While in one hemisphere Roland Massinger was revolving these momentous
questions concerning love, duty, happiness, in this world and the next,
Hypatia Tollemache was considering almost equally important decisions
at the other end of the world.
Her range of thought and feeling was by no means so comprehensive as
his, inasmuch as, by adhering to the strict line of duty embodied
in altruistic sacrifice, she had considerably narrowed the field of
argument. She had definitely abandoned the idea of "slum missionary"
effort, having discovered by experience what had been previously
suggested to her, that there is an unpleasant, even undesirable, side
to these ministrations when the evangelist is a young and handsome
woman.
She saw clearly that there were many worthy labourers in that vineyard
who, possessing equal zeal, did not suffer from such disqualifications.
The illness which she had contracted when weakened by overwork,
possibly through infection, had chilled her enthusiasm, perhaps caused
her to doubt the expediency of her mission.
She was on the point of reviewing the respective conditions of
missionary life in China and Hindostan, where the Zenana offered so
fair a field for reformation by cultured sisterhoods, when she received
a letter from her friend Mary Summers, the interpretation of which was,
to Hypatia's sympathetic spirit, "Come over and help us."
With Mary Summers she had long since formed a close friendship. They
had corresponded regularly since her departure to New Zealand as the
wife of the Reverend Cyril Summers. He had been a _protégé_ of Bishop
Selwyn, and, as a curate, a favourite attendant during the long,
quasi-dangerous journeys in which the soul of that latter-day apostle
delighted.
As often happens in friendships, and even closer intimacies, the
schoolfellows were strongly contrasted in appearance and disposition.
The one was tall and fair, with grey-blue eyes, which could flash on
occasion. An air of hauteur, chastened by philosophic self-repression,
distinguished her. The other was scarce of middle height, with a
_petite_ but perfect figure, dark hair, and wistful hazel eyes.
Hypatia was impetuous, disdainful of obstacles, hating the expedient,
and scorning danger. Mary was persuasive, self-effacing, soft of speech
and manner, of a goodness so pervading that it seemed an impertinence
to praise it. Many people were strengthened in their convictions as to
a future state by the belief that any such scheme must include a heaven
for Mary Summers.
She and her husband had encountered trials and privations, borne
unflinchingly. They had reached a moderate degree of success, and, so
to speak, prosperity, having come to inhabit a comfortable cottage
near Tauranga, when this lamentable war bade fair to ruin everything,
destroying the work of years, and even endangering their safety.
The epistle which decided Hypatia as to locality ran as follows:--
"MY DEAREST HYPATIA,
"Wars and alarms still prevail, I grieve to say. The colonists are
determined, and the natives desperate, each race fighting as if for
existence. Blood has been shed on either side, so that all hope of
peace or mediation is at an end. I do not give any opinion as to
the policy of the Government. My husband believes that an act of
injustice provoked the contest which led to the war. The side on
which the fault lay has a heavy account to settle. But now all agree
that unless the natives make unconditional submission there is no
hope of peace.
"And how terrible are the consequences! It is positively
heartbreaking to see the dispersion of native schools, the empty
churches, and to hear of promising pupils and converts in the ranks
of the enemy--though they have not unlearned, poor things, all that
we have been at such pains to teach them. Continually we hear of
acts of humanity performed by them while fighting bravely in their
own ranks. Poor Henare Taratoa went under fire to fetch water for
a wounded soldier in the trenches at the Gate Pah. He himself was
killed soon afterwards at Orakau.
"It is affecting to hear, as we did, from a man in active service, of
their reading the lessons of the day and singing their psalms in the
intervals of the hottest fighting.
"These were once our _friendly_ natives, many of whom we know well by
name. They will not fight on Sunday, or break the Sabbath in any way,
which is more than our troops can say. Though at times downhearted
and anxious, Cyril and I feel that we have enjoyed a high privilege
in doing our Master's work.
"As to position, we are certainly not too far from the seat of war,
but Cyril says they have not as yet harmed any of the missionaries.
Outlying settlers have been murdered, and one poor family--but I
cannot bear to think of the details.
"We are in God's hands. So far we have been shielded from evil. We
are steadfast in faith and trust in the power of our Redeemer. The
children and Cyril are well. If only I were a little stronger, and
servants were not things of the past, I should be _nearly_ quite
happy. Always (in peace or war)
"Your devoted friend,
"MARY SUMMERS."
"Poor dear Mary! Nearly _quite_ happy indeed! Just like her to think
of every one but herself. 'If she were only a little stronger!' No
servant, too; and here am I, Hypatia Tollemache, as strong as ever I
was, now that I have got over that horrid fever; safe, protected, in
luxury even, only disturbed by the thought of where I shall betake
myself with my gifts and endowments (such as they are), and all
uncertain of what good I shall do when I get there. From 'India to the
Pole' seems prophetic. I was nearly going to India; now shall I go to
the 'Pole'? Yes, I am resolved. Writing to and condoling with poor dear
Mary will be saying in effect, 'Be ye warmed and fed'--the lowest
hypocrisy of all, it always seemed to me. I am determined--that is to
say, I have fully made up my mind. I will go out and help poor Mary,
the Reverend Cyril, and the dear children, besides taking my turn with
the heathen, unless they bring their tomahawks to church. It will be a
charity worthy of the name. There can be no mortal doubt about that. As
for the danger, do they not share it? So can I. _That_ never put me off
anything, I can safely say. I shall write to Mary _when_ I have taken
my passage--not before."
So fixed in the resolve to offer up herself on the altar of friendship,
duty, and danger delightfully combined was this latter-day damsel,
that she went off to London, and, having no parents or near relatives
to control her--only a couple of trustees, who, provided she did not
spend more than her income, permitted her to do pretty well as she
pleased--took her passage to New Zealand by the very next boat, the
_Arawatta_. The said trustees raised their eyebrows when informed
of her intention, but consoled themselves, being men of sense and
experience, remarking that if young women of independent means and
ideas did not do one foolish thing they would be sure to do another,
even perhaps less desirable. So, the decisive step being taken, she
had only to tell a few friends--Mrs. Merivale, _née_ Branksome, being
one--and get ready a suitable outfit for the voyage to this Ultima
Thule of Maoriland.
Up to this time, though hard knocks, hard fare, and hard marches had
convinced Massinger that volunteer soldiering in Northern New Zealand
was no child's play, yet, on the whole, the experience had been less
depressing than exciting. The health of the triumvirate was unimpaired.
The youth and uniformly good spirits of Massinger had served him
well. Mr. Slyde's pessimistic philosophy had much the same effect,
apparently, leading him to assert that "nothing mattered one way or
another in this infernal country; that all things being as bad as they
could be, any change would probably be for the better; that if they
were killed in action, as seemed highly probable, it would be perhaps
the best and quickest way out of the hopeless muddle into which the
Governor, the ministers, the settlers, and the soldiers had got the
cursed country. The alternative was, of course, to desert, which, for
absurdly conventional reasons, could not be thought of. His advice to
Massinger was to marry Erena Mannering and join the Ngapuhi tribe,
which, under Waka Nene's sagacious policy, was bound to come out on
top. That would be, at any rate, a decided policy, such as no party
in the island had sufficient intellect to grasp. He might then give
all his support to the King movement, and possibly in course of time
be elected Sovereign of Waikato and surrounding states, do the Rajah
Brooke business, and found an Anglo-Maori dynasty."
These and similar suggestions, delivered with an air of earnestness,
and the slow persuasive tones which marked his ordinary conversation,
never failed to produce a chorus of merriment, in effective contrast to
the unrelaxing gravity of his expression.
As for Warwick, the war-demon which had possessed his Maori ancestors
had temporarily taken up its abode with him, for, as the campaign
progressed, he seemed day by day to be more resolute and unflinching,
in action or out of it.
"Seems to me," said Mr. Slyde, as they commenced their march in the
discouraging dawn of a dismally damp day, "we're in for a deucedly
hot picnic. Colonel been blocked two or three times in his advance;
made up his mind to go for this Orakau pah, spite of all odds. Hope he
won't start before he's ready. Pluck and obstinacy fine things in their
place, but the waiting business pays best with Tangata Maori. Devilish
cool hand at the game himself."
"How about our artillery?" asked his friend.
"Not weight enough, fellows say. Guns always beastly bother to
transport. See when we get there."
* * * * *
Another scout had just come in with the news that Paterangi had been
abandoned, and that Brigadier-General Carey was in force at Awamutu.
The Ngati Maniapoto had crossed the Puniu river, and at Orakau one of
the chiefs had shouted out, "This is my father's land; here will I
fight." Rifle-pits were formed, and a determined stand was resolved
upon. Before the position, however, could be strongly fortified, three
hundred men of the 40th Regiment had been sent to occupy the rear. At
three o'clock next morning a force of seven hundred men, artillery and
engineers, the 40th and 60th Regiments, marched past the Kihi-kihi
redoubt, picking up a hundred and fifty men from it on the way. The
Waikato, the 65th and 3rd Militia, with a hundred men, moved up from
Rangi-ohia to the east side. At day-dawn thirteen hundred rank and
file had converged upon Orakau, strengthened by a contingent of the
Forest Rangers, among whom were Messrs. Massinger, Slyde, and Warwick,
expectant of glory, and by no means uncertain as to taking part in
one of the most stubborn engagements they had as yet encountered. The
defenders of Orakau numbered under four hundred, inclusive of women and
children.
"There goes the big gun from the south-west ridge," said Slyde. "It
ought to make the splinters fly. A breach is only a matter of time."
"Yes, but what time?" asked Warwick. "I don't know Rewi, if he hasn't
blinded the outer lines with fern-bundles tied with flax. It's
wonderful how they will stop a cannon-ball. Yes, I thought so. No
making for a breach just yet."
"They can't have any food or water to speak of," said Slyde. "Have to
give in if we wait."
"True enough; they're short of water, and have only potatoes and
gourds, I hear," said Warwick. "But Maoris can live upon little, and
fight upon nothing at all."
"There goes Captain King and the advanced guard," said Slyde.
"Too soon--too soon!" said Warwick. "There's a devilish deep ditch,
besides earthworks and timber. Ha! there the Maori speaks. The troops
have made a rush; they're driven back. The reinforcement comes up.
Another assault. My God! Captain King's down--badly wounded, I know.
See, Captain Baker has dismounted, and calls for volunteers. Rangers to
the front! Hurrah!"
And like one man, the little band joined the 18th. But though the
assault was made with desperate courage, the close fire again forced
them to retire with a heavy loss. No breach had as yet been made,
while the fire from behind the earthworks was incessant and accurate.
Seeing that it was not a case for a cheer and a bayonet rush, the
general decided to take the place by sap.
"Might have thought of that before," growled Mr. Slyde, "and saved my
hat." Here he pointed to a bullet-hole in his headpiece with so rueful
a face that his smoke-begrimed comrades burst out laughing. "Are _you_
hit, Warwick?"
"Only a graze," replied he, feeling his right arm, from which the blood
had stained his sleeve. "I was afraid the bone was touched. It's all
right."
"Here come those Maunga-tautari fellows," said Warwick, pointing to a
compact body of natives now appearing on the scene. "Ha! you may fire
a volley and dance the war-dance, my fine fellows; you're out of this
game. There goes a shell among them. How they scatter! Too late for
this play."
So it proved. Within the next twenty-four hours a British
reinforcement, four hundred strong, appeared. The sap had been carried
on; none could escape. Another day, another night, passed. At length,
about noon, an Armstrong gun was carried into the sap, a breach was
made, and the siege was virtually over.
On the score of humanity, women and children being in the pah, the
garrison was called upon to surrender, with a promise that their lives
should be spared.
Now was heard the immortal rejoinder: "Ka whai-whai,
tonu--ake--ake--ake!" ("We will fight on to the end--for ever--for
ever--for ever!")
The interpreter pleaded for the women and children. "Why not send them
out?"
The answer came back: "Our women will fight also."
But they commenced to find the rifle-pits untenable. The hand-grenades
made terrific slaughter. The rifle-pits had been too hastily formed for
safety; but still they fought stubbornly on.
When the assault was made, half of the first troops that entered fell;
nor was the second assault more fortunate. Then the enemy's ammunition
failed. It was pathetic to note them in their deep despair. Standing
amid their dead and dying, the blood-stained warriors sang a mission
hymn of old days, and raised their voices--which were plainly heard--in
passionate supplication to the Christian's God.
"But there was no voice, nor any that answered." Still pressed nearer,
with hail of shot and shell, the resistless pakeha. Once again their
mood changed, and they turned to the heathen gods of the children of
Maui. Chanting an ancient _karakia_, or imprecation, they marched forth
in a solid column. The women and children, with the high chiefs, were
placed in the centre.
An opening had been made in the ranks to enable the heavy gun to
open fire. Through this, in the full light of the afternoon sun, the
unconquered garrison marched out steadily, as if going to church in the
peaceful days of missionary rule. Rewi ordered that no shot should be
fired. The scanty ammunition would be all needed for the marsh passage,
on the route to the Puniu river.
Like the Moorish monarch giving his last sigh to the glories of the
Alhambra and the snow-crowned Sierras, did Rewi cast a lingering look
on his ancestral possessions? Eastward frowned Maunga-tautari, on the
flank of the great Waikato plain. Pirongi on the west held watch and
ward over the Waipu. Kihi-kihi, his own settlement, was in the hands
of the pakeha. But, the Puniu once crossed, there was refuge in the
forests of Rangitoto.
The marsh was reached, though many fell before the converging fire of
the troops. The cavalry intercepted them at the neck. Many were thus
slain; but, in spite of all losses, the main body gained the Puniu
river and escaped, after a pursuit lasting over six miles.
Orakau had fallen; of the garrison, nearly one half lay dead around the
pah or on the Puniu river trail. How stubborn a fight had they made for
three days and two nights against fearful odds, short as they became
of food, water, and ammunition! The sap had reached the last ditch.
Even then they did not despair. They might die, but would not yield.
Maunga-tautari was abandoned. Rewi's warriors were scattered. It was
the Maori Flodden; and the crossing of the Puniu was akin to that of
the historic river, immortalized in the verse of the Magician of the
North--
"Tweed's echoes heard the ceaseless plash,
As many a broken band,
Disordered through her currents dash,
To gain the Scottish land."
"This Orakau business should finish up the infernal war, any one
would think," said Mr. Slyde on the following morning, when, after a
decent night's rest, a complete personal renovation, and a breakfast,
much assisted by the arrival of fresh supplies, he and Massinger were
cleaning their accoutrements.
"But surely it _will_ end it," replied Massinger, with an air of
conviction. "More than a hundred natives were found dead. It is almost
certain that fifty more were either killed or mortally wounded. The
rest are scattered. They will never be so mad as to tackle the troops
we can bring against them now, engineers and artillery too, besides the
volunteers and friendlies."
"Any other country, any other people, quite so," assented Mr. Slyde,
in a tone of philosophical argument; "but Maoris devils incarnate when
their blood is up. Remember what Tutakaro said, chaffed with fighting
against us once and for us afterwards?"
"No. I saw the man, though--fine, powerful youngster."
"Beggar coolly replied, 'What matter? Fighting is fighting: if we young
fellows can get a share of it, don't much care which side we go for.'"
"And did he go well for us?"
"Of course he did. Killed a chief. Shot through the arm, too. Tied it
up and blazed away till the affair was over."
"What a splendid mercenary soldier he would have made in the Middle
Ages! Is he with us now?"
"Yes. Very nearly got Rewi, as he was crossing the mound. Strictly
impartial."
"And a most pathetic sight it was" said Massinger, "when they were
crossing the mound at the other side of the swamp. I saw the column
file by--men, women, and children, all as serious as a funeral, and
as cool as if they were going to market. I hadn't the heart to fire
another shot. Every now and then I could hear a woman's voice--not
complaining, far from it--urging on the men to keep going and to shoot
when they saw a chance."
"Warwick says _you_ had a close shave. So much for not minding your
business. Thinking about Erena Mannering. Soldiers no right to
have feelings. Harass the enemy, sink, burn, kill, destroy. Navy
regulations; army too."
"Certainly a bullet _did_ hit the tree I was leaning against, close
to my head. Queer thing, too; it came from the _friendly_ side. I
distinctly saw the smoke from the bush, where our natives were."
"You must have been in the line of fire."
"Nothing of the sort. It was a side shot."
"Any one cherishing ill feeling that you know of?"
"Well--no. Now I come to think, there was an ill-looking dog of a
Ngapuhi with us at Rotorua, that was turned out of the party by me and
bullied by the chief. His name was Ngarara."
"Wh--ew! I've heard the reptile's name before. Cousin or something of
your Zenobia--admirer probably. Acute attack jealousy."
"Might have been. After he went I didn't trouble my head about him. I
had a great mind to give him a thrashing, but Warwick said it might
cause trouble."
"And so at any time he may take a steady pot-shot at you; probably did.
'Keep your eye skinned,' as that Yankee said. Set Warwick at him. By
the way, wonder how he is? Shot through the shoulder yesterday. No bone
hit. Doctor says all right directly. Lay up for a week. Painful all
the same. Suppose we look him up?"
When our friends were comforting themselves with the belief that
perhaps the dragging and unsatisfactory war was near its termination,
how little they were aware of the decisive engagement ahead of
them--the very next in succession, as it turned out, when the 43rd
was fated to lose more officers than any of the regiments engaged
at Waterloo! A crushing repulse, followed by a disastrous rout and
the death of their gallant colonel! With what indignation would they
have repelled such a suggestion! It was destined to come to pass,
nevertheless. That two of the speakers would be dangerously wounded,
and the other at death's door--"reported missing," besides? Long was
it before the soldiers of the gallant regiment, which had won glory on
many a bloody field, could endure an allusion to the Gate Pah, a name
which always brought up memories of bitter grief and shame intolerable.
It was a case of "threes about"--those simple, apparently meaningless
words, spoken by chance or otherwise--which clouded the well-earned
fame of a gallant cavalry regiment in India, and caused the death of
their colonel by his own hand. And in the memorable disaster at the
Gate Pah, in the moment of victory, it is alleged that the ominous
word, to a British ear, of "Retreat!" was distinctly heard.
Orakau fight was over. The dead were buried. The women were still
mingling blood with their tears for those who would never more defy the
pakeha or their hereditary enemies. But the national war-spirit was
alive and redly glowing.
Many of the Ngaiterangi and other natives had gone from Hawkes Bay to
Tauranga, indignant at the blockade of the coast. Major Whitmore, as a
counter-stroke, raised a contingent from among the friendly natives,
confident of their willingness to fight anybody and anywhere. His
opinion did not long lack confirmation.
The Ngaiterangi speedily changed position, building a strong pah at
Puke-hina-hina, long afterwards memorable as the Gate Pah, so named
from its peculiar situation on a narrow ridge with a swamp at each end.
It was about three miles from the mission station at Tauranga. Here
the insurgents proposed to await the attack. Not unused to the rules
of war, they sent a protocol (March 28) to the colonel in command,
announcing that unarmed persons, or even soldiers who turned the butt
of their muskets or the hilt of their swords to the enemy, would be
spared. This resolve was fated to stand them in good stead.
On the 21st of April, General Cameron transferred his headquarters to
Tauranga.
"'Quem Jupiter vult perdere dementat prius,'" spouted Massinger, who
saw an opening for a classical quotation as, soon after daybreak on the
29th, the guns and mortars, placed in position overnight, opened fire
in front. "What possible chance do they think they have against a park
of artillery and nearly two thousand men?"
"'Let not him that putteth on his armour, etcetera,'" returned Slyde.
"If I were anything but a thick-witted Englishman, I should say, don't
like the look of things. Maoris too d----d quiet. Bad sign. See that
fellow coolly shovelling up earth to fill a hole."
Warwick, whose wound was presumably paining him, but who defied
the surgeon to keep him in the hospital, said nothing. Afterwards
brightening up, he began in his usual cool way to discuss the situation.
"We've got guns enough _this_ time to pound them to bits, and men
enough to eat them, but they'll make a fight of it, and a stiff one.
That redoubt's an artful piece of work, and the line of rifle-pits
between it and the swamp is well placed. More than the flagstaff
is--for _us_, I mean. I believe it's ever so far in the rear to draw
the fire. That's an old dodge of theirs. However, there must be a
breach in the afternoon."
"I should say before that; the firing's very accurate," said Massinger.
"And that Armstrong six-pounder is enfilading their left."
"After lunch, if we get any," quoth Slyde.
Whatever "stomach for the fight" the men told off for the assault had,
the ration served out to the Forest Rangers, who were notified for
that service, along with a hundred and fifty sailors and marines and
the same number of the 43rd, was discussed with appetite. A reserve of
three hundred men, under Captain Hamilton of H.M.S. _Esk_, formed the
reserve.
"The cannon's loud-mouthed summons ceased,
A rocket signal soared on high."
The assault was on.
Colonel Booth and Commander Hay led the way into the inner trench,
where no enemy was to be seen. But from earth-covered pits and passages
poured forth a volley, under which officers and men fell rapidly.
Still the crowd of assailants pressed on, only to be shot down as they
entered the fatal death-trap. The reserve joined, with headlong rush,
in support of their comrades--all vainly, as it seemed. The officers of
both services continued to drop, but the ranks closed up--
"Each stepping where his comrade stood,
The instant that he fell."
Captain Hamilton fell in his place when leading the reserve. Colonel
Booth and Commander Hay had fallen before. Captains Hamilton, Glover,
Mure, Utterton, and two lieutenants, _all of the 43rd_, were shot dead
or mortally wounded, as also Captain Glover's brother, whom he tried to
carry off. The front ranks of the storming party were annihilated.
In a very few minutes every officer of the column was either dead or
wounded. Among the latter were Slyde and Warwick. They had gone down
along with the officers of the 43rd. When they awoke to consciousness
it was dark, and their comrade Massinger was nowhere to be seen or
heard.
Stunned and panic-stricken, deprived of their officers, the men had
broken and fled--in such headlong haste that they took no advantage of
the ground. On the open surface of the ridge, many were shot. No one
could account for the disaster. Some said that the word "Retreat" was
heard and acted upon; others, that the main body of the natives had
rushed to the rear, and being met by the 68th Regiment posted there,
recoiled, and dashing back to sell their lives dearly, were mistaken by
the soldiers for a Maori reinforcement. Then the Maori warriors turned
to the work of slaughter. Rawiri leaped on to the parapet as he fired,
taunting the soldiery and inviting them to renew the fight. As the day
declined, the garrison made a determined rush to the right wing of the
pah. During the darkness of the night they stole away in small parties.
They passed silently through the fern, or by the right rear, leaving
(and this was most exceptional) their dead and wounded behind them.
In the garrison fought all day Henare Taratoa, educated under Bishop
Selwyn at St. John's College before 1853. He tended one of the wounded,
who in his dying agonies thirsted for a drop of water. The Maoris had
none. Taratoa threaded his way through the English sentries in the
darkness, and returned with a calabash of water to slake his enemy's
thirst. More than that. By the side of each wounded Englishman was
found in the morning some small water-vessel, placed there by the
Maoris before they deserted the fort.
Colonel Booth was carried out of the pah in the morning. The general
went to him, but the gallant soldier felt the repulse so deeply that he
turned away his face, saying, "General, I can't look at you. I tried to
carry out your orders, but we failed." He died that evening.
The tameless islanders were not minded to give up all for lost, even
now. By one great effort they might force back the invader, or possibly
combine the tribes against him. At any rate, in the quasi-victory of
the Gate Pah they had obtained _utu_ for the death of many a warrior,
many a chief. But, even now, the tribes were unbeaten. News came to
Colonel Greer from the Maori allies that yet another pah at Te Ranga
was rising, a few miles from the scene of the recent conflict.
Slyde and Warwick, severely though not dangerously wounded, were both
in hospital, precluded from participation in the closing engagement,
which they deeply regretted. Lieutenant Massinger reported missing.
"Hard lines," said the former, raising himself with difficulty from his
stretcher, "not to have a throw in at the finish. I feel convinced this
must snuff the beggars out. The colonel will at them before they have
time to do much. Friendlies in great heart. The 43rd die to a man or
wipe out their defeat."
"Yes," said Warwick, "I believe their hour is come. How grieved
Massinger will be that he is out of it! However, he may think himself
lucky to escape with his life."
"You think he has, then?" said Slyde.
"He was all right when I saw him last, waving his sword, shoulder to
shoulder with Von Tempsky, who was doing his best to rally the troops.
Then I went down. Saw nothing more. I had a crack with the butt end of
a tomahawk also. I have no doubt that he is with Mannering's _hapu_,
most likely with Erena looking after him."
"In that case he's all right," said Slyde. "Maori women great nurses,
always heard."
"They've got a _tohunga_ in the tribe," continued Warwick, "the natives
say, can cure any man that's not actually buried--bring him to life,
they believe. Between him and Erena we'll see him back in Auckland all
right."
* * * * *
Colonel Greer made no delay at Te Ranga. He marched at once with six
hundred men, enfiladed the enemy from a spur which commanded their
right; drove in their skirmishers and kept up a sharp fire for two
hours. Then, reinforced by a gun and two hundred additional men, the
advance was sounded.
Short work was made of the assault. The 43rd and 68th, with the 1st
Waikato, carried the rifle-pits with a rush. For a short space the
natives fought desperately, then turned and fled, leaving sixty-eight
men dead in the rifle-pits. The pursuit was keen. The 43rd avenged
their losses at the Gate Pah. One hundred and ten Maoris were killed,
twenty wounded, and ten made prisoners. Henare Taratoa lay among the
dead. On his body was found a written order of the day. It began with
prayer, and ended with the words, "If thine enemy hunger, feed him; if
he thirst, give him drink."
Three stubbornly contested engagements had broken the Maori power. In
them they lost their bravest warriors and nearly all their leading
chiefs. They had no option but to yield. On the 5th of August the
Governor, Sir George Grey, with General Cameron, met the assembled
tribes. They had previously surrendered their arms to Colonel Greer,
they now surrendered their lands; upon which the Governor promised to
care for them as the Queen's subjects. He would retain _one-fourth_
of their lands as atonement for the rebellion, but would return the
remainder in recognition of their humanity throughout the war.
The Waikato tribes had sustained a final and crushing defeat. The
flower of their race lay low, were wounded or in prison. They had
forfeited their port at Tauranga, their most available outlet for
produce. The war was ended.