_Sauve qui peut!_ now became the
universal feeling; all ties of friendship or kindred were forgotten, and
an earnest desire to quit Brussels seemed to absorb every faculty. To
effect this object, the greatest sacrifices were made. Every beast of
burthen, and every species of vehicle were put into requisition to
convey persons and property to Antwerp. Even the dogs and fish-carts did
not escape--enormous sums were given for the humblest modes of
conveyance, and when all failed, numbers set off on foot. The road soon
became choked up--cars, wagons, and carriages of every description were
joined together in an immovable mass and property to an immense amount
was abandoned by its owners, who were too much terrified even to think
of the loss they were sustaining. A scene of frightful riot and
devastation ensued. Trunks, boxes, and portmanteaus were broken open and
pillaged without mercy; and every one who pleased, helped himself to
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.
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