The free forest life, with its daily recurrence of adventure and excitement, had sufficed for all the needs of his changed existence. And now, even by the hand of a friend, were the seeds of unrest sown. He thought of Hypatia Tollemache stricken down in the pride of her mental and bodily vigour, laid low in the conflict in which she had so rashly, so wastefully, risked her magnificent endowments. Had he been in the neighbourhood of Massinger, to cheer, to comfort, to gently question her plan of life, to offer to share it with her, to urge his suit with all the adventitious aid of predilection and propinquity, what success, unhoped for, indescribable, might he not then have gained?
At this stage of his reflections he collected his correspondence, and, locking them up in his long-disused travelling portfolio, went forth into the town. Here he was confronted with the world's news, and details of this, the latest of Britain's little wars, in particular. First of all he betook himself to the offices of the New Zealand Land Company, where his first colonial acquaintance and fellow-passenger, Mr. Dudley Slyde, might be found.
That gentleman was, happily, in, but his arduous duties as secretary and dispenser of reports seemed for the moment in abeyance. He was engaged in packing a sort of knapsack to contain as many of the indispensable necessaries of a man of fashion, and apparently a man of war, as could be adjusted to an unusual limitation of space. A rifle stood in the corner of the apartment; a revolver of the newest construction then attainable lay on a table; the smallest modicum of writing materials was observable; and, neatly folded on a chair, was a serviceable military uniform.
"Delighted to see you, old fellow," said Mr. Slyde. "Sit down. Try this tobacco: given up cigars for the present – don't carry well. Suppose you've taken to a pipe, too, since you've begun your Maori career? Got back alive, I see. Didn't join the tribe, eh? Report to that effect. Girl at Rotorua, fascinating, very."
This suggestive compendium of his life and times caused a smile.
"You're as near the truth as rumour generally is," he said; "but I wonder that people concern themselves with the doings of this humble individual."
"New country, you know. Great dearth of social intelligence since the war. Tired of that, naturally. Free press, you know; say anything, confound them!"
"Another chapter in the book of colonial experience, which I shall learn by degrees. But what am I to understand by these warlike preparations?"
"You see before you a full private in the Forest Rangers. Must join something, you know. Situation serious. More murders. Waikato said to be joining. Taranaki settlers afraid of sack and pillage. Troops and men-of-war sent for. In the mean time, the devil to pay. What shall you do? Go back to England? I would, if I wasn't a poor devil of a Company's clerk and what you call it."
Massinger stood up, and looked at the lounging figure fixedly for a moment, until he saw a smile gradually making its way over the calm features of his companion.
"No, of course not," he said, as if answering an apparent protest. "Only my chaff. What will you join? Town volunteers? militia? Ours rather more aristocratic; trifle more danger, perhaps. Corps of the Guides, and so on. Von Tempsky's Forest Rangers! Splendid fellow, Von – Paladin of the Middle Ages. Seen service, too. Son of a Prussian general, I believe. Commission in 3rd Fusiliers in '44. Cut that, and travelled through Central America. Commanded irregular Indian regiment. Piloted officers of Alarm and Vixen in affair of the Spanish stockades at Castilla Viojo. Been in front everywhere, from Bluefields Bay to Bourke and Wills' Expedition in Australia, when he refused to be second in command. Man and regiment suit you all to pieces."
"Just the man I should choose to serve under. Where can I be sworn in, and when?"
"All right; I'll show you. Leave for the front, day after tomorrow. Jolly glad to have you, believe me."
This important ceremony being performed in due course, Massinger betook himself to the office of Mr. Lochiel, where he expected to receive fuller information as to the state of the country, and the prospects of a general rising. He was received by that gentleman with warmth and sincerity of welcome.
"My dear fellow," said he, "I am delighted to see you safe back. Macdonald and I were most anxious about you. We knew that you must pass through Maori country, and in the present disturbed state of the island there was no saying what might have happened to you, or indeed to any solitary Englishman. I hear that you returned by sea."
"I was advised to do so by Mr. Mannering at Hokianga, with whom I stayed for a few days."
"Best thing you could have done, and no one was more capable of giving you advice. He is judge and law-giver among the Ngapuhi, and a war chief besides. A truly remarkable man. I suppose you saw his handsome daughter? Wonderful girl, isn't she?"
"She certainly did surprise me. It seems strange that she can consent to lead a life so lonely, so removed from the civilization which she is so fitted to appreciate."
"And adorn likewise. We are all very fond of her here. But she is passionately attached to her father, and nothing would induce her to leave him. Have you heard the latest war news? Came in by special messenger this afternoon."
"No, indeed. I am only generally aware that matters are going from bad to worse; that the militia and volunteers are called out; also the Forest Rangers, in which band of heroes I have just enrolled myself. Dudley Slyde and I will be companions in arms."
"Slyde! Dudley Slyde? Very cool hand; rather a dandy, people say. All the more likely to fight when he's put to it. He knows the country well, too. There is no doubt in my mind that every white man in the North Island who can carry arms will have to turn out."
"And how long do you think the war will last? Six months?"
"I should not like to say six years, but it will be nearer that than the time you mention. Maclean thinks five thousand troops will be required if the neighbouring tribes join Te Rangitake. Richmond is of the same opinion. Three Europeans have been shot on the Omata block. It was to avenge these that the volunteers and militia turned out, when the men of H.M.S. Niger behaved so splendidly; the volunteers also held their own."
"Is there any further demonstration?"
"Yes; a great hui, or meeting, has been held at Ngarua-wahia, on the Waikato. They say that three thousand Maoris were present, who were all on the side of Te Rangitake. Fifty of his tribe were there, asking for help."
"And what was the outcome of it all?"
"They were agreed in one thing – that the Governor was too hasty in fighting before it was proved to whom the land really belonged. The killing of men at the Omata block naturally followed when once – as by destroying the pah at Waitara – war had begun."
"What became of Te Rangitake's fifty men?"
"Well, a body of the Nga-ti-mania-poto went back to Taranaki with them under Epiha, the chief. On the way they met Mr. Parris, the Taranaki land commissioner, whom the Maoris blamed for the Waitara affair. Te Rangitake's people wanted to kill him at once, but Epiha drew up his men, took him under his protection, and escorted him to a place of safety. Parris began to thank him, but was stopped at once.
'Friend,' said the chief, 'do not attribute your deliverance to me, but to God. I shall meet you as an enemy in the daylight. Now you have seen that I would not consent to you being murdered.'"
"What a fine trait in a man's character!" said Massinger. "And what discipline his men were in to withstand the other fellows, and save the man's life who was responsible, they believed, for all the mischief!"
"Yes, that's the Maori chief all over. He has the most romantic ideas on certain points, and acts up to them, which is more than our people always do. But I hear that the Governor is going to stop the Waitara business for the present – very sensibly – and give the natives south of New Plymouth a lesson."
"And what about the settlers around Taranaki?"
"They have been forced to abandon their farms. The women and children have taken refuge in the town, while Colonel Gold has destroyed the mills, crops, and houses of the natives on the Tataraimaka block. So the war may be regarded as being fairly, or rather unfairly, begun; God alone knows when it may end."
CHAPTER XI
The natives alleged that they had taken up arms against manifest wrong and injustice; but underlying all other motives and actions was the land question. The more sagacious chiefs entertained fears of the alienation of their territories. The growing superiority of the white settlers troubled them. Outnumbered, fighting against superior weapons, the day seemed near when, as in their songs and recitations, they began to lament, "The Maori people would be like a flock of birds upon a rock, with the sea rising fast around them." The time seemed propitious to unite the tribes against the common foe. The natives were estimated at sixty thousand, a large number being available fighting men. One determined assault upon the whites, who were not, as was supposed, more than eighty thousand, might settle the question.
Mr. (afterwards Sir) William Fitzherbert said in the House in 1861 that "the remark that we were living at the mercy of the natives was true, and reflected the greatest credit upon them. They had that knowledge, and yet forbore to use their power." Now, however, war was declared between the two races; the untarnished honour of the British flag must be maintained.
At that time in the distracted colony there lived, strange to say, a body of men whose interests were primarily concerned neither with the acquisition of land, the profits of trade, nor the so-called prestige of the British crown. Voyaging to New Zealand long years ago, they announced themselves to be the bearers of a Divine message, the significance of which was nearly two thousand years old. With the weapons of peace and good will they confronted the savage conquerors of the day. They lived among them unharmed, though not always able to prevent the torture of captives, the execution of enemies taken in fight, or to stay the hand of the fierce tribes thirsting for conquest or revenge. But they had done much. They had laboured zealously and unselfishly. They had risked their lives, and those of the devoted wives who had accompanied them into the habitations of the heathen. Following the example of their pioneer pastor, the saintly Samuel Marsden, they had introduced the arts of peace. They had ploughed and sowed, reaped and garnered. Favoured by the rich soil and moist climate, the cereals, the plants, the edible roots of older lands had flourished abundantly.
The heathen, though slow to perceive the benefit of such labours, had come to comprehend and to imitate. They shared in the fruits of the earth so abundantly provided. Trade had sprung up with adjoining colonies; and, with the white man's tools, his grain, his horses, his cattle, and sheep, in all of which the Maori was allowed to participate, came the revelation of the white man's God, the white man's faith, the white man's schools; the missionary's example did the rest. Gradually these agencies commenced to sway the rude and turbulent tribes. A highly intelligent race, they deduced rules of conduct from the mikonaree, who was so different from any species of white man they had previously known. He was brave, for did he not from time to time risk his life, for peace' sake alone, between excited bands of enemies? He made war on none; he was slow to defend himself; he trusted for protection in that Great Being who had preserved him, his wife and little ones, in the midst of dangers by land and sea. From time to time he took dangerous journeys, he crossed swollen rivers, he traversed pathless forests, he risked his life in frail barks on stormy seas, to prevent war, to release captives.
After years of toil and trial the reward of these devoted servants of the Lord appeared to be assured. Many of the older chiefs, men of weight and authority, were baptized as earnest converts. Others protected the missionaries, though they refused to quit the faith of their ancestors. The schools flourished, and, unprecedented among other races, aged men learned to read and write. The Bible was translated into the simple yet sonorous Maori tongue. Saw-mills and flour-mills, owned by natives, arose; vessels even were built for them, in which their produce was taken to other ports. As far back as the bloodthirsty raids of Te Waharoa, the ruthless massacres of Hongi and Rauperaha, the missionary lived amidst the people for whose spiritual welfare he had dared danger and death, exile and privation.
The members of the different Christian Churches had shared emulously in the good work. Wesleyans and Presbyterians, the Church of England and the Roman Catholic hierarchy, all had their representatives; all supported ministers vowed to the service of the heathen. Not always went they scathless. These soldiers of the Cross had seen their cottage homes burned, their families driven forth to seek shelter and protection at a distance. But, even when the worst passions of contending parties were aroused, there never failed them a chief or a warrior who took upon himself the charge of the helpless fugitives.
The earlier missions were organized by remarkable men. Their descendants occupy high positions, and inherit the respect which to their fathers was always accorded. But the most commanding figure in the little army of Christian soldiers, the most striking personality, was Selwyn, the first bishop of New Zealand. No ordinary cleric was the dauntless athlete, the apostolic prelate, the daring herald of good tidings, reckless of personal danger whether in war or peace. When the Waikato warriors, three hundred strong, went down the river from Ngarua-wahia under the young Matutauere, the bishop, travelling on foot, carried a message to friendly chiefs, who undertook to bar the war-party from passing through their territory. The settler at whose house the bishop arrived soon after sunrise, dripping with water from the fording of a creek, told the story. Had his remonstrances, strengthened by those of the venerable Henry Williams, Chief Justice Martin, and Sir William Denison, received the consideration to which they were entitled, "the great war of 1860, with its resultant, the greater war of 1863," would never have been fought. England's taxpayers would have been richer by the interest paid on a sum of several millions, and England's dead, whose bones are resting in distant cemeteries, or in unknown graves on many a ferny hillside, would have been saved to family and friends.
However, at this stage all developments lay shrouded in the veil of the future. On whosoever lay the blame, war had commenced in earnest, and, according to British traditions, must be fought out. It was arming and hurrying with all classes and all ages in Auckland, A.D. 1860. Volunteers, militia, regulars, marines, bluejackets, were all under marching orders; martial law was proclaimed around Taranaki; all the ingredients of the devil's cauldron were simmering and ready to burst forth.
If Massinger had desired the excitements of danger, of battle, murder, and sudden death, this was the place and the time, to the very hour.
He had found no difficulty in enrolling himself among the force known as Von Tempsky's Forest Rangers. It was composed of the most resolute, daring spirits of the colony, many of whom had either been born in New Zealand or been brought up there from infancy. As a rule, used to country life, they rode well, and were good marksmen. A large proportion of them were the sons of farmers, but there were also men who had held good positions in their day. Having lost their money, or otherwise drifted out of the ranks of the well-to-do, they cheerfully enlisted in this arm of the force, which, if irregular in discipline, had a prestige which the ordinary militia and volunteer regiments lacked.
In such a corps the personal character of the leader is everything; and in this respect they were exceptionally fortunate. Carl Von Tempsky, the son of a Prussian officer high in service, was a soldier of fortune in the best sense of the word. He had served for several years with credit, if not distinction, until the temptation of a free adventurous life proved too strong for him. He quitted the ranks of the 3rd Fusiliers for a long ramble in Mexico, during which he held various military commands.
After this foreign service he travelled through Central America, and knew Bluefields Bay and the Mosquito Shore, finally reaching New Zealand a year before the troublous time which supplied the warlike excitement in which his nature revelled. Producing his credentials, he was at once appointed to the force which, under his leadership, became so celebrated. His career was assured. Daring to recklessness, he was yet a thorough disciplinarian. Suave in manner, but unyielding, he controlled the wilder spirits in his regiment, while his confident and successful generalship roused his men to a pitch of enthusiasm which rendered them well-nigh irresistible in the field. As scouts they were invaluable, often securing information of the movements of the enemy, which the superstitious natives believed to be derived from witchcraft or sorcery. Their sudden onslaught upon outlying camps and redoubts demoralized the foe. While, whenever they had brought anything like an equal force to bay, they invariably routed them with loss, Von Tempsky, with his dark flashing eyes and cavalier curls, bearing himself as though gifted with a charmed life.
Such was the corps in which Massinger and Warwick found themselves; for the latter had made up his mind – on Mr. Slyde's principle, that in the present state of affairs "one must join something" – to follow the same flag as his erstwhile employer, to whom he had become personally attached. Of the young Englishman's courage and liberality he had the highest opinion; of his prudence he felt doubtful. This was his chief reason, as he told Mr. Slyde, for enlisting.
"I shouldn't like to see him shot or tomahawked," he said. "He'll make a grand soldier if he gets time; but he's careless – deuced careless – and foolhardy. I'm afraid of some dog of a Waikato taking a pot-shot at him from behind a tree while he's thinking of something a thousand miles away."
The Forest Rangers were a distinguished corps in which to be enrolled. From the beginning of the campaign their name had been in every one's mouth. Their dress was picturesque, though toned down in regard to the special services on which they were generally detailed.
More was expected of them by the public than of any other volunteer force. And the public was not often disappointed. Von Tempsky was the beau ideal of a leader of irregular troops. Full of military ardour, brave to recklessness, and of singular aptitude for command, the men under him got into the habit of regarding themselves as enfants perdus, knew not what fear was, and carried out with success sorties, reconnoissances, and scout duty of the most daring and desperate nature. The work was entirely to Massinger's taste. He found himself among kindred spirits. His former volunteer experience stood him in good stead. He was promised speedy promotion. He came to believe that a military career in war-time was, after all, his vocation, and, as affording a succession of exciting adventures and dramatic incidents, the most desirable of all professions.
The minor successes gained by the Waitara tribes before November, 1860, had much elated the Ngatiawa, so that they conceived the idea of taking possession of the Mahoetai hill, close to the main road and near the Bell Block stockade. More than a hundred Ngatihauas and Waikatos established themselves there on a knoll surrounded by flax plants and raupo swamp. A combined attack of the 40th and 65th Regiments, with the militia, stormed the position. The volunteers and a company of the 65th were told off to the assault, which they made in good style. The Maoris stood their ground well, killing and wounding some of the assailants, but eventually were driven out of their rifle-pits. They took refuge in a swamp, but, the raupo being fired, fled for their lives. They lost thirty-four killed and fifty wounded. Several chiefs lay dead, including Taupo-rutu of Ngatihaua. Two were killed and four wounded of the volunteers.
After this affair two companies of the Forest Rangers were detailed, under Captains Von Tempsky and Jackson, for the purpose of scouring the forest between the Waikato and Auckland. Life and property in the settled districts had become insecure. To the great joy and satisfaction of Messrs. Slyde and Massinger, they found themselves in the first-named company, and were soon in the thick of a smart skirmish, in which two officers of a militia company were killed and half a dozen rank and file wounded, the enemy acknowledging more than double.
They were now ceaselessly occupied in scouring the bush and moving from place to place, for weeks together having no settled camp or abiding-place. On the Waiari stream, when sent to clear the enemy out of the river-scrub, they killed five and took several prisoners in a very short onset.
A more serious engagement followed, when at Waiheke they were camped with the Arawa, two hundred strong, and found the enemy, composed of Ngaiterangi, Whaha-tohea, and Ngatiporou, awaiting them near Te Matata. The position was well chosen: a deep stream in front, on their left flank a raised beach, their right on the sea. The Forest Rangers carried the creek with a rush, well supported by the Arawa, after which the enemy waited no longer, but, pursued by the Rangers, fled until the Awa-te-Atua river was reached. The British loss was light, but included Toi, the brave old chief of the Arawa. The enemy lost seventy men.
Here Massinger had an opportunity of witnessing a characteristic incident of Maori warfare. A celebrated chief of the Whaha-tohea, being taken prisoner, fully expected to be put to death. Captain Macdonnell took him under his protection, telling him that he had nothing to fear. From the men probably not, but Macdonnell had not calculated on the feelings of a bereaved wife. Toi's widow, "wroth in wild despair," persuaded some one to load a rifle for her, and walking up to the chief, blew his brains out. The tribe, after much argument, came to a decision much resembling that of Bret Harte's jury at White Pine, viz. "Justifiable insanity."
"Must be in luck now," said Mr. Slyde one morning, after an orderly had been seen riding into camp. "Shouldn't wonder if the general had got some special work cut out for us."
"I hope so," replied Massinger. "We'll know soon, as Warwick is talking to Captain St. George, whom Von is sure to give the first order to. Now both are called up. Something on by the look of Warwick. Here he comes."
"Well, where are we to go, most noble earl and king-maker? Route to the Uriwera or the Reinga?"
"There's an off chance of the last place for some of us," said Warwick, who didn't care for Maori jokes, detached, as by education and travel he had become, from his maternal relatives. "The route is to the Patea River near the edge of a forest, where the whole of the tribes of the North Island might hide. The villages there are not exactly in trees, but nearly as hard to climb up to."
"All the better – give us new ideas," said Slyde. "Tired of this flat country work.
'My heart's in the Highlands,
My heart is not here;
My heart's in the Highlands,
A-chasing the deer.'
What a country this would be for red deer! By the way, I wonder if I shall ever have the luck to pot a stag of ten? No saying; come some day. When do we start, and how many men?"
"Two companies, fifty each. Daylight in the morning. Camp at Kakaramea."
Stationed at this inviting locality, where, as Mr. Slyde remarked, the country consisted of hills without valleys, rivers without bridges, and inconvenient cliffs thrown in, the hawk eyes of Warwick discovered a track leading up the face of an almost perpendicular cliff.
"This track goes up the cliff, but how are we to go up?" asked Massinger. "A goat couldn't do it."
"Do you see those climbers carelessly thrown along the track?"
"I do see some supple-jack here and there."
"Those," said Warwick, "are Maori ladders, which you will find strong enough when it is your turn to try them. Of the two, I would rather trust to them than ordinary rope."
"When do we start?" asked Massinger.
"Not today, or perhaps tomorrow. They have scouts on the watch. The major won't move until they get careless. Then a midnight affair."
"Regular 'Der Freischutz' business," said Slyde. "Hour midnight. Circle. Skulls neatly arranged. 'Zamiel, come forth!' etc. Owls in forest, please attend. Come to think, we are rather in the Freischutz line. If we get back to Auckland one of these fine days (or years), good idea for private theatricals."
"We shall have them in private and public," said Warwick, "before the season's over. Likely to end up with a tragedy, too."
"Tragedy or comedy, we shall be in the front row," said Massinger; "but, the overture not having commenced, we can't criticize the performance. Our jeun premier, Von Tempsky, however, would do honour to any opera in Europe. What a romantic-looking fellow he is in his undress uniform! Calm, yet determined-looking, an expression which would never alter in the face of death. Hair worn longer than we Englishmen affect, but it becomes some people. As a fashion it's certain to come in again. Cavalry sabre, forage cap, blue tunic, boots to the knee, – there you have him. He would have been a Feld some day if he had remained in the Imperial service."
"Better that he is with us to-night," said Warwick. "Besides being a first-class leader, he is one of the smartest scouts that ever picked up a track. Did you ever hear what he did at Papa-rata? Many a man wears the Victoria Cross for less."
"No – that is, heard generally. Tell us about it," said Slyde. "Afraid I shouldn't do much in that line."
"Nor I either," said Massinger. "I am all ears."
"You'll never be all eyes, captain," said Warwick, with a grim smile. "And by Maori custom a captured scout is doomed to tortures that can't be told. I always keep one shot in my revolver."
"For whom?" asked Massinger.
"For myself, if ever I'm 'jumped,'" answered Warwick, who had acquired, among his other experiences, a few miner's idioms. "But here is the story. The general wanted a sketch of the enemy's works at Papa-rata, which they had occupied in force. Our Von undertook the service – sort of forlorn hope business – and, like everything he ever began, carried it out thoroughly. He managed to hide himself in the scrub and flax in the very midst of the natives, and, far worse for discovery, their prowling dogs, popularly supposed to wind a white man a mile off. There he calmly sketched the position, and got safe back into camp. They gave him his commission for it."
"And well he deserved it," said Massinger.
"So say I," chimed in Slyde. "Good thing about a war, attracts best fellows of all nationalities – Johnnies that prefer discomfort and revel in danger; used to light marching order, too. Sort of war correspondent business; murder and sudden death thrown in. Deuced exhilarating when you come to think of it."
"Do you know, I find it so," answered Massinger, entering into the joke. "And our light marching order is a triumph of economy of space. Nothing approaches it but a middy's wardrobe, and he has a ship to carry it. I must have myself photographed when we – may I say if– we return to camp. Let me see – Forest Ranger, 'in his habit as he lived;' applicable to either case, you see. Item —Swag. Did I think I should ever carry one? One blanket, one great coat, twenty rounds of ammunition, all put up in a waterproof; three days' rations of meat and biscuit; half a bottle of rum. Revolver, carbine, cartridge-box, tomahawk – all most useful, not to say ornamental, when sliding down precipices in the dark, as we did on entering camp last night."
"Camp accommodation; don't forget that," added Slyde.
"Fire strictly forbidden. Sleeping apartment of the wild boar of the forest. I'll swear that where you and I, Warwick and Hay, slept last night – for we did sleep – under the hollow rimu tree, had belonged to one. 'Feeds the boar in the old frank,' as the wild prince says. Also, over and above all these pleasures and palaces, our lives hang on a chance from day to day – that of being surrounded in the heart of a forest, and cut off to a man."
"Conversation most improvin'," said Mr. Slyde. "Seems to lack the comic element, though! 'Want a piano,' as the Johnnie said to Thackeray after lecture. As we've an early engagement– ha, ha! – in the morning, suppose we turn in? Now 'I lay me down to sleep.' Rain recommencing. 'Drought broken up,' as they say in Australia."
It was not very late – nine o'clock, indeed, no more. Camp evenings were apt to be long without late dinners or books. However, it not being their watch, the friends lay down in their "lair," and in five minutes, despite the rain, from which, indeed, the o'er-arching tree in great part saved them, fell fast asleep.
At midnight on the third day the march was recommenced and the cliff path reached. Von Tempsky, with seventy men, made a start punctually, as was his wont. Massinger felt doubtfully entertained at the idea of swinging in mid-air, clinging to a rude arrangement of trailers, with, perhaps, expectant Maoris at the top. However, he forbore remark, and after he had seen Von Tempsky shin up the swaying half-seen line like a man-of-war Jack, he felt reassured.
"What a leader he is!" thought he.
"'Alike to him the sea, the shore,
The branch, the bridle, and the oar.'
We are all in hard condition, luckily."