And like one man, the little band joined the 18th. But though the assault was made with desperate courage, the close fire again forced them to retire with a heavy loss. No breach had as yet been made, while the fire from behind the earthworks was incessant and accurate. Seeing that it was not a case for a cheer and a bayonet rush, the general decided to take the place by sap. "Might have thought of that before," growled Mr. Slyde, "and saved my hat." Here he pointed to a bullet-hole in his headpiece with so rueful a face that his smoke-begrimed comrades burst out laughing. "Are _you_ hit, Warwick?" "Only a graze," replied he, feeling his right arm, from which the blood had stained his sleeve. "I was afraid the bone was touched. It's all right." "Here come those Maunga-tautari fellows," said Warwick, pointing to a compact body of natives now appearing on the scene. "Ha! you may fire a volley and dance the war-dance, my fine fellows; you're out of this game. There goes a shell among them. How they scatter! Too late for this play." So it proved. Within the next twenty-four hours a British reinforcement, four hundred strong, appeared. The sap had been carried on; none could escape. Another day, another night, passed. At length, about noon, an Armstrong gun was carried into the sap, a breach was made, and the siege was virtually over. On the score of humanity, women and children being in the pah, the garrison was called upon to surrender, with a promise that their lives should be spared. Now was heard the immortal rejoinder: "Ka whai-whai, tonu--ake--ake--ake!" ("We will fight on to the end--for ever--for ever--for ever!") The interpreter pleaded for the women and children. "Why not send them out?" The answer came back: "Our women will fight also." But they commenced to find the rifle-pits untenable. The hand-grenades made terrific slaughter. The rifle-pits had been too hastily formed for safety; but still they fought stubbornly on. When the assault was made, half of the first troops that entered fell; nor was the second assault more fortunate. Then the enemy's ammunition failed. It was pathetic to note them in their deep despair. Standing amid their dead and dying, the blood-stained warriors sang a mission hymn of old days, and raised their voices--which were plainly heard--in passionate supplication to the Christian's God. "But there was no voice, nor any that answered." Still pressed nearer, with hail of shot and shell, the resistless pakeha. Once again their mood changed, and they turned to the heathen gods of the children of Maui. Chanting an ancient _karakia_, or imprecation, they marched forth in a solid column. The women and children, with the high chiefs, were placed in the centre.