A BATTLE IN THE FOREST; AND THE DEATH OF VON TEMPSKY
The second fight at Te Ngutu-o-te-Manu--Titokowaru's
prophecy--Tutangé and his sacred war-mat--Bent's narrow
escape--Government forces defeated--How von Tempsky fell--A
terrible retreat--Colonial soldiers' gallant rear-guard fight.
Early one warm spring afternoon in 1868, when the vast forest lay
steeped in calm and Taranaki's sentry-peak rose like a great ivory tent
out of the soft blue haze that bathed its spreading base, the sharp,
cracking sound of rifle-shots broke the quiet of the wilderness.
The shots came from the mountain side of "The Beak-of-the-Bird,"
the opposite one to that by which the white troops had advanced the
previous month. Te Ngutu-o-te-Manu was being taken in the rear this
time. Colonel McDonnell had set out from the Waihi Redoubt before
daylight in the morning, with a force of about two hundred and sixty
whites, composed of three divisions of Armed Constabulary (many of
them ex-Forest Rangers), the newly joined Wellington Rifles and
Rangers, and a few veteran volunteers, besides about a hundred
_Kupapas_, the friendly Maoris from the Whanganui and Ngati-Apa tribes
under Kepa te Rangihiwinui. Fording the swift Wai-ngongoro River
(the "Waters-of-Snoring"), the Colonel's force, guided by the woman
Takiora, marched through the native village of Mawhitiwhiti, which was
found deserted, then turned into the dense forest, searching for the
Hauhau stronghold, which was now reported to be at Te Rua-ruru ("The
Owl's Nest"), situated somewhere in the rear of Te Ngutu-o-te-Manu.
A disastrous search, for it ended under the palisades of the
"Bird's-Beak," the savage beak that closed savagely on many a gallant
_pakeha_ before the sun went down in the western sea that day.
McDonnell had hoped by his early start to take the Hauhaus by surprise.
But wary old Titokowaru was seldom caught napping.
* * * * *
On the previous night--as the old warrior Tutangé Waionui tells
me--Titokowaru gathered all his men in the big house (_wharé-kura_),
which had now been rebuilt. Then, when the Hauhau prayers and chants
were over, the chief arose and cried:
"_E Koro ma, kia tupato! He po kino te po, he ra kino te ra!_" ("O
friends, be on your guard! This is an evil night--a night of danger,
and the morrow will be a day of danger!")
This oracular warning seemed to the superstitious people to be a
message from the gods, of whom Titokowaru was the living medium. That
night was a night of preparation for battle. Armed men slipped out
along the trail in front of the stockade, and lay in wait for the
expected enemy.
Long the grim old chief sat on his sacred mat that night in the
_wharé-kura_, his enchanted tongue-pointed _taiaha_ lying in front
of him. _Karakia_ after _karakia_ he recited in a low monotone,
incantations and charms, ancient pagan and latter-day Hauhau _karakia_,
for success in the conflict that he felt was to envelop his _pa_ on the
morrow in a ring of smoke and blood.
In his own little thatched _wharé_ that day sat Kimble Bent, the
_pakeha_-Maori. He, too, was busy, squatting there on an old flax
_whariki_ mat. By his side were a keg of gunpowder and a bag of
bullets, and in front of him a pile of old _pakeha_ newspapers and
leaves torn from looted books. He was making cartridges for the
Hauhaus. Round a wooden cartridge-filler he deftly rolled a scrap
of paper, forming a cylinder, which he tied securely with thread or
with fine strips of flax; then, withdrawing the filler, he poured
in the gunpowder. The cartridges loaded, he slipped them into the
cartouche-boxes and holders, a number of which had been brought to the
_wharé_ by the men of the _Tekau-ma-rua_; when the boxes were full,
the remainder of the ammunition he stored carefully in a large flax
basket. Most of the receptacles for the ammunition--_hamanu_ the Maoris
called them--were primitive affairs smacking of the bush. In size and
shape they resembled the ordinary military leather cartouche-boxes,
but they were simply blocks of light wood, generally _pukatea_ timber,
slightly curved in shape so as to sit well on the body when strapped,
and neatly bored with from ten to eighteen holes, each of which held
a cartridge. A flap of leather or skin--in the earlier days it was
often a piece of tattooed human skin--covered the cartridges; and
straps of leather or of dressed and ornamented flax were attached to
the _hamanu_, which were buckled or tied round the waist or over the
shoulders. A well-equipped fighting-man usually wore two _hamanu_, by
belts over the shoulders; and at his girdle he carried his pouches for
bullets and percussion-caps.
Such was the lone white man's occupation in the forest stockade that
day before the looming battle.
* * * * *
Next morning, after the first meal of the day had been set before the
warriors by their women and had been quickly eaten, the war-chief came
out of his house, _taiaha_ in hand, and walked out on to the village
square in front of the sacred praying-house.
"Friends," he cried, as he stood there on the _marae_, "I salute
you! You have eaten and are content; for the proverb says, 'When the
stomach is filled, then man is happy and satisfied' ('_Ka ki te puku,
ka ora te tangata_'). Now, rise up and grasp your weapons, for I wish
to see you dance the _haka_ and the _tutu-waewae_ of war."
When the men were assembled on the parade ground, in their dancing
costume of a scanty waist-mat, Titokowaru cried in a loud voice and
prophesied, saying:
"_Kaore e tu te ra, kaore e titaha te ra, ka tupono tatou kia to tatou
whanaunga_"--of which the meaning is, "The sun will not have reached
its zenith, the sun will not have declined, before we have joined issue
with our relatives"--the white soldiers.
"Then," says Tutangé, "we danced our _haka_ with the fire of coming
battle in our hearts, and we hardened our nerves for the fight. For we
knew that Titoko was a true and powerful prophet (_poropiti whai-mana_,
_tino kaha_), and we believed that that day would see blood shed again
around Te Ngutu-o-te-Manu."
Tutangé Waionui, who was now to distinguish himself as a daring young
warrior, was but a boy. He was not more than fifteen or sixteen years
old, but was a strong, athletic youngster, full of fire and courage,
and as agile as a monkey. He was of the _momo rangatira_, or "blue
blood" of Taranaki, tracing a direct descent through a line of high
chiefs and priests from Turi, the great sailor who navigated his long
mat-winged canoe _Aotea_ to the black iron-sand beach of Taranaki from
the far-distant Hawaiki, the beautiful palm-fringed island of Rangiatea
(Raiatea, as its people call it now) in the Society Group. His father,
the old warrior, Maruera Whakarewataua, had carefully schooled him in
the business of arms, the handling of the spear-tongued _taiaha_, most
beautiful of Maori weapons, the quick and fatal use of the tomahawk,
both the terrible long-handled one and the short hatchet, or _patiti_,
as well as the musket and shot-gun and rifle of the _pakeha_. So here,
now, was young Tutangé on his first war-path.
That morning, when the very air seemed full of rumours of battle and
death, Tutangé was girded with the sacred war-mat, the _maro-taua_.
[Illustration: TUTANGÉ WAIONUI, A HAUHAU WARRIOR.
This photo, taken in 1908, shows Tutangé--who was one of Titokowaru's
best fighting men--stripped and armed for the war-path as he was in
1868.]
"My father's sister," says he, "called me to her, together with certain
other young men who were of _rangatira_ rank, and who had not yet
fought the white man. She was a chieftainess, by name Tāngamoko; she
was of _ariki_ birth in the Ngati-Ruanui tribe, and being possessed of
_mana-tapu_ and of a knowledge of charms and incantations, she was as
a priestess amongst the people. She called us to her, and told us that
she was about to make us _tamariki tapu_, that is, sacred children,
for the coming battle. She girded us each with a fine waist-garment,
the _korowai_, made of soft dressed and closely woven white flax, with
short black thrums, or cords, hanging down it. These flax vestures,
falling from our waists to our knees, she had made herself. They
were the garments of war; she had _karakia_'d over them and charmed
them so that the bullets of the enemy should not touch them, and so
that we, their wearers, might conquer in the fight. And very proud
and confident _tamariki tapu_ we were now, parading the _pa_ in our
bullet-proof _korowai_, and dancing our weapons in the air as we leaped
with our elders in the _haka_ and roared out the great chorus of the
war-song beginning, '_Kia kutia--au--au!_' and that other one which our
fathers had chanted when first they set up the Maori Land League, '_E
kore Taranaki e makere atu!_' ('Taranaki will not be cast away from
us!')
"One of the songs which we chanted as we wildly danced was this:
"'_Whakarongo ai au
Ki te koroki manu
Whakaorooro ana i te ngahere.
I na-wa e!_'
('I'm listening for the voices,
The singing of the birds,
Sounding, echoing in the forest!')
The 'singing of the birds' was a figure of speech for the voices of the
soldiers on the march.
"That _maro-taua_ was all the clothing I wore in the fight.
Round my brows I bound a handkerchief, which held in place my
_tiparé rangatira_, my chief-like war-feathers. My weapons were a
double-barrelled gun (_tupara_), and a short-handled tomahawk, which I
carried stuck in my belt. Round me I had strapped a cartridge-holder.
_E tama!_ Now I was ready for my first battle."
Meanwhile, what of the _pakeha_-Maori in this nest of Hauhaus?
That morning, after he had supplied the men with ammunition, he sat on
the _marae_ watching the war-dances. The morning went, but there was no
sign from the outlying Hauhau piquets. Most of the women and children
had been sent away into the bush at the rear of the _pa_ in charge of
the old chief Te Waka-tākere-nui, in anticipation of the predicted
attack. The _pakeha_-Maori was also a non-combatant, but he remained
in the _pa_ with Titokowaru until the firing began. There were not
more than sixty fighting-men in Te Ngutu-o-te-Manu, but nearly all of
these were tried and experienced warriors, and even those who, like
young Tutangé, were still to be blooded, were more than a match for the
average white soldier in bush-warfare.
It was well on in the afternoon before the first shots were heard. The
Maoris had expected attack from the seaward or Waihi side, but to their
surprise the sound of the firing came from inland, indicating that the
troops had worked round to the rear of "The Beak-of-the-Bird." The
Maori advance-guard of Colonel McDonnell's column had encountered the
Hauhaus in the bush and fired into them.
When the first sharp rifle-cracks echoed through the forest, Titokowaru
went up to his _pakeha_, with a flax kit in his hand.
"Friend," said the stern old captain, "take this _kété_ of mine in your
charge. It contains some of my _tapu_ treasures; take great care of
it, for I may not see you again; I may fall with my tribe. Take it and
leave the _pa_, and join Te Waka-tākere-nui if you can find his camp
in the forest."
The white man took the carefully strapped kit and hurried out of the
stockade. Te Waka's camp, he knew, was somewhere away in the rear; the
firing was in that direction, and he was in danger of falling into
the enemy's hands. However, he struck out into the bush from the rear
fence, expecting to steal through the thick timber on the flank of the
troops, who, he guessed, were advancing by the track which led in from
the east.
He managed to elude his fellow-countrymen as it happened, but it was
"touch-and-go" with him. Scarcely had he run out from the stockade and
entered the hollow, through which a little creek wound through the bush
at the rear of the _pa_, than the advance-guard of the white column
also reached the creek, and crossed it to attack the _pa_. A heavy fire
was at this moment opened on the troops by the Hauhaus, and bullets
flew thick around the _pakeha_-Maori.
Two or three of the Armed Constabulary came almost upon him just
as he mounted the farther bank of the creek, near where a little
burial-ground clearing broke the continuity of the thick undergrowth;
it was here that the Hauhaus had interred those of their number killed
in the previous attack on the _pa_.
The Colonial soldiers must have mistaken Bent for a Maori, for they
immediately fired at him but missed, and next moment he ducked into the
jungle, and on all-fours scrambled down into the creek bed, where he
followed down the little stream as hard as he could go.
There was small wonder the A.C.'s took Bent for a Maori, for it would
have been difficult in the half-light of that bush, at the distance of
a few yards, to have detected much resemblance to a white man in the
dark, shaggy-headed, bare-footed fellow with an old and dirty blanket
strapped around his waist, a ragged jacket about his shoulders, and a
red handkerchief tied round his head.
Scrambling along, stooping low to avoid being hit, the _pakeha_-Maori
went down the creek until he came to a large hollow _mahoé_-tree
standing by the side of the watercourse. He squeezed into the hollow
trunk of the tree, and there he remained for a few minutes listening
to the cracking of the rifles and the loud reports of the Hauhau
smooth-bores and the yells of the combatants. Soon the firing came
nearer, and bullets began to zip through the leaves and come plunk
into the _mahoé_, in whose hollow heart the white man hid.
"The bullets are finding me out," said Bent to himself. "I'm in a fix
still; anyhow, here goes," and he cautiously crept out from his place
of concealment and took to the jungle-fringed creek again. Following
down the creek, crawling, scrambling, running, he presently began to
feel his head more secure on his shoulders, for the sound of the firing
grew fainter. He left the creek, and, striking through the bush, found
a familiar track which led him to the little nook in the forest where
old Te Waka and the anxious women and terrified children were camped.
There he remained that night.
From Te Waka's people he heard the account of the morning's work. The
Government Maori forces, Kepa's men, came upon the camp of refugees
and killed two children; one of these, a boy of about nine years of
age, was the son of the Hauhau warrior, Kātené Tu-Whakaruru. The
other child, a little girl, they most cruelly slew by throwing her
up into the air and spitting her on a bayonet as she fell. Another
child, a little boy, was captured, but was saved by a Whanganui
Maori, who carried him out of the forest on his back. He was a son
of Te Karere-o-Mahuru ("The Messenger of Spring"). This boy became a
protégé of Sir William Fox, who had him educated, and he is to-day a
well-known and gifted representative Taranaki man; his name is Pokiha
(Fox) O-Mahuru. When the camp was surprised a woman ran away into the
forest in terror; as she was never again heard of, it is believed that
the soldiers shot her.
* * * * *
For the rest of the story of that battle in the bush, from the Maori
side, my chief authorities are Tutangé Waionui, who gave me his
narrative in 1908, and Whakawhiria, of Taranaki. Of the disaster from
the European side there are numerous accounts, no two of which agree.
The truth is, it was a lamentably bungled affair, redeemed by numerous
acts of personal heroism, and particularly by the gallant rear-guard
action fought by a portion of the column under the brave young Captain
Roberts during the terrible retreat which followed the repulse of the
troops.
The Government force outnumbered the Hauhaus in the _pa_ by more than
five to one. Of this, however, McDonnell and his officers and men were
ignorant, otherwise there might have been a very different story to
tell. In the obscurity of the dense bush, where the savage forest-men
were in their familiar haunts, everything was strange and terrible to
the recruits, and the imagination magnified the numbers of the foe, who
poured bullets from their well-masked fastnesses.
Yet many of the whites were old and seasoned bushmen, who had
served in the Forest Rangers and other corps; they had carried their
carbines on many a dangerous forest trail, and fought the Hauhaus again
and again, and they were led by officers of ability, coolness, and
bravery. Under McDonnell there was, for one, that soldier of fortune,
Major Gustavus von Tempsky, most picturesque of guerilla fighters, the
central figure in many stories of daring and adventure, the adored of
his bush-whackers and the terror of the Maoris.
[Illustration: MAJOR VON TEMPSKY
(_From a photo, 1865._)]
"Wawahi-waka," the Waikato Maoris called him--"The
Splitter-of-Canoes"--because of his exploits in war.
"Manu-rau"--"Hundred Birds"--was the name by which he was known amongst
the Taranaki Hauhaus. The name had been given him because of his
activity in rushing from place to place, fighting here and fighting
there, as swiftly as the forest-birds that flitted from tree to tree.
Every Maori knew of "Manu-rau," and many of those in arms had been
chased by him at one time or another during the three years of war
since he led his Forest Rangers to the assault at Otapawa stockade.
Von Tempsky was of aristocratic Polish blood. He had begun soldiering
life as a Prussian chasseur, had served under the unfortunate Emperor
Maximilian in Mexico, and fought in several little wars in Central
America; had been a gold-digger on the great tented fields of Victoria
and the Hauraki; he was a clever artist in water-colours and a good
miniature painter, and he had written a book of travels in Mexico,
"Mitla," illustrated with his own sketches. In the Waikato War he and
Captain William Jackson had led their Forest Rangers in several sharp
skirmishes, and in Taranaki he was in the thick of the bush-fighting,
and had tramped with his veterans through the forest in General Chute's
great march from Ketemarae northwards to Mataitawa and New Plymouth,
round the back of the Mountain.[7]
He was a good shot, a finished swordsman, and could throw a bowie-knife
with deadly accuracy. It was in Mexico that he learned the use of the
knife, and he never tired of impressing on his men its advantages in
bush fighting.
Swarthy of visage, with long, black, curling hair, upon which a forage
cap was cocked at a defiant angle, his grey flannel shirt carelessly
open at the neck, his trousers tucked into long boots that came nearly
up to his knees, a bowie-knife in a sheath and a revolver at his belt,
a naked sword, long and curved, in his hand--this was von Tempsky
on the war-path, a picturesquely brigand-like figure, upon whom the
soldiers' eyes rested with wonder and a good deal of admiration.
Of that disastrous attack on "The Beak-of-the-Bird" stockade many
accounts have been given, but the many discrepancies in detail that
an examination of each account reveals are hardly to be wondered at,
considering the confusion and misunderstandings that arose and that
largely wrought the defeat of Colonel McDonnell's column. The dense and
roadless forest, with its intricacies of undergrowth and interlacings
of supplejack, and the inequalities of the ground made it difficult
for the Colonial soldiers to keep in touch with each other, and the
extraordinary activity and mobility of their savage assailants, who
were perfectly at home in their jungly woods, more than compensated for
the difference in numbers. The forest trees were the Hauhau redoubts.
Amongst these trees, their naked brown skins nearly blending in colour
with the trunks, they were almost invisible, and in most cases only the
puffs of smoke, or brown arms moving up and down using the ramrods,
indicated their lurking places. They darted from one cover to another
with the quickness of monkeys, and though their weapons were mostly
muzzle-loading smooth-bores, they managed to fire and reload with
astonishing celerity. Too many of McDonnell's force were newly joined,
raw young fellows, who now for the first time met the Maori warrior
in the bush, and the hidden foe, with their merciless fire and their
terrible yells of hate and defiance, struck terror to many a recruit's
heart.
Some of the large _rata_ and _pukatea_ trees growing close to the
stockade were hollow, and in several of these the Maoris had cut
loopholes, which they used for musketry fire. Some of the trees, too,
spat leaden death. Brown figures flitted like forest-demons from cover
to cover. At these and at the naked arms and shaggy heads that showed
themselves for a moment the coolest and best shots of the Constabulary
sent their bullets, and every now and then a Hauhau came crashing to
the ground; but for every Maori that was hit five white men fell.
The forest rang with the sharp cracking of the rifles and the
bang-banging of the heavily charged muzzle-loaders, and within the
stockade the women that remained encouraged their warriors with shrill
yells.
"Kill them! Eat them!" they screamed, as they waved their shawls and
mats. "Fight on, fight on! Let not one escape!"
White men dropped quickly, wounded or shot dead. McDonnell evidently
over-estimated the strength of the enemy, for he concluded that
it would be impossible to rush the _pa_ or to hold it if it was
successfully rushed, for the enemy were now all round him. Had he only
known the real state of affairs, that there were barely sixty armed
Hauhaus, of whom only about twenty remained within the stockade, the
story of Te Ngutu-o-te-Manu would have been far less saddening, at any
rate to the _pakeha_.
McDonnell, considering the position too strong to be carried by
assault, determined to strike out to the left through the forest and
retire. Von Tempsky and Major Hunter pleaded with him to let them
charge the stockade, but the Colonel would not consent, and presently
ordered the retreat. Moving off, he sent a message to von Tempsky
telling him to collect his men and form a rear-guard. He sent the
wounded on with Major Hunter and Captain Newland, and followed with
about eighty men, cutting a way through the undergrowth.
Von Tempsky remained, angry and disgusted at being refused permission
to storm the _pa_, but too good a soldier to disobey orders. With him
were most of the men of his two Armed Constabulary Divisions, No. 2 and
No. 5, with Sub-Inspectors (Captains) Brown and J. M. Roberts, a few
Patea Rifle Volunteers under Captain Palmer, the Wellington Rangers
under Lieutenants Hastings and Hunter, and about twenty-five Taranaki
Volunteers under Lieutenant Rowan.
Sword in hand, von Tempsky moved restlessly to and fro, regardless of
the bullets that hummed about him. He ordered those nearest him to take
cover but himself remained erect, angrily cutting at the undergrowth
with his sword. And there he was when a Hauhau bullet found him.
Now I will let the Maoris tell their story of how von Tempsky and his
comrades fell. Tutangé Waionui says:
"When the attack on our _pa_ began, two or three of us, including Hotu
and Tihirua, climbed up on an old partly hollow _rata_-tree that grew
in a slanting position near the centre of the stockade, in order to see
whether it would be a good place from which to fire at the _pakehas_. A
little way up it forked into two large branches, and it was from this
fork that we intended to fire. However, we found that it did not suit
us, as we could not see anything of the soldiers who were hidden in
the thick bush outside the stockade, so we rushed out into the forest,
seeking our enemy.
"There were two large _rata_-trees outside the stockade, but the
statement made that von Tempsky was shot from a _rata_ is incorrect.
I have seen a picture which purports to show him being shot down by a
Maori perched in a tree. This is altogether contrary to fact, as I will
explain to you.
"When we rushed out to the rear of the _pa_ the soldiers were rapidly
approaching the stockade. We crouched down amongst the undergrowth,
close to the little creek, and directed our shots at the thicket which
grew between the _pa_ and the creek. Some of the soldiers, crossing
the creek, were in this part of the bush, and soon I saw Manu-rau (von
Tempsky). Heavy firing was going on all this time, and many white men
had fallen. Presently many of the soldiers withdrew, carrying their
wounded, but Manu-rau remained with his men, his drawn sword in his
hand--the long curved sword which had already become famous amongst the
Maoris. He came out into clear view of us, within a very short distance
of where we were crouching--I should say less than half a chain. I
fired with the others. One of our bullets struck him--I have always
believed it was mine. One of his fellow-soldiers, who was close by, ran
to pick him up, and he too fell, shot by one of my companions. Others
ran out to rescue the fallen _pakehas_, and they were shot down by us
and by the other Maoris, until soon there were nine white men lying
dead or wounded around Manu-rau.
"When the Government forces had fallen back before a _kokiri_, a
charge, led by Kātené Tu-Whakaruru, the Hauhau leader and scout, I
ran out to where Manu-rau was lying dying on the ground. He seemed to
be still living when I reached him. I snatched out my tomahawk from my
girdle and dealt him a cut with it on the temple, to make sure of him,
and killed him instantly. Then I took from him his uniform cap, his
revolver and sword, and a lever watch which he had in his pocket.
"The sword, revolver, watch, and cap which I took from the
soldier-chief's body I carried into the _pa_ and laid before our
war-chief Titokowaru. That was one of the rules observed by
Titokowaru's war-parties; the spoils of war must be taken to the chief
for division. I was given the revolver, and used it afterwards in the
war.
"That is the story of how von Tempsky was killed. I hope you will,
when the opportunity comes, tell the _pakehas_ that the picture which
represents Manu-rau as being shot by a Maori who was perched up in a
_rata_-tree is not correct. You _pakehas_ will not regard my action in
tomahawking Manu-rau as a _kohuru_, a murder? Well, then, as you say,
it was in the course of war, and it was quite _tika_ and correct. I was
but a very young man then, just a boy, and it was my first battle."
By the side of this I will put Whakawhiria's account. Whakawhiria
lives at the big native village of Parihaka, the old-time town of the
prophets Te Whiti and Tohu. His narrative was given in May, 1909, to
the Rev. T. G. Hammond, of Opunake, Wesleyan missionary to the Taranaki
Maoris, who has sent it on to me to supplement the other versions of
the fight. Whakawhiria's story is generally accepted as authentic by
the Taranaki Maoris; most of the survivors of the fight agree that it
was his father Te Rangi-hina-kau, as he says, who shot von Tempsky.
Whakawhiria was a young man of eighteen or so at the time of this
engagement, but though so young he was already a veteran on the
war-path. He had seen the smoke of battle in 1860, at Waireka, when
the Taranaki settlers, for the first time met the Maori on the field of
war.
His estimate of the strength of the garrison in Te Ngutu-o-te-Manu
is even lower than Tutangé's, for he says there were not more than
forty-five fighting men in the _pa_ when it was attacked.
Te Rangi-hina-kau, Whakawhiria, and a party of others sallied out
from the stockade and met their enemy skirmishing in the bush. In the
rear of the _pa_ ran a little stream, the Mangotahi. On the banks of
the creek the eight Hauhaus took cover, Whakawhiria and his nearest
companions crouching under a _karaka_-tree, and it was from that point
that they shot von Tempsky and his men. The eight warriors were Te
Rangi-hina-kau, Whakawhiria, Ika-wharau, Tutangé Waionui, Te Whau,
Heheu, Umu-umu and Wairau. They fired at von Tempsky at very close
range, not more than twenty paces, just across the little creek.
"It was Te Rangi-hina-kau who shot von Tempsky," said Whakawhiria.
"He dropped on one knee, and, taking careful aim, fired and shot von
Tempsky. He shot him through the head, and afterwards cut out his heart
as an offering to the Maori war-gods." (Kimble Bent's and Tutangé's
versions given me contradict this.) "Young Tutangé," continued
Whakawhiria, "acted a very brave part, but it was not he who actually
shot the major. Tutangé obtained von Tempsky's watch as his share of
the loot, and Whakawhiria got his gun and pistol."
During the engagement Titokowaru remained in the _pa_, shouting to his
men, urging them to continue firing, and yelling such battle-cries
as "_Whakawhiria_! _Whakawhiria_!" ("Twist them round and round!"
or "Encircle them!") It was from this circumstance that the warrior
Whakawhiria assumed his present name.[8]
On von Tempsky's fall, Captain J. M. Roberts, a cool and gallant young
Constabulary officer, ordered his bugler to sound the "Halt" and the
"Officers' Call," and tried to form the rear-guard into some order.
Collecting as many of the wounded as he could, he began his retreat
through that terrible death-haunted forest.
All through the fighting Titokowaru remained within the stockade,
directing the defence and reciting incantations and chanting sacred
_waiatas_ to his gods for success in the fight. With him was the
priestess Tangamoko, the woman who had that morning garbed the young
warrior Tutangé with the sacred war-mat.
When von Tempsky fell and the retreat of the survivors began,
Titokowaru ordered a _kokiri_, or charge, in pursuit, which, as Tutangé
has mentioned, was led by the warrior Kātené Tu-Whakaruru.
Those of the Hauhaus who were in or near the stockade gathered under
Kātené and danced in their ferocious joy a dance of victory, and
this is the _ngeri_ (war-song) they shouted all together as they leaped
in that terrifying _tutu-waewae_:
"_Kia kutia--
Au--au!
Kia wherahia--
Au--au!
A kia rere atu
Te Kawana ki tawhiti,
Titiro mai ai!
Ae--ae--au!_"
("Squeeze close--
_Au--au!_ (imitating the bark of a dog)
Spread out--
_Au--au!_
See the Government soldiers flee away,
And turn and fearfully gaze at me.
Yes, yes--_au_!")
The puffy clouds of smoke now drew away from the _pa_, as the Hauhaus
followed their defeated foes into the dark forest. With appalling yells
they rushed at their white enemies, tomahawking those who had fallen to
make sure of them, as Tutangé had done with von Tempsky.
[Illustration: MAJOR VON TEMPSKY.]
"_Ka horo! Ka horo!_" they yelled. "They are beaten!" And thrusting
their bloody tomahawks into their belts they recharged their guns, and,
leaping from tree to tree, fired heavily and incessantly at the gallant
little rear-guard who were struggling through the tangled bush, caps
gone, uniforms torn, nearly every man either wounded or blood-stained
from his comrades' wounds.
The sun had just set. The ghostly tree-shadows lengthened, and it was
already dark in the deeper thicknesses of the bush.
Just after the retreat commenced one of Captain Roberts' steadiest men,
Corporal Russell, dropped his carbine and fell; a big-calibre bullet
had smashed his thigh-bone.
"Shoot me, boys--shoot me!" he begged his comrades. "Don't leave me to
be tomahawked."
He knew as well as they did that his smashed leg meant death. The
rear-guard was already encumbered with wounded and could carry no more.
"No, we can't shoot you, old man," said a big, tall volunteer sergeant,
who was a tower of strength to Roberts' little band, shooting with
deadly aim from his post in the rear of the retreat. "Take this," and
he shoved into the wounded man's hand a loaded revolver.
Then the sergeant (James Livingston) picked up the corporal's empty
carbine, and swinging it by the barrel, hot with much firing, smashed
it against a tree-butt. "Old Tito'll never use that gun, anyhow," he
said.
Bursting from the trees, the brown, nearly naked savages came yelling
at the rear-guard. Hastily slipping fresh cartridges into their
carbines, the gigantic volunteer and his comrades sent a volley at the
enemy. It was taking _utu_ for the corporal in anticipation. Then they
sorrowfully turned and went on into the dusky forest, leaving their
comrade stretched there on the mossy ground, gazing stern-mouthed,
unflinchingly down the way of death.
Out from the ferns and supplejack leaped the foremost of the Hauhaus, a
tattooed, blanket-girded man, with wild eyes rolling in blood-madness.
His double-barrelled gun he had shifted from his right hand to his
left, and he drew his shining tomahawk from his flax belt.
With an ear-ripping cry and the bound of a tiger he came on, hatchet in
air.
The corporal stiffened his back, levelled his revolver, and fired.
The Maori fell, and lay with his face touching the soldier's boot.
A yell of "_Patua! Patua!_" came from the trees, and more bare figures
with crossed cartridge-belts came rushing on, war-axe in hand.
Gripping his revolver hard, his trigger-finger steady, the corporal
fired again, and another of his foes fell.
Now they stood off and shot the brave corporal dead, and so, after all,
he died like a soldier and not under the frightful tomahawk.
* * * * *
McDonnell's column, the stronger one, was in the meantime fighting
its way out through the forest to the Wai-ngongoro, hard beset by
the Hauhaus, who had by this time been reinforced by others from the
nearest villages. The Maoris followed closely in the rear and kept up
a heavy fire, to which McDonnell and his officers and men could only
return occasionally; their ammunition was getting very short. With
McDonnell marched a French Roman Catholic priest, Father Jean Baptiste
Rolland, the _padre_ of the forces, who had been described only a few
weeks before, in a letter written by von Tempsky, as "a man without
fear." Whenever a soldier fell, whether he was Catholic or Protestant,
the kind-faced father was by his side in a moment, tending his wounds,
and, if dying, soothing his last moments with a prayer. He took his
turn, too, at carrying the wounded.
Three holes, drilled by Hauhau bullets, ornamented the _padre's_ old
wide-brimmed soft felt hat when he reached the Waihi camp that night.
It was just dark when the snoring Wai-ngongoro was reached, and
the bridgeless river, running high and swiftly, was forded with
some difficulty under fire. At ten o'clock at night the redoubt was
reached, and here it was found that a mixed party of fugitives from the
battle-field, numbering about eighty Europeans besides the _Kupapas_,
had already arrived, and had reported all the officers, McDonnell
included, killed or wounded and left on the field.
* * * * *
And how fared Captain Roberts' little rear-guard of sixty men?
Extending his force in skirmishing order, the young officer pushed
on as well as he could, carrying his wounded--one in every six. When
darkness came on he halted, for it was hopeless to try to force a way
through the jungle-matted woods in the blackness of the night. It was
a cold frosty night, and the wounded were in agonies of pain, which
their distressed comrades were helpless to relieve. There on the damp
and freezing ground they crouched till the moon rose at two o'clock in
the morning. Now, guided by five brave fellows of the Maori contingent,
Whanganui and Ngati-Apa men, who stood by Roberts and his wounded to
the last, the rear-guard recommenced the retreat. Struggling wearily on
through the tangling _kareao_ and the densely growing shrubs, stumbling
over logs and splashing through little watercourses, they emerged at
last thankfully on to the open country, and soon, bearing their wounded
and dying comrades across the dark flooded Wai-ngongoro, were greeted
by the joyful cheers of their comrades, European and Maori, under Kepa
te Rangihiwinui, who had set out from the Waihi Redoubt to their rescue
when daylight broke.
Only then was the full story of the repulse pieced together--a story of
a fight that in point of numbers was only a skirmish, as battles go,
but that was the most serious set-back the white man had yet suffered
at the hands of the brown warriors of the Taranaki bush. Of the
twenty-four whites killed five were officers, men who could badly be
spared in that frontier warfare. The wounded numbered twenty-six, whose
rescue from the tomahawks of the Hauhau was carried out in a way truly
heroic.