The only difficulty was the transport of our artillery, but as we merely carried those light field-pieces called ‘curricle guns,’ and had no want of numbers to draw them, this was not an obstacle of much moment. With fifty, sometimes sixty, peasants to a gun, they advanced at a run, up places where our infantry found the ascent sufficiently toilsome. Here, indeed, our allies showed in the most favourable colours we had yet seen them. The prospect of a fight seemed to excite their spirits almost to madness; every height they surmounted they would break into a wild cheer, and the vigour with which they tugged the heavy ammunition-carts through the deep and spongy soil never interfered with the joyous shouts they gave, and the merry songs they chanted in rude chorus. ‘Tra, la, la! the French is comin’, What ‘ll now the red-coats do? Maybe they won’t get a drubbin’! Sure we ‘ll lick them black and blue! ‘Ye little knew the day was near ye, Ye little thought they ‘d come so far; But here’s the boys that never fear ye-- Run, yer sowls, for Castlebar!’ To this measure they stepped in time, and although the poetry was lost upon our ignorance, the rattling joyousness of the air sounded pleasantly, and our men, soon catching up the tune, joined heartily in the chorus. Another very popular melody ran somewhat thus:-- ‘Our day is now begun, Says the Shan van voght, Our day is now begun, Says the Shan van voght. Our day is now begun, And ours is all the fun! Be my sowl ye ‘d better run! Says the Shan van voght!’ There were something like a hundred verses to this famous air, but it is more than likely, from the specimen given above, that my reader will forgive the want of memory that leaves me unable to quote the remaining ninety-nine; nor is it necessary that I should add, that the merit of these canticles lay in the hoarse accord of a thousand rude voices, heard in the stillness of a wild mountain region, and at a time when an eventful struggle was before us; such were the circumstances which possibly made these savage rhymes assume something of terrible meaning. We had just arrived at the entrance of Barnageeragh, when one of our mounted scouts rode up to say, that a peasant, who tended cattle on the mountains, had evidently observed our approach, and hastened into Castlebar with the tidings. It was difficult to make General Humbert understand this fact.