The decks gleamed with prostrate men in
mail. In each galley, erect and conspicuous among the martial throng,
stood a Franciscan or a Dominican friar, a Theatine or a Jesuit, in his
brown or black robe, holding a crucifix in one hand and sprinkling holy
water with the other, while he pronounced a general absolution, and
promised indulgence in this life, or pardon in the next, to the
steadfast warriors who should quit them like men and fight the good
fight of faith against infidel.
In the night between October 6th and 7th, 1571, about the same hour that
the Christian fleet weighed anchor at Cephalonia, the Turks had left
their moorings in the harbor of Lepanto. While Don John, baffled by the
winds and waves, was beating off the Curzolarian Isles, the Pacha was
sailing down the gulf before a fair breeze. Every Turk on board the
Sultan's fleet believed that he was about to assist in conveying the
armament of the Christian powers to the Golden Horn, in obedience to the
commands of the Padishah. The soldiers and sailors, lately recruited by
large reenforcements, were many of them fresh from quarters on shore.
Officers and men were in the highest spirits, eager for the battle which
they knew to be at hand, and in which they supposed their success to be
certain. For although Ali was well informed as to the position and
movements of the fleet of the League, he was no less mistaken as to the
strength of the Christians than the Christians were as to his own.
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