But, on the 29th, the Venetians could do no more, and officers, soldiers, and sailors united in the demand that they should return to Venice.  Even Pisani felt that the enterprise was beyond him, and that his men, exhausted by cold, hunger, and their incessant exertions, could no longer resist the overwhelming odds brought against him.  Still, he maintained a brave front, and once again his cheery words, and unfeigned good temper, and the example set them by the aged doge, had their effect; but the soldiers required a pledge that, if Zeno should not be signalled in sight by New Year’s Day, he would raise the siege.  If Pisani and the doge would pledge themselves to this, the people agreed to maintain the struggle for the intervening forty-eight hours.

The pledge was given, and the fight continued.  Thus, the fate of Venice hung in the balance.  If Zeno arrived, not only would she be saved, but she had it in her power to inflict upon Genoa a terrible blow.  Should Zeno still tarry, not only would the siege be raised, and the Genoese be at liberty to remove the dams which the Venetians had placed, at such a cost of suffering and blood; but there would be nothing left for Venice but to accept the terms, however onerous, her triumphant foes might dictate, terms which would certainly strip her of all her possessions, and probably involve even her independence.

Never, from her first foundation, had Venice been in such terrible risk.  Her very existence trembled in the balance.  The 30th passed as the days preceding it.  There was but little fighting, for the Genoese knew how terrible were the straits to which Venice was reduced, and learned, from the prisoners they had taken, that in a few days, at the outside, the army besieging them would cease to exist.

At daybreak, on the 31st, men ascended the masts of the ships, and gazed over the sea, in hopes of making out the long-expected sails.  But the sea was bare.  It was terrible to see the faces of the Venetians, gaunt with famine, broken down by cold and fatigue.  Even the most enduring began to despair.

Men spoke no more of Zeno.  He had been away for months.  Was it likely that he would come just at this moment?  They talked rather of their homes.  The next day they would return.  If they must die, they would die with those they loved, in Venice.  They should not mind that.  And so the day went on, and as they lay down at night, hungry and cold, they thanked God that it was their last day.  Whatever might come would be better than this.

Men were at the mastheads again, before daylight, on the 1st of January.  Then, as the first streak of dawn broke, the cry went from masthead to masthead: 

“There are ships out at sea!”

The cry was heard on shore.  Pisani jumped into a boat with Francis, rowed out to his ship, and climbed the mast.

“Yes, there are ships!” he said.  And then, after a pause:  “Fifteen of them!  Who are they?  God grant it be Zeno!”