Those Netherlanders had come forth from their slender little fatherland to offer battle at last within his own harbours and under his own fortresses to the despot who aspired to universal monarchy, and who claimed the lordship of the seas.  The Hollanders and Zeelanders had gained victories on the German Ocean, in the Channel, throughout the Indies, but now they were to measure strength with the ancient enemy in this most conspicuous theatre, and before the eyes of Christendom.  It was on this famous spot that the ancient demigod had torn asunder by main strength the continents of Europe and Africa.  There stood the opposite fragments of the riven mountain-chain, Calpe and Abyla, gazing at each other, in eternal separation, across the gulf, emblems of those two antagonistic races which the terrible hand of Destiny has so ominously disjoined.  Nine centuries before, the African king, Moses son of Nuzir, and his lieutenant, Tarik son of Abdallah, had crossed that strait and burned the ships which brought them.  Black Africa had conquered a portion of whiter Europe, and laid the foundation of the deadly mutual repugnance which nine hundred years of bloodshed had heightened into insanity of hatred.  Tarik had taken the town and mountain, Carteia and Calpe, and given to both his own name.  Gib-al-Tarik, the cliff of Tarik, they are called to this day.

Within the two horns of that beautiful bay, and protected by the fortress on the precipitous rock, lay the Spanish fleet at anchor.  There were ten galleons of the largest size, besides lesser war-vessels and carracks, in all twenty-one sail.  The admiral commanding was Don Juan Alvarez d’Avila, a veteran who had fought at Lepanto under Don John of Austria.  His son was captain of his flag-ship, the St. Augustine.  The vice-admiral’s galleon was called ‘Our Lady of La Vega,’ the rear-admiral’s was the ‘Mother of God,’ and all the other ships were baptized by the holy names deemed most appropriate, in the Spanish service, to deeds of carnage.

On the other hand, the nomenclature of the Dutch ships suggested a menagerie.  There was the Tiger, the Sea Dog, the Griffin, the Red Lion, the Golden Lion, the Black Bear, the White Bear; these, with the AEolus and the Morning Star, were the leading vessels of the little fleet.

On first attaining a distant view of the enemy, Heemskerk summoned all the captains on board his flag-ship, the AEolus, and addressed them in a few stirring words.

“It is difficult,” he said, “for Netherlanders not to conquer on salt water.  Our fathers have gained many a victory in distant seas, but it is for us to tear from the enemy’s list of titles his arrogant appellation of Monarch of the Ocean.  Here, on the verge of two continents, Europe is watching our deeds, while the Moors of Africa are to learn for the first time in what estimation they are to hold the Batavian republic.  Remember that you have no choice between triumph and destruction.