A Spanish Capuchin, an old soldier, had tied
his crucifix to a halbert, and, crying that Christ would fight for his
faith, led the boarders of his galley over the bulwarks of her
antagonist; after using his weapon manfully, he returned victorious and
untouched.
An Italian priest, with a great gilded crucifix in one hand and a sword
in another, stood cheering on his spiritual sons, unharmed in the
fiercest centre of the arrowy sleet and iron hail. A Roman Capuchin,
finding his flock getting the worst of it, seized a boat-hook, and,
pulling his peaked hood over his face, rushed into the fray, laid about
him until he had slain seven Turks and driven the rest from the deck,
and lived to call a smile to the thin lips of Pius V by telling the
story of his prowess. The green banner of Mecca, brought from the
Prophet's tomb, and unfurled from the main-top of Ali, was riddled with
shot, which rendered illegible many of the sacred words with which it
was embroidered. But the azure standard of the League, blessed by the
supreme Pontiff and emblazoned with the image of the crucified Redeemer,
remained untouched by bolt or bullet, although masts, spars, and shrouds
around were torn and shattered from top to bottom.
The battle was over about four o'clock in the afternoon. The rout of the
centre and right wing of the Turk was complete.
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