"Yes, as tending to give the tribes confidence in their ability to fight white troops—a dangerous lesson, as the Governor and his advisers will find out."
"Has further fighting followed?"
"Unfortunately, yes. Two pahs have been built at Omata, and three settlers killed south of Taranaki. Te Rangitaka, to do him justice, warned his men not to make war on unarmed people. A combined force of militia volunteers, soldiers, and sailors stormed the pah at Omatu. So it is a very pretty quarrel as it stands."
"You have heard this 'from a sure hand,' as they used to say before post-offices were invented?"
"My tidings are only too true, I am sorry to say. And, in spite of the success of the troops, my opinion is that the war has only commenced. If the Waikato tribes join, others will be drawn in. It will take years to subdue them thoroughly—years of vast expenditure of blood and treasure."
"Speaking from your experience of both sides, what would you suggest as an alternative policy?"
"Withdrawing from Waitara promptly. Justice would be done, and a lasting peace might be secured. The Maoris are now the Queen's subjects, and should be treated as such. Just now each side has secured a temporary advantage. With a consistent and impartial policy, disaffection would cease. By-and-by the natives will sell their land readily enough; with a minimum price established by the Crown and proper titles decided by a Land Court, all things would find their level. No one will object except land speculators and their allies."
"Would not the Government act even now upon your representations?"
"Hardly. I am afraid that I am in the position of Wisdom crying in the streets. But, to quit 'the arts of war and peace,' wildly exciting as the subject is becoming, here is Maru-noki, our lodge in the wilderness, to which I beg to welcome you heartily."
They had been pursuing a winding woodland path, which at last conducted them to an eminence below which the view, opening out, disclosed a noble river. Immediately below where they stood, and near a rude but massive wharf, was a cottage, built bungalow-fashion, with broad verandahs, surrounded by a palisaded garden, and shaded by those typically British trees, the "oak, the ash, and the bonny elm tree." Leafy memorials of the fatherland, they are rarely absent from the humblest cottage, the lordliest mansion, in Britain's colonies, and in none do they flourish more luxuriantly than in these isles of the farthest South.