It was two hours before dawn on Sunday, the memorable seventh of October, 1571, when the fleet weighed anchor.  The wind had become lighter, but it was still contrary, and the galleys were indebted for their progress much more to their oars than to their sails.  By sunrise they were abreast of the Curzolares, a cluster of huge rocks, or rocky islets, which, on the north, defends the entrance of the Gulf of Lepanto.  The fleet moved laboriously along, while every eye was strained to catch the first glimpse of the hostile navy.  At length the watch from the foretop of the Real called out, “A sail!” and soon after announced that the whole Ottoman fleet was in sight.  Several others, climbing up the rigging, confirmed his report; and in a few moments more word was sent to the same effect by Andrew Doria, who commanded on the right.  There was no longer any doubt; and Don John, ordering his pendant to be displayed at the mizzen-peak, unfurled the great standard of the League, given by the pope, and directed a gun to be fired, the signal for battle.  The report, as it ran along the rocky shores, fell cheerily on the ears of the confederates, who, raising their eyes towards the consecrated banner, filled the air with their shouts.

The principal captains now came on board the Real to receive the last orders of the commander-in-chief.  Even at this late hour there were some who ventured to intimate their doubts of the expediency of engaging the enemy in a position where he had a decided advantage.  But Don John cut short the discussion.  “Gentlemen,” he said, “this is the time for combat, not for counsel.”  He then continued the dispositions he was making for the assault.

He had already given to each commander of a galley written instructions as to the manner in which the line of battle was to be formed, in case of meeting the enemy.  The armada was now formed in that order.  It extended on a front of three miles.  Far on the right a squadron of sixty-four galleys was commanded by the Genoese, Andrew Doria, a name of terror to the Moslems.  The centre, or battle, as it was called, consisting of sixty-three galleys, was led by John of Austria, who was supported on the one side by Colonna, the captain-general of the pope, and on the other by the Venetian captain-general, Veniero.  Immediately in the rear was the galley of the Comendador Requesens, who still remained near the person of his former pupil; though a difference which arose between them on the voyage, fortunately now healed, showed that the young commander-in-chief was wholly independent of his teacher in the art of war.  The left wing was commanded by the noble Venetian, Barberigo, whose vessels stretched along the Aetolian shore, which, to prevent his being turned by the enemy, he approached as near as, in his ignorance of the coast, he dared to venture.  Finally, the reserve, consisting of thirty-five galleys, was given to the brave Marquis of Santa Cruz, with directions to act on any part where he thought his presence most needed.  The smaller craft, some of which had now arrived, seem to have taken little part in the action, which was thus left to the galleys.