THE FRONTIERSMAN.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume IX, Issue 17, 23 April 1892, Page 423

THE FRONTIERSMAN.

• The rugged state of the country ’ (at the foot of Mount Egmont, near Pukerangiora) ‘ was such that at times the enemy crawled within a few yards of the working parties, calling out to the soldiers for tobacco, which request was oftener than not acceded to, a small parcel being thrown over the brow of the hill intervening between : when instantly a return was made by a basket of peaches, with a request that they would send the basket back."—Grayling's ‘ War in Taranaki, 1861.'

This scene of * frontier life ’ will recall to many of the early warriors of the colony some image that time cannot well efface—‘ lingering memories of the past,’ of which the following description is laid not long before the advance upon Parihaka in 1881 : — Give us, kind boss, a tale to-night, Our camp is snug and safe, The tents are pegged, our canvas tight. While wind and rain keep pace ; The forest bends before the gale, VI hich trembles o’er our head, Except the distant shrieking wail All's quiet as in dread.

The tire crackles—burning brightly The logs are upward piled. Each sits around, some smoking lightly, Frontiersmen they are styled. Features bronzed with a hardy life, Midst axe and rille spent, They’ve faced each danger in the strife And glory is their bent. My boys, this is the very day Now twenty years ago, I volunteered and joined the fray That laid so many low ; And here around our little camp Where deeds of honour shine, ’Twas on this field that I alone May bless one heart divine. We bravely tried to storm the pa, And rushed through musket smoke Uphill without a stop to bar While a shot my rifle broke ; Then sword aloft I waved with pride, And scaled the breastwork high. But the battle’s ever changing tide Left me alone to die. Ah ! now, my mates, this heart stood still, As wounded there I lay ; The bayonet gleamed with all the ill Of full intent to slay. Only arrested by the cries Ot one angelic fornr. Who, looking down with lustrous eyes, As the sun upon the morn. She waved her hand, the savage fled, We two were left alone, My wounds she bathed, as well as dressed, So there I made my home. She rear’d a root above my head, And brought me food to eat ; I languished as a prisoner bird To fly with one so sweet. And now, my boys, think not me weak, The tears will flow unbidden ; A message came my love to seek, My darling s now in heaven. La«t night I dreamt I saw my own, She beckoned with her hand ; Boys ! the pledge is here, the o’d greenstone We ll meet in spirit land. A refrain to ’Tenting on the Old Campy Ground.

E.S.B.