Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. "War to the Knife;" or, Tangata Maori by Rolf Boldrewood (top 10 novels of all time .txt) 📖
- Author: Rolf Boldrewood
Book online «"War to the Knife;" or, Tangata Maori by Rolf Boldrewood (top 10 novels of all time .txt) 📖». Author Rolf Boldrewood
"Wh—ew! I've heard the reptile's name before. Cousin or something of your Zenobia—admirer probably. Acute attack jealousy."
"Might have been. After he went I didn't trouble my head about him. I had a great mind to give him a thrashing, but Warwick said it might cause trouble."
"And so at any time he may take a steady pot-shot at you; probably did. 'Keep your eye skinned,' as that Yankee said. Set Warwick at him. By the way, wonder how he is? Shot through the shoulder yesterday. No bone hit. Doctor says all right directly. [Pg 295] Lay up for a week. Painful all the same. Suppose we look him up?"
When our friends were comforting themselves with the belief that perhaps the dragging and unsatisfactory war was near its termination, how little they were aware of the decisive engagement ahead of them—the very next in succession, as it turned out, when the 43rd was fated to lose more officers than any of the regiments engaged at Waterloo! A crushing repulse, followed by a disastrous rout and the death of their gallant colonel! With what indignation would they have repelled such a suggestion! It was destined to come to pass, nevertheless. That two of the speakers would be dangerously wounded, and the other at death's door—"reported missing," besides? Long was it before the soldiers of the gallant regiment, which had won glory on many a bloody field, could endure an allusion to the Gate Pah, a name which always brought up memories of bitter grief and shame intolerable. It was a case of "threes about"—those simple, apparently meaningless words, spoken by chance or otherwise—which clouded the well-earned fame of a gallant cavalry regiment in India, and caused the death of their colonel by his own hand. And in the memorable disaster at the Gate Pah, in the moment of victory, it is alleged that the ominous word, to a British ear, of "Retreat!" was distinctly heard.
Orakau fight was over. The dead were buried. The women were still mingling blood with their tears for those who would never more defy the pakeha or their hereditary enemies. But the national war-spirit was alive and redly glowing.
[Pg 296]
Many of the Ngaiterangi and other natives had gone from Hawkes Bay to Tauranga, indignant at the blockade of the coast. Major Whitmore, as a counter-stroke, raised a contingent from among the friendly natives, confident of their willingness to fight anybody and anywhere. His opinion did not long lack confirmation.
The Ngaiterangi speedily changed position, building a strong pah at Puke-hina-hina, long afterwards memorable as the Gate Pah, so named from its peculiar situation on a narrow ridge with a swamp at each end. It was about three miles from the mission station at Tauranga. Here the insurgents proposed to await the attack. Not unused to the rules of war, they sent a protocol (March 28) to the colonel in command, announcing that unarmed persons, or even soldiers who turned the butt of their muskets or the hilt of their swords to the enemy, would be spared. This resolve was fated to stand them in good stead.
On the 21st of April, General Cameron transferred his headquarters to Tauranga.
"'Quem Jupiter vult perdere dementat prius,'" spouted Massinger, who saw an opening for a classical quotation as, soon after daybreak on the 29th, the guns and mortars, placed in position overnight, opened fire in front. "What possible chance do they think they have against a park of artillery and nearly two thousand men?"
"'Let not him that putteth on his armour, etcetera,'" returned Slyde. "If I were anything but a thick-witted Englishman, I should say, don't like the look of things. Maoris too d——d quiet. Bad sign. [Pg 297] See that fellow coolly shovelling up earth to fill a hole."
Warwick, whose wound was presumably paining him, but who defied the surgeon to keep him in the hospital, said nothing. Afterwards brightening up, he began in his usual cool way to discuss the situation.
"We've got guns enough this time to pound them to bits, and men enough to eat them, but they'll make a fight of it, and a stiff one. That redoubt's an artful piece of work, and the line of rifle-pits between it and the swamp is well placed. More than the flagstaff is—for us, I mean. I believe it's ever so far in the rear to draw the fire. That's an old dodge of theirs. However, there must be a breach in the afternoon."
"I should say before that; the firing's very accurate," said Massinger. "And that Armstrong six-pounder is enfilading their left."
"After lunch, if we get any," quoth Slyde.
Whatever "stomach for the fight" the men told off for the assault had, the ration served out to the Forest Rangers, who were notified for that service, along with a hundred and fifty sailors and marines and the same number of the 43rd, was discussed with appetite. A reserve of three hundred men, under Captain Hamilton of H.M.S. Esk, formed the reserve.
The assault was on.
Colonel Booth and Commander Hay led the way into the inner trench, where no enemy was to be seen. But from earth-covered pits and passages poured forth a volley, under which officers and men [Pg 298] fell rapidly. Still the crowd of assailants pressed on, only to be shot down as they entered the fatal death-trap. The reserve joined, with headlong rush, in support of their comrades—all vainly, as it seemed. The officers of both services continued to drop, but the ranks closed up—
Captain Hamilton fell in his place when leading the reserve. Colonel Booth and Commander Hay had fallen before. Captains Hamilton, Glover, Mure, Utterton, and two lieutenants, all of the 43rd, were shot dead or mortally wounded, as also Captain Glover's brother, whom he tried to carry off. The front ranks of the storming party were annihilated.
In a very few minutes every officer of the column was either dead or wounded. Among the latter were Slyde and Warwick. They had gone down along with the officers of the 43rd. When they awoke to consciousness it was dark, and their comrade Massinger was nowhere to be seen or heard.
Stunned and panic-stricken, deprived of their officers, the men had broken and fled—in such headlong haste that they took no advantage of the ground. On the open surface of the ridge, many were shot. No one could account for the disaster. Some said that the word "Retreat" was heard and acted upon; others, that the main body of the natives had rushed to the rear, and being met by the 68th Regiment posted there, recoiled, and dashing back to sell their lives dearly, were mistaken by the soldiers for a Maori reinforcement. Then the Maori warriors turned to the work of slaughter. Rawiri [Pg 299] leaped on to the parapet as he fired, taunting the soldiery and inviting them to renew the fight. As the day declined, the garrison made a determined rush to the right wing of the pah. During the darkness of the night they stole away in small parties. They passed silently through the fern, or by the right rear, leaving (and this was most exceptional) their dead and wounded behind them.
In the garrison fought all day Henare Taratoa, educated under Bishop Selwyn at St. John's College before 1853. He tended one of the wounded, who in his dying agonies thirsted for a drop of water. The Maoris had none. Taratoa threaded his way through the English sentries in the darkness, and returned with a calabash of water to slake his enemy's thirst. More than that. By the side of each wounded Englishman was found in the morning some small water-vessel, placed there by the Maoris before they deserted the fort.
Colonel Booth was carried out of the pah in the morning. The general went to him, but the gallant soldier felt the repulse so deeply that he turned away his face, saying, "General, I can't look at you. I tried to carry out your orders, but we failed." He died that evening.
The tameless islanders were not minded to give up all for lost, even now. By one great effort they might force back the invader, or possibly combine the tribes against him. At any rate, in the quasi-victory of the Gate Pah they had obtained utu for the death of many a warrior, many a chief. But, even now, the tribes were unbeaten. News came to Colonel Greer from the Maori allies that yet another pah at Te [Pg 300] Ranga was rising, a few miles from the scene of the recent conflict.
Slyde and Warwick, severely though not dangerously wounded, were both in hospital, precluded from participation in the closing engagement, which they deeply regretted. Lieutenant Massinger reported missing.
"Hard lines," said the former, raising himself with difficulty from his stretcher, "not to have a throw in at the finish. I feel convinced this must snuff the beggars out. The colonel will at them before they have time to do much. Friendlies in great heart. The 43rd die to a man or wipe out their defeat."
"Yes," said Warwick, "I believe their hour is come. How grieved Massinger will be that he is out of it! However, he may think himself lucky to escape with his life."
"You think he has, then?" said Slyde.
"He was all right when I saw him last, waving his sword, shoulder to shoulder with Von Tempsky, who was doing his best to rally the troops. Then I went down. Saw nothing more. I had a crack with the butt end of a tomahawk also. I have no doubt that he is with Mannering's hapu, most likely with Erena looking after him."
"In that case he's all right," said Slyde. "Maori women great nurses, always heard."
"They've got a tohunga in the tribe," continued Warwick, "the natives say, can cure any man that's not actually buried—bring him to life, they believe. Between him and Erena we'll see him back in Auckland all right."
Colonel Greer made no delay at Te Ranga. He marched at once with six hundred men, enfiladed [Pg 301] the enemy from a spur which commanded their right; drove in their skirmishers and kept up a sharp fire for two hours. Then, reinforced by a gun and two hundred additional men, the advance was sounded.
Short work was made of the assault. The 43rd and 68th, with the 1st Waikato, carried the rifle-pits with a rush. For a short space the natives fought desperately, then turned and fled, leaving sixty-eight men dead in the rifle-pits. The pursuit was keen. The 43rd avenged their losses at the Gate Pah. One hundred and ten Maoris were killed, twenty wounded, and ten made prisoners. Henare Taratoa lay among the dead. On his body was found a written order of the day. It began with prayer, and ended with the words, "If thine enemy hunger, feed him; if he thirst, give him drink."
Three stubbornly contested engagements had broken the Maori power. In them they lost their bravest warriors and nearly all their leading chiefs. They had no option but to yield. On the 5th of August the Governor, Sir George Grey, with General Cameron, met the assembled tribes. They had previously surrendered their arms to Colonel Greer, they now surrendered their lands; upon which the Governor promised to care for them as the Queen's subjects. He would retain one-fourth of their lands as atonement for the rebellion, but would return the remainder in recognition of their humanity throughout the war.
The Waikato tribes had sustained a final and crushing defeat. The flower of their race lay low, were wounded or in prison. They had forfeited their port at Tauranga, their most available outlet for produce. The war was ended.
[Pg 302]
Miss Tollemache had settled down at Oropi to the performance of her daily duties, and, like Massinger, commenced to discover that New Zealand was a most interesting, not to say exciting, place of abode. After completing her portion of the household work, which she gladly took upon herself in order to spare her friend's failing strength, she applied herself diligently to the study of the Maori tongue and the historical records of this newer Britain. The genial climate and regular exercise acted upon her constitution so favourably that she soon attained the fullest measure of health and spirits. Never yet had she felt stronger in mind and body, never yet so eager for opportunity to devote herself to the good work spread so abundantly before her. She was rewarded primarily by noting the gradual improvement of Mrs. Summers' health, and receiving the heartfelt thanks of the Reverend Cyril, who, between domestic troubles, parochial duties, and a natural apprehension of danger to his defenceless household, sorely needed aid and support. Such he found, in
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