THE YEAR OF THE LAMB
During the latter part of 1866 and the early part of 1867 the war on
the west coast of New Zealand languished; Colonel McDonnell had for a
time been sent over to the east coast and had straightened things out
at Rotorua, while we who remained behind marked time. The truth being
we had no men to take the field with.
The Maoris, only too glad to get a spell so that they could plant fresh
crops and repair damages, sat tight and did nothing to excite active
retaliation, while Parliament, especially the South Island members,
howled for peace and retrenchment, and although we all knew there was
absolutely no hope of a lasting peace, yet, of course, the Government
had the say, and more men were disbanded.
We, however, who held the frontier lived in a semi-state of war, and
although patrols and scouting was all we could do, yet I had great
opportunities of improving myself in bushcraft and scouting.
Towards the end of 1866 Toi, the principal Hau Hau chief, visited
headquarters, bringing with him twelve men, and this deputation
demanded peace.
“Very good,” answered McDonnell, “it is the earnest desire of the white
man to live in peace. Therefore bring in all the Hau Hau chiefs of the
district and we will ratify peace.”
The deputation left, promising to do so, but never returned. Pungarehu
had evidently instilled the fear of the Lord into the Hau Haus, for Toi
complained against the Colonel’s method of fighting.
“The soldiers,” quoth he, “always gave us notice of their approach.
They blew bugles and made plenty of noise so we might be ready to
receive them, but you and your men slip through the bush by night like
rats and we can’t sleep for apprehension.”
“Yes,” answered the Colonel, “we fight in your own manner and you don’t
like it.”
“No,” said Toi, “let this sort of work cease, or we shall soon be
unable to continue the war.” And having lodged a dignified protest the
old cannibal retired.
There is no doubt that Toi, himself, really wanted peace, but he was
sinking into obscurity, as now Titokowaru took the lead, and everyone
conversant with Maori nature knew that so long as he lived and ruled
the roost there was no possibility for peace.
This man had always been a bitter enemy to the white man, and his
hatred had been enhanced by the new fanatical religion to which he had
become one of the very first converts, being one of those who, in April
1864, had made the insane attack on Sentry Hill, under the leadership
of the Hau Hau apostle, Hepanaia. In this fight the apostle Hepanaia
and most of the leading chiefs were killed and Titokowaru himself
lost an eye. Now as the prophet and apostle Hepanaia had promised his
disciples a bloodless victory, but had not only been killed himself
and his men defeated with dreadful slaughter, anyone would think that
a sane man would have chucked up such a rotten religion, especially
should he also have lost an eye through his devotion to it; but not
so Titokowaru, who became more than ever embittered towards the
white men. In fact, as Tim put it, he had turned from being a Fenian
into an Invincible, and wanted hanging. This was quite true, but,
unfortunately, you must catch your hare before you can cook him, and
Tito was too wily a bird to be caught.
It was in May 1867 that the last of the military settlers were
disbanded and handed over their land-scrip, but most of them, not
wishing to be murdered, and possessing a far greater knowledge of the
true state of affairs in the district than the Government, sold their
rights for what they would fetch, and either left the country or went
to the gold-diggings, which were now booming, as the great Coromandel
and Thames gold rushes were in full swing.
The volunteers had also completed their period of service and, owing to
the crazy manner in which the Government, mad for retrenchment, acted,
no others were enlisted, so the district was almost without defenders.
Now there was some excuse for the members of Parliament representing
the South Island, who knew nothing about the circumstances of the case
nor the customs of the Maoris, but there was no excuse for anyone
on the ground, much less for the damned commissioner, who not only
wilfully misled the Government but did everything in his power to
thwart and hamper McDonnell.
It may have been true that the Maoris wanted peace for a time, or
rather a truce, as we had so rattled them, destroying their crops,
villages, stores of food, etc., that they must either gain time to
recuperate or give in, and they completely hoodwinked the Government.
For even Titokowaru with some of his men visited Waihi early in June
1867 and announced that this was the year of the lamb, meaning that it
was to be a year of peace, but he said nothing about what animal was
to represent the coming year. Again, shortly after this visit, another
hostile of importance, Whare Matangi, chief of the Paka Kohi tribe,
visited Patea, he also declaring this was to be the year of the lamb,
but likewise refraining from mentioning what the following year was
to be; and the astute natives so utterly blinded the Government, who,
longing for peace themselves, persuaded themselves they had obtained
it, that they refrained from grasping the opportunities pointed out by
McDonnell; and the festive Hau Hau planted and garnered his crops in
security, laid in provisions and ammunition for future use, rebuilt his
pahs, furbished up his firelock and sharpened his tomahawk, for are not
these the pursuits meet to follow during the piping times of peace?
This relaxation of hostilities also gave time to Titokowaru to
consolidate his party of irreconcilables, and he was joined by very
many hotheads of other tribes, which soon gave him greater standing in
the country.
Anyhow, it was not long before the natives showed their real
inclinations, as the very same Paka Kohi tribe which the commissioner
had declared to be so desirous for peace forcibly stopped the survey
of the Whenua Kura block and although they did not murder the survey
party, still they drove them off the land.
The Colonel managed to quiet this trouble, and one or two other
disturbances the starting of which further convinced him that the
natives, now that they had saved their crops, meant to fight, but
this opinion the commissioner laughed at, and just at the moment when
his services were most required the O.C. was sent with sixty of us to
suppress a fancied Fenian rising on the goldfields of Hokitika.
Naturally we looked forward to this trip with delight, as it would
afford us a most agreeable change in the somewhat monotonous life we
had been leading for the last few months, besides which the goldfields
contained many opportunities for indulgence in vices our monasticism on
the frontier did not permit.
Hokitika is situated on the west coast of the South Island, and was
what is known as a poor man’s diggin’s--_i.e._ a goldfield that a man
with no capital can win gold from by his own labour. The New Zealand
goldfields were never such rowdy ones as the Californian nor the
Australian, being free, with few exceptions, from bushrangers and the
murderous riff-raff that congregated at the American mines. Yet they
were rough, and a strong party of Irishmen, known as the Micks, were
apt, especially when under the influence of whisky, to make themselves
objectionable.
It must be remembered that at this epoch things were very stormy in
Ireland, and even in England, and the Micks instigated by whisky had
held meetings and talked a lot of infernal rot, from which the warden
of the goldfields, a nervous ass, had imagined possibilities of Fenian
risings, insurrections, civil war and the Lord only knows what other
catastrophes; hence the reason for withdrawing the O.C. and the greater
portion of his reliable men from the west coast of the North Island
just when their services were most required.
However, we who composed the party looked on the whole trip as a joke,
and a pleasant interlude to the hard work and short rations we had had
for so long to endure. As for any fighting with Fenians that none of us
believed, although Tim and myself conjectured there might be some heads
broken by way of a frolic.
It was in this spirit we took ship and went to sea, eventually reaching
Hokitika, where we had to land in surf boats, through a very bad surf
indeed.
We, however, passed through it in safety, when we were joined by the
Colonel, who had gone ashore previously. The authorities had begged him
to land us with loaded arms, and had prophesied all sorts of bloody
happenings, but the Colonel had very rightly taken their wailings with
a pinch of salt, so we reached the shore in the most unostentatious
manner, at a time when the Micks were sleeping off their previous
night’s debauch, and we were quickly marched up to a spot the Colonel
had selected, where we expeditiously made ourselves safe and snug.
This artful move on the part of the O.C. completely out-generalled the
Micks, as the sons of Ould Ireland, God bless her, were by no means in
a state to have resisted our landing had they wished to do so, and
by the time they were awake, and ready to renew their potations and
politics, we were in possession of the strongest position overawing
the town. This fact may have induced them to take up another line
of defence against the bloody Saxons, and they may have determined
to kill by hospitality those they feared to attack with force. For
their deputation waited on us, not with pick-handles, revolvers and
fowling-pieces, but with cases of champagne and John Jameson’s whisky,
and I verily believe they would have defeated us had we remained much
longer with them.
The west coast diggings were at that time booming, any man caring to
work a few hours a day being able to make his eight to ten pounds
per week, some of course far more, so that it was a marvel to me why
men cared to serve a government, risk his life and undergo the awful
hardships our men did, for six shillings a day.
It was during this epoch in New Zealand I could have, had I chosen to
look after my own interests, made my pile. I had plenty of money, and
could have got plenty more had I asked for it, and as I before stated
the late military settlers were selling their land-scrip for what they
could get, so that as I was on the spot I could have purchased blocks
of the finest land in New Zealand for a song, but I did not, and I want
to warn young Lost Legionaries not to follow on my spoor.
I had made the Crown and flag my fetish from early childhood, and in
my own stupid and conceited mind reckoned it to be my bounden duty to
fight for them, and that so long as the war continued I must continue
to serve, no matter what it cost me in pecuniary and personal losses.
This infatuation has stuck to me all my life, and is as quick now as it
was then, my life in consequence, so far as gaining the good things of
this world goes, being a wretched failure.
I therefore want to warn the rising generation against it, so that all
of you young fellows who are thinking of leading a frontier life take
the advice of an old hand. “Fight certainly and fight like the devil,
but don’t be carried away by any sentimental rot.”
“God save the King” is a very fine tune, and the Union Jack a very
pretty object flying at the masthead, but neither King nor flag
can come to your aid when you are old and stranded on the pebbles,
while as for your country, represented as it is by a gang of greedy,
self-seeking politicians, you may starve in the gutter or rot in the
workhouse. Therefore, my romantic new chum, when you see the chance to
make money on the one hand and fighting for your country on the other,
you go for the money. There are plenty of bally fools such as I have
been to do the fighting. Your paltry services won’t be missed, and you
will be thought much more of by the people of the self-same country.
We remained three weeks at Hokitika, and were then fortunately sent
back from our Capua to sterner work, landing at Patea just barely
in time for the Colonel to quiet another shindy, as the natives had
stopped the survey on the Makoia Block, and although he managed, by
his vast knowledge of Maori manners, to tide over this trouble, yet it
was evident the billy was boiling and must soon boil over, for now
everyone could see, with the exception of those wilfully blind, that
war was imminent, as the natives now commenced openly to steal every
horse and head of stock they could lay their hands on; so the early
months of 1868 passed.
Some very foolish acts on the part of the resident magistrate and
commissioner hurried on the inevitable climax, but yet the perpetrators
of these follies still swore the sham peace would be a lasting one and
objected to order in the few settlers who had the temerity to cling to
their farms.
It would take too long to relate the wretched details of that miserable
time, but eventually they culminated in the cold-blooded and brutal
murder on 9th June of three harmless bushmen while peaceably at work.
Colonel McDonnell was at the moment in Wanganui, from whence he at
once returned, and did all in his power to secure the safety of the
district, but we were so short-handed that, even with the forts
inadequately garrisoned to an alarming extent, he had not one man to
take the field with. He therefore made a flying visit to Wellington
to try and instil some glimmer of reason into the wilful numskulls
who formed the ministry, receiving, after much persuasion, leave to
enlist three hundred white men, together with one hundred Maoris, for a
service of not longer than three months.
Now the men were wanted for immediate service, so that there was no
time to pick or choose them, nor was there time to train them when
chosen, and it must be remembered that the population of New Zealand
forty odd years ago was much smaller than it is now, also that the
goldfields were booming and really good men scarce. Yet even then, in
the towns, there were numbers of loafers and riff-raff who, too lazy to
go in for hard colonial work, hung about the cities waiting for what
they call a suitable billet to turn up, and it was from the ranks of
these useless unemployed that the great majority of the three hundred
white men were enlisted.
I do not suppose a more useless gang were ever got together, but then
on paper they represent three hundred men. Well, the Colonel had asked
for them, the Parliament had granted them, the town magistrates had
enlisted them; and as the lawyers, merchants and others, who constitute
a parliament, are quite ignorant of the requirements of a war, they
are apt to imagine one man to be as good as another, so that you have
only got to put a uniform on his back, and clap a rifle into his hand,
when the miserable scarecrow must be able to at once do the duties of a
well-trained soldier, or even a highly skilled bush fighter.
In the meantime more settlers had been murdered, more farms burnt and
cattle looted, so that Titokowaru and his tribe, the Ngatiruanui,
having saved their crops, and being well rationed with stolen oxen,
considered it was high time to begin hostilities on a larger scale.
It was on the 9th June the aforementioned bushmen were murdered, and on
the following day every one of our forts were more or less invested, so
that it was dangerous to leave the shelter of the parapet, as on the
10th, a trooper, named Smith, having left the fort to catch his horse,
was killed and cut to pieces before the eyes of his comrades, who were
only able to recover his two legs, the rest of him being taken into the
bush and eaten.
The Hau Haus also made it lively for the despatch riders, making
numerous attempts to cut them off, capture or kill them, while on the
20th June sixty of them made a desperate attack on the ration dray,
escorted by a sergeant and ten troopers, at the same place where
Haggarty had been killed previously. The escort, however, made a stout
resistance, and being relieved smartly from the fort the assailants
were beaten off with loss.
I think I may here give you a personal experience of the pleasures of
despatch riding, such as were enjoyed by the mounted portion of the
colonial forces when engaged on that necessary occupation. It must be
remembered that in those days we had no heliographs, and therefore all
orders, letters or news had to be transmitted by horsemen riding from
fort to fort, and the Hau Haus looked on it as great sport, trying to
cut off, kill or capture the unfortunate whose duty it was to carry
them.
Of course their chief ambition was to catch the despatch rider alive,
as then it would afford them much amusement in torturing him to death,
though failing capture he was of value to them dead, as they looted
his arms, and also procured good meat rations from his remains. Anyhow
it was good sport, so, as they knew we were far too weak in numbers to
attack them, they made up hunting parties to catch us. Fortunately
most of the main road ran along the sea-beach and was fairly open, but
when it was necessary to ride inland you had to pass through scrub,
bush and long fern, in which they laid their ambushes, and it behoved
the horseman to have all his wits on deck.
Well, one day I had to carry despatches up to Waihi, a distance of some
fifteen miles. I was well mounted on the horse I had first bought,
who had turned out a slashing charger, very fast, with great staying
powers, very sure-footed and a grand swimmer, the latter such a
necessary accomplishment in a country abounding with tidal rivers and
no bridges. It was a lovely afternoon, and I rode with stripped saddle,
carrying only a brace of revolvers. The road ran for some miles along
the beach, the tide being out, and I enjoyed my canter over the hard,
firm sand although I had two rivers to cross, one of which I had to
swim; these, however, were negotiated comfortably and I turned inland,
where the track ran through manuka scrub, patches of bush and fern.
I at once started a bright lookout, but saw nothing to guard against
until I came to a place where the track ran through a natural clearing
about a mile in length, and no more than one hundred yards across.
(_Note._--These natural clearings are common enough in New Zealand
scrub, especially on the Taupo and Kaingaroa plains. How formed no one
knows.) The road ran up the centre of the clearing, which was covered
with short tussocky grass that grew in little detached knobs like the
wool on a nigger’s head. I had just entered this clearing when my eye
caught the gleam of something bright that sparkled for a moment in
the scrub more than half way along the length of it, and knew it was
caused by the sunshine flashing on the head of a tomahawk or the barrel
of a firelock. Catching hold of my horse’s head I slightly increased
the pace, at the same time dropping my right hand on the butt of my
revolver and preparing for a lively time.
I may have ridden a third of the way up the clearing, when bizz came
a bullet past my nose, followed up by perhaps a score more. Thank the
Lord a Maori could not shoot for toffee, and I saw at least forty
natives at the far end of the clearing jump out of the scrub and make
for the road, to try and cut me off, while yells from my rear told me
retreat would be worse than going on, and I knew there was nothing for
it but to break through or be caught; in which case even suppose I was
not shot dead I must shoot myself, as it would never do to fall alive
into the hands of these fiends. I therefore let my willing horse break
into a gallop, and charged along the road as if Old Nick had kicked me.
Fortunately the noble beast I bestrode was as bold as he was handsome,
and never winced nor shied from the yelling devils who, with waving
tomahawks and mats, tried to frighten and check him, but just extended
himself, and obedient to my hand and knee pressure swung to whichever
side I wanted him to go. In fact he seemed to be guided by my will and
understood my wishes as soon as the ideas were formulated in my own
brain. Oh, what a splendid gift Providence presented to man when he
gave him the horse, and what a friend the noble beast is to you, when
you treat him as a pal and not as a slave.
Some such thought rushed through my mind as, pistol in hand, I sent him
at the crowd of howling savages, a few of whom had already reached the
road, two of whom I spotted as being the most dangerous.
These two bounders had taken up positions on either side of the track,
the one on the left side being armed with a long-handled tomahawk, with
which he evidently intended to maim my horse’s legs, the other stood
empty-handed, whose plan, plain enough to surmise, was to grab the
horse’s bridle and pull the wounded beast down, or, in case he fell, to
seize me and put a stop to any resistance I might offer.
Backing these fellows up, and running to support them, were a scattered
mob of others, armed with guns and tomahawks, but I had no time
to notice these critters, as, uttering a yell that must have been
inherited from some far-back old Milesian ancestor, I charged straight
at my would-be body-snatchers.
It was clear to me that the man with the tomahawk was my principal
danger, as should his cut at my horse’s legs be successful down we must
both come in a heap, and it would be a case of Kingdom Come for the
pair of us. So aiming at his midriff as well as I could, when I was
within ten yards of him, I fired, and to my delight saw him collapse in
a heap.
I had barely fired when I was badly shaken in my saddle, as my horse
seemed to stop dead, make a half rear, and strike out savagely with his
fore-feet. ’Twas only for a tick of time, for with a plunge and bound
he regained his stride, and I caught a glimpse of the smashed head,
face and shoulders of a man writhing on the ground, as my horse leapt
over him; so it was not difficult to understand that the native had
sprung at the bridle and been struck down by my noble charger, by which
meritorious act he had gained utu (revenge) for the brutal treatment he
had received from the Maoris whilst he was a captive and slave in their
hands.
Anyhow we had broken through them, and although a shower of bullets
followed us, two of which touched my gallant pal, while one knocked the
heel and spur from my right boot, we were safe, and I cantered along to
the fort talking to my horse, and praising him for the bold way he had
behaved, while he, playfully reaching at his bit, now and then snorted
back as much as to say, “Right, Boss, we euchred those ruddy jossers,
didn’t we?”
Earnestly the reinforcements were looked out for, as the garrisons
of most of the forts were so weak that it was more than doubtful
whether they could offer a successful resistance against a determined
attack. Moreover, trusty spies brought in information that Titokowaru
contemplated making such attacks as he was very desirous of obtaining a
supply of rifles wherewith to arm the numerous recruits who had lately
flocked to his standard.
Nor was the information false, for on the morning of the 12th July he
attempted to capture the redoubt at Turu Turu Mokai, and very nearly
succeeded in doing so.
This redoubt was an old work that had been constructed by the 18th
Regiment at a time when there were thirty men to do the work now
allotted to one, and though it had been built on an important tactical
situation, yet the site had been badly chosen, nor was the work
itself of any strength. This did not matter when the district swarmed
with defenders, but now we were so weak it was considered extremely
vulnerable. Moreover, for a long time, while the sun shone on our side
of the fence, it had been abandoned; the berm had in places been washed
away by the heavy rain, and in places the much damaged parapet almost
tottered over the ditch; still, the importance of its situation was so
great that the O.C. had to now make use of it in his scheme of defence.
This tumbledown structure was garrisoned by twenty-five men under the
command of a very fine officer, Captain Ross, who had done everything
in his power to make the place defensible, but had only succeeded in
making the weak spots more apparent.
The site of the work itself was so bad that it necessitated a flying
sentry to watch a gully that could not be overlooked from the fort,
up which a storming party could easily creep, and there being no room
for the O.C.’s tent inside he had to have it pitched outside, near the
drawbridge, which consisted of two narrow planks that spanned the ditch.
On the night of the 11th a civilian came to the fort and claimed
protection, which was at once granted, so that there were twenty-seven
white men at Turu Turu Mokai that night.
During the night the flying sentry reported a flock of strayed sheep
had disturbed him, and there is no doubt that under cover of these
animals two parties of Hau Haus, numbering forty men each, crawled
through the fern, close up to the fort, lay down and waited for the
right moment to rush the tumbledown work.
The flying sentry who had the morning relief, however, spotted some
dark figures, and discharged his rifle at them, receiving in return a
volley which wounded him badly, though he still had strength to crawl
into the long fern where he hid until relieved.
The storming party at once charged, making for the gate, which in the
dark they missed and ran all round the work looking for it, a pause
that gave Captain Ross the chance of getting inside and defending the
entrance. He had no sooner got to the gateway--there was no gate--than
the storming party rushed him, led by a noted fighting chief named
Tautai, who, missing his footing on the narrow planks, tumbled end
over end into the ditch, an accident that saved his life, as the
bullet, that should have sent him whooping to perdition, killed the man
following him.
Two more Hau Haus, the gallant captain, disputing the narrow way,
despatched to their father Satan, when the remainder, not relishing
their reception, jumped into the ditch after their chief, and at the
same moment the second party rushed up.
Captain Ross was still in the gateway, doing his best to give the
new-comers a hearty and warm welcome, when one of the scallywags in
the ditch crawled up under the bridge and discharged his gun into the
unfortunate officer’s body; at the same moment another of them sank
the head of his long-handled tomahawk into his chest, and dragged the
desperately wounded man down into the ditch, where he was soon hacked
to pieces.
His fall caused some confusion in the already scanty garrison, and that
in rather a queer manner, as when wounded he shouted: “Take care of
yourselves, boys. I am done for.”
On hearing which four men, interpreting the order to mean that each man
should try and save himself, mounted to the top of the parapet, and,
jumping over the Hau Hau’s heads who were in the ditch, sought to save
themselves by breaking through the other assailants and hiding in the
fern. Three of then succeeded in doing so, the fourth being killed.
The defenders were now reduced in numbers to twenty-one, Sergeant
M’Fadden taking command, occupying the post of danger left vacant by
the death of his gallant officer, where bravely he sustained the fight
until he was shot dead, when Corporal Blake stepped into the breach
and post of honour, only to fall in the same manner; thus the gallant
fellows held out, defending their trust until eight of them lay dead
and six of them desperately wounded in the blood-stained gateway, the
civilian also being killed.
Six men only were now left to continue the fight, but their comrades
had not died uselessly having, previous to their departure to that
Valhalla designed by Providence for the reception of Lost Legionaries,
administered such punishment to their enemies that the latter withdrew
from the attack on the gateway to positions from which the whole
interior of the work, with the exception of one bastion, could be
searched by a plunging fire.
To this bastion the six dauntless fellows now retired, determining
to make their last stand and die there. It was the best spot in the
untenable work, the gorge being masked by a flimsy wooden hut, that was
not bullet proof, although it prevented the Maori sharpshooters from
seeing the defenders and aiming at them.
Their greatest danger was the parapet that here, as I mentioned
previously, simply tottered over the ditch, and which the Hau Haus at
once set to work to undermine.
They were now in a desperate strait, but never lost heart. Relief was
bound to come. Could they hold out long enough? They gained time by a
clever ruse. The Maoris feared mounted men more than anything, so the
defenders with one accord started cheering, at the same time shouting:
“Hurrah, the cavalry are coming!” Whereupon the sappers left off their
work, preparing for a bolt.
This trick was played two or three times, but the nervous Maoris were
always rallied and forced to return to their work by the infamous
scoundrel, Kimball Bent, whose voice, cursing the Hau Haus for their
cowardice and urging them on to make further efforts, was distinctly
heard and recognised.
At last the relief did come, though not by the efforts of the
troopers, who for some inexplicable reason were left behind, Major Von
Tempsky, then in temporary command, selecting infantry to go to the
rescue and leaving twenty troopers standing by their horses without
orders.
He, however, arrived just in the nick of time, as the enemy had not
desisted from their work and retired more than a minute when the
crumbling parapet fell bodily into the ditch which, had it done so a
few moments sooner, would have left its six gallant defenders, all more
or less hurt, to the mercy of their savage opponents, but they, by
their splendid defence, not only saved their own lives, but prevented
a large amount of arms and ammunition falling into the hands of
Titokowaru and the baffled Hau Haus.
The relief of Turu Turu Mokai, although successful, was the origin of
a most miserable squabble which ended in a sad tragedy, as it was the
cause of as gallant an officer as ever drew sword throwing away his
life in attempting to regain a reputation for courage which in the
opinion of every man worth his salt should never have been doubted.
It happened this way. When the garrison at Waihi were alarmed by the
sound of heavy firing, both troopers and infantry at once turned out.
The former, twenty in number, were a very smart body of men indeed,
always ready at a moment’s notice to tackle any job that might come
along. They were under the command of Major Hunter, who was also second
in command to Major Von Tempsky (temporary O.C. of the district), who
was a splendid though very jealous officer.
Hunter, the moment the alarm was given, ran round the fort to see that
the sentries were on the alert, and when he had done so found that Von
Tempsky had started with his own men, the infantry, leaving no orders
for the mounted men nor for himself.
This placed him in a dilemma. It was clear the headquarters fort,
containing large supplies of arms and ammunition, could not be left in
charge of a guard of six men. It was also clear that the mounted men
were the proper men to have gone to their comrades’ assistance, but as
his senior officer had left them behind without orders it was clear
he must utilise them to hold the fort. He therefore gave orders to
lead the horses back to their stables and for the troopers to man the
bastions.
Now the troopers were as keen as mustard, and had been ready for duty
even before the infantry, for although they did not, like the bold
garrison of Branxholm Castle, drink their wine through their helmets
barred, it was only because they had no wine to drink nor tin pots to
wear on their heads, but they drank their ration rum, when they could
get it, under their forage caps, and they always lay down to sleep
fully accoutred, breeched, booted, belted and spurred, while their
horses stood all night in their stalls saddled and bridled, with their
heads round, ready to be led out and mounted in a moment.
It was so on this occasion. In fact they were standing by their horses
before the foot men fell in, so it was through no fault of theirs they
were not employed.
Now the troopers were well aware that they were the men who should
have been selected to have gone, as they could have reached their
endangered comrades at least half-an-hour before the footsloggers
could hope to do so, and the fact of their being left behind drove
them hopping mad, while on receiving the order to man the bastions the
sergeant-major used language most reprehensible and unwarrantable,
for which he should have been most severely punished. As the delay
caused by using foot instead of mounted men was responsible for at
least half the casualties, great irritation was felt not only through
the force but also through the country, and the newspapers, getting
to hear of the sergeant-major’s hasty words, immediately started to
disseminate their garbled reports, it even pleasing the ink-slinging
stool-polishers, who write them, to shower abuse and cast doubts on the
courage of a brave officer whose boots they were not worthy to black.
The synopsis of the wretched affair was this. Major Von Tempsky was the
senior officer whose undoubted duty it was to take steps to immediately
relieve the besieged fort. Well, he chose to go himself, taking his own
men, infantry, with him, and leaving the mounted men and their officer
behind without orders.
This action on his part clearly shows he was instigated by one of two
ideas: either he considered the infantry most suitable to effect his
purpose or he wished to gain all the credit of the relief for himself
and men regardless of the danger the other fort ran through not
receiving speedier assistance. Most certainly Major Hunter could not
have followed on and left the headquarters fort unprotected.
Anyhow poor Hunter, a most high-spirited and sensitive man, unable to
endure the slurs cast at him by a scum of newspaper men, threw away
his life a few months afterwards at Moturoa in giving the lie to his
cowardly detractors.