“‘Men, the captain is wounded; charge!’
“I rushed on at the head of the men, and we drove the natives before us like sheep. We now found ourselves in a small opening on the crest of the hill. The natives found shelter in the bush to our left and front, where they opened fire on our little band of thirty-eight men. Our position was critical. One of our officers was mortally, the other severely, wounded; ten miles of swamp and bush lay between us and any succour; around us were three hundred savages thirsting for our blood. I think it was God who gave me strength to act as I did that day. Assuming an air of coolness (which, in my heart, I was far from feeling), I ordered my men to extend in skirmishing order across the clearing, and to keep up a steady fire. My object was to hold the place for a time, till the advanced guard, attracted by the firing, should join Corporal Ryan and the four men left in charge of the wounded officers, so as to have them carried well on to the redoubt before the approach of night compelled us to retire.
“The Maoris had been encamped on the spot now occupied by our party, and had left a great many things, such as tents, sacks and kits of potatoes, behind. These our men formed into a sort of breastwork, and kept as well under cover as they could. Several of the natives climbed up the trees in order to fire over the breastwork, and one of them was brought down in splendid style by Private Smith of ours, his fall causing a thud like the fall (though louder) of a plump partridge. After waiting till about six o’clock, I resolved to retire by the way we came; but I had scarcely given the order when we were met with a tremendous volley from the very quarter by which we intended to retreat. The enemy took deliberate aim, and three of our men fell badly wounded. I then brought the party back to our former position, and sent for my brother sergeant to consult with him as to what should be done. His proposal was to run the gauntlet through the Maoris, and to make for Mr. Armitage’s pa, which was about 150 yards farther on in the bush. He thought we could establish ourselves there and hold out till we received assistance; but I knew that the thing was impracticable. The pa was commanded by a hill from which the enemy could have amused themselves by shooting us at leisure; in short, the place was untenable.
“A poor fellow of the name of Stephen Grace being close at hand when I put the question, and always ready to offer his advice, proposed that we should form three sides of a hollow square, and retire down the hill to our rear, which was not wooded. I could scarcely help smiling at such a foolish proposal, when all at once I heard a deep sigh at my elbow, and on turning round saw poor Grace rolling down the hill in mortal agony, till his head lodged in a fern-bush, and all was over. I ordered the bugler to take his rifle and belt, and to cover him over with fern. I had no stretcher, and it was impossible for the men to carry his body with safety to themselves; he was now beyond the reach of harm, and we left him there with the green fern as his mort-cloth.
“At a quarter past six o’clock, I ordered the wounded to be taken down the hill to the rear by a path that led across the valley to the dense bush on the other side. I felt sure that a native path in that direction would lead to the Mauku or Pa Kekoe, both military posts. I knew that all depended on our coolness and self-possession. If we fell into confusion, or showed any signs of fear, we were lost; so I told the front rank of skirmishers to fire a volley and retire down the hill, giving at the same time a ringing cheer as if about to charge. As soon as they were established below, I ordered the rear rank to do the same thing. Nothing could be better than the conduct of the men at this trying moment; the movement was executed with as much steadiness as if they had been on parade. On reaching the foot of the hill we found, to our infinite delight, a beautiful stream of clear water. We saw by the footprints on the bank that the Maoris had been there; we knew it to be them because they turn their feet inward when walking, and spread their toes out like a duck in crossing swampy ground. They soon gave us clearer evidence of their presence by rushing out of the bush and opening a heavy fire on our men, who as readily returned it. The cowardly villains had not courage to descend from the crest of the hill, but kept up their fire there till our party entered the bush.
“About eight o’clock we began to make our way through the bush, but soon discovered that we had lost the path. On this I told my men that we must remain where we were till next morning. I then formed them into a square, and ordered every man to speak his name, so as to ascertain whether any were missing. Two men failed to answer; both were wounded—Private Whittle slightly, across the scalp, and Private Bryne severely through the right hand. On inquiry, I found that, after drinking at the stream, they had pushed on by themselves instead of waiting for the main body, and diverged from the path without being missed; but we shall have more to say of their adventures presently. I then gave my orders for the night: every man had to put on his great-coat (all had brought them with them folded across their right shoulders); to sit with his rifle ready in his hand; no pipes to be lit; not a word to be spoken. I knew that this was the only way to elude the enemy and to reach the redoubt in safety. Under the tender mercies of Divine Providence, my efforts proved successful. About four o’clock next morning I placed myself at the head of my men, and we resumed our march through the bush. We pushed our way with difficulty through the dense masses of supplejack and creepers; we crossed over hills thickly covered with wood; we descended ravines that were almost perpendicular. No word of complaint was heard—all struggled on for their lives. At length, at eight o’clock A.M., our gallant little band emerged from the bush and found themselves in the open country about seven miles from the redoubt, which they could see in the distance. Rushing straight ahead, they met Colonel Murray with a hundred men of the 65th Regiment coming to their assistance. We now knew that we were safe, and it would have done your heart good to have heard the hearty English cheer that burst forth from both parties on first seeing one another. I know, too, that many a heartfelt, grateful prayer was breathed to Almighty God for having preserved them through all their dangers.
“Our joy was mingled with tender regret on learning that Captain Swift was no more. He died at seven o’clock the previous night. Corporal Ryan and Privates Talbot and Bulford remained with him to the last. They carried him in their arms for some distance after he had received his death-wound, but the agony he suffered was so intense that he requested them to lay him down on the ground. They placed him behind a fallen tree and concealed him as well as they could; they then crept down beside him. On hearing the heavy firing, he said to Corporal Ryan, ‘I am sure McKenna has gained the pa.’ Soon after they heard the natives coming through the bush; the report of firearms told them that the Maoris had attacked the advanced guard who were hastening to their assistance.
“After a short skirmish the advanced guard had to retire to make for the redoubt, which they reached about nine o’clock the same night. In this affair the natives, in firing, actually came behind the tree under which Captain Swift was lying with Ryan, Bulford, and Talbot. He begged of them not to leave him. They assured him that they never dreamed of doing so; they would stay by him till the last; they were ready to die with him if necessary. They told him that his moaning might attract the notice of the enemy. On hearing this, the poor fellow placed his hand on his mouth to restrain his agony till the Maoris retired. His last words to Ryan were, ‘Give me your hand.’ He pressed it, and then died as quietly as if he had fallen asleep, which I am sure he did in Jesus. With reverent and loving hands they covered the body with fern, and started for the redoubt at break of day. On their way they met the party sent to their relief.
“I must now return to Lieutenant Butler. Privates Thomas and Cole remained with him all night in the bush. He suffered much from his wound, and complained bitterly of the cold, though the men had thrown their two great-coats over him. There is no sacrifice a soldier will not willingly make for an officer he loves. Private Thomas took off his blue serge shirt and put it over him, remaining all night in his cotton shirt and trousers. Well, I agree with you it was a generous act; but so great is the attachment of our well-commanded regiment to their officers, that they would go through fire and water to serve them.
“I sent back a guide with Colonel Murray’s party to conduct them to the scene of action, and pushed on for the redoubt, which we reached at eleven o’clock A.M. We were much worn out, but grateful to God for our deliverance. In the evening Colonel Murray’s party returned; they brought in Captain Swift’s body, but could find no traces of the two men who were missing. They gave up the search as hopeless, and, embarking on board the steamer Arrow, returned to head-quarters. About ten o’clock next morning 100 men of the 70th Regiment marched into the redoubt; they had been guided through the bush from the Queen’s Redoubt by that most efficient officer Captain Greaves, of the 40th. We left the Alexandra Redoubt under their charge, while 100 of our men, under the command of Lieutenant Warren, started in search of their missing comrades, Captain Greaves accompanying the party. We reached the scene of action about four o’clock P.M., but found that the Maoris had disappeared. In a subsequent despatch Captain Greaves estimated that they must have amounted to little short of 300 men, and, judging from their number of sleeping-places and other indications on the spot, I am inclined to think that this estimate was not beyond the mark.