On hearing this D. John made no sign, and as at that moment several of his Captains came to ask him whether he would not hold a last Council, he answered blandly, "There is no time for anything but fighting."
And he at once ordered a small cannon on the "Real" to be fired, and a white flag to be run up in the centre of the galley, which was, ever since Messina, the signal for battle.
CHAPTER X
Calmness in the presence of danger had always been one of D. John of Austria's great qualities, and it did not fail him in this crisis. He refrained from telling anyone of the fears and anxieties that Cecco Pizano's information had inspired in him, and without wasting a second he at once began to take measures with that intelligence and orderly activity required by the art of war, seeing and taking in everything at a glance, making his arrangements without hurry or confusion.
He ordered that a little rowing and sailing galley, employed to transmit orders, should come alongside of the "Real," and he embarked in her with Juan de Soto and D. Luis de Córdoba, to visit, one by one, all the galleys of the centre division and of the right wing; those of the left he gave over to his lieutenant the Knight Commander, Luis de Requesens.
In all the galleys D. John gave orders, the forethought and prudence of which could be appreciated later. He ordered that in all the galleys the high peaks should be cut off, to ensure the more effectual working of the forward guns.
He made them take off the chains and give arms to those galley slaves who were condemned to row for ordinary offences, promising them pardon if they gave a good account of themselves in the fight. These poor creatures wept and embraced the boatswains who came to give them arms, swearing to die, as, in truth, most of them did, for the Faith, the King, and D. John of Austria. He also ordered on deck the best food in the holds, and leather bottles of wine to be divided among the crews, and then went among them to speak to them and to encourage them.
D. John went unarmed, with an ivory crucifix in his hand, that he afterwards gave to his confessor Fr. Miguel Servia, which existed in the convent of Jesus, outside the walls of Palma in Majorca until 1835. His words were not polished nor his arguments intricate; he only told them that they were fighting for the faith, and that there was no heaven for cowards. But he said it all so earnestly and courteously, and his declarations and promises so evidently came from his heart, that they filled all with enthusiasm and the wish to be brave, as if he were filling them with some of his own heroism.
He gave medals to some, money to others, to others scapularies and rosaries, and, when he had no more to give, he bestowed his hat on one and divided his gloves between two more. And when a Captain offered the galley slave who had received it fifty ducats for one of the gloves, the man promptly refused, and stuck it in his hat as if it had been the finest plume.