"The spectacle which presents itself at Curzola on that terrible 8th of September, after the action, can be pictured more easily than described. In the evening the followers of Doria are seen in a dreamy and trance-like posture, holding with tremulous hands the palm which they have so dearly won, and thinking of the reply which they must give when, on their return, mothers ask for their children, and children for their fathers, who have lost their liberty or their lives on that too eventful day. Curzola hears no shouts of victory, no songs of triumph; several thousand Genoese have felt the edge of Venetian steel; several thousand Venetians see before their dim and feverish vision the horror and ignominy of a Genoese dungeon; and as the sun goes down on the conquerors and the conquered, {99} its serene effulgence affords a striking contrast to the deep lurid hue which has been imparted to the sky for several miles around by the gradual immersion of sixty galleys in a sea of belching fire." Even the Genoese writers speak of this victory as fortuitous; the losses of the combatants were nearly equal, and the squadrons were well matched, as the superior number of the Venetian ships was fully compensated by the size and strength of the opposing vessels; and even after the change of the wind, if the heroic conduct of Dandolo and his chiefs, of the Zaratines and Chioggians, had not been neutralized by the infamous desertion of twelve ships, the victory might yet have been with the Lion of St. Mark. "No joy-bells or other manifestations of popular enthusiasm awaited the return of Doria to his country. Too many among the multitude which thronged the quays to witness the landing of the troops were doomed to retrace their steps to a bereaved home, and to hearths made desolate by war; and in the extremity of their affliction, the Genoese were almost tempted to forget their glory, and to check their unbecoming exultation at the abasement of Venetian insolence and purse pride. "But there was one who was expected to be in the crowd of Venetian prisoners, and whom the Genoese displayed the greatest eagerness to see in chains. _He was not there_. Unable to support the galling thought that the son of a Doge of Venice was about to grace a Genoese triumph, to be paraded in fetters before a Genoese mob, and then to rot in a Genoese dungeon, the brave and unfortunate Dandolo took an opportunity of dashing his head against the gunwale of the vessel which was conveying him to his new destination, and thus miserably terminated his existence."