“Thence we entered the village, still with considerable precaution, as we would not believe that the Maoris would make no resistance whatever, particularly in such broken ground as the village, straggling amongst gullies and ridges covered with peach-groves, afforded. Thus, however, it was. We went right through the village, and seeing the fugitives in the far-off distance making for an old pa [probably Otautahanga], I gave chase, but was soon recalled, as the orders of Colonel Waddy were to confine himself strictly to Orakau. The next time I entered that village a few weeks after we did not complain about the reluctance of fighting in the Maoris.” CHAPTER X. THE BATTLE OF ORAKAU. And how can man die better Than facing fearful odds, For the ashes of his fathers, And the temples of his gods? —“Horatius” (“Lays of Ancient Rome.”) The defence of Orakau Pa by the three hundred Maoris who deserve lasting fame as surely as the three hundred of Thermopylæ has passed into imperishable history as an inspiring example of heroism and devotion to a national cause. Many and many a story of that three days’ siege has been written, and yet new narratives with much that is thrilling are still to be gathered from the very few survivors. Far away in the wild forest glens of the Urewera Country I have heard the story of Orakau told in the meeting-houses at night by the old warriors, and travelling over the Huiarau Mountains to Waikaremoana, my companion, a Hauhau veteran, told me how his father fell at Orakau and he himself escaped from the field with a severe wound, and proudly he exhibited the deep scars. Orakau was one of those defeats and retreats that are grander than a victory. The spirit of Bannockburn was in the defenders’ scornful defiance of terrible odds; but even Bannockburn was outdone by the Maori garrison’s indifference to the foe’s superiority in numbers and arms and by the devotion of the women who remained to share the fall of their husbands and brothers. The pakeha’s cattle graze over the unfenced, unmarked trenches where scores of brave men were laid to rest. Technically they were rebels, holding stubbornly to nationalism and a broken cause, but the glory of Orakau rests with those rebels. And now that the old racial animosities have disappeared Briton and Maori join in fraternal worship of the men and women who died for a sentiment. A Waikato Regiment has taken for its motto the war-cry of the people whom Cameron defeated but could not conquer, and has inscribed on its colours the words, “Ka whawhai tonu matou, ake, ake, ake!” To New Zealanders of the blended races in the years to come that slogan of the soil should carry as thrilling a call in battle-test as the last words of Burns’s ode hold for the Scot: “Liberty’s in every blow—let us do or die!”