CHAPTER. VII.

Waikato Times, Volume XXIII, Issue 1902, 13 September 1884, Page 5

CHAPTER. VII.

The most sorrowful calamity-that can happen to a patriot, is the loss of his country's reedom ; the most agonising when his fellowoountrymen will not fight for their liberty. After all this exertions to get the natives of the now smouldering camp to fight. Bonshaw turned towards his own mountain home, with deep scorn and sorrow for his countrymen, and deeper hate for the aggressive bloodthirsty white man, He had just seen (what he had often heard about), the white man mercilessly murder gins, and helpless infants, and as he urged on his horse he muttered between his teeth. "We are poor and know nothing ; they know all things ; they oome from another world ; but if they enter my country I'll fight to the death." A cloud came over the angry features"of the king and a sadness followed. "They are like the grass after' rain; they spring ,up everywhere ; and, like the creek after a thunder storm, they sweep all before them; they are like the fire; where they go the trees die and disappear, and the kangaroo and the wallaby run away, and water dries up, and seasons change. They are indeed a strange people, and all I can do is to die for my tribe. God help us, now ! " He hurried forward to warn his camp of the impending attack, and in his native language, he urged his men to fight for their land and homes. He reminded them that their fathers and mothers had lived here, since the grass and the trees grew, and the mountains were made,

aid that they had jbeen bom in this pretty valley, aad he pointed to the gins and children, who stood apart, cowering with instinctive fear. He related to them in a voico of passion, and with unstudied gestures of eloquence and grace all I hat heTiad seen, and warned them, that owing to the late unfortunate accident, the whites would be sure to wreak double vengeance on this camp. The warriors responded right nobly to the harangue of their king, and were eager for the fray. Those young men who were pot yet raised to the honor of being classed with the warriors, were as anxious for the strife as any. They had not long to wait ; a few stray shots in the distance, told them that their enemies were approaching, not very rapidly, owing to the uneven nature of the ground, but surely, and in a few minutes they would be in the neighborhood. The gins and children were sent into the scrub, except, those who resolved to follow their husbands, and carry their spears. All were eager to do tiieir best for the preservation of iheir huts, their home. The very children cried as they were hurried off, and not allowed to place themselves in danger, by throwing their little darts at the tyiannous invaders. Bonshaw retired to his hut "for a few minutes '■ to see the wounded mau," but really to take leave of his betrothed. He pressed her warmly to his breast ; but said little. H> was well aware of the power of the whites, and the murderous execution of their guns and rifles, when placed side by &ide with their spears and boomeiangs. His heart was full ; he knew this day would make many blanks in the camp. He himself indeed might never see his beloved Amoretta again ; he felt all this, and hia eyes spoke and herd replied in that universal language of I love, that is confined to no race, no people. As the distant shots of the intruders became more distinct, he tore himself away from the j weeping Amoretta, and rushed, off to head i his warriors, who were impatiently, waiting ! him. j They ran down the valley to meet their ■ enemies, but at the top of a deep gorge, ; difficult of ascent, the king called on his warriors to halt, and placing them round the top of it, gave them directions to remain in ambush. They had nofc long to wait before the whites came struggling up the gorge. Bonshaw gave the word, and with shouts and yells that made the mountains echo and the hearts of many of the intruders cease beating, they sprang to their feet, some of them almost touching the horses' hoofs, and commenced the attack. The gorge was a cloud of spears for a time, and several of the intruders were killed. Old Scanlan received a spear in his arm, but savagely broke it off and continued to fight. Bonshaw ran amongst his men, urging them on, and by hia own fearless example nerved them to continue. The day might have been to the natives, notwithstanding the fearful odds, but their spear* began to fail, and just then Scanlan and a few others mounted the gorge and shot the natives right and left with their revolvers. The fight was fearfully unequal ; the whites were on horseback, the natives on foot ; the whites had revolvers, the natives waddies. Before the natives could approach to use their waddies, they were shot down, or so cruelly wounded as to be unable to use them. The king rushed at the first of those who mounted the gorge, and with one fell swoop of his waddie brought him to the ground with a dull thud. Scanlan was next, and as he saw his neighbor fall by the hand of the native — the same hand, as he thought, that had slain his sons — he rushed, sword in hand, to avenge the treble marder. The sword was coming down with unerring aim, bub Bonshaw turned it aside with his waddie, and before Scanlan could recover himself the former had struck the latter such a blow on the che3t wich his waddie that he fell from his horae insensible. When Bonshaw looked round, he* was alone; his followers had deserted him, and the whites were taking full advantage of their flight. They followed close on their heels, and shot them down before they could reach the scrub. The king, with burning brow and deep shame, clashed after hia retreating warriors, and the day was lost and won.