PAGES FROM THE PAST.

Taranaki Daily News, 4 February 1922, Page 9

PAGES FROM THE PAST.

HOW VON TEMPSKY DIED. I FIRST HAND ACCOUNTS. (Ry “Juvenis.”) Von Tempsky, who came to the rescue at Tututurumokai (described in last week’s article) was a romantic and picturesque figure in the old fighting days of New Zealand. He was an adventurous and daring type of man. There was nothing prosaic and commonplace about him. He was a bushman, and something of a bushranger of the highest type, the embodiment of the ideal colonial fighter. The accounts of his death are many and various. His biographers have killed him in every way that human ingenuity and imagination could suggest. He has been shot from a tree by a Maori, slain by Kimball Bent with a bullet fired through a loophole in a hollow tree; left for dead, tortured, roasted, and eaten by the Maoris. Gudgeon has.given one versiou of the hero’s fall, and Bracken has sung his requiem in glowing verse. Wrote C. O. Montrose (a contemporary of Tempsky’s) in the eighties: For many years I had been vainly seeking for some trustworthy person who could tell, me how Von Tempsky died. I had seen the guerilla chief on several occasions in the Waikato, at the Queen’s Redoubt, Waiari, Te Awamutu, and Orakau, and his presence was always surrounded with a certain fascination, partly owing to his singular appearance and romantic antecedents, and partly to the distinct personality of the ' man himself. When the Maoris at VVaii ari took cover in a thicket clump of ti- ! tree, and the Rangers were* ordered up ' from Te Rore to dislodge them, they i came on at the double, and disappeared in the thicket, out of which soon sounded the sharp crack of the revolver, yells, 1 shouts of defiance, and victorious cheers, i Some of the Rangers said it was like rat-hunting: and when they emerged 1 from the smoke and flame Von Tempsky marched at their head, with a panther--1 like stride, his right hand grasping a gory bowie-knife: Jiis sharp-featured, resolute face wear ng a slight flush of triumph; the long black ringlets falling i in profusion upon his shoulders; his i tunic, partly open, exposing his bronzed ! breast: loose trousers, leggings, and ' strong lace-up boots completing his uni- ! que tout ensemble. But in the active, springy stride, in the keen bold eyes i and the jaunty cock of the'small forage cap one saw’ the gladiator, the born fighter, who could eope with the Maori jin I:is own fastnesses, and beat him at I his own tactics. Knowing the risks that he so often DOOMED TO DIE. ran, his death did not surprise me. ' Many times in a lifetime a man may run the gauntlet, but no man bears a charmed life. There are no miracles on * modern battlefields. Maritana does not cheat the enemy by secretly removing the bullets from his rifles. There are so many Don Caesars and so few Maritanas in those days of compulsory service. No one could once see Von Tempsky in his fighting trim without someI how feeling that he was doomed to die ia» soldier’s death. Such men as he mostly end their lives tragically. Nurtured in the storm and stress of life, they are doomed to die in it. There are hundreds of men whom one meets in a lifetime of whom you feel a presentiment ; that their deaths will not be as other , men’s. As “Von” moved lithely among • our men. old campaigners of Afganistan, j Africa, the Crimea, and India, with the i instinct of kindred souls, knew inwardly | that his was not to be a long life, ■ though they kept their thoughts to themselves.

It was by the merest good luck that, when in the Waikato, while in conversation with Lieutenant Rigg, of the Te Awamutu Cavalry, I came upon the clue of which I had so long been in search (continues Montrose). Round about Kihikihi and Rangiaohia are settled several of Von Tempsky’s Rangers, and especially two, named Rysedale and Bell, who were with him at Ngutu-o-te-manu. where he fell.

Mounted on a nearly thoroughbred polo pony, and guided by the lieutenant, I pay a flying visit to the old battleground at Orakau, where I can just trace the faint outlines of the flying sap, and the enemy’s pa now a smooth grass paddock, where cattle graze contentedly and the lark carols aloft in the glorious sunshine. Lingering awhile on this historic scene, and contrasting its present serenity with the din and destruction of that March day of 1864, we turn our horses in the direction of Storey’s farm, towards Te Awamutu. In the brown paddock the heavy rains have worn little rills, and washed big gaps in the young sprouting crop. Rysedale is at work with the seedsower replanting these vacant places. It is necessary to approach him stragetically. You cannot take the old Forest Ranger with a rush. So we call at the woolshed and reconnoitre. “You won’t get anything out of him,” says young Storey, with a grin. Well, nil desperandum. We walk our horses over the ploughed land, and there, away in the hollow, is a moving group, partly enveloped in a little cloud of dust. Lieutenant Rigg takes up a position intercepting the line of advance of the party, and soon the team comes to a halt. The well-knit figure on the seed-sower with the weather-beaten resolute face and the touch of devil-may-care is Rysedale. He comes from Lincolnshire, from among the fens, and, despite his colonial experience, there is still a touch of the quaint accent in his pronunciation. The lieutenant opens fire with a trial shot. “Didn’t he serve in the Forest Rangers with Von Tempsky ?” No; he had never served in any blanky Rangers, not he. We have ridden twenty miles, and are on the wrong track. All at once this man whom I had pictured as a hero, standing with graceful ease on the seedsower, and gently flicking his whip, has sunk down to the level of a more commonplace laborer. “Story? God bless you. he has none to tell.” We have been cruelly hoaxed, sent many miles out of our way on a hot afternoon to see an ordinary farm hand standing on a wellworn seed-sower. SERVED UNDER VON TEMPSKY. Lieutenant Rigg and I exchange puzzled glances. But there is something in the man’s air, half of whimsical amusement at our evident discomfiture, and partly a sort of dogged objection to be too easily drawn out, that 1 fell emboldened to try him with another question. “What corps did you serve in?” “Whv. I served in the Armed Constabulary.** “Under whose command ?” “Under Inspector Von Tempsky in No. 5 Division.” Of course. Hew stupid we ww* not

to have thought it before! Suddenly it flashes through my memory that the iate Sir Donald McLean, with the aid of St. John Brannigan, “demilitarised” the colonial forces, reorganising them into .Armed Constabulary on the model of the Irish force. It was as members of this soldier-police that Von Tempsky and the remnant of his Rangers attacked Te Ngutu-o-te-manu. “You were at Ngutu-o-te-manu?” I again. “I was, and good cause I have to remember it.” “Will you tell me something about it?” “This gentigman was a friend of Von Tempsky's,” diplomatically interjects the lieutenant; “he fought beside him in the Waikato, and is anxious to hear a true account of his death.” Rysedale regards me with some interest, and his keen blue eyes seem to be taking my measure. “You were with him when he fell?” continues Rigg. “About as near as I am to you,” with a swifp measuring glance. “About fifteen feet or so,” whiskers th “Will you tell me the story of Ngutu-o-te-manu? Is it anything like what one reads in the books?” “No!” (contemptuously) “not a bit. There was a chap as come here selling a book for two guineas, I think it was, and I bought one just to see what it was like. When I looked at it I found it full of the damnedest nonsense, so I put it away, and haven’t seen it since.” “It is said Von Tempsky was shot from a tree. Is that true?” “Rubbish! I ought to know; and there’s Bell over there. Don’t take my word for it, but go and see him. D’ye think the Maoris were such fools as to get into a tree to be shot like pigeons? Did you ever see ’em do that?” “Well, no; but please tell us how it happened.” A GRAPHIC STORY. He settles his feet firmly apart on the seed-sower, pauses a minute, flicks his whip lightly, and, looking away into the distance, tells his graphic story in rough, unpolished Anglo-Saxon, interspersed p.nd fortified with an occasional strong adjective. • "Well, it itsn’t much. We made our way through thick bush, No 5 Division of the Armed Constabulary, not Forest Rangers, under Inspector Von Tempsky. The guide was a Maori woman, and every now and then she’d be asked, ‘How far is the pa?’ and she’d answer, | ‘Oh, long way yet; ’bout one mile.’ It was always about a mile. ‘lt was not quite a mile,’ the old devil said, when 1 we suddenly came upon a clearing, and saw the pallisades of a pa through the trees. I never saw that old woman afterwards, and I don’t know what became of her; but she led us into a trap, and no mistake. The pa was on a rising ground, sloping upwards from a shallow gully in our front, about like that” (holding his whip at an angle of about 35 degrees). “Von Tempsky called out to us to get under cover, and we popped down in the gully. I suppose the Maoris expected we were coming on with a rush, and were reserving their fire; but when they saw us flop down they opened up a hot fire. My word! it was a caution. After a while Colonel came up with his kupapas, and Von Tempsky asked his permission to rush the pa. He had been walking up and down the line, up to this time, checking his men for not keeping under cover, but all the time exposing himself. You could see he wanted to rush the pa. That was always his way, you know. But the colonel wouldn’t let him He said, ‘No, you keep your men nuder cover, and I’ll go round to their side and attack the pa,’ Then he. went away with his kupapas. all jabbering and twisting about, and I never see’l no more on ’em. But the fire from the pa got hotter and hotter, until it was a scorcher. All this time Von kept going up and down the line, going from tree to tree, waiting for the signal from tr.e other side, which never came. He stopped every now and then and looked at the pallisades, and you could see that’ he was tired of waiting, but lie couidn’t move against the orders of his ’Superior officer. ‘Pass the word for Colonel ,’ he says; and the word was passed along, but there was no sign of him. Now and then Von’s pace quickened, and he looked towards the pa and then towards the right as if he was seeking something; and all this time our men were being knocked over, until nearly half the company were down. A HOT FIRE. “Towards the right of the little hollow in which we were lying there was an opening in the trees, where the timber was not so thick, and through this you could see the pa very clear. Theic was a hot fire from this pia..'e, and whenever Von Tempsky came to it he used to keep two or three big trees in line between him and the enemy, slipping from one tree to the other very kmart. He was walking very slowly, his sword resting across his left arm: he seemed to be thinking; but he made a mistake, and passed in front of one of the trees instead of behind, and. a bullet struck him just here (in the centre of .the breast), and he -fell dead/’ “Did he writhe or struggle after he fell ?” “Not a move. He laid quite still. He was as dead as a man can ever be.” “That effectually disposes of the story that he was merely wounded, and tortured to death by the enemy,” I remark to the lieutenant. “Who says he was tortured? It’s a. lip!” continues Rysedale. smacking his whip a little more, viciously by way of emphasis. “I say he was stone dead. Ask Bell. Don’t take my bare word for it. Well, a little while after up comes another officer with two swords under his arm and two watches in his hand, and yells out, men; retire to the rear!’ ‘Which is the rear?’ I asks; T don’t know where it is.’ ‘No more do I,’ says he; ‘but get out that way’ (pointing away from the pa) ‘as fast as you can.’ We passes the word along an<l get up to retire, when 1 sees the Maoris sneaking out of the pa. round the sides of the clearing into the I bush, intending to get in our rear and cut us off. ‘There they are. the 1 1 says; ‘I ain’t had a fair shot at ’em to-day, hut I’m going to have one now, if I’die’ for it,’ and then we got away through the thick bush. W hen wc had got some distance we stopped to listen, but there were no sounds of pursuit. The officer who had taken command told us to lie down, as it was getting dark, but not to speak a word, or to smoke. Wasn’t likely that a lot of men as had been •without tucker all day wouldn t smoke? Bah! Of course, we got back to camp next day. and there we found • ' tho others all nice and comfortable. ' That’s how it was. But Von Tempsky ' i wasn’t killed out of a tree. The pa, ' |as I told you before, was on a slope like this, and the bullets came down through the trees at an angle. It was ■ this that made some people believe that the Maoris wore in the forks of the trees. ’Well, T hadn’t any more on it • after that. They wanted to make out that wp were liable to serve for a longer t term, and to put another officer in com-

mand of us; but we showed that we had only agreed with Von Tempsky to follow him wherever he might lead us, and we walked away and left them to finish it by themselves. But I say. mister, haven’t I seen you before? Hadn't you something to do with the newspapers .?*’ , We plead guilty to the soft impeachment. exchange a few recollections of old times, and, with a hearty grasp of hands, bid each other farewell. ' MORE REFLECTIONS.

Two thoughts have been running in my mind while the narrative was in progress. The first is an imaginery contrast between this man, standing on the seed-sower in the calm of a summer afternoon in that peaceful scene, and the same man at Ngutu-o-te-manu, lying down amidst a storm of bullets, within a few yards of his intrepid leader. And then, in our fancy, we see that heroic chief, pacing impatiently in front of the pa, waiting anxiously for a signal that never camo, perhaps, that his hour had come; but still filled with inward sorrow for the sacrifice for his brave followers. Who shall say what emotions passed rapidly through the mind of that “fated chieftain” as he measured his own last resting place, walking undaunted amidst the enemy’s fire?

But thus fell Von Tempsky, whose name is one to conjure with all along this coast, whose brave deeds are still recounted by the old hands, and will live in history long after every landmark and sign of the old battlefields have been obliterated by the destroying hand of time or the advancing tide of settlement and civilisation.