New Zealand

by Reginald Horsley

But the "Tiger of the Wairau," as Rangihaeata had come to be styled, chose to think otherwise and, having secured a partner to his liking in his friend Mamaku, demonstrated his views in his own objectionable way. Te Rauparaha, the diplomatist, kept himself in the background, though it is certain that his advice counted for much; and even Rangihaeata did not at first make himself conspicuous, allowing his brigadier, Mamaku, to harass the settlers in the valley of the Hutt and its neighbourhood.

Perhaps too close a watch was kept upon Rangihaeata, and Mamaku reckoned at less than his proper value. At all events, after a few months of desultory fighting, it was Mamaku with a hundred men who attacked a force of British regulars with a dash and spirit seldom seen in the wars between Maori and Pakeha.

Boulcott's Farm was the advanced post of the British stockade of Fort Richmond, on the Hutt, and was held in May, 1846, by Lieutenant Page of the 58th Regiment and fifty men. The post consisted of a wooden cottage, several huts and a barn adjoining, which last had been rendered bullet-proof, and was the only fortified portion of the cluster of buildings. The ground had been cleared for some little distance all around, and beyond, on every side, spread the noble forest for which this region was then famous. The River Hutt was not far away, and somewhere in the thick scrub beyond the opposite bank lurked the enemy. So Boulcott's Farm kept wide awake.

The night of the 15th of May passed quietly. The careful officer made his rounds, and to every challenge had for answer, "All's well!" For none could know that from the fringing scrub on the other side of the river dark faces peered, and fierce eyes watched the glimmering lantern as the rounds swung back to quarters, thankful for the prospect of a quiet night's rest.

But so it was. Mamaku and his stalwarts were there, watching and waiting their opportunity to cross the stream and spring upon an easy prey.

The night wore on; a new day was born, but still the darkness lingered. The song of a bird, the ring of a settler's axe, the crash of some giant tree falling from the ranks of its comrades, these were the few and infrequent sounds which broke the silence of the Hutt at that date; but, as the stars began to pale before the dawn of the 16th, the stillness seemed intensified. The men of the inlying picket felt the influence of the deep silence of the bush as they had never felt it before.

The sentry, suspicious of he knew not what, peered at the forms of his comrades, indistinct in the gloom, and his nerves thrilled as he caught sight of a standing figure in their rear. The challenge was on his lips when the figure slowly, but not stealthily, advanced a pace or two, and the sentry recognised Allen, the bugler, a boy of fifteen. With a sigh of relief the sentry turned and peered again into the darkness of the clearing to his front.

Paler grew the stars, some flickered out low down upon the horizon; but still the darkness and the silence held and—— What was that?

That deep silence was broken at last, but by a sound so faint that only tensely strained nerves could have caught it. A rustle, nothing more, as if the first light breath of the morning wind stirred the tiniest fronds of the fern. Yet the sentry heard it and, with his musket at the ready, stared into the gloom and prayed for light.

Again! This time he was sure it was no wind, and his eyeballs ached with the effort to discover the cause of that gentle and, it might be, ominous rustling. But absolute silence had fallen again.