Upon the beautiful headland at the mouth of the River Dee, the noble Earl of Selkirk had a magnificent seat. It was not long before the Ranger came in sight of this; the news of what the commander had resolved to do had leaked out and the entire ship hummed with it.
The sloop-of-war ran in close and the boatswain’s call rang through her. Two boats’ crews, armed with cutlass and pistol, were called away, under the command of Captain Jones and Lieutenants Simpson and Hall. An old, white-haired man met them as the bows of the boats ran up upon the sand; and he bowed low, hat in hand.
“Welcome, sir,” said he, the tremble of age in his voice. “The king’s officers are always welcome. It has been many months since we have been favored by a visit from a ship of his Majesty’s navy.”
The old man had the appearance of a steward or an upper servant of some sort; the Ranger flew no flag and he mistook her for a king’s ship. Captain Jones smiled kindly upon the old fellow.
“Thank you for your kind words,” said he. “I only hope that the earl will be equally glad to see us.”
“The earl, sir, would be pleased, I know. But, ah,” and the ancient shook his white head sorrowfully, “he has been called away.”
“Called away!” The captain exchanged glances with Ethan and his officers, while the boats’ crews muttered their disappointment.
“Yes, sir,” said the old servant. “He has been a-gone for some time now. Do you know, sir,” and he came nearer to John Paul Jones and lowered his voice, “I can’t abide these blackamoors.”
Ethan Carlyle started; and the commander said quickly:
“What do you mean by that?”