Within, he found both order and confusion. The guests were just about to assemble for breakfast—some were down stairs, some about to come down, others just finishing their toilet. Marbury was standing in the hall giving orders to the blacks, who were frightened but still retained sufficient sense to do as they were told. Mr. Paca, Captain Herford, and the other men were closing the shutters on the lower floor, the women those on the floor above. Already the pirates had sent a detachment around to the rear of the house, keeping under cover of the stables, and escape for the women, by horseback, was cut off. George Marbury had managed to send a servant off, an instant before, however, to apprise the nearest plantations of their plight—and begging that they muster all the assistance in their power and hasten to the rescue.
Parkington looked on, for an instant, then, seeing Constable come from the library with a gun, he hastened in, took one from the rack, and returned to the front of the house. Old Marbury was standing in the doorway. The main body of the freebooters had halted a hundred yards away, while the leaders were taking council and observing the place. There could be no doubt, even at that distance, what they were—their variegated costumes and strange headgear proclaimed the riffraff of all lands. Cutlasses, daggers, swords, and pistols, were their weapons—none of them appeared to have a gun; they were wont to come quickly to close quarters, and, then, to show no mercy.
"Are pirates plentiful along this coast, Mr. Marbury?" inquired Sir Edward.
"Plentiful! I've never heard of a pirate on the inner Chesapeake."
"Well, they appear to be there, now!" Parkington laughed.
Marbury stared at him, "Man alive!" he said. "You don't seem to appreciate your danger."
"My danger is nothing," remarked Parkington, measuring the powder and ramming home the charge. "We men can only die; but the women!—God! I have seen one pirate crew at work, I want never to see another."
"They may not know the peril," said Marbury. "Promise me, Sir Edward, that, if the worst come, you will not let my daughter fall alive into their hands."
"I promise," Parkington answered. "Neither her nor any other, so long as I can wield a dagger."
The old man nodded. "Thank you," he said. Then:—"We have an abundance of rifles and ammunition, the house cannot be set on fire, save at the doors—and they can be defended—and the roof. We should hold out until help arrives." He turned and raised his voice: "Let every man to a window, and defend it with his life. We can expect no mercy, therefore show none."