An Old New Zealander; or, Te Rauparaha, the Napoleon of the South.

by Thomas Lindsay Buick

Mr. Thompson did his utmost to steady the party by exclaiming, "For God's sake, men, keep together!" But his appeals were for the most part disregarded, not more than a third of the men remaining with their leaders, the rest retreating up the ridge and firing haphazard as they went. Captain Wakefield's attempts to instil something like discipline into the men were likewise frustrated by some panic-stricken individual rushing up and shouting out, "Run for your lives, lads, run!"—an injunction which they were not slow to obey. In an instant all semblance of organisation had disappeared. Time after time a few men were got together, but the majority were always utterly beyond control. On the last partial rally Captain Wakefield and Warrant Officer Howard ordered the men to fix bayonets and charge the natives; but on one of the men (Richard Painter), who had been in the artillery, pointing out that there was no one visible to charge at, the idea was abandoned. The natives were still maintaining a steady fire, and a protest on the part of the artilleryman, who declined to remain where he was "and be shot down like a crow," led to a further retreat up the hill-side. On the second brow of the hill they met Mr. Cotterell, who was sitting down with a double-barrelled gun at his side. At the commencement of the quarrel he had been unarmed, but he had now seized this weapon in self-defence. He appeared deeply distressed at what had occurred, and expressed his intention of quitting the scene; but he was dissuaded from this course by Captain Wakefield, who, addressing him in most earnest tones, said, "For God's sake, Mr. Cotterell, don't attempt to run away; you are sure to be shot if you do." Mr. Cotterell therefore remained with the party, only remarking to Painter, one of his own men, "This is bad work, Dick."

Being now out of range of the native fire, a council of war was held of such of the party as could be got together, and finally it was decided that Captain England and Mr. Howard should bear a flag of truce to the natives, and endeavour to settle the dispute by negotiation. A white handkerchief was accordingly fixed on a stick, and, with this fluttering in the breeze, the two officers started towards the wood. As an indication of their sincerity in desiring to relinquish fighting, Captain Wakefield ordered all those who were with him to lay their arms on the ground, and the natives, seeming fully to appreciate the nature of the advances that were being made to them, ceased firing, and a number of them left their muskets behind the trees and came out to meet the bearers of the flag. Captain England and his comrade had almost reached the wood, when some of the Englishmen who had halted much higher up the hill than Captain Wakefield, seeing the Maoris emerging from the bush, commenced to fire upon them, notwithstanding that they had seen the flag of truce, as well as their companions laying down their arms. Regarding this as a dastardly act of treachery, the Maoris beat a hasty retreat into the bush, and reopened a rapid fire upon the Englishmen, whereupon Captain England and Mr. Howard ran back to the hill, and reached the spot from which they had started, uninjured by the native bullets.

This attempt at conciliation having failed through the folly of their own people, the magistrate and Captain Wakefield decided to go further up the hill and meet those who were in advance of them, to induce them, if possible, to act in concert with the rest. In this they were no more successful than before, for no sooner did the one section begin to advance than the other began to retreat. Seeing that this must go on indefinitely, Mr. Tuckett endeavoured to persuade Captain Wakefield that their best hope of reaching the beach and getting back to the brig was to abandon the ridge which they were climbing, and strike down into the plain. Although this advice was twice pressed on Wakefield, he took no notice of it, and Mr. Tuckett thereupon, calling to Mr. Barnicoat and a labourer named Gay to follow him, descended in an oblique direction on to the plain below. For a moment Mr. Cotterell hesitated which course to take, but finally decided to go up the spur with the rest, and this decision cost him his life. When Captain Wakefield and his party began their last retreat, most of them left their muskets lying on the brow of the hill, and were therefore quite defenceless; but the Maoris kept up a running fire as they gradually crept up the side of the range. As they approached the summit of the first knoll, Mr. Cotterell stopped and surrendered himself when the natives reached him, calling out, "Enough, enough! that will do the fight," in the hope of assuring them that the Europeans wanted peace. But he was immediately struck down and his body thrown into a manuka bush. Captain Wakefield followed his example by surrendering a few minutes later, as did also Captain England, Messrs. Richardson, Howard, Brooks, Cropper, McGregor, and the magistrate. A few of the younger natives were in the van of the pursuit, and these held the prisoners in hand until the arrival of Rauparaha, whom they had outstripped. At first gold was offered as ransom, and it seemed as if the feud would end without more bloodshed, for the chief had accepted the assurances of Captain Wakefield that the shooting had been a mistake, and had shaken hands with them all. But Rangihaeata, who had killed the wounded as he found them lying on the hillside, panting with haste and anger, rushed up and called out to Rauparaha, "What are you doing? Your daughter Te Rongo[160] is dead. What are you doing, I say?"

Scorning the acceptance of gold, he then fiercely demanded the lives of the principal Europeans as the only utu that would compensate him for the loss of his wife, exclaiming in impassioned tones, "We are sure to be killed for this some day. The white people will take utu; let us then have some better blood than that of these tutua (common men). We are chiefs; let us kill the chiefs, and take utu for ourselves beforehand." To this Rauparaha was at first reluctant to agree, and his objections were well supported by Puaha and the other Christian natives; but he felt that, in view of Te Ronga's death, the demand was a reasonable one, and he at length yielded to the powerful appeal of his lieutenant, and delivered the unfortunate colonists over to their fate.

At this juncture Mr. Thompson seemed, for the first time, to be apprehensive of serious consequences attending his conduct, and he implored Rauparaha to save their lives. But that chief haughtily answered, "Did I not warn you how it would be? A little while ago I wished to talk with you in a friendly manner, and you would not; now you say 'Save me.' I will not save you." The whole party then retired a little lower down the hill, and there the massacre commenced. Captain Wakefield and Mr. Thompson were killed by Te Oru,[161] a son of Te Ahuta, the first native who fell in the fight, as a retribution for the death of his father. Brooks, the interpreter, was struck down by Rangihaeata and despatched by the slaves, which would account for the mangled condition in which his body was found by the burial party from Port Underwood. The rest of the slaughter, according to native accounts, was conducted mainly by Rangihaeata. His method of procedure was to glide silently behind the victims while they were standing amongst the crowd of natives and brain them with a single blow of his tomahawk. The peculiar part of the tragedy was that none of the Englishmen, except Captain Wakefield, made the slightest resistance, and even he was checked by Mr. Howard exclaiming, "For God's sake, sir, do nothing rash!" Perhaps their ignorance of the native language prevented them from understanding all that was passing around them until they received the fatal blow. But there was no struggle, no cries, except from the native women, led by Puaha's wife, who pleaded with the men to "save some of the rangatiras, if only to say they had saved some." No Englishman who survived actually saw the massacre, and therefore it is impossible to describe the exact method of its execution; but the colonists to all appearances met their fate with the greatest equanimity. George Bampton, who had concealed himself amongst the fern only a few yards from the spot where the tragedy was enacted, in giving evidence at Nelson a few days after the event, deposed that "he heard neither cries nor screaming, but merely the sound of beating or chopping, which he supposed at the time to be natives tomahawking the white people."

In accordance with Rauparaha's express orders, none of the dead bodies were mutilated or stripped, although Captain Wakefield's watch was taken by Rangihaeata and buried with Te Rongo, while one native furnished himself with a pair of white gloves and another with a pair of silver-mounted pistols. After burying their own dead in the Waitohi Valley, the two chiefs, with their followers, came down to the mouth of the Wairau River, bringing with them their own canoes and the whaleboat which had been taken up by Mr. Cotterell and his men. In these they went first to Robin Hood Bay, and then to Te Awaiti, in Tory Channel, where they remained a few days, finally crossing the Strait to Mana and Otaki, there to await developments.

Shortly after the skirmishing began, a Sydney merchant named Ferguson, who had been a passenger in the brig to Nelson, and had accompanied her to the Wairau under the impression that he would have a pleasant outing, had taken one of the wounded men, Gapper, down to the river where the boats had been left that morning, and, with him and the boatman who had been stationed in charge, had paddled down the river to the bar, and reached the brig that afternoon. A number of the men had also gone down the Waitohi Valley, which was then densely bushed, and by this means had evaded pursuit until they could return to Nelson by the overland route. Others, again, who had broken away from the main body had made for the sea, so that before Mr. Tuckett and his two companions had proceeded very far they were joined by eight of the original party, one of whom, John Bumforth, was badly wounded in the shoulder. Mr. Tuckett first proposed that they should divide into two parties, the one to proceed to the bar and the other to the vicinity of Port Underwood, thinking that by this means the chances of some of them reaching the brig would be increased. But the men stoutly refused to separate, and the chief surveyor then decided to proceed to the corner of Cloudy Bay nearest the port, where luckily they found one of Mr. Dougherty's fully equipped whaleboats riding in the bay a few chains off. They hailed the boatmen, and explained that they wished to be taken to the brig, which was anchored some seven or eight miles away; but owing to the heavy swell that was rolling into the bay at the time, and the large number of the party, there was the greatest difficulty in persuading the whalers to comply with the request. Even after the danger of embarking had been overcome, the headsman had almost made up his mind not to risk the voyage to the brig, but to land the party at Port Underwood. But fortune still favoured the fugitives, for at this moment another boat's crew, who had been watching their movements, imagining that they had sighted a whale, came out in pursuit, and the two boats raced for the brig, which was almost reached before the pursuing crew discovered the true position of affairs. Up to this point the whalers had not been informed why Mr. Tuckett and his friends desired to get on board the brig, but they were now told that a fracas had occurred between the Europeans and the natives, that the leaders of the party were Rauparaha's prisoners; and a promise (that was never fulfilled) was extracted from the boatmen that they would convey the intelligence to the other settlers at the port, and prepare them to act as they might think best under the circumstances. The captain of the brig then sent his boats to search the shore, in the hope that other fugitives might have reached the beach; but no one was seen, and no unusual circumstance was noted except the burning of a large fire at the mouth of the river, which had been lit for some purpose by the natives. The brig then weighed anchor and sailed for Wellington, the captain, whose inclination was to enter Port Underwood, adopting this course at the earnest solicitation of Mr. Tuckett, who believed that, if assistance was necessary, it could be more easily obtained from the larger centre of population.

When the news of what had happened spread through the infant settlement early next morning, the excitement ran wild and high, and the settlers, believing that at the worst Captain Wakefield and his friends were only prisoners in the hands of the natives, immediately organised a band of volunteers to effect their forcible rescue. Their departure was, however, delayed by a gale, which had the effect of making most of the volunteers seasick; and, by the time the storm had abated, wiser counsels prevailed, and it was decided that only a quorum of magistrates and Dr. Dorset, the surgeon of the settlement, should proceed to the scene, the impression having gained ground that intercession was more likely to prevail with the Maoris than the presence of an armed force. The brig left Wellington for Cloudy Bay that night, and it was when she arrived at Port Underwood that Colonel Wakefield and Mr. Tuckett learned for the first time the appalling nature of the tragedy which had been enacted. They also learned that the natives, both resident and visiting, had hurriedly left the Wairau, believing that retaliatory measures would speedily be taken against them.

Altogether about twenty-seven of the arresting party had managed to elude the pursuit of Rangihaeata's warriors. After undergoing intense privations, some wandered back to Nelson, but most of them went to Port Underwood, a few suffering from wounds, and all from protracted hunger and exposure. The first to arrive were Morgan and Morrison, who reached Ocean Bay with their trousers worn to their knees, and they were shortly followed by others who were in no better plight. Their wants and wounds were attended to by Mrs. Dougherty, who ministered to them with the kindest of care, and it was by these few survivors that the whalers were first apprised of the catastrophe. The Rev. Mr. Ironside had heard vague rumours about impending trouble between the chiefs and the Government; but, as he had not seen the arrival of the brig, he paid no heed to them until the following Sunday, when, in the midst of a heavy rain-storm, he noticed a Maori swiftly paddling his canoe up the bay. Knowing that a native would only be out on such a day under exceptional circumstances, Mr. Ironside sent one of his mission-boys to inquire. The boy did not return, which only increased the anxiety, and later on, when a few particulars did reach the station, they were only sufficient to indicate that a collision had taken place, without any details. That night the missionary and his wife retired to rest a prey to harrowing suspense.

Next morning the storm had increased to a perfect hurricane, and as it was impossible to launch a boat, they could do nothing but wait. By Tuesday the weather had moderated, and a boat's crew of whalers took Mr. Ironside down to Ocean Bay, where the two chiefs and their exultant followers had arrived. From them the whole story was gleaned, and by them the tragedy was justified; "for," said Te Rangihaeata, "they killed my wife, Te Rongo, and they did not punish the murderer of Kuika."[162]