We were all occupied with our drill at daybreak on the morning of the 27th of August, when a mounted orderly arrived at full gallop, with news that our troops were in motion for Castlebar, and orders for us immediately to march to their support, leaving only one subaltern and twenty men in ‘the Castle.’

The worthy bishop was thunderstruck at the tidings. It is more than probable that he never entertained any grave fears of our ultimate success; still he saw that in the struggle, brief as it might be, rapine, murder, and pillage would spread over the country, and that crime of every sort would be certain to prevail during the short interval of anarchy.

As our drums were beating the ‘rally,’ he entered the garden, and with hurried steps came forward to where Colonel Charost was standing delivering his orders.

‘Good-day, Mons. l‘ÉvÊque,’ said the colonel, removing his hat, and bowing low. You see us in a moment of haste. The campaign has opened, and we are about to march.’

‘Have you made any provision for the garrison of this town, colonel?’ said the bishop, in terror. ‘Your presence alone here restrained the population hitherto. If you leave us——-’

‘We shall leave you a strong force of our faithful allies, sir,’ said Charost; ‘Irishmen could scarcely desire better defenders than their countrymen.’

‘You forget, colonel, that some of us here are averse to this cause, but, as non-combatants, lay claim to protection.’

‘You shall have it, too, Mons. l‘ÉvÊque; we leave an officer and twenty men.’

‘An officer and twenty men!’ echoed the bishop, in dismay.

‘Quite sufficient, I assure you,’ said Charost coldly; ‘and if a hair of one of their heads be injured by the populace, trust me, sir, that we shall take a terrible vengeance.’

‘You do not know these people, sir, as I know them,’ said the bishop eagerly. ‘The same hour that you march out, will the town of Killala be given up to pillage. As for your retributive justice, I may be pardoned for not feeling any consolation in the pledge, for certes neither I nor mine will live to witness it.’

As the bishop was speaking, a crowd of volunteers, some in uniform and all armed, drew nearer and nearer to the place of colloquy; and although understanding nothing of what went forward in the foreign language, seemed to watch the expressions of the speakers’ faces with a most keen interest. To look at the countenances of these fellows, truly one would not have called the bishop’s fears exaggerated; their expression was that of demoniac passion and hatred.

‘Look, sir,’ said the bishop, turning round, and facing the mob, ‘look at the men to whose safeguard you propose to leave us.’

Charost made no reply; but making a sign for the bishop to remain where he was, re-entered the pavilion hastily. I could see, through the window that he was reading his despatches over again, and evidently taking counsel with himself how to act. The determination was quickly come to.

‘Mons. l‘ÉvÊque,’ said he, laying his hand on the bishop’s arm, ‘I find that my orders admit of a choice on my part. I will, therefore, remain with you myself, and keep a sufficient force of my own men. It is not impossible, however, that in taking this step I may be perilling my own safety. You will, therefore, consent that one of your sons shall accompany the force now about to march, as a hostage. This is not an unreasonable request on my part.’

‘Very well, sir,’ said the bishop sadly. ‘When do they leave?’

‘Within half an hour,’ said Charost.

The bishop, bowing, retraced his steps through the garden back to the house. Our preparations for the road were by this time far advanced. The command said, ‘Light marching order, and no rations’; so that we foresaw that there was sharp work before us. Our men—part of the 12th demi-brigade, and a half company of grenadiers—were, indeed, ready on the instant; but the Irish were not so easily equipped. Many had strayed into the town; some, early as it was, were dead drunk; and not a few had mislaid their arms or their ammunition, secretly preferring the chance of a foray of their own to the prospect of a regular engagement with the Royalist troops.

Our force was still a considerable one, numbering at least fifteen hundred volunteers, besides about eighty of our men. By seven o’clock we were under march, and with drums beating, defiled from the narrow streets of Killala into the mountain-road that leads to Cloonagh; it being our object to form a junction with the main body at the foot of the mountain.

Two roads led from Ballina to Castlebar—one to the eastward, the other to the west of Lough Con. The former was a level road, easily passable by wheel carriages, and without any obstacle or difficulty whatever; the other took a straight direction over lofty mountains, and in one spot—the Pass of Barnageeragh—traversed a narrow defile, shut in between steep cliffs, where a small force, assisted by artillery, could have arrested the advance of a great army. The road itself, too, was in disrepair; the rains of autumn had torn and fissured it, while heavy sandslips and fallen rocks in many places rendered it almost impassable.

The Royalist generals had reconnoitred it two days before, and were so convinced that all approach in this direction was out of the question, that a small picket of observation, posted near the Pass of Barnageeragh, was withdrawn as useless, and the few stockades they had fixed were still standing as we marched through.

General Humbert had acquired all the details of these separate lines of attack, and at once decided for the mountain-road, which, besides the advantage of a surprise, was in reality four miles shorter.

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.

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:—

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.

‘Is this the patriotism we have heard so much of? Are these the people who would welcome us as deliverers?! Parbleu! I’ve seen nothing but lukewarmness or downright opposition since I landed! In that same town we have just quitted—a miserable hole, too, was it—what was the first sight that greeted us? a fellow in our uniform hanging from the stanchion of a window, with an inscription round his neck, to the purport that he was a traitor! This is the fraternity which our Irish friends never wearied to speak of!’

Our march was now hastened, and in less than an hour we debouched from the narrow gorge into the open plain before the town of Castlebar. A few shots in our front told us that the advanced picket had fallen in with the enemy, but a French cheer also proclaimed that the Royalists had fallen back, and our march continued unmolested. The road, which was wide and level here, traversed a flat country, without hedgerow or cover, so that we were able to advance in close column, without any precaution for our flanks; but before us there was a considerable ascent, which shut out all view of the track beyond it. Up this our advanced guard was toiling, somewhat wearied with a seven hours’ march and the heat of a warm morning, when scarcely had the leading files topped the ridge, than plump went a round shot over their heads, which, after describing a fine curve, plunged into the soft surface of a newly ploughed field. The troops were instantly retired behind the crest of the hill, and an orderly despatched to inform the general that we were in face of the enemy. He had already seen the shot and marked its direction. The main body was accordingly halted, and defiling from the centre, the troops extended on either side into the fields. While this movement was being effected Humbert rode forward, and crossing the ridge, reconnoitred the enemy.

It was, as he afterwards observed, a stronger force than he had anticipated, consisting of between three and four thousand bayonets, with four squadrons of horse, and two batteries of eight guns, the whole admirably posted on a range of heights, in front of the town, and completely covering it.

The ridge was scarcely eight hundred yards’ distance, and so distinctly was every object seen, that Humbert and his two aides-de-camp were at once marked and fired at, even in the few minutes during which the reconnaissance lasted.

As the general retired the firing ceased, and now all our arrangements were made without molestation of any kind. They were, indeed, of the simplest and speediest Two companies of our grenadiers were marched to the front, and in advance of them, about twenty paces, were posted a body of Irish in French uniforms. This place being assigned them, it was said, as a mark of honour, but in reality for no other purpose than to draw on them the Royalist artillery, and thus screen the grenadiers.

Under cover of this force came two light six-pounder guns, loaded with grape, and intended to be discharged at point-blank distance. The infantry brought up the rear in three compact columns, ready to deploy into line at a moment.

In these very simple tactics no notice whatever was taken of the great rabble of Irish who hung upon our flanks and rear in disorderly masses, cursing, swearing, and vociferating in all the license of insubordination; and O’Donnell, whose showy uniform contrasted strikingly with the dark-blue coat and low glazed cocked-hat of Humbert, was now appealed to by his countrymen as to the reason of this palpable slight.

‘What does he want? what does the fellow say?’ asked Humbert, as he noticed his excited gestures and passionate manner.

‘He is remonstrating, sir,’ replied I, ‘on the neglect of his countrymen; he says that they do not seem treated like soldiers; no post has been assigned, nor any order given them.’

‘Tell him, sir,’ said Humbert, with a savage grin, ‘that the discipline we have tried in vain to teach them hitherto, we’ll not venture to rehearse under an enemy’s fire; and tell him also that he and his ragged followers are free to leave us, or, if they like better, to turn against us, at a moment’s warning.’

I was saved the unpleasant task of interpreting this civil message by Conolly, who, taking O’Donnell aside, appeared endeavouring to reason with him, and reduce him to something like moderation.

‘There, look at them, they’re running like sheep!’ cried Humbert, laughing, as he pointed to an indiscriminate rabble, some hundred yards off, in a meadow, and who had taken to their heels on seeing a round shot plunge into the earth near them. ‘Come along, sir: come with me, and when you have seen what fire is, you may go back and tell your countrymen! Serasin, is all ready? Well then, forward, march!’

‘March!’ was now re-echoed along the line, and steadily, as on a parade, our hardy infantry stepped out, while the drums kept up a continued roll as we mounted the hill.

The first to cross the crest of the ascent were the ‘Legion,’ as the Irish were called, who, dressed like French soldiers, were selected for some slight superiority in discipline and bearing. They had but gained the ridge, however, when a well-directed shot from a six-pounder smashed in amongst them, killing two, and wounding six or seven others. The whole mass immediately fell back on our grenadiers. The confusion compelled the supporting column to halt, and once more the troops were retired behind the hill.

‘Forward, men, forward!’ cried Humbert, riding up to the front, and in evident impatience at these repeated checks; and now the grenadiers passed to the front, and, mounting the height, passed over, while a shower of balls flew over and around them. A small slated house stood half-way down the hill, and for this the leading files made a dash and gained it, just as the main body were, for the third time, driven back to re-form.

It was now evident that an attack in column could not succeed against a fire so admirably directed, and Humbert quickly deployed into line, and prepared to storm the enemy’s position.

Up to this the conduct of the Royalists had been marked by the greatest steadiness and determination. Every shot from their batteries had told, and all promised an easy and complete success to their arms. No sooner, however, had our infantry extended into line, than the militia, unaccustomed to see an enemy before them, and unable to calculate distance, opened a useless, dropping fire, at a range where not a bullet could reach!

The ignorance of this movement, and the irregularity of the discharge, were not lost upon our fellows, most of whom were veterans of the army of the Rhine, and, with a loud cheer of derision, our troops advanced to meet them, while a cloud of skirmishers dashed forward and secured themselves under cover of a hedge.

Even yet, however, no important advantage had been gained by us, and if the Royalists had kept their ground in support of their artillery, we must have been driven back with loss; but, fortunately for us, a movement we made to keep open order was mistaken by some of the militia officers for the preparation to outflank them, a panic seized the whole line, and they fell back, leaving their guns totally exposed and unprotected.

‘They ‘re running! they ‘re running!’ was the cry along our line; and now a race was seen, which should be first up with the artillery. The cheers at this moment were tremendous, for our ‘allies,’ who had kept wide aloof hitherto, were now up with us, and, more lightly equipped than we were, soon took the lead. The temerity, however, was costly, for three several times did the Royalist artillery load and fire; and each discharge, scarcely at half-musket range, was terribly effective.

We were by no means prepared for either so sudden or complete a success, and the scene was exciting in the highest degree, as the whole line mounted the hill, cheering madly. From the crest of this rising ground we could now see the town of Castlebar beneath us, into which the Royalists were scampering at full speed. A preparation for defending the bridge into the town did not escape the watchful eyes of our general, who again gave the word ‘Forward!’ not by the road alone, but also by the fields at either side, so as to occupy the houses that should command the bridge, and which, by a palpable neglect, the others had forgotten to do.

Our small body of horse, about twenty hussars, were ordered to charge the bridge, and had they been even moderately well mounted, must have captured the one gun of the enemy at once; but the miserable cattle, unable to strike a canter, only exposed them to a sharp musketry; and when they did reach the bridge, five of their number had fallen. The six-pounder was, however, soon taken, and the gunners sabred at their posts, while our advanced guard coming up, completed the victory; and nothing now remained but a headlong flight.

Had we possessed a single squadron of dragoons, few could have escaped us, for not a vestige of discipline remained. All was wild confusion and panic. Such of the officers as had ever seen service, were already killed or badly wounded; and the younger ones were perfectly unequal to the difficult task of rallying or restoring order to a routed force.

The scene in the market-square, as we rode in, is not easily to be forgotten; about two hundred prisoners were standing in a group, disarmed, it is true, but quite unguarded, and without any preparation or precaution against escape!

Six or seven English officers, amongst whom were two majors, were gathered around General Humbert, who was conversing with them in tones of easy and jocular familiarity. The captured guns of the enemy (fourteen in all) were being ranged on one side of the square, while behind them were drawn up a strange-looking line of men, with their coats turned. These were part of the Kilkenny militia, who had deserted to our ranks after the retreat began.

Such was the ‘fight’ of Castlebar. It would be absurd to call it a ‘battle’—a day too inglorious for the Royalists to reflect any credit upon us; but, such as it was, it raised the spirits of our Irish followers to a pitch of madness, and, out of our own ranks, none now doubted in the certainty of Irish independence.

Our occupation of the town lasted only a week; but, brief as the time was, it was sufficient to widen the breach between ourselves and our allies into an open and undisguised hatred. There were, unquestionably, wrongs on both sides. As for us, we were thoroughly, bitterly disappointed in the character of those we had come to liberate; and, making the egregious mistake of confounding these semi-civilised peasants with the Irish people, we deeply regretted that ever the French army should have been sent on so worthless a mission. As for them, they felt insulted and degraded by the offensive tone we assumed towards them. Not alone were they never regarded as comrades, but a taunting insolence of manner was assumed in all our dealings with them, very strikingly in contrast to that with which we conducted ourselves towards all the other inhabitants of the island, even those who were avowedly inimical to our object and our cause.

These things, with native quickness, they soon remarked. They saw the consideration and politeness with which the bishop and his family were treated; they saw several Protestant gentlemen suffered to return to their homes ‘on parole.’ They saw, too—worse grievance of all—how all attempts at pillage were restrained, or severely punished, and they asked themselves, ‘To what end a revolt, if neither massacre nor robbery were to follow? If they wanted masters and rulers, sure they had the English that they were used to, and could at least understand.’

Such were the causes, and such the reasonings, which gradually ate deeper and deeper into their minds, rendering them at first sullen, gloomy, and suspicious, and at last insubordinate, and openly insulting to us.

Their leaders were the first to exhibit this state of feeling. Affecting a haughty disdain for us, they went about with disparaging stories of the French soldiery; and at last went even so far as to impugn their courage!

In one of the versions of the affair at Castlebar, it was roundly asserted that but for the Irish threatening to fire on them, the French would have turned and fled; while in another, the tactics of that day were all ascribed to the military genius of Neal Kerrigan, who, by-the-bye, was never seen from early morning until late the same afternoon, when he rode into Castlebar on a fine bay horse that belonged to Captain Shortall of the Royal Artillery!

If the feeling between us and our allies was something less than cordial, nothing could be more friendly than that which subsisted between us and such of the Royalists as we came in contact with. The officers who became our prisoners were treated with every deference and respect. Two field-officers and a captain of carbineers dined daily with the general, and Serasin entertained several others. We liked them greatly; and I believe I am not flattering if I say that they were equally satisfied with us. Nos amis l’ennemis, was the constant expression used in talking of them; and every day drew closer the ties of this comrade regard and esteem.

Such was the cordial tone of intimacy maintained between us, that I remember well, one evening at Humbert’s table, an animated discussion being carried on between the general and an English staff-officer on the campaign itself—the Royalist averring that in marching southward at all, a gross and irreparable mistake had been made, and that if the French had occupied Sligo, and extended their wings towards the north, they would have secured a position of infinitely greater strength, and also become the centre for rallying round them a population of a very different order from the half-starved tribes of Mayo.

Humbert affected to say that the reason for his actual plan was that twenty thousand French were daily expected to land in Lough Swilly, and that the western attack was merely to occupy time and attention, while the more formidable movement went on elsewhere.

I know not if the English believed this; I rather suspect not. Certes, they were too polite to express any semblance of distrust of what was told them with all the air of truth.

It was amusing, too, to see the candour with which each party discussed the other to his face—the French general criticising all the faulty tactics and defective manoeuvres of the Royalists; while the English never hesitated to aver that whatever momentary success might wait upon the French arms, they were just as certain to be obliged to capitulate in the end.

‘You know it better than I do, general,’ said the major of dragoons. ‘It may be a day or two earlier or later, but the issue will and must be—a surrender.’

‘I don’t agree with you,’ said Humbert, laughing; ‘I think there will be more than one “Castlebar.” But let the worst happen—and you must own that your haughty country has received a heavy insult—your great England has got a soufflet in the face of all Europe!’

This, which our general regarded as a great compensation—the greatest, perhaps, he could receive for all defeat—did not seem to affect the English with proportionate dismay, nor even to ruffle the equanimity of their calm tempers.

Upon one subject both sides were quite agreed—that the peasantry never could aid, but very possibly would always shipwreck, every attempt to win national independence.

‘I should have one army to fight the English, and two to keep down the Irish!’ was Humbert’s expression; and very little experience served to show that there was not much exaggeration in the sentiment.

Our week at Castlebar taught us a good lesson in this respect. The troops, wearied with a march that had begun on the midnight of the day before, and with an engagement that lasted from eight till two in the afternoon, were obliged to be under arms for several hours, to repress pillage and massacre. Our allies now filled the town, to the number of five thousand, openly demanding that it should be given up to them, parading the streets in riotous bands, and displaying banners with long lists of names doomed for immediate destruction.

The steadiness and temper of our soldiery were severely tried by these factious and insubordinate spirits; but discipline prevailed at last, and before the first evening closed in, the town was quiet, and, for the time at least, danger over.