FICTION

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1677, 20 April 1904, Page 3

FICTION

A FIGHT TO A FINISH. A STORY OF THE MAORI WAR. BY OWEN HALL. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. r CHAPTER V. TAILING UP THE CHALLENGE. We rode nine miles that night "before we reached the' .nearest place that could, even by way of a compliment, be caked a village, but we had roused every settler whose house we passed to tell him, in Dick’s low stern voice, the story of the murder of my uncle, and the burning of the Matakaho homestead. Bessie had recovered irom her faint long before we got to Ota'huhu, but except when she asked Dick how her mother was, each time we pulled up, getting always the same answer—‘'"Just the same, Bess” — she never spoke. By the time we rode into Otahuhu the horses had had enough, and we stopped at the inn for the rest of the night. My aunt had barely recovered consciousness even when Dick carried her to a bedroom, and left her to the care of my cousin. I was waiting for him when he came downstairs, and I was surprised when he came into the light to notice what .an effect the slight and its events had had on his appearance. My cousin L.v;_ had seemed to me the evening- before to be a lad like mvself—a little older and graver, perhaps, but nothing to •speak of. after all. . Now it was a man’s grave, stern face that looked into mine, and it seeined to me that it was a man’s strong, determined voice that said, quietly: ‘You and I hid better get an hour or two’s sleep, Jack, before we tackle anything else.” I don’t know how I looked, but I knew Dick was right when he said it, though I could hardly fancy myself sleeping with so many thoughts and memories whirling through my brain. The landlord found us a room, after he ihad asked two or three questions about what had happened, which Dick answered in a low, steady voice that sounded as if so much lay behind it. that, he soon left us to ourselves. In spite of my excitement I was tired enough to fall asleep almost as soon as my head touched the pillow, and I knew nothing more till I was awakened by Dick’s voice, and started up to find it broad daylight, and my cousin standing fully dressed beside the bed. “It’s time wo were -moving,, Jack. We must report what we know to the Governor at once, I suppose; the horses have ba,d a rest now.” Dick wa.«, altered, there could be no

doubt about that, I thought to myself, '■ as we rode into Auckland. It was no wonder, of course, after last night, and yet it was a constant surprise to me to look into his face, and to hear the altered tone of his voice. I hardly knew 'him a or the same com panion 1 had learned, as I fancied, to know so well in the few -days I had been with him. As Ve rode into the town ' this was what occupied my thoughts more than the events of the past night. Of course, when I nought of the death of my uncle. and the prostrate condition of my aunt, both of whom had been very kind to me. I shuddered, with an almost sickening feeling of horror: perhaps it was for that very reason that I turned so quickly to thinking of what we should do next. I supposed we should fight. As Mai-akohe was burned we couldn’t go on living there, and there wouldn’t be any chance to learn farming, which was the idea with which my another had sent me out to the colony. I should like to have discussed it with Dick, but somehow 1 , when I looked at him, I didn’t feel as if I oould ' say anything. The news had reached Auckland before ue, and more than once I could see that people we met looked at us as we ; rode by as if they would have liked to* 'stop us to ask questions. Dick, how- ! ever, looked neither, to right nior left, but rode on at the same steady pace till we got to the inn at which we had put up the day before. It was only when v we had dismounted and handed over the horses to the stableman that Dick spoke at last. “Dome on. Jack,” be said, “we had better go straight to Government House. Sir George is sure to want to hear it from ourselves.” ‘ It was not more than eight o’Clock when we rang at the business visitors’ door of the Governor's official residence and sent in our names, but Dick turned out to be right. We had not been three minutes in the room where we had been admitted before the door opened, and the man whose name was in everybody’s mouth came in. He walked straight up to Dick with outstretched hand!,; and as he shook hands silently, laid his other hand gently on his shoulder, and said, “I. have heard of your ,'loss and cure.. Youi* father was a man we could ill spare, but it was God’s will. Can you bear to tell me the facts yet? And how does your mother bear’ it ?’■’ r I looked at him with a new feeling of surprise. Oould this really be the Gov-

ernor, whose name was in everybody’s mouth? The man who was called the greatest of England’s Viceroys? The man who had been sent from one part of tho world to another, always to put right other men’s mistakes—the only man who, it was said, tho Maoris both loved and feared? Could it be possible—this man, with the soft, gentle voice, ana the eyes that were filled with tears as he looked into Dick’s set face?

One thing was certain —he had dene Dick good. The hard, bitter look that had been so unlike Dick, as I had known him seeined to die out of his face as the Governor spoke, and I could see his lips, that had been set like iron, quiver and his eyes fill with tears. Sir George must have seen it too, for ho turned to me: “And this,” he said, looking at me, “this is I suppose, the nephew niy old fri.end was expecting. How are you? The very kind or colonist we shall want for the next year or two, I think,’ he -added, as he shook me warmly by the hand, -beforo ho had looked at Dick again. Dick had recovered himself quickly, but beforo he had time to speak the Governor said, quickly; “But you have ihad a long ride, and you must he hungry, boys; 00:110 along, and have some breakfast with me.” As he tpoke he laid his hand lightly on Dick’s shoulder again and led him along with him from the room into another, where, it was evident he had just been sitting down to breakfast when we arrived. In less than five minutes ho had had fresh places laid for us, and wo were seated, a'nd all the.time ho y had somehow managed so that Dick got no opportunity of trying to answer any question, or, indeed, say anything. Then, little by little* as we took breakfast —and when we-had oin.ee begun wo soon discovered that we had been really hungry, though we had not found it out —the Governor got, chiefly from me, the story of what had taken place, from the time when Ropata came to Dick’s window to the moment when I fired at Tamati in the paddock. He took the keenest interest in each of tho details, and when he had -heard everything he rose from tho table and said: “Well, boys, if it is any satisfaction to you to know it, I think you have -acted as I should have wished hoys -of my own to have acted, if I had na-d any. lam proud to think that the son and the nephew of my old friend should -have shown themselves so worthy of the old stock. And now, my lads, what do you want to -do?'” Dick’s eyes flashed l’or a single -moment.

‘Thank you, Sir George,” lie said. “W-hen I have made arrangements for my mother and sister, I want to take a hand in the fighting, if there is to be a war. We can’t go back -to- Matakohe. I suppose, even if my mother coul.d bear it-.” “You must get your mother to come here for a time, till she can, -see her way more clearly,” the Governor said kindly. “We can easily find room for her and your sister in this big house, if I can only persuade her .to give me the pleasure of her company. As for the fighting. I am afraid vhat 13 inevitable now. It had to oome, apparently,” he added, with a sigh; “and now the only thing will be to make it as short as possible I have been -proposing to embody two or three bodies of men to serve like tho soout-s in America in the old Indian wars* before tho Revolution, and as you know something of the bush I shoulld think it would be the kind of work to suit you.” “The very thing, Sir George,” Dick oxolaimed, his face lighting up; “I had just been thinking that neither Jack here nor I would care much for soldiers’ drill.”

Tho Go vena or laughed quietly. ‘‘No,” he said, “and I don’t think yog would be of much use in that way. I am afraid there will be more than enough soldiers at any rate to stand and be shot at —gust as there was in Amei’ica—but I hope our own people will have sense enough to try how they can do the most fighting with the least drilling.” He 7 " glanced quickly from Dick to me as lie spoke, as if lie was making up his mind about us; then he added: “And now, my young friends, I must ask you to excuse me. I expect Generali Cameron here in a few minutes, and you must be anxious to get back to your mother. I shall find time to call and inquire for her this afternoon, but 3 should like you to hold yourselves in readiness to go with whatever force the General may send to Matakothe; they willl no doubt want to go to Tamati’s village.” I think both Dick and I felt like different people as we rode back to Otahuhu; I know I felt as if I had grown into a man, and could almost believe myseif one of the new scouts the Governor bad spoken about. I could see that the prospect of doing something active had affected Dick, too. and though we said little our ride back again was veiy different in every way from our journey into the city. We hadn’t long to wait. Before we had been an hour at the inn an orderly rode up and inquired for Mr Leslie. I hardly recognised Dick, who was with his mother, by that name, but when he came down I found that the man was the bearer of a few lines written by the Governor himself, that the local company of volunteer cavalry had been ordered to proceed to Matakohe at once, and the General would feel obliged if we would go with them as guides. In less than another hour we had Started:,

and our military service had begun. We found the buildings a-t Ma-takohe wholly destroyed by the fire, as well as the little cottage occupied -by Bridget, and William, about three hundred yards awa-y in tho hollow, and when we went down there we found that both of them had been murdered .as they were trying to escape. Ropata’s village was deserted, and when we had penetrated to old Tamati’s kainga in the little valley we found nobody there either. It was evident the Maoris had gone hastily; the pigs still wandred about among tho leafless peach trees that surrounded .the huts, and the firo in the middle of the floor in the chief’s house, into which Dick and I had looked the day before, still smouldered in its ashe-s. Up at Matakohe the ashes smouldered, too ; but search as we might wo could find no trace of -my uncle, and except a dark smear on the gate between tho yard and the paddock, that -might have been -made by a bloo-dy hand, there was no record of either of the two Maoris I had fired at with my revolver. Tho first detachment of troops arrived at Matakohe that evening before wo .'left, and we were told that if the officer in command, who was expected to arrive on the following -day with other two companies, reported favourably on the petition as suited for a camp, it was pro-posed to establish a commissariat depot there as an advanced position against any raids the natives might try to make on the farms of the -settlors lying nearer to Auckland. Wo marked the spot as nearly as possible in the ruins of the house where the tragedy of my uncle’s death had taken place, and Dick arranged that the officer in command would have search made in the cellar when the ashes became cold enough to see whether it was passible to find any trace- of his father. This was all we could do, as the military authorities had already taken charge of the bodies of William and Bridget, on which it would -be necessary to hold an inquest before they could be buried.

As wo rode back side by side. Dick spoke to -me for the first time without my having said anything, and I was relieved t-o hear that the voice was almost like himself once more.

“It was -good of the Governor, Jack, to think -of making our place a military camp: it takes a -lot off ray shoulders, for of course t-hiiy’U see that we get- rent enough for it to keep mother and Bessie going. Now I can take a -hand in the fighting without feeling -as if I was deserting them. I don’t care how soon they start their new Bush Scouts that Sir George spoke of.” “Nor I. Dick. Of course, lam a new ohu-m, as I heard you call me the other day, and shall be a poor hand at first, but I should like to stick to you if I can. They ought to make you an officer. I’m sure —you know the bush so weill,” Dick gave a short laugh—it was a relief to hear even such a ghost of his old hearty laugh from him again. “Oil, Jack,” ho said, “never you worry about officers; wo’ll be lucky enough to be allowed to pick our own corps. I wish I knew who were to be the officers though. I expect that wiM -be half the battle.” A few minutes later we rode into tho little township of Otahuhu, and parted company with the volunteer cavalry, with Whom we had acted as guides, the captain saying to Dick in a very friendly tono at parting: “Well, Leslie, I’ll report you a very efficient guide; I hope you’ll soon join some corps or other, and got into harness. Fellows like you will bo wanted, I suspect, before we can get at these brutes.”

Bessie met us almost as soon as we got to tho inn. and as she clung to Dick she t-old him that her mother Avas better, and had been asking for him. Tho Governor had been there in the afternoon, and -had left a very kind note, asking them to go and stay at Government House till their plans were settled, and saying that he thought lie should find Avo-rk for Dick and me very soon. We Avere still at supper Avhen a GoveT. nor’s orderly brought a note for Dick. It Avas AAT'itt-en by the Governor’s private secretary, and merely said that the Governor desired Dick and me to report ourselves next morning at nine o’clock at the office of the Defence Minister on public business. Dick rea-d the note aloud to Bessie and me, and then we all three looked at one another. “NoaV, that’is Avhat I call something like business; no time wasted, you see, Ja-ck.” “Olh Dick,” exclaimed Bessie, “already! How shall we get on without yo-u, if you go aAvay to fight? What will mother say?” “Mother knows,” Dick said quietly. “I told her just now when I was upstairs. Of course. Bess, I couldn’t do anything else, you knoAV. If anybody’s -bound to fight this out to the end it’s Jack and I.” “I suppose so,” Bessie said at Hast, .-looking at him through her tears, as she rose and Avent to her mother. CHAPTER VI. ON ACTIVE SERVICE. The -Governor was as good as his word, and I think Dick’s name and mine Avere the bAVo first’ on the roll of the corps of Forest he had told us about. It didn’t take long to get plenty of volunteers for the neAV corps, for the Government offered fair pay, and the idea itself

was a very popular one, especially among the very young men who had been accustomed to the bus'll, and couldn’t stay there any longer in -case of more murders by the Maoris. I wouldn’t have -had a chance to get into the Rangers -myself, of course, if it -hadn’t been lor the Governor’s .wish, because the first qualification was that the men should be used to the bush. Dick, of course, was the very man for the place, and before the number of the corps was fuky made up I had the satisfaction o-f eongrat-ulart in-g him on being gazetted one of our two -lieutenants. It took fully a monthto fill up our numbers for our captain, who had been an officer in the German army, and had settled in . the district was very particular, and insisted on trying every volunteer in a lot of different ways before he would enrol him finally. In the meantime those of us who were* enrolled -had plenty, to do in the way o; training of many different kind: manning, sharp-shooting, scouting both in the forest and in the open land —nve had never a day off. I daresay if there hadn’t been the excitement of the thing to keep us going some of us would have grumbled, hut as it was th-e-re was ex-

citement in the air, and we never knew at what moment we might be in the middle of real bush fighting, for which all this was the preparation. Of course I had more to learn than almost anybody, because, as Dick had told mo, I was a new chum, and had everything to learn. To make up for that I think I really enjoyed Seaming it more than most of tnem, and so I got on. In a month I could hold my own at most things, I think, and in two months Dick told me the captain himself had noticed me as one of the smartest young fellows lie had: I was satisfied—nobody would -caDI mo a new chum any more. After that first night the Maoris murdered no more settlers. It wouldn’t have been very easy to do it, perhaps, at any -rate without .a big risk, for now the whole population was on- its guard. Women and children were sent away from tiie outlying farms into the more settled districts, and all the younger men volunteered into local volunteer corps. They stayed on in their own districts, but they were drilled by their officers, whom they elected themselves from their neighbours who seemed to them -best able to lead them, and in each district there was some central place where- they assembled -on the first alarm. There had been a number of native villages and cultivations scattered about in the settled districts, but nearly all of t-h-em had been deserted, and the few that were not —lying generally near the Waikato Valley—were watched, and regarded with great suspicion by the settlers. The settled country extended to the scuth-Avest from the capital city for about twenty-five mill-ee till it reached the forest ranges which formed a broken ridge from twelve to twenty miles across till t-hq land desoended into the valley of the Waikato Riven The Waikato rises in the great central volcanic lake in the middle of the island, and runs nearly -due north, about equally distant from the two coasts, till it reaches the ocean at. the point_where tho island gro-ws very narrow at tho mouth of a great inlet of the sea known at the Manukau Harbour, which almost cuts the island in two. Auckland is built on the narrow neck of land, barely six miles wide, between the waters of the Manukau on the west and tho Pacific Ocean on the east, and in 1863, the-first year of the Avar, nearly all the settlement of what Avas called the Auckland Province was in the district around the southern side of tho Manukau Harbour, and between it and the forest ranges that lie between the open land and the Waikato Valley. When it was certain there must be war there Avere two regiments of British soldiers available for fighting in the Auckland district. Nobody knew how many natives there -might he on tlhe side -of the enemy, -but it ay as thought, there might not he more than twelve- or fifteen thousand fighting men Avilling t-o join the King party in their attempt to drive out the settlers. It Ava-s calculated that all the tribe-s -probably numbered a hundred thousand, and as every Maori Avas a warrior betAveen the ages of about fifteen and seventy, there might be in all thirty thousand warriors, if all t-he tribes, should join, but this Avas 'hardly possible, unless they seemed pretty sure to succeed. The Europea r population of the Auckland Province didn’t exceed tAventy thousand people altogether, and of these not more than between four and five thousand men could be reckoned on as fit to take any share in the fighting Fully half of them wero in the city and its suburbs, and t-he -rest Avere scattered, either m the four pensioner villages, or on farms over the district. It was these scattered settlements that were the principal danger. The Maoris in revolt occupied chiefly the valley of the Waikato Riv.er, extending about -a hundred miles into the \’crv middle o-f the island, and tlieir tribes might muster eight or ten thousand fighting men. even if they got no others to join them. At any time they might come doivn the river in their canoes, and cross through any part of the forest belt,- coming out in some part" ot the tlnn'.y-settiea distinct m; wnu-ua there iWe only farms laying waste the country, and driving off the cattle anid sheep. They had a choice of any point along a frontier line that was practically fifty miles long at which to make an attack. Avlr-le the settlers had no means

of kotowing where they were till they came out; into the open land. If the Maoris had fought like the red men of North America the loss both of life and property:, m/ust have been far greater than it was, but mere killing and destroying - iiad no place in the native Zealanders idea of war. To fight and ~wnn a battle, or to attack and storm- a, fortified stockade or pah was hie idea of ■wvar in the old native wans before the ■white man came, and it was this which he proposed to do now that he had set (himsellf the task of driving the white man out of his country. t' ; At first nobody could tell what the natives would dio and this made it harder to form plans, but is very soon became evident that if the war was to be finished in anything like a reasonable time it must be fought out on the * Maoris’ own ground. They appeared to be in no hurry to attack, knowing that if they -started' the white men must begin by invading their country, in which * they would have aiffi the advantage. As * soon as this was decided on the question had to be settled how the troops were to get into the Maori country. There were tracks fit for horses, but no roads through the—forest that shut off the Y\ aikato Valley from the white man's country, and nothing could be done without a road not only to march over, but to carry stores of food and ammunition, and to drag cannons that ■were sure to be required when the Maoris built pahs. Within a month of the Maori declaration of war, which was followed by the refusal to give up the murderers on the part of the king, steps were taken to . begin the road that was to open a way into the Maori country. The soldiers ■were moved up to the front, and camps were established at the edge of the forest land, and work was begun. It was very soon found that if the Maoris ■were not anxious to begin the fighting, they were quite ready to oppose any attempt to force the way into their country. No sooner was road-making begun than attacks began to he made .by parties of warriors, who fired upon convoys, or rushed boldly out of the forest, now in one place and now in another, and fell on the working parties, facing the soldiers’ bayonets with their, longhandled tomahawks and native war clubs without flinching. And the Maoris didn’t always have the worst of the fighting by any means. The numbers of killed and wounded yere pretty equally divided, and no Maoris were ever taken prisoners unwounded. This was the first work on which the Forest Rangers were employed. Day after day it was our duty to go ahead of the road parties; sometimes to proteot the surveyors who were trying to find a way by which a road could be made over the steep ranges of wooded hills, and through the deep gullies through which , streams ran 1 winding among the hills till* at last they found their way into the Waikato. times we had to scout through the bush on both sides of the convoys of provisions and materials for the bridges to see that they were not attacked suddenly by enemies they never saw till they were fired upon. It was no wonder we got accustomed to the forest till we seemed as much at home under the heavy shadows of the huge rata, rimu and puriri trees as if we had Hived among mem all oxtr lives. Even I, after the first two months, would have wondered if I had thought how helpless I had been on that morning, which now seemed so far away in the past, when I had struggled to force my way through the thicket of supplejacks, and keep up with Ropata and the dogs. Some times 1 wondered what had he>come of Ropata, and I think for a good while Dick always expected every time We got into a skirmish in the forest, or along the line of the road, that he would see Ropata’s face somewhere among the trees, or springing with a war-shout ‘ from’the scrub—hut we never did. Dick used often to chat with me as we eat beside a camp-fire at night about him, and tell me things that made him feel sure we should hear of Ropata yet before the fighting was over. We had plenty of chances to tallk too. for our men were not like the soldiers, whose officers didn’t often sit with them, but kept by themselves. There was none of that among us. Dick was an officer, of course, and we didn’t forget it when there was.' work to do, and orders to be obeyedji'ibut when we gathered around a fire on; the chilly nights in the forest, we dlidn’i/i think of officers or men —we were good’comrades, and nothing mote. It was a slow job getting that road made. The ground was very difficult, alfl hills and gullies, and of course the' thick forest made it harder to pick the best way. And even when the line was fixed upon the forest had to be felled about,three chains wideband the huge trunks and great branches to be rolled aside and got • out of the way. Then sidings had to be dug out, and the grades to be a improved before the road could be made fit for heavy waggons, and when that had been done scoria ash and gravel had to be carted and laid down, or the road wouid very Boon have been quite impassable owing to the f rain. Perhaps after all it could have been done faster than it was, but the genera!! was not in a great hurry to begin his invasion. He had not very many regular troops, and the militia and Vocal! troops were only being embodied and got into some kina of shape. He

was expecting more soldiers from India and other places, and until they arrived he could scarcely expect to do very much against so many native warrior®. i-Vj. The season was in our favour. July, when the first blow was struck, was the very middle of the New Zealand winter, like January or February in the northern hemisphere, and though it was never very cold, and no snow ever fell except on the tops of high hills, the rains were heavy and pretty constant. In August the spring began. About the middle of the month the peach trees, and then the pears and apples and pilums began to show their blossoms, and the deserted Maori villages were hidden in forests of blossoming fruit trees. By the middle of September the spring was fully come, and the heavy and cold winker’s rains had given way to light warm showers, generally in the night., and to bright warm, sunshine by day. The roads that had been little seas of mud dried up and grew firm again; the grass grew luxuriantly in the fields, arid on every roadside. The summer was all before us for warlike operations, and it was time to move on if we ever meant to invade the Maori territory. Whatever the general may have thought about it, this was the freely expressed view of our men, as we sat around our campfires and discussed the position of matters. More troops had arrived, and there were now four regiments in the district. Another fortnight’s work would take the road through the forest; surely it was time to .begin. (To be Continued.)