'The idea was to counteract the teaching of "The Giant Eagle Flying Aloft"; to show how absurd it was for any section of the Maoris to think they could beat the English. Our organ was designed to be educative, and in that respect to help in the maintenance of peace. The title of the Maori paper was in allusion to a great eagle, which, at a remote period, had existed in New Zealand. The Maoris had chants about it, and in their legends it was described as "Bed-fellow of earth-shaking thunder." 'Very well, Sir John Gorst replied to their grand title by another in Maori, signifying: "The Lonely Sparrow on the House Top." This, of course, was suggested by the Scriptures, and its force of contrast at once tickled the Maori sense of humour. Sir John Gorst's satire was so keen that they could not, themselves, help laughing over the fun which "The Lonely Sparrow on the House Top" made of "The Giant Eagle Flying Aloft." It went on for several numbers, perhaps half-a-dozen, when the Maoris informed Sir John that he must stop his paper, or they would throw his printing materials into the river.
'The conductors of "The Giant Eagle Flying Aloft" had the view, if I am not mistaken, that "The Lonely Sparrow on the House Top" did not fight with adequate dignity. It was too anxious to make merriment of its adversary, so causing the latter to appear ridiculous to many Maoris. Sir John Gorst paid no heed to the threats against him, and next, there arrived a band of Maoris who uprooted his printing machinery. He happened to be from home at the time, and when he returned it was to find this disorder, and the Maoris in possession. 'The scheme thus to dispossess him and the "Lonely Sparrow on the House Top," had been headed by the chief Rewi. It was Rewi who flung, from a besieged pa, the defiant message that the Maoris would never surrender, that they would fight "For ever, For ever, For ever!" I am inclined to believe that he put himself at the head of the raid upon Sir John Gorst, in order to be able to protect him from any hurt,'
Be that as it might, Rewi and the raiders were determined that Sir John Gorst should depart the 'king country.' They pronounced this verdict upon him with every ceremony, and his answer was equally determined. It was: 'Nothing but a direct order from Sir George Grey shall induce me to leave my post.' At that, Rewi granted time for a reference to the Governor, who instructed Sir John Gorst to withdraw. Had it been otherwise; or had the order lagged, Sir John would most likely have shared the fate of 'The Lonely Sparrow on the House Top!' The sword proved mightier than the pen in that duel.
And despite Sir George Grey's efforts, the sword was again to be drawn over a wide area of New Zealand. A particular land dispute, which meant cleavage with the confederated Maoris, had been gnawing its way along. Sir George investigated it, reached the decision that the Maori claim was just, and made up his mind to rescind the purchase. He was not autocrat now, as he had been before, the New Zealand constitution which he had drafted, being in operation. Things had to move by routine, there was muddling somewhere, and in the middle of it all, the Maoris waylaid a small party of soldiers.
Nobody had dreamt of such a thing. Sir George's ministers asked him: 'What are you going to do after this outrage and challenge?' He answered: 'We must give the land back, according to promise. The duty of a powerful State is to be just, and re-introduce the proper owner to the land. We cannot refuse to do so, because persons, over whom he has no control, have massacred our soldiers.' But war surged across New Zealand, a wild, unwholesome spectre, and Sir George must take it so. It had the tale of Wereroa Pa, which again presents him as the mailed hand.
A British officer held a post which could not be relieved, until the Maoris in Wereroa Pa had been scattered. That enforced the necessity, urgent enough in itself, for capturing the fortress. The Maoris had spent all their craft of defence on Wereroa, as, in the former New Zealand war, they did on Ruapekapeka. Engirt by palisades of wood, high and strong, they cried defiance to the Pakeha. The general in control of the British troops would not tackle Wereroa with the strength at his disposal. Sir George Grey resolved to do it himself, and got together what force he could. It was bestriding the military regulations, usurping all forms and traditions, but it was war.
The Maoris in the pa had a passing mind to surrender, and Sir George was anxious to catch them thus. He rode up to take possession, though those with him counselled 'Be careful lest we come to grief.' The parley was perilous, for the bulk of the Maoris inside the pa were inclined, after all, to resist to the uttermost. Sir George and his escort drew up within easy range of the Maori muskets, and he was loth to turn back. He only did so, when it had become evident that further delay might bring a disaster. 'I wanted to convince them,' he emphasised, 'that if they would not give up the place we should have to take it. Our welcome was so risky that we might, perhaps, be compared to the little boy who scrambled up a garden wall, only to find himself face to face with the Scotch gardener. "Where are you going?" demanded the gardener; and the boy answered, "Back again."
'That was our situation; we must return, since nothing could be achieved by debate. No, I don't think that I had any bodily feeling as to the danger we ran, any burden of danger. Nobody can be afraid who has the lives of others hanging upon his actions. A man who every instant is applied to for orders, has not time to think of fear. It finds scope when a person is acting under the direction of somebody else, and thus is ignorant of the measures being carried out for the common protection and success. Ignorance is ever the channel through which fear attacks a human being, as watch a little child when it understands, and when it does not.'
Perhaps Sir George Grey's nearest passage with death, in Maoriland, occurred during the first war, but he did not learn of it until later. 'I was,' he said, 'in the habit every forenoon of riding between our military camp and the sea-shore, where the warships lay at anchor. Having regard to the unsettled state of the country, it was maybe imprudent of me to do this, and moreover I was only accompanied by an orderly sergeant. It seemed that some Maoris hid in wait for me in a valley, intending, I am afraid, to fire upon me. Two things fortunately happened. I rode down very early that day, and some turn of duty took me back by another road. Then, it proved to be the last day on which it was necessary for me to communicate with the ships. Good luck attended me, as I congratulated myself, when informed of the plot and its failure by a Maori who had knowledge of it, Upon what slight chances do things depend! No, they only seem so to depend!'
As to Wereroa, it must be captured by strength of arms, or rather by a subtle use of these. There could be no idea of attacking it from the front. That would have been a funeral march for Sir George's handful of men. He devised the capture of a rough spur of ground which commanded the pa. The Maoris built square to a hostile world, and forgot this height behind them. If it should be attained, they were out-manoeuvred and helpless. The British fighting men, with Maori allies, marched off to break in upon the rear of the Wereroa. They filed past the Governor, shaking hands with him; the moment was tense.