As they neared the rebel pa, Mete Kingi said characteristically, "Once these men were Whanganui like ourselves, and then they were good; but no faith can now be placed in them. For who would trust the word of a Hauhau? You know, my children, it is Maori etiquette to show confidence in your hosts; therefore, fire off your guns, that they may see our faith in them; but load them as quickly and quietly as you can, in case they mean us harm."
So said, so done. The Whanganui discharged their guns with deafening clatter and, before they landed, unobtrusively reloaded them. There was fortunately no breach of faith, and the upshot of the conference was that the contracting parties swore to maintain an eternal peace on the Whanganui river, but reserved the right to fight in any other part of New Zealand. Thus, entirely in their own manner, did the friendly Whanganui bring peace to an important district, long convulsed with war.
McDonnell, now colonel, continued operations on the west coast, particularly against the Nga-Ruahini, one of whose chiefs, Titokowaru, then and afterwards gave much trouble. The colonel was very successful, and the Hauhau learned that his methods were not those of the military, for he employed their own tricks against them. One of their captured chiefs grumblingly said to him, "We thought that we were fighting a man; but we find that he is a rat, who moves only by night." "Nay, O Toi, you thought that you were fighting soldiers," returned McDonnell, probably with unintentional sarcasm, "whereas you find that we are Pakeha Maori."
The war swung round to the east, and the Province of Hawke's Bay, hitherto almost immune from "alarms and excursions," found itself in the thick of it. The Ngati-Hineuru and other tribes had joined the new sect; but, when they broke out, the Superintendent, Sir Donald McLean, was ready for them. With the help of Colonel Whitmore, Major Fraser and Captain Gordon with his volunteer cavalry, he stamped out the spreading flame, and Hawke's Bay once more grew calm after its brief flurry.
The year 1867 was for some reason styled by the Hauhau "the Year of the Lamb," that is, of peace, and, save for a skirmish or two, and some fell murders here and there in true Hauhau style, they remained quiet They were terrible folk, and their behaviour differed unpleasantly from that of the ordinary Maori in time of war; but some of them had not altogether lost that simplicity which, despite their intelligence, is characteristic of the race.
For instance, having declared the year to be one of peace, they failed to understand why their confiscated lands should not be restored to them. Some, too, observing that the friendly Maori were rewarded with pensions and land, complained that they were omitted, when they also had fought (against the Pakeha!) much as a child grumbles because he does not receive a prize for his misdirected efforts. One Hauhau gentleman did actually apply to the Commissioner for a pension, and was mortally offended when the great man dismissed him in terms more forcible than polite.
The hopes raised by all this talk of peace were falsified, not only by the activity of Titokowaru and his Nga-Ruahini, but by the sudden and quite unexpected appearance of a man who was destined to set the country ablaze, and to incur the bitter execration of thousands in the war-worn North Island.