The next time I saw the Duke of
Brunswick was at the dress ball, given at the Assembly-rooms in the Rue
Ducale, on the night of the 15th of June. I stood near him when he
received the information that a powerful French force was advancing in
the direction of Charleroy. "Then it is high time for me to be off,"
said the Duke, and I never saw him alive again. The assembly broke up
abruptly, and in half an hour drums were beating and bugles sounding.
The good burghers of the city, who were almost all enjoying their first
sleep, started from their beds at the alarm, and hastened to the
streets, wrapped in the first things they could find. The most
ridiculous and absurd rumours were rapidly circulated and believed. The
most general impression seemed to be that the town was on fire; the next
that the Duke of Wellington had been assassinated; but when it was
discovered that the French were advancing, the consternation became
general, and every one hurried to the Place Royale, where the
Hanoverians and Brunswickers were already mustering.
About one o'clock in the morning of the 16th, the whole population of
Brussels seemed in motion. The streets were crowded as in full day;
lights flashed to and fro; artillery and baggage-wagons were creaking in
every direction; the drums beat to arms, and the bugles sounded loudly
"the dreadful note of preparation." The noise and bustle surpassed all
description; here were horses plunging and kicking amidst a crowd of
terrified burghers; there lovers parting from their weeping mistresses.
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