Stunned and panic-stricken, deprived of their officers, the men had broken and fled—in such headlong haste that they took no advantage of the ground. On the open surface of the ridge, many were shot. No one could account for the disaster. Some said that the word "Retreat" was heard and acted upon; others, that the main body of the natives had rushed to the rear, and being met by the 68th Regiment posted there, recoiled, and dashing back to sell their lives dearly, were mistaken by the soldiers for a Maori reinforcement. Then the Maori warriors turned to the work of slaughter. Rawiri leaped on to the parapet as he fired, taunting the soldiery and inviting them to renew the fight. As the day declined, the garrison made a determined rush to the right wing of the pah. During the darkness of the night they stole away in small parties. They passed silently through the fern, or by the right rear, leaving (and this was most exceptional) their dead and wounded behind them.
In the garrison fought all day Henare Taratoa, educated under Bishop Selwyn at St. John's College before 1853. He tended one of the wounded, who in his dying agonies thirsted for a drop of water. The Maoris had none. Taratoa threaded his way through the English sentries in the darkness, and returned with a calabash of water to slake his enemy's thirst. More than that. By the side of each wounded Englishman was found in the morning some small water-vessel, placed there by the Maoris before they deserted the fort.
Colonel Booth was carried out of the pah in the morning. The general went to him, but the gallant soldier felt the repulse so deeply that he turned away his face, saying, "General, I can't look at you. I tried to carry out your orders, but we failed." He died that evening.
The tameless islanders were not minded to give up all for lost, even now. By one great effort they might force back the invader, or possibly combine the tribes against him. At any rate, in the quasi-victory of the Gate Pah they had obtained utu for the death of many a warrior, many a chief. But, even now, the tribes were unbeaten. News came to Colonel Greer from the Maori allies that yet another pah at Te Ranga was rising, a few miles from the scene of the recent conflict.
Slyde and Warwick, severely though not dangerously wounded, were both in hospital, precluded from participation in the closing engagement, which they deeply regretted. Lieutenant Massinger reported missing.
"Hard lines," said the former, raising himself with difficulty from his stretcher, "not to have a throw in at the finish. I feel convinced this must snuff the beggars out. The colonel will at them before they have time to do much. Friendlies in great heart. The 43rd die to a man or wipe out their defeat."
"Yes," said Warwick, "I believe their hour is come. How grieved Massinger will be that he is out of it! However, he may think himself lucky to escape with his life."
"You think he has, then?" said Slyde.
"He was all right when I saw him last, waving his sword, shoulder to shoulder with Von Tempsky, who was doing his best to rally the troops. Then I went down. Saw nothing more. I had a crack with the butt end of a tomahawk also. I have no doubt that he is with Mannering's hapu, most likely with Erena looking after him."
"In that case he's all right," said Slyde. "Maori women great nurses, always heard."