by Vicky Adin
The march was hard going. The route followed the road to begin with, close to the banks of the river. The moonlight made it easier to see where they were going but, even so, they lost formation as they entered deeper bush, travelling along the fern-covered ridges. Occasional grunts and whispered curses were heard as someone lost their footing or bumped into something solid.
They were as soon silenced. The night drew on. They passed near an old pa site and stopped to rest at Waiari. The order for silence was still in force.
“No matches, fires or smoking.”
The order was passed from man to man, which soon brought forth a whispered barrage of complaints. Shedding their packs the foot soldiers sat, happy to have their rum ration at least.
Dismounting from his horse, Daniel was pleased to stretch his legs. He led his horse to some easier grazing, carelessly looping the reins round the horse’s neck. He was drinking from his canteen when he heard the first screams. Pandemonium broke loose. “What’s happening?” he demanded of one of the soldiers racing by.
“Ambush,” came the reply.
“Quick, grab your rifle and come with me,” ordered a corporal following on.
Daniel pulled his rifle from its scabbard on the saddle and raced off after the troops.
“Watch out,” called a voice as he fired his rifle. “There’s another one of them buggers in the reeds over there.”
“How many?”
“Dunno – maybe a dozen.”
The small group of soldiers who’d gone to wash in the stream were caught off guard as the natives burst out of the reeds, firing their weapons and hacking at heads and bodies with their hatchets. Revolvers were fired wildly, sometimes hitting their mark, sometimes missing. The acrid smell of gunpowder and adrenalin-fuelled bodies penetrated Daniel’s senses as he heard the screams and grunts of the injured.
“Behind you!” yelled Daniel, slipping and sliding down the bank towards the river, intent on stopping the lone warrior creeping up behind one soldier, his mere raised. The soldier turned, firing his revolver point-blank. The renegade fell backwards with a splash, his blood spreading into the water around him.
Just as swiftly, everything went quiet as the Maori retreated into the bush. The only sound was the swish of reeds and branches as they passed. The rancid smell of rotting vegetation and stirred-up mud assaulted their noses. A random shot was fired and then nothing.
Cautiously, the soldiers checked on the dead and wounded. They’d lost several mates, but many more Maori died. The surprise attack had everyone talking. Old hands at fighting shrugged their shoulders as they helped move their dead mates.
Daniel, shocked by the suddenness of the attack and unnerved by the overpowering smell and noise, began to think he should have stayed with the baggage.
The attack halted their progress while the wounded were tended, but early the next morning they moved on. With open ground before them, the cavalry moved quickly. They pushed past Te Awamutu and on to Rangiaowhia some three miles away. Up a long, hilly road, winding its way above the deep swamps and streams fringed by kahikatea, to the ridge about a mile and a half from the mission station. Here the large, unfortified Maori settlement of Rangiaowhia first came into sight.
Daniel reined in his horse, amazed at the level of cultivation and civilisation. He gazed over the fields of wheat, maize and potatoes covering the long, gentle slopes. Through the early morning mist curling up from the raupo-bordered waters of a small lagoon, two church steeples, a quarter of a mile apart, rose above the trees.
“It’s so beautiful. So peaceful,” he said to his companion. “And those peaches over there look delicious.” Daniel pointed to the trees shading the clusters of thatched houses scattered along a green hill.
“You soft in the head or somethin’?” sneered his companion. “We’re ’ere to fight a war, mate, not gaze at the bloody scenery.”
Great quantities of potatoes, kumara, pigs and fowls were laid out beside the whares lining the road ready for transportation. They were just in time. Into the silence, the bugler sounded the charge, the cavalry galloped ahead. The crack of carbines and popping of revolvers shattered the quiet of the village.
Taken by surprise, the natives – about a hundred men and as many women and children – took cover in their reed huts and wooden houses. The sound of double-barrelled shotguns soon echoed in reply. Without hesitation, the Rangers galloped into the centre of the village, closely followed by the 65th.
Much to his annoyance, Daniel found himself in the middle of it all. As the various regiments spread out, the skirmish extended the length of the street between the houses. The air was thick with the sharp stink of gunpowder as smoke spewed from every gun, making eyes sting. The noise was deafening.
Shouted reports came that near the north end of the settlement the Forest Rangers had found the Catholic church crammed with armed Maori. Von Tempsky and his men raced up there to find the enemy waving a white flag. There was little resistance from the Anglican church either. Soon all were taken prisoners.
At the southern end of the village, near the head of a long, swampy valley, one group was putting up the strongest resistance. Soldiers and cavalry alike were repositioned.
Manoeuvring into a safe location but within sight and sound, Daniel lay in the long grass on a slight rise above the village, beside Bert, another from his company, their rifles at the ready.
“What’s happening?” Daniel’s eyed were fixed on the hut before him.
“The colonel there,” pointed Bert, “called out to them in the hut to surrender, but all they did was fire back.”
Daniel could see the troops had been drawn round the place on three sides. From past encounters, the men knew the floor of the whare would be some two feet below the level of the ground outside. The men crouching inside would be relatively protected. Even so, it didn’t stop the random firing from scores of carbines, rifles and revolvers, their wasted bullets perforating the raupo walls.
“Who’s that?” asked Daniel as a young cavalryman broke ranks, rushing forward to storm the whare.
“Dunno his name. Silly bugger’ll get himself killed if he keeps it up. He rides with ...”
He broke off at the sight of the blood exploding from a gaping wound to the boy’s head as he fell in the doorway. The whole regiment watched in horror as the body was dragged through it, taking with it his carbine, revolver and whatever ammunition he was carrying.
“Fire at will,” yelled the captain above the din as the renegades continued firing. Hundreds more shots were poured into the whare in an attempt to dislodge the occupants.
Another soldier approached the house. More shots and he, too, lay dead only feet from the door. The next wave of rifle fire began almost as soon as the last one had stopped. The village was thick with smoke. Daniel’s eyes were burning. He found it hard to see. His ears were ringing from the cacophony around him. Swallowing the bile that rose in his throat, he tried to calm himself.
“Look, look. There’s Colonel Nixon. Christ, I hope he makes it,” said Bert as yet another figure was seen running forward, firing his revolver. The colonel made it to the open doorway but was then hit. He, too, fell. Through the smoke, Daniel and Bert could see two senior officers running to help their colonel.
“Bloody bastards.” Bert jumped to his feet, adding his fire to that of hundreds of others.
Daniel grabbed Bert by the hem of his jacket, pulling him back. “Bloody hell, do you want to get killed? Get down, man.”
By this time some of the neighbouring huts were burning, the fire spreading rapidly, the lack of visibility adding to the turmoil. Under cover of the barrage, some officers managed to pull the simple door off its frame. They laid the mortally wounded colonel on it, carrying him away from the firing line.
From the corner of his eye Daniel saw Von Tempsky running forward with about a dozen Rangers. “Look, here comes the captain. He’s mad enough to get through.”
The Rangers rushed at the
doorway but were also driven back.
“They’re not having any more luck than the others. Who are those buggers inside that hut?” Daniel’s heart thumped in his chest.
Several more attempts were made to get through the door to fire at the occupants, but they were continually forced back. One injured, yet another dead. Nerves were stretched and the smell of sweat and fear was rank. No one seemed to be in charge. Two men from the group in front of them broke ranks, turned and ran up the bank to where he and Bert lay. Daniel could see the wet stain on the front of their trousers and heard them vomit into the long grass behind him. It took all his willpower not to follow suit, but from the sudden stench coming from beside him, Bert hadn’t been so lucky.
“You’ll be right, mate.” Daniel avoided looking at the man. “Happens to the best,” he reassured him, hoping to ease the man’s embarrassment as Bert crawled off into the undergrowth.
Amidst the noise and confusion, somehow Von Tempsky managed to get close to the whare’s doorway. Daniel heard the sound of five quick revolver shots, almost like a signal. Von Tempsky ducked down and ran. Managing to pull the body of the ‘65th’ soldier away, he drew his men off, creating space for someone to go back for the body of the other soldier. The poor fellow had been shot through the throat. The reek of singed hair, as the powder flash burned the man’s beard, carried to where Daniel lay.
The besieged whare was now on fire. Flames and smoke poured out through the walls and roof. A tall, elderly man holding a white blanket about his head emerged from the burning house. His up-stretched arms showed he held no weapon as he advanced in surrender towards the crescent of a hundred levelled rifles.
Daniel heard one of the nearest officers shout, “Spare him, spare him!” but the next moment there was a thunder of shots. Daniel watched in horror as the old man staggered from the bullets and then recovered briefly. The kaumatua wore an expression of calm, sad dignity before he swayed and fell to the ground, dead.
Daniel had no stomach for what he saw.
“Who fired that shot?” demanded the irate junior officer who had given the order. “Who was it? Was it you? Or you?” he yelled at soldiers randomly in his sphere. “I’ll have the culprit punished for this. For disobeying my orders.”
No one was telling. Angered by the deaths of their colonel and fellow soldiers they had been too enraged and too fearful for their own lives to listen. They had all fired. Daniel could see a senior officer approach the angry junior officer but couldn’t hear what was being said. Whatever it was, it seemed to calm the man down.
The whare was now engulfed in flames. The heat was intense. Another man appeared in the doorway, firing his last shots from his double-barrelled gun as he ran. Despite their efforts, none of the officers had regained anything like control over their troops. A fresh volley burst forth from the soldiers. The second attacker fell dead. A third man ran from the whare and was killed before he’d taken half a dozen steps. The roof of the burning cottage crashed inward, the roar of the fires the only sound. The siege was over.
Daniel scrambled to his feet. In shocked silence he joined the rest of his regiment. Any exposed skin was burning red from the heat of the flames, and rivulets of sweat poured down the dirt-encrusted, stricken faces.
Order was restored as men rejoined their company and the correct formations re-established. Too numb to think, Daniel followed orders, helping lay out the dead for burial and assessing the injured. Those who could walk were sent back to camp; others were carried back on makeshift stretchers.
The fires were left to smoulder.
The next day, seven more bodies were found inside the burnt-out whare.
“Only ten of the buggers. Against all of us! Who’d ’ave thought it?” said one as they counted their losses: three dead, and the colonel and one other severely injured soldier were not expected to live.
“But we showed the buggers,” boasted one man. “Serves ’em right.”
“Yeah, we showed them all right,” echoed a youngster.
“We got two more, an’ thirty-odd prisoners,” said another. “I reckon we got ’em all.”
Daniel disagreed. “Where have the rest of the villagers gone?”
“What you talking ’bout?” asked Bert.
“I saw some running away. Where’re they now? And how many more are out there, in the bush? Gives me the jitters, I can tell you, thinking they’ll attack again and we won’t be ready.”
The men shrugged their shoulders, convinced they had the upper hand. The prisoners were escorted back to headquarters – Daniel never did find out what happened to them. The remaining contingent completed the burials before retreating to camp. Daniel was thankful he’d been at the back of it all and not required to do any killing. His nerves were on edge nevertheless.
The mood lightened as they approached camp – tents had been set up, latrines dug and hot food was ready and waiting. With a healthy supply of rum the men began to relax, singing and playing cards.
For a while life was a little more peaceful in camp. With no further skirmishes, sentry and patrol duties again became part of the norm. The weeks passed and the soldiers began to get restless with the lack of activity. Boredom became a great incentive to look for something to do.
* * *
Some four weeks later, while out on patrol and the sun warm on his back, Daniel contemplated his lot. The sounds of the birds and insects in the bush rang fresh in his ears.
This fighting stuff isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. It certainly sends the adrenaline rushing, but hell, one could get bloody hurt or even killed around here. He’d seen more than enough killing. It wasn’t in his heart. Has it really only been three months since I signed up? It seems like a lifetime. The first thrill of battle had long since gone.
With his thoughts so distracted, he hadn’t noticed anything amiss until his horse snorted at something disappearing under a stack of loose branches carelessly thrown to one side. He slid from his horse to investigate. Keeping to the shelter of some manuka and edging his way forward, he soon came upon a clearing. He spied part of a newly built stake fence with a high bank behind. “What the hell is this?” he muttered, his sharp eyes taking in the details of the scene.
Better get back to camp to report this, right smart, he thought, backing out of his hiding spot. No sooner had he mounted his horse than scattered rifle shots ripped through the air. With a scream the animal reared, spun around and crashed onto all fours. The terrified beast bolted into the safety of the forest, blood pouring from its shoulder.
Not wanting to scare the animal further, he tried to keep the fear out of his voice as they crashed through the undergrowth.
“Whoa there, fella. Whoa up.” With some effort, he managed to pull the poor frightened animal to a stop. “Easy does it. Easy, boy.”
He dismounted to calm the young colt. The animal was trembling. Holding the horse by the bridle, Daniel stroked its muzzle and kept up his whispered soothing. He changed his grip to run his hand over the wound. A bullet was embedded in the shoulder. He would have to dig it out, but right now it would do no more damage. He needed to get back to camp to report what he’d seen.
He checked his position from the angle of the sun above the trees and headed north. Walking beside his horse, talking to him all the time to keep him calm, he led the animal down the slope to easier ground, deciding to take the long route back. It took him the best part of half a day, and he was tense by the time he reached camp.
“Where’s the captain?” he asked the sentry as he approached.
“Dunno exactly,” came the reply. “Was in his tent with a bunch of others last time I saw him. What happened to you?” he asked, taking in Daniel’s dishevelled and bloodied appearance.
“What’s it look like? Horse got shot. Can you take him? Ask the horse master to take care of him. I need to talk to the captain – now.”
“More than my hide’s worth, mate.” The sentry shook his head. “Do it yourself. No ... hang on
a minute. Here’s a likely lad. Hey, you,” he called out to a passing young boy. “Take this nag to the saddler.”
“Thanks, mate,” Daniel said to the lad as he led his horse away.
Daniel headed off to find the captain, thinking the boy was far too young to be part of this band of ruffians.
Captain Blewitt was a devout, austere man with a grim reputation for wanting to annihilate the Maori, taking every opportunity he could to kill as many as possible. Daniel found him in General Cameron’s quarters – equally austere with only a camp bed, two small tables pushed together and covered with papers, two chairs and an aide hovering well to one side.
“Pardon me, captain, sir. Um ... er ... general, sir,” stammered Daniel who hated being the centre of attention. “Just returned from patrol, sir. Horse’s been shot, sir. But, um, there’s ... there’s some new diggings I think you should see, sir.”
Daniel relaxed a little as the captain questioned him, thankful he could remember all the details about the size and location of the shelter before he was dismissed.
Not long after this meeting a large patrol was formed and Daniel ordered to take them to the site. The patrol charged the bank, discovering the expected line of rifle pits, the trenches masked with branches of manuka stuck into the earth and an abandoned village. Even so, the soldiers went through it in skirmishing order, in case the site was still protected. After setting some of the whares alight, the disappointed troops returned to camp. There was nothing there for them today.
* * *
Towards the end of March, Daniel was again riding dawn patrol. Making his way alongside the swamps and the creek separating the Orakau country from the higher land of Rangiaowhia he came across the village.
Orakau was in many ways like Rangiaowhia, nestled amongst fruit groves and cultivated fields facing the northern sun. He’d been told the locals called it the Place of Trees, and he thought it a fitting name. Eels swam freely in the clear stream running nearby. The village was made up of a collection of thatched cottages spread over half a square mile with a church standing on a knoll on the west side. Daniel tethered his horse and, careful to keep out of sight, crept his way up to the top of a small ridge to see what was happening.