ommand, Colonel Despard, who had seen much fighting against
hill tribes in India. He landed 630 men and six cannons; but these
latter, being ship's cannons on wooden carriages with small wheels,
stuck in the boggy forest roads. The men had to pull the guns, and they
were assisted by 250 friendly Maoris. On the evening of 22nd June, 1845,
they spread out before the pah during the gathering dusk. It was a
strong place. In the midst of a deep and gloomy forest, a square had
been cleared about a third of a mile in length and in breadth. Great
trunks of trees had been set up in the earth, and they stood fifteen
feet high; between their great stems, a foot or eighteen inches thick,
there was just room enough left for firing a musket. Three rows of these
gigantic palings, with a ditch five feet deep between the inner ones,
made the fortress most dangerous to assault; and in the ground within
hollows had been dug where men could sleep secure from shells and
rockets. Two hundred and fifty warriors were there with plenty of
muskets and powder.

On the second morning the British had got their guns planted within a
hundred yards of the palisade, but the small balls they threw did little
harm to such huge timber. The whole expedition would have had to retire
had not a heavier gun come up. This threw shot thirty-two pounds in
weight, and after twenty-six of these had struck the same place, a
breach was seen of a yard or two in width. Colonel Despard ordered 200
men with ropes and hatchets and ladders to be ready for an assault at
daybreak. In the still dawn of a wintry morning, the bugles rang out and
the brave fellows gathered for the deadly duty. They rushed at the
breach, and for ten minutes a wild scene ensued. The place was very
narrow, and it was blocked by resolute Maoris, who shot down exactly
half of the attacking party. Many of the soldiers forced their way
through, but only to find a second and then a third palisade in front of
them. Then they returned, losing men as they fled, and the whole British
force fell back a little way into the forest. That night the groans and
cries of the wounded, lying just outside the pah, were mingled with the
wild shouts of the war dance within. Two days later the Maoris hoisted a
flag of truce, and offered to let the white men carry off the dead and
wounded. Thirty-four bodies lay at the fatal breach, and sixty-six men
were found to have been wounded.

A week later another load of cannon b