I START TO JOIN THE LOST LEGION
It was on the 14th September 1865 the ship _Queen Bee_ was towed down
the river and dropped anchor at Gravesend, so as to allow the crew
to sober up, and the captain to join. In the meantime my servant and
myself arranged and made comfortable my state-room, stowing away and
making fast everything in its place. I may also, while we are at
anchor, take the opportunity of bringing to your notice my man, Tim
Egan. He had not been with me very long, but as the circumstances under
which I met him, and subsequently engaged him, were unique, and as he
not only faithfully served me, but stood by me, as a gallant comrade
and a true, if humble, friend for many years, until a Kaffir bullet put
an end to his life, I may be pardoned should I digress and relate them.
It happened some months previously, when I was staying at Brighton,
I had been asked to play in a cricket match against a crack light
infantry regiment, and on the evening previous to the first day’s play
had proceeded to the town at which they were quartered. On my arrival
I was sitting at a window of the principal inn when my attention was
attracted to a couple of soldiers coming along the road, one of whom
was very drunk indeed, while his comrade, a fine, slashing-looking
young fellow, was trying to convoy him home to barracks, which was a
difficult job, as the drunken man was not only a big, heavy fellow, but
also hung back and resisted.
These two warriors were followed by a crowd of jeering roughs and
hobbledehoys, who annoyed them, and seemed inclined to obstruct their
journey. The drunken man resented this conduct, wishing to stop and
fight, but the sober one took no notice of the gang and only tried to
get his comrade along, until they came just opposite to where I was
sitting, when a big rough jostled the votary of Bacchus, evidently
trying to trip him up and upset them. It would have been better for
him had he left them alone, for, placing his helpless comrade against
the wall, the Tommy turned on his aggressor, who, encouraged by the
rabble, was about to renew his attempt, exclaiming in a voice that at
once denoted he belonged to my own country: “Arrah, ye blaggard, ye
want it, do ye? Thin begorra ye shall have it,” and with that he lashed
out with his left, landing his opponent flat on his back in the middle
of the road. Then stepping back, he stood in front of his mate, hitting
out right and left at the gang of roughs, who now tried to rush him. I
was running out to assist him when six or seven policemen came up, who
without the least inquiry proceeded to arrest the two soldiers. But
this piece of brutal Saxon injustice to Ould Ireland was more than my
countryman, whose fighting blood was now up, could stand, for no sooner
had a bobby placed his hand on him than he knocked him down, and as the
others rushed in he served them the same way, until the footpath was
strewn with recumbent Peelers, and I believe he would have come out
top dog had not a rough legged him, when he was brought to the ground,
sat upon and captured. I had never seen a more gallant resistance, and
my heart warmed to the victim, so that I immediately proceeded to the
barracks, called on the adjutant and gave him full particulars of the
row, offering, at the same time, to bear witness of the correct conduct
of his man. This in due course of time I did, when my evidence saved
the poor fellow from imprisonment. Now it had always been a family
custom that when ever one of us joined the service he should take with
him, as servant, some young man or other reared on the estate, and as
I should shortly want a servant, and had taken a fancy to this man, I
asked to see him. When I did so he warmly expressed his gratitude for
my volunteering evidence on his behalf. “But sure,” said he, “ave a
Burke of Clonkil wouldn’t stand by a poor boy from his own county, who
wud?” “Oh, so you are a countyman of mine?” I asked. “Deed I am, yer
honour, and mind ye and your brothers well. Bright boys ye were, an’
full of divilment.” “Well,” said I, “I am joining the service soon,
and want a servant. If I buy your discharge, would you like to come
to me? Of course you will have to enlist in any regiment I may have
to join.” “Is it come to you and sarve ye I’d like? Troth I’d give an
arum for the chance. An’ do ye mane it, Mr Dick? Do you mane it, sor?
Be the holy cross of Clonkil, I’ll sarve ye as long as life blood rins,
and me four bones hang together.” So then and there the compact was
made. I lodged the money and directed Tim to report himself to my uncle
at Brighton, so soon as he should receive his discharge. All this had
taken place and Tim, accompanying my uncle up to town, had joined me,
when I explained to him my change of plans, at the same time offering
to take him with me, provided he saw fit to follow my very uncertain
fortunes. “Is it go to New Zaland wid ye, Mr Dick?” quoth he. “Sure
it’s to hell I’d go wid ye, and maybe that’s farther. An’ it’s fighting
ye say there is in thim outlandish parts. Well, an’ why not, sure it’s
our trade it is, an’ maybe there’s some loot to be picked up, an’ some
purty gurls to colougue wid, an’ it’s thankful I’ll be to visit forin’
parts, for sure so many young women have been so kind to me that it’s
bothered I am, for it’s Mormon I must turn, to satisfy them all, God
bless ’em.”
Both my uncle and Jack considered it was right for me to be accompanied
in my exile by a faithful follower who could be depended on to stand
by me, so that when the good ship _Queen Bee_ sailed from London port
she carried the two of us to seek our fate in the antipodes. Tim Egan
was indeed a man any young fellow might be proud to have at his call.
Standing five feet eleven in height, he was a picture of a beau-ideal
Irish soldier, square in the chest, broad in the shoulders, narrow in
the flanks and well set up, every bit of him looked made for strength
and activity, while his handsome, clean-cut face, that usually carried
a pleasant smile, and his dark blue, merry eye made him one that must
attract the notice of a girl be she white, black or brown. Such was
Tim Egan, and I may say here that a truer, braver comrade, friend and
soldier, never took the Queen’s shilling.
As soon as the tide suited, and the crew had slept off the thick of
their drink, all hands were roused out, the anchor weighed, and the
tug, getting hold of our hawser, towed us, during the early hours of
the morning, out to sea, casting us loose as we opened the Channel,
when with a fair wind we hoisted topsails and topgallant sails, to the
good old-time chanty of “Renzo, boys, Renzo,” and with our main royal
set we bore away on our course to the other side of the world.
Going to sea in the sixties was a very different matter from going
to sea nowadays. At present you step on board a huge floating hotel,
with all the comforts and most of the luxuries of the best London
establishments, finding innumerable well-dressed stewards to attend to
every want, while your comfortable though small cabin is provided with
everything necessary. Then again the cold storage chamber furnishes
the table with fresh meat, game, poultry, fish and ice for every meal.
While in those days you were accommodated with an empty square cell
lighted by a dim port hole, this chamber being called a state-room, and
you could furnish it to your fancy at your own expense. Then as regards
the commissariat, here there was a great difference--no ice, no cooling
drinks, no well-filled menu--true a number of sheep, pigs and poultry
were carried, but these rarely lasted out the voyage, and in our case a
heavy gale we ran up against in the North Atlantic deprived us of most
of ours, and I have frequently seen the steward and cabin boy washed
into the lee scuppers, together with the dinner they were conveying
aft to the cuddy, from the galley that was located abaft the foremast.
Again at the present time you know to the day, even to the hour, when
you will reach your destination, while then you did not even know, to
the month, when you would get there. Still I loved the old wind-jamming
days, and can look back to many a jolly hour lazed away on the breezy
decks of the old _Queen Bee_. Our saloon passengers consisted of an old
major, going out to take up a grant of land and settle in New Zealand;
three or four young subs. just off the barrack square, _en route_ to
join their regiments; and eight young fellows who, as the old song
runs: “Had played in the eleven, or pulled five or six or seven in the
‘Varsity or else their college boat,” who were going out to learn sheep
farming; at least, poor lads, they thought so.
In the ’tween decks were one hundred and twenty single women sent out
under the ægis and, I believe, at the expense of Miss Burdett-Coutts,
and in the fore part of the ship were some forty Tommies and twenty
male emigrants, so she had the makings of a very gay ship. I am not,
however, going to write a history of that voyage, as a good many of the
incidents that took place on board would not bear telling, as they were
very gay, and as regards the passage itself nothing very startling took
place. We met two very severe gales, but weathered them safely, only
losing one boat and two topsails, blown to rags, and we also passed
close to a large raft, but as there was nothing on it we did not stop
to examine it, so after a passage of one hundred and eighteen days
we dropped anchor in the beautiful harbour of Wellington on the 10th
January 1866, and were very glad to get our feet on dry land once more.
New Zealand in 1866, the year I landed, was in a very bad way indeed.
The war in the North Island, begun in 1860, showed still no signs of
terminating, and blazed up wherever the white settler came in contact
with the native. For although General Sir Duncan Cameron had, with
overwhelming numbers, forced his way into the interior of the country,
and had built chains of forts with which to hold it, yet no white man’s
life was safe out of rifle range of these works, and the settlers,
especially on the west coast, had all to abandon their farms, and
send their women and children to the South Island for safety, while
they themselves had to take up arms and form themselves into defence
forces. A year or so before there had been a great impulse given to
the trouble by the invention of the new religion, called Pai Marire,
that had turned the Maoris, both Christian and pagan, from chivalrous,
if savage, enemies into howling, bloodthirsty fanatics who murdered in
cold blood, with every vile atrocity, man, woman and child not only of
the white race but even also of the Maoris who refused to join their
crazy faith. It is not my purpose, however, to write a history of New
Zealand and its troubles, but of how I came to join for good the Lost
Legion, the men who live and die on the frontiers of the Empire, and
who, reckless of life, health and everything else that makes existence
endurable to the carpet soldier, have gradually rolled out the limits
of Old England’s possessions as the deft hand of a cook rolls out the
lump of dough on a pastry board.
Directly we landed I made inquiries as to the whereabouts of Sir
Duncan Cameron, but was quickly informed he had resigned the command
of the forces to Sir Trevor Chute, and that the latter was at present
on the west coast, but that it was impossible to say where. This was
a disappointment, but as I had more than one string to my bow I bent
my way to the Mount Cook Barracks, as, among others, I had a strong
letter of introduction to the colonel commanding the regiment stationed
there. I was most hospitably received, asked to dine, and, after a few
minutes’ chat about mutual friends in the old country, I asked the best
way how to get to the front and take a hand in the fighting.
The Colonel looked surprised, but said, “Well, look here, Mr Burke, if
you really want to see what they call fighting in this country” (he
had served through the Crimea and Mutiny and like all the rest of the
regular officers was sick and disgusted with the long-drawn-out war),
“the best thing for you to do would be to join one of the colonial
defence forces. We get news very slowly here but the day for regular
troops in this country is past, and before another twelve months is
over there will be but few left in the island. The only way to put an
end to the war will be for small bands of irregulars to follow the Hau
Haus into the bush, live, or rather starve, in the bush, and keep in
pursuit of the enemy until they are worn down and killed off. Now I
will, if you like, at the club this evening, introduce you to some of
the colonial leaders and you can discuss the matter with them, but you
will find it a hard, brutal life without any chance of gaining honour
or distinction.”
After a pleasant dinner he took me down to the club, and there I met
several leaders on their way from the east coast to the west, for,
as the enemy held the whole of the interior of the island and there
were no roads, all communications between the two coasts had to be
sea-borne. I was also introduced to several members of the Colonial
House of Parliament who were at that time in the capital, and, among
others, to the Defence Minister, to whom I mentioned my desire of
taking service. He was evidently amused at the idea of a man travelling
over fifteen thousand miles to run the chance of getting killed and
turned into long pig but assured me there were plenty of openings in
the country for a man desirous of seeing hard, rough fighting, and
asked me to call at his office next morning. Well pleased with my
evening I said good-bye to my host and returned to my hotel, where I
found my shipmates full of beer and excitement, drinking in company
with some half-dozen tough, weather-beaten, fine-looking young fellows
dressed in blue jumpers, Bedford cord riding breeches and smasher
hats, who on being introduced to me I discovered to be troopers in
the Colonial Field Force. They were all men who belonged to the class
that go to public schools and Varsities, and in a very short time I
discovered that most of them had come out to learn sheep farming, but
finding the cadet business to be a swindle had thrown it up and joined
the irregular forces. Their tales of the wild life they led quickly
captivated my companions, who one and all declared they would join
the irregulars and let the sheep farming go swing. Other men trooped
in, and seeing every likelihood of a very wet night I slipped off to
bed and managed to get some hours of sleep, notwithstanding the rough
choruses that were howled out for some hours as the troopers, taking
the only chance they had, after months of hard work, and knowing they
were on the threshold of another campaign, were determined not to let
that chance slip but employ it so as to knock down their cheques and
blue all the hard-earned pay they had in their pouches.
Next morning at breakfast, which was partaken of by all the guests
at a sort of table d’hote, there were many troopers present and I
got into conversation with one of them. Up to the present I had been
rather surprised to see the principal hotel of the New Zealand capital
thronged with men serving in the ranks, but my eyes were quickly
opened by my new acquaintance, who told me that the corps to which he
himself and most of the men present belonged was the Wanganui Defence
Force, and that as every able-bodied man in that district was forced to
serve, most of them at table with us were well-to-do men, holding good
positions in the country but, having been forced to abandon their farms
and businesses, had been enrolled into a corps; that they had been
serving on the east coast, and had been recalled to the west coast;
that the day previous their transport had put into Wellington, where it
was going to remain three days, so that they were taking advantage of
the stoppage to enjoy a few days’ life of civilisation between the two
campaigns.
They seemed to be all very keen about the new campaign, as they
considered the new general to be a far better man, for the work, than
the one who had lately resigned, whose method of conducting the last
five years’ operations they criticised in the most unmerciful manner,
while their open comments on the inutility of the regulars, both
officers and men, made me wince with astonished indignation, so that it
was with the greatest difficulty I could restrain myself from starting
a row.
The man I was sitting next to evidently noticed my vexation, for he
said: “If you have finished breakfast let’s go out on the back verandah
and have a smoke, and, if you have nothing better to do, a chat for an
hour or two.”
As he seemed a very good fellow, and I was most anxious to gain
knowledge, I gave him my card, telling him I had only landed the
day previous. “Yes,” said he, “I can see you are a new chum, and I
saw you were getting riled at the talk of the boys inside, but you
must remember that the majority of those men have been ruined by the
pig-headed procrastination of the General, who with twenty thousand men
at his disposal has not been able, after five years’ warfare, to gain
any permanent advantage over savages who have never at any one time
exceeded two thousand fighting men. Now,” he went on, “my name is West.
I own a large farm on the west coast. I have been out in this country
seventeen years, and, having sunk my capital in land and stock, had
put in twelve years’ hard work in clearing ground, fencing farm and
improving stock. Five years ago I was well off, with every prospect
of becoming a rich man, having a comfortable house, a wife and two
children, good horses, valuable cattle and sheep, and was contemplating
a trip home for twelve months. The war broke out. I just saved the
wife and kids; my house is burned, my stock and horses driven away and
looted, my fences destroyed and my farm a wilderness, so that when this
wretched business terminates I shall have to begin again. I am just
completing three years’ service in this force, and as far as I can see
we are no nearer to the end than what we were the day we began.”
“But why blame the General and troops?” I asked. “Surely you have out
here thousands of officers and men whose splendid conduct and courage
during the Crimea and Mutiny will live in history as long as the old
flag flies?”
“Mr Burke,” he answered, “you do not understand. The man who speaks
a word against the courage and devotion of H.M. troops lies in the
throat, but nevertheless, from the General downwards, they are simply
useless for this sort of work. If you have the patience, and,” with a
laugh, “promise not to go for me, I will try and explain. The facts
are these. The General and a vast majority of the senior officers are
hide-bound in the old traditions and customs of the British army,
so much so that they are quite incapable of adapting a new style of
warfare to novel circumstances, while the training of the men itself
renders them unfit for bush warfare. I read, as a boy at school, how
General Braddock, refusing to take the advice of his colonial officers,
was cut up in an American forest. It is the same here, and it has
only been our overwhelming strength that has saved similar disasters
in this country. Look here, let me give you a few examples of what
has happened in the past five years. You have, you say, been educated
for a soldier, and have come to this country to lend us a hand; it
will therefore do you no harm to hear and ponder over some of the
absurdities that have been perpetrated, remembering that I am speaking
with no ill-will against the General or troops but only just telling
you how Maoris should not be fought. In 1860, when the war broke out
in the Taranaki district, and we settlers saw our life’s work go up in
smoke, although the Europeans outnumbered the natives ten to one, it
seemed that nothing could be done. The Maoris built pahs at the edge
of the bush, often on deserted farms. General Pratt, then in command
there, would besiege these, as if they were Sebastopols, and when with
a vast amount of hard work he had sapped up to them he would find them
deserted, the natives having withdrawn into the bush, where the General
refused to follow them. The Maoris therefore used to plant their
potatoes in perfect security, then, while their crops were growing,
would announce the shooting season to be open, and invite their friends
to come and pot white men, making raids into our country right up to
musket range of the forts, killing and looting everyone and anything
they came across. Occasionally the General (the Maoris called him the
rat, from his burrowing and sapping propensities) would ginger up and
try to make what he called a combined movement, and even to venture
into the bush, but always to come to grief. _Par exemple_, at one of
the very first fights, the attack on the pah at Waireka, Colonel Murray
with two hundred regulars and one hundred and twenty Colonials were
detached to take it, the latter being ordered to make a detour through
some very rough country and take up a position in rear of the place,
while the regulars were to rush it from the front. The Colonials after
a sharp skirmish took up the position assigned to them and held it
all day, but the attack was never made, and at nightfall the regulars
drew off and returned to the town, leaving the Colonials planted there
with their retreat cut off and ammunition nearly all expended. They
were in a tight fix, and it would have gone hard with them had not
Captain Cracroft, R.N., who with a party of sixty bluejackets had just
landed from H.M.S. _Niger_, heard of their predicament. He at once
took action, got hold of three young fellows to guide him, and started
off with his jacks to do their best to help their stranded countrymen.
Captain Cracroft wasted no time over formulating complicated plans or
strategy but made straight for the pah; it was pitch dark and when he
reached the vicinity of it his party fell across a mob of the enemy.
One volley the bluejackets fired, then out cutlass and revolver and
charged the astonished natives, who fled for the protection of their
works with the sailors in close pursuit. The stockade is reached, but
that does not check the shell-backs, who, giving one another a leg up,
enter the place, and gut it as clean as a red herring. The Maoris, who
had bailed up the Colonials, hearing the row ran to see what was up,
and the latter, taking advantage of their absence, retired in safety.
So far so good, but the conduct of the soldiers’ O.C. in botching the
show caused heaps of ill-feeling.
“Subsequently, after an immense amount of talk and preparations, a
field force goes out to attack Puketakauere, more combined movements
and high-falutin strategy, all of which, when it comes to the point,
proved unworkable in the bush, and we have to clear out after losing
sixty soldiers, shot down like sheep. Again, look at the game Cameron
has played in the Waikato. With an overwhelming force he attacks
Rangiriri. Mind he is fully cognisant that the natives have neither
food nor water in the pah. He surrounds the place, and instead of
waiting for them to be starved out he assaults the pah three times,
getting beaten back with the loss of over one hundred and thirty men.
“Next day the pah surrendered, as its defenders are dying of thirst.
The following year at Orakau he played the same silly game. He knew the
enemy had neither food nor water, yet he tries five times to rush the
place, loses heaps of men, and the Maoris, unable any longer to endure
the pangs of thirst, sally out, break through the surrounding troops,
and many of them escape.
[Illustration: COL. MCDONNELL.]
“During the same month comes the Gate pah. Again over one hundred men
are lost, through folly, blind stupidity, nothing else. The General has
learnt nothing, is incapable of learning. True, the Tommies caught
the same fellows within two months at Te Ranga, and pretty well wiped
them out with the bayonet. Then the war breaks out again on the west
coast. What is done? General Cameron starts to march up the coast to
Taranaki with two thousand men.
“I was with the mounted portion of the force, and the first day out
the column had marched fifteen miles when it was halted, early in the
afternoon, to pitch camp. The Adjutant-General, Johnston, had picked
out a site at Nukumaru. My O.C., an old hand, who knew the country well
(I was acting as his orderly) rode up to the staff. ‘General,’ said he,
‘don’t you think we are rather too near the bush, especially as that
long Toe-toe grass grows right up to the tents, and we are only five
miles distant from the Weraroa pah, the principal stronghold of the
enemy.’ ‘Pooh, pooh, Major,’ answered the General, ‘do you imagine,
sir, for one moment, that any body of natives would dare to attack two
thousand of H.M. troops?’ ‘Yes, sir,’ said the Major, ‘fifty Maoris are
quite capable of doing so.’ But it was no good talking, so we rode away
to our lines. ‘Keep your horses saddled, boys,’ said the Major, ‘we may
be wanted any moment,’ and we did so.
“Well, sir, the troops had just finished pitching the tents when rip
comes a volley from the Toe-toe grass. Over rolled Adjutant-General
Johnston and sixteen men dead, and there was hell to pay: men
rushing to the piles of arms, bugles blowing and officers shouting
contradictory orders, while the natives continued blazing into the
camp, some of them even rushing in with their tomahawks, one of them
being killed within twenty yards of the General’s own tent.
“At the first shot our O.C. had yelled out ‘Mount,’ and as we were
standing to our horses we were on them in a moment. ‘Charge,’ sings out
the O.C., and we charged through the long grass right into the middle
of the Hau Haus, there not being more than fifty of them all told.
Maoris won’t stand mounted men, so we swept them back to the bush,
killing a good lot. On our return to camp we found all the soldiers
standing in rows, looking very pretty, and the General very angry,
declaring it was not warfare for fifty savages to attack two thousand
British troops.
“Now the General ought to have learned something from that lesson,
but he didn’t, for next night, a gale of wind blowing, the column was
halted to bivouac in long dry fern. Fine beds for tired men long dry
fern makes, provided there is not a gale of wind blowing and the Hau
Haus are not hostile, but on this occasion such was the case, and we
were roused out by shots and bugle calls to see a wall of fire, twenty
feet high, charging us faster than a horse can gallop. Gad, sir, it
was a case of _sauve qui peut_, and we all bolted for the sand-hills
like redshanks, the Maoris tomahawking five of the 18th R.I. picket
and a lot of others. This last affair so disgusted the General that
he refused to leave the beach, and, without making another attempt of
any sort, consumed fifty-seven days to march fifty-four miles, while
the Maoris, only a handful in number, used to chaff us and called the
General the lame seagull.
“I’ll give you one more instance of incapacity, or call it what
you like. Sir George Grey asked the General to attack Weraroa pah.
The General insisted it was impregnable to the force he had at his
disposal, and that he should require at least six thousand men to do
so. After a lot of blarney he sanctioned an attack to be made by Sir
George, who, with less than five hundred Colonials and friendly Maoris,
took the place.
“Now look here, we settlers are sick of the war, and want to get back
to our farms and businesses. We are paying the British Government
forty pounds sterling per annum for every regular, and when it takes
an army fifty-seven days to march along an open beach fifty-four miles
we don’t think we are getting our money’s worth. Besides we can tackle
the natives better ourselves. We men you see here are on our way back
from the east coast, where, without the help of a single regular, we
have smashed the Hau Haus, taking their pah Waerenga-a-Hika, and, with
only twenty-three casualties, have killed one hundred and fifty of the
enemy, and forced four hundred more of them to surrender, two hundred
of whom have been transported to the Chatham Islands, so that they are
out of the way.
“Now the reason I have told you all this is, you say you have come out
here to see fighting. That being so, my straight tip to you is to join
a colonial corps; all the fighting during the coming campaign will be
done by them. Don’t bother about a commission; join the ranks under Von
Tempsky or McDonnell and learn your work; then, after you have done
that, you may take a commission if you like, and your men will think
all the more of you. Now then I’m dry with talking, come and have a
drink, and I’ll walk with you as far as the Defence Minister’s; he is
an old pal of mine. What, you don’t drink? Well so much the better for
you, so let’s get.”
With my new friend discoursing on things in general we strolled along
to the Government Buildings, where we had not to wait many minutes
before we were shown into the minister’s office. This is a funny
country, I thought, where a trooper in uniform, if such a garb can
be called uniform, can call unasked on an important minister; but
new countries, new customs, so I made no remark but accompanied my
companion into the presence of the big man, who greeted him with much
cordiality.
Presently, turning to me, he said, “Mr Burke, you are fortunate in
making the acquaintance of my old friend West, and you will be wise in
taking any advice on colonial matters he may offer you. I have been
thinking over your case. Now this is how it appears to me. Although
you have been educated and trained as a soldier, still you have had no
experience in bush fighting, and without that are of no use to us. I
should therefore recommend you to join a colonial corps as a private,
and you will quickly gain promotion, when you have gone through the
mill and gained the required knowledge. Pay, I believe, is of small
consequence to you; the hardships and dangers of the campaign, which
are very great, must be borne equally by officers and men alike. Good
birth and education are desirable, but it is the best men we want, and
the best man gets ahead in this country. You have travelled fifteen
thousand miles to see fighting, and therefore don’t want to serve as
a town guard, so I will give you a letter to Colonel McDonnell, one of
our most experienced officers, and can promise you that you will see
enough savage warfare and experience every phase of irregular fighting.
What do you say, West?”
“You have given him the same advice as I have already done, so that if
you will scribble a chit to McDonnell and give Burke a pass up in the
_St Kilda_ I will look after him and see him through.”
The advice was sound and I determined to profit by it, so, thankfully
receiving the letter and pass, the latter including the name of Tim, we
shook hands with the minister and backed out.
No sooner were we clear of the Government Buildings than West said:
“Let’s go down to Prosser’s; we are sure to find some of McDonnell’s
men there, and you can make acquaintance with them. You will find them
a warm lot, but all right in the field, and perfect devils to fight.”
Prosser’s, at that time, was the great sporting headquarters of the
up-country man, and was much frequented by the driver and stock-rider
class, every one of whom is more or less a sportsman and lover of
horseflesh. An odd prizefighter or rowing man might be found there
occasionally, while diggers on their way to and from the goldfields
used it largely. It was, however, a well-run establishment, owned
by a very good fellow. On our entrance we found the place swarming
with men of a type I had not as yet met, but although I have used
the word “type,” and anyone could see they were men who followed the
same occupation and had much in common, yet in nationality, birth,
education and manners they differed greatly, and this difference was
far more marked than had been the case among my old comrades in the
Papal Zouaves.
Here, carelessly lounging against the wall, you saw a man whose
clean-cut features, correct mannerism, cultivated voice and easy
abandon proclaimed him unmistakably to have been a former denizen
of the club and drawing-room. Yet he is talking and drinking with a
huge, burly fellow whose sunburnt face, open jumper, tattooed arms and
shoulder-of-mutton fist branded him as a shell-back from before the
stick. Yes, they were all there, the ex-public schoolboy, the ex-army
man, the ex-sailor, stock-rider, bushman, gold-digger, professional
man, ay, and, had you looked carefully, you would no doubt have found
the unfrocked parson. The great majority of them are British, but
among them is a sprinkling of vivacious Frenchmen, stolid Germans,
hang-dog-looking Dagos, and even a few half-caste Maoris and South
Sea Islanders. No matter what nationality they belonged to, they all
had the same indescribable air of reckless good-nature, combined with
determination and latent ferocity, which fully convinced an observer
that although they might be a dangerous and godless crew, yet they were
a fearless one, and that he could plank down his bottom dollar on the
assertion that they would stick to a leader of their own choice to the
last gasp.
West knew some of them, and, having spotted the man he wanted to get
hold of, we elbowed our way through the crowd towards him, refusing
many invitations to drink _en route_. My appearance seemed to cause
considerable excitement among them, and I was nearly deafened with
the number of chaffing questions put to me. “Hullo, mate,” quoth
one, “what’s the last news from the big smoke?” “How’s Kate and Rose
thriving, and is the old market as naughty as ever?” “Have a drink,
pal, and tell us what you were lagged for,” bellows another. “Good old
collars and cuffs, who’s the best girl in London nowadays?” While one
big fellow raised a laugh by roaring out: “Come and have a wet, new
chum. Don’t you tumble, boys, to it? Why, he must be the new little
general who’s been sent out to teach us how to lick the Hau Haus.”
Taking no notice of these embarrassing but good-natured remarks, I
pushed on after my leader, till we reached the man he was making for,
who was a tall, good-looking, bearded fellow whom I at once saw to be
a man in every sense of the word. “Hutton,” quoth West, “come out of
this. I want you to come over and tiffin, also to introduce you to a
new chum friend of mine. Mr Burke, Mr Hutton. Now you know each other,
come along.”
We shoved our way outside and soon reached the comparatively quieter
hotel, where under the back verandah we sat down to chat. “See here,
Hutton,” said West, as soon as we had been served with long drinks, “I
want you to give our young friend a hand. He is going up with us in the
_St Kilda_, taking a letter from the Defence Minister to McDonnell,
whom he is going to join as a Ranger. Now we were both of us new chums
once, and you can do him plenty of good turns, as I do not expect to go
myself farther than Wanganui.”
Hutton looked me over for a minute, and said: “I don’t want to be
inquisitive, Mr Burke, but I think I know a good deal about you. I used
to know London well years ago, and have still an old pal in the Guards
who writes to me. I expect you are the Dick Burke who made himself
rather notorious by fighting duels, blowing up your ancestors and
joined the Papal Zouaves. Well, if such is the case I think you will
do for a Ranger, provided you can stand the work and hardships. We are
chiefly composed of individuals who have run awful muckers, the balance
being men from the gold-diggin’s, together with the sea-drift of the
Pacific slope and the South Seas. But why on earth should you plunge
into the pit? Remember a man who once joins Les Enfants Perdus is lost
for ever, not one man in a hundred ever returning to civilised society.
Look here, Burke--we have no misters in the Rangers--I was once the
same as you are now. Good old family, public school, crack regiment,
best society in London, and all the rest. What am I now? A knock-about
adventurer, stock-rider, prospector, digger, all those I’ve been and
plenty more. I ran a mucker, never mind how, but do you think I never
regret the past? My God!” and his face became suffused with blood and
his eyes glared, “you see me and hundreds of others like me. You see us
drink, hear us laugh and shout, and think what a jovial, high-spirited
crowd we are. Jovial, forsooth, yes, with the joy of hell in our hearts
and the high spirits born of rum in our laughter; and do you think
there is no thought or longings for the old life and the sweet women
whose companionship our folly has cut us off from for ever? Yes, by
God, as the man dying of thirst in the desert longs for water, so we
long for the past life we shall never live again.”
“Yes, yes, old chap,” said West soothingly; “but remember the honours
you have gained.”
“Honours!” almost shouted Hutton. “Do you think that one of our
fellows, in a corps like ours, whose name will be forgotten in this
country six months after we are disbanded, and will never be even heard
of in England, count honours for anything, when even if we won them
we could not share them with those who are never, save when we are
drunk, out of our minds? No, West, my dear fellow, you fight for your
home, for your wife and kids, and for the country of your adoption, but
what have we to fight for? New Zealand to us is only a wayside station
passed on our journey through life. Yes, by the Lord Harry, I may well
ask you what we do fight for. It’s not for our six bob a day, for any
man can make his pound a shift at the diggin’s for half the fatigue
and none of the exposure; no, nor is it for the offal served out to
us called rations; nor for the gilt and glory of war, for there is
none here. So I ask you again, West, what is it that makes a man like
me, another like Ginger Dick the blackbird catcher, or Holy Joe, the
drunken, unfrocked parson, fight like we do and suffer the hardships we
have to undergo? Why is it, answer me that?”
West said not a word, but pointed at the flag that floated at the peak
of a ship of war, removed his hat and whistled a bar or two of “God
Save the Queen.”
In a moment Hutton was on his feet. “Yes, by Satan, you’ve struck it!”
he shouted. “It’s the Queen and flag, God bless them, that claims
us, and gives every one of us skallywags and ne’er-do-wells a chance
and right, no matter what we have done in the past, to at all events
die like gentlemen in their service. But look here, you fellows, I
must apologise, must have gone a bit dotty. It’s Burke’s fault. Why
the deuce do you come among us with your London-built coat and your
Bond Street rig-out, to make a poor devil remember? Never mind, care
killed the cat. There goes the tiffin gong. Let’s make the most of
our remaining chances at the fleshpots of Egypt, for in a short time,
Burke, you will have to exist on rations that you only eat to keep body
and soul together, so sling ahead and let’s russle our hash.”
After lunch I informed the horrified Tim that we were to join the
Forest Rangers as privates, that for a time the difference between
master and man must be forgotten, and that in future we must be
comrades on the same plane.
The worthy man took some time to absorb the information, and when he
had fully grasped the idea blurted out: “Well, begorra, we won’t. Fancy
the likes of me being chummy with the likes of you, Mr Dick. Av course,
sor, av you join as private, I join too, but I’m your man, sor, still,
and be this an’ be that, I’ll be so.”
Later on, under the guidance of Hutton, I purchased my own and Tim’s
outfit. Riding breeches and boots, also good flannel shirts, in those
days called Crimean shirts, we had already, but after Hutton had picked
out two blue jumpers he selected with great care two strong and warm
but light woollen shawls.
“What on earth are these for?” I asked, as we had plenty of rugs.
“Oh,” he replied, “when we enter the bush we discard breeches and
trousers and wear shawls round our waists like kilts.”
“And what for am I to be turned into a Hielander, sor?” quoth Tim.
“Why,” replied our mentor, “you see we have often to use a creek or
river-bed as a road, either to wade up it or keep on crossing it, and
it’s deadly work having to march in wet trouser-legs, but with a shawl
you can raise it out of the water, and continue your route with ease,
also make an extra blanket of it, and, my word, you need it. Remember
you will have to act as your own pack horse here; every man has to
hump his own swag--that is, you will have to carry on your own backs
everything you take out with you on a foot patrol.”
Orders were given out that night that every man must muster at noon
next day, so the reckless boys set to work to blue their remaining
money, and Wellington was painted scarlet. As for me, I persuaded
Hutton, West and some others to dine with me. All the rest of my
shipmates had joined various corps, and we not only had a first-rate
dinner but a jolly good spree after it. Tim had packed up, all our
goods had been warehoused, so next morning I had nothing to do but pay
my bill and walk down to the _St Kilda_ that was to sail at two P.M.
for Wanganui.