The scalding shower was descending there, also; Uncle Joe and his command were busy, and bullets were flying and doing some execution, though sent with less certain aim than from the front.
Aunt Dicey, too, and her satellites were winning the laurels they coveted.
As she had expected, several of the assailants came thundering at her door, loudly demanding admittance, at the same time that the attack was made in front.
"Who dar? What you want?" she called.
"We want in; open the door instantly!"
"No, sah! dis chile don' do no sich ting! Dis Marse Ed'ard's kitchen, an' Miss Elsie's."
Then in an undertone, "Now Venus an' Lize, fill yo' dippahs quick! an' when dis niggah says fire, slam de contentions—dat's de bilin' soap, min'—right into dar ugly faces."
"An' Sally Ann, yo' creep up dem stairs, quick as lightnin' an' hide under the bed. It's yo' dey's after; somebody mus' a tole 'em yo' sleeps yere sense de night dat bloody hand ben laid on yo' shouldah."
These orders were scarcely issued and obeyed when the door fell in with a loud crash, and a hideous horned head appeared in the opening; but only to receive three ladles-full of the boiling soap full in its face, and fall back with a terrible, unearthly yell of agony and rage, into the arms of its companions, who quickly bore it shrieking away.
"Tank de Lord, dat shot tole!" ejaculated Aunt Dicey. "Now stan' ready for de nex'."