WITH THE
LOST LEGION
IN NEW
ZEALAND
[Illustration]
NEW ZEALAND
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WERNER LAURIE, Clifford’s Inn, London
[Illustration: G. HAMILTON-BROWNE.]
WITH THE LOST LEGION
IN
NEW ZEALAND
BY
Colonel G. HAMILTON-BROWNE
“MAORI BROWNE”
Late Commandant in Colonial Forces
[Illustration]
_ILLUSTRATED BY S. VALDA_
LONDON
T. WERNER LAURIE
CLIFFORD’S INN
THIS WORK IS
DEDICATED BY THE AUTHOR
TO THE MEMORY OF
THE OFFICERS AND MEN OF
THE LOST LEGION
WHOSE BONES LIE BURIED IN FORGOTTEN GRAVES
ON THE WILD FERN RANGES AND IN THE
DENSE BUSH OF NEW ZEALAND
WHERE THEY FELL FIGHTING FOR
QUEEN AND FLAG
CONTENTS
PAGE
PREFACE 1
PART I
CHAPTER
I. WHY I JOINED THE LOST LEGION 5
II. THE HAU HAUS 14
III. I START TO JOIN THE LOST LEGION 28
IV. I JOIN THE LOST LEGION 54
V. MY BAPTISM OF FIRE. OTAPAWA 74
VI. A FROLIC WITH THE KUPAPAS 95
VII. BUSH-WHACKING 109
VIII. “AND WE DIE, AND NONE CAN TELL THEM
WHERE WE DIED” 130
IX. I JOIN THE TROOPERS 151
X. HOW MAORIS SHOULD BE FOUGHT 170
XI. SPORT À LA LOST LEGION 183
XII. THE YEAR OF THE LAMB 200
XIII. TE NGUTU-O-TE-MANU 223
XIV. MOTUROA 239
PART II
I. YARN OF THE GATE PAH 251
II. TE KOOTI 276
III. NGATAPA 286
IV. BACK TO THE WEST COAST 306
V. THE URIWERA CAMPAIGN 325
VI. THE TAUPO CAMPAIGN 345
VII. THE TAUPO CAMPAIGN--_continued_ 359
VIII. HIDE-AND-SEEK WITH TE KOOTI 380
IX. THE END OF NEW ZEALAND WARS 389
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
G. HAMILTON-BROWNE _Frontispiece_
COLONEL MCDONNELL _To face page_ 42
TE KEPA ” 82
EVERY BULLET HAS ITS BILLET ” 128
FIELDING UNDER DIFFICULTIES ” 152
TITOKOWARU ” 186
OBSTRUCTING H.M. MAIL ” 198
COLONEL WHITMORE ” 226
KEREOPA ” 274
TE KOOTI ” 280
AMBUSCADE: DEATH OF
LIEUTENANT WHITE ” 336
MAZEPPA REPRODUCED ” 354
_I’ve had my share of pastime, and I’ve done my share of toil,
And life is short--the longest life a span;
I care not now to tarry for the corn or for the oil,
Or for the wine that maketh glad the heart of man.
For good undone and gifts misspent and resolutions vain,
’Tis somewhat late to trouble. This I know--
I should live the same life over, if I had to live again;
And the chances are I go where most men go._
_A. LINDSAY GORDON._
PREFACE
Every Johnny not a professional novelist has, I suppose, some reason
besides making money when he sits down to write a book, for, as far as
I can see, there is deuced little pleasure to be gained by the author
while occupied in doing so, especially if, like myself, he should have
passed some forty years of his life on the frontiers of the Empire,
and, with the exception of writing an occasional letter, has never,
during that time, taken a pen in his hand. My reason is that during the
last three or four years, since broken health and bad luck drove me
back to civilisation, such as it is in England, I have frequently been
knocked end-ways by the woeful ignorance of all classes of Englishmen,
not only of the history of the various colonies that form the Empire,
but also of the struggles of the men in acquiring and holding the same.
Again I have noticed no one ever gives the colonial irregular troops
the least credit of having fought and suffered in the Imperial cause,
nor does anyone in this country seem to be aware of the debt the Empire
owes to the men of the Lost Legion.
Not long ago I dined at the same table with a big city pot, who after
dinner gassed inordinately about OUR Empire, laying a great stress on
the “our,” as if he had been a prime mover in the settlement of every
country contained in it. New Zealand was the country under discussion,
and amongst other twaddle he discoursed on the wonderful progress WE
(a very big “we”) had made in those islands. During a pause in the
conversation I humbly asked him: “How did England acquire this fruitful
country?” With a disdainful smile he condescended to inform me Captain
Cook found it and gave it to England. “But,” said I, “surely in my
young days I remember a lot of fighting going on there.” “Oh yes,”
he replied, “there was some trouble out there, but WE” (a big “we”
again) “sent out our soldiers, who soon put a stop to that, and then
WE” (a huge “we” this time) “developed the country until it is one
of the gardens of the world.” Still with due humility I asked if he
were a New Zealand colonist, and was not astonished when he replied:
“Good gracious me, no; I have never been in the country, and except to
occasionally visit the Continent, I never leave England.”
This and many other instances determined me to jump into the breach,
and try if a yarn, even written by such a duffer as myself, can educate
some few of my countrymen, and let them know what sort of a life the
men of the Lost Legion led during the wars that took place in New
Zealand from 1866 to 1871, which wars eventually pacified the North
Island, and were fought without the assistance of a single Imperial
soldier.
Moreover thousands of novels have been written with plots founded on
the splendid achievements of our gallant army and navy, then why should
not one be penned about the deeds of the Lost Legion, the men who have
not only rolled out the map of the Empire, as the deft hand of a cook
rolls out a lump of dough, but who have also held that ground until
properly settled by their own countrymen.
Innumerable and unknown are the graves of the Lost Legionaries, slain
as they have been by the bullet, tomahawk and assagai of their savage
opponents, or cut down by hunger, thirst and the malarial fevers of the
lands into which they have penetrated.
And now if I need any further excuse for inflicting this badly written
(for I claim no pretensions to literary skill) yarn upon you, let me
inform you that in the main the facts are all strictly true, and that
the men I have tried to depict lived, starved, fought and died in the
very manner described in this volume.
So now that we are inspanned let’s trek.
_THE LOST LEGION_
_There’s a Legion that never was ’listed,
That carries no colours or crest
But split in a thousand detachments
Is breaking the road for the rest._
· · · · · · · · · · · · · ·
_We preach in advance of the army,
We skirmish ahead of the Church,
With never a gunboat to help us,
When we’re scuppered and left in the lurch.
But we know as the cartridges finish,
And we’re piled on our last little shelves,
That the Legion that never was ’listed
Will send us as good as ourselves._
_RUDYARD KIPLING._
WITH THE LOST LEGION
IN NEW ZEALAND
PART I
CHAPTER I
WHY I JOINED THE LOST LEGION
I, Richard Burke, at least so I am told, for although present myself
I cannot claim a vivid recollection of the fact, was born shortly
before the middle of the last century. My father was a major in H.M.
army, having the reputation of being a very smart soldier, and was
also looked upon as being one of the best sportsmen in the service, as
he was justly famous, not only in the saddle, but also as a shot, a
fisherman and a general good all-round man. This, together with being
descended from a very ancient Irish family, made him popular both in
the service and in society. My mother was a member of an old Lancashire
county family, most of whose men-folk had for generations worn the
Queen’s scarlet, so that from both sword and distaff side I inherited
the longing to be a soldier. My paternal grandfather, who had been a
distinguished cavalry officer during the Peninsular War, was a big
county magnate, and on his death left two large estates, my father
inheriting the old family demesne and mansion situated in the north of
Ireland; and now I think I have told you quite enough about my family
belongings.
I was the fourth son, and from my earliest youth was looked upon as
the unlucky member of the family, being always in hot water. At a
very tender age I took a delight in watching my father’s regiment at
drill, and the first licking I ever got was for a breach of military
discipline, the crime being that while under lawful control of my
nurse I had committed mutiny by direct disobedience of orders, and had
aggravated that crime by conduct unbecoming a soldier, insomuch as by
crawling through a drain I had broken away from my escort, who, being
portly, not to say fat, was quite unable to follow me, and in direct
defiance of her repeated orders had betaken myself to the barracks,
where I was subsequently discovered and arrested while playing at
soldiers with the barrack children. Keep me out of the barracks they
could not, and when I was seven years old I am certain that had I
possessed sufficient strength I could have gone through the drill
as well as the regimental fugleman. It was therefore, at the age of
seven, I was sent to a private school in Derbyshire, kept by a dear
old rector, the squire of the parish being an old service friend of my
father. This worthy old gentleman was also a great sportsman, and took
charge of my education in all branches of field sports. Young as I was,
I was most anxious to acquire strength, so that I became a devotee to
all gymnastic exercises, especially boxing; consequently when I reached
the age of thirteen I was a good horseman, shot and swimmer, while,
being naturally a robust boy, I had acquired the muscle and strength
of a lad at least four years older than I really was. At this time a
maternal uncle who had served many years in the H.E.I.C.S. cavalry
returned home and took up his quarters with us in Ireland. He was a
noted swordsman and shikaree, who, having distinguished himself greatly
during the Indian Mutiny, had retired as colonel when the company’s
service was merged into the Imperial.
Although an Englishman, he was a great respecter of, and authority on,
the ancient pastime of duelling, and he quickly instructed us boys in
the strict etiquette of the duello. It was now quite time for me to
choose a profession, and after a long confab it was decided I should
go into the artillery, so I was despatched to a public school that has
been very famous for passing young fellows into the service, especially
into the scientific branches. There I remained over four years, gaining
far more laurels in the playing fields than in the lecture-rooms, for
although I worked hard in a desultory way, still my best efforts were
given to the playground and the gymnasium.
This being the case my father determined to send me to Lausanne, so
as to perfect myself in French, science and mathematics, an idea my
uncle fully approved of, as there resided at that place a most noted
_maître d’armes_, who he thought would be the very man to put a polish
on my swordsmanship. At Lausanne I stayed for some months, working
hard by fits and starts and enjoying myself thoroughly, and here I was
joined by my eldest brother, Jack, a gay and giddy subaltern in a crack
cavalry regiment. Together we started on a trip through northern Italy,
and while at Milan I had the opportunity of putting into practice the
precepts my uncle and the celebrated _maître d’armes_ had taught me.
It happened in this way. I was called out by an Italian nobleman of
sorts, who objected to some small attentions I had paid to a Tyrolese
chantress in a café. Him I easily defeated, wearing him out by my
better training and then administering a pin-prick on his forearm,
whereon he insisted upon embracing me and we became great friends.
Towards the end of the trip, however, I had a misunderstanding with a
French artillery cadet at Strasbourg, who, as I was too self-confident,
ran me through the arm. He also embraced me and we became good friends.
After the completion of our trip I returned to London, where I really
worked hard, and I had no doubt I should have passed into Woolwich all
right, when on the eve of going in for my last paper I was poisoned by
a fiend of a woman, whom I was perfectly innocent of harming, and so,
not having qualified for the requisite number of subjects, I was spun.
In a fit of disgust I enlisted in the R.H.A. as a driver, and for a
few months soldiered in the ranks at Aldershot, but, just when I had
had enough of it, I was discovered by my father’s cousin, who had
assumed command of the camp, and who promptly had me discharged. Saying
good-bye to my comrades necessitated my imbibing too much beer, so I
reached my father’s town house full of beans and benevolence, where,
with my usual bad luck, I ran foul of two very big military swells, who
in my exuberance of spirits I astonished and quite unintentionally
insulted. Next afternoon, by my father’s orders, I attempted to
apologise to the mighty potentates, and should have most likely been
forgiven had not my infernal bad luck still stuck to me, for just at
the moment that the tomahawk was being buried, I handed my father a
vile squib cigar which I had placed in my case for the benefit of my
eldest brother, who I considered had been too handy with his toe while
assisting me to bed the previous night, and which I had completely
forgotten. The debacle that ensued was too much for my nerves, and I
fled from the house.
In my agony of mind I remembered an appointment with my brother and
made for his club, a very fast one, where I told my pitiful story. He
and his wild friends were delighted with the yarn, and a council was
promptly held to discuss what was to become of me. At this council one
of them, a Roman Catholic of very high rank, suggested I should join
the Papal Zouaves, at the same time offering me letters of introduction
to the big-wigs at the Vatican. These I gratefully accepted, and in
less than a fortnight became a _sous-lieut._ in that cosmopolitan
corps, in which I thoroughly enjoyed myself. However, it was not for
long, as at the end of five months I was summoned home to present
myself at the examination for a direct commission.
On my return to England I took up my residence with my uncle at
Brighton, and while there came in contact with the celebrated Gipsy
Lee, who told my fortune, and that so truthfully I think I may be
forgiven should I repeat her prognostications.
It fell out in this way. One day I chanced to meet an old schoolfellow,
and together we walked out to the Devil’s Dyke, and while lolling
on the grass were accosted by Gipsy Lee, then a handsome middle-aged
woman, who insisted on telling me my fortune. In a chaffing spirit I
replied to her solicitations: “Ah, mother, I know my fortune. I am
going up to be examined for the army and shall then go to India, but
come along, you shall tell me if I am to pass high up on the list.”
Putting my hand carelessly into my pocket, meaning to give her a small
piece of silver, I accidentally drew out a sovereign, which I handed
her, then, seeing my mistake, said, with a rather rueful laugh: “Keep
it, mother, you’re in luck’s way to-day.” She shook her head and looked
at my hand for some time, then gravely said: “An open-handed, free
giver you are, and as it was born in the blood, so will you remain till
your death. That is as it should be, but you are and always will be
reckless, never learning the value of money, although you will often
suffer for the want of it. You will pass your examination high up on
the list, but will never enter the army. You will wander over the
world, through lands I have never heard of, but you will never go to
India. You have already been a soldier; there is blood on your hand,
and there will be much more, for, although you will never join the
army, you will take part in many wars and fight in many battles. You
will suffer much, you will experience hunger, thirst, cold and poverty.
You will pass through many dangers, from fire, from water, from savage
men and beasts. You will lose many friends through war and sickness,
but though often hurt you will live a long life of disappointment.
Others will make fortunes round you, but you will remain poor. Women
will be your best friends and your worst enemies, and you will be
robbed of your birthright by your own brother. Many times you will have
grasped the cup of good fortune, only to have it dashed from your hand.
Yet you will meet every disaster with a laugh, and will learn nothing.
Still keep up your heart, for, although you will live a rough, hard
life, you will live a long one. The end is hidden from me, but remember
there is often a burst of sunshine at the end of a cloudy day.”
Had I been superstitious, this prophecy might have upset me, but,
although an Irishman, I merely laughed at it, and in due course of time
went up to London and passed my exam. There I was joined by my brother,
who was on long leave, and accompanied him to Spa, so as to put in the
three months previous to joining the regiment I should be gazetted to.
Among my brother’s friends was a Belgian nobleman, who, being a great
patron of the turf, owned a string of racehorses and was very pleased
to obtain my services as a gentleman rider for that year’s Spa and
Liège races.
While waiting in Spa to oblige him I got into serious trouble. Among
the gang of blacklegs and _chevaliers d’industrie_ who in those days
hung about the Continental gambling resorts was a man called Baron
Touchais, who with his wife clung to the fringe of the fast society
that frequented the tables and took part in the gaieties of the very
gay little town. I was quickly introduced to these people, and very
foolishly allowed myself to be drawn into a flirtation with the
lady, who was a pretty, vivacious little Frenchwoman. The man was a
well-dressed, plausible fellow, a past master at all games of chance,
who, not having yet been discovered cheating, was still a member of the
clubs, and tolerated by the fast set. I, however, very soon got sick
of the whole business, and strove all I could to break loose, but it
eventually ended in a scene, evidently prearranged for the purpose of
blackmailing. The lady, with her hair down, weeping and hanging on to
my shoulder, is discovered by the bold, bad baron, who rushes in with
a sword-cane, but, getting knocked end over end by a straight left
between the eyes, reclines on the floor drumming with his heels and
vomiting blue blasphemy.
The infernal row he made brought everybody in the hotel into the room,
and the publicity of the affair forced him, very much against his will,
to call me out, as it was cash he wanted, not blood, as of course had
he not done so he would have been kicked out of society. Naturally I
was obliged to go out with him, although I did so much against my will,
especially as H.R.H. had just promulgated an order that any officer
taking part in a duel would be at once cashiered, and although I had
not yet been gazetted I knew full well that if a duel got bruited about
I should not be permitted to serve in H.M. army. Notwithstanding this I
had to go out, two of my Belgian friends kindly volunteering to act as
my seconds. It was arranged that the duel was to be fought with pistols
_à la barrière_, and I received instructions from Baron Le Noble, my
principal second, that unless my opponent advanced to the mark I was to
allow him to fire two shots, delivering my own in such a manner that
all the seconds could see that I missed intentionally. These orders I
carried out, receiving my enemy’s fire and then knocking up the turf
three or four feet from him. The duel should now have terminated, but
my opponent claimed a third shot. This for some time my seconds refused
to allow, but at last gave way, and Le Noble, as he handed me my
pistol, said to me: “You have done all that honour demands, now fire at
him.” Again I obeyed instructions, for on the word being given Touchais
strode up to the barrier, and was taking deliberate aim at me, when I
dropped him. As the wound was considered mortal, my seconds hurried me
out of the country, and I crossed over to England.
The duel made some stir, although Touchais made rapid progress to
convalescence, but as there was no hope of being allowed to join the
service, by the advice of my uncle and one or two very senior officers
I determined to go out to New Zealand, where plenty of fighting was
going on. This I did, and in a very few days, with plenty of money in
my pocket, and a bundle of letters of introduction, I bade farewell to
my uncle and brother, and, accompanied by my servant, set sail for the
antipodes.