PAT MOLLOY ESCAPED

Bay of Plenty Beacon, Issue 2, 8 July 1940, Page 3

PAT MOLLOY ESCAPED

Lately there died Mr Patrick Molloy,, of Petone, Wellington, at the age of 86. He was a veteran of fhe railway service. Long long ago, before he began his portering he was a young trooper in th colonial forces stationed at Fort Galatea, a redoubt in the Rangitaiki Valley,-be-tween the Kainga,roa tableland and Urewera Country. Galatea was a military half-way house between the coast and Taupo. One day in 1869, a small cavalry detachment rode out for Taupo undlai Lieutenant-Colonel St. John, who left most of them, numbering fifteen, camped at Opepe, on the plain below Mount Tauhara. They were told by St. John that the place was perfectly safe; no Maoris anywhere around. A few hours later, Te Kooti*s men captured the careless camp by pretending to be friendly, and killed nine out of the fifteen. The survivors escaped into ai belt of bush behind the camp. One wellknown to the present writer in after years, tramped quite naked across the plain to Fort Galatea, with a mate, who Avas fortunate enough to be wearing his uniform when the attack was made. The Maoris captured the whole of their arms and equipment and the horses of the fifteen troopers. Pat Molloy frequently related the story of Opepe. He had a dramatic Way with him, and he describes with lively touches the manner in which the troopers were first befooled and then attacked. "Yes, , ' , he said, after hearing of the death in recent years of Trooper George Crosswell, one of the survivors, "I knew George very well; he was a lucky fellow, but his feet were cut to pieces by that barefoot tramp over the Kaingaroa. But I was luckier still, as you'll hear. Poor old Sergeant Slattery was knocked over after he'd picked up a bit of a stick to defend himself; hie hadn't a chance to get near has carbine or his revolver. Most of them were first shot and then tomahawked. But I had a most providential escape. Whist a while and I'll tell you! "There was big George Stephenson; the bullets were whistling all around him, he was a fine target, as big as old Slattery, but he could run faster. o "Now I'll' tell you how I escaped. It makes me shiver still when I tliink how near I came to be lying in that long grave at Opepe. "You know I was a dispatch rider; I was a light-weight and a good horseman. Now, just before our detachment left Galatea for Taupo, a dispatch had to be sent off to Opotiki, right away in the other direction, and one of my mates was told off to take it. But he found that his horse had gone lame, and so the job was put on to me, and off I went. That was how I escaped being tomahawked at Opepe—will ye whisht now—l wasn't there at all! I was at Opotilci a hundred miles away! That was how I got away from the massacre^ —thanks to Mickey Rogan's lame horse. "Now," Pat Molloy ended his heroic story, "What do you think of that for a narrow escape? Just by the skin of me teeth —it was that!" —"J.C." in the Auckland Star.