This ineffectual bombardment went on day after day, till Colonel Despard lost patience and suggested an assault, breach or no breach. But to this talk the Maori would not listen, and Waka Nene, wise in war, implored the colonel not to dream of an attempt which must result in the slaughter of almost every one concerned in it. The officers, brave though they proved themselves to be, supported Waka. Then Colonel Despard, angry, ashamed—for it was known how small a force held the pa,—and well-nigh disheartened, was cheered by a gleam of hope. Why not send to the Hazard for a thirty-two-pounder gun, which would certainly breach those defiant palisades? And send he did.
We know what bluejackets can do; but it is difficult for any one unfamiliar with the country to realise the enormous pains and labour expended in dragging that thirty-two-pounder the fifteen miles which lay between the ship and the camp. It was done, though, and the great gun crowned the hill and frowned down upon the pa, threatening terrible probabilities for the morrow.
At ten o'clock next morning the new gun roared its first message. It was posted only a hundred yards from the fort; yet, astonishing to relate, those massive trunks groaned and quivered under the shock of impact, but as sullenly as ever refused to fall, declined to be smashed. But the defenders must have been apprehensive for the fate of their stockade; for, while the great gun went on booming, Kawiti and a chosen band of thirty stole out of the pa, and made their way unperceived to a thick wood close to, and in rear of the battery.
No one was prepared for this, even the friendlies' sharp ears and keen eyes being occupied with the banging of the guns, the thumping of the heavy shot against the palisades, and the splinters flying in all directions from the stubborn trunks. Wild, indeed, was the surprise of those on the hill, when old Kawiti and his band burst from the wood and charged down upon them.
Back reeled Waka's irregulars; down the hill in headlong flight raced gallant Colonel Despard and his officers, forced to "run away" in order that they might "live to fight another day," and upon that thundering monster and his small six-pounder orderly swooped Kawiti and his men. A few minutes more and the guns would have gone off in a fashion unusual with them; but a number of the brave 58th came charging up the hill, flung themselves upon the assailants, and drove them back with nothing but a small union-jack for their pains.
Yet the sight of that little flag, hoisted below the Maori colours in the pa, stung Colonel Despard to madness, or, rather, into issuing a mad order which cost the lives of many brave men. Twenty-six shot had been fired from the big gun which Commander Johnston had brought, and, though an impression had been made upon the palisades, the Maori maintained that much remained to be done before it would be safe to assault the pa. Waka Nene threw his influence into the scale against the proposition, but, finding the colonel determined, very generously offered to lead a simultaneous attack upon another face of the pa—which was built in parallelogram. Twenty bold spirits among his men asked leave to accompany the soldiers; but the colonel refused all help from his friendlies on the ground that, when they got inside the pa, the soldiers might mistake them for hostiles. Thus, the men who had had most experience in assaulting a pa, and who were willing for once "to walk in a funeral procession," were forced to remain spectators of an assault which they knew could have but one issue.
One made his last charge that fatal afternoon whom the hostile Maori would fain have spared if they could. He was Lieutenant Phillpotts of the Hazard, or "Toby," as the Maori affectionately styled him. Here, at Oheawai, he showed his usual cool courage, walking up to the stockade and along it, examining as he went, and all the time under fire of the sharpshooters in the pits. When these recognised the bold intruder, they ceased firing, calling out, "Kapai, Toby! Hurrah for Toby! Go back, Toby! We don't want to hurt you." But the lieutenant finished his examination, returned and reported to Colonel Despard that without further breaching assault was impossible. But the colonel was adamant.
The assault by escalade was fixed for three in the afternoon of the 1st of July, and one hundred and sixty gallant fellows under Majors Macpherson and Bridge, along with forty eager tars under brave Phillpotts, paraded at eighty yards from the pa, and stood staring at death.
For a few minutes the silence is intense. Even the Maori in the pa cease firing, unable to believe their eyes as they note the axes and ropes in the hands of the men. Then the hush is broken by a pealing bugle-call—"Advance!" A roaring chorus of cheers bursts from the devoted band—"Ave, Desparde! Morituri te salutant!" it should have sounded to the colonel,—and they race to cover those eighty yards and reach what is indeed the "imminent, deadly breach."
Where is the brave fellow who a moment ago gave his bluejackets a last cheering word? Where is Phillpotts? There he is—back behind the big gun, thumping in a few more shots at the palisade, if so he may give his men a chance for their lives.