A Traitor in London by Fergus Hume — Read

The better day, the better deed. Acting on the advice of this proverb, those responsible for the pro-Boer meeting convened it on a Sunday, that all those engaged on other days in earning their bread might attend. And so far as numbers went, the crowded state of Trafalgar Square seemed to justify this course. Nelson's Column soared from a dense mass of people, which even overflowed into the streets approaching the great open space. On all sides the windows were filled with curious spectators, who, apprehensive all the while of trouble, gazed forth expectantly over the sea of heads below. But they need have had no fear. The mob was on its best behavior -- good-natured and roughly jocular as an English crowd ever is -- amenable to law and order, and ever ready to be controlled by the police.

Platforms for the convenience of the orators had been erected round the grand column -- the symbol of an Empire which these well-meaning busybodies were so anxious to dismember and destroy. Below, crowded laborers, artisans, shopkeepers, traders of all kinds; and on the fringe of the mob, hard by the National Gallery, were lines of hansom cabs, surmounted by clubmen from Pall Mall and St. James' Street who had come to see the fun. There were plenty of women, bringing with them their children, when they could not leave them at home, and a sprinkling of redcoats and bluejackets. These, as the visible symbol of England's fighting power, were idolized by the mob. For, alas for Mr. Scarse and his supporters, the voice of the people was dead against their philanthropic efforts. Instead of the Boer National Anthem, "God Save the Queen" and "Rule Britannia" were being sung.