Te Rauparaha, fleeing south, takes vengeance for the wrongs done him by Hongi upon all who come in his way. To be sure, it is not their affair; but Te Rauparaha cares nothing for that. Vengeance he wants; so hews a bloody path from north to south, till stayed by the rippling streak at the end of the land. Beyond that lies Te Wai Pounamou, The Waters of Greenstone, the Middle Island, washed by the Tasman Sea. Te Rauparaha's smouldering rage blazes up again. What! Shall that strip of water stop him? Not while he has an arm to strike, and there is a canoe to be had for the striking. So again the fearful drama--murder and rapine. The canoes are seized, the owners left stark upon the beach. Then across the strait, where a wondering crowd await his coming, not without apprehension. They have reason. "Who is it that comes?" "It is Te Rauparaha!" In a moment the chief is among them. Blood flows again. Te Rauparaha is once more the victor. Will it never end? Not yet. Hongi Ika comes not here to stop fighting by fighting, and Te Rauparaha has learned the lesson of the _tupara_, for he now has guns. Once more tearing a leaf from Hongi's book, he springs at the cowering population upon the great plain. Some he slaughters, some he enslaves; some, frantic with terror, braving the heaving Pacific, speed eastwards to Wari Kauri (Chatham Islands) six hundred miles away. Again we have been obliged to fly ahead of time in order to give full impression--not a complete picture--of these sinister happenings; for the wars of Hongi in the north, and Te Rauparaha's sanguinary progress to the south were not over and done with in a month or a year. It was in 1821 that Hongi started upon his self-imposed mission to cure like with like, and for the next twenty years--long after the death of Hongi--quarrel was piled upon quarrel, war led to war, till the whole of the north was involved. We left Hongi marching home in triumph, unconcerned that his hammering of the north had turned loose in the south a devil in the shape of Te Rauparaha. He had sustained no serious losses, and for some time continued pre-eminent. But his many and powerful foes had by now appreciated the reason of his success, and provided themselves with firearms. From that time Hongi, though victorious, paid more dearly for his victories. Hongi, when in battle, as a rule shone resplendent in the armour which George the Fourth had given him, and which was supposed to render him invulnerable. The belief received justification from the issue of Hongi's last fight at Hokianga in 1827. For some reason the great chief wore only his helmet upon that fatal day. Ill fared it then with Roderick Dhu, When on the field his targe he threw. Ill fared it with Hongi when he rushed into the fight without his shining breastplate; for hardly was the battle joined when a bullet passed through his body, and the day of the great Hongi, the Lion of the North, was done.