PAGES FROM THE PAST

Taranaki Daily News, 1 April 1922, Page 9

PAGES FROM THE PAST

THE BATTLE OF WAIREKA AN UNRECORDED INCIDENT.

(By

“Juvenis.”)

Last Tuesday was the 62nd anniversary of the Battle of Waireka, and I devoted my space on the previous Saturday to a short account of the battle. ,/fhis week 1 desire to recount an unrecorded incident of that memorable day. Late in the afternoon on the day of the fight (March 28, 1860), a small picket of men were placed by Captain Harry Atkinson at a projecting point near the beach, to cut off any natives who might attempt to pass there and get in rear of the force. The picket consisted of John Oxenham, John Allen, John Newman, H. Rawson, W. Wilson, Flay and Greenwood. When Captain Atkinson left Jury’s hous*e for town with the Militia, the Volunteers and the wounded men, he sent Sergeant Allen to call in the picket, but somehow the men wer§ left behind, as no information was given of the departure of the forces. As everything was very quiet, and thinking they had been forgotten, Oxenham and Wilson volunteered to go to Jury’s house and see. They crawled through the fern and flax bushes to the house as quietly as they could, and finding it empty returned to their comrades and reported the fact. It was then decided to make for town, but fearing the Maoris might be about they went cautiously, taking the rising ground on the sand hills. After proceeding some distance, they heard groaning from a flax bush, and then someone called to them. On approaching the spot, they found Joseph Hawken, who had been badly wounded in the thigh and was bleeding profusely. Having bandaged up the wound as well as they could, they lifted Hawken and carried him on their rifles as far as Paritutu. Being exhausted, the men decided to leave him there; Oxenham and Wilson volunteering to stop with Hawken whilst the other five went on to town to send out relief. J. C. Richmond with a party went out the same night, to try and find the wounded man and those with him, but failed in their praiseworthy effort. In the morning Hawken told Wilson to go to the Missi on Station and get his dray and bullocks, which he did, and on h*«t return, he found that a party from New Plymouth, headed by Hawken’s brother, was on the spot. Joseph Hawken afterwards told the following story:—

“The events that came under my notice on that day are engraven on my memory. 1 was at the Mission Station when the alarm was given, namely, the firing of two guns -from Marsland Hill. I learned on arrival in New Plymouth that the Militia and Volunteers were on their way to Waireka. I took my rifle and followed, but did not overtake them till they had passed the Sugar Loaves. When we got to the Waireka Stream, No. 1 Company ascended the hill and spread out in skirmishing order on what was known then as number eleven (Major Lloyd’s farm). That is the land between the sheepwash gully and the Waireka Stream. VVe saw hundreds of natives about the hill, and some of our men commenced firing. One of our fellows shouted, ‘My gun has been hit!’ I forget his name, but he was quietly reminded by a comrade that he »had only just fired, and pointed to the smoke coming out at the muzzle to convince him of the fact, and that his supposed peril was purely imaginary.

MEN ORDERED BACK. ‘ “I was on the left wing of the company and that end of the line was somewhat nearer the head of the gully than the other. I saw a native on' the other side, not far from the Omata Church. He was evidently giving instructions to men in the gully. I dropped on rny knee to steady my aim just as our bugle sounded ‘The Retire.’ I fired, but it was a shot wasted. It only seemed •a second or two that I was thus occupied; yet, to my surprise, my nearest comrade was more than a hundred yards away. I followed the others, loading as I moved along. When I got near the brow of the hill overlooking the Waireka Stream, I had lost my company altogether. I could see our men in the old pah on the opposite side of the gully, and three or four natives crouching under a flax bush in the gully between us and the pah, and they were causing some excitement. The flax sheltered them from the pah. I thought they were in a trap, and fired two or three shots at them, when, to my disgust and mortification, one of them bolted right up the gully. My word, that fellow did run, and, notwithstanding all the shots fired after him. he got to the bush apparently without a scratch. In the meantime the other Maoris had disappeared. Where they had gone to I could not imagine, -for the flax bush they had been sheltering under was only a small one. “Just then the Marines from H.M.S. Niger appeared on the scene. They marched right away towards the bush over the same country which our company had left. They got close up to the bush when poor Fahey was killed and Lieutenant Blake severely wounded. Just as the Marines were getting back, the soldiers came across the paddock from the town side of the sheepwash gully, and began blazing away at the natives who were making down that gully to get in our rear. I thought it was a splendid sight to see those fellows all marching in line, and the flashing of their polished guns. They came on in skirmishing order to the edge of the gully. Now, I thought, the natives are caught in a trap; but just then the bugle sounded and the soldiers left their game. Several of the soldiers came fccross the gully to where I was, and some of them apparently fired right into our men who were on the other side of the Waireka Stream. This caused some rough remarks from one of our comrades. He evidently had thought they were our foes.

NATIVES COME DOWN. “After the fii ing had slackened off for a time, excited voices were heard from the end of the hill where the streams unite and run out over the beach. The natives were again coming 'down the sheepwash gully, and this time in considerable force. I crossed the strip of land from the Waireka side.' W. Bayly pointed to two natives ins'-' in the direction of the-sheepwash, afioi’tthirty yards down the side of the I.’*’ They had taken cover under a little* bank made by the sheep. One r-' - - had his head stuck or decorated, wifTi pigeon feathers. I fired at w, v unfortunately the shot was again w ■ ed. I stepped back under coveVtrj , <■- load and fix* my bayonet, an? asked' Bayly to do the same, for these fellows were getting disagreeably near. I had scarcely spoken when Bayly cried out, ‘Oh, my God, I’m shot,’ and he fell.

I stepped out again to have another shot. I might easily have peeped through the flax bush, but was doubtful of being caught from behind while doing so. The instant I showed myself to the Maoris I felt a smart sting right through the thick part of my thigh, and saw the blood spout out in one big jet, then stop. 1 moved back a little, pulled off my necktie and bound it around my thigh as tight as possible, and began hobbling away towards my company. I. though Bayly was quite dead. I did not -see him move, nor hear a groan, while I was hobbling along. The only man near was James Clims, an old Cornish man, the father of a dozen or more children. He quietly said: ‘What; have you got it too!’ I had to admit the fact, and left him peeping round the flax bush with his old Brown Bess ready for another shot. The next time I saw him was in the hospital with a big wound through his side. He afterwards left New Plymouth, and, I believe, found more peaceful employment at one of the saw mills in Pelorus Sound.

“I felt rather queer as I hobbled along, but when I got where I could view the track along by the Waireka Stream and saw litter after litter of wounded men being carried along, and also heard men on the Irill near the mouth of the stream, shouting, ‘You can’t pass; retreat is cut off,’ —I felt considerably more than queer. I managed to scramble up the bank between the stream and the sea, and noticed that the side towards the sea was covered with flax. Then, like a wounded animal, I took to the cover. What else could I do? I had foolishly got separated from my company, and now realised what it meant. I also thought the natives had accomplished what they had all been trying for, namely, possession of that gully right down to the sea. I expected there would be a general rush, and dreaded the fate of the wounded at the Maori hands. Yes, I had better trust to that friendly cover, though alone. I slid down under the thick flax, and thought Ah! —Well, those thoughts have ni> place in this narrative. X

CONFRONTED BY OLD SAVAGE. “What I fully expected did not transpire. After a time there was a great outcry from the pah on the hill. I could not make it out. There were two or three heavy volleys from the direction of the sheepwash gully, then all was quiet, save the rippling of the waves. It was a beautiful evening. The sun had set, and everything seemed quiet and still. I gently drew myself up to the top fol* a look around, and had just got on m? knees, when a real old savage looked me straight in the face. He appeared to be in the same attitude as myself. There wqs only a small toi bush between us, when, quick as thought, my gun was at my shoulder, with a heavy pull on the trigger. Oh, horror! I had omitted to raise the cock of the gun. Realising this, I began to wriggle backwards to the hiding place, every moment expecting to see the tomahawk whirling after me. It did not come, and to my unspeakable relief, I saw the Maori no more. It is just likely he thought I should be more successful if I got' the chance for a second shot. Getting further into the flax I remained there until the stars appeared. Then I managed to get down on to rhe beach, among the rocks, and after a hard struggle got to the smooth l. Using my rifle, with bayonet fixed, as a walking pole, I began hobbling along homeward. At the Waireka Stream I had the most delicious draught I ever tasted. I drank till reason rather than inclination told me it was enough. I managed to get as far as the stream that runs between Omata and Whaler’s Gate. I think it is called Herekawe.

“While resting, seated on a little tussock close up to the sand hills, I saw the little company of men marching smartly along nearer to the sea. ‘Who goes there?’ A moment’s halt, and on agin they gt). Again I called, ‘Who goes there?’ There was not the usual reply, but along came, ‘Who arc you?’ I gave my name, saying I was wounded. The men then caine up to me. They were Oxenham, Wilson, Newman, and, I think, Haigue, but I do not remember the others.

RESCUED! “Someone proposed that the • party should continue their journey to New Plymouth, report as to my whereabouts and condition, and get help sent out. This was poor comfort to me, so I begged them not to leave me alone in my helplessness. Thereupon, with a man on each side acting as supports, and my arms around their shoulders, I made an attempt to move homewards. But the strain, in my then weakened condition, was too great, -and by the time we reached the sandhills I was completely done up. I could hold on no longer. Under these circumstances Oxenham and Wilson volunteered to remain with me while the rest went .on to town. The three of us lay down in a little patch of scrub on the sand, one laying on either side to keep me warm. Strange to say both men were fast asleep in the course of a few minutes. Very soon I was tortured with the cramp, but being loth to disturb the sleepers, lay on and on during the long night. At last they awoke, and soon a glimmer of light in the east told of the coming day. I asked these brave fellows to go on to the Mission Station, yoke my two bullocks to the' dray and come back for me. “Soon after they left, my brother, with H. Honeyfield, came along. I was placed on the saddle like a sack of grain, and again headed, homewards. It was not long before we met my comrades of the night, with the dray into which I was placed, thus giving an opportunity for comparing experiences and the anxieties created by the previous day’s fight. My brother, dear fellow, told me how he, with a number of others, had searched for me till the others considered it useless to search any longer, and had returned, but that he, with H. Honeyfield, would not give up, but started off again by themselves in further search. Varied as had beep my trials since the previous day, I had not given way. My resolution had sustained me through it all, but it began to ooze out of me on hearing of this great devotion on the part of my brother. I am ashamed of my weakness. Nevertheless, I must confess, I feel somewhat the same now as to that matter, for he, dear fellow, too soon after, received the fatal shot, and without any chance of rescue for himself. Soon I was in the hospital and the late Dr. Wilson examined and dressed my wound. To my great surprise and relief W. Bayly was among the inmates.

THE SOLDIERS “ALL FOOLS!” “Years afterwards, in one of my jonrheys along the coast, I stopped for the night at Opunake with the natives. There were neither hotels nor roads in those days. A large number of natives were present in the whare, and they knew I had been wounded at Waireka. There was some good natured chaffing about the fight. The natives said lire soldiers were all fools, they were only after the flag, whereas if they h.id only looked about, they might have killed

scores of wounded Maoris who were ly • ing close at hand in Jury’s house, from which place they could not possibly get away. This will help to show th<? sort of treatment wounded and helpless Europeans were likely to get in those days at the hands of the natives. Among the natives at Opunake were two young fellows who had been wounded at Waireka, one in the chest and tne other in the thigh. Both appeared to be very proud of their scars, which they readily uncovered to show me where they had been hit. The one who had been wounded in the thigh was quite young when I saw him, and must have been but a boy at the time of the fight. He said that he, with others, had been surprised near the old pah. The others got away, but he, being wounded, could not run, and as the Pakeha kept on firing at him he pushed further along till he managed to get right into the middle of the flax. He did not seem to mind the fighting, but spoke of it with triumph. But the terrible po (the awful night) all alone, and the cold had been distressing. Even then he seemed to shudder while telling the tale.

I “Such are my reflections of that eventful day at Waireka. Our men were

in a worse position than I had suspet ted, being nearly out of ammunition Thanks to the gallant Cracroft, and hif seamen, and thanks too to that greatel Power who, though unseen, still con* trols the affairs of men, the Volunteer! were saved to do other deeds in help* ing on the peace we now enjoy.” The Joseph Hawken, responsible fo< the above interesting story, and a verj (bra?te man, was the father of Mr. Oswald Hawken, M.P. for Egmont, amj Mr. Cecil Hawken, of Mokoia, worthj sons of a worthy father.