THE BATTLE OF LEPANTO.


It was two hours before dawn on Sunday, the memorable seventh of
October, 1571, when the fleet weighed anchor. The wind had become
lighter, but it was still contrary, and the galleys were indebted for
their progress much more to their oars than to their sails. By sunrise
they were abreast of the Curzolares, a cluster of huge rocks, or rocky
islets, which, on the north, defends the entrance of the Gulf of
Lepanto. The fleet moved laboriously along, while every eye was
strained to catch the first glimpse of the hostile navy. At length the
watch from the foretop of the _Real_ called out, "A sail!" and
soon after announced that the whole Ottoman fleet was in
sight. Several others, climbing up the rigging, confirmed his report;
and in a few moments more word was sent to the same effect by Andrew
Doria, who commanded on the right. There was no longer any doubt; and
Don John, ordering his pendant to be displayed at the mizzen-peak,
unfurled the great standard of the League, given by the pope, and
directed a gun to be fired, the signal for battle. The report, as it
ran along the rocky shores, fell cheerily on the ears of the
confederates, who, raising their eyes towards the consecrated banner,
filled the air with their shouts.

The principal captains now came on board the _Real_ to receive
the last orders of the commander-in-chief. Even at this late hour
there were some who ventured to intimate their doubts of the
expediency of engaging the enemy in a position where he had a decided
advantage. But Don John cut short the discussion. "Gentlemen," he