CHAPTER XXIV.

ENSIGN M’KENNA AND THE VICTORIA CROSS.

Little is known in England of the war which has been carried on in New Zealand. Despatches are occasionally published, and the names of those who have distinguished themselves in the field are honourably mentioned; but the seat of war is too remote for the people of England to feel anything but a passing interest in a contest which they entered upon with reluctance, and would gladly see finished. And yet in this struggle between British soldiers and hostile Maoris, deeds of valour have been performed which history will not willingly let die; and the name of McKenna will be as gratefully remembered in New Zealand as those of the heroes of the Victoria Cross Gallery in England. We hope the day is not very far distant when he will figure in that gallery with the other brave men who have carved their way with their swords into Mr. Desanges’ temple of fame.

We listened to McKenna’s simple narrative the other evening in a rude hut at the camp of Awamutu, in the very centre of the seat of war. We have heard some of the most brilliant speakers of the day, and been enthralled by the magic power of their eloquence; but the interest excited by the charms of such oratory was less thrilling than that produced by the soldier’s plain story of deeds in which he himself was the principal actor. Before submitting that narrative to our readers, which we shall do as much as possible in McKenna’s own words, we may simply premise that, while of Irish descent, he is a native of Leeds, and has served seventeen years in the 65th Regiment, the greater part of that time as a non-commissioned officer. He is an intelligent, well-educated man, in the very prime of life, well adapted to occupy the rank which has been assigned to him, and worthy to wear the Queen’s own Cross on his breast. He has always borne an excellent character in a regiment which is distinguished for the excellent conduct of its soldiers, and the strong feeling of attachment which they cherish to their officers, from the kindness and consideration with which they have been treated during eighteen years’ service in this remote island. This is McKenna’s story.

“In the beginning of July, 1863, the 65th Regiment was stationed in Auckland. We were all expecting immediate orders to embark for England, and our hearts beat high at the thought of seeing our native land, which, after the absence of many years, had never been forgotten, and was now dearer than ever. The 2nd Battalion of the 18th Royal Irish had just landed, and were daily expecting to receive orders to embark, when, to our great surprise, we were told to hold ourselves in readiness for active service in the field. It was no use grumbling, so in a few hours we were ready. Some of us, I dare say, liked the excitement of a campaign more than the monotony of a long sea-voyage; and a few inspiriting words from the colonel made us forget all thoughts of home in the excitement of the coming struggle. On the 9th of July we marched from Auckland, and, though I say it myself, a better regiment than ours never was, and never will be, seen in this country. We bade farewell to our wives and children, and camped for the night at Otahahu, nine miles from Auckland. Thence we proceeded to the Queen’s Redoubt, which 300 of our men left on Sunday, the 12th of July, for Tuakan, under the command of our dear old chief, Colonel Wyatt, C.B. Tuakan is about sixteen miles from the Queen’s Redoubt. It stands on a precipitous cliff overlooking the Waikato river. It is the site of an old Maori fortification, and is naturally a place of great strength. The road was difficult and dangerous, with the dense bush on either side, but we reached Tuakan in safety, where we soon cleared the ground and erected a redoubt, which, in honour of our dear young Princess of Wales, was named Alexandra. If she saw it she would not be ashamed of it, for there is not a better one in the island. Well, perhaps the Queen’s Redoubt is a little better, as in right it ought to be; but in strength and beauty of design ours is next best.

“It was nearly finished on the 19th of July, when Colonel Wyatt withdrew one-half of the men, and left the other 150 under the command of Captain Swift. He is dead now, poor fellow, and no words of praise from me can reach his ear; but a better officer never carried sword or wore the Queen’s uniform. God bless him! I was only a poor sergeant; but if I had been his own brother, he could not have been kinder to me. His example told upon us all; we all liked our duties, and tried to do all we could to suppress the rebellion. His first act was to seize a number of rebel canoes and to man them with crews from his own detachment; in this way we contrived to seize large quantities of potatoes and other provisions from the hostile natives. But he did more than this: he extemporized a body of Forest Rangers, who scoured the dense bush around the redoubt, kept the natives at a distance. He had heard of atrocities they had committed on defenceless women and children, and longed for an opportunity of meeting them in the field. Poor fellow! he little dreamed that his first meeting with them would be his last. But such are the chances of war. If he had lived, the world would have heard more of him, for there was never a braver or a better officer in the British or any other service.

“Well, things went on as usual till the 7th of September. On the morning of that day we had a visit from Mr. Armitage, the resident magistrate of the township of Havelock. He had charge of five large canoes, manned by natives, and loaded with forage and provisions, which were proceeding from Camerontown, a friendly Maori pa, to the Queen’s Redoubt. The forage had been brought up from the Waikato Heads; the barque _City of Melbourne_ had conveyed it there from Auckland. The river transport had been established in consequence of the difficulty of transporting stores by the great South Road; and as the canoes were paddled by friendly natives, no one imagined that there could be much danger of their being attacked.

“I shall never forget the morning of the 7th of September. Captain Swift was asleep in his tent when Mr. Armitage arrived. He wanted one of the large canoes we had seized, and I had to go three times to the captain’s tent before I could wake him. He was usually a light sleeper, but it was different on this occasion. It did not strike me much at the moment, but I have often thought of it since. Well, Mr. Armitage left, and nothing unusual happened till about eleven o’clock. I was down at the landing-place superintending some work, when all at once I heard the report of several shots. I stood and listened. The shots were followed by successive volleys, which gradually subsided into the regular, or rather irregular, firing of a smart skirmish. This went on for about a quarter of an hour. I knew from the direction of the sound that the fighting was going on at Camerontown. I hurried to the captain, and told him I was sure the rebels had attacked Mr. Armitage’s party. While I was speaking, all at once we saw a large volume of smoke curling up in the air close to the pa. We both came to the conclusion that the rebels had set fire to a house which had been recently built for Mr. Armitage.

“About half an hour after this we saw a canoe, paddled by four natives, coming up the river. We knew from the way they used their paddles that something was wrong. Their faces were as green as the French Emperor’s at Solferino, and their teeth were chattering with terror. They were so panic-struck that it took some time before we learned from them that the rebels had formed an ambuscade, and attacked them while off their guard. Mr. Armitage and two white men had been killed, and all the friendly natives dispersed or slain; these four only survived to tell their fate. Thirty or forty men, women, and children, had perished.

“We are pretty well used to such things out here, so no time was wasted in idle words. In half an hour we had a party, consisting of Lieutenant Butler, myself, two sergeants, one bugler, and fifty rank and file, under arms, the whole under the command of Captain Swift. We were all too eager for the fray to care much for eating, so we snatched a hasty dinner and were off by one o’clock. People at home can have no idea of a march through the bush. We had to cross nine or ten miles of swamp, intersected by rivers scarcely practicable for regular troops, so as to strike the foot of the wooded range of hills on a spur of which stands the pa of Camerontown. We had to creep through the dense bush, but there is no difficulty persistent pluck may not surmount. We were all tired enough when we reached a small clearing about half-past four o’clock in the afternoon, and felt the need of the evening _tot_ of rum which was now served out. One sergeant and ten privates, on receiving theirs, were sent on in advance; the main body followed a little after. On proceeding a few hundred yards they discovered that the advanced guard had strayed from the right path, and we could not shout without attracting the notice of the natives. We felt it rather hard to be deprived of their services, as we had no men to spare, but it was decided that we should go on. Our force was now reduced to two officers and forty-three men, but Captain Swift was a host in himself; we would have followed him anywhere and against any odds.

“It was at this juncture that I had an opportunity of showing some qualities which have brought me under the notice of General Cameron, and procured for me such honours as have rarely, if ever before, been bestowed on a British soldier. There are as good men as I am in the ranks, unknown to fame, but time and chance happeneth to all. I never dreamed of honours—my only desire was to do my duty. I asked and obtained leave from Captain Swift to advance forty or fifty yards in front of the men to act as scout, an office for which I was well qualified from former experience. I took a direct course through the bush towards the spot where the natives were supposed to be. About five o’clock I reached a large opening, where I could plainly see the rebels’ encampment in the bush, about four hundred yards in advance. Crossing the clearing in a stooping position and at a smart pace, I again made for the bush, followed by the whole detachment. Five minutes after we could distinctly hear the sound of the rebels’ voices, and Captain Swift, imagining that they were advancing by the same path to attack us, threw his men into ambush. On finding that they refused to advance, I crept stealthily up to within a few yards of them. Unlike most Maori war parties, they were laughing and chattering, which led me to think they had been making free with the rum they had seized in the canoes. I returned and reported this to Captain Swift, who came to the same conclusion as myself, that they were all drunk. The order was at once given to fix bayonets and charge. Our men advanced, led by Captain Swift, Lieutenant Butler, and myself, three abreast, the path not admitting more. When we had stolen up to within a few yards of the rebels, our leader gave the word ‘Charge!’ The word had scarcely passed his lips when, as if by enchantment, the whole bush was lighted up with a terrific volley. It seemed as if one of the extinct volcanoes so common here had suddenly opened its crater and begun to belch forth flames. The enemy were so close when they fired that some of their coarse powder was actually found sticking in the faces of our soldiers. For a moment our men staggered beneath this heavy fire, but it was only for a moment, for, immediately recovering themselves, they closed up in a line of skirmishers in the bush, and brought their rifles to bear on their dusky foes. I had taken cover behind a tree close to Lieutenant Butler, for the purpose of reloading my rifle, and even in that hour of danger I could not help admiring his bravery. He stood at the left front, a little in advance, cheering on the men by his voice and still more by his example. I saw him discharge his revolver right and left; three Maoris fell beneath his fire, and were dragged into the bush by their friends. I was still admiring his heroic courage and gallant bearing, when all at once I saw him sink slowly to the ground, as if his spirit were struggling against some mortal blow. I sprang forward with two others to his assistance, and on raising him in my arms he said, ‘Lead on the men, McKenna.’ Surprised at such an order, I looked round to see where the captain was, and there he lay by his side mortally wounded. No language can express the anguish I felt on seeing one who, though my superior officer, had always treated me with the greatest kindness, in this condition. If he had been my own brother I could not have felt it more. Poor Captain Swift! I shall never forget the last look you gave me, or cease to regret your loss.

“‘Are you wounded, sir?’ was my first exclamation.

“‘Oh, yes, McKenna; very severely,’ he replied.

“On seeing me loading my rifle, he said—

“‘Never mind loading. Take my revolver and lead on the men.’

“These were the last words this good and gallant soldier ever spoke to me. I mechanically took up the revolver, gave one last look at my dying officer, and then shouted, like one possessed—

“‘Men, the captain is wounded; charge!’

“I rushed on at the head of the men, and we drove the natives before us like sheep. We now found ourselves in a small opening on the crest of the hill. The natives found shelter in the bush to our left and front, where they opened fire on our little band of thirty-eight men. Our position was critical. One of our officers was mortally, the other severely, wounded; ten miles of swamp and bush lay between us and any succour; around us were three hundred savages thirsting for our blood. I think it was God who gave me strength to act as I did that day. Assuming an air of coolness (which, in my heart, I was far from feeling), I ordered my men to extend in skirmishing order across the clearing, and to keep up a steady fire. My object was to hold the place for a time, till the advanced guard, attracted by the firing, should join Corporal Ryan and the four men left in charge of the wounded officers, so as to have them carried well on to the redoubt before the approach of night compelled us to retire.

“The Maoris had been encamped on the spot now occupied by our party, and had left a great many things, such as tents, sacks and kits of potatoes, behind. These our men formed into a sort of breastwork, and kept as well under cover as they could. Several of the natives climbed up the trees in order to fire over the breastwork, and one of them was brought down in splendid style by Private Smith of ours, his fall causing a thud like the fall (though louder) of a plump partridge. After waiting till about six o’clock, I resolved to retire by the way we came; but I had scarcely given the order when we were met with a tremendous volley from the very quarter by which we intended to retreat. The enemy took deliberate aim, and three of our men fell badly wounded. I then brought the party back to our former position, and sent for my brother sergeant to consult with him as to what should be done. His proposal was to run the gauntlet through the Maoris, and to make for Mr. Armitage’s pa, which was about 150 yards farther on in the bush. He thought we could establish ourselves there and hold out till we received assistance; but I knew that the thing was impracticable. The pa was commanded by a hill from which the enemy could have amused themselves by shooting us at leisure; in short, the place was untenable.

“A poor fellow of the name of Stephen Grace being close at hand when I put the question, and always ready to offer his advice, proposed that we should form three sides of a hollow square, and retire down the hill to our rear, which was not wooded. I could scarcely help smiling at such a foolish proposal, when all at once I heard a deep sigh at my elbow, and on turning round saw poor Grace rolling down the hill in mortal agony, till his head lodged in a fern-bush, and all was over. I ordered the bugler to take his rifle and belt, and to cover him over with fern. I had no stretcher, and it was impossible for the men to carry his body with safety to themselves; he was now beyond the reach of harm, and we left him there with the green fern as his mort-cloth.

“At a quarter past six o’clock, I ordered the wounded to be taken down the hill to the rear by a path that led across the valley to the dense bush on the other side. I felt sure that a native path in that direction would lead to the Mauku or Pa Kekoe, both military posts. I knew that all depended on our coolness and self-possession. If we fell into confusion, or showed any signs of fear, we were lost; so I told the front rank of skirmishers to fire a volley and retire down the hill, giving at the same time a ringing cheer as if about to charge. As soon as they were established below, I ordered the rear rank to do the same thing. Nothing could be better than the conduct of the men at this trying moment; the movement was executed with as much steadiness as if they had been on parade. On reaching the foot of the hill we found, to our infinite delight, a beautiful stream of clear water. We saw by the footprints on the bank that the Maoris had been there; we knew it to be them because they turn their feet inward when walking, and spread their toes out like a duck in crossing swampy ground. They soon gave us clearer evidence of their presence by rushing out of the bush and opening a heavy fire on our men, who as readily returned it. The cowardly villains had not courage to descend from the crest of the hill, but kept up their fire there till our party entered the bush.

“About eight o’clock we began to make our way through the bush, but soon discovered that we had lost the path. On this I told my men that we must remain where we were till next morning. I then formed them into a square, and ordered every man to _speak_ his name, so as to ascertain whether any were missing. Two men failed to answer; both were wounded—Private Whittle slightly, across the scalp, and Private Bryne severely through the right hand. On inquiry, I found that, after drinking at the stream, they had pushed on by themselves instead of waiting for the main body, and diverged from the path without being missed; but we shall have more to say of their adventures presently. I then gave my orders for the night: every man had to put on his great-coat (all had brought them with them folded across their right shoulders); to sit with his rifle ready in his hand; no pipes to be lit; not a word to be spoken. I knew that this was the only way to elude the enemy and to reach the redoubt in safety. Under the tender mercies of Divine Providence, my efforts proved successful. About four o’clock next morning I placed myself at the head of my men, and we resumed our march through the bush. We pushed our way with difficulty through the dense masses of supplejack and creepers; we crossed over hills thickly covered with wood; we descended ravines that were almost perpendicular. No word of complaint was heard—all struggled on for their lives. At length, at eight o’clock A.M., our gallant little band emerged from the bush and found themselves in the open country about seven miles from the redoubt, which they could see in the distance. Rushing straight ahead, they met Colonel Murray with a hundred men of the 65th Regiment coming to their assistance. We now knew that we were safe, and it would have done your heart good to have heard the hearty English cheer that burst forth from both parties on first seeing one another. I know, too, that many a heartfelt, grateful prayer was breathed to Almighty God for having preserved them through all their dangers.

“Our joy was mingled with tender regret on learning that Captain Swift was no more. He died at seven o’clock the previous night. Corporal Ryan and Privates Talbot and Bulford remained with him to the last. They carried him in their arms for some distance after he had received his death-wound, but the agony he suffered was so intense that he requested them to lay him down on the ground. They placed him behind a fallen tree and concealed him as well as they could; they then crept down beside him. On hearing the heavy firing, he said to Corporal Ryan, ‘I am sure McKenna has gained the pa.’ Soon after they heard the natives coming through the bush; the report of firearms told them that the Maoris had attacked the advanced guard who were hastening to their assistance.

“After a short skirmish the advanced guard had to retire to make for the redoubt, which they reached about nine o’clock the same night. In this affair the natives, in firing, actually came behind the tree under which Captain Swift was lying with Ryan, Bulford, and Talbot. He begged of them not to leave him. They assured him that they never dreamed of doing so; they would stay by him till the last; they were ready to die with him if necessary. They told him that his moaning might attract the notice of the enemy. On hearing this, the poor fellow placed his hand on his mouth to restrain his agony till the Maoris retired. His last words to Ryan were, ‘Give me your hand.’ He pressed it, and then died as quietly as if he had fallen asleep, which I am sure he did in Jesus. With reverent and loving hands they covered the body with fern, and started for the redoubt at break of day. On their way they met the party sent to their relief.

“I must now return to Lieutenant Butler. Privates Thomas and Cole remained with him all night in the bush. He suffered much from his wound, and complained bitterly of the cold, though the men had thrown their two great-coats over him. There is no sacrifice a soldier will not willingly make for an officer he loves. Private Thomas took off his blue serge shirt and put it over him, remaining all night in his cotton shirt and trousers. Well, I agree with you it was a generous act; but so great is the attachment of our well-commanded regiment to their officers, that they would go through fire and water to serve them.

“I sent back a guide with Colonel Murray’s party to conduct them to the scene of action, and pushed on for the redoubt, which we reached at eleven o’clock A.M. We were much worn out, but grateful to God for our deliverance. In the evening Colonel Murray’s party returned; they brought in Captain Swift’s body, but could find no traces of the two men who were missing. They gave up the search as hopeless, and, embarking on board the steamer _Arrow_, returned to head-quarters. About ten o’clock next morning 100 men of the 70th Regiment marched into the redoubt; they had been guided through the bush from the Queen’s Redoubt by that most efficient officer Captain Greaves, of the 40th. We left the Alexandra Redoubt under their charge, while 100 of our men, under the command of Lieutenant Warren, started in search of their missing comrades, Captain Greaves accompanying the party. We reached the scene of action about four o’clock P.M., but found that the Maoris had disappeared. In a subsequent despatch Captain Greaves estimated that they must have amounted to little short of 300 men, and, judging from their number of sleeping-places and other indications on the spot, I am inclined to think that this estimate was not beyond the mark.

“I struck the tracks of the missing men at the bottom of the hill where they had last been seen. A little farther on we found one of their pannikins in the road. Darkness setting in we were obliged to return, but not before we had visited the pa at Camerontown, where we found quantities of maize, bran, and oats scattered about the beach, partly burned and rendered unfit for use. We found a canoe on the beach which I wished to destroy, but was prevented by Captain Greaves, who thoughtfully observed that it might be the means of saving one or both of the poor fellows who were missing. We now made for the redoubt, bearing with us the body of Private Grace, which we found on the same spot where we had left it. We reached the redoubt at half-past twelve o’clock the following morning, when we learned that Whittle, one of the missing men, was on the other side of the river calling for help. From our long residence in the colony we have many skilful paddlers in the ranks; in a few minutes a canoe was manned, and in half-an-hour the poor fellow was inside the redoubt, carefully attended by Assistant-Surgeon Styles, of the 40th Regiment. He had been exactly sixty hours without food, and was much exhausted.

“When, sufficiently recovered, he informed us that after leaving the party on the 7th, he and Bryne took the path to the left, instead of following the one to the right as we did. He had not proceeded far when he became unconscious; how long he remained in that state he could not tell. On being restored to consciousness by the drops of rain falling on his face, he found himself alone; Bryne had gone on. For two days he wandered about the bush, trying in vain to find an opening; at one time, while following a native path, he nearly fell into the hands of a party of rebels. He was close upon them, when, warned by the sound of their voices, he crept back into the bush without being seen. A still more singular incident occurred to him the previous evening. He heard the footsteps of our party at Camerontown, and, rushing forward, caught sight of them as they were entering the bush on their return from the canoes. Such was the impression produced by this sight that all his faculties, bodily and mental, were completely paralysed; he could neither speak nor move; when he recovered from his temporary prostration the party had disappeared. For a moment he was tempted to believe that he was labouring under some mental hallucination, the result of over-anxiety and bodily weakness, but it was not so. Finding no traces of our party, he hurried down to the river, where he found the canoe which Captain Greaves had the foresight to preserve. Using a rough piece of board as a paddle, he contrived to make his way up the river till he found himself within four hundred yards of the redoubt, but on the opposite side. Here he had the misfortune to drop the piece of board, and could only save himself from being swept away in the canoe by clinging to the long weeds in the shallow part of the river till his cries brought his comrades to his assistance.

“Poor Bryne, the other missing man, was less fortunate. He wandered about in the bush till he was surprised by a party of the enemy. We learned afterwards that he begged hard for his life, but he had to deal with wretches who knew no mercy. Five balls were lodged in his body, and he was stark and stiff when we found him. My story is now told; every one admits that it was one of the most desperate affairs that have occurred in the course of this war.

“I arrived at the Queen’s Redoubt, and was immediately sent for by General Cameron. I found him surrounded by his staff, but the moment he saw me he advanced and shook me warmly by the hand. ‘Sergeant,’ he said, ‘you have done well.’ ‘And I am amply rewarded by this honour,’ was my immediate answer; ‘not to myself alone, sir, but to the brave fellows who were with me, is the credit due.’ ‘I know it,’ said the general; ‘there is not another corps in the colony could have done as the 65th.’ Nor was this all; in his despatch to Governor Grey, General Cameron expressed his admiration and approval of our dear old regiment in the most complimentary terms, and it was on his recommendation that I received my commission and the Victoria Cross. Corporal Ryan was also gazetted for the Victoria Cross, but never lived to wear it. His death was in keeping with his life; he was accidentally drowned near Tuakan while trying to save a drunken comrade. Three months after their gallant conduct, Privates Bulford, Talbot, Cole, and Thomas received the medal for distinguished conduct in the field, the first two for remaining with the body of Captain Swift, and the two latter for waiting on Lieutenant Butler and conveying him towards the Redoubt.”

“In all this desperate affair did you ever think of your wife and children, McKenna?”

“Not once, sir. She asked me the same question the first time we met, and seemed a little put out when I gave her the same answer, but she understood it all afterwards. In the excitement of an engagement a soldier can only think of immediate duty; when the danger is past he feels how grateful he ought to be to Him who has preserved his life for those who are dearer to him than life itself.”