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During the continuance of the battle, and even while we heard distinctly the sounds of warfare, I cordially united with Mr. Brown and his family in prayer to our heavenly Father, for those who at the moment might be engaged in deadly strife.
I have been repeatedly asked since, "Did you not feel that you would all be murdered before morning?" Nay, judging by a very false standard of the character of the natives, it was currently reported in town that we were all slaughtered, and that yells and fearful cries
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of distress had been heard by some engaged in the fight, as if coming from the direction of Brookwood. Thanks be to God, we were quietly reposing under His almighty protection!
Early in the morning the native left, and we saw no more of him. Soon after breakfast, an application was made to Mr. Brown to proceed to the pah at Kahihi, to bury the dead. He prepared, and his horse stood saddled for some time, but no further arrangement was made about his doing so. Let me here mention, that Mr. Brown had gone up the road towards the pah early in the morning, but had been stopped by natives calling to him, and telling him to go back. They sought his prayers, but not his blessing; for who could dare to give God's blessing on such work as night had closed upon, or the smiling morn revealed?
We were waiting about the yard when the traitor Manahi came, with a few other natives, all with heavy loads of plunder at their backs. Manahi was wounded in the hand. His
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sinister expression of face, greatly heightened by a complacent grin, no doubt on account of his escape from the hapless fate of many of his brethren, who, only the day before, he was urging on to "kill and spare not" the white man--who, however, had unexpectedly punished the insurgents, and sent many of them to their long account. 1
I feel thankful that I did not shake hands with this Manahi. As soon as I heard his name mentioned, I stepped back from the group that surrounded him. An aged Maori, feeling no doubt that the routing and discomfiture of the natives placed them all in no enviable position, gave as his parting salutation, "Wait a few days, and the Maories will come up again, stronger and more determined than
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ever." A resolution, I fancy, not very generally shared by the natives that day, whom soon after we saw in the distance, leaving in hurried and confused groups. With the help of glasses, we could see the main southern road stretching before us for three miles, to the Oakura headland; and along that road we saw the natives loaded with plunder, the property of the poor settlers; and again and again we heard reports of guns, no doubt as signals of retreat. Many of the more timid natives struck out of the road into the high fern, as if by a more private path to seek their homes, and escape the pursuit of an armed force, which it was very natural for them to suppose would follow up the victory obtained by their opponents the day before.
I must confess that it was a matter of surprise with us all that we saw no pursuit; and grievous was it to behold the hard savings and earnings of our neighbours carried away from their homes, we having no power to arrest the plunderers in their easy escape from the field of battle.
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It was but little that I dared to notice while amongst the 400 natives at their pah, but occasionally I stole a glance at their proceedings, and looked into their stockade. I saw how they had burrowed into the earth; first covering their square holes with rails, doors, and boards, and then putting the earth thrown out over them. Here, doubtless, they intended to take refuge in case of close attack, and so it proved; as I have since learned that a sailor had his leg cut by a native when he slipped through this roof of earth and wood. I observed that the intrenchments were made on the town-side of the pah only, that level ground surrounded it on all sides but that facing the Omata stockade. The pah itself was made of rails and posts cut from the fences near, tied with flax and some wire, from a wire-fence close at hand, occasionally twisted in. I did not view it as a very formidable affair, but ugly and forbidding enough in its commanding position--especially as a steep hill must be ascended to get to it from the road.
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Could a movement have been made at the flank, where no intrenchments existed, the natives could not so well have succeeded in effecting their escape with the property of the settlers. And seeing and knowing all this, I felt, when I saw no pursuit, that a want of promptitude and military energy had again retarded the settlement of an affair which every day was becoming more and more serious and complicated. The natives would, of course, construe all this into weakness; l
and there were numbers waiting only to see which was the strongest party, to decide them in their actions. The defeat at the Waireka opened the eyes of some few natives, for I am convinced that I afterwards saw two, if not three, of the natives, who were among the war-party, a few days after the battle in the uniform of friendly natives.
It was not until the afternoon of the day after the battle that Mr. Brown and James Keeler felt it safe to leave the premises. They then rode to the Omata stockade, and
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learned then, for the first time, why the forces were sent out--viz., to rescue the settlers from what was deemed "a frightfully perilous position," in the midst of savage and treacherous natives.
I was on the watch for their return. As soon as Mr. Brown saw me he called out, "Get the carts ready for town directly, and tell all to prepare as quickly as possible." This was soon done, not well knowing at the time why we were to leave in such haste, and not inclined to lose time by inquiring; trusting implicitly in Mr. Brown, well knowing that he must have good reasons for the directions given. Ere we left, Mr. Brown's son, Frank, rode to the cross-roads, and got the Maori placard--the translation of which I have given. This was a document too curious to be lost. We were not long before we were on the road to town. Passing my house down the bush road, with our white calico scarfs over the shoulder, we soon met with several friendly natives, which, it being dusk, and
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not knowing their uniform, I mistook for southern natives, and felt for one moment a doubt of our safety. On that bush road is a large puriri stump, from which a slab was cut, polished and exhibited at the Great Exhibition of 1851. We had not journeyed on far past this stump before we saw before us a column of armed men (volunteers), standing in silence, ready to escort us through what, if any hostile natives had been skulking about, would have been a dangerous piece of road, there being close bush that would well serve as a cover.
Imagine the joy at recognising friends and neighbours, all safe and well, heartily shaking us by the hand, and, instead of reproaching us for the work of danger we had unwittingly given them, only thinking of our safety. Gratitude prompts a full acknowledgment of their heroic conduct, and no one of the company rescued felt it a slight benefit which they had conferred.
At the Inn, we came out into the main
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road. More friendly natives were waiting for us, who, as soon as we joined them, shouted out, together with the noble volunteers, a hearty cheer; guns were fired off by Maories, which altogether gave a martial air to the cavalcade; and so we journeyed on to the Omata stockade, saw my dear boy safe, and there we left the volunteers. One poor woman amongst us was in great trouble for her husband-- Mr. Somers. He had gone to his house during the time Mr. Brown was away at the stockade, and our leaving in such a hurry gave no time to look him up, as his house was some distance from Brookwood. His wife, an Irishwoman, most touchingly appealed to me, "Oh! Mr. Gilbert, I shall never see that man any more!" I felt that it was an unwise thing of the man to leave in that way, but at the same time felt sure of his safety; and that when he returned to Brookwood, he would conclude that we were off to town, and would at once follow us, if not all the way that night, at any rate as far
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as the stockade; and so I strived to comfort the poor woman with this assurance. I may just state that the man came to town all right next morning.
We reached New Plymouth rather late in the evening, wearing our white scarfs, of which we felt not a little proud. They were with us as much an emblem of peace as the soldier's red uniform is of war. The union of families and friends, after so much of a trying nature to deepen our longing to see and embrace each other, gave an air of joy and calm peace to the close of the day.
All who were in any way engaged in the battle were very desirous to know its results, and not a little chagrined to hear that the natives had returned southward, richly laden with plundered spoil -- the more so as my description of the pah, and the hurried retreat of its defenders, at once showed what might have been done in taking many of the natives prisoners, or at any rate rescuing the property of the settlers.
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It was natural to boast of the feats done at the battle; still, it was painful to hear the constant rejoicing that the natives had suffered the loss of their chiefs and many of their fighting men. One stripling declared that he had "shot down six Maories;" another, that it was capital fun to see the Maories drop around on all sides. I shall surely not be accused of cowardice, after what I have related of the dangers to which we were all exposed, and the risk of frequent exposure to the reputedly murderous appetite of the natives; but I could not share in the self-glorification of these Maori-slayers, neither could I engage in a service having for its object the avenging of the murder of my poor neighbours. I say, it may be natural to feel a desire to seek revenge, but it is not Christian; for Christianity teaches us the duty of restraining these natural feelings, and forbids the rendering evil for evil: "Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord; I will repay."
Holding these views, I deemed a settlement
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under martial law, and a town likely to be not much better than a garrison--where every man was expected to take up arms, and be fully prepared to kill and destroy at the bidding of officers, who perhaps had no interest in the matter beyond the mere glory of slaying the greatest number--no fitting place for me or my family. I therefore gladly availed myself of the opportunity afforded by the Provincial Government to all exempted by law from serving in the militia, as well as women and children, to proceed by steamers to Nelson, where we all landed in safety on the evening of Good Friday.
The reader will recollect that my son William had left his home to transact some business in New Plymouth, on the day before the battle of Waireka. All means of communication were very soon after his departure cut off, and I remained in a painful state of anxiety about him until Mr. Brown went to the Omata stockade with the bodies of the poor murdered lads. It may be well, before
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proceeding further with my narrative, to give some account of him, and what he saw on his attempted journey home--his return to town, and the consequent expedition of the volunteers, military, &c, to Omata.
On his way to town, William had seen a number of natives on the Waireka hill, but not until he had proceeded some distance on the road. They appeared to him to be building a pah. He communicated what he had seen to several persons in town, hurriedly finished his business, and returned as far as the Omata stockade, when he was told the natives had been within six hundred yards, and danced the war-dance; that several guns had been fired off by them; and, even while the Captain was speaking, they were to be seen on the brow of the hill he would have to go over. He was strongly advised to return back to town. This, at first, he was inclined to do, as I had particularly wished him not to proceed either way, if he saw any danger; but fearing that I might not be aware of the
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serious aspect of affairs, he determined to ride home, and try to persuade me to leave home with him and his brothers for town the next day.
He set spurs to his horse and rode on at a sharp pace until he reached the Inn, and was turning up the road branching out of the main road, when his horse shied and stopped. He looked towards the fence, and there saw a dead body, a few yards before him. He looked steadily at it for a few moments, but the face being covered with blood, he could not discover who it was, although he knew that it was a European. His first impulse was to turn and inform the men at the stockade, galloping his horse until he reached the garrison. Directly he was seen, the men all rushed out, and asked, "What is the matter?" They all looked pale and excited, concluding at once that something serious had happened, by his returning with such haste. He called out, "There is a dead body in the road, just round the corner by the Inn!"
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The Captain immediately sent off twenty armed men, who had courageously volunteered to go and see who of their companions was killed. They were accompanied by Mr. Gledhill, auctioneer, and Mr. Handy, an Omata farmer, on horses. These two persons were just about to go up the same bush road as led to Brighton-place, to see about some cattle; but seeing so many persons out of the garrison, and thinking something must be wrong, they rode up to the stockade and learnt what had happened. They at once said, "We will go with the volunteers, and then gallop back to acquaint the Captain with whatever it may be necessary for him to know." They returned in a few minutes, and said, "A cart is wanted immediately; we have seen three dead bodies," at the same time mentioning their names. As soon as Mr. Gledhill had stated this, a despatch was sent to town.
William waited until a few others were ready, and then rode with them to town. He found the town volunteers drawn up in a line, in the
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street. As soon as William was seen, Colonel Gold stopped him, and asked for particulars of what he had witnessed. He was soon surrounded by a crowd, all eager to know who was killed, and where; and the confused questions were somewhat difficult to answer satisfactorily, when the Commander demanded silence, and said, "Let him tell me the particulars; he can tell his story to you afterwards." After acquainting the Colonel with all he knew and had seen, he was asked by James Ritchie, Esq., to give his evidence to the magistrates, which was taken down in writing. It was now about half-past five o'clock, p. m. When William reached the lodgings where my family was staying, he found his mother and sisters crying, for they had just that moment heard he had been killed. They were joyfully surprised to see him. His mother had on her bonnet for the purpose of going to Mr. Gledhill to inquire about the report, as she was unwilling to believe it until convinced of its truth.
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He met many persons in the evening, to whom he related what he had seen. The sister of one of the poor murdered boys was with my wife, when the carts with the bodies of the three men passed the window of the house; but she did not know at that time of the death of her brother.
Not many of the towns-people went to bed that night. About ten o'clock, the next morning, William went in search of Colonel Gold, for he did not feel certain of the safety of myself and the three boys. He saw Colonel Gold talking to Major Herbert, just by the Brigade Office. He went up to him and requested to speak with him. The Colonel turned, and walked with him up the street. William then stated the fact that thirty-five souls were remaining at Omata, and that the armed natives were but a very little distance from the locality where they were living. The Colonel walked on a few steps, evidently excited, and then stopped and said, "This is a very serious business; something must be done." He
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called Major Herbert, and said to him, "How is it these people are not in town?" Major Herbert replied, "It is their own fault, for they have had notice." William said he was quite certain no notice had been received by his father and others, who, in fact, had relied upon the assurance that proper notice would be given, when it was deemed absolutely necessary for the settlers to seek the town. He was asked to describe the country, and he showed that the troops could go through open country by the beach, &c. He was asked if he would go as guide, if troops were sent. He replied, "Willingly;" but thought it would be better for an older and more experienced person to act in that capacity, and named several persons who, he knew, were well acquainted with the face of the country. The Commander said, "It would be better; go and look up some of the people you have named." This William did, and George Curtis, Esq., J. P., was appointed guide. The Commander then went to see the Governor, and in about
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an hour after this conversation the expedition to Omata was set on foot.
This expedition was organised to bring off from Omata the families to whom I have referred. As every movement could (by the help of glasses) be distinctly observed from the barracks, it appeared at one time as if the natives were approaching in a body towards the Omata stockade to attack it. This, however, was quickly set right by some one riding in from Omata and stating that the natives had only approached within rifle-shot, fired off a volley in the air, danced their war-dance, and gone back to their pah. A deputation of twelve ladies--mothers and sisters of the poor fellows cooped up at the stockade--were about to wait upon the Governor, to ask that the Omata garrison might be broken up, and the men be allowed to come into town, as from various causes there were so very few to defend it; and the threatening aspect of the natives was so very alarming to those whose hearts were yearning for the safety of those
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dear to them. They proceeded down the town towards his Excellency's residence, but the Governor not being at home, they were told by some of the authorities that their petition could not be entertained. Their memorial in the morning had been seen by the Governor, and in answer he had said "that the Omata stockade was one of the places that must be held by the settlers." Just at that moment, a few friendly natives rode into the centre of the town, in a very excited state, and said the southern natives were on their way to attack the town. A concourse of people were assembled on this spot. Every one seemed on the qui vive. Women crying and wringing their hands, children screaming and clinging in fear to their mothers, men running to and fro, the militia and volunteers already in ranks, and not a house but what its inmates were outside, all looking at each other, and eagerly inquiring for news--pale, breathless, and trembling with anxiety.
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A proclamation had been issued, some time previous to this, that in any case of real danger, or cause for alarm, two large guns were to be fired from the barracks on Marsland-hill; the militia and volunteers, within a circle of two miles round, were then to rush into town; the women and children were to take refuge in. the barracks, church, and chapels, and all were to hold themselves in readiness to meet any attack that might be made by the insurgents. The preconcerted signal was given by firing off the two guns; and although it was pretty generally understood that this was to be a notice of danger, yet many were at a loss for some time to account for it, imagining all sorts of calamities. My wife's apartments were just opposite, and below the barracks. She saw the smoke of the cannon, and heard the dreadful booming of the report, and immediately a stream of women and children were to be seen hurrying up the steep path into the barracks, for full ten minutes--some women, with a child under
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each arm, without either hat, bonnet, or shawl --some with a bundle hastily thrown together, and many seemed utterly bewildered, amidst the confusion and noise of women crying, children screaming, and the eager, anxious questions to know what it was all about. Those who had previously left their homes in the distant neighbourhood, and had taken up their temporary abode a little distance out of town, were at once ordered into the church or chapels; and thus again were driven from their thresholds. Can any one imagine the dire confusion occasioned by all this? The scene has been described to me as painful and heart-rending in the extreme.
The force sent out to Omata consisted of the Light Company of the 65th Regiment; about 140 of the militia and volunteers, under Captains Browne, Stapp, and Atkinson; and a small party of the war-steamer Niger's crew and marines, under the command of Lieutenant Blake--the whole under the entire command of Lieutenant-Colonel Murray.
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The volunteers proceeded by the beach -- the military by the main road.
The arrangement appears to have been that the civilians should, if possible, pass by the beach round the native force, and take charge of the families in question; the troops halting at the cross-road called the Whaler's Gate, about three quarters of a mile nearer the town than the stockade, and about two miles from Mr. Brown's house. The country being broken, it would have been difficult for the troops in their stationary position to have quickly seen any danger to the settlers, and it may be justly questioned whether it was very soldier-like to send raw undisciplined men, even although under the care and command of courageous men like the Captains I have named, upon so hazardous a mission, seeing, as they must have done, the natives pouring down in great numbers towards the beach. But the military orders were, "On no account take the men to or near the bush; and be back into town before dusk." This was the first
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induction of the poor unconsulted settlers into the ever-after pursued plan of making them bear the first brunt of the battle, protecting the soldiers by going in skirmishing order in advance at all the promenades south and north, taking pickets every other night, and working in the intrenchments all day. 2
The pah on the Waireka hill, which is a lofty ridge commanding the main road for a considerable distance, could be seen by the naked eye most of the way on the road to it; the natives also could see over the country and along the beach to town; so that no movement could be made without its being at once seen and known to the insurgents. Parties of natives were out on the rocks, and along the beach, and about the pah, completely intercepting communication by way of the road with us, who, nevertheless, felt secure of our safety. The volunteers and militia made their way over the loose iron-sand at a smart pace,
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and on arriving at a point beyond Herkawa, about a mile from the great Sugar-loaf Rock, the insurgents were seen pouring down towards the beach, along the edge of the gulley below a farmer's house (Mr. John Jury's). Captain Atkinson was sent forward with fifty men in skirmishing order, and these men were the first to receive the fire. It was some minutes before the main body joined them, and in this interval the advanced party were hard pressed and thrown into disorder for a moment --one young man, F. Rawson, the son of Dr. Rawson, falling badly wounded in the thigh. 3 They rallied immediately, and the main body arriving, the whole held their ground, although surrounded and greatly outnumbered. After some time a party was detached to command the beach, and preserve as far as possible the line of retreat.
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It would be difficult to give any correct idea of this battle, even if desirable. It was, however, maintained vigorously for the whole afternoon, until dark. The cover of the volunteer party consisted of the house and stacks of the farmer before alluded to, and a rough but efficient breastwork of logs, firewood, and oat-straw, on which they retreated as night drew on. Their ammunition running low, and no communication taking place with the other parties in the expedition, they were obliged to cease firing, and reserve what few rounds remained for a final rush, should that be necessary. In an early part of the battle, the Niger's party and some of the soldiers appeared in the rear of the militia and volunteers, and for a time kept the natives from closing in on them. The Niger's men disappeared, driving a number of natives before them, and the men of the 65th Regiment retired on their support. It is said, that when application was made to Colonel Murray for more help and ammunition, his reply was,
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"They have got into a mess; and they must get out of it how they can."
When it was perceived from the barracks that the fight had begun on the beach, and it was notified that a party of volunteers were hotly engaged with the insurgents, and short of ammunition, Captain Cracroft was requested to furnish a naval brigade to accompany a lieutenant and a few men of the 65th Regiment in charge of the ammunition to Omata. At three o'clock he landed sixty men and officers, and, guided by Messrs. F. Mace and C. and E. Messenger, used such despatch that he reached the scene of strife at half-past five, having searched every empty house on the line of march. Being relieved of the ammunition, the rocket party was advantageously posted near Mr. Newsham's store in the village, and the remainder of the party proceeded to attack the insurgents along the road to the ridge opposite the pah, into which the natives were swarming. After discharging a few rockets with admirable precision, they
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rushed up the steep hill and entered the intrenchments, clearing their way with revolver, cutlass, and pistol. The sailors called to each other to make "a back," to enable them to jump over the palisades right into the midst of the armed natives. By this bold act the natives were taken by surprise, and somewhat paralysed. Thus, by taking advantage of a thickly-wooded gulley, Captain Cracroft came unexpectedly on the natives, opened fire, drove them back, and charging the fugitives, entered the pah simultaneously with them.
A promised reward of £10 to the capturer of the Maori flag had caused the palisades to be quickly surmounted in the way I have described, and William Ogden was the first man in amongst the insurgents. This took place in as short a space of time as its narration. The sailors alone took the pah, held it, and only left it to return on board and provide for their creature-comfort and the safety of their craft. Many natives were killed, others were wounded, and several of the principal chiefs
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were slain. It is supposed that about twelve chiefs and sixty Maories were killed, but the certainty of this has never been ascertained-- the natives at all hazards taking care of their dead and wounded.
The Maori flag was captured, 4 and thus a diversion effected, which certainly saved my brother-settlers from being destroyed to a man, from their perilous situation, absolute want of ammunition, and being shamefully abandoned by the military. The recall being sounded by Colonel Murray, the troops returned to town before dusk, in obedience to positive orders. As I have said, the situation of the volunteers and militia was perilous indeed; and it needed cool and determined officers, like
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those who took the lead on this occasion, to maintain their spirits in such circumstances. They did so, however, and retired silently, under cover of the darkness, and arrived in town after midnight--just as the excitement was fast approaching almost madness, amongst mothers, wives, and sisters, &c, and as a relief party of the 65th Regiment and the militia was leaving for their help.
At this battle two men were killed--one a soldier, the other a Maori; and nine settlers were more or less wounded. I had a long conversation with one of these wounded men (a good, pious young man), and had I spare time it would be interesting to relate his story, and how for hours he was left alone near the scene of conflict--the sensations which he had, and the support which the thought of the love of God afforded him in his solitude, pain, and danger--the anxious search for him by his brother and a party who happily found him ere he was quite exhausted with pain and suffering.
I wish, too, I could convey to the reader
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some idea of a very interesting conversation I had with a farmer's wife, a Scotchwoman, the mother of a large family, and one whose losses since the breaking out of the war may be summed up in the words "lost everything" Her husband had, by the industry and perseverance of himself and family, brought his farm into a state of productiveness even beyond that of most of his neighbours. He had once a quiet, beautiful homestead, and every prospect of prosperity and enjoyment in the decline of life. Alas, for them, and for many others like them, who had toiled for years, these prospects, homes, and farms have become "the abomination of desolation." I believe it did the dear woman good to tell me her sorrows--they came gushing forth in a full torrent, while with tearful eyes and a quivering voice she related to me the incidents of the day in town on which the battle of Waireka took place. "Oh!" exclaimed this mother, "what were my feelings none can tell, when I saw my son prepare to go forth
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to the battle! I felt that my heart would break should he be killed! No entreaty would stop him, as he acted from a sense of duty. Our stay and our comfort seemed for the time to have passed as a fleeting shadow from the house, when he turned his back on the door, and I watched his firm, active step down the path. How anxiously did I wait and pray for his return! How eagerly did I catch every glimpse of hope of safety to him and all! And when night came, and not my son, I went forth into the town and mingled with the crowd of anxious inquirers; and there I learnt that the volunteers were surrounded by the natives, abandoned by the military, and no hope of their being saved. The terror and overwhelming sorrow of that hour I wish no mother to experience! And when the soldiers came into town, unscathed, without the volunteers, I for one frantically seized an officer by the arm, and asked, in a tone that he dared not resist, 'Where are the volunteers?' 'My good woman,' he replied, in a touching and
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sympathising tone, 'I know not.' I almost sank down under the fearful apprehension that my boy, together with others, would meet with a cruel death, and that I should never see him again, and a kind of stupor seized me while I rested on my daughter's arm. And so hours passed on, until all at once a tumultuous cry of joy thrilled through my veins, and the words 'The volunteers are safe!' quickened me into life again. I saw these noble fellows now as anxious to satisfy all interested in their safety, as they were not long before to effect their escape from dangers to which they had been so shamefully exposed. Many anxious voices were raised in loud inquiries for those dear and anxiously-looked-for ones, who had escaped through God's mercy the perils which at one time it seemed as if death alone would terminate. I am not one of those who think that you and others who remained at Omata caused us all this anguish and sorrow; for I believe an overruling Providence did by this means save the town and all of us from
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greater trials than any we have yet experienced."
A great deal has been said and written about this battle and its cause. I am quite prepared to give full credit to the wish of all engaged in it to do their utmost to effect the rescue of all whose lives at the time were thought to be in the utmost peril; and should very much regret, even more than I do now, that we were the unwilling cause of the conflict, but for the fact that I think this very unexpected encounter with the natives prevented the dire calamity of an attack on the town, by about one thousand well-armed, desperate natives, which I had reason to believe was planned, and would doubtless have been attempted, had not this taken place. The natives were thus taught that they had tougher men to deal with, in the courageous volunteers and militia--who were, as they thought and felt, defending their own property and that of their neighbours and friends--than the soldiers, who, as mere mercenaries, fight only for
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empty glory, or under the influence of a power which they dare not resist.
Relying, as most of us did, on the assurance that timely notice would be given when our removal was absolutely necessary, I do think it rather hard that a sweeping censure should have been passed upon the Rev. H. Brown, myself, and others, for remaining at Omata until after the battle. Nay, it has been even said that the blood of all slain, and the sufferings of all wounded on that occasion, rest upon our heads. I cannot but trace in the whole affair a merciful Providence, and feel most sincerely thankful that we were made the humble instruments of preventing a vast amount of bloodshed, and probably dire confusion and fearful calamities, too serious to contemplate, happening to the town.
It is very doubtful, even if the troops had succeeded in reaching our place of safety, that we should all have placed ourselves under their care and protection. Be it recollected, it was no wish of ours that an armed
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expedition should be set on foot on our behalf; and as the natives had been faithful to us, we should have departed from our principles of neutrality if we had placed ourselves under the protection of the military. While quite ready to acknowledge the promptitude of my fellow-settlers in volunteering, no doubt from the very best of motives--and ever anxious as I am to acknowledge with gratitude the hazardous attempt--yet I repeat, that I think it would have been wrong to have gone forth from our unfortified refuge with armed men, while the natives were about, and there was any possibility of a conflict when we were in the hands of the military. When we did leave for town, every hostile native was away, and far on the road southward, quietly effecting their escape with the property of the poor plundered settlers.
This may seem to many very thankless, but I must contend that the very expedition itself placed us in a most fearfully dangerous situation, especially if the natives had but proved themselves to be such monsters of
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savage cruelty as they are always represented by their enemies.
It may be urged "that we had no right to argue, but to act; that we were glad to enjoy all the protection, but shrank from the work of defence." And, unfortunately, this is the spirit with which those who have the authority have made both the willing and the unwilling to act; the settlers, and their interests, consciences and property, being as chaff before the wind of military expediency.
A few days after the battle, Mr. Brown procured, at a great expense, carts from friendly natives to get some of his goods and chattels into town. I and my son William, with our cart, accompanied this expedition. It was painful to witness the greedy and avaricious appetite of the natives exhibit itself in their haggling for terms of remuneration for engaging to render their assistance. No carts could be had in town. The native carts were idle, but they refused to let them go without at the same time having a strong armed escort
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of their own people, and every man in this escort to be paid. Mr. Brown offered terms which one would have thought satisfactory, but the cunning creatures knowing the circumstances of the case, a pressing demand was made for more. We started at last, disgusted with their greediness, and then determined to go on to Brookwood, and to do the best we could, without their carts, their pretended protection, or assistance. But we had not proceeded far before they quickly put to their bullocks in their carts, and immediately followed--thinking, no doubt, the chance of securing so much money would not very soon happen again. We journeyed on with eight bullock-carts and about forty friendly natives, without experiencing anything particular; arrived at Brookwood; quickly loaded the carts with what was most urgently required, leaving Mr. Brown's good furniture, and returned to within a mile of town with our imposing escort. At one particular point, wishing some of the natives to turn up a road to
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secure some of Mr. Touett's property, they objected parting company, and manifested or pretended a fear of hostile natives. They had no objection, however, to my going unarmed to see that all was right. I felt that if I had no other security but their bravery, poor and woful would be my lot! They managed to ease us of a few little things, which, notwithstanding our vigilance, we could not prevent their taking.
The Sunday following the battle, all the families that had been under the kind protection of Mr. Brown, and shared together in his hospitality, went to Church in compliance with his wishes. As the service was short, my wife and I went from the Church to the Wesleyan Methodist Chapel. As some portion of the Chapel was occupied by persons as a temporary shelter, an alteration had been made in the time of service that the evenings might be quiet. We were thus enabled to secure seats, just as the first hymn was singing. The Rev. Mr. C. Fletcher, the minister of the Chapel, de-
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livered a most excellent and appropriate sermon, full of spiritual life and comfort, rightly viewing the trials of the moment as lessons conveying a far deeper meaning than could be learnt by trusting in our own poor, weak judgment of things--lamenting the unhappy conflict between the two races, who were, in the sight of God, brethren--urging that perhaps our hands were not altogether clean in this matter--that incontestable as the advantages of civilization undoubtedly are, we had not perhaps taken sufficient care to shield the natives from the evils which follow in its train--that we had not exercised that constant watchfulness which was requisite to counteract the grosser influences with which they were brought into contact. Not forgetting the good done by Christian instruction, how much more might it have been, had the natives been brought more frequently and directly into contact with the true principles of order, nationality, and Christian nobleness--that whilst influences have been busy among them
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for evil, sowing suspicion, misrepresenting actions and motives, we have not been sufficiently active in the opposite direction--that by an exercise of the spirit of love, their evil passions might be subdued, and their whole souls brought into subjection to the law of God and Christianity. The prayer was the most earnest pouring out of the pious soul in gratitude to God, and a yearning for that help which is promised to them who seek it, that I ever had the sacred pleasure of listening to. Altogether, the service was consoling, confirming, and soul-supporting. Oh! what a privilege have those to whom the means of grace are ever available--who, by neither distance, nor care, nor sorrow, nor affliction, are shut out from a full participation in the solemn enjoyment of the house of God!
After one more visit to Omata, and a hurried preparation to leave New Plymouth, I sought to obtain the consent of the military authorities to proceed at once with my family to Nelson. For such a simple request one
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would have thought the course smooth enough, especially to one exempted from serving in the militia. I did not find it so, however; and although, after much perseverance and some not very courteous rebuffs, I succeeded in obtaining what was needful, it is but little for which I feel bound to thank the authorities. I saw and heard enough, the few days that I stayed in town, to make me view the then existing state of things as highly immoral, and destructive to the best interests of Taranaki. The settlers had in all things to give precedence to the soldiers; and the overbearing manner of the military officers and coxcombry of the militia officials would have been somewhat amusing, had it not been in many respects very trying and painful to bear.
After a rough passage of thirty-six hours, in which we experienced from the Captain of the Wonga-Wonga and his crew the greatest attention and kindness, we landed at Nelson amidst hundreds of eager but kindly-disposed people. In the crowd, whether from fright
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or excitement, my youngest boy drew his little hand out of mine, and it being dark, he was in a moment mingling with the crowd. He was immediately caught up and taken into the tavern a few yards from the head of the pier. I was in a very distressed state of mind for a few moments, fearing the dear little fellow had slipped into the water. Eagerly inquiring if such a little fellow had been seen, I at last met with the very gentleman who had, for safety, taken him to the tavern.
We were all very poor sailors, and glad enough when the vessel became steadier as she passed up Blind Bay to the harbour. The city of Nelson is about a mile from the haven, to which there is an excellent macadamised road. In fact, the roads are all good, compared with those of Taranaki.
Next day, after seeing our luggage safely put into a cart, we journeyed on four miles out of town on the Wakapuaka road, and up a valley called Dodson's Valley, where almost at its extreme verge, and close under the hills,
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we found our house, which had not been inhabited for more than a year and a half. This I had succeeded in getting rent-free, for there was a generous rivalry with the kind-hearted inhabitants of Nelson to do the utmost for the comfort and shelter of the expatriated Taranaki settlers. It was towards evening when we arrived.
We spread our beds on the floor, and sought the rest so desirable to our wearied bodies and sorrowing hearts. We all complained of the sensation of the house appearing to reel with us, and the floor to move from our feet, and our heads as heavy as lead. Bare and scanty was our lot! Yet we were happy in being thus united -- dwelling in safety, in peace, and quietness, far away from the strife, the noise, and confusion, which had made the otherwise quiet town of New Plymouth anything but an agreeable place of residence.
To Him whose goodness we beheld enthroned and reigning over all the events of time and the destinies of eternity, who
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watcheth over His children in their weakness, and subdueth their strength when armed against His will, we committed ourselves and our children, and enjoyed the sweetest night of rest since we were compelled to leave our own lovely home. Dear to each other, it was no little matter for thanksgiving when we awoke on the light of a Sabbath, the most lovely that nature in all her profuse richness could bestow--that we were thus spared to each other to begin life afresh--to suffer and struggle again, if need be, with a firm trust in the infinite love of God. "There is shadow and mystery upon all the creation, till we see God in it; there is trouble and fear till we see God's love in it."
I know not how to give an idea of the secluded spot on which stands our little but convenient house. It has about it, notwithstanding its neglected state, an air of quiet prettiness. The front partially covered with roses and honeysuckle, perfuming the air, and in their loveliness reminding us of bygone
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delights amidst our own sweet garden--the weeping willows (Salix Babylonica) overhanging the babbling rivulet close to the house-- the native fuschia--apple and other fruit trees-- all helped to reconcile us to our new home. A year ago I should have thought this place dull and forbidding enough. Compared with my own delightful homestead, it wears an air of poverty and baldness which is anything but enticing to a lover of nature. Yet I feel how kind, indeed, it was of a perfect stranger to give us shelter, and supply us at once with many necessaries and some few luxuries in our destitute state.
There is more of the stern reality of nature here than one sees at Taranaki. A semicircle of "marvellous hills in fluctuation fixed" bounds the valley, with an opening looking on to the bay, which, with its singular boulder-bank separating an extensive mud-flat from the shingled shore, forms a straight line stretching for eight miles from the harbour to the hills. The tide ebbs and flows every
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day over thousands of acres of this land, which, doubtless, at some future day, will be made available for agricultural purposes. This often presents a most lovely scene--calm, clear, and unruffled; reflecting the clouds and hills on its surface, and laving the shore with a pleasant sound. The opposite shore, with its long range of snow-capped mountains, greatly adds to the beauty of the scene.
How pleasing the fact, that human nature soon adapts itself to the varying circumstances of life! Here I find enough to awaken a deep sense of the goodness of the Almighty-- enough to carry the "enraptured vision from earth to heaven." And yet here, as if to remind me still that the dreary waters of the flood of difficulties were not subsided for the dove of comfort to find a resting place, I had some sore trials, to keep down my too-buoyant spirits; and as it too often happens, originating in the unhappy disposition of some people to injure the character, while refusing to listen to the arguments of those who,
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however truthful and sincere, may hold views differing from their own.
There was that said of me which at once shut up the hearts that otherwise were full of sympathy for the suffering stranger. I knew nothing of the opprobrium laid against me for acts which the whole course of my life would belie. I did wonder why cold looks, and in some instances, in hospitable rebuffs, were given, where I looked for sympathy and kindness. Judging by what I heard and read in the local newspapers, I was not surprised that prejudice existed against me for the views I entertained of the unchristian character of all war, and therefore I quietly bore all. It was impossible, however, not to become speedily and painfully sensible of the fact that I was now an exile; and whatever might be my feelings with regard to the unrighteous character of the war that had produced this change, and the consequences to which I was subjected through it--difficulty of procuring suitable employment --sickness in the house, and the inaptitude
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of those dear to me readily to succumb to the change in our circumstances--I found it not so easy quietly to cope with the unfortunate state of affairs, as regards providing for a large family.
The refugees were told that help would be afforded to them in their distress, if they complied with the wishes of the Taranaki Government by seeking shelter at Nelson; but, after a few weeks, a rigid economy caused such an alteration in the aid afforded, as seriously to affect the already suffering condition of some few families, particularly those with whom the head of the family happened to be--they being expected to obtain employment, and do something towards supporting their families.
Considerable sickness prevailed amongst the Taranaki people. My family was visited first by a low kind of fever, which laid up my wife and three of the youngest children at the same time. One of these afterwards had an attack of typhus fever, from which she recovered only
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through careful and good nursing, and through God's mercy she was spared to us. In the midst of all this affliction I received an official letter from New Plymouth, announcing the serious illness, even almost unto death, of the poor lad whom we were compelled to leave behind us when we left Taranaki. I lost no time in seeking the means to enable me to go at once by the steamer to rescue him, if alive, from so execrable a life as he had been forced to lead. To the honour of the Superintendent of Nelson be it said, a moment's hesitation was not needed to dictate to him a generous helping hand; and I took my passage in the steamer the next day after the receipt of the letter, thus leaving one child delirious and dying for aught I knew, to seek and save another in the hospital at New Plymouth.
My visit to Taranaki not only afforded me the happiness of finding my son convalescent, but also of meeting with a great deal of kindness, and cordial warm-hearted wishes that I might be enabled to satisfy the Nelson people
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that I was not what I had been represented; and letters of a satisfactory character were written on my behalf by gentlemen, who (not having their consent to name them) will receive this brief acknowledgment of their kindness, as coming from a heart that will long remember it with gratitude.
