"Sultan before Pope! Victory! Victory! The black galley! The black galley! Victory! Victory!" Such were the shouts of the beggars on the Andrea Doria carrying all before them. There was no quarter given. What was not struck or hewn down was thrown overboard. The very words black galley filled the hearts of the Italians with terror and broke their courage more than anything. Some of them fled to dry land, even more of them were hacked down in the first attack. Around the mainmast, in the circle of light radiating from the ship's lantern, a group of men were desperately continuing to fight. Here Leone della Rota stood side by side with the bravest of his crew and the whole of what was happening was finally concentrated in this area. The deck was already slippery with blood and littered with corpses. Many a wild sea beggar fell to Leone's sword. "Courage! Courage, brave comrades! To me! Help is coming from dry land! Courage! Courage!" shouted Leone, striking down a man from Zeeland, but, where the latter had fallen, a new adversary appeared, stepping over the fallen one. "Forward! Forward, you sea beggars! Down with foreign tyrants! Down with their flag of shame! Take it down from the mast! Do you know me, you foreign devil, you cowardly abductor of women?" "Diavolo!" cried Leone, stiff with fright and astonishment, but he composed himself immediately. "You're not drunk then, you beggar? So much the better. Feed on this cold steel then. There!" "A hit! Myga! Myga! Salvation! Vengeance! Take that, you dog, to hell with you and greet your comrade-in-arms from me, Jan Norris, the sea beggar!" Leone della Rota from Genoa sank to the floor, drenched in his own blood, and Jan Norris placed his foot on his fallen foe's chest and shouted in his face: "Myga has been rescued! The ship has been taken! Tell that to them in hell!" With that he stabbed his deadly enemy through the neck with a long knife. In the meantime the other Genoans, who had not saved themselves by running away, had also been killed. The skirmish on the Andrea Doria was now at an end and already the sea beggars were busy loosening the chains which bound the ship to the quayside. Myga van Bergen lay prostrate in the cabin in the arms of Jan who now carried his betrothed out of that terrible room, away from the proximity of the dead body of Antonio Valani up into the freedom of the upper air. Fighting was still going on on one of the sea-going vessels that had fallen to the Dutch, but already some of her crew were sliding into the water, pushed there by the hands of sea beggars and fiercely and harmoniously the song of the victors resounded through the night: William of Nassau, I am of German blood. Faithful to my fatherland I shall remain till death. The black galley's bugler from the stern of the Andrea Doria was now blowing the same tune townwards and, revelling in the chorus, the galley's victorious crew sang for all they were worth: