"Fighting! Are they?" He grinned as only a Maori can grin. "I will stop these dogs in their worrying. They shall have their fill of fighting." He grinned again. "That will be the surest way, my _mihonari_ friends. I will keep them fighting until they have no more stomach for it, and so shall there be an end." He muttered under his breath, "because their tribes shall be even as the _moa_."[57] As the _moa_ was extinct, the significance of the addition should be sufficiently clear. Hongi kept his word--he always did that--and sailed for the front in the proudest of his fleet of war-canoes, with a thousand warriors behind him, armed with _mere_ and _patu_ and spear, while in his van went a _garde de corps_ of three hundred picked men, fondling--so pleased were they--the three hundred muskets and _tupara_ for which their chief's presents had been exchanged. Southward, through the Hauraki Gulf, he sails into the estuary of the Thames, into the Thames itself. One halt and the Totara _pa_ is demolished, and with five hundred of its defenders dead in his rear Hongi sweeps on, southward still, to Matakitaki. Four to one against him! What care Hongi Ika and his three hundred musketeers? It is the same story--fierce attack and sudden victory, ruthless slaughter of twice a thousand foes, and Hongi, grinning in triumph, ever keeps his face to the south and drives his enemies before him as far as the Lake of Rotorua. At Kawhia, on the west, there lived, when Hongi scourged the land, the hereditary chief, Te Rauparaha, a notable fighter, but a better diplomate. On Te Rauparaha men's eyes were now turned. He will know how to deal with the proud Nga-Puhi. Hongi's triumphal progress is nearing its end. No. Hongi, at Mauinaina, is too close. Besides, he is a demon. He carries a charm which renders him invulnerable. That shining headpiece, that sparkling plate upon his chest--what are they, if not charms to keep him whole and sound? At Totara did not some strong arm deal him a buffet which would have scattered the brains of any mere man? Yet he did but stagger, while all around heard the sullen clang which was the howl of the evil spirit protecting his head. At Matakitaki was not a spear driven against his breast which should have split his heart and let out his villainous blood? Yet the point was blunted against the chest charm, and the spearman, poor wretch, slain. These things being so, who can stand against Hongi? Not Te Rauparaha. The bold raider's nerves give way, and with black rage and hatred in his heart he gathers his followers together and flees southward to Otaki, giving as he goes the measure he has received, and leaving a trail of blood and fire behind him. Hongi "has made a solitude and calls it--peace"; he is satisfied for the time being with what he has done and won, and must go home with his slaves and his heads and his loot, to enter his village in triumph like a general of old Rome.