The march was continued in the most miserable discomfort. Six hundred horses had died either at sea or from the effects of the storm, and the men, still suffering from a 'dissiness in the Heads after they had been so long toss'd at Sea,' had extra burdens to carry. The weather was wet and stormy, the roads were 'extreme rough and stony,' and when they encamped and lay down for the night, 'their Heads, Backs and Arms sank deep into the Clay.' Further, their rations were so spare that when they came on an inclosure with turnips they felt they had found a feast. 'Some roasted them and others eat them raw, and made a brave Banquet.' However, matters improved the next day as they drew nearer to Newton Abbot. People came in crowds to see them. 'Now they began to give us applause and pray for our Success.' Hitherto they had but wavered as they said, 'the Irish would come and cut them in pieces if it should be known.' On approaching Newton, 'a certain Divine went before the Army, and finding 'twas their Market day, he went unto the Cross, or Town hall,' and read the Declaration of the Prince of Orange. 'To which the people with one Heart and Voice answered Amen: Amen, and forthwith shouted for Joy, and made the Town ring with their echoing Huzzas.' Such was the auspicious reception of the 'Deliverer of the Nation from Popery, Slavery, Brass Money and Wooden Shoes.' A very different note, jarring against this triumphal strain, is struck by a Jacobite ballad on the same event, too long to quote entirely here. It bears the conciliatory title of THE BELGICK BOAR. God prosper long our noble King, Our hopes and wishes all: A fatal landing late there did In Devonshire befall. To drive our Monarch from his throne Prince Naso took his way. The babe may rue that's newly-born The landing at Torbay. The stubborn Tarquin, void of grace, A vow to Hell does make, To force his father abdicate And then his crown to take. * * * * * Then declarations flew about, As thick as any hail, Who, tho' no word was e'er made good, Did mightily prevail. We must be Papists or be slaves, Was then the gen'ral cry, But we'll do anything to save Our darling liberty. We'll all join with a foreign prince, Against our lawful king; For he from all our fancy'd fears Deliverance doth bring. * * * * * Then our allegiance let's cast off, James shall no longer guide us; And tho' the French would bridle us, None but the Dutch shall ride us. CHAPTER VII The Dart 'I cannot tell what you say, green leaves, I cannot tell what you say; But I know that there is a spirit in you, And a word in you this day.