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Waikato, New Zealand
February to April 1864
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Late one warm February night, close to a thousand men fell in as the advance guard. Not a bugle sounded, not a voice was heard above a whisper. Total silence was the order of the day: the swords and bridle chains of the cavalry muffled with cloth. Daniel’s nerves were on edge. The dark shadows and soughing of the surrounding bush sounded eerie and menacing to his untrained senses.
A surprise expedition had been planned to block the Maori food source. From his vantage point, Daniel could see the imposing figure of Captain Von Tempsky at the head, recognisable by his trademark pointed beard, hair in tight ringlets and the bright orange bandanna tied around his neck. The No. 2 Company of the Forest Rangers would lead the troops out with about one hundred men of the 65th Regiment, and the 3rd Waikato Militia, Daniel included. The cavalry and mounted artillery would follow.
Behind him Daniel could see the main infantry body with No. 1 Company of the Forest Rangers forming the rearguard. The rest of the troops were to follow in the daytime with the baggage and supplies, leaving a sufficient garrison behind.
Daniel couldn’t make up his mind whether he preferred to be in the advance party or bringing the equipment they would need the next day. The orderlies, from what he could see, had an easier life, except for being at the beck and call of some jumped-up officer who didn’t know what he was doing. This time, two half-caste guides attached to headquarters, who used to live in Rangiaowhia, the attack site, had mapped out the lie of the land. At least they knew what they would find. Confidence was high.
The march was hard going. The route followed the road close to the banks of the river to start with, but soon became treacherous. While moonlight made it easier to see where they were going, they quickly 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.
Such noises were soon silenced. The night drew on. They passed near an old pa site and stopped to rest at Waiari.
“No matches, fires or smoking.” The order was passed from man to man, which soon brought forth a whispered barrage of complaints heedless of the order for silence. 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, more often missing. The acrid smell of gunpowder and adrenalin-fuelled bodies penetrated Daniel’s senses as he heard the howls and groans 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 attackers 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 natives died. The surprise strike daunted the younger ones, while old hands at fighting merely 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 ambush halted 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 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 gone soft in the head or somethin’? 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. The skirmish extended the length of the street as the various regiments spread out between the houses. His ears rang from the deafening noise and his eyes stung as the air, thick with the sharp stink of gunpowder and smoke spewing from every gun, enveloped them.
Shouted reports came that the Forest Rangers had found the Catholic church near the north end of the settlement crammed with armed natives. Von Tempsky and his men raced up there to find the enemy waving a white flag. They met little resistance from the Anglican church either, and soon all the warriors 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 those inside, 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 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’d been too enraged and too fearful for their own lives to listen. They’d all fired. Daniel could see a senior officer approach the angry junior officer but couldn’t hear what was being said. Whatever it was, the man looked to have calmed down.
The heat was intense as flames engulfed the whare. 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 shot down before he’d taken half a dozen steps. The roof of the burning cottage crashed inward, the roar of the fire 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 blaze, 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 own 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.
From this vantage point he could see a group of twenty or more natives digging a trench, their skin already glistening with sweat in the early morning sunlight. To his right he saw another group, mostly women, sitting on the ground tying what looked like bundles of sticks and ferns together. A chief looked to be encouraging his warriors to work harder – or quicker, it was hard to tell.
Daniel watched for a while before returning to camp with yet another report.
“The place they’ve chosen, sir, is on the crown of some rising ground about 400 yards from the native church and 250 yards from the southern crest of the ridge, sir.” He turned the rim of his hat round and round through his hands. “Looks to me like there’s an inside ditch, sir, then a broad parapet and an external trench. I estimate the trench to be around eighty foot long by forty foot wide. Couldn’t see what else was inside. The main parapet looked about six foot thick, an’ I reckon the ditch is roughly six to eight foot deep. They’re piling earth and armfuls of newly pulled fern in layers as reinforcements. A partially completed post and three-rail fence surrounds the whole village, sir.” Daniel was sweating at the effort of remembering everything he’d seen, hoping he wouldn’t get sent back to see more.
“Thank you, soldier,” said Captain Blewitt. “Dismissed.”
Daniel backed out of the tent, replacing his cap. With a sigh of relief, he went in search of food.
On the morning of Wednesday, 30th March 1864, the attacking force started to move. Three columns were despatched with the object of surprising and surrounding the village. At midnight, No. 1 Column marched out with orders to head west, flank the swamp, ford the river and take a track along its south side to bring the column well to the rear of the pa. The main body, No. 2 Column, consisted of around 600 men. Escorted by one of the half-caste guides, the Column started out shortly after daylight pulling two six-pounder Armstrong guns, with orders to attack the centre. Daniel was part of No. 3 Column, a smaller force made up of detachments of the 65th and the 3rd Waikato Militia under Captain Blewitt’s command. Their orders were to cross the river and advance through the bush and swamp to the north side.
In the early morning light, little of the defences Daniel had described could be seen as they approached.
“Don’t look much,” muttered Daniel’s companion.
Daniel shrugged.
The natives could be heard holding morning prayers in the quiet, still air before the bugle sounded. Blood pounded through Daniel’s veins in response.
“Charge!” came the command.
With bayonets fixed, Daniel, with the rest of the 3rd Column troops, lunged at the weak-looking position. Innocuous as it appeared, masked by flax bushes, high ferns and peach trees, the fence proved to be impenetrable. The line advanced in skirmishing order from all sides. The attackers were within fifty yards when they heard a voice shouting.
“Puhia!” Fire!
“Rewi!” spat one of the veterans running close to Daniel, a glob of phlegm barely missing Daniel’s boots.
“Who’s he?”
“Their chief. Clever bugger by all accounts. Tough too.”
A line of flashes and smoke ran along the front of the works and back again as hundreds of guns thundered. The tops of the flax bushes and fern were mown off in swathes.
“Attack, attack!” ordered a sergeant in the front line. “Quick, while you can. Their powder charge is too heavy. They can’t reach us.”
Despite their efforts, the soldiers could not break through the Maori defences.
Although their losses were light, the ‘retire’ bugle call sounded. Daniel and the assaulting column fell back to re-form and were reinforced by another company. Before they could draw breath a second bayonet charge was ordered, but they were no more successful than the first. Reserving their fire, the natives inside the pa waited until the leading files were close to the fence; then again, the voice sounded.
“Puhia, e waho! Puhia, e roto!” Fire, the outer line! Fire, the inner line!
Fresh volleys swept the bank. Their powder charge was better this time, their aim lower. Several men near Daniel were killed. Many more were wounded. Daniel was shocked to discover men could die so violently, yet so silently, without a sound, as they fell to the ground.
“Help me,” called one man as a retreating Daniel tripped over him where he lay.
Daniel saw the man’s leg was shattered; blood seeped from a deep chest wound. Poor bugger. He’ll die from loss of blood before anyone can get to him. He knelt beside the man, released his water bottle from his belt and undid the cap. “Take a sip of this, man.”
As he raised him up the man cried out in pain.
Daniel dripped water into his mouth. The soldier arched his back in convulsion before his head slumped to his chest. This was the first time Daniel had been so close to death. He’d watched it from a distance, but to have a man die in his arms was another emotion altogether – one he needed to digest. He didn’t even know the man’s name.
Before he could think further, the sound of horses’ hooves at full gallop made Daniel lay the man down. Out of the smoke a captain on horseback sped by, dismounted and rallied the men. “With me!” he shouted, waving his pistol in the air.
Fifty or so men charged forward from behind him. Daniel ran at a crouch to catch up, but despite the captain’s gallant efforts, heavy fire from the trenches at point-blank range soon cut him and half a dozen other men down. Daniel and the others retreated.
In the furore, another regiment had advanced to within yards of the defenders, who had retired behind the parapet. A handful of soldiers climbed into the outer ditch, close enough to get a glimpse of the dense row of Maori warriors lining the earth wall. Many long-handled tomahawks gleamed in readiness for the expected combat at close quarters. The natives yelled defiance and derision as each storming party fell back. Some of them called out in English, “Come on, Jack, come on!”
Frustration and anger boiled over.
“We have to get these bastards!” someone screamed. “Come on.”
“Hold!” yelled a sergeant, halting the attack.
At the sound of cannon fire, heads turned. Daniel scanned the ridge on the far side of the gully and could see where Brigadier Carey, his major, the engineer and two aides sat on their horses. Further along the ridge he spotted where the cannon had been set, some 350 yards from the redoubt. Shells bombarded the diggings but nothing penetrated the packing of fern, and their defences stood.
Daniel and his mates were getting discouraged. The battle was proving difficult to win, worse than at Rangiaowhia. No one was more surprised than he when orders came for them to dig a sap.
Before long the sappers, stripped to the waist and working in teams of three across, set about the digging. Daniel, along with other soldiers, received orders to provide cover for the sappers. They were forced to lie in simple shallow hollows, scraped with bayonet or bowie knife, that offered little protection from the random volleys from the natives.
The earth from the trench piled up on either side as they dug deeper and further, turning and twisting as they went. The work was hard, and the sappers had to stop and wipe their brows with their forearms or take a swig of water. Day turned to night before the trench was deep enough and far enough advanced to use.
“So much for boredom,” Daniel shouted to his mate beside him. The constant noise was numbing. “I’d much rather be back at camp feeling bored than in this lot.”
“Yeah,” yelled his mate. “You can hardly think with this bloody noise all the time.”
“It should stop soon.” At least, Daniel hoped it would. “It usually does at nightfall.”
“We’ll be lucky.”
As he predicted, quiet it was not. Daniel heard bullets whistling over their heads, cutting off the fern or dropping in their midst, until the early hours of the morning. The sappers worked on through the night. Cramped, dirty, hungry and tired, the men held their positions, and waited.
The second morning of the battle dawned with a thick fog that enveloped the pa and concealed the combatants from each other. As the morning grew warmer, the trench reached the post and rail fence, ending a matter of yards from the north-west outwork. Close enough for grenades to be thrown over the parapet.
By noon, General Cameron and his staff, escorted by the Colonial Defence Force Cavalry, had arrived to take command of the now 1,800 British and Colonial troops surrounding the pa. Surely the natives could not hold out against such a force? One of the six-pounder Armstrong guns was taken into the sap near the head. They opened fire on the outwork until they breached its defences, yet the Maori still returned their fire. Around him, Daniel could hear grudging admiration for the bunch of natives who were both stubborn and courageous.
The first of the hand grenades thrown into the pa from the saphead had long fuses. Some daring fellows snatched out the burning wiki, pouring the powder out for their own cartridges. Others they threw back into the sap before it had time to explode, to detonate among the men who had first hurled them. As the day wore on, Daniel found himself deeper in the trench. Under the storm of shells, hand grenades and rifle bullets, the garrison suffered many casualties. Dead and wounded lay in every trench, the smell of death and blood became overpowering. Still the beleaguered, desperate Maori held their ground.
Above the sounds of battle, the buglers sounded the cease-fire. The din stilled.
General Cameron with two interpreters carrying a white flag pushed past the soldiers to reach the front. The Maori warriors crowded the walls to hear what they had to say. From Daniel’s position he could see through a gap in the gabions made for a field piece. The outwork in front of him was a sort of double rifle pit, with the pa behind it. The Maori stood in rows, the nearest man stood a mere distance away, protected by the earth wall. Dust-stained faces, bloodshot eyes and shaggy heads looked back his way. The muzzles of guns rested on the edge of the ditch in front of them. One man held his musket aimed at General Cameron. Daniel heard the general shouting then pausing to allow the interpreters to repeat his words before speaking again.
“Friends, listen! This is the word of the general. Great is his admiration of your bravery. Stop! Let the fighting cease; come out to us that your bodies may be saved.”
The Maori talked amongst themselves for a few minutes. The answer came in a clear, firm tone. ‘Ka whawhai tonu matou, Ake! Ake! Ake! We will fight on forever, forever and forever.
General Cameron tried again. “That is all very well for you men, but it is not right that the women and children should die. Let them come out.”
A voice asked, “How do you know we have women here?”
“We heard the lamentations for the dead in the night.”
A woman’s voice answered. “Ki te mate nga tane, me mate ano nga wahine me nga tamariki.” If the men die, the women and children must die also.
Rewi Maniapoto said, “We fight on.”
“So be it.”
As General Cameron grimly turned away, the man at the centre fired. The bullet tipped the general’s right shoulder, cutting the revolver strap and tearing a hole in his tunic. Angry at the uncalled-for attack, someone threw a hand grenade, killing the man. The battle began again even hotter than before. Grenades were tossed back and forth from the saphead like tennis balls, with devastating results, killing and maiming attacker and enemy alike.
The battle raged for the rest of the day and well into the second night. Daniel and his companion had no relief. The bugler got hit and their sidekick, Arthur, was killed right in front of them. Exhaustion made the rifles too heavy to lift, their eyes too tired to focus.
“Where the hell are the officers?” yelled Daniel above the noise.
“Dunno. Don’t matter much. Just keep shooting.”
* * *
In the early morning light of the third day, Daniel was part of the detachment that rushed the pa in time to see the Maori fleeing. Standing on the abandoned parapets, Daniel watched as soldiers fired into their retreating numbers. The women and children were huddled in the middle of the mass of warriors. The younger men in the lead, the older warriors ran at the rear, ready to protect their backs. Through the constant barrage the natives kept up a steady trot and were soon out of range.
Later that night, around the campfires, stories of the battle were told. Everyone was keen to relate what they’d seen or heard and add more to the tales. Daniel didn’t know many of the voices clamouring above each other trying to be heard.
“I was part of the regiment giving chase,” said Jack. “Some of our lot caught up with the warriors in the vanguard and fought them hand to hand. Tough ol’ buggers. Didn’t give in easily, but our bayonets put a stop to them.”
“They poured down into the gully trying to get to the manuka swamp. It was total madness, I tell you. Lots of different regiments and brigades all mixed up trying not to shoot each other. But even though we had soldiers along the upper ridge firing down on them, and more foot soldiers on the other side of the swamp, we couldn’t halt them. The mounted men hurried round to cut them off but were too late. Most of them made it across the river. Once they’d forded it to the south side we was called off.”
“I was bringing in some prisoners,” said Bert, “and one of them begged me for water ’cos he were so thirsty, he said. He reckoned that was why they’d retreated – they’d run out of water.”
“Nah, don’t believe it. We beat ’em fair and square. Don’t tell us they gave up.”
“It’s true. I was told the same thing. Many of them Maoris had become near mad with thirst and were starving. They had to get out of there.”
“Let’s give credit where credit’s due,” said one veteran, trying to instil some balance. “Them Maoris fought well and hard.”
“I agree. I helped pick up some of the wounded. Ghastly wounds some of them had, but they kept fighting until they couldn’t stand any longer. Gave themselves up to help the others get away. How they survived as long as they did, heaven only knows.”
“I tell you what, though, those womenfolk of theirs were brave. Refusing to leave their men, an’ all. Hope I get me a woman that’ll stick by me like that one day,” said a young soldier.
Nodding in agreement, the men conceded the natives had been brave and strong. Dying in battle was one thing, but dying of thirst was something else.
“Those imperial troops are nasty pieces of work,” said one of the 65th. “I came upon one bayoneting a wounded woman. Made me sick, it did. No need to make war on women.”
“I seen one of them Forest Rangers save a pale-skinned girl, who was bleeding heavily from her arm, from being bayoneted again.”
“And I saw Von Tempsky’s scout, what’s ’is name?”
“Southee.”
“Yeah, him. He were saving an old man from their clutches. But them buggers were blood crazed, I tell you.”
Embattled soldiers they might have been, each with a story to tell, but killing women and old men was something they couldn’t stomach.
“I hear tell that Captain Mair come upon some regulars about to bayonet a wounded woman. She was kneeling, scraping away the dirt covering the body of a dead man; her tears streaked the dirt covering the fella’s face, so I was told. Mair tried to beat the men back with his carbine and knocked one into the ditch, but it made no difference – before he could turn to see to the woman some other bugger’d shot ’er.”
Daniel had his own story to tell. “Last night, when I was finally relieved from the sap I was so tired – and my back was aching something awful – I crawled off a few feet. I sat resting against a tree, my rifle propped beside me, hardly taking note of what was going on,” he admitted, knowing he could get into trouble if the officers found out. “To my left, I could hear men talking in the trench, although everything was hidden by shadows,” he said, settling to his storytelling – as became his wont as the years went on. “I could still hear the odd rifle firing now and then, but nothing near me. The sounds softened as the night deepened. Just as the moon cleared the clouds on the east side of the pa I saw a shadow move. I crept around to the other side of the tree and strained me eyes and saw a woman,” he said. “She was carrying some calabashes over her shoulder and creeping through the fern, careful like, heading down the hill. There’s a spring at the bottom and I took it she was going to get water. Pretended I didn’t see her. I’m glad I did that now. She was doing no harm to us.” He sighed. “She never came back.”
