The hot Mediterranean sun poured down out of a cloudless sky as the Sea-wolves made their offing; out of sight of land they lay, but right in the course which the galleys of the Christians were bound to take.  The great yards, with their lateen sails, were got down on deck, and, oar in hand, the Moslems awaited their prey.  Presently the Maltese galleys were discovered coming leisurely along, under oars and sails, and then—­when it was too late—­the Knights discovered the snare into which they had fallen.  There was but scant time for preparation or deliberation, and who shall blame four out of the five if they decided to try to escape? for it was escape or annihilation.

But there was one which did not fly, “Una galera hizo cara a los Turcos” (One single galley turned her bows towards the Turks), says that faithful chronicler Haedo.  She was named the Santa Ana, but the name of her heroic commander has not come down to us.  Even as Grenfell “at Flores in the Azores,” stood upon the deck of the little Revenge on that memorable August day in 1591, when “he chose to die rather than to dishonour himself, his country, and her Majesty’s ship,” so also did this Knight of Malta bear down on the twenty-four that were his foes.

When Don John of Austria, being at the time young and inexperienced in warfare on the sea, wrote to the Marquis of Villafranca, General of the Galleys of Sicily, requesting advice on the subject of galley attacking galley, that officer replied to him, “Never fire your arquebus at the foe until you are so close at hand that his blood will leap into your face at the discharge.”  If we bear in mind such an instruction as this it will help us to picture that close-packed sanguinary conflict upon which the Mediterranean sun looked down on this day.  Eight to one, all that could find room to get alongside of the Santa Ana, fought with the Knight and his followers.  The issue was, of course, never in doubt for a moment.  “Muertos y cansados” (Dead and deadbeat), says Haedo, the caballeros and soldados of the Christian ship could at length hold out no longer.  The Sea-wolves were victorious, the proud banner of Saint John was lowered; but never in all its history had it been more nobly upheld, and the galley Santa Ana, commanded by that unknown member of the great Christian military hierarchy of the sixteenth century, may well stand in the roll of fame alongside of the Revenge, the Vengeur, and the Victory.

The Capitana, or “Admiral’s galley,” of the Knights, being hotly pursued, ran ashore with one of her consorts at Licata:  the crews landed, but were pursued and overtaken.  One galley escaped altogether, but four out of the five were taken.  So notable a victory as this over the Knights caused so much rejoicing in the fleet of the Sea-wolves that Ali determined to celebrate it by a triumphal return to Algiers instead of proceeding directly to Constantinople.  Accordingly, the ships’ heads were turned south once more, and upon July 20th, 1570, the fleet arrived in the African port, “on sus galeras todas llenas de muchas banderas”—­with galleys gaily beflagged.