Watters had nearly forgotten the Fenian scare. Now the word came to him, carried on some nebulous draught of air. He looked up, swung his cane again, and stepped into the shadows so he could hear without anybody observing him.
“They’re Fenians, I tell you, come to storm Dundee.”
Watters frowned. The speaker sounded very young. “Oh, dear Lord,” he said when he heard a concerted yell from a score of voices.
A gaggle of children of both sexes and ages from ten to about fourteen charged along the street. They were all chanting, “The Fenians are here! The Fenians are here!”
What the devil is this? Watters asked himself.
When they came within twenty yards of the Volunteers, the mob of youngsters stopped and let loose a high-pitched yell. “Fenians!”
The Volunteer corporal stepped forward, p
