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Chapter XXIV The Last Stand

It often happens that when we are driven by stress of circumstances to a course of action we have sought to avoid, we find in it advantages of which we had formed no conception; and so it proved with me. Throughout my term of captivity my mind had been turned for the possibility of succour to my native friends, while of those of my own blood in this connection I had not thought at all. The letter from the Governor to General Cameron had remained all the while in my possession. I must have handled it at least a score of times, and yet it never occurred to me to reflect that Sir George might one day recall my existence and take steps to ascertain my whereabouts. Yet within a few minutes of my making myself known to General Cameron I found that the information for which I had been so long hungering had lain for many months awaiting my arrival in the camp of the English.

"His Excellency has been uneasy at your long silence," said the General, as he handed me a package inscribed in the Governor's handwriting, "and I have several times caused inquiries to be made among our prisoners with regard to you. The results were conflicting. That you were still alive seemed probable; but we could hardly accept the account of one informant, who told us that you had allied yourself with the Queen's enemies and taken up arms against us."

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The General smiled, but my heart was as heavy as lead. I rapidly sketched for him an account of my adventures from the day I left Auckland in the early winter until my arrival in camp, suppressing every detail which might tend to throw light on the reasons which had inspired my captors.

"Strange," he commented musingly. "You have been, I understand, a resident among the natives."

"Yes, sir."

"Possibly then you are acquainted with an Englishman of the name of Purcell?"

"He is my foster-father, General Cameron."

He looked at me, and his face was grave. "Indeed!" he said. "I am bound to tell you that there are rumours in regard to Mr, Purcell rather more circumstantial than in your case."

"But probably no more true, sir."

"Possibly."

There was reserve in his tone, inciting me to fuller speech. "You must remember, General," I said, "that my father and I have spent our lives among the natives, and inevitably we have an affection for them. We recognise that government by the whites is the only government possible in this country, and that it must be ensured, even though it be at the cost of many lives; but it is not possible for us to regard the natives vindictively, or to be witnesses of the calamity which has overtaken them without the deepest regret."

"With that view I have no quarrel, Mr. Tregarthen," he said more warmly; "indeed, it has my sympathy, and no one would more gladly welcome the submission of this unfortunate people than I. But I hope that may be all."

There was something so significant in his voice that I looked at him for enlightenment.

"Sympathy with the natives is one thing," he went page 356on, "encouragement or open espousal of their cause quite another. For such action I could find no excuse. A man who actively sides with the enemies of his own countrymen commits the gravest crime known to martial law."

I was startled at the emphasis with which he spoke. "No doubt," I said stiffly, "your remarks have some application to the circumstances."

"Yes," he replied clearly, "I regret to say they have, I have heard over and over again that Mr. Purcell is assisting the rebellious tribes. If it is not so, how may we account for the persistence of the rumour? He is helping them with advice, which, no doubt, we can afford to neglect, and also—a far more serious matter—with arms and supplies."

"That is impossible, sir," I interrupted. "The only arms in the country were collected together years ago by the paramount chief. I would ask you not to condemn my father on merely hearsay evidence. It would be natural for the natives to make a boast of what are probably simple acts of humanity to the sick and wounded, the women and children."

He seemed on the point of continuing the discussion when some thought caused him to change his mind. "However," he said, "the affairs of Mr. Purcell are no concern of yours. Sir George writes me that your knowledge of Maori is of a special order. I hope that occasion may arise to employ it to the full before many weeks are past. In the meantime you will remain at the headquarters camp."

I thanked him and made my way from the room, which I have omitted to mention was no other than that in which I had interviewed the King-Maker a few days after the commencement of my incarceration. An orderly entered as I quitted, and as I moved down the passage I fancied I heard a name spoken which added not a little to my page 357anxiety. I told and half convinced myself that the General's words had aroused the recollection of an unpleasant episode and thus led to the changing of some slightly similar name into "Brompart." So far as I knew there was no "Captain Brompart," yet such sounds clung to my mind with an ominous persistence.

Betaking myself to a quiet spot, I opened the packet the General had given me. Sir George Grey's note consisted of a few hasty lines covering the several enclosures. It was dated in midwinter, rather more than a month after my departure from Auckland. He merely expressed the hope that he would hear from me before long, and added that though he himself had no fears for my safety, it was difficult to convince others that I was not under great risks. I could not doubt to whom the word" others" referred, and but for the sense of impending disaster, which had been intensified by my conversation with General Cameron, I should have been lifted into a heaven of happiness by the thought of Helenora's relenting. But my father's letter was in my hand, and hoping against an intuitive knowledge that here could be nothing to bring me ease, I unsealed it.

"My Dear Son" (he wrote),—"Your note has reached me. You have chosen well. To divine what may be the issue for us who remain here is beyond human foresight, but the knowledge that you are safe will be a happiness to us in the worst that can befall. In all our lives there has been, I think, only one subject of moment which has not been openly discussed between us—the course to be pursued in the event of what has now happened. The avoidance on my part was deliberate. It was not a matter on which I should have been willing to influence you, and my hope has always been that you would choose as you have chosen. Though we avoided speech I think you have guessed, or even known, for two or three years past page 358that a position of neutrality could never be mine. My wife is a native woman; my child is the daughter of a native woman. Nature knows no stronger bond than that which binds us to wife and child. There are men who carry patriotism to the length of crying 'My country, right or wrong!' They should have no quarrel with him who answers 'My people, right or wrong!' Even what are regarded as the noblest of virtues are liable in certain circumstances to lose their beauty or even to be metamorphosed into crimes. Patriotism in a civilised state surrounded by barbarians is doubtless a virtue of the finest; but the patriotism that, as in Europe, keeps a number of civilised communities at arm's length or incites them to the destruction of one another is surely none but the reverse. But I will not give you a dissertation on the matter, my dear boy. From the point of view of the patriot I am doubtless a monster, but considered as merely a human being it may be that I have my redeeming points. And, Cedric, I am getting old. I would sooner be sitting reading a book, with my wife and boy and girl within reach, than buckling on my rusty armour to fight in this, or any, cause. I am not under any illusions as to the result of the war; nor do I expect to achieve any good by allying myself with the native cause. But for thirty years these have been my people, and for thirty years their country has been my home. I shall not go far afield, and you need expect from me no deeds of derring-do; but I should be a sorry knave if I deserted my friends in their need, or failed to strike a blow in defence of those I love. That, at any rate, is how the matter appears to me. Think me a foolish old man, if you will, but do not let the tongues of men mislead you to feel ashamed of your connection with me. Well then, in the spirit I take your hand and wish you good-bye and all that your heart desires. I have deposited my will with Browning. You will find everything page 359in order. I have provided for Roma. The rest you and Puhi will divide between you. The girl's share will be larger by the amount I have already given you. In the event of the death of either of you without issue, the survivor takes everything. It is all quite simple (except in so far as the lawyers have translated my intention into their own phraseology). Good-bye, my son. Your loving father."

Despair in my heart, I laid down his letter at length, and opened that of Puhi-Huia. Her pretty handwriting was spoiled by signs of haste and anxiety.

"My Dear Cedric,—

My mind is full of misgivings with regard to you. It is impossible for me to believe that the note which was brought to us by a young warrior of the Ngatihaua was really from you. The writing is strangely like yours, and yet I would sooner believe the sun will not rise to-morrow than believe you wrote it. You left us for the last time so harassed and anxious on our account, half fearing to go, and speaking in every other sentence of the speed with which you would return, that I cannot dismiss from my mind the thought that harm has befallen you to account for your long absence. The letter purporting to come from you has only alarmed me more. Father, usually so clear-sighted, does not share my fears. His great affection for you finds satisfaction in the thought that you are safe from the approaching horrors, and quite blinds him to what to me is so evident, that it is just because of what is coming that the note could never have been written by you. There are many things I wish to say or write to you, but till I see or hear from you and learn what has happened it seems useless to go on. I had hoped for your help to get father away before it is too late. Rangi left here ten days ago to join the Waikatos. Ah, Cedric, if you page 360do not come back to help us we are all lost! Yet if I could really believe you safe I would not repine; that would be one anxiety the less. Your loving sister,

Puh Huia."

So poignant were the feelings aroused by this cry from the silence that had so long enveloped all I loved, that I started to my feet and would have rushed off there and then on the backward trail had not the recollection of my empty home held me before I had gone a dozen yards. Then too, as a crushing weight, descended on me the thought that, instant as seemed the appeal in my sister's letter, it was already seven months old. Winter had passed, and spring and now summer was hastening towards the fall. How had time, that panacea for all ills, wrought with the distress of my sister? Sober reflection quelled the wild impulse that would have set my feet once more on the trail for home. Even if I succeeded in breaking through the net by which the wizard held my dear ones from me—and of how difficult this was I had already had ample experience—I could not at this late stage hope to achieve any good. I might share the fate of those I loved; I could not hope to avert it. On the other hand, by attaching myself to the staff of interpreters it was not difficult to foresee opportunities for successful mediation which might at any moment bring the war to an end.

Hope will germinate and grow luxuriantly even in the barrenest of soils, and as I folded my letters away and turned my face towards the bustle of the camp, my spirits had risen to a height which challenged a fall. It was not many minutes before they met with it.

The first person I encountered, as I came up from the water-side, was Bishop Selwyn. He was striding along the road with all his accustomed energy, dust instead of mud on his boots and clothes, and giving to the full-bodied page 361officer of militia who accompanied him no easy task to keep pace. He stopped dead at sight of me and stood staring as though I were a wraith,

"Well, well!" he exclaimed at last, stretching out his hand. "Where have you sprung from? Only within the last few hours I heard of you from a wounded prisoner. He told me that you were held a captive, and that on the coming of the troops you had been taken still farther into the King Country. But come to my tent and give an account of yourself. Captain Brompart, this is Mr. Tregarthen, who disappeared mysteriously at the beginning of the war."

With a start I turned my eyes on the other figure and recognised in the person of the stout officer of militia my old housemate and finally inveterate enemy, Fred Brompart.

"Mr. Tregarthen and I have met before," said he pleasantly. "Though recently we have seen little of each other, we are quite old friends, eh, Cedric? Dear me! It must be six or seven years since we met."

I returned his advances in kind, but I was not deceived by his appearance of cordiality. There was that in his eyes not so amenable to discipline as the inflections of his voice, and it spoke to me to beware. He excused himself after a few minutes, promising to see me again before the day was out, and it seemed to me that the Bishop shared the relief I felt in his departure.

"I am glad you have arrived, Cedric," he said musingly. "The civilian soldier is not in my idea so desirable a person as the civilian peacemaker. I have no doubt you will have your opportunities; there are signs of the end, but progress is slow—slow. Captain Brompart is an active officer. Your treatment at the hands of a section of the natives has not, I hope, made you feel vindictive against the whole race?"

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"I would give all I possess to see peace established before the sun goes down to-night," I answered.

He laid his hand on my shoulder with a friendly pressure. "They have ravaged my vineyard, Cedric. Many years and many labourers will be needed before the traces of this evil are swept away. But it is God's will that the hearts of my flock should be purged by fire."

His simple sincerity touched me. "What man can do you have done," I said.

"I wonder," he replied doubtfully. "I am detested by pakeha and Maori alike, and that speaks somehow of failure. The settlers hooted me as I marched with the Maori prisoners, and the natives fired at me as I returned from succouring the wounded. They have logical minds. What warrant does the New Testament give for our actions? I have preached the doctrines of Christ, and the followers of Christ come against them with fire and sword."

We sat for an hour or more discussing the prospects of peace. He was returning to Auckland on the following day, and promised to carry a letter from me to Sir George Grey, whom he would see immediately on arrival. There was little prospect, he thought, of any important engagement occurring during the next two months. General Cameron spoke of advancing to a post on the Waipa almost immediately, but the country was reported to be practically clear of the enemy for thirty miles ahead. Te Huata, it was said, had quitted his stronghold on the mountain and was advancing to the assistance of his war-chief, Rewi.

About a fortnight after my arrival the camp was advanced some fifteen miles up the Waipa, where headquarters was established on the first day of the new year; but it was not until a month later that a further advance of about the same distance brought us into touch with the enemy. The spot chosen by the natives to check the advance of the British was within a dozen miles of my home. page 363Here they had thrown up three redoubts, connecting them with lines of rifle-pits, the works being manned by upwards of three thousand warriors of the Ngatimaniapoto, Ngatihaua, Waikato, and other tribes.

It was impossible to look upon this formidable position without admiration for the genius of the untutored race who had devised and constructed it; yet, as it proved, all their energy and toil was to go for nothing. Neither by force of numbers nor of arms could the Maori dictate the conduct of the war. His it might be to pay the bill: he could not call the tune. Thus at the mid of a February night the dusky sentinels on the heights heard the sound of a column, not rushing to the attack, but passing away yet deeper into their beloved lands, and making of their heroic toil a hollow mockery.

In the morning the great pa was found to be abandoned, every man of its defenders having flitted away between midnight and dawn. No attempt was made to interfere with our movements. Dismay had spread through the Maori ranks, and neither the persuasions of Rewi nor the inflexible optimism of the ariki could hold together, or again assemble, that great band of warriors. A few resolute spirits, a few whose homes in the locality were no longer tenable, clung to the leaders, but the great mass of fighters dispersed to the points of the compass, never again to strike a blow. Throughout the march to Te Awamutu not a shot was fired, nor when, at daybreak, the smiling landscape unrolled itself to our gaze was there sight or sound of any to give check to our advance. I was in hopes that this experience would repeat itself as we pushed forward; that the natives had had timely warning of our approach, and that everywhere we should find their settlements abandoned.

Before us lay the beautiful native village of Rangioawhia, embowered in orchards; and here I had many lifelong page 364friends. My heart was in my mouth as I watched our advance guard enter the settlement in skirmishing order. This, I told myself, might be the hour of destiny, of which I had stood in dread for so long. The minutes of waiting seemed interminable, and even the arrival of an orderly with news that there were armed natives in the village was a relief from the tension of those moments. At once I sought the General and begged his permission to enter the settlement and endeavour to secure the submission of its occupants. I urged that every man in it was known to me, and for that reason I would probably be more successful in negotiating with them than a stranger.

"Very good," he replied. "They must lay down their arms and take the oath of allegiance to the Queen. Ten minutes should suffice for them to make up their minds." I found the once-populous village well-nigh deserted. Probably there were not more than two score individuals in the group who stood silently awaiting the approach of the flag of truce, and even they had only delayed in their belief that we would not push on beyond Te Awamutu for some hours. But what they lacked in numbers they made up in resolution. To the General's message they returned but one word—"Kahore."¹ In vain I pointed out the overwhelming force against which they were opposing themselves and appealed to them by name to submit and save their lives.

"Enough!" said the chief, at last. "Lie down, Little Finger, that our shots may pass over you."

Even then I might have continued my efforts had not the officer in charge, recognising that our lives were in jeopardy, given us orders to fall back, and we were scarcely out of point-blank range ere a fusillade from the natives brought down on their devoted heads the fire of our troops.

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There is a spot at Rangioawhia, neglected and forgotten —I doubt if I or any man could find it—that should be marked with an imperishable stone. A British soldier fell there—more than one, indeed—yet not on their account would I commemorate it. It should enumerate the names of the heroic seven, who, when all their friends were slain or dispersed, held a whare for hours against a thousand British troops, to perish at last in its flaming ruins.

Two days later we heard that a body of natives had occupied the old pa at Haeirini, but as they were rapidly dislodged from the position I have always suspected that this was merely a cover to more extensive works in progress elsewhere. At all events, there can be no doubt that the famous pa at Orakau was already in a measure prepared for their reception when they fell back on it in the last week in February.

I think it was on March 20 that the first definite news of my father reached me. It was from a fellow-villager, who had surrendered and taken the required oath, that I heard of him, and then it was that I first learned of the preparations at Orakau. To that spot, he told me, had repaired the remnant of the great band of warriors who had sought to give battle to General Cameron at Paterangi. There was collected the flower of the Ngatimaniapoto, few in numbers, it was true, but great in spirit. There was Te Huata and his son, Rangiora, who had come unscathed through a dozen battles and acquired much wisdom in the art of war. There was the war-chief, Rewi, oft defeated but still unconquerable. There was Piripi, the chief of Matakiki, Te Atua Mangu and his band of diviners, and a score or more of the headmen of the tribe. And of that company was my father. And not only he, but Puhi-Huia and Roma, Pepepe and Tuku-tuku, and many others, the devoted wives, daughters and mothers of this last band of defenders.

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I pass over my feelings of despair on hearing this long-expected but none the less terrible news. I was within a few miles of my dear ones at last, but the barrier that divided us was more impassable than leagues of ocean. For days I could neither sleep nor eat for the storm of misery that racked my brain.

On the morning of the last day of March orders were given to advance on Orakau, and in a few hours the pa was completely surrounded. At that time the spot, now grass-grown, was covered with a rough growth of flax, which together with a grove of peach trees, still full of foliage, completely concealed from the British advance the strength of the position. Rolling gently upwards from the direction of Rangioawhia, the land breaks abruptly into a precipitous decline bottomed by an extensive swamp. This was the spot chosen by all that were left of the fighting men of the rebellious tribes, barely three hundred in all —to make their last stand against the army of General Cameron.

Having surrounded the position, the main body of the British advanced to the attack, and driving in the enemy's pickets; came unexpectedly on the formidable defences which had hitherto remained concealed from them. Instantly a withering fire was poured into their ranks, and, unable to withstand the heat of the engagement, the troops fell back, with the loss of their captain and several men. A second attempt proved no more successful, and, recognising that the position was too strong to be taken by assault without grave loss, Brigadier-General Carey, in charge of the forces, caused two six-pounder Armstrongs to be turned on the works, while a number of men were dispatched into the swamp to construct gabions. A sap was then commenced, which continued to be pushed forward throughout the night and during the day and night following. On the morning of the third day of the siege page 367it was in such close proximity to the native works that hand-grenades could be thrown into the pa.

Thus much of the attack: what of the defence?

Hemmed in on all sides by the fire of their enemies, without sleep, with little food, and from the middle of the second day no water, theirs was a position to try the stoutest hearts Yet—and though they knew that a scrap of white rag displayed on a ramrod would save their lives, if not their lands—not a voice was raised for submission. Once, on the second night, twenty or thirty young braves, under the leadership of Rangiora, burst from the pa and made a gallant effort to check the advance of the sap, which must presently undermine their works, but naught could withstand the hail of lead that encountered them, and they were compelled to retreat, dragging their wounded with them.

At midday on April 2, General Cameron arrived and took over the conduct of the siege. The sappers had by this time advanced their trench to within fifty feet of the palisade, and it was thought that the most sanguine of the defenders must now recognise the hopelessness of their position. In this expectation the first act of the General was to order one of the Armstrongs into the sap, and while the gun belched grape through the palisade, a heavy rifle-fire was opened on the fort from all sides. That this bombardment was intended rather to reveal our strength than to inflict injury was evidenced a few minutes later, when above the deafening clamour of a thousand weapons the bugles shrilled the command to cease firing. I was standing within sight of the General as the sounds died away, and at once he beckoned me towards him.

"Now, Mr. Tregarthen," he said, "you will accompany Mr. Mair into the sap, and between you endeavour to obtain the surrender of the pa. I can offer its native defenders no terms but their lives, unless it be a recog-page 368nition of the honours their gallantry has won for them. You may say what you please on that score; you cannot well say too much. They have kept us at bay for three days under circumstances, as I understand, which would test the courage and endurance of the finest soldiers in the world. Now let them submit, for they can do no more."

We entered the sap, and, pushing along to the end, past the smoking Armstrong, peered through a space between the gabions which had been opened for its discharge. Before us was the outer line of the native rifle-pits, with the redoubt in the rear. The defenders stood to hear us as they had sprung from their entrenchments in response to the call for parley. Neither my companion nor myself can forget as long as we live the appearance of this heroic band. Their bodies caked with sweat and dust and smears of blood, their tousled hair, their bloodshot eyes, the tense look on their faces, are all pictured in my mind as I write. Some few of them were strangers to me, men from Taupo and the Urewera country, but in many I looked upon familiar faces, men with whom in happier days I had broken bread and interchanged a jest; only with difficulty could I recognise them now.

"Listen, friends," said the voice of my companion beside me. "This is the word of the General: Great is his admiration of your bravery. But now enough. Come out to us that your lives may be spared."

The reply was not immediate, and my heart beat high with hope as low words, inaudible from where we stood, passed to and fro in the ranks. But at length their deliberations, if such they were, found voice. My eyes had traversed the ranks several times from end to end before at last they fixed themselves on one figure, so startlingly changed that it was no wonder I had failed hitherto to recognise him. It was Rangiora. I had parted from him, clothed in good broadcloth, handsome with robust health, and page 369happier, for all his unsatisfied passion, than he had any idea of. Now I saw a half-naked savage, a bloody clout about his brows, a fleck of bright crimson on his lips, and in his face an ashen greyness that spoke of a serious if not a fatal wound. Even as my mind pierced to his identity, I saw him draw himself together and make answer for the garrison.

"Friend," said he, "this is the word of the Maori: We will fight against you for ever and for ever."

Then said Mr. Mair: "That is the answer for you men; but it is an evil thing that the women and children should die. Let them come out."

Again they seemed to deliberate, and though, as may be guessed, I was not in the state of mind which makes for accurate observation, to this hour I think that it was a woman's voice that answered for them; moreover, in my heart I believe it was the voice of a woman dearer to me than any, save only one, on earth.

"If the men die, the women and children will die also," said she.

"It is well," said my companion, with a deep note of regret in his voice; "the talk is ended."

"Wait," I cried distractedly, as he was on the point of stepping down into the sap. "They must surely be capable of persuasion. We cannot consign them to death without one more effort."

"It is useless," said he; "and in another second they will open fire."

But I was past heeding such a consideration. "Rangiora!" I cried. "Rangiora, listen to the voice of your friend—the man whose life you twice saved, and who would now save yours. Come out, all of you, with the honours you have won, that we may be happy together again as in the old days."

He must have recognised me the instant I appeared page 370beyond the palisade, but now for the first time he gazed steadily upon me. "Little Finger," he replied, wiping a trickle of blood from his lips—and in his voice was the old, magical sweetness—"you and I sought to close the Greenstone Door with a bond of love—that will always remain to us in our honour; but it is in blood that the sealing will be done. But let be. Those words that have passed between us are for always; this word that divides us is but for a little time. Now go, my brother, for we have chosen."

I might have continued my supplications had not Mr. Mair ordered me peremptorily to get down, and ensured my obedience by dragging me with him as he leaped into the trench. Nor was he wrong in his prognostication, for a rifle-bullet cut his revolver strap at the shoulder even as he sprang to cover. It was but a solitary shot loosened in accident, or perhaps in the madness of his sufferings, by a man of the Taupos; but we were no sooner out of range than fire broke out from every part of the Maori position, and in a few minutes the siege was being prosecuted with more vigour than ever.

So, amid the thunder of cannon, the bursting of hand-grenades, and the deafening rattle of musketry, the afternoon wore itself away. With the steady approach of the sap, the trench from which the natives had bid us defiance became presently untenable. A premature move to take it at the point of the bayonet had resulted in casualties to half the British attackers, their captain and several others being mortally wounded, and a number of men and officers killed outright. But it could be held no longer, and with this final blow at their enemies, the natives retired to their last defence.

Inside the redoubt Rangiora lay dying. The scalp wound was but a trifle, but a shot, better directed, had passed through his shoulder, grazing the lungs in passing. page 371Slowly, for hours, he had been bleeding to death. His head was pillowed on the knee's of my foster-sister, and Spider's Web, his mother, sat by holding his hands. For long he had maintained his post, the stamp of death in his fading face. Then weakness mastered him, and he lay among the women, masking his sufferings with a smile. That was until delirium clouded his mind and the fierce need of the body was no more to be kept silent.

"Water!" came the cry from his cracked lips.

And there was no water in the pa.

"Take my place, Tuku-tuku," said Puhi-Huia, lifting her eyes from the face of the dying man.

The mother obeyed with alacrity. What matter the other woman's reason? This was her only child.

Before she surrendered her post, Puhi-Huia laid her lips to the brow of her lover. Who can say what wild, impossible scheme was in her mind? But in that farewell kiss she revealed her knowledge of its danger. Rising to her feet, she ran quickly across the redoubt and sprang into the trench of the fighters. Rewi, the war-chief, sitting sheltered from the fiery missiles, pondering over the omens that made of Orakau the day of fate, saw her pass and counted her among his dead. Te Atua Mangu and his acolytes paused, ere they looked at the newly thrown divining sticks, to watch her flit by them. Te Huata might have held her as she slipped panting down beside him; but his mind was fixed on the unlucky redcoat who was destined to raise his total to a score, and of her he took no heed. In a moment she had scaled the parapet. Then, indeed, all within sight became alive to her danger, and a dozen hands were stretched forth to draw her back. She could scarce have raised herself to her full height, her eyes could hardly have seen the lines of the British investment, ere a bullet pierced her throat, and without cry or moan she fell lifeless into the arms of those below.

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God forbid that either by words or the absence of them I should imply that it was a deliberate shot that took her life. I hated the work of the soldiers, but the men themselves I could not but like and admire, and to conceive of the lowest amongst them firing at that defenceless girl with full knowledge of her sex was no more in my nature than the act itself was in theirs. A veil of smoke hung over the redoubt, interfering with the vision of the attackers, so that whether she were man or woman might not at first be perceptible; but the chances are that the shot was a random one and he who fired it remained in happy ignorance of its fatal effect.

Thus, as was related to me, many months afterwards, these two lovers died, and so—or in part—was it written in stone in the cave we frequented as children.

And still the resistance of the three hundred continued, and no voice cried out to, yield. To the British force the end presented but the alternatives of surrender or annihilation. The pa was completely invested, and the strictest orders had been given to maintain an unbroken cordon round the doomed garrison. Escape seemed impossible, and yet for valour and desperation the gods will sometimes open a way.

Between four and five o'clock in the afternoon, the soldiers on guard in the swamp below the steep escarpment heard a sound as of the onrush of naked feet, and in a moment, wielding gun and tomahawk, holding their women and children in their midst, the heroic band swept down from the heights they could no longer hold and, breaking through the lines, made a final bid for life and freedom.

Then from every side broke forth a clamour of cries, and the spirit of the hunter awoke in every Anglo-Saxon heart. Abandoning their positions, the whole force of the British started in disordered pursuit. Intercepted in the page 373direction of the ranges by a body of mounted troopers, the little band was forced back into the swamp. Every few yards saw a lessening in its numbers. Here fell Te Atua Mangu, the last of the great tohungas, and here, swiftly following the shade of his son, departed the implacable spirit of Te Huata, the Great One. But the little remnant fought and struggled on. Kindly night was at hand to veil them from their foes, and from its shade the waters of Punui called to them to drink and be healed. Many stars were in the sky when, far off and faint, the weary men of Orakau heard the bugles sound the retire and the hunters at last failed from their heels. Then by the waters of Punui they sat down and wept as they remembered those of the gallant three hundred who were no longer with them. Far and wide over the swamp and in the trenches of the pa, stark and still, lay one hundred and forty of their braves.