Kimble [Kimball] Bent, An Unusual European Who Deserted The British Army And Joined The Hau Hau's #1
Kimble [Kimball] Bent
This series of stories will describe the life of the Maori during the late 1800s, as told through a Europeans eyes.
During the New Zealand [Maori Wars] it is reasonably common knowledge that large numbers of Maori fought on the British side, they even had a name for them “Kupapa Maori”.
A lot of the “Friendly” Maori were using the Europeans to get revenge for some misdeed in the past and get rewarded for it.
Less well known is the handful of Europeans that went the other way, and fought on the side of the Maori, Pakeha soldiers who deserted the British Army and joined the cause of the Maori Rebels,
Most of these are poorly documented, the exception was Kimble [Kimball] Bent.
Kimble Bent's mother was a half-caste Red Indian girl, of the Musqua tribe, whose villages stood on the banks of the St. Croix River, State of Maine, U.S.A.
Her English name before marriage was Eliza Senter.
She became the wife of a ship-builder in the town of Eastport, Maine; his name was Waterman Bent, he worked at first for Caleb Houston, shipbuilder, but afterwards had a yard of his own.
This couple had seven children, two sons and five daughters; one of these sons was Kimble Bent.
He was born in Eastport on August 24, 1837.
The roving wayward element in young Kimble Bent's blood soon made itself manifest.
When he was about seventeen, he ran away from home and went to sea.
He shipped on a United States man-of-war, the training frigate Martin, and spent three years aboard her, cruising along the Atlantic Coast.
He quickly became a smart young sailor and gunner, and from the rank of seaman, he graduated to deck-man, a sort of quartermaster.
It was part of his duty during the last year of his service to instruct the boys who came aboard as recruits in the working of the muzzle-loading 6-pounder and 8-pounder guns.
Paid off from his frigate at the end of his three years, Bent returned to his people as unexpectedly as he had left them.
But he didn't stay in Eastport long. The prosaic life of the old town was no more to his liking than when first he had run away to follow a sailor's life; so he soon took to the seas again.
He gathered together what money he could, a considerable sum, he says, for his father was indulgent, and took a ship across the Atlantic, in his head some such unexpressed sentiment as Robert Louis Stevenson long afterwards put into verse in his “Songs of Travel”
“The untented Kosmos my abode
I go, a wilful stranger,
My mistress still the open road
And the bright eyes of Danger.”
But no man-of-war life for him.
He booked his passage in a barque sailing for Liverpool, resolved to see something of life in the Old World.
When he landed in the big city he “made himself flash,” to use his own expression, and went the pace with a few like-minded young fellows, and one way and another his stock of cash soon vanished, and he found himself stranded, friendless, and alone—his companions of the “flush” times had no more use for him.
One day, as he wandered disconsolately along the streets, his eye was taken by the scarlet tunic and lively bearing of a smart recruiting-sergeant, and on the impulse of the moment, he took the Queen's shilling and was enlisted in Her Majesty's 57th Regiment of Foot.
This was in the year 1859.
The young Eastport sailor soon bitterly regretted the day that his eye was dazzled by the Queen's scarlet.
The British Army was less to his taste than life in Uncle Sam's Navy.
He was sent to Cork with a draft of two hundred other recruits, and the interminable drill soon gave him an intense disgust for the routine of barrack-yard instruction.
Four months of recruit-drill, then one-day Private Bent took a stroll down the Cork wharves and cast his eyes around for a likely craft in which to give the army, drill-sergeants, and all the slip.
A Boston barque, the Maria, happened to be lying at one of the tees, and her skipper, one Captain Cann, Bent, to his joy, found to be an old acquaintance.
He unfolded his dejected tale, and the sailor at once offered his assistance in rescuing a fellow-countryman from John Bull's grip.
That evening Bent stole away quietly from the barracks, boarded the barque, and was stowed away safely below in the dunnage-hole.
He did not show his nose above hatches for two days, the barque by that time had left the harbour on her return voyage to Boston, and the deserter was able to appear on deck, a free man.
But not for long. Bent's misfortunes were only beginning.
When about three hundred miles off the land a furious easterly gale began to blow, and the old barque sprang a leak.
Hove-to in the storm, all the crew could do was to stand to the pumps.
The huge Atlantic seas came thundering on deck, and more than once washed the men away from the pumps.
For six days and six nights, they wallowed in the deep, all hands, sailors and passengers, taking turns at the pumps, working for their lives.
All those terrible days of storm and fear the Maria's hands had nothing to eat but hard biscuits soaked with salt water.
There was no place to cook and no means of cooking, for the galley with all its contents had been washed overboard.
While the crew laboured at the pumps, the captain tried to cheer them up and put a little life into their weary bodies and despairing hearts by playing lively airs on his concertina and singing sailors' chanteys.
One day says Bent, a German brig hove in sight and spoke us.
Seeing our signal of distress she asked the name of our barque and the number of the crew.
We signalled our reply, and she answered that she could not help us, there was too much sea.
Then she squared away and left us. All this time we were labouring at the pumps to keep the old barque afloat.
Next day another brig, a Boston vessel deep-loaded, from the West Indies, hailed us and stood by, signalling to us to launch our boats.
This we did, after hard and dangerous work, and managed to reach the brig's side, where all the sixteen of us were hauled on board safely.
About two hours after we left our ship we saw her go down.
To Bent's intense disappointment he found that the brig that had rescued him was bound for the wrong side of the Atlantic.
She landed the shipwrecked mariners at Glasgow.
Bent was walking about the streets one day, wondering however he was going to get a passage home, for he had no money, when he was arrested as a deserter, recognised by the description which had been posted in every barrack-room and every police-station.
He was taken to the military barracks, and then sent under guard to Ireland and down to Cork, where he was tried by court-martial, and sentenced to eighty-four days in prison.
When he had served his term he was shipped off to India with his regiment, landing at Bombay, and for some time did garrison duty at Poona. [Pune]
The 57th spent two years in India, only just recovering from the terrible throes of the Mutiny.
Then news came of a serious war with a wild native race in a distant country called New Zealand, far away down in the Southern Ocean, and the regiment was ordered to hold itself in readiness to go route marching to Bombay, thence to sea.
Marching orders soon followed, and the headquarters of the regiment sailed for Auckland; the company in which Bent was a private (No. 8 Company) was one of those left behind to look after the women and children of the regiment.
Orders for them also quickly came, and they took the road for Bombay.
The journey from Poona to Bombay took four days, or rather nights, for all the marching was done by night.
Part of the way was through a dense jungle in which man-eating tigers swarmed.
The troops marched through this jungle by torch-light, winding along a narrow track through the densely-matted vegetation.
The growling of the tigers was heard all round at night, but the blazing torches kept them away.
Embarked in a troopship at Bombay, Bent and his fellow-soldiers sailed not unwillingly for a land spoken of by report as a country which, though wild and new, was a pleasanter place to live in than scorching sun-baked India.
After a voyage of eighty-nine days, the troopship anchored in Auckland Harbour, and her soldiers spent their first week on New Zealand soil in the old Albert Barracks, where the bright flower-gardens and tree-groves of a beautiful park now crown the hill that in those troubled days was girt with a massive crenellated wall, and was alive with all the martial turmoil of campaigning time.
[Image Source](https://www.tripsavvy.com/thmb/lDLPUXxN0a_8RUchai7X4_W_Tyo=/960x0/filters:no_upscale():max_bytes(150000):strip_icc()/MAP27_MASTER-56a3f71d3df78cf772801c7f.jpg}
Then the new arrivals were sent down to Taranaki by sea to join the headquarters of the 57th, and went into new barrack life on Marsland Hill, New Plymouth.
Kimble Bent's longing for a free independent life became stronger than ever in this new country.
He would gladly have exchanged camp-life for even the perilous occupation of a frontier settler so that he were free.
The parade ground was a purgatory, and the restraint of discipline and the ramrod-and-pipe clay system of soldiering were irksome beyond words.
He was sick to death of being ordered about by sergeants and corporals.
Fighting would have been a relief, but there was none yet.
He endeavoured to get his discharge from the regiment, but without success; and his impatience of discipline led him into various more or less serious conflicts with the regimental authorities.
The first of the below posts has a list of the previous posts of Maori Myths and Legends
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/how-war-was-declared-between-tainui-and-arawa
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/the-curse-of-manaia-part-1
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/the-curse-of-manaia-part-2
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/the-legend-of-hatupatu-and-his-brothers
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/hatupatu-and-his-brothers-part-2
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/the-legend-of-the-emigration-of-turi-an-ancestor-of-wanganui
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/the-continuing-legend-of-turi
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/turi-seeks-patea
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/the-legend-of-manaia-and-why-he-emigrated-to-new-zealand
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/the-love-story-of-hine-moa-the-maiden-of-rotorua
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/how-te-kahureremoa-found-her-husband
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/the-magical-wooden-head
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/the-art-of-netting-learned-from-the-fairies
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/te-kanawa-s-adventure-with-a-troop-of-fairies
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/the-loves-of-takarangi-and-rau-mahora
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/puhihuia-s-elopement-with-te-ponga
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/the-story-of-te-huhuti
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/a-trilogy-of-wahine-toa-woman-heroes
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/a-modern-maori-story
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/hine-whaitiri
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/whaitere-the-enchanted-stingray
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/turehu-the-fairy-people
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/kawariki-and-the-shark-man
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/awarua-the-taniwha-of-porirua
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/hami-s-lot-a-modern-story
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/the-unseen-a-modern-haunting
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/the-death-leap-of-tikawe-a-story-of-the-lakes-country
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/paepipi-s-stranger
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/a-story-of-maori-gratitude
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/by-the-waters-of-rakaunui-1
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/by-the-waters-of-rakaunui-2
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/bt-the-waters-of-rakaunui-3
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/bt-the-waters-of-rakaunui-4
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/te-ake-s-revenge-1
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/te-ake-s-revenge-2
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/te-ake-s-revenge-3
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/te-ake-s-revenge-4
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/some-of-the-caves-in-the-centre-of-the-north-island
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/the-man-eating-dog-of-the-ngamoko-mountain
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/a-story-from-mokau-in-the-early-1800s
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/new-zealand-s-atlantis
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/the-cave-dwellers-of-rotorua
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/kawa-mountain-and-tarao-the-tunneller
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/the-legend-of-fragrant-leaf-s-rock
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/a-tale-from-the-waikato-river
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/uneuku-s-judgment
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/at-the-rising-of-kopu-venus
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/harehare-s-story-from-the-rangitaiki
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/another-way-of-passing-power-to-the-successor
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/the-cave-of-wairaka
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/a-tale-of-how-mount-tauhara-got-to-where-it-is-now
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/te-ana-o-tuno-hopu-s-cave
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/stories-of-an-enchanted-valley-near-rotorua
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/utu-a-maori-s-revenge
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/where-tangihia-sailed-away-to
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/the-curse-on-te-waru-s-new-house
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/the-fall-of-the-virgin-s-island
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/the-first-day-of-removing-the-tapu-on-te-waru-s-new-house
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/a-maori-detective-story
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/the-second-day-of-removing-the-tapu-on-te-waru-s-new-house
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/the-story-of-a-maori-heroine
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/a-tale-from-old-kawhia
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/the-stealing-of-an-atua-god
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/maungaroa-and-some-of-its-legends
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/the-mokia-tarapunga
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/a-memory-of-maketu
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/a-tale-from-the-taupo-region
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/a-tale-of-the-taniwha-slayers
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/the-witch-trees-of-the-kaingaroa
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/there-were-giants-in-that-land
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/a-tale-from-old-rotoiti
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/the-lagoons-of-the-tuna-eels
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/the-legend-of-takitimu
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/the-white-chief-of-the-oouai-tribe
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/tane-mahuta-the-soul-of-the-forest
https://steemit.com/history/@len.george/a-tale-of-maori-magic
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STOPTo support your work, I also upvoted your post!
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as a question, what day of the week do you start your counting?
the notifications are on different days of the week, so I was wondering.
Mr Bent was a colorful character.
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As a young lad, there were references to that ers of people all over the place.
Their doings were well known and acknowledged, now it is all swept under the mat, you have to be P C these days, apparently