daylight, and there halted. The wounded who were unable to walk were carried with difficulty through the tangled bush, where it was often necessary to cut away at the supplejacks and aka vines, so intricately interlaced and festooned across their path, before a passage could be made for the litter-bearers. There was no moon; it was an intensely dark night, rendered more Cimmerian still by the unbroken roof of foliage overhead. The Hauhaus made torches of pieces of dry pinewood, bound together with scraps of flax torn from their scanty mat garments, and with these they managed to dimly light their way through the forest—a wild and savage band; the warriors in front and rear, their cartouche-belts over their naked shoulders, and guns slung across their backs, or carried in their left hands; in their right they gripped their tomahawks and slashed away at the twining impediments of the jungle.
A camp was made near the banks of the Tangahoé,[1] and here, as soon as it a as light, the Hauhaus mus-
- ↑ There is an interesting Maori proverb concerning this rapid Tangahoé stream and the Tangahoé tribe who lived on its banks. This is the proverb, or pepeha:
"Tangahoé tangata, e haere;
Tangahoé ia, e kore e haere."This, being interpreted, is:
"Men of Tangahoé depart;
But the current of Tangahoé remains."A pepeha which recalls Tennyson's "Brook":
"Men may come and men may go,
But I go on for ever."
