bulwark, this stronghold of
the foe; which was three times greater in size, strength, and number of
its crew, than Farnese's vessel. What did he care, what recked he of the
shower of bullets and tar-hoops that awaited him?

Up and at them.

Doria made warning signals, but the prince paid no heed, he would neither
see nor hear them.

Brave soldiers fell bleeding and gasping on the deck beside him, his mast
was split and came crashing down. "Who'll follow me?" he shouted, resting
his hand on the bulwark.

The tried Spanish warriors, with whom Don Juan had manned his vessel,
hesitated. Only one stepped mutely and resolutely to his side, flinging
over his shoulder the two-handed sword, whose hilt nearly reached to the
tall youth's eyes.

Every one on board knew the fair-haired giant. It was the favorite of the
commander in chief--it was Navarrete, who in the war against the Moors of
Cadiz and Baza had performed many an envied deed of valor. His arm seemed
made of steel; he valued his life no more than one of the plumes in his
helmet, and risked it in battle as recklessly as he did his zechins at
the gaming-table.

Here, as well as there, he remained the winner.

No one knew exactly whence he came as he never mentioned his family, for
he was a reserved, unsocial man; but on the voyage to Lepanto he had
formed a friendship with a sick soldier, Don Miguel Cervantes. The latter
could tell marvellous tales, and had his own peculiar opinions about
everything between heaven and earth.

Navarrete, who carried his head as high as the proudest grandee, devoted
every leisure hour to his suffering comrade, uniting the affection of a
brother, with the duties of a servant.

It was known that Navarrete had once been an artist, and he seemed one of
the most fervent of the devout Castilians, for he entered every church
and chapel the army passed, and remained standing a long, long time
before many a Madonna and altar-painting as if spellbound.

Even the boldest dared not attack him, for death hovered over his sword,
yet his heart had not hardened. He gave winnings and booty with lavish
hand, and every beggar was sure of assistance.

He avoided women, but sought the society of the sick and wounded, often
watching all night beside the couch of some sorely-injured comrade, and
this led to the rumor that he liked to witness death.

Ah, no! The heart of the proud, lonely man only sought a place where it
might be permitted to soft