disturbance.  Luckily Heke’s tribe—­the Ngapuhi—­were divided.  Part, under Waka Nene, held with the English.  Accepting Nene’s advice Fitzroy allowed Heke to pay ten muskets in compensation for the flagstaff, and then foolishly gave back the fine as a present and departed.  Nene and the friendly chiefs undertook to keep peace—­but failed, for Heke again cut down the flagstaff.  This, of course, brought war definitely on.  The famous flagstaff was re-erected, guarded by a block-house, and a party of soldiers and sailors were sent to garrison Kororareka.  As H.M.S. Hazard lay off the beach in the Bay and guns were mounted in three block-houses, the place was expected to hold out.  Heke, however, notified that he would take it—­and did so.  He marched against it with eight hundred men.  One party attacked the flagstaff, another the town.  The twenty defenders of the flag-staff were divided by a stratagem by which part were lured out to repel a feigned attack.  In their absence the stockade was rushed, and, for the third time, the flagstaff hewn down.  During the attack the defenders of the town, however, under Captain Robertson of the Hazard, stood their ground and repulsed a first attack.  Even when Robertson fell, his thigh-bone shattered by a bullet, Lieutenant Philpotts, taking command, had the women and children sent safely on board the ships, and all was going well when the outnumbered garrison were paralysed by the blowing up of their powder magazine.  The townsmen began to escape, and a council of war decided to abandon the place.  This was done.  Lovell, a gunner, would not leave his piece until he had spiked it, and was killed, but not before doing so.  Bishop Selwyn, landing from his mission ship in the Bay, had been doing the work of ten in carrying off women and children and succouring the wounded, aided therein by Henry Williams.  To Selwyn, as he toiled begrimed with smoke and sweat, came running a boy, young Nelson Hector, whose father, a lawyer, was in charge of a gun in position on one of the hillsides outside the town.  The boy had stolen away unnoticed, and crept through the Maoris to find out for his father how things stood.  The bishop offered to take him on board with the women, but the youngster scouted the notion of leaving his father.  “God bless you, my boy!” said the big-hearted Selwyn; “I have nothing to say against it”; and the lad, running off, got back safely.  Out in the Bay the American corvette St. Louis lay at anchor.  Her men were keen to be allowed to “bear a hand” in the defence.  Though this could not be, her captain sent boats through the fire while it was still hot to bring off the women and children, and gave them shelter on board.  Anglo-Saxon brotherhood counted for something even in 1845.  The scene became extraordinary.  The victorious Maoris, streaming gleefully into the town, began to plunder in the best of good tempers.  Some of the townspeople went about saving such of their goods as they could without molestation, indeed, with occasional help from the Maoris, who considered there was enough for all.  Presently a house caught fire, the flames spread, and the glowing blaze, the volumes of smoke, and the roar of the burning under the red-lit sky, gave a touch of dignity to the end of wicked old Kororareka.