THE HEROES OF THE VICTORIA CROSS IN NEW ZEALAND.
We have already described some of these heroes, and the gallant deeds by
which they earned the Cross of Valour. We have shown how Sergeant Lucas,
of the 40th, defended two of his wounded comrades from the attacks of
the Maoris till a party was sent to his relief; how McKenna of the 65th
stood by his dying officer to the last, and proved himself worthy of the
command that had devolved upon him, by conducting his comrades through
the fire of the enemy and the intricacies of the bush to the redoubt
which they had left; how Samuel Mitchell, that true-hearted sailor, stood
by Commander Hay, of the _Esk_, in the Gate Pa at Tauranga, and refused
to leave him till all was over.
Since that time we learn from the _London Gazette_ that the Victoria
Cross has been awarded to Lieutenant-Colonel McNeill, of the 107th
Regiment; to Assistant-Surgeons Temple and Manley, and Lieutenant
Picquard, of the Royal Artillery; and to Ensign Down and Drummer
Stagpoole, of the 57th Regiment, in recognition of gallant deeds done in
New Zealand. The bestowal of the Cross on Assistant-Surgeon Temple, R.A.,
was a tardy act of justice; it was awarded to him by the unanimous voice
of the army for humanely exposing his life to almost certain destruction
in hurrying to the assistance of Captain Mercer, R.A., who was mortally
wounded. This occurred during the attack on Rangiriri, the great pa or
stronghold of the Maoris on the banks of the Waikato river, about sixty
miles from Auckland. The Taranaki war began in 1860, and was carried
on with various success till 1862, when it was supposed to be over.
There was no truce or peace concluded with the enemy, but the settlers
indulged the hope that they might now live in peace. On the 4th of May,
1863, they were roused from this state of false security by the report
that two officers and eight men had been fired upon by an ambuscade, and
all, with one exception, killed; this act was denounced as murder, but we
must remember that they were marching through the enemy’s country with
arms in their hands, and were thus almost inviting their fate. General
Cameron wished to take precautions against such attacks, but the governor
assured him that there was no danger, as the war was over. Then came
the abandonment of the Waitura, the disputed territory, and, a month
later, the battle of Kuitikara, in which twenty-five Maoris were slain.
After this the province of Auckland became the seat of war. The governor
issued a proclamation denouncing all the natives as rebels who should
not surrender their arms and take the oath of allegiance within a week:
the result was such as might have been expected; the Maoris cleared out
with all their valuables, and fell back into the interior. Their forces
were concentrated at Pokewu, or the Queen’s Redoubt, a place thirty-five
miles south of Auckland, close to the Waikato river. Our troops advanced
against them, and a battle was fought at Roheroa, a mountainous ridge,
two miles south of Pokewu, where the insurgents had encamped and
fortified their position with a series of rifle pits, from which they
opened a heavy fire on their assailants as they ascended the steep
declivity. The regiment opposed to them consisted of young recruits who
had never been under fire before; for a moment they hesitated, and all
might have been lost, if General Cameron had not rushed forward in front,
waving his riding-whip and cheering them on to victory. He thus saved the
character of a young battalion. The Maoris dispersed, and found refuge
in the neighbouring swamps, leaving twenty-two killed on the field of
battle. Their loss was not great, considering that the force opposed to
them was as three to one. On the same day a Maori ambuscade attacked an
escort under the command of Captain King, of the 18th Royal Irish, in the
neighbourhood of the Queen’s Redoubt; our men, who were straggling along
the road, smoking and chatting, with their rifles uncapped, resisted
as much as they could, and escaped with the loss of four men, twelve
rifles, and the carts and horses left on the field. If any of the Maoris
fell, their bodies were removed; no traces of them were to be found the
following day.
[Illustration: Assistant-Surgeon Temple, R.A., assisting Captain Mercer,
R.A., at the attack on the Pa of Rangiriri.]
Redoubts were then erected for the protection of Auckland; the bush
was cut down for hundreds of yards on either side of the Great South
Road; a Commissariat Transport Corps of nearly 1000 men was raised;
four regiments of Militia were recruited, chiefly in Australia and the
South; the strength of the Imperial forces was raised to 10,000 men;
including local corps, we had about 25,000 men under arms to cope with
the enemy, who have never been able to bring more than 600 men into
the field. If the country had been open, the war would soon have been
brought to a close; but our men had to pass unfordable streams and to
force their way through the bush. The enemy fell back to a place called
Mere Mere, situated on a rising ground on the Waikato, about nine miles
from the Queen’s Redoubt. The enemy’s only artillery consisted of two old
ship’s guns loaded with tenpenny nails; but the place was believed to be
impregnable, and our men remained in camp there for three months. It was
the old story of Sir Richard Strahan and the Earl of Chatham. General
Cameron was longing to be at them, but he had to wait for Sir George
Grey, and Sir George Grey was waiting for nobody knows what. The expense
of supporting such an army in the field is enormous; three millions of
money have already been expended. At length our troops advanced to attack
the Maori stronghold; the preparations were as elaborate as Uncle Toby’s
for the siege of Dunkirk, and something brilliant would doubtless have
occurred if the Maoris had been a little less impatient. They evacuated
Mere Mere, and fell back to Rangiriri, where they had a strong pa on the
summit of a rising ground situated midway between the Waikato and an
inland lake. If we were too slow at Mere Mere, we were a little too fast
at Rangiriri; because the former was a place of no great strength it was
inferred that the latter was the same. A rush was made; the outer works
were carried; but the attacking party fell back on finding themselves
confronted by other works of still greater strength. To retreat was to
lose the _prestige_ of our arms, and to invite the neutral tribes to
rebellion. The place must be taken at all hazards; a second rush was
attempted; the officers advanced in front, and cheered on the men, but
the men refused to stir. The general then turned to the fifty artillery
men who accompanied him, and, armed with swords and revolvers, they
rushed forward, stopped to breathe for a moment in a gully, and reached
the parapet, which some of them mounted. They were led by Captain Mercer,
R.A., one of those brave, gallant, God-fearing men who are an honour to
the service and to humanity itself. He had a presentiment that he would
fall, but he was prepared to die; like Havelock, he had been preparing
for death for years, and it did not take him by surprise. A Maori bullet
struck him in the jaw, carrying away the lower part of the face; he
rolled backwards on the ground mortally wounded. His party was repulsed.
Was there a man there brave enough to advance to his assistance? He must
hold his life cheap; he will have to pass through the double fire of the
enemy. But what sacrifice will our soldiers not make for an officer they
love? First one soldier advances, and then another and another, but it
was only to meet with speedy death. It was at this moment that William
Temple, an assistant-surgeon of the Royal Artillery, learned that his
friend Mercer stood in need of his aid. Without balancing chances, or
hesitating for a moment, he went where duty called—it might be to death,
it could not be to dishonour. He reached the spot so fatal to the others;
the most sanguine could scarcely indulge the hope that he could escape.
For a moment he was enveloped in smoke; every eye was strained till it
cleared away. A sort of sigh of relief rose from many a breast as he
was seen by Mercer’s side, doing all that could be done to alleviate
his sufferings. From instinct more than from intention, he stooped
when exposed to the fire of the enemy, and thus their bullets passed
harmlessly over his head. General Cameron, who had witnessed his devotion
to duty, only expressed the desire of the whole army in recommending him
for the Cross of Honour, which was awarded to him in the _Gazette_ of
the 23rd of September, 1864. Lieutenant Picquard, R.A., obtained the same
honour for carrying water to the wounded at the risk of his own life.
The Artillery having failed, the general sent for the blue-jackets, told
them his only hope was in their courage, and pointed to the pa. “Go on,
my lads,” said their leader, “I’ll not be far behind you.” It would
have been better, perhaps, if he had been a little before them; as it
was, they advanced to within fifty yards of the pa, and then retired
below the crest of the hill. One poor little middy of fourteen was shot
through the head while in advance of the others. What could be done? The
general was ready to receive any suggestion. The officer commanding the
Engineers proposed mining, which was attempted; but the fuse was damp,
and refused to explode. The Engineers then advanced under cover, and
effected a breach in the wall. On perceiving that their position was
no longer tenable, the Maoris hoisted a white flag, and surrendered at
dawn. William Thompson, the great chief of the rebellion, had escaped,
with most of his followers: only 183 prisoners fell into our hands. They
could easily have escaped if they had chosen, but they had waited on in
the hope of being reinforced. The loss of the Maoris was about forty-five
killed, while ours amounted to six officers killed or died of wounds, and
nine wounded; forty men killed, and eighty wounded. The attacking force
amounted to 1000 men; about one-seventh of them were killed or wounded;
the defenders of the pa could not have amounted to more than four or five
hundred men; forty-five were killed on the spot; the wounded were carried
off.
One or two steamers were placed on the Waikato river, and our troops
advanced to Ngaruawahia, the royal residence of Potatau II., whose
palace of reeds may still be seen there. This town is situated about
twenty-six miles to the south of Rangiriri, at the confluence of the
Waipa and the Horatiu, whose united waters form the Waikato river. The
governor had promised to meet W. Thompson, the Maori king-maker, here,
and to settle the conditions of peace; but for reasons unknown to us
he failed to appear, and our troops pushed on till they reached Piko
Piko, a strong pa on the summit of a hill overlooking the Waipa, about
thirty miles to the south of Ngaruawahia. We remained encamped opposite
this stronghold for three weeks without attempting an assault; our
experience at Rangiriri had taught us to be cautious. We had 3900 men
under canvas; the defenders of the pa could not have exceeded one-fourth
of that number; but, notwithstanding this disproportion, no attempt
was made to dislodge the enemy. At the end of three weeks we turned
their position, and advanced to the villages of Awamutu and Kilu Kilu,
from which they derived their supplies; on this they were obliged to
evacuate their stronghold and retreat into the interior. A skirmish
took place at Rangiawahia, a native village three miles from Awamutu,
during which a venerable Maori lady distinguished herself by coolly
occupying a chair in her verandah, and firing deliberately on our men,
who retaliated by burning down a native _wharze_, or hut, which contained
some warriors who refused to surrender, and were consumed in the flames.
We then constructed a line of redoubts, extending from Maugautautari, a
stronghold on the Horatiu, which W. Thompson had evacuated, to Te Rori on
the Waipa, for the purpose of keeping the enemy in check. This was not so
easily done as we imagined. In March some three hundred natives advanced
to Ohapau, a village five miles from Awamutu, and began to construct a
pa in the midst of a grove of peach-trees. It was captured on the 2nd of
April, but Rewi, the ringleader, escaped.
On the 30th of March the incident occurred which procured for
Lieutenant-Colonel McNeill the honour of the Victoria Cross. He holds the
appointment of aide-de-camp to General Cameron, who was then at Pukerimu,
and had occasion to communicate with Brigadier Carey, who was in command
at Awamutu. The distance from Pukerimu to Awamutu is eighteen miles;
midway between these two stations stands the redoubt of Ohapau, occupied
by a detachment of the 40th Regiment. Rough bridges have been erected
at the different creeks, but there is no regular road, merely a native
path leading through the bush. Near Ohapau is a clump of trees admirably
adapted for an ambuscade. Lieutenant-Colonel McNeill had no other escort
than a private of the Defence Force (a colonial corps consisting of
250 troopers) of the name of Vosper, who acted as his orderly. Nothing
remarkable occurred during the journey till they had occasion to pass the
clump of trees near Ohapau, when a party of insurgents opened fire upon
them. Private Vosper was thrown from his horse, and Lieutenant-Colonel
McNeill succeeded in catching him. Vosper then remounted, and both rode
off. The fire of the Maoris is said to have been very close and very
severe; under such circumstances the escape of the horses and riders
without being grazed by a single bullet is little short of miraculous.
It is unfortunate, perhaps, that there were no other spectators of the
scene than the immediate actors. Private Vosper has to vouch for the
gallantry of Lieutenant-Colonel McNeill, and Lieutenant-Colonel McNeill
for the danger incurred by Private Vosper. When the affair was reported
to General Cameron, he recommended his aide-de-camp for the decoration
of the Cross of Valour; and he was duly invested with it on the 6th of
December, in the presence of all the troops that could be assembled to
witness this interesting ceremony.
Lieutenant-Colonel McNeill is a good and gallant soldier; he proved
himself to be so during the Indian campaign, when he served on the staff
of Sir Edward Lugard, and was honourably mentioned in public despatches.
It is right that these services should be known to the public, as they
have contributed to procure for him the honour of the Victoria Cross,
the wearer of which, like Cæsar’s wife, should be beyond suspicion. We
should be glad to see some public recognition of the bravery displayed
by a sergeant of one of the colonial corps near the same spot, five
days before Lieutenant-Colonel McNeill and his orderly were attacked.
On the 25th of March this sergeant had left Pukerimu in company with a
civilian who had been visiting his brother there, and was now on his way
to Awamutu. Both were well mounted, and nothing remarkable occurred till
they were within four miles of the camp, where the road passes near the
first of the lakes lying between Ohapau and Te Rori. The two horsemen
were riding quietly along, thoughtless of danger, when an ambuscade of
some thirty or forty Maoris opened fire upon them from the bush; the
sergeant felt that his horse was hit, and spurred him on with all his
might, in the hope that he might still be able to carry him beyond the
reach of danger. On the first impulse of the moment he had thought only
of his own safety; but he had only proceeded a short distance when he
became anxious for the fate of his companion. On turning round, he saw
his horse lying dead on the road: in another minute the civilian would
have been lifeless beside him. He was rushing along with all his might,
pursued by a Maori, who was rapidly gaining upon him, and had already
poised his spear to strike. The sergeant wheeled his horse round, and
with the rapidity of thought rushed to the rescue. One shot from his
revolver laid the Maori prostrate; in another minute the civilian was
mounted behind him, and then away for their lives. The noble horse seemed
to know what results depended on his speed, for, though wounded and weak
from the loss of blood, he never halted till he reached the rising ground
that overlooks Awamutu, when he fell down dead. He had carried them three
miles with seven bullets in his body, till they were beyond the reach
of the Maori rifles. When the danger was past he lay down and died. The
incident created much sensation at the moment. The sergeant’s coolness
and courage excited the admiration of the whole camp; but many months
have passed away without bringing with them any public recognition of his
heroism. This, doubtless, has arisen from oversight. We shall be much
gratified if our present remarks lead to further inquiries being made.
Civilians have obtained the Victoria Cross in India; there is no reason
why it should not be bestowed on those who are equally worthy in New
Zealand.
Our readers are already familiar with the attack on the Gate Pa at
Tauranga, on the 29th of April, when our soldiers and sailors, after
effecting an entrance into the Maori stronghold, were seized with a
sudden panic, and retreated in the greatest disorder. It is rare indeed
for our soldiers or sailors to desert their officers in the hour of
danger; but on this occasion terror was more powerful than the sense of
duty. It was not so with all, however; there were one or two honourable
exceptions. When Commander Hay fell mortally wounded inside the pa, one
gallant sailor stood by him, and refused to leave him, though frequently
urged to do so. It was right that such an act of distinguished devotion
to duty should be recognised as an encouragement to others to imitate
his example, and Samuel Mitchell now carries on his breast the Cross of
Valour as a memorial of the humanity and courage he displayed at the
Gate Pa. On the same occasion, Assistant-Surgeon Manley, of the Royal
Artillery, distinguished himself by exposing his life to great danger in
entering the pa with the generous intention of offering assistance to
Commander Hay. That unfortunate officer was beyond the reach of human
aid, but this detracts nothing from the praise due to Assistant-Surgeon
Manley, who remained with him to the last, and did all that human
skill could suggest to alleviate his sufferings. Nor was this all; on
learning, after his return to the camp, that there were other wounded
officers in the pa who might require his aid, he offered to proceed to
their assistance. To have done so would have been to expose his life
to certain destruction, as the insurgents had now resumed possession
of their stronghold; the service cannot afford to lose such men as
Assistant-Surgeon Manley. While this generous offer was refused, it was
felt that he had already made good his title to the distinction of the
Victoria Cross, which has now been conferred upon him. Assistant-Surgeons
Temple and Manley belong to the same branch of the service, and it is
honourable to the medical profession that two of its members should have
attained to the same distinction in the course of one year.
While the province of Auckland has been the principal seat of the
present campaign, a sort of desultory warfare has been carried on at
the same time in the district of Taranaki, where the 57th Regiment is
stationed. This district, which has been often described as the garden
of New Zealand, extends along the western coast of the North Island;
its capital, New Plymouth, is situated at the base of Mount Egmont, a
solitary, snow-capped mountain, about 10,000 feet high, rising out of
a densely-wooded plain. There is no harbour, and the loud roar of the
waves breaking on the inhospitable shore is constantly to be heard. An
English settlement was formed there in 1841, but at this time there were
only ninety natives, living for security in the cliffs around Mount
Egmont, or in holes among the sugar-loaf rocks; the rest had fled to
Cook’s Straits or been carried off into captivity. The whole district
was a waste, and Governor Hobson bought for 400_l._ the right which Te
Whero Whero, a native chief, had acquired over it in virtue of conquest;
after it had passed into our hands the fugitives began to return, and
nothing could equal their surprise on finding their lands parcelled out
among strangers. Twisting their long arms round the gigantic trees,
which had long been _tapu_ or sacred, they besought the woodmen to spare
them; their spirit was broken by conquest; as yet they offered no open
resistance. It was only when our arms had suffered reverses in other
parts of the island that the natives of Taranaki began to show a more
independent spirit, and to reclaim the lands which had now passed from
their hands. The matter was referred to Governor Fitzroy, who decided
that the settlers were only entitled to 3500 of the 60,000 acres to
which they laid claim; the natives resumed possession of the rest. This
decision increased the bitterness of feeling which had already sprung
up between the two races, and has been the cause of all the subsequent
disturbances at Taranaki. The settlers are anxious to purchase, but
the natives refuse to part with their lands. “Money,” they say, “soon
melts away, but the land remains.” In order to preserve and sustain this
conservative feeling, they formed themselves into the Anti-Land-Selling
League, the nature of which may be learned from its title, and absolutely
refused to part with a single acre. The war of 1860-2 and 1863-4, which
is not yet over, originated from an attempt on the part of the Colonial
Government to suppress this league by purchasing lands from any of the
natives who were disposed to part with them. If these purchases had been
confined to the actual possessors of the soil no objection could have
been made to them, every man having a right to do what he likes with
his own, but no man has a right to sell what belongs to his neighbours.
This was actually done at Taranaki, and unfortunately the Government,
in order to assert a principle, took possession by force of the land
thus purchased. This brought the two races into immediate collision,
and the war has been lingering on for years. It would be foreign to
our purpose to describe its leading events; it is sufficient to remark
that it has been carried on with various success, and that the 57th
Regiment, under the command of Colonel Warre, C.B., has taken an active
part in the Taranaki campaign. An engagement took place at Poutoko on the
2nd of October, 1863, during which Ensign Down and Drummer Stagpoole,
of the 57th Regiment, distinguished themselves by carrying off two
wounded men who would otherwise have fallen into the hands of the enemy.
Stagpoole had already attracted the notice of his commanding officer by
volunteering to rescue a wounded soldier on a previous occasion, and
the announcement in the _London Gazette_ that he and Ensign Down have
had the Cross of Valour awarded to them has given general satisfaction
in New Zealand. Courage is not the exclusive property of any one class;
it is to be found among all ranks in our army and navy; it is right,
therefore, that that Cross, which is intended expressly to be the reward
of courage, should be bestowed impartially upon every one who has made
good his claim, whether he bear her Majesty’s commission or be merely
a drummer-boy. Chivalry admitted none to its ranks save those who were
of noble birth, but many of the most chivalrous deeds of modern times
have been done by men who have no claim to illustrious descent, and owe
everything to themselves. The Cross of Valour is a standing recognition
of this fact; it is far more precious than garters and ribbons, or the
other gewgaws of rank; it is the special reward of the brave, and none
but the brave deserve to wear it.
Peace will never be established on a solid basis in New Zealand till
the settlers and aborigines have learned to treat one another with
more respect. At present they regard one another with mingled feelings
of hatred and contempt. The Englishman thinks that he has a right to
despise brown-skinned men who were once cannibals, who know nothing about
title-deeds, live in dog-kennels, feed on fern-roots and putrid fish,
and render their faces hideous by tattooing. He hates them as the only
obstacle between himself and those valuable lands with which they refuse
to part; he is tempted to believe that the only way to pacify New Zealand
is not to leave a single Maori alive. “The black fellows,” or “niggers,”
as they are contemptuously called, conscious of the existence of these
feelings, are ready enough to retaliate. They have the firmest belief
in their own superior courage. “You white people,” said a native chief,
“are very good for building houses and ships, for buying and selling, for
making cattle fat, and for growing beans and cabbages; you are like the
rats, always at work; but as to fighting, you are like them also, you
only know how to run.”
During this war they have had occasion to revise their opinion regarding
our courage; they have also taught us to respect their heroic powers of
endurance, and to believe that many virtues may be found beneath a brown
skin. If the experience of the past prevents us from looking forward with
too much confidence to the future destiny of this noble race, who have
decreased to one-half of their number since they welcomed the Anglo-Saxon
race to their shores, we have at least a right to expect that they shall
be treated with justice, and nothing be done to hasten on that fate which
seems already to be impending over them. England will thus be saved
the remorse of wilfully neglecting to take any measures to avoid those
calamities to which the contact of civilized with semi-barbarous races
has hitherto given rise, and the Maori may yet become a sharer in those
blessings which civilization and Christianity can alone bestow.
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