Camp Fire Yarns of the Lost Legion

by G. Hamilton-Browne

“First, why did the chief attack us? We were on a visit of ceremony, not of war. Yet he, having a big army, and the Waikatos at the time avoiding him, must find war for his men. In so much he was right, and that I understand. Again, he showed great knowledge of war, by only sending small bodies of men against us, he having so many that we should have been crushed at once had he sent them all at the same time. He also showed his great wisdom by sending us powder in the iron balls, which also kept us awake at night, so that we might be ready in case he attacked us. But as he did not attack us during the night, it was folly, as a fighting man needs rest. That he did not want to kill us we know, or he would not have made whole the wounded men. Again, he could not have wanted the pah itself, to dwell in, or he would not have tried to destroy it with his big guns. And he knew we had no food or water, so must all perish from thirst, in a few days, when he could gain the pah without losing any men at all. He could not want our arms, as his men do not use double-barrelled guns, and if he took them from us we should have been unable to fight him, in case he saw fit to come to Taupo from the Waikato, seeking war. No, he must have wanted to let each of his tribes enjoy the honour of fighting us in their proper turn. But then why, O Te Parione, did he forbid us food and water? How could he expect us to render full justice to his men when our great thirst even prevented us from crying our war-cries, or fighting in such a manner as would confer honour on his men whose turn came late. As it was, we could only manage to hold out long enough to fight five of his tribes: and he had many.

“And now, Te Parione, the night grows old, and I have talked much. Thinking of Orakau excites my thirst and the rum bottle is empty. At daylight you go to shoot ducks, and it is needful to sleep. Think over what I have asked you, and to-morrow night, when we talk once again on war, you will be able to set my mind at rest on these matters. War is a great art, and we are never too old to acquire wisdom. Perchance that white chief had reasons that, if I understood, would exalt my name should I practise them when we fight again. Till then, my guest, rest in peace.”

The above yarn is greatly epitomised, as my old host not only described most of the blows struck during the fight, but also gave me the roll-call of the Maoris, and most of their pedigrees. A Maori considers it to be a waste of words not to describe minutely every circumstance of an event, and by doing so differs from our ideas of yarn-spinning, as we consider brevity to be the soul of wit. Nor did the brave old warrior lay claim to any special merit that his band of 250 men, armed with old fowling-pieces and muskets, should have resisted the attack of over 5000 British troops, should have repulsed five desperate assaults, and for three days have braved the fire of a powerful train of artillery, while at the same time undergoing the torture of thirst.

Surely their heroic answer to the General’s summons to surrender, “Ka whawhai tonu, aké, aké, aké” (We fight right on, for ever, for ever, for ever), is worthy of a place among the mottoes of the proudest regiments the world has ever contained. As for their desperate and somewhat successful attempt to escape: the fact that this handful of famished men and women, in broad daylight, should charge and break through the investing lines of their enemies and, but for the intervention of the Colonial Irregulars, would have nearly all got away, is a wonderful instance of unconquerable courage.

REWI.

Perhaps I may be excused for recounting one or two more instances of Maori chivalry.

During the negotiations that took place at the end of the Waikato war, the General asked Wirimu Thomihana, through his interpreter, how it was that the Maoris had not attempted to cut off his convoys at a place called the Hog’s Back?—the said place having such natural difficulties as to render its passage almost impossible, had it been obstructed by a hostile force. Thomihana’s reply was: “What a foolish question for a great war chief to ask. If we had prevented you from obtaining food, how could you have continued to fight?”

On another occasion two companies of soldiers, while on the line of march, piled their arms, sat down to rest and eat their dinners. Not far away a body of Maoris were lying perdus. These crept up, through the long fern, to the unsuspecting Tommies. Then, jumping to their feet, rushed through them, seizing en route all the rifles, belts and pouches, they disappeared with them again into the fern. The Maori chief presently informed the discomfited and helpless troops that he would not allow his men to injure them, as he considered that both themselves and their officers were far too ignorant of war to be treated as warriors, and that they might therefore return in peace to their camp, where he advised them to learn how to take care of themselves before they again came out to fight.

The 65th Regiment had been stationed very many years in New Zealand, it being supposed that their existence had been forgotten by the War Office, who had most probably lost their postal address. Some of the officers and very many of the men had married Maori women, so that the regiment was on very friendly terms with the natives. War broke out, and, naturally, the white man and Maori were on opposite sides and fought bravely against one another. This did not, however, affect their mutual esteem, for when at sunset the firing ceased numbers of Maoris used to leave their rifle pits and stroll over to their opponents’ shelter trenches to exchange compliments, while the Maori women brought over plentiful supplies of pork and potatoes with which to regale their husbands, who, during the day, had been trying their best to pot their fathers and brothers. These latter, with plenty of quiet chaff, would quietly discuss the prominent events of the past day’s fighting, and the possible occurrences of the coming one, with no more animus than teams of cricketers discuss together, at dinner, the events of that day’s play. At guard-mounting these friendly enemies would part, and at daylight next morning each would do his level best to put out of action his relative by marriage. This sporting relationship was kept up for some time, until, reinforcements pouring into the country, another regiment was sent to strengthen the Haki-Hakis (the 65th), when the Maoris, thinking that the new-comers might be enemies to the 65th, promptly left their rifle pits and, coming over to their opponents, proffered their assistance to drive away the supposed undesirable new-comers, and then continue their own fight.