They slept beneath the stars last night in Drumcree, the Protestant Mecca. They came from all over the North. Old men in their sashes, couples hand in hand, ear-ringed teenagers in jeans and baseball caps, all there to make a stand.
Bands marched up and down the road playing loyalist songs. It Was Old But It Was Beautiful And The Colours They Were Fine could be heard miles away.
Dozens of tents were erected in the fields where the loyal sons and some daughters of Ulster slept the night. Those not so lucky slept under trees or in the ditches with only their coats as protection from the elements.
The immaculate suits worn with pride to the church service earlier were crumpled. Prayer books became pillows. It was cold and uncomfortable at times but no one complained.
One middle-aged Orangeman said he hadn't camped out since his days in the Boys' Brigade.
"It's great fun altogether," said another. "It reminds me of the nights I courted the wife."
Groups of youths gathered around fires lit in the adjoining fields. Some drank beer but this was mainly a sober affair. They told jokes and eyed up the talent. They took little notice of the religious tracts being handed out. "Good bedtime reading," advised one elderly Orangeman.
Across the barricades the RUC and British army had portable toilets and cooking facilities. There were no such luxuries on the Orange side but spirits were still high. Wives and daughters arrived with tea and sandwiches at regular intervals.
Drumcree was like a holiday camp. Even in the darkness, kids tossed a football across a field.
Young loyalists with binoculars kept an eye on police lines. They were angry about the trenches, barricades and boulders. "They never fought the IRA like this," one complained.
Nearly every other Orangeman seemed to be keeping in touch with his brethren across the North by mobile phone. "There are so many mobile phones here, Vodafone should sponsor us next year," one said.
The Orangemen tuned in to every news bulletin to hear what was happening on the Garvaghy road. They cursed Breandan Mac Cionnaith of the Residents' Coalition.
"That man has caused all this trouble," one loyalist said. "I hope he's happy now."
There were constant warnings that if the march wasn't allowed through the new Assembly would fall.
The greatest hatred was reserved for David Trimble. "He'd be lynched if he shows his face," said one Orangeman.
"He won't be here," said another. "He's in his nice warm bed."
He might well have been, but the Orangemen bedding down under the stars at Drumcree probably slept more soundly than David Trimble.