“AND WE DIE, AND NONE CAN TELL THEM WHERE WE DIED.”--KIPLING
We reached Patea and formed a standing camp, for as great political
changes were on the tapis the campaign for a period marked time. During
our absence the forces remaining behind under Colonel Butler had not
been idle, having defeated and driven off the ground a large party
of Hau Haus at a place called Katotauru, while the Kupapas had also
rendered good service.
It was now generally known that the regular troops were to be withdrawn
from the country, so that the action at Katotauru was the last
engagement in which they took part, though they were still employed for
a short time to garrison certain places.
It is not a pleasant thing to say, but it is the truth, that during the
past six years their efforts had been futile, although all the colonial
fighting men allowed that had Sir Trevor Chute been in command from the
start of the war things would have been very different.
It was at this time that Colonel Haultain, the Colonial Defence
Minister, determining to carry out a bold policy, gave directions
to occupy the confiscated land situated between the Waitotara and
Waingangora rivers, and issued orders that all the west coast colonial
troops, many of whom were at that time serving on the east coast,
should return and rendezvous at Patea. In the meantime things were a
bit quiet with us. When I say “quiet” I use the word in the sense that
we had no fighting at least, with the Hau Haus, for a time, for no one
could call the Rangers’ camp peaceful nor reposeful, nor was it a place
in which a man given to sedentary pursuits would care to linger or
dwell.
I was now to experience the great curse of the colony, for I regret
to say the majority of our men, rough and uncouth as they were, but
who had been quiet and tractable enough in the field, now became a
prey to the grog-seller, and the scenes of foul, drunken debauchery
were disgusting to the last degree. This was only to be expected from
the majority of our crew, as there were many among them who were the
flotsam and jetsam of the South Seas and Pacific slope, but what
surprised and disgusted me was that many of our worst cases were men
whom I knew to have been at one time gentlemen.
Of course I had seen plenty of hard drinking at home (a man in the
wild parts of the world, although colonial born, always speaks of the
British Isles as “home”), but then the vice was accompanied with music,
excitement and fun, when a man carried off his legs by conviviality
might be excused for temporarily forgetting himself, and the crime was
disguised by its surroundings; but here it was not even vulgar, it was
bestial, and for days our camp was a pandemonium, filled with drunken,
blaspheming fiends who, without any joviality, wit or humour, scarcely
with even an attempt at a sing-song, gulped down vile doctored rum till
they collapsed and wallowed in their degradation.
Remember I have not written the above because I was puritanically
inclined, or a devotee to an extravagant belief in teetotalism;
far from it, for I was myself as wild as a hawk and as reckless a
spendthrift as ever Ould Ireland produced, but what I could not stand
was the foul, bestial manners and language brought out by the accursed
poison sold as rum.
Still there was some excuse for the men, as you must bear in mind
these fellows, accustomed to long spells of hardship in the bush, cut
off from woman’s or any other civilising society, and undergoing long
periods of enforced abstinence, were, when they did touch the fringe
of civilisation, mad for some change, and had but little wherewith to
amuse themselves.
Very many of them had never played a game such as cricket or football
in their lives; they had no papers, books nor periodicals, even had
they cared to read them; and there was not a theatre, music hall or
anything of that sort to entertain them; no, not even a woman, whose
presence would have quickly shamed them to decency, for there is
nothing that sobers up and tames a wild up-country man more than the
wholesome presence of a respectable female. No, there was nothing but
this infernal rum, and they wallowed in it.
The day we reached Patea I had been looking after Tim, and it was not
till evening, when I had seen him snug in hospital, I reached our tent,
and the scene there was far from pleasant for a tired, hungry man.
Outside squatted Buck, grilling some meat on the embers of a small
fire, while a couple of pannikins stood in the same, and a loaf of
ammunition bread lay on a blanket beside him. So far so good, but where
was Pierre and his _batterie de cuisine_? We were in camp. Sutlers with
stores were plentiful, and all morning Pierre had been gassing about
the wonderful dinner he was going to give us, and I had looked forward
to it.
“Come on, Dick,” quoth Buck, “I’m getting some tucker ready for you and
me. I guess the others won’t sup to-night; shove your swag down here
and let’s fall to.”
“But where are the rest of the boys?” I said. “I’ve just seen Tim put
away all right, and the Surgeon-Major told me he would do well and be
fit for duty in next door to no time.”
“Oh! I’m glad Tim’s O.K.,” answered Buck, “but if you want the rest of
the boys you’ll find them in the tent. I’ve just humped the last of
them up from the damned grog shop, and a ruddy job I’ve had of it, but
it won’t do to let one’s mates lie aroun’ uncared for. Wish to goodness
you’d have come along a bit earlier so as to give a hand, darned if I
don’t.”
I looked into the tent and there I saw my comrades lying in a distorted
heap, mixed up with loaves of bread, blankets, and all the camping
paraphernalia, every one of them putrid drunk.
This for a moment upset me, as I regarded Hutton as more than a passing
acquaintance, and I could not understand how he, a gentleman by birth
and education, could have sunk his pride so as to have got drunk in
such companionship as our mates. Old Jack I also liked, but his was a
different case, as nothing better could be expected from him, Pierre
or George than a pirates’ debauch; and I had but small respect for
Smith, who, notwithstanding his culture, had somehow never seemed to
ring true.
However, I could do nothing for them, so squatted down and enjoyed the
meat and bread Buck had so kindly prepared for me. Fortunately the
night was a fine one, so after a yarn by the fire we made down our
blankets and slept in the open, leaving the tent to the votaries of
Bacchus.
The following day, as the bust was still being kept up, I attended a
sale of captured loot, cattle, horses, etc., and bought for ten pounds
a very fine horse, getting also a nearly new saddle and bridle of the
best Australian make for two pounds. The nag was a very well-bred one
and had evidently been bred by some settler looted by the Maoris, and
was more than half wild, besides which he was in very poor condition;
but he was only four years old, well topped, with splendid quarters,
legs and feet, and I made up my mind to set to work to break him in and
get him into good condition.
As I was overlooking my purchase Mr Roach strolled up.
“Well, Burke,” he said, “so you’ve started a stable, have you? Well,
you’ve made a deuced good start. I know the breed of that horse, and
the man who bred him never bred a wrong ’un,” and he pointed at the two
tomahawks’ brand on the near shoulder. “He is by Cid out of a Duchess
mare, and is as near thoroughbred as they make them. You have a cheap
lot, but, by George! you may have a job to break him, although once you
have done it you’ll find he’s all right, as there is not a particle of
vice in the breed. Come along and let’s see you back him. But have you
ever tried to back a buckjumper before? What sort of a hand are you in
the pigskin?”
I told him I was all right in the hunting-field, having ridden from
childhood, but had never broken in a horse, nor ever seen a buckjumper
in my life.
“Then,” said he, “I advise you to let one of those defence force
fellows do it. There are plenty of rough-riding stockmen among them.”
“Well, sir,” I answered, “I’m determined to tackle him myself,
especially as I want to train him afterwards, and if I remain in the
colony I must sooner or later come across a buckjumper.”
“True,” he replied. “I’ll give you a hand with the saddle, but bring
him into the paddock so that if he pips you we can round him up easily.
One thing’s in your favour, he is very poor, so that you may have a
chance of breaking him before he regains his full strength.”
Buck had by this time joined us, and with their assistance I managed
to bridle and saddle the horse, a job that gave us some trouble and
attracted many idle troopers, so that when I led him into the paddock I
had a big gallery.
The English cut of my riding breeches and boots had given me away to
the onlookers as a new chum, and there were plenty of men offering odds
that the tenderfoot would be pipped in less than a minute.
Patting and talking to him I led him about for a few moments up and
down the paddock, which was a field of some ten acres, surrounded with
a five-foot post-and-rail fence. Mr Roach now took his head and placed
his hand over his near eye, while Buck held the off-stirrup ready to
place on my foot.
In a moment I was in the saddle and gave the word to let go when Buck,
having placed the stirrup, together with Mr Roach, sprang clear,
leaving myself and horse to fight it out. For a few seconds he stood
still, then gave himself an angry shake or two, then kicked viciously,
rearing between each kick as if he wished to throw himself backwards,
when, finding this did not move me, he stood still and snorted as if
he remarked to himself: “Well, I am damned.” All at once he seemed to
have made up his mind, for he made a determined snatch at his bit, and
although I was on the lookout for him he dragged the reins through my
fingers, and, like a flash of lightning, down went his head, while his
back seemed to bend and give under me, but in a moment he shot up into
the air, all four feet leaving the ground at once, bending his back up,
arched like that of an angry cat, and returning to the ground with a
jar that nearly drove my spine through the roof of my head. The same
jar seemed to send him aloft again like an india-rubber ball bouncing,
when after it has been thrown up into the air it returns to the ground
only to bound up again.
This exercise went on for some minutes, and though it was far from
pleasant yet I felt I could stick it all right, the worst part being
that when in the air it seemed as if I were sitting on the end of an
egg, as, bar a tuft of hair in front of the gullet plate of my saddle,
devil a bit of the horse could I see at all.
Presently he stopped dead, and cheers rose from the onlookers. “Well
sat, new chum!” “Gad! the chap can ride a bit!” and other laudatory
remarks, so that I began to think that the game was won, when I heard
Mr Roach’s voice shout: “Look out, Burke. He is going to side-buck.”
What side-bucking meant I had no idea, but I was soon to find out, as
without the slightest warning he again started, but this time he did
not spring straight ahead but sideways, at the same time making his
body wriggle like a snake, while the jumps came so quickly I could
not get the chance to regain my grip, which the first side-buck had
loosened. More and more I was shifted from my hold, and although I
did my best, yet I could not save myself, and I am sure some subtle
instinct told the horse he was getting the better of me, for he seemed
to redouble his efforts, and with one mighty plunge sent me flying over
his near wither. I fell heavily, but was up in a moment, a bit shaken
though not hurt, and amid the cheers of the men again mounted.
No sooner was I in my seat and the men helping me sprung clear than he
started with the side-bucking, but this time I knew what to expect,
and was on the lookout, so was able, albeit with difficulty, to retain
my seat, and after some twenty minutes’ game tussle forced him to walk
and canter round and round the paddock, having fairly conquered him,
which I should not have done so easily had it not been for his starved
condition.
This I set to work to rectify with good grooming and feeding, riding
him twice a day and passing all my spare time talking to him and
training him. On two occasions only he again tried bucking, but as he
failed to get me off he gave it up, quickly learning to know me and
picking up flesh and manners in a wonderful way, so that before a month
was over I possessed a really valuable mount, one that in the future
was to carry me through some tough jobs and warm corners.
In this way I passed my time till my comrades had finished their bust,
which was not concluded till their last shilling had been spent, and
I also, with Mr Roach’s kindly assistance, began to study the Maori
language, which, thanks to my knowledge of French, came very easy to me.
As soon as they had spent all their money my tent mates began to sober
up, and it was a pitiful sight watching them taper off. For a day or
two they were all mad for more drink and suffered dreadfully, and
acting on Buck’s advice I began to doctor them.
On the first day I procured and issued to the poor broken-nerved
wretches five tots apiece; on the second, four; on the third, three;
and so on till, by the time it came to one tot, with the exception of
Smith, they were all right and swore off bar rations.
Smith, I regret to say, was not satisfied with this regimen, and for
days continued to loaf around the camp trying to cadge drinks, and
would go to any mean extreme to procure one.
Pierre and George, when fit, returned to their scouting, and Mr Roach
kindly gave me leave to accompany them so as to pick up what I could of
the trade.
These two worthies at first were by no means keen to take me, as they
did not consider I was hard enough, but I managed to overcome their
scruples, and when they found I soon became as hard and untiring as
themselves they quickly began to instruct me in their wonderful bush
lore.
Yes, and bush lore is a very wonderful science, and to be mastered by
no one who does not give himself up heart and soul to its study.
First of all there are so many things a new chum must learn and
remember, and it must be impressed on him that the bush is revengeful
and if treated with disrespect is apt to exact a mortal punishment.
Let me enumerate a very few of the things a man must thoroughly master
before he can call himself a scout: He must learn to use his senses
to an unnatural degree. His eye must get accustomed to see and note
everything, although he is giving his attention to something else.
At the same time his senses of smell, hearing and feeling must also
always be on deck, while his memory must retain every mortal thing his
senses have discovered and noted. He must be able to pass through the
bush day or night as noiselessly as a bat and in as straight a line as
a bee, although in crossing it he will surely be encountered by many
obstacles, which he must be able to get over, get under, or get round
and pick up again his straight line. He must be able to approximately
tell the time, day or night, and also to steer his course without
compas, sun or stars. He must learn the different call and note of
every day or night bird and be able to distinguish them so as to be
sure that any bird is calling with its natural note at its proper time
and in its correct locality.
These are only a few of the things a tyro has to learn and digest,
or if he does not do so don’t let him go scouting when Hau Haus are
hostile.
I am not going to turn this chapter into an article on scouting, but
have simply told you a few of the subjects I had to learn, and which
I did learn, and digested so carefully that at last I became, and
mark you it was after long and weary work, cognisant that I owned
another sense or instinct that informed me if I was going right or
wrong and eventually became so acute that in some ways it warned me of
approaching danger.
All this was not learned in a day or without undergoing great hardship,
but I stuck at it, wandering through the rough country with my queer
companions, and gradually mastering some of their marvellous skill and
bush-craft.
Our duty chiefly consisted in searching for pahs in the most
inaccessible parts of the country, for although the fighting had, for
a time, ceased, yet we were well aware that the natives were still
hostile, and in fact so long as they clung to the Hau Hau or Pai Marire
faith they must continue to remain so.
The regular troops were at this time being withdrawn, and Colonel
McDonnell, although he had not yet assumed the command of the west
coast, was anxious to make a move so as to get the men out of the camp
and strike another blow at the Hau Hau. The Kupapas had returned to
Wanganui, so he issued orders for three companies of the Forest Rangers
to make a night’s march up the Waingangora and beat up the enemy, who
were in force in that district, and it was on this patrol that death
was to be brought home to me.
We left camp at sunset, loaded as usual, but each company had to carry
four stretchers as we had no hospital men with us, so that we had to
take turn and turn about with the butchers’ trays, as the men called
them, and we marched all through the night, resting for two hours
before daylight. We were moving in three separate bodies, and were
destined to get a lesson on how difficult a matter it is for combined
movements to be carried out successfully when working in a rough,
bushed country, especially when no communication can be held by the
various units.
Our company was to make the frontal attack; the other two, making
detours, were to try and envelop, or at least outflank, the enemy’s
position, Mr Roach’s orders being to advance to the attack as soon as
it was light enough for a man to be able to see his fore sight. This
we did, taking every care and precaution in our advance, and found the
enemy, far outnumbering us, posted in a very strong position.
We, however, in accordance with orders, gaily began the fight,
expecting our flankers to chip in every moment, but they had been
delayed on their march and did not do so, and soon the Hau Haus began
to outflank us, so that Mr Roach was forced to give the order to
retire, an order we carried out as coolly as if on parade, disputing
every fathom of ground and daring the enemy to rush us. Still we must
fall back or allow the natives to outflank and eventually surround us,
which spells being cut to pieces in bush fighting, so we were retiring
very steadily by alternate groups of four, my four consisting of
myself, Hutton, Jack and Buck.
The bush was an open one--that is, it consisted of the usual huge trees
without much undergrowth--so that we could move quickly from cover to
cover but were more exposed while doing so.
Hutton and myself were together behind one tree; Jack and Buck behind
another, about six yards away, and at the time were in the firing line,
not more than a dozen yards away from the advancing Hau Haus, who were
yelling like a lot of fiends newly let loose from the pit.
We were firing alternately--that is, I had laid down and fired from
the right-hand side of the tree, then had slipped behind it, letting
Hutton take my place while I loaded under cover. Hutton had fired and
had sprung to his feet as we were about to vacate our cover and run
back so as to pass through the groups that had taken up their position
some twenty yards to our rear, and were ready to cover our retreat;
in fact, I had started to race back, when I heard beside me the thud
a bullet makes when it strikes flesh, and Hutton, with a gasping cry,
fell against me, nearly knocking me off my feet.
In a moment I had hold of him, dragged him back to the tree, and had
grasped my carbine, just in the nick of time, to meet the rush of a big
Maori who, tomahawk in hand, had charged in to finish off his victim.
He was in fact not more than three yards from me when my bullet crashed
into his head, when, throwing up his arms, his knees gave way and he
fell dead at my feet, this being the first Hau Hau that I could be
positive of having put out of mess up to date.
He had hardly reached the ground before I had seized Hutton’s carbine,
handing him mine, saying: “Try and load this, old chap,” which,
although he was coughing up blood, he managed to do.
At the same instant Jack and Buck were alongside of us. “’Ere, what’s
all this?” howled the former, his blue eyes on fire and his face as
hard as a stone.
“Leave me alone,” gasped Hutton; “the other fellows have all fallen
back and you’ll be cut off. I’m done for.”
“Leave yer alone,” growled Jack; “that be damned for a yarn;
white-livered ---- you must think us ’uns to leave yer alone. ’Ere,
Dick, you and Buck cover me. I’ll carry our mate out. Bring along all
the carbines and give the ruddy scum hell if they try to rush. Come on,
now,” and exerting his enormous strength the foul-mouthed old pirate
lifted Hutton, big man as he was, and bore him tenderly, like a mother
carrying a sick infant, to the rear.
Buck and myself now had our hands full, but I think both of our next
shots must have been lucky ones, as the Hau Haus hung back for a moment
from rushing us, a moment we grasped to race back under heavy fire to a
tree some dozen yards away, where we turned at bay.
Again we fired, and I know my shot was a lucky one, as I got a good
chance, and saw the fellow I had aimed at crumple up and fall, which
gave us the opportunity to again run back to fresh cover. No sooner
had we reached it than Buck shouted, “It’s all right, Dick, the
flankers have come up and are twisting their tails; look out, we’ll get
a shot at the beggars in front of us as they bolt. Gosh, this beats
cock-shooting at home.”
Sure enough as he spoke I heard our fellows’ volleys, together with
their charging shout, and knew we were out of the fire, for at the
same moment our own company came back with a rush, which we joined,
and in a few minutes we had taken the position, driving the Hau Haus
helter-skelter in flight.
The moment I could I made for the stretchers and asked the doctor how
Hutton was.
“Dying, poor fellow,” was the reply. “It will be all over with him in
less than an hour. Go to him, he has asked for you several times. I
expect he will remain conscious to the end.”
In a moment I was kneeling by my poor pal’s side, close to whom
squatted old Jack, who was swearing softly and tying a bandage round
his own leg.
“How goes it, old chap?” I asked, taking his hand.
“Dick, dear boy,” he gasped, “I’m glad you wiped out the beggar who
shot me. Those are not Christian sentiments, I know, but very human,
still, let him slide. Listen, old chap. Your mother knows Lady ----
well. I’m her son Eustace. Yes, old chap, I’ve never told you my yarn,
but now you know it, as you must have heard it, although the affair
took place years before your time. Dick, on the honour of a dying man,
I was innocent. Would to God I could prove it to the old regiment.
I knew your mother well. Now promise to write to her and get her to
break the news to my mother, and let her tell her that as I lay dying
I swore to you I was innocent of that crime, and that if I’ve lived
like a waster I’ve died like a man; and, Dick, when I’m dead take the
locket from my neck and send it to your mother, she’ll know whom to
give it to; and, Dick, dear boy, get home out of this hell of drink
and brutality; there is nothing in it, only a wasted life and a death
without honour like mine.”
All this had been gasped out in short sentences, and to try and cheer
him up I said: “But, Hutton, old pal, you don’t die without honour; you
got your death-wound fighting bravely for Queen and flag.”
He smiled like a child and muttered: “Yes, Dick, Queen and flag, God
bless them, Queen and flag.”
For some time he lay still, while I wiped away the bloody froth from
his lips, administering now and then some weak rum and water, and
vainly tried to remember some prayer, if only to counteract the awful
oaths rumbled out by old Jack, who had by now taken post on the other
side of the dying man.
“Say, Dick,” growled the old pirate, as he expectorated a worn-out
chew of tobacco, “don’t yer think our shipmate’s parted his moorings?”
And he swore with due solemnity. “Coz I feels inclined to go back to
the ruddy bush and see as if I can’t do something to square this ’ere
blooming account. Yo’ve done your bit, you have, when yer lifted the
hatch off that swine’s head, but I guess I feel as if I wants to do a
bit myself.” And the old fellow made to rise from the ground, but sank
back as Hutton again opened his eyes and gasped out:
“Thanks, Jack; good-bye, old ship,” and then, after a pause, turning
his fading eyes towards mine, he whispered: “_Une vie manqué, une vie
manqué_, but thank God finished like a gentleman, for Queen and flag.
God bless them, Queen and flag. So-long, Dick, go home.” And as he
muttered the last word he closed his eyes, and with a smile on his face
his gallant spirit left its clay to answer the eternal roll-call.
There is no time for lamentation, and but little for mourning, in the
bush, so that as soon as the doctor had pronounced our poor pal dead
old Jack and myself set about his obsequies. I first of all removed
from his neck the locket, which was sewn up in leather, and looked
through his poor sordid pack in case there might be any letters or
papers to take care of; but there were none.
“’Ere, chuck me that blanket, mate,” growled my fellow-undertaker. “No,
mine’s a new one. We’ll start him aloft in that, seems more respectful
like,” and the kind-hearted old filibuster substituted his own
brand-new blanket for Hutton’s tattered one, at the same time producing
a small canvas ditty-bag, out of which he extracted a sailmaker’s palm,
needle and twine. “Yer see, Dick,” he continued, “I always like to give
a mate his last chuck, so long as I’ve got time, respectful like. So
that he’s no call to feel shame when he toes the line afore Davy Jones.
Now you turn to and dig the hole, while I sew him up ship-shape and
Bristol fashion, coz t’other mates will be ’ere soon and we may have to
hoof it.”
This was very true, so leaving Jack to sew up the still warm remains I
started in with tomahawk and hands to scoop out a shallow resting-place
for my dead pal.
I had not more than half finished when I was joined by Mr Roach and
the rest of the company, some of whom helped me to complete the
grave, and when it was ready his tent-mates lifted, with rough though
revering hands, the shapeless form, and bore it slowly to its last
resting-place. There we laid him down, shovelling the soft soil over
him with our hands, and concealing the spot so that no wandering Hau
Hau could discover and desecrate the remains of our gallant comrade.
Yes, there, alone he lay, without a prayer having been said over him,
without a bugle having been blown, or without a parting shot having
been fired, and with only a mob of rough, sin-stained men to, for a
few minutes, mourn for him, yet I guess that as horny hands wiped
away a salt drop or two, and deep voices muttered oaths and threats
of revenge, none of his noble ancestors resting under the old abbey
roof at home were more sorrowed for or rest better than their hapless
kinsman killed in a forgotten, nameless skirmish and buried by his wild
and reckless comrades in a hidden grave on a lonely fern ridge among
the wilds of the New Zealand bush. _R.I.P._
No sooner was poor Hutton planted than we fell in, moving off to
continue the patrol, and I told Mr Roach about the locket and message
in case I might be rubbed out, for I was new to the game then and my
poor pal’s death gave me the hump. However, we were to have no more
fighting that patrol, and returned to camp after two more days of
bush-whacking.
On our return I found Tim had been returned fit for duty, and I was
glad of it, as my light-hearted follower always cheered up the tent.
The hump was still bearing heavy upon me, and as it was now the
beginning of June and my period of service terminated at the end of the
month I had to make up my mind whether I would sign on again or return
home, as my poor dead pal had begged me to do.
I was tired of camp life, for although I enjoyed my scouting trips, and
knew there would be heaps of good fighting to be got through in the
near future, still the glamour of the Rangers had worn off. There was
another pay-day to be faced on the 5th July, and much as I liked some
of my comrades, yet I had no desire to associate again with the foul,
drunken, swearing mob that pay-day would turn my companions into. No; I
would quit it. There was no middle course that I could see, so I would
return to Europe.
Man proposes but Kismet decides, for just as I had come to the above
determination Mr Roach called me and told me to go to the Colonel’s
tent as he wished to see me, and of course I at once reported there,
where I found him hard at work, but he at once called me in.
“Burke,” said he, “I hear you have worked very hard to pick up a
knowledge of bush work, that you are a good horseman and leave the
rum-bottle alone. Moreover your company commander informs me he has the
greatest confidence in you. Do you know anything of mounted drill?”
I answered in the affirmative and he continued:
“Well, I am in great want of an officer to take over the adjutancy of
the Mounted Defence Force. I know of course you are a gentleman, well
educated and all that, so I offer you the position. The war will breeze
up again shortly and you’ll get plenty of fighting.”
Naturally I was much gratified by the offer, though I explained to the
Colonel that I was at present on the horns of a dilemma as to whether I
ought not to return home.
He, however, laughed, and said: “Well, Burke, seeing you travelled
fifteen thousand miles to see some fighting it would seem a pity to
return all that distance with such a short experience.”
My late resolutions all seemed to fade away, so after some more palaver
I agreed to sign on as a commissioned officer for three years, or
longer, if required.
As the interview terminated he drew out an official document, which he
handed to me with a laugh, saying: “I was so sure of you that I sent to
Wellington a month ago for your commission, and have much pleasure in
now handing it you. You will appear in orders this evening. Come and
dine with me to-night.”
As I strode away from the H. Q. lines I cogitated over the new aspect
of my affairs; but the thing was done, all my determination of
returning home had blown to the deuce and I had signed on for another
three years. I felt rather mad, but solaced myself with the thought
that anyhow there would be plenty of good fighting in the near future.
Of course I had mentioned to the Colonel that my promotion would
necessitate Egan’s transfer, and he had at once directed that the
worthy Tim should be transferred in that day’s orders, so I wended my
way back to my tent to say good-bye to my mates and see to the moving
of my kit over to the mounted men’s lines, situated about a mile from
the Rangers’ camp.
My news was received by my comrades in various ways. Tim’s wild
ebullition of joy at the idea I was to be an officer and that he was
going to be my own man once more was tempered by the regrets of the
others at my leaving them, while old Jack’s pungent remarks, such as
“What the hell do yer want to fight aboard a ruddy ’oss for? Ain’t yer
legs good enough? Course yer ort to be on the ruddy poop, I know that,”
etc., etc., were rumbled out in the best grumbling style, accompanied
with his very choicest selection of bad words. Pierre and George were
also sorrowful, declaring that the Rangers were losing their best
scout, but their lamentations I cut short by slipping a couple of
sovereigns into Pierre’s hands, telling him to go to the sutler’s and
procure materials for the very best repast he could manage to serve up.
This he did, and a wonderful repast it was, so that when it was over,
and the farewells said, old Jack himself confessed: “Things did not
look so dirty to wind’ard after all,” and insisted on helping Tim to
carry our kits over to our new camp, while I mounted my horse and rode
over to report myself to my new O.C.