what he liked with impunity. The disorder was increased by a rumour,
that the Duke of Wellington was retreating towards Brussels, in a sort
of running fight, closely pursued by the enemy; the terror of the
fugitives now almost amounted to frenzy, and they flew like maniacs
escaping from a madhouse. It is scarcely possible to imagine a more
distressing scene. A great deal of rain had fallen during the night, and
the unhappy fugitives were obliged literally to wade through mud. I had,
from the first, determined to await my fate in Brussels; but on this
eventful morning, I walked a few miles on the road to Antwerp, to
endeavour to assist my flying countrymen. I was soon disgusted with the
scene, and finding all my efforts to be useful, unavailing, I returned
to the town, which now seemed like a city of the dead; for a gloomy
silence reigned through the streets, like that fearful calm which
precedes a storm; the shops were all closed, and all business was
suspended. During the panic of Friday and Saturday, the sacrifice of
property made by the British residents was enormous. A chest of drawers
sold for five francs, a bed for ten, and a horse for fifty. In one
instance, which fell immediately under my own observation, some
household furniture was sold for one thousand francs, (about 40 l.) for
which the owner had given seven thousand francs, (280 l.) only three
weeks before. This was by no means a solitary instance; indeed in most
cases, the loss was much greater, and in many, houses full of furniture
were entirely deserted, and abandoned to pillage.

Sunday morning was ushered in by one of the most dreadful tempests I
ever remember. The crashing of thunder was followed by the roar of
cannon, which was now distinctly heard from the ramparts, and it is not
possible to describe the fearful effect of this apparent mockery of
heaven. I never before felt so forcibly the feebleness of man. The rain
was tremendous--the sky looked like that in Poussin's picture of the