As a matter of fact, the Spanish gunboats had not been informed of the presence of the _Holy Moses_ and the _Chicken_ off the bar, and they were just blustering down the bay over the protective shoals to make it appear that they scorned the _Chancellorville_. But suddenly, from around the point, there burst into view a steam yacht, closely followed by a harbour tug. The gunboats took one swift look at this horrible sight and fled screaming. Lieutenant Reigate, commanding the _Holy Moses_, had under his feet a craft that was capable of some speed, although before a solemn tribunal, one would have to admit that she conscientiously belied almost everything that the contractors had said of her, originally. Boatswain Pent, commanding the _Chicken_, was in possession of an utterly different kind. The _Holy Moses_ was an antelope; the _Chicken_ was a man who could carry a piano on his back. In this race Pent had the mortification of seeing his vessel outstripped badly. The entrance of the two American craft had had a curious effect upon the shores of the bay. Apparently everyone had slept in the assurance that the _Chancellorville_ could not cross the bar, and that the _Chancellorville_ was the only hostile ship. Consequently, the appearance of the _Holy Moses_ and the _Chicken_, created a curious and complete emotion. Reigate, on the bridge of the _Holy Moses_, laughed when he heard the bugles shrilling and saw through his glasses the wee figures of men running hither and thither on the shore. It was the panic of the china when the bull entered the shop. The whole bay was bright with sun. Every detail of the shore was plain. From a brown hut abeam of the _Holy Moses_, some little men ran out waving their arms and turning their tiny faces to look at the enemy. Directly ahead, some four miles, appeared the scattered white houses of a town with a wharf, and some schooners in front of it. The gunboats were making for the town. There was a stone fort on the hill overshadowing, but Reigate conjectured that there was no artillery in it. There was a sense of something intimate and impudent in the minds of the Americans. It was like climbing over a wall and fighting a man in his own garden. It was not that they could be in any wise shaken in their resolve; it was simply that the overwhelmingly Spanish aspect of things made them feel like gruff intruders. Like many of the emotions of war-time, this emotion had nothing at all to do with war. Reigate's only commissioned subordinate called up from the bow gun. "May I open fire, sir? I think I can fetch that last one."