Nene communicated the news, and Captain Denny and men of the 58th instantly hurried up with the hapu of Nene and Tao Nui at their heels. As they burst into the silent fortress, old Kawiti awoke and with a handful of followers made a brief defence. But the assailants poured in, the odds were too great, and the old warrior, knowing that the game was up, turned and fled out at the rear of the pa and joined Heke in the bush, calling upon him to return with his Nga-Puhi and retake Ruapekapeka.
The face of the situation was thus entirely changed. The fort was occupied by the British and their allies, and the Nga-Puhi were hopelessly attempting to re-enter it at the rear. Their attack was really a feint, intended to lure the soldiers to Heke's ambush; but when the Nga-Puhi skirmishers at last fell back towards the bush, strict orders were given against pursuit. Here, again, it was the advice of the friendly chiefs which prevented the conversion of an unexpected success into a disaster.
"Ah! The soldiers care nothing for Sunday when there's any fighting to be done," observed a rueful Nga-Puhi prisoner after the fight. "It's only when there's nothing else to do that they go and say their prayers!"
So, on the 11th of January, 1846, fell Ruapekapeka pa, "The Bat's Nest," at a cost to the British of twelve killed and thirty-one wounded—how different from those ten awful minutes at Oheawai!—and with it fell the hopes of Heke and Kawiti, who presently tendered their submission and swore allegiance to Britain.
And so ended the first sustained war between Maori and Pakeha.
THE WAR IN THE SOUTH
"Luck!" said the stupid. "Foresight!" declared the wise. "George Grey all over!" chuckled the knowing ones. But the fact remained that Captain Grey had in less than two months partially disentangled the economic knot, had done something towards smoothing the political situation, and had brought about the end of a war which for a year and a half had vexed the peace of New Zealand.