It was eleven o'clock, and the men of the fleet, which was now almost past the island, were congratulating themselves that they were undiscovered when a solitary rocket soared over the lofty lighthouse; there was an answering light from the shore, and every moment the Americans expected the boom of the Spanish guns, long primed with a deadly welcome for the "Yankee pigs." The narrowest part of the inlet had been passed, and still no sign that the entering fleet had been discovered. Impressive, indeed, was that long line of gloomy hulls, steering for battle, and courting destruction. The Olympia, the Baltimore, the Raleigh, the Petrel, the Concord, and the Boston, with the two transports the Nanshan and the Zapiro, convoyed by the McCulloch, on the flag-ship's port quarter--all kept on in the same straight course, while the men on board were partaking of light refreshment. For all felt that a great day's work was before them. But where are the enemy? was the thought uppermost in every mind. For to the Americans themselves it seemed that they were surely making enough noise to be heard by the sentries on the shore. Doubtless they were asleep, dreaming a Spanish dream of mañana. It was shortly past eleven o'clock, when from the smokestack of the convoy McCulloch flew a shower of sparks. A fireman had thrown open the furnace-doors and shoveled in a few pounds of soft coal. This was evidently seen by some one on shore, for it was just fourteen minutes past eleven when a bugle sounded an alarm, and from the west came a blinding glare, a shrill whistle overhead, and the heavy boom of a cannon. First Shot of the War. It was the first shot of the war, and it was fired with characteristic Spanish inaccuracy. Again the battery thundered; and then a third time, before there was a reply from the American fleet. The Raleigh, which was the third vessel in the line, was the first to speak for the American side, and then the Boston followed, with stentorian roar, and the battle was on. Again the battery sent its deadly missive over the fleet, and this time the Concord, taking its aim by the flash, responded by throwing a six-inch shell into the Spanish fort. A crash and a cry and all was still. It was learned afterward that considerable damage was done by this wonderfully accurate shot, several of the Spanish gunners being killed. The Boston and the McCulloch fired another round or two; but the forts had evidently had enough of it: they were no longer heard from. Meanwhile, the squadron continued its course, though its speed was reduced to about three knots an hour, the Commodore not wishing to arrive at Manila before dawn.