Each of these Amazons was armed with a tin dipper, apparently new, which had no doubt been purchased for the occasion. A woman of exceedingly large proportions--tall, long-armed, with a deep scar down the side of her face, and with a half grin, half smile--was the commander-in-chief of the “hot room.” This woman stood by the stove, dipper in hand, and occasionally taking the top from the large wash-boiler, which we learned was filled with boiling water, soap, and ashes. In case of an attack, this boiler was to be the “King of Pain.” Guided by a friend who had furnished us a disguise, the writer entered the “hot room,” and took a view of its surroundings. As we saw the perspiration streaming down the faces of these women, we ventured a few questions. “Do you expect an attack?” we asked. “Dunno, honey; but we’s ready ef dey comes,” was the reply from the aunty near the stove. “Were you ever in slavery?” we continued. “Yes; ain’t bin from dar but little while.” “What State?” “Bred and born in ole Virginny, down on de Pertomuc.” “Have you any of your relations in Virginia now?” “Yes; got six chilens down dar somewhar, an’ two husbuns--all sole to de speclaturs afore I run away.” “Did you come off alone?” “No; my las ole man bring me ’way.” “You don’t mean to be taken back by the slave-catchers, in peace?” “No; I’ll die fuss.” “How will you manage if they attempt to come into this room?” “We’ll all fling hot water on ’em, an’ scall dar very harts out.” “Can you all throw water without injuring each other?” “O yes, honey; we’s bin practicin’ all day.” And here the whole company joined in a hearty laugh, which made the old building ring. The intense heat drove us from the room. As we descended the steps and passed the guards, we remarked to one of them,-- “The women seem to be prepared for battle.” “Yes,” he replied; “dem wimmens got de debil in ’em to-night, an’ no mistake. Dey’ll make dat a hot hell in dar fur somebody.” And here the guards broke forth into a hearty laugh, which was caught up and joined in by the women in the house, which showed very clearly that these blacks felt themselves masters of the situation. As the mob made their last attempt to gain an entrance to the alley, one of their number, a man bloated with strong drink, and heaping oaths upon the “niggers,” succeeded in getting through, and made his way to the “hot room,” where, it is said, he suddenly disappeared. It was whispered that the washerwomen made soap-grease of his carcass. The inhabitants of the “Arch” were not again disturbed. CHAPTER XLVII. CASTE AND PROGRESS.