We have read of a martyr’s sufferings at the stake: we question whether in intensity they equalled those endured by Colonel Booth during that fearful night. He never lost his consciousness, and an occasional groan escaped from his lips. An armed Maori stole up to him. There was no sorrow in the thought that he had come to give him the _coup de grâce_; but it was not so. The heart of the half-savage man was touched by the spectacle of woe. Colonel Booth read this feeling in his face, and muttered, “Water.” The Maori shook his head, to show that there was none in the pa, and slipped out in search of some. He never returned, but next morning his body was found at the brink of the swamp, with a pannikin by his side. A soldier of the 68th, ignorant of his purpose, had fired at him with fatal precision, and arrested him on his errand of mercy. The will must be taken for the deed. The exposure of his life to all but certain death from the humane desire to give a cup of water to a dying enemy shall not be without its reward. In the course of the night the insurgents abandoned the pa, and made good their retreat by the rear, without suffering much loss from the 68th, who had been placed there to intercept them. No blame can be attached to the 68th; no regiment has ever been able to prevent the Maoris from effecting their escape. They pass with ease through swamps where the British soldier could never gain a footing. Amphibious in their habits, they are as much at home in the water as on land. Their loss on this occasion was trifling: it certainly did not exceed thirty men, while ours amounted to 104 killed and wounded, including a larger portion of officers than on any other occasion where British troops have been engaged. The causes of this disproportion are already known to our readers.