a commander-in-chief is to ensure victory, and if he sees, as did the Moslem admiral on this occasion, that more is to be gained by delay than by fighting, then he is justified in refusing battle:  particularly is this the case when the enemy is in greatly superior force blockading on an open and dangerous coast at an inclement season of the year.  Every day that Doria was kept at sea added to his difficulties, as fresh water and provisions would be running short, and the energies of the human engines by which his galleys were propelled would be weakened; naked men chained to a bench were suffering from the blazing heat of the days, the cold and drenching dews of the nights.  All these things had the veteran seaman weighed in his mind, they all inclined him to wait still longer in that secure anchorage where he could not be touched by his foe.

There was one counsellor, however, whom even Kheyr-ed-Din could not resist, and who had hitherto kept silence; this was the eunuch Monuc, legal counsellor to Soliman, who had accompanied the armada.  He now brought the weight of his influence to bear upon the side of Sinan-Reis and his colleagues.

“Are you going,” he asked the admiral, “to allow the infidels to escape without a battle?  Soliman can find plenty of wood to build new fleets, plenty of captains to command them; he will pardon you if this fleet is destroyed:  that which he will never pardon is that you should allow Doria to escape without fighting.  You have brave men in plenty; why not lead them to the attack?”

The patience of the veteran gave way at last; none who knew Barbarossa had ever seen him shrink from fighting—­to this his whole career bore witness.  He had delayed the issue from the soundest of strategical reasons, which those under his command were too stupid and too prejudiced to understand:  what cared they for reason in their blind valour?—­they wished only to do or die heedless of the fact that their lives might be spent in vain.  Truly it was no thanks to the subordinates of Kheyr-ed-Din that this campaign did not end in disaster to the arms of the Ottoman Porte.  Such backing as the admiral had came from among his own men, the corsairs whose lives had been spent at sea, but their opinions were but dust in the balance once the all-powerful Monuc ranged himself on the side of the malcontents.

“Let us then fight,” said the admiral to Saleh-Reis, “or this fine talker who is neither man nor woman will accuse us before the Grand Turk and we shall all probably be hanged.”

The Christian fleet during the night of September 26-7th had made some thirty miles to the southward; just before daybreak the wind freshened and drew right ahead; Doria approached the island of Santa Maura and anchored under the small islet of Sessola.