AT FORT TURANGA.

Otago Witness, Issue 3972, 29 April 1930, Page 10

AT FORT TURANGA.

A Tale of East Coast in the Troublous Times of Te Kooti.

By

MARY RAMSAY ELLEN BLAIR.

(Copyright.—For the Otago witness.)

This story tells of how brave pioneers fought undaunted, handicapped by isolation and rebel natives, and brought the little East Coast township up to its pretty city stage of today.

CHAPTER I.—AT FORT TURANGA. Seated in the little old kitchen of her home on the flats of Poverty Bay, Mrs Long was occupied with her knitting. Her eyes, lifting from her work, would dwell on the view spread around her—one of a sparsely populated settlement, with its many ti-tree patches. To the north lay the Whataupoko hills, divided off by the Waimata River. To the east lay Kaiti in its flax and swampy condition. To the south the Pacific’s blue waters washed on to the golden beach, and right across the bay bold Young Nick showed a white face against a sky of lovely blue —a blue picture. It has been said that a blue picture would not be successful; but “ The Blue Boy ” disproved that, and so would this picture of Poverty Bay in its many tones of lovely blue. All this she could see from her little old kitchen through its little many-paned windows and door. From the front could be seen the ranges that encircled the bay from Whataupoko around to the white bluff in the ocean. She was dreaming and knitting, as was her wont when the children were asleep or away, or her work was done. She had no help; how many did in those days. Her mind would drift back to the happy girlhood days in Old England. She did not hear the rush of waters on the beach; she did not see the bright stove that stood out on the kitchen floor, or the dresser with its blue and white crockery, or the bright needles that manufactured the lace in her fingers. All she pictured was a happy little girl dressed up and singing gaily (and singing beautifully, if she had only known) and making believe in her bedroom in a London home.

, A bright needle clicked to the floor It broke her reverie for a while.

Then she drifted back, and her vision held her. She remembered the big family of handsome brothers and sisters who had spoilt her. How she had gone from her home and spent the time amongst their homes and shirked her schooling. Oh, well, that was long ago. Then she remembered leaving Home in the sailing ship to come out with a sick sister to Australia. Months and months they had sailed on the great blue ocean, and when she reached Melbourne (a canvas town) she wept bitterly. She had in her girlish mind pictured a lovely city with streets paved with gold, to find only dust and canvas greeting her. Her sister, recovering, returned to England, but she, marrying a master builder, stayed on. There her two eldest children were born. Then came the rush to the New Zealand goldfields, and she and .her husband left for Dunedin, and here her third girl was born. Here she was now, .in Poverty Bay, with her little family. What heads of curls they had—brown curls and one of gold. The click of steel needles gradually ceased, and a silence fell. “Carrie,” came her husband’s voice, as he laid down the paper he held, “ what ails you.”

“ Nothing.” “ Why are you dreaming and dropping your needles.” “ I was dreaming of Old England when I was a girl.” “And I could dream of Old England when I was a boy, but it would not be a happy dream.” He returned to his paper, and she resumed her knitting. But it did not stop her thinking of a young doctor who wanted her. ■She did not want him, and he told her, “ I shall haunt you till I die.” She tried to shake off the feeling that came over her, and made efforts at conversation.

“Isn’t it lonely here? ” she said. “ Well, yes, but are you not getting used to it by now?” “ Oh, a little—but listen, and you can hear the surf breaking on the beach. Look at the hills dark with bush, and I always feel timid of the Maoris.” “ The Maoris will never harm you, so do not worry.” The sound of hurrying feet came to their ears, and soon a woman burst into the room with the cry of: “ The Hauhaus are upon us.” There was great anxiety in the little settlement and the families gathered into the redoubt, and the men were kept on guard. But the rumour was false. CHAPTER lI.—ENGLISH ELIZA. English Eliza had come up from Napier; but still she was a new arrival from England, from Dorset, the home of Hardy. This was her first visit to Poverty Bay, or Fort Turanga, as it was called. How different it looked to the old land she knew. Here the fierce hot sun gleamed and glinted on waters that washed in from the blue Pacific. The

bold papa-white headland of Young Nick greeted her at the entrance. The golden sunlight brightened the cliffs as well as the waters, but further back the ranges faded to grey—the warm grey of northern New Zealand. The hills circled around to Kaiti and on up the coast.

Here between the white beaches and the hills lay little Fort Turanga, green and fresh with its rich flats. Eliza could see the wonderful green bush on the ranges, sage-green in places, and running into lovely purply-blue shadows. “ What a lovely country,” she thought, “ but I wonder if Maoris are over there in that dense bush.” She could not take her: eyes off the houses in the settlement—little boxes, they looked, with tin roofs. Fancy to live here. Oh, for England, for the solid stone homes; oh, for Dorset!

A wave of home sickness seized her ; but she knew she must fight this down, for this was to be her home. She missed all the.bustle of England; here she felt the silence. But it was no good giving way to it; she had married a canny Scot, and here she had to join him and start life as Fort Turanga would give it. Eliza was a strong Englishwoman with a strong good face, with enough to call her fine looking, and with a pair of soft kindly brown eyes. Her heart was of pure gold. She was nurse to children when Sandie M'Leod took her for his own. It seemed ages indeed before she arrived on the shore, but Sandie, beaming away in the heat, was waiting to meet her. It was nothing to them that others watched; perhaps in the past they, too, had met another or said goodbye. Perhaps they thought of a little old England set in northern waters. Anyway, they turned away as he kissed her under the poke bonnet that became her. She settled down quickly—people have to in pioneering days. She had never ridden a horse in the Old Country, but here she had to. Even Ormond came within her range, despite the distance of 12 miles and the state of the roads. She learnt to love the bush—an easy matter —and the towering kahikatea especially appealed to her.

She felt the solitude, and she almost feared it. The rustling pf the leaves and the moaning of the wind through the giant trees of the ranges awed her. Despite the silence and the fear, she would enter the bush, and would gather a load of ferns from under the dense bush growth. Tree'ferns like umbrellas spread over the way in parts, and a damp, mossy smell would reach her nostrils. This would give her a feeling of nausea, and she would tread her, way out, past little patches of trickling water. The bush called and would have held her, but the notes of bush birds, all sadness, and the bleat of a sheep on a distant hill, was more than she could stand. She would fight her way past supplejacks and tearing lawyer vines, and come out of the brooding bush to the glorious sunlight. On her way to the settlement she met people who were speaking about the warlike chiefs. She whipped up her horse — fighting and Fort Turanga; distant England and peace. She had been told that great importance was given to war tapu, and that the tohunga would march in front, carrying the amorangi. She did not know it was true; she doubted if she even knew what it meant. English born, she never dreamed to know of fighting Maoris. When she reached her home, where they kept the little post office and her husband was also registrar, she told him what she had heard.

“ Well, Eliza, it might be true, so vour best plan is to keep in the settlement.”

CHAPTER lII.—THE DISTURBED SERVICE.

At the little church at Matawhero service was being held, and the settlers were there in their Sunday best. Peace was everywhere—in the country, and at divine service. But their minds on their devotions were jarred rapidly off them, for a messenger arrived and told them the dreaded news that Te Kooti had landed.

Thus the little band of country settlers were torn from their worship on a Sunday afternoon (July 12) in 1868. No waiting to change their clothes; no waiting for supplies, but a swinging into saddles and away southward" bound for Whareongaonga. Here on the track leading to Muriwai they received orders to continue their march. They met some who had escaped and who refused to surrender, and who intended getting into the Urewera Country and gaining security in the fastnesses that were unknown to the white people. An order for a pursuit followed, and it ended in the fight at Paparatu. “How are you doing Tom?” Dick would ask.

“ Fine,” he would answer, and Harry would do the same.

The lot were perfectly cheerful. But it was not to last. “ I’m jolly near exhausted,” Tom would say feebly.

“I’m starving,” Diek said faintly. No word from Harry, his wounds were too great.

The task that gave such difficulty was the retirement, for the wounded had to be carried over the mountain ranges and through creek, bush, and undergrowth. A night .march of the severest sort and they arrived at one of the out-statio'ns. Here, the commander met them with Napier and other volunteers. An order and a warning followed for the Poverty Bay settlers to be ready in one hour to start the pursuit. “We are about done,” said Tom, “ and so is Harry, for want of food.” “ I cannot help that,” said the commander. “ I cannot help what you have undergone.” . “ Anyway you would not under the circumstances have been prepared to march in an hour.”

The commander’s reply dispelled any chance that harmony would reign in the future. An officer of lesser rank kept his silence, supporting the settlers, as it were.

They would have gone in pursuit if he had but spoken. All they asked was to return home for proper food and a change of clothes, for they had been in the bush for 10 days in bad weather. No vision there of a white bluff by blue sea, and with no blue sky to rear its head into.

“ I suppose,” said Tom to his mate, “ the commander thinks we have no courage.” “ Oh, he cannot,” Dick answered him, “ and he knows how cheerful and willingly we left the church at the Sunday service to take up arms.” “ Well, he is criticising us.” “ Well, it is unjust, and that is all I have to say.”

The next march came, and once more the settlers were abused.

“ Look here,” said Tom again,” is this fellow going to subject us to this sort of stuff all the time?” ■

“ I don’t know. I hope not; but it looks like it.”

Rough was the country they were now marching through, for they were in the Ahimanu Range. “ Jove, it’s cold up here,” Tom remarked.

“ Quess it will be colder yet, I think we arc in for snow.”

And so they were. Not only snow, but heavy snow storms that delayed the forces. When they eventually reached Waihau Lakes their provisions were exhausted, and there was great suffering amongst the men. The men from Fort Turanga district held a meeting and decided that on account of the treatment they were receiving from their commander they would go no further. So they returned to Fort Turanga. CHAPTER IV.—OFF THE COAST. Mrs Long had remembered the going awav of the Hauhaus with the rebel Te Kooti. They had all been sent to the Chathams. Fort Turanga,_ to give it its proper Polynesian Maori name, was Turanganui a Kiwa. The town river was called Turanganui. The settlement as Mrs Long knew it, was only sparsely populated, but she was to see it grow, and her husband, being a master builder, had a lot to do with the growing of it, as far as buildings were concerned. In the peaceful days before the Hauhaus disturbed them they went up the rivers in boats. Here Mrs Long met Mrs M'Leod, and Old England was thenmain topic. “ Still,” said Mrs M’Leod, “ it is lovely in New Zealand.”

“ And so free and different to Home,” Mrs Long would answer. “ I think these river picnics are my favourites.” “ I think it is splendid the way everyone joins in,” Mrs M'Leod said. “ Did I tell you my husband had a store out at Matawhero ? ”

“ No. I am going to Auckland next week with the three girls, and I hope that Fort Turanga will be safe and that the Hauhaus never come down to it."’

Mrs Long went, but it was three weeks before they reached Auckland. The sailing ship was blown here and there, and they almost despaired of ever reaching their destination.

While Mrs Long was tossing about on th e coast she was dreaming of little Fort Turanga. She pictured the quiet river, with the old store at the foot of Kaiti hill. She could see the little "wooden landing that ran out on the same side of the river, near to a huge willow tree. There was one on each side of the river bank. She could picture an old horse tied up there, grazing at a rope’s end. This magnificent willow threw shade on the river bank. On one side of Kaiti hill peach trees grew up the slopes. She fancied she heard an old woman, calling for the boat to be brought over. She pictured her home: it lay between the town and the beach, always with the surge within hearing. She pictured a quiet little settlement undisturbed even by wind or sea.

But the picture was wrong, for they were fighting in the back ranges. Te Kooti, who had been deported to the Chathams in 1865, after the fight at Waeranga-a-hika, seized the schooner Rifleman, and he with his Hauhau band had made Whareongaonga in the winter of 1868.

I have told you in a previous chapteiof the fight at Paparatu, where the colonials were ambushed and where a lot of them were killed and bounded, and friendly natives too. It was here that Kakapango did good work, and was later presented with a sword and £lOO.

The forces followed Te Kooti up the Ruatikuri river, and here the Hauhaus attacked them and more of the troops were killed. Away to Puketapu in the Urewera Country Te Kooti moved, and there for the winter he rested.

Then came the abandonment of the commander’s forces.

Thus a campaign had started that was to last years, cost dear and valuable lives, and involve thousands of pounds of expenditure.

CHAPTER V.—BLACK MONDAY.

Before the massacre occurred fears were repeatedly expressed, that they thought Te Kooti would make a raid. They thought it would be through the Pat titahi Vailey, and here the settlers, day and night, watched the crossing on the Waiapoa River, their horses saddled ready whilst they took turns at duty. From the crossing, with its willowed banks, they could see far up the lovely valley. The Government had scouts out, but the settlers kept vigilance against surprise. There came a day when an old Maori woman said that Te Kooti was coming down the valley. Away the settler rode and told the major. He replied: “ I have scouts out and will receive 20 hours’ notice before anything can happen. It is an absurd story, and you are all unnecessarily alarmed.” The settler returned home, and the Vigilance Committee ceased its efforts. But Te Kooti had come down the Patutahi Valley and crossed at the very ford the settlers had been guarding. Had the major heeded the warning, this awful piece of history could never have been written. The Hauhaus had passed by the Patutahi settlers’ homes, for they intended to raid them later, after they had returned from the settlement at Matawhero. This was the settlement where the worshippers had been disturbed on that peaceful Sunday afternoon at sei - ' lC Some who had been warned about Te Kooti escaped, much to the disgust of the Hauhaus. Later came the dreaful news of the massacre, and they rode in with the word to the settlers of Foit TU prior to the massacre, there had been iov in the country over the bush-felhng, and the first shearing, and the young settlers were feeling elated, for they seemed on the way to prosperity But ever the feeling of uneasiness remained, always the thought that Te Kooti would re “ U c"me on,” said Tom to Dick, “give a hand.. We are going to construct, a redoubt.” . ~ , » “ That ought to keep the be gg&rs o “Well, all hands are going to see what it can do. How is Harry? „ “ Fine: says he is able to dig, too. And here on the flats the settlers worked to build this place for the settlers and families to sleep in, and it was nearing completion. e , Davlight breaking in the country, and the sound of a rifle shot breaking the stillness. A wave of horror ran through all, for its meaning was too apparent. “ This way,” said Tom, and he rushed to get the children and hurry them into the scrub in their night attire. jj ur rv,” called Dick to the parents. “Tom’s gone this way,” pointing to the manuka scrub that, in its flowering top®,, showed pearly white in the morning light. Harry, seizing a horse, rode at a trollop down the road towards the other settlers. On the way he met two apparently panic-stricken natives, who told him Te Kooti had returned and intended to kill all the settlers. He turned his horse and started a mad gallop . back, and they fired and wounded him in the back. Harry, however, rode on and reached the manuka scrub, where some settlers, nearlv hysterical, were hidden. “Look'” said Tom, “they arg only about two chains away.” And Dick, peering intently, said, “ I’ve counted twenty-eight Hauhaus.” “ They are going into the homestead,” said Harry. “Will we go on.” “No, better to stay here,” Tom answered, “ and let them go, for we are safe here.”

“ I suppose,” said Dick, “ they think we have gone on to warn others.” “ Hush 1 They are coming out and riding away,” Harry commented. “ I think that now we had all best get to the house and dress,” said Tom.

“ And take any valuables you have,” Dick added.

This the party did, and then they crossed the river, and, terrified, made their way through the ti-tree scrub on the Whataupoko banks and down to the blockhouse at Fort Turanga.

Had they been able to have seen, a sore spectacle would have met their eyes. For shortly after they had taken their departure the Hauhaus returned, and, having looted the place, set the homestead and woolshed on fire, and so the flames devoured all. Settlers were fleeing into Fort Turanga in all manner of ways—walking, riding, and scantily clothed, as disturbed from their, Sunday night’s sleep, shoeless and hatless, making in through bush and scrub, and by river blanks and sandy seashore—all for the one haven —Fort Turanga. The chalk white cliffs looked on undisturbed. (To be continued.)