But what was the fate of the wounded and dying officers left in the pa? Night closed over them and concealed them in impenetrable darkness. No less than seven officers of the 43rd were there, besides others belonging to the navy. They were in the hands of those who cut off Captain Lloyd’s head, and sent it round among the other tribes as a trophy of victory. The vanquished soldiery could hear the yells of triumph from the pa; some even imagined that they heard the shrieks of their tortured countrymen, but this was only the work of the imagination. The Maoris remembered mercy in the hour of victory, and treated our dying officers with humanity worthy of the imitation and admiration of all civilized nations. No hostile hand hastened on the hour of death, already fast approaching. Their persons and their property were alike respected. An effort was made to relieve the sufferings of those who were still alive. Lieutenant-Colonel Booth, commanding the 43rd, was shot through the spine and the arm. His wounds, though mortal, did not produce immediate death. He stood leaning against the wall of the pa, suffering intensely from thirst; around him lay his slaughtered officers. Our pen shrinks from recording the sufferings he endured throughout the night of horror which he survived. He had risen rapidly to command, and was in the very prime of his strength and manhood. Tall, erect, and powerful, he looked like a man who could ward off death for half a century; he had done so in India and elsewhere, but now he had met his fate at the Gate Pa at Tauranga. This was the first time that he had led his regiment into action, and had they behaved in a manner worthy of their high reputation? Alas! There lay the two Glovers, the sons of an English clergyman, on the field of gore, but not of glory. They were lovely in their lives, and in death they were not separated. We had seen the elder fall in the foremost of the fray, and the younger, who loved him with more than a brother’s love, rush forward with a loud and bitter cry. A brother’s love may do much, but it cannot reverse the iron decrees of fate, which take no account of human affection or sorrow. It was in vain that he raised him in his arms, and strove to bear him from the field—a hostile bullet brought both the brothers to the ground, and left them side by side, with the tide of life ebbing fast away. If there is a mother in some distant English rectory weeping, like Rachel, for her children, because they are not, or a father lamenting their loss, let us comfort them with the assurance that in life and in death they were all that the fondest parent could wish.