The Turkish fleet came on imposing and terrible, all sails set,
impelled by a fair wind, and it was only half a mile from the line of
galliasses and another mile from the line of the Christian ships.
D. John waited no longer; he humbly crossed himself, and ordered that
the cannon of challenge should be fired on the “Real,” and the blue
flag of the League should be hoisted at the stern, which unfurled itself
like a piece of the sky on which stood out an image of the Crucified. A
moment later the galley of Ali replied, accepting the challenge by
firing another cannon, and hoisting at the stern the standard of the
Prophet, guarded in Mecca, white and of large size, with a wide green
“cenefa,” and in the center verses from the Koran embroidered in gold.
Battle
of Lepanto in 1571, Don Juan of Austria and cardinals. Fresco in Ain
Karim, Israel at the Franciscan church of the Visitation Photo by
Abraham
At the same moment a strange thing happened, a very simple one at any
other time, but for good reason then considered a miracle: the wind
fell suddenly to a calm, and then began to blow favorably for the
Christians and against the Turks. It seemed as if the Voice had said to
the sea, “Be calm,” and to the wind, “Be still.” The silence was
profound, and nothing was heard but the waves breaking on the prows of
the galleys, and the noise of the chains of the Christian galley slaves
as they rowed.
Fr. Miguel Servia blessed from the quarter-deck all those of the
fleet, and gave them absolution in the hour of death. It was then a
quarter to twelve.
The Battle of Lepanto, October 7, 1571 by Pieter Brünniche
The first shot was fired by the galleass “Capitana,” commanded by
Francisco Duodo, and it smashed the biggest of the five lanterns which
crowned the stern of Ali Pasha’s galley; the second injured the castle
of a neighboring galley; and the third sunk a small vessel which was
hurrying to transmit orders. Then there was a retrograde movement
through the Turkish fleet, which the bravery of Ali Pasha at once
checked. He rushed to the tiller and made the “Sultana” pass between the
galliasses with the rapidity of an arrow, without firing a shot; all
the fleet followed him, their line already broken, but prepared to form
up again when they had passed the obstacle, as the water of a river
reunites after it has passed the posts of a bridge which has impeded and
divided it. The left Christian wing and the Turkish right one were the
first to engage. Mahomet Scirocco attacked with such force in front, and
with such tumult of shouts and savage cries, according to the Turkish
custom when fighting, that all attention was drawn to one point;
meanwhile some of his light galleys slipped past on the land side and
attacked the stern of Barbarigo’s flagship, who saw himself sorely
pressed as the crew of Mahomet Scirocco’s galley had boarded his by the
prow, and the Turks were already up to the mizzen mast.
Agostino Barbarigo Photo by Bob Swain
The Christians defended themselves like wild beasts, gathered in the
stern, and Barbarigo himself was directing them and cheering them on
from the castle. He had lifted the visor of his helmet, and was using
his shield against the storm of arrows that flew through the air. To
give an order, he uncovered himself for a moment, and an arrow entered
by the right eye and pierced his brain. He died the next day. Then there
was grave risk of the Turks overcoming the Venetian flagship,
destroying the left wing, and then attacking the center division on the
flank and from the rear, making victory easy. Barbarigo’s nephew Marino
Contarini overcame the danger. He boarded his uncle’s ship on the
larboard side with all his people, and fought on board perhaps the
fiercest combat of all on that memorable day. All was madness, fury,
carnage and terror, until Mahomet Scirocco was expelled from the
Venetian flagship and penned, in his turn, in his own ship, where he at
last succumbed to his wounds. Clinging to the side, they beheaded him
there and threw him into the water. Terror then spread among the Turks,
and the few galleys at liberty turned their prows towards the shore.
There they ran aground, the decimated crews saving themselves by
swimming.
Battle of Lepanto by Tomasz Dolabella
D. John had no time to reflect either on this danger, or that
catastrophe, or that victory, for he was also hard pressed. Five minutes
after Mahomet Scirocco had fallen on Barbarigo, Ali Pasha fell on him
with all the weight of his hatred, fury and desire for glory. He could
be seen proudly standing on the castle of the stern, a magnificent
scimitar in his hand, dressed in a caftan of white brocade woven with
silk and silver, with a helmet of dark steel under his turban, with
inscriptions in gold and precious stones, turquoises, rubies, and
diamonds, which flashed in the sunlight. Slowly the two divisions came
on, unheeding what happened on the right or left, and in the midst were
the galleys of the two Generalissimos, not firing a shot, and only
moving forward silently.
Müezzinzade Ali Paşa, Turkish commander at the Battle of Lepanto
When the length of half a galley separated the two ships, the
“Sultana” of Ali Pasha suddenly fired three guns; the first destroyed
some of the ironwork of the “Real” and killed several rowers; the second
traversed the boat; and the third passed over the cook’s galley without
harming anyone. The “Real” replied by sweeping with her shots the stern
and gangway of the “Sultana,” and a thick, black smoke at once
enveloped Turks and Christians, ships and combatants. From this black
cloud, which appeared to be vomited from Hell, could be heard a dreadful
grinding noise, and horrible cries, and through the smoke of the powder
could be seen splinters of wood and iron, broken oars, weapons, human
limbs and dead bodies flying through the air and falling in the
bloodstained sea. It was the galley of Ali which had struck that of D.
John by the prow with such a tremendous shock that the peak of the
“Sultana” entered the “Real” as far as the fourth bench of rowers; the
violence of the shock had naturally made each ship recoil; but they
could not draw apart.
Flag of the Ottoman Navy
The yards and rigging had become entangled, and they heaved first to
one side and then to the other with dreadful grinding and movement,
striving to get free without succeeding, like two gladiators, whose
bodies are separated, who grasp each other tightly, and then seize each
other by the hair. From the captain’s place where he was, at the foot of
the standard of the League, D. John ordered grappling-irons to be
thrown from the prow, holding the ships close together, and making them
into one field of battle. Like lions the Christians flung themselves on
board the ship, destroying all in their path, and twice they reached the
mainmast of the “Sultana,” and as often had to retire, foot by foot and
inch by inch, fighting over these frail boards, from which there was
neither escape, nor help, nor hope of compassion, nor other outlet than
death.
Battle of Lepanto by Tomasz Dolabella
The “Sultana” was reinforced with reserves from the galleys, and to
encourage them, Ali, in his turn, threw himself on board the ship. The
“Sultana” rode higher out of the water than the “Real,” and the men
poured down into her like a cataract from on high; the shock was so
tremendous that the Field-Marshals Figueroa and Moncada fell back with
their men, and the Turks succeeded in reaching the foremast. All the men
at the prow hastened there, and D. John jumped from the captain’s post,
sword in hand, fighting like a soldier to make them retire. This was
the critical moment of the battle. There was neither line, nor
formation, nor right, nor left, nor center; only could be seen, as far
as the eye could reach, fire, smoke and groups of galleys in the midst,
fighting with each other, vomiting fire and death, with masts and hulls
bristling with arrows, like an enormous porcupine, who puts out its
quills to defend itself and to fight; wounding, killing, capturing,
cheering, burning were seen and heard on all sides, and dead bodies and
bodies of the living falling into the water, and spars, yards, rigging,
torn-off heads, turbans, quivers, shields, swords, scimitars,
arquebuses, cannon, arms, everything that was then within the grasp of
barbarism or civilization for dealing death and destruction.
Naval battle of Lepanto by Andrea Micheli
At this critical moment, by a superhuman effort, a galley freed
itself from that chaos of horrors, and threw itself, like a missile from
a catapult, hurled by Titans, against the stern of Ali’s galley,
forcing the peak as far as the third bench of rowers.
Don
John of Austria, Marc Antonio Colonna & Sebastiano Venier. Admirals
of the allied Spanish and papal fleets against the Turks.
It was Marco Antonio Colonna who had come to the assistance of D.
John of Austria; at the same time the Marqués de Santa Cruz executed a
similar maneuver on one of the flanks. The help was great and opportune;
still, the Turks succeeded in retiring in good order to their galley;
but here, pressed hardly by the followers of Colonna and Santa Cruz,
they tumbled over the sides, dead and living, into the water, Turks and
Christians fighting to the last with nails and teeth, and destroying
each other until engulfed in the gory waves.
Among this mass of desperate people Ali perished beside the tiller;
some say that he cut his throat and threw himself into the sea; others
that his head was cut off and put on a pike. Then D. John ordered the
standard of the Prophet to be lowered, and amidst shouts of victory, the
flag of the League was hoisted in its place.
Marcantonio Colonna, Duke of Tagliacozzo & Paliano
D. John had been wounded in the leg, but without limping at all he
mounted the castle of the vanquished galley to survey from there the
state of the battle. On the left wing the few galleys left to Mahomet
Scirocco were flying towards the land, and could be seen running
violently aground in the bays, the crews throwing themselves into the
water to swim ashore.
Alvaro de Bazan, first Marquis de Santa Cruz, commander of the reserve squadron of the Holy League.
But, unluckily, the same was not happening on the right. Doria,
deceived by the tactics of Aluch Ali, had followed him out to sea,
making a wide space between the right wing and the center division; D.
John’s orders to him to come back did not arrive in time. Meanwhile,
Aluch Ali contented himself by watching Doria’s maneuvers, keeping up
with him, but not attacking; until suddenly, judging no doubt, that the
space was wide enough, he veered to the right with marvelous rapidity,
and sent all his fleet through the dangerous breach, literally
annihilating the two ends which remained uncovered; the disaster was
terrible and the carnage awful; on the flagship of Malta only three men
remained alive, the Prior of Messina, Fr. Pietro Giustiniani, pierced by
five arrows, a Spanish gentleman with both legs broken, and an Italian
with an arm cut off by a blow from an axe. In the flagship of Sicily D.
Juan de Cardona lay wounded, and of his 500 men only fifty remained. The
“Fierenza,” the Pope’s “San Giovanni,” and the “Piamontesa” of Savoy
succumbed without yielding; ten galleys had gone to the bottom; one was
on fire, and twelve drifted like buoys, without masts, full of corpses,
waiting until the conqueror, Aluch Ali, should take them in tow as
trophies and spoils of war. Doria, horrified at the disaster, in all
haste returned to the scene of the catastrophe, but D. John was already
there before him. Without waiting a moment, the Generalissimo ordered
that the towing ropes which already attached twelve galleys to their
conquerors should be cut, and although wounded, and without taking any
rest after his own struggle, he flew to the assistance of those who were
being overcome. “Ah! Brave Generalissimo,” exclaims Admiral Jurien de
la Graviere, in his valuable study of the battle of Lepanto, “to him the
armada owed its victory, to him the right wing its preservation.” The
Marqués de Santa Cruz followed with his whole reserve, and seeing this
help, the already victorious Aluch Ali understood that the prey would be
torn from his claws.
The Battle of Lepanto, painting by Andries van Eertvelt
The cunning renegade then thought only of saving his life, which he
did by a means that no one else would have employed; he placed his son
in a galley, and followed by thirteen other ones, passed like a vapor in
front of the prows of the enemy, before they could surround him, and
fled incontinently to Santa Maura, all sails set, he at the tiller, the
unfortunate rowers with a scimitar at their throats, so that they should
not flag or draw breath for a second, and should die rather than give
in.
The first moment of astonishment over, the Marqués de Santa Cruz and
D. John of Austria hastened in pursuit; but the advantage Aluch Ali had
obtained increased each minute, night began to fall, and the storm which
had threatened since two o’clock began to blow, and the first claps of
thunder were heard. So the famous renegade escaped on the wings of the
storm, as if the wrath of God were protecting him and preserving him to
be the scourge of other people.
This was the last act of the battle of Lepanto,
the greatest day that the ages have seen…
It was five o’clock on the evening of the 7
th of October, 1571.
Rev. Fr. Luis Coloma,
The Story of Don John of Austria, trans. Lady Moreton, (New York: John Lane Company, 1912),
pp. 265-271.
Short Stories on Honor, Chivalry, and the World of Nobility—no. 218
Subscribe to our Nobility newsletter for free.
Also of interest:
Statue of the Blessed Virgin present at the battle of Lepanto has been found
D. John’s calm assessment as the Turkish Armada is sighted: “There’s no time for anything but fighting”
The martial and pious death of Don John of Austria: “A man sent by God”
Tunis was lost because Don John could not reach it in time
Don John called his lion Austria
Don John is offered the kingdoms of Albania and Morea
Fatima Cadem, daughter of Ali Pasha, asks Don John to release her captured brothers
Pope Saint Pius V has a vision announcing the victory of Lepanto
Don John of Austria used an ivory crucifix to inspire his men before Lepanto
Don John of Austria’s calm self-command seeing the power of the Turkish armada
______________________________
Lepanto
by Gilbert Keith Chesterton (1915)
White founts falling in the courts of the sun,
And the Soldan of Byzantium is smiling as they run,
There is laughter like the fountains in that face of all men feared,
It stirs the forest darkness, the darkness of his beard,
It curls the blood-red crescent, the crescent of his lips,
For the inmost sea of all the earth is shaken with his ships.
They have dared the white republics up the capes of Italy,
They have dashed the Adriatic round the Lion of the Sea,
And the Pope has cast his arms abroad for agony and loss,
And called the kings of Christendom for swords about the Cross,
The cold queen of England is looking in the glass;
The shadow of the Valois is yawning at the Mass;
From evening isles fantastical rings faint the Spanish gun,
And the Lord upon the Golden Horn is laughing in the sun.
Dim drums throbbing, in the hills half heard,
Where only on a nameless throne a crownless prince has stirred,
Where, risen from a doubtful seat and half attainted stall,
The last knight of Europe takes weapons from the wall,
The last and lingering troubadour to whom the bird has sung,
That once went singing southward when all the world was young,
In that enormous silence, tiny and unafraid,
Comes up along a winding road the noise of the Crusade.
Strong gongs groaning as the guns boom far,
Don John of Austria is going to the war,
Stiff flags straining in night-blasts cold
In the gloom black-purple, in the glint old-gold.
Torchlight crimson on the copper kettle-drums,
Then the tuckets, then the trumpets, then the cannon, and he comes.
Don John laughing in the brave beard curled,
Spurning of his stirrups like the thrones of all the world.
Holding his head up for a flag of all the free.
Love-light of Spain – hurrah!
Death-light of Africa!
Don John of Austria
Is riding to the sea.
Mahound is in his paradise above the evening star,
(Don John of Austria is going to the war.)
He moves a mighty turban on the timeless houri’s knees,
His turban that is woven of the sunset and the seas.
He shakes the peacock gardens as he rises from his ease,
And he strides among the tree-tops and is taller than the trees,
And his voice through all the garden is a thunder sent to bring
Black Azrael and Ariel and Ammon on the wing.
Giants and the Genii,
Multiplex of wing and eye,
Whose strong obedience broke the sky
When Solomon was king.
They rush in red and purple from the red clouds of the morn,
From temples where the yellow gods shut up their eyes in scorn;
They rise in green robes roaring from the green hells of the sea
Where fallen skies and evil hues and eyeless creatures be;
On them the sea-valves cluster and the grey sea-forests curl,
Splashed with a splendid sickness, the sickness of the pearl;
They swell in sapphire smoke out of the blue cracks of the ground,-
They gather and they wonder and give worship to Mahound.
And he saith, ‘Break up the mountains where the hermit-folk can hide,
And sift the red and silver sands lest bone of saint abide,
And chase the Giaours flying night and day, not giving rest,
For that which was our trouble comes again out of the west.
We have set the seal of Solomon on all things under sun,
Of knowledge and of sorrow and endurance of things done.
But a noise is in the mountains, in the mountains, and I know
The voice that shook our palaces – four hundred years ago:
It is he that saith not ‘Kismet’; it is he that knows not Fate;
It is Richard, it is Raymond, it is Godfrey at the gate!
It is he whose loss is laughter when he counts the wager worth,
Put down your feet upon him, that our peace be on the earth.’
For he heard drums groaning and he heard guns jar,
(Don John of Austria is going to the war.)
Sudden and still – hurrah!
Bolt from Iberia!
Don John of Austria
Is gone by Alcalar.
St Michael’s on his Mountain in the sea-roads of the north
(Don John of Austria is girt and going forth.)
Where the grey seas glitter and the sharp tides shift
And the sea-folk labour and the red sails lift.
He shakes his lance of iron and he claps his wings of stone;
The noise is gone through Normandy; the noise is gone alone;
The North is full of tangled things and texts and aching eyes,
And dead is all the innocence of anger and surprise,
And Christian killeth Christian in a narrow dusty room,
And Christian dreadeth Christ that hath a newer face of doom,
And Christian hateth Mary that God kissed in Galilee,
But Don John of Austria is riding to the sea.
Don John calling through the blast and the eclipse
Crying with the trumpet, with the trumpet of his lips,
Trumpet that sayeth ha!
Domino gloria!
Don John of Austria
Is shouting to the ships.
King Philip’s in his closet with the Fleece about his neck
(Don John of Austria is armed upon the deck.)
The walls are hung with velvet that is black and soft as sin,
And little dwarfs creep out of it and little dwarfs creep in.
He holds a crystal phial that has colours like the moon,
He touches, and it tingles, and he trembles very soon,
And his face is as a fungus of a leprous white and grey
Like plants in the high houses that are shuttered from the day,
And death is in the phial, and the end of noble work,
But Don John of Austria has fired upon the Turk.
Don John’s hunting, and his hounds have bayed –
Booms away past Italy the rumour of his raid.
Gun upon gun, ha! ha!
Gun upon gun, hurrah!
Don John of Austria
Has loosed the cannonade.
The Pope was in his chapel before day or battle broke,
(Don John of Austria is hidden in the smoke.)
The hidden room in man’s house where God sits all the year,
The secret window whence the world looks small and very dear.
He sees as in a mirror on the monstrous twilight sea
The crescent of his cruel ships whose name is mystery;
They fling great shadows foe-wards, making Cross and Castle dark,
They veil the plumèd lions on the galleys of St Mark;
And above the ships are palaces of brown, black-bearded chiefs,
And below the ships are prisons, where with multitudinous griefs,
Christian captives, sick and sunless, all a labouring race repines
Like a race in sunken cities, like a nation in the mines.
They are lost like slaves that sweat, and in the skies of morning hung
The stair-ways of the tallest gods when tyranny was young.
They are countless, voiceless, hopeless as those fallen or fleeing on
Before the high Kings’ horses in the granite of Babylon.
And many a one grows witless in his quiet room in hell
Where a yellow face looks inward through the lattice of his cell,
And he finds his God forgotten, and he seeks no more a sign –
(But Don John of Austria has burst the battle-line!)
Don John pounding from the slaughter-painted poop,
Purpling all the ocean like a bloody pirate’s sloop,
Scarlet running over on the silvers and the golds,
Breaking of the hatches up and bursting of the holds,
Thronging of the thousands up that labour under sea
White for bliss and blind for sun and stunned for liberty.
Vivat Hispania!
Domino Gloria!
Don John of Austria
Has set his people free!
Cervantes on his galley sets the sword back in the sheath
(Don John of Austria rides homeward with a wreath.)
And he sees across a weary land a straggling road in Spain,
Up which a lean and foolish knight forever rides in vain,
And he smiles, but not as Sultans smile, and settles back the blade…
(But Don John of Austria rides home from the Crusade.)
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