Camp Fire Yarns of the Lost Legion

by G. Hamilton-Browne

This river, fed as it is from the big lake and also by innumerable tributaries, is, although not very broad, a most dangerous one to cross, especially while it is descending from the high plateau, as it either rushes through high banks or tumbles in foaming cataracts among large rocks until at last, as if tired with its exertions, it becomes a well-behaved, navigable river, and forms what was in early times one of the only roads into the interior of New Zealand; but during its whole course from the lake to the ocean it is a dangerous one to play with.

On the precipitous south bank of this river, some 200 yards from the lake, we were, in 1869, building a redoubt called Tapuaeharuru (the Place of Sounding Footsteps), and it was from this fort that I was ordered to ride to Te-Niho-te-Kiori (the Rat’s Tooth), an enormous pinnacle of rock that springs from the ground just where the river starts on its long flow to the north. I was therefore, as it were, to ride along the string of a bent bow and, if successful in reaching this rock, to try and open communications with another column supposed to be in its vicinity.

It was not what some people might call a safe journey: road there was none, and the route I had to take was through country that, although it could not be called mountainous nor thickly bushed, was covered with manuka scrub and wire grass, with here and there a clump of heavy timber, while an occasional column of snowwhite steam, rising into the air, denoted a boiling spring. These columns were of different magnitude, and as I knew which side of the river the principal geysers were on, and their situation, as seen from the river and fort, they proved most useful landmarks to me later on in the day.

At daybreak one lovely morning I plumped my saddle into a canoe and was ferried across the stream, my horse swimming astern, and on gaining the bank, after drying his back, I carefully saddled-up, lit my pipe and, with a cheery “So long” to the men who had paddled me over, mounted and rode away.

As soon as I was out of rifle-range of the camp I was in No Man’s Land, and every native I met would be an enemy. I had twenty-five miles to ride to get to the Rat’s Tooth, and had to depend entirely on my own wit and the good qualities of my horse to save my hair, in case I fell across any parties of wandering Hau Haus. My orders also directed me to look out for any signs of the enemy, and in case I cut a spoor I was to prospect it and try to ascertain if it were the track of a Taua (war party) or not.

The horse I rode was indeed a noble brute. Standing fifteen hands, he possessed every quality that a scout’s horse should. Not only was he very well bred, fast and strong, but he combined the manners of a lady with the courage of the lion, could scramble like a cat and swim like a fish; and all these qualities he was destined to display before that day was over. As, if possible, I was to return the same day, I rode light, carrying nothing on my saddle except half-a-feed for my horse and a couple of biscuits for myself. I wore neither tunic nor sword, but carried a carbine, with the usual revolver and knife, while my dress consisted only of a smasher hat, shirt, breeches and boots, with very short-necked spurs.

“There is nothing half so sweet in life as love’s young dream,” sings the poet, but I’ll gamble that a smart canter on a high-bred, free-going horse beats dreaming all to fits, and is much better for you. Anyhow I thoroughly enjoyed the first part of that ride through the sharp, clear air, notwithstanding that I had to keep every sense on deck, and my thoughts, concentrated by looking out for an enemy or for hostile spoor, were occupied with far sterner matters than love or dalliance. For the first six miles or so I made good progress, the ground being fairly open and the obstacles quite insignificant; but then I reached a part where a chain of heavily bushed hills ran on my left hand for some miles, the river being six miles to my right. The pumice-stone flat over which I was riding was here much cut up by gullies running from the hills to the river; some of them containing creeks, the remainder being dry, but all of them with nearly perpendicular sides, which, except in places, were not to be negotiated by horse or man. As the depth of them varied so did the direction, some of them running into one another, while the others ran direct to the river. These I had to cross, and it was very nasty, dangerous work, in more ways than one.

First of all I had to look for a place where my horse could descend into the bed of the gully, at the same time looking out for a place on the other side up which we could scramble. This took time, as occasionally I had to ride a considerable distance up or down the edge before I could find a place suitable either to descend or to get out again; and it would have been an act of madness for me to have gone down into one of these ravines without having spotted a way of getting out again. Yet, at the same time, cross them I must. Again I had to make mental notes of every crossing, and take bearings, so that I should remember each gully and how to get back. I never forgot for a moment I was in an enemy’s country and that perhaps my return journey might be expedited by a taua; besides, I had to keep my eyes open for an ambush, as it was quite possible I had already been spotted from the hills, among which many Hau Haus might be lurking, as the Maoris always make their plantations in the bush.

I had crossed some ten of these gullies when I came to a very big one, about forty feet deep and perhaps fifty yards broad. With trouble I could get down into this, but could not see, although I rode a considerable distance along its edge, any way of getting out on the other side. There was, however, another gully running into it that apparently took a northerly direction—the way I wanted to go—and if I entered this one and followed it I might be able to regain the level of the plain farther on.

It was a very grave risk to run, but it was a case of Hobson’s choice, that or none; so, after a long look at the hills, to see if I could spot any signs of danger from them, I hardened my heart, descended with a nasty scramble and made for the entrance of the gully I had seen from the plain. I had no sooner reached the mouth of it than I reined up sharply, for there, clearly defined, and not twenty-four hours old, were the tracks of at least twenty, perhaps thirty, horses that, coming from the north, had turned to the right on reaching the big gully and proceeded towards the hills. As there was no spoor returning, it was evident that a number of the enemy must be located in their bushed recesses, and, in case they should have spotted me, they would most certainly do their best to cut me off. Yet, as their horses had used the gully, there must be a way out of it, and if I made a push for it I could take advantage of it to regain the level of the plain; anyhow it was no use staying where I was. I must go back, or go on.