been the consort, in
active operations, of men-of-war, of the Royal Navy. There was a row
afterwards, as to paying for the "Elphinstone," and I suppose I had no
right to keep her. However, I realised that everything hung on how
effective a blow I could at once strike in New Zealand.' Several men-of-
war were at his orders, and later they were strengthened by the first
steamer ever seen in these parts. It had come to New Zealand from the
China station, and was a show alike to colonists and to Maoris.

A trifling incident of the naval activity, during the Maori wars, dwelt
in Sir George's memory by reason of its droll comedy. An officer,
thoroughly tired out, went to his bunk, leaving directions that he should
be called at a particular hour. It happened that the awakening of him,
fell to a blithesome midshipman having the sombre surname D'Eth. The
sleeper turned himself lazily, half asleep, wishful only to be left to
sleep on, and asked, 'Who's there?'

The midshipman held up the blinking, old-fashioned lantern which was in
his hand, and answered 'D'Eth.' The weirdly lit cabin solemnly echoed the
word, making its sound uncanny--'D'Eth!'

'Good God,' the officer in the bunk exclaimed, sitting up with a jerk, as
if the last trumpet had sounded: 'D'Eth, where?'

Then he saw 'D'Eth' grinning, realised that there was still time for
repentance, and bundled forth to the quarter deck.

The larger quarter deck on to which Sir George Grey had stridden, much
needed cleaning up. In the north of New Zealand, a flag staff carrying
the Union Jack, had been cut down by an insurgent chief. A settlement had
been sacked, with completeness and the chivalry innate in the Maoris. No
hurt was done the whites, that could be avoided, nor was there looting of
property. The Maoris let Bishop Selwyn wash the earth with the contents
of a spirit cask. It was all sobriety in victory.

'They were,' Sir George noted of his favourite native race, 'naturally
ambitious of military renown; they were born warriors.' British troops
had been hurled against their pas, or fortresses, only to be hurled back,
heaps of slain. A Maori pa, in some forest fastness, stoutly built for
defence from within, held by determined men with firearms, was hard to
storm. Gallantry rushed to suicide.

The Maori wars, in their broad sense, are history. It is enough here to
define them as the collision of two races. The white tide of civilisation
was beating upon the foreshor