Come now, my lads, we'll march along,
And wave our banners high,
The savage herds in forest wilds
Shall hear our battle-cry.
The distant realm before us lies,
The road is rough and drear,
O'er lake and stream thro' mountain wild
Our martial course we'll steer.
Chorus.—Then march along, my hearty lads,
And cheer your hearts with song,
The nation cheers the Volunteers
Who bravely march along.
No scorching sun, no torrent shower,
No toil, nor want of rest,
Has power to check that British pluck
Which warms each loyal breast.
No savage of the woods we dread,
Nor death, nor danger near,
We are a nation's loyal sons
Who spurn a coward's fear.
Chorus.—Then march along, &c.
That savage wretch with bloody hands,
Usurping in his might,
Shall keenly feel a nation's steel
That justifies its right.
"Revenge" shall be our battle-cry,
Revenge the bloody foe:
Fort Garry's walls with tongues of blood,
Shall echo back the blow.
Chorus.—Come march along, "my hearty lads,"
And shout the martial song.
The nation cheers the Volunteers
Who bravely march along.
CHAPTER VIII.
I will now silently pass over the space of three months, and leave the reader to follow in imagination the adventures of our hero in the Red River Expedition;—and as an essential character in the sequel of this story I will now take the liberty of introducing myself.