"We shall meet again," thought the recipient of the apostolic epistle—"we must do so, with leisure to hear his opinion on this most vexed question of the war. I wish with all my heart that it was over. But a peace would be worse than nothing unless we fully proved our superiority. These Waikatos and Ngatihaua must not be suffered to think that they have repulsed the whole British army. The country would be impossible to live in. And we can't afford to lose such a brace of islands as these, the nearest approach, in climate, soil, and adaptation to the British race, of any land yet occupied. Not to be thought of."
And here he began to hum a song in which the glories of Britain on land and sea were set forth, and for the moment forgot his virtuous indignation against the occupation of Taharaimaka and the injustice of the Waitara business.
And so the war progressed, sometimes with passages of toilsome marching, daring attack of pah or redoubt, hairbreadth escapes, wounds, and inevitable incidents of warfare. Ever and anon a brilliant surprise, a masterly manɶuvre on the part of the troops or allies, followed by an ambuscade planned by the natives with consummate skill, or a desperate stand in their entrenchments, where the loss of officers was unduly great, and the rank and file suffered severely. When it was considered that nearly three years had elapsed in a campaign where ten thousand British regulars, and nearly as many volunteers and native allies, were arrayed against the Maoris, who at no time could have had five thousand men in the field, it seemed amazing that no decisive victory should have been obtained.
"Talk of its being 'one of Britain's little wars,' as the newspapers call it!" grumbled Mr. Slyde. "My belief is that it is going to last as long as that confounded Carthaginian business. How they used to bore us with it at school! Beginning bad enough—end probably worse. Fellows die of old age, unless we hurry up."
"It does drag fearfully; it's only bearable when we're in action. This lagging guerilla business, with such a commissariat—all the privations of war, and none of the excitement—is simply unendurable. However, when Warwick comes in from his scouting prowl we may hear something."
"Wonder he doesn't get 'chopped' some of these fine days. Certainly manages to pick up information in a wonderful way. Von Tempsky says he's thrown away upon us two. Wants to get him for scout business pure and simple."
"For some inscrutable reason he has attached himself to me," said Massinger. "I suggested that he might do good service by acting in that capacity—alone. He didn't take kindly to it at all—seemed hurt; so I let him alone."
"Best thing you could do. Not a bad thing to have a fidus Achates born a Trojan. Put you up to their wiles. Shouldn't wonder if he'd given you a hand as it is?"
"Now I come to think of it, he did once. We were having some brisk work that day at Katikara, where we couldn't dislodge the natives from the redoubt. The firing was sharp, when he motioned me to change position. The next minute a bullet struck the tree just where I had been standing, and a fellow put his head over the parapet to see if he had bagged me. Warwick was waiting for him, and as he fired I saw my friend fling up his arms and fall backward."