,
with his dark flashing eyes and cavalier curls, bearing himself as
though gifted with a charmed life.
Such was the corps in which Massinger and Warwick found themselves;
for the latter had made up his mind--on Mr. Slyde's principle, that in
the present state of affairs "one must join something"--to follow the
same flag as his erstwhile employer, to whom he had become personally
attached. Of the young Englishman's courage and liberality he had the
highest opinion; of his prudence he felt doubtful. This was his chief
reason, as he told Mr. Slyde, for enlisting.
"I shouldn't like to see him shot or tomahawked," he said. "He'll
make a grand soldier if he gets time; but he's careless--deuced
careless--and foolhardy. I'm afraid of some dog of a Waikato taking a
pot-shot at him from behind a tree while he's thinking of something a
thousand miles away."
* * * * *
The Forest Rangers were a distinguished corps in which to be enrolled.
From the beginning of the campaign their name had been in every one's
mouth. Their dress was picturesque, though toned down in regard to the
special services on which they were generally detailed.
More was expected of them by the public than of any other volunteer
force. And the public was not often disappointed. Von Tempsky was the
_beau ideal_ of a leader of irregular troops. Full of military ardour,
brave to recklessness, and of singular aptitude for command, the men
under him got into the habit of regarding themselves as _enfants
perdus_, knew not what fear was, and carried out with success sorties,
reconnoissances, and scout duty of the most daring and desperate
nature. The work was entirely to Massinger's taste. He found himself
among kindred spirits. His former volunteer experience stood him in
good stead. He was promised speedy promotion. He came to believe that
a military career in war-time was, after all, his vocation, and, as
affording a succession of exciting adventures and dramatic incidents,
the most desirable of all professions.
The minor successes gained by the Waitara tribes before November,
1860, had much elated the Ngatiawa, so that they conceived the idea of
taking possession of the Mahoetai hill, close to the main road and near
the Bell Block stockade. More than a hundred Ngatihauas and Waikatos
established themselves there on a knoll surrounded by flax plants and
_raupo_ swamp. A combined attack of the 40th and 65th Regiments, with
the militia, stormed the position. The volunteers and a company of
the 65th were told off to the assault, which they made in good style.
The Maoris stood their ground well, killing and wounding some of the
assailants, but eventually were driven out of their rifle-pits. They
took refuge in a swamp, but, the raupo being fired, fled for their
lives. They lost thirty-four killed and fifty wounded. Several chiefs
lay dead, including Taupo-rutu of Ngatihaua. Two were killed and four
wounded of the volunteers.
After this affair two companies of the Forest Rangers were detailed,
under Captains Von Tempsky and Jackson, for the purpose of scouring
the forest between the Waikato and Auckland. Life and property in
the settled districts had become insecure. To the great joy and
satisfaction of Messrs. Slyde and Massinger, they found themselves
in the first-named company, and were soon in the thick of a smart
skirmish, in which two officers of a militia company were killed and
half a dozen rank and file wounded, the enemy acknowledging more than
double.
They were now ceaselessly occupied in scouring the bush and moving
from place to place, for weeks together having no settled camp or
abiding-place. On the Waiari stream, when sent to clear the enemy out
of the river-scrub, they killed five and took several prisoners in a
very short onset.
A more serious engagement followed, when at Waiheke they were camped
with the Arawa, two hundred strong, and found the enemy, composed
of Ngaiterangi, Whaha-tohea, and Ngatiporou, awaiting them near Te
Matata. The position was well chosen: a deep stream in front, on their
left flank a raised beach, their right on the sea. The Forest Rangers
carried the creek with a rush, well supported by the Arawa, after which
the enemy waited no longer, but, pursued by the Rangers, fled until the
Awa-te-Atua river was reached. The British loss was light, but included
Toi, the brave old chief of the Arawa. The enemy lost seventy men.
Here Massinger had an opportunity of witnessing a characteristic
incident of Maori warfare. A celebrated chief of the Whaha-tohea, being
taken prisoner, fully expected to be put to death. Captain Macdonnell
took him under his protection, telling him that he had nothing to fear.
From the men probably not, but Macdonnell had not calculated on the
feelings of a bereaved wife. Toi's widow, "wroth in wild despair,"
persuaded some one to load a rifle for her, and walking up to the
chief, blew his brains out. The tribe, after much argument, came to a
decision much resembling that of Bret Harte's jury at White Pine, viz.
"Justifiable insanity."
"Must be in luck now," said Mr. Slyde one morning, after an orderly had
been seen riding into camp. "Shouldn't wonder if the general had got
some special work cut out for us."
"I hope so," replied Massinger. "We'll know soon, as Warwick is talking
to Captain St. George, whom Von is sure to give the first order to. Now
both are called up. Something on by the look of Warwick. Here he comes."
"Well, where are we to go, most noble earl and king-maker? Route to the
Uriwera or the Reinga?"
"There's an off chance of the last place for some of us," said Warwick,
who didn't care for Maori jokes, detached, as by education and travel
he had become, from his maternal relatives. "The route is to the Patea
River near the edge of a forest, where the whole of the tribes of the
North Island might hide. The villages there are not exactly in trees,
but nearly as hard to climb up to."
"All the better--give us new ideas," said Slyde. "Tired of this flat
country work.
'My heart's in the Highlands,
My heart is not here;
My heart's in the Highlands,
A-chasing the deer.'
What a country this would be for red deer! By the way, I wonder if I
shall ever have the luck to pot a stag of ten? No saying; come some
day. When do we start, and how many men?"
"Two companies, fifty each. Daylight in the morning. Camp at
Kakaramea."
Stationed at this inviting locality, where, as Mr. Slyde remarked, the
country consisted of hills without valleys, rivers without bridges, and
inconvenient cliffs thrown in, the hawk eyes of Warwick discovered a
track leading up the face of an almost perpendicular cliff.
"This track goes up the cliff, but how are _we_ to go up?" asked
Massinger. "A goat couldn't do it."
"Do you see those climbers carelessly thrown along the track?"
"I do see some supple-jack here and there."
"Those," said Warwick, "are Maori ladders, which you will find strong
enough when it is your turn to try them. Of the two, I would rather
trust to them than ordinary rope."
"When do we start?" asked Massinger.
"Not today, or perhaps tomorrow. They have scouts on the watch. The
major won't move until they get careless. Then a midnight affair."
"Regular 'Der Freischutz' business," said Slyde. "Hour midnight.
Circle. Skulls neatly arranged. 'Zamiel, come forth!' etc. Owls in
forest, please attend. Come to think, we _are_ rather in the Freischutz
line. If we get back to Auckland one of these fine days (or years),
good idea for private theatricals."
"We shall have them in private and public," said Warwick, "before the
season's over. Likely to end up with a tragedy, too."
"Tragedy or comedy, we shall be in the front row," said Massinger;
"but, the overture not having commenced, we can't criticize the
performance. Our _jeun premier_, Von Tempsky, however, would do
honour to any opera in Europe. What a romantic-looking fellow he is
in his undress uniform! Calm, yet determined-looking, an expression
which would never alter in the face of death. Hair worn longer than
we Englishmen affect, but it becomes some people. As a fashion it's
certain to come in again. Cavalry sabre, forage cap, blue tunic, boots
to the knee,--there you have him. He would have been a _Feld_ some day
if he had remained in the Imperial service."
"Better that he is with us to-night," said Warwick. "Besides being a
first-class leader, he is one of the smartest scouts that ever picked
up a track. Did you ever hear what he did at Papa-rata? Many a man
wears the Victoria Cross for less."
"No--that is, heard generally. Tell us about it," said Slyde. "Afraid I
shouldn't do much in that line."
"Nor I either," said Massinger. "I am all ears."
"You'll never be all eyes, captain," said Warwick, with a grim smile.
"And by Maori custom a captured scout is doomed to tortures that can't
be told. I always keep one shot in my revolver."
"For whom?" asked Massinger.
"For _myself_, if ever I'm 'jumped,'" answered Warwick, who had
acquired, among his other experiences, a few miner's idioms. "But
here is the story. The general wanted a sketch of the enemy's works
at Papa-rata, which they had occupied in force. Our Von undertook the
service--sort of forlorn hope business--and, like everything he ever
began, carried it out thoroughly. He managed to hide himself in the
scrub and flax in the very midst of the natives, and, far worse for
discovery, their prowling dogs, popularly supposed to wind a white man
a mile off. There he calmly sketched the position, and got safe back
into camp. They gave him his commission for it."
"And well he deserved it," said Massinger.
"So say I," chimed in Slyde. "Good thing about a war, attracts best
fellows of all nationalities--Johnnies that prefer discomfort and revel
in danger; used to light marching order, too. Sort of war correspondent
business; murder and sudden death thrown in. Deuced exhilarating when
you come to think of it."
"Do you know, I find it so," answered Massinger, entering into the
joke. "And our light marching order is a triumph of economy of space.
Nothing approaches it but a middy's wardrobe, and he has a ship to
carry it. I must have myself photographed when we--may I say _if_--we
return to camp. Let me see--Forest Ranger, 'in his habit as he lived;'
applicable to either case, you see. Item--_Swag_. Did I think I
should ever carry one? One blanket, one great coat, twenty rounds of
ammunition, all put up in a waterproof; three days' rations of meat
and biscuit; half a bottle of rum. Revolver, carbine, cartridge-box,
tomahawk--all most useful, not to say ornamental, when sliding down
precipices in the dark, as we did on entering camp last night."
"Camp accommodation; don't forget that," added Slyde.
"Fire strictly forbidden. Sleeping apartment of the wild boar of the
forest. I'll swear that where you and I, Warwick and Hay, slept last
night--for we _did_ sleep--under the hollow rimu tree, had belonged
to one. 'Feeds the boar in the old frank,' as the wild prince says.
Also, over and above all these pleasures and palaces, our lives hang on
a chance from day to day--that of being surrounded in the heart of a
forest, and cut off to a man."
"Conversation most improvin'," said Mr. Slyde. "Seems to lack the comic
element, though! 'Want a piano,' as the Johnnie said to Thackeray
after lecture. As we've an early _engagement_--ha, ha!--in the morning,
suppose we turn in? Now 'I lay me down to sleep.' Rain recommencing.
'Drought broken up,' as they say in Australia."
It was not very late--nine o'clock, indeed, no more. Camp evenings were
apt to be long without late dinners or books. However, it not being
their watch, the friends lay down in their "lair," and in five minutes,
despite the rain, from which, indeed, the o'er-arching tree in great
part saved them, fell fast asleep.
At midnight on the third day the march was recommenced and the cliff
path reached. Von Tempsky, with seventy men, made a start punctually,
as was his wont. Massinger felt doubtfully entertained at the idea of
swinging in mid-air, clinging to a rude arrangement of trailers, with,
perhaps, expectant Maoris at the top. However, he forbore remark, and
after he had seen Von Tempsky shin up the swaying half-seen line like a
man-of-war Jack, he felt reassured.
"What a leader he is!" thought he.
"'Alike to him the sea, the shore,
The branch, the bridle, and the oar.'
We are all in hard condition, luckily."
Between the precarious foothold on the cliff and the ladder of
withes--Warwick, by the way, was immediately behind him--he reached the
top safely.
"Here we are!" he said, as Warwick sprang up and stood by his side. "I
shouldn't care, though, to go _down_ the same way, especially if they
had crossed our track and decided to wait there for our return."
"They would find an officer and thirty men there," said Warwick. "Our
Von always takes care to leave a place open for retreat. Catch him
napping!"
Dawn found them in a deserted village, recently occupied, however, as
the fires were still alight. Pushing on across a gorge, smoke was seen
rising, and on the summit of the ridge a large clearing was sighted,
with a number of whares at the other end.
"There they are!" said Massinger.
"Those whares are only temporary," explained Warwick--"used by the
natives to put in a crop or take it up. I can see Maoris; they don't
see us, however."
The order came at that moment to extend in line along the forest edge,
behind a barricade of dead timber, thrown aside from the clearing.
This they climbed, but were immediately seen by the natives, who fired
a volley, mortally wounding a young officer and one of the Rangers.
The senior officer, next to Von Tempsky, was also hit. The attempt to
dislodge the enemy from some fallen timber, under cover of which they
were able to hold the attacking force in check, failed, owing to their
right resting on a cliff, not previously noticed. A smart skirmish took
place, however, in which the enemy was routed, leaving three dead on
the ground.
"Had the best of it," said Mr. Slyde after supper. "Not a glorious
victory, though, by any means. Two to one--bad exchange against
natives. Poor young Stansfield, too! Took me and Warwick all we knew to
get him down that beastly ladder."
"Poor chap!" said Massinger. "What spirits he was in when we started!
Stark and cold now. Fortune of war, I suppose."
"Bush-fighting not all beer and skittles," remarked his companion.
"Better luck next time."
One of the really "stunning engagements" (as Mr. Slyde phrased it) in
which Massinger and his two comrades took active part, was the fight
before Paterangi. The enemy's works were about three miles distant from
the headquarters' camp at Te Rore.
The sailors, under Lieutenant Hill, H.M.S. _Curaçoa_, had their camp
close to the landing-place, to which the _Avon_, with stores, made
daily trips.
The tars, to relieve the monotony of camp life, had got hold of
cricketing materials, and on fine afternoons the stumps were set up and
play carried on, _secundum artem_, as unconcernedly as if there was no
such thing as a Maori foe within a few hundred yards of them.
"Look at Von Tempsky!" said Slyde (the Rangers being at headquarters in
case any specially dangerous scouting was on hand.) "Cool as if he was
listening to a military band in Berlin. Trifle better music there, I
dare say. Picturesque-looking beggar, isn't he? Cigar in mouth, forage
cap always on the side of his head. Curls _à ravir_. Not our form, but
they become him. Wouldn't think he was the man that spoilt an ambush at
Mount Egmont, when the general made his point to point march through
the bush there."
"Just the man, I should think. But how was it?"
"Rangers, you see, marched with the column. Passing through thickest
spot, Von left track with his men and vanished. Troops thought took
wrong path. Sharp firing heard. Von reappears front of the column,
forcing his way through the supple-jacks, sword in one hand, revolver
in the other, knife between his teeth, dripping with blood. Ambush laid
for troops--destroyed it."
"No wonder everybody swears by him. I suppose these fellows would have
had a steady volley at the column?"
"Regular pot-shot. Sure to kill officers, besides twenty or thirty
Tommies. Might even have bagged the general. Great hand at the
bowie-knife, Von. Learned that in Mexico. Throws it to an inch. Great
weapon at close quarters."
"I dare say," replied Massinger. "I don't seem to take to it myself.
All's fair in war, of course."
"Suppose we have a bathe in the Mangopiko? It feels warmer this
afternoon."
This motion being carried, our triumvirate proceeded to the river-bank
with a party of the 40th, men who bathed there every day.
"The water's all right," said Warwick, "but I don't like this manuka
scrub. The river's not too wide, and there's good cover on the other
side."
"Surely there's no chance of there being natives so close to the camp?"
said Massinger, who thought Warwick a trifle over-cautious this time,
often as he had reason to admit his astonishing accuracy in all that
concerned woodcraft.
This occasion was not destined to be an exception, for no sooner had
they undressed than a volley from across the river showed that natives
_had_ been concealed on the opposite bank.
Fortunately, a covering party of twenty men under a lieutenant had been
sent with them, who immediately returned fire, and a sharp exchange
began. The sounds of the firing brought up a reinforcement from the
40th and 50th Regiments, under Colonel Havelock, who got to the rear
of the concealed natives, the same ti-tree which had screened them
serving to hide the troops. At an old earthwork they came suddenly
upon them. Captain Jackson of the Forest Rangers and Captain Headley
of the Auckland Rifles marched with the supports, eventually driving
the Maoris from their position in the earthwork. A hot rally while it
lasted, but a Victoria Cross was gained in it by Captain Headley, who,
under heavy fire and with his clothes riddled with bullets, carried out
a wounded soldier.
"D----d nuisance!" said Mr. Slyde, resuming his garments. "Left arms at
camp, or we might have had a throw in. Other chaps got all the fun. Oh,
here comes Warwick, _heavily_ armed, and no mistake."
It was even so. That resourceful henchman had bolted back to camp and
returned with his arms full of their carbines and revolvers.
"And, by Jove! here comes Von Tempsky and part of our company,"
exclaimed Massinger, unusually excited. "Was there ever such luck?"
No time was lost in joining the Rangers, who had just been ordered to
cross the river and clear the scrub.
Without a moment's hesitation, headed by Von Tempsky, they plunged
into the stream, and emerging like modern river-gods dripping with the
Mangopiko, rushed on the enemy. A desperate hand-to-hand fight ensued.
The natives retreated, leaving eight dead, side by side, amid the
trampled fern. The Rangers only had three men wounded, including Mr.
Massinger, in the arm--his first title to distinction, as having bled
in the cause of his Queen and country.
Like many other small wars and skirmishes, it led to complications.
A body of natives came out from the pah at Paterangi to help their
people. The skirmishers of the 40th were thrown forward to check them.
Five men killed and six wounded of the 40th, while the natives from
Paterangi lost over forty killed and thirty wounded.
Mr. Massinger's arm was sore enough that night, though he was loth to
admit it.
"'Quite enough to get,' as the soldier remarked in 'Pickwick.' Deuced
hot work while it lasted. New style of bathing-party. Have to look up a
tree before you sit under it next. Maoris everywhere."
"'All's well that ends well,'" rejoined Massinger, with his arm in
a sling. "Lucky that Warwick brought the carbines. I wouldn't have
missed that dash across the river for worlds. We also covered the rear
effectually, Von Tempsky marching as if he was on parade."
"He wasn't the only one who was cool," said Warwick. "The
adjutant-surgeon stopped the bleeding in your arm as steady as if he
was in the hospital tent. Bullets pretty thick, too."
The colonel commanding did justice to the merits of all concerned, and
when Lieutenant Roland Massinger's name occurred in the list of wounded
among the Forest Rangers, under Major Von Tempsky, that gentleman felt
himself more than recompensed for any trifling inconvenience he might
have undergone.