y corps replied to the fire of
the Spaniards. The range was a few feet. Men were firing in each other's
faces, and at such close quarters the arquebuse with its heavy ball was a
more death-dealing weapon than the modern rifle. Such slaughter could
not last, and the _caballeros_ were eager to end it by closing on the Turks
with cold steel.

[Illustration: LEPANTO 3. THE MELEE (ABOUT 12.30 P.M.)]

Twice they dashed through the smoke over Ali's bulwarks, and for a while
gained a footing on the deck of the enemy's flagship. Twice they were
driven back by the reinforcements that Ali drew from the crews of galleys
that had crowded to his aid. Then the Turks came clambering over the bows
of the "Reale," and nearly cleared the forecastle. Don Bernardino de
Cardenas brought up a reserve from the waist of the ship and attacked the
Turkish boarders in the bows. He was struck by a musket-ball. It dinted his
steel helmet, but failed to penetrate. Cardenas fell, stunned by the shock
of the blow, and died next day, "though he showed no sign of a wound."

Don Juan himself was going forward sword in hand to assist in the fight in
the bows of the "Reale," and Ali was hurrying up reinforcements to the
attack. It was a critical moment. But Colonna just then struck a decisive
blow. He had boarded and stormed the ship that attacked him, a long galley
commanded by the Bey of Negropont. Having thus disposed of his immediate
adversary, he saw the peril of the "Reale." Manning all his oars, he drove
the bow of his flagship deep into the stern of Ali's ship, swept her decks
with a volley of musketry, and sent a storming-party on to her poop. The
diversion saved the "Reale." The Spaniards hustled the Turks over her bows
at point of pike, and Ali, attacked on two sides, had now to fight on the
defensive.

On the other side of the "Reale" Veniero's flagship was making a splendid
fight. It is the details of those old battles that bring home to us the
changes of three centuries. A modern admiral stands sheltered in his
conning tower, amid voice tubes and electrical transmitters. Veniero, a
veteran of seventy years, stood by the poop-rail of his galley, thinking
less of commanding than of doing his own share of the killing. Balls and
arrows whistled around him, along the bulwarks amidships his men were
fighting hand to hand with the Seraskier's galley that lay lashed
alongside. There were no orders to give for the moment, so he occupied
himself