Maori and Settler: A Story of The New Zealand War

by G. A. Henty

"First of all then, Mr. Atherton, I must, in the name of the owners of this ship, of myself, the officers and crew, thank you for having saved it and us from the hands of these savages. From what Mr. Rawlins tells me, and from what I know myself, I am convinced that had it not been for your vigilance, and for the part you have taken in the defence of the ship, the natives would have succeeded in their treacherous design of massacring all on board almost without resistance."

A cheer broke from the passengers and crew, and Mr. Renshaw said when it had subsided: "I, on the part of the passengers, endorse all that Mr. Ryan has said; we owe it to you, Atherton, that by God's mercy we and those dear to us have escaped from death at the hands of these savages. It was you who put some of us on our guard; it was your marvellous shooting with the revolver that first cleared the poop; and your extraordinary strength, that enabled you single-handed to check the onslaught of the natives and give us time to rally from our first surprise, and saved the ship and us."

"Do not let us say anything more about it," Mr. Atherton said; "we have all done our duty to the best of our power, and have reason to be heartily thankful to God that we have got out of this scrape without heavier loss than has befallen us. Now, Mr. Ryan, please give your orders."

"The first thing, undoubtedly, is to clear the deck of these bodies," Mr. Ryan said.

"What about the wounded?" Mr. Renshaw asked, "no doubt some of the poor wretches are still alive."

"They do not deserve any better fate than to be tossed overboard with the others; still, as that would go against the grain, we will see what we can do." He looked over the side. "There is a good-sized canoe floating there fifty yards away. I suppose the fellows thought it would be safer to jump overboard and swim ashore. Four of you men get out the gig and tow the canoe alongside. We will put any wounded we find into it and send it adrift; they will come out and pick it up after we are fairly off."

The bodies of sixty natives who had been killed outright were thrown overboard, and eighteen who were found to be still alive were lowered into the canoe. "I do not think we are really doing them much kindness, though of course we are doing the best we can for them," Mr. Atherton said to Mr. Renshaw. "I doubt if one of them will live. You see, all who were able to drag themselves to the side jumped overboard, and were either drowned or hauled into the canoes."

As soon as the operation was over the casks of water were got on board and the boats hoisted to the davits. The anchor was then hove up and some of the sails shaken out, and with a gentle breeze the vessel began to draw off the land. As soon as this was done all hands set to work washing down the decks; and in two or three hours, except for the bullet marks on the deck and bulwarks, there were no signs left of the desperate conflict that had raged on board the Flying Scud. At sunset all hands gathered on the poop, and the bodies of the captain and two passengers, and of the sailors who had fallen, were reverently delivered to the deep, Mr. Ryan reading the funeral service.

The ladies had retired below after the boats had come alongside, and did not come up until all was ready for the funeral. Mrs. Renshaw and three or four of the others had been employed in dressing the wounds of those who had been injured. Four out of the six sailors who had survived the massacre on board had been more or less severely wounded before they won their way on the quarter-deck, and six of the watering party were also wounded. Eight of the passengers had been struck with the flying spears; but only two of these had received wounds likely to cause anxiety. After the funeral was over more sail was hoisted, the breeze freshened, and the Flying Scud proceeded briskly on her way.

The rest of the voyage was uneventful. Thankful as all were for their escape, a gloom hung over the ship. The death of the captain was much felt by all. He had been uniformly kind and obliging to the passengers, and had done everything in his power to make the voyage a pleasant one. One of the passengers who was killed was a young man with none on board to mourn him, but the other had left a widow and two children, whose presence in their midst was a constant reminder of their narrow escape from destruction.