Last of Inter- Tribal Wars

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 538, 15 December 1928, Page 27

Last of InterTribal Wars

Continued from Page 26 against their well-armed foes. They therefore gathered some of their most valuable possessions and sent them as a present to Nga-Puhi, with the hope that the enemy would be satisfied with the payment offered but in this they were unfortunate as Nga-Puhi showed no signs of moving off. However, fighting ceased for a short interval, though the people inside the pa still remained in dread. There now happened an incident which nearly caused Hongi to retire from the siege. He was wearing his celebrated suit of armour that had been presented to him by George IV. and in the hostilities his sacred helmet was knocked from his head by a musket ball, while he was endeavouring to extricate his foot from some vines in which it was entangled. This was regarded as an ill omen. Hence the desire on the part of the northern leader to depart. Patu-one, brother to the well-known Tamati Waka Nene, persuaded Hongi, however, to renew the siege on the following day. This was accordingly done and the pa again attacked. Nga-Puhi were at first driven back. On seeing this, Hongi arranged his men in the formation of the Kawaumaro, or “flight of the shag.” This method of Maori warfare was used only on desperate occasions. The warriors, forming themselves into a wedge formation similar to the Roman “Cuneus,” would charge forward, coming at once into contact with the enemy in such a hand-to-hand combat that one or the other of the parties must be defeated. In this attack on Mokoia, Hongi placed himself at the sharp end of the wedge and telling his men to wheel to right and left if necessary, Nag-Puhi charged at the palisades, part of which they

succeeded in pulling down, but not without losing some of their number. The outer works thus fell to the invaders, but on reaching the summit they found the Ngati-Paoa protected by a thick wall of earth, against which the bullets were falling harmlessly. Hongi now had an elevated platform erected from which some of his musketeers could fire inside the pa. One by one those who guarded the entrance fell dead as the musket balls dropped thick and fast within the walls. Soon therjß were none left and Nga-Puhi thereupon rushed the place, men, women and children falling under the ruthless arm of the conqueror. Some managed to escape by leaping into the Tamaki river and swimming to the other side. One who attempted this was Te Rangi-whenua. As he was flying from Mokoia he saw Hongi with his foot caught in the palisading, and the northern warrior’s career would have ended there and then had it not been for the fact that Hongi was armed with two pistols. Te Rangiwhenua dived into the river and started to swim to the other side when he was challenged to return and fight it out by a chieftain named Te Ihi. This he did and the two fought a single-handed contest in front of the Nga-Puhi. They thrust and parried for some time until Te Rangi-whenua fell from a left-handed blow from Te Ihi’s tomahawk. He certainly deserved a better fate. The great chief Te Hinaki died by Hongi’s hand, and his head was smoke-dried and taken back to the north. After the followed a great cannibal feast which lasted until the odour of the decaying bodies drove the Nga-Puhi away. They returned to the Bay of Islands to prepare for another expedition against their enemies. Behind them they left a scene of desolation. The cultivations soon became overgrown with weeds; the palisades crumbled and fell to the ground and Nature soon covered the trenches and earth walls with a green mantle. It is said that over a thousand Ngati-Paoa fell that day. A traveller who passed through the district in 1844 states that the bones of the slain lay still whitening on the plain and the in which the flesh of the slaughtered had been cooked still remained. And now after the lapse of years a peaceful little village has grown up on the very scene of carnage. On the brow of the hill stands a little wooden church. There are still cultivations, but the quiet Chinese now takes the place of the old Maori cultivator. Soon the railway will be sending its speeding expresses within a stone’s throw of the old battle-field. Old Maungarei still watches over Mau-inaina plain but now its beautiful slopes are marred by an ugly quarry. Down by the river, in the shadow of Mokoia's cliffs the little children play, while up above, on the high road, the cars rush by, one by one, leaving a cloud of dust in their wake—perhaps the ashes of NgatiPaba’s host who passed away to their fathers on that fateful day in 1821.