CHAPTER IX.
[Image of page 30]
CHAPTER IX.
CAPTAIN Mackintosh, of the 1st Class Militia, and Captain Derrom, of the Volunteers, were in command of the detachments that marched out to Otahuhu. This advance force numbered about 200 bayonets, drafted from the different companies of Militia and Volunteers. Other detachments followed shortly afterwards. All classes of society were represented by
[Image of page 31]
these citizen soldiers, as may be seen by the roll of one company of the 1st Class Militia, which consisted of 1 Custom-house officer, 29 clerks, 3 surveyors, 1 seedsman, 4 farmers, 3 builders, 1 cabinetmaker, 14 carpenters, 2 shipwrights, 1 boat builder, 1 painter, 1 grainer, 1 mason, 2 bricklayers, 5 blacksmiths, 1 tinsmith, 2 bootmakers, 2 printers, 1 storeman, 1 storekeeper, 1 grocer, 1 chemist, 2 carters, 4 labourers, 2 teachers, 1 photographer, 1 keeper lunatic asylum, 3 gentlemen, 8 servants, 1 ostler, and 2 without either trade or calling.
The sudden withdrawal of so many artizans from their business occasioned great loss and inconvenience to the tradespeople. Some trades were completely paralized for a time, and one newspaper had to suspend its issue, having no compositors to set up the type--they had gone to the front.
Fifty of the Auckland Naval Brigade, under Lieutenant Guilding and Sub-Lieutenant Stevenson, marched to Onehunga on the same day as the Militia and Volunteers left the Barracks, with the object of cruising round the Manukau in boats to pick up and destroy any canoes that they might find. They were to have been accompanied by 50 friendly natives who had arrived from Rotorua and were armed with rifles supplied by the Government, but the Navals refused to march in company with armed natives. The townspeople took the matter up, and a deputation waited on the Governor and Native Minister, the Hon. Dillon Bell, and the result was that the natives were disarmed.
Five hundred of the 1st Class Militia were required for service outside of Auckland, and the departure of so many able men from the capital caused great uneasiness to the inhabitants, who were afraid that they might be attacked. Auckland in 1863 was very different from the Auckland of the present day, and although the capital of the colony and seat of Government, did not contain more than about 10,000 inhabitants, including men, women, and children. Where the densest part of Newton now stands there were fern ridges and gullies. Ponsonby did not exist, and Parnell was but a mere straggling suburb. Those who were not on the Militia roll offered to do night patrol duty, and, amongst others at Parnell, Bishop Selwyn himself came forward to act as a night watchman unarmed, although what use an unarmed watchman, if attacked, would be against an armed Maori it is difficult to see. One night the sentry on duty in Freeman's Bay fired his piece at what he supposed to be a Maori, and caused such an alarm that the excited inhabitants in that quarter turned out en masse. But it was nothing; no natives made their appearance. The sentry had fired at a stump or something of the sort, and the trembling denizens returned again to their troubled couches, most of them to pass the remainder of the night in anxious suspense.
The following letter written at the time by one of the Militia, forcibly illustrates the gross incompetence and neglect of the Militia authorities in caring for the welfare of the men, many of whom they bad literally dragged from their homes. In the midst of abundance of supplies there was no excuse for the wretched ignorance and want of forethought displayed by the Colonial authorities. The writer says:--
"The men marched out in good spirits, and, though somewhat disheartened with the prospects of the incumbrance which sixty rounds presented to their progress, they marched cheerily. Tired and weary, they arrived at Otahuhu only to find that they were not to return, and that no preparations had been made for their reception at the camp. After a long delay, the men standing all the time in the wet and mud, numbers of them actually shivering with cold; these men were packed into huts which were dirty, cold and miserable. The camp authorities had only received notice that 200 men were coming, and no stores were sent. Six officers and 223 men were sent on Saturday night. On Sunday two officers and 100 men came in from Onehunga, and one officer and 50 men from Panmure and Otahuhu, being, nine officers and 373 men sent to camp without stores and without other preparations. Those who have felt the piercing cold (with continual wet boots and stockings) of the last few days will now be able to appreciate the delights of damp, cold, miserable and cheerless huts; with wind whistling through the crevices; no fire; and huddled together like sheep, with one candle to each hut, and nothing to eat. This was our situation; nor is it yet much improved. On Saturday night, short commons; on Sunday, no bread served
[Image of page 32]
out till after 10 p.m. Raining fast, we could not stir from the huts without being up to ancles in mud. After dark, no stirring out at all without the chance of falling into ditches which intersect one another like cobwebs, varying from ten inches to five feet in depth; mud on the floor of the huts from four to six inches thick; my hand, from cold, is almost numbed, and I can scarcely feel the pen with which I scrawl these lines. We receive rations--but what are they? bread that smells like vinegar, and sugar more black than brown. The men were drawn from their homes without warning; they were not supplied with anything, but just as they stood in Albert Barracks, were marched through the mud of the Otahuhu road and the still heavier slush of the Otahuhu camp; wet and cold feet were the consequences, and leave has been refused to go to Auckland for an outfit. My boots were wet on Saturday night; they were wet when I put them on on Sunday morning, and they have not been dry since, and so wet are they that they will not be dry for two days. Yet I am one of the lucky ones, having put on a pair of strong boots. Others, thinking they would be home on Saturday night, came away in the boots they were wearing in dry and comfortable workshops. What is the consequence? Their paper boots are gone, and they have nothing to replace them with. I do not want a featherbed, but, with the rest of my comrades, expect to have necessaries as far as practicable."
