LIEUTENANTS THREE.

Motueka Star, Volume II, Issue 60, 11 March 1902, Page 4

LIEUTENANTS THREE.

BERRY, RUSSELL, FORSYTHE. Special to the “New Zealand Times.” Hawke’s Bay has been heavily struck by the South African war. Other provinces, of coui'sfc, have suffered, but in a small community, where everybody knows each other, where the successes of one and the disappointments of another soon become public property, theloss of three young lieutenants .who have found a grave on the African veldt makes a deep impression. They were, all of them colonial born, good representatives of our pioneer stock. The thought of-their death lerds to a reflection or two. of how in a few short months scenes of rejoicing and farewelling can change into ; sadness and mourning.

Berry, who succumbed to his wounds at Johannesburg, was the first of the three to go. He was of the Napier Guards. Forsythe, killed near Yrede, was also of the Guards. Both had worked up from the ranks by the display of intelligence and capacity for military work. Two colonial officers from a small volunteer corps in a remote part of the vast British dominions thus falling side by side with their English comrades is surely a theme from which some poet of the future will receive ail inspiration. The writer recalls February 13, 1900. There was the sound of martial music in the streets of Napier. The province had emptied itself into the town to bid the Rough Riders good-bye. Berry was amongst the number. The Guards gave their lieutenant a special salute. They had listened to inspiriting words from Ministers of the Crown and mintsters of the Church. The parting words from their chaplain rang in many ears as the steamer cast off

“ Lads of Napier and Hawke’s Bay, now departing from amongst us to fight the battles of our race, our own dear boys, farewell. May the Lord bless and keep you in that far off land to which you go. May he guide you in safety through the shock of battle, and bring you home once more to your native land and the hearts which love you well.” Some months later, on the same parade ground, where oft William Berry had stood with his fellow Guardsmen, was held an “In Memoriam.” Sorrowing comrades then heard in silence their chaplain’s words. And Russell, too, was, a. familiar figure. At the farewell ceremony leferred to his father had written for public announcement b} 7 the Mayor : “I look forward with pleasure to taking part in the demonstration of our joy on the day when they, return to us, covered with honour, and sharing in the immortal glories of the British Army.”

It was Christmas. Whilst in most homes gay festival ’was being held, this cable was flashed through “Lieutenant Russell 4 Second West Yorkshires, twice wounded, leading twenty-five men against largely superior force of enemy, December 19 ; died of wounds December 20.” But a few days previously his father had stirred the Wanganui College boys at the annual presentation of prizes with N ewbolt’s "

lines : ’ . . “The sand of the desert is a sodden red—red with the wreck of a square that’s broke, And the Gatling’s jammed and the colonel’s dead, , ' . And the regiment’s blinded with.dust and smoke.

The river of death ha s flowed its banks, and England’s far and honour’s a name, But the voice of a school boy rallies the ranks—•Play up ! ' Elay the game ! ” . How little the speaker dreamt that the poet’s words would strike home so

poignantly but a .short while l.«terThese lines, and the sad incident connecting their quotation,, should be memorised by every schoolboy in .New Zealand.

William Forsythe, the last of the three lieutenants to fall, was a tall, handsome fellow—the handsomest man in his regiment, and popular withal. He had tried to get away with every contingent that left these shores. Eventually his turn came with the Seventh At the farewell which the Guards gave him I i emember him saying that he hoped he would be spared to shake them 'all by the hand on his return. Young, full of hope, expectanc3 T forthe future, he had a career of the brightest ahead. Well, Forsythe died a death It can truly be said of him that he had not a single enemyhonest, straight-forward, a worthy son and a true comrade, his end comes as a stiff blow. The cable that he was one of tne gallant band who “repelled the enemy with the utmost dash,’ 7 and that m doing this “New Zealand, at the price of sorrow, was adding the Seventh’s achievement to her splendid record,” will be treasured by his late fellow Guardsmen. In the old burial ground on Barrack Hill at Napier there is an epitaphon the tombstone of Captain St. George, who fell at Rotoira in the Maori war. Well might it be quoted here in memory of the three young Hawke’s Bay officers who lie buried away out in Africa :

Go to thy grave; at noon from labour

cease; Rest on thy sheaves, thy harvest work is ' done, Come from the heart of battle, and in peace, Soldier, go home, with thee the tight is won.