More men now appeared, and they, too, cried "All is well!" Then came women, who set about preparing breakfast, one of them actually cutting chips from an enormous log, behind which six of Henare's men lay snug.
Then that which Porter had feared and prayed against happened. Two of the Maori loosed off their guns in their excitement, and the quiet scene in an instant gave place to a wild turmoil—shouting men and screaming women all running this way and that as guns cracked and bullets wheeped and whined past their affrighted ears.
But Te Kooti was not there. He was not fool enough to come out and face the fusillade he knew would be directed against him. Not he. At the first sound of alarm he burst through the back of his hut, yelling "Sauve qui peut!" or its Maori equivalent, "Ko Ngati-Porou tenei kia whai morehu!" ("Ngati-Porou are here! Let survivors follow me!") Then, acting upon his own advice, he bolted like a deer, leaving Olivia alone to make her bow to the victors.
And that was the last of Te Kooti. For several months more Ropata hunted him without success, finding some consolation in the capture of Kereopa, Mr. Voelkner's murderer, who was hanged without undue waste of time. But of Te Kooti he got no glimpse; so, at last convinced that he had done all that mortal could do, and that Te Kooti as a fighting force was as good as dead, Ropata, the war-worn, went home with his Ngati-Porou, his honours thick upon him.
What became of Te Kooti no one seems to know. He simply disappeared, even as the yet more infamous Nana Sahib disappeared, leaving no trace. Some say that he steered his way across the Taupo district and hid himself in the King country; others aver that he was slain there by the Waikato whom he had insulted, others that he killed himself in despair, while some will have it that he got out of a country which, except for the purpose of hanging him, was not particularly anxious to hold him. As a matter of fact, no one, whether Maori or Pakeha, has ever given a satisfactory answer to the question, "Where is Te Kooti?"
With the disappearance of the Hauhau leader vanished the last sign of active resistance against the might and rule of the Pakeha. Smiling faces were not yet everywhere; there were too many tears to be dried on both sides for that, and the passions of strong men do not cool in a day, even when strife has ceased. The conquerors, too, must learn to temper their exultation with sympathy, the conquered must accustom their necks to the yoke, and all these things take time. But the very fact, insisted upon above, that—the Hauhau movement apart—the war had been waged in generous spirit, hastened the period of cooling off, and on February the 2nd, 1872, Wiremu Kingi Te Rangitake, the chief of Waitara, visited New Plymouth (Taranaki) when tomahawk and mere, patu, and tupara were buried, never again to be dug up. Three years later, on the 3rd of January, Tawhiao, the Maori King, shook the hand which Sir Donald McLean extended to him on behalf of the Government, and the last wintry clouds of discontent melted in the rays of the glorious sun of peace.
Never since then have the hands of the Maori been lifted against the Pakeha; ever since then have the Pakeha striven to make smooth the path of the Maori.
Once only appeared a little cloud, when a man who throughout his life had advocated peace, was accused of fomenting war. Te Whiti was a Christian and a mystic, with more than his share of the keen Maori intelligence, a fine specimen of the Maori gentleman, and a man of immense influence in his tribe. He had taken no part in the great struggle, but, like Falkland, cried ever "Peace! Peace!" And when Titokowaru would have had him unite in smiting the Pakeha, he refused, nor would he allow his young men to join.
Yet this man came at last (in 1877) into collision with the Government over that old bone of contention, land. There was a dispute over the parcelling out of the Waimate Plains, and Te Whiti pulled up the pegs of the surveyors and ordered the workers off, as Te Rauparaha and Rangihaeata had done thirty-four years earlier. But there was no massacre, and when Te Whiti's men were sent to prison, the chief retaliated by ploughing up the grass lands of the white men.
"Put your hands to the plough!" Te Whiti cried. "Be not afraid if any come with swords and, if they smite, smite ye not again. Neither touch their goods nor steal their flocks and herds. My eye sees all of you, and I will punish the offender. Let the soldiers seize me, if they will. They may come, and I will gladly let them crucify me."