m.

Ulrich stooped and raised him; his men surrounded him, and the Turks
were scattered, as the tempest sweeps clouds from the mountain.

Don Miguel tried to lift the sword, which had dropped from his grasp,
but he only clutched the empty air, and raising his large eyes as if
in ecstasy, pressed his hand upon his bleeding breast, exclaiming
enthusiastically: "Wounds are stars; they point the way to the heaven of
fame-of-fame...."

His senses failed, and Ulrich bore him in his strong aims to a part of
the treasure-ship, which was held by Genoese soldiers. Then he rushed
into the fight again, while in his ears still rang his friend's fervid
words:

"The heaven of fame!"

That was the last, the highest aim of man! Fame, yes surely fame was the
"word"; it should henceforth be his word!

It seemed as if a gloomy multitude of heavy thunderclouds had gathered
over the still, blue arm of the sea. The stifling smoke of powder
darkened the clear sky like black vapors, while flashes of lightning and
peals of thunder constantly illumined and shook the dusky atmosphere.

Here a magazine flew through the air, there one ascended with a fierce
crash towards the sky. Wails of pain and shouts of victory, the blare
of trumpets, the crash of shattered ships and falling masts blended in
hellish uproar.

The sun's light was obscured, but the gigantic frames of huge burning
galleys served for torches to light the combatants.

When twilight closed in, the Christians had gained a decisive victory.
Don Juan had killed the commander-in-chief of the Ottoman force, Ali
Pacha, as Farnese hewed down the treasurer. Uncle and nephew emerged
from the battle as heroes worthy of renown, but the glory of this
victory clung to Don Juan's name.

Farnese's bold assault was kindly rebuked by the commander-in-chief,
and when the former praised Navarrete's heroic aid before Don Juan,
the general gave the bold warrior and gallant trooper, the honorable
commission of bearing tidings of the victory to the king. Two galleys
stood out to sea in a westerly direction at the same time: a Spanish
one, bearing Don Juan's messenger, and a Venetian ship, conveying the
courier of the Republic.

The rowers of both vessels had much difficulty in forcing a way through
the wreckage, broken masts and planks, the multitude of dead bodies and
net work of cordage, which covered the surface of the water; but even
amid these obstacles the race began.

The wind and sea