The masters and the boatswains rush eager in the crowd, The captain of each frigate his silver whistle blows, And on the lofty yard-arms the sailors stand in rows. The white sails drop and belly out before the swelling breeze; The white foam curls along the prow; the brave fleet seeks the seas. Don Juan held his course before the favoring gale, At midday to the watchman he gave a roaring hail. "Get higher to the mast-head!" he shouted strong and loud. The sailor quickly mounted the thin and shaking shroud. "Sail ho, sail ho," he shouted, "a mighty fleet's ahead, Across the whole horizon the line of ships is spread." A Spanish renegade commanded that proud fleet Who by his beard had sworn Don Juan to defeat. Don Juan trusted Christ and made a solemn vow, The cross within his arms, and standing on the prow. Oh, Son of Virgin Mary, give us the heart to fight Those dogs of heathen pride, and scatter them in flight. The midday sun was bright, when the two fleets grappled close, And from the roaring cannon a blinding smoke arose, The bullets crashed in splinters and shattered plank and beam. To the sea the scuppers poured a hot and crimson stream. The bleeding corpses lay in heaps upon the reeking decks, With tattered sails and rudderless the ships were drifting wrecks. The Turkish captain's galley swung helpless on the sea. Of its three hundred sailors were left but forty-three, Along its shattered gunwales the masts and hamper drag, And weltering in the wake trails its dishonored flag. The Turkish fleet was beaten, and fled with sail and oar, Until it reached the harbor and anchored by the shore. Said the Sultan, "How came this? Who struck this deadly blow?" "'T was Don Juan d' Armada, who brought our pennons low." "I do not mourn the galleys, for I can build me more, But I regret my sailors that never will see shore. For Don Juan d'Armada give him the honor due; He is the king of captains, since he has conquered you." As in the Spanish romances, there are numerous allusions in the Portuguese ballads to the constant warfare waged with the Barbary corsairs, and the adventures of the unhappy captives who fell into their hands and were reduced to cruel servitude. A favorite theme with the ballad-writers was the rescue of the captive through the means of the Moorish damsel, who had fallen in love with him as she saw him laboring at his tasks. No doubt some such adventures actually happened, and at any rate the theme was one which appealed strongly to the imagination of the popular poets. This one ends with a touch of sentiment which might seem a modern addition, if the authenticity of the whole ballad was not vouched for by so careful a collector as Braga.