First published on the London Historians’ Blog November 2015. Many thanks to Mike Paterson for making this possible.
The privates are reeling six abreast along the streets roaring the âMarseillaiseâ and shouting âAux Armes!â with all the stentorian pot-valiance of Strasbourg beer. [3]
His destination was Metz, the HQ of the French military close to the border. Here, with his son Athol in tow, he joined the band of âSpecial Correspondentsâ, English journalists which included the likes of George Augustus Sala for the Telegraph and OâShea for The Times. The police watched them closely. Mayhew was informed that any âSpecialâ caught among the French lines would be immediately shot as a spy. He settled into the Hotel de LâEurope, enjoyed the fine dining and amused his readers by debating if he would prefer to be hung or shot. He decided it would depend on his mood.
Cooped up in Metz, drinking and bored, one by one the âSpecialsâ were picked up by the gendarmerie on suspicion of one sort or another. With nothing happening in the actual war, Mayhew sent up the phoney one:
Since writing you the war against the specials has been raging more fiercely than ever. Two of the envoys from the rival illustrated papers have been lately arrested. This, to say the least, shows that the military authorities are determined to carry out the principle of strict neutrality; for if the gentleman in connection with the Illustrated London News is to be hurried off to the police bureau for sketching in the streets, assuredly the one representing the Graphic ought to be taken up also: and it does infinite credit to the impartiality of the sergents-de-ville here to be able to add that such was really the case. [4]
Undaunted, the next morning, Mayhew gave the police the slip by heading to the station before dawn. Waiting for the first train, he spent a couple of hours drinking at the station buffet, mixing coffee and liqueurs: âI never drank so much, indeed, at such an early hour in my life. But what was one to do?â Reaching Forbach, Mayhew found that the reports of French triumphs across the border in Saarbrucken were just propaganda. He headed back to Metz to file his scoop with the Globe, and packed to return to Forbach first thing the next morning. In his absence, the Germans stormed into Forbach, slaughtering the French garrison.
When the news reached Metz it sparked panic and paranoia. Mayhew noticed how:
… a sorry change had come over the people since the disasters of the army on the frontier at Forbach. They no longer went swaggering and singing about âMourir pour la Patrie.â The patriotic gas had blown off, and the insane suspicion of warâs alarms had set in…âThe town,â cried the people, âis full of spies.â…The next morning the people who but a few days ago had made so certain of annihilating the Prussians, became positively insane with fright. The news spread that Metz was to be besieged, and that the town would be betrayed by spies to the enemy. âWe have been generous,â said the citizens, âWe should have turned all the strangers out long ago.
That Sunday morning, as wounded French troops began flooding in, Mayhew went to explore what was happening at the station along with a journalist for the Dally News and an artist from the Illustrated London News, Mr Simpson. The came across the Emperor Napoleonâs baggage being readied for a sly exit. Simpson began sketching the scene, openly to allay suspicion, but drawing hostile crowd. Denounced as spies, within minutes armed troops were marching them forcibly to the guardhouse in the Place dâArme:
Then no sooner did we begin our march through the streets of the town than the people, seeing us in the custody of so large a body of the Garde Mobile, took us for the most desperate characters, and accordingly they one and all flocked after us, shouting âA bas les Prussians!â âMort aux espions!â âA la lantern avec eux!â and so on; the crowd increasing every moment by the way, and the people rushing up to us frantically and shaking their fists or the handles of their umbrellas furiously in our face. âYou! You old scoundrel,â said they to me (for I seemed the special object of their hatred) âare the worst of all. Weâve seen you about for the last fifteen days, and weâll give you a coup de fusil now weâve got you. [6]
The jail was besieged by â…two or three thousand peopleâŠhowling for our immediate execution.â Locals queued up to testify to their guilt. The Commander of the City, General Coffinieres, arrived to interrogate the captives personally, quizzing Mayhew about the ability of him and his son to speak such good German. Mayhew was held for six hours and ââŠtreated by the cowardly mob with insults which I had never experienced all my life before.â Eventually he was released but expelled from the country. He was given an armed escort back to his ransacked hotel room. The next day he was put on the first train out of Metz. From Paris, on Thursday 11th August, he filed his final report on the war for his London readers:
In as few words as possible, I had a narrow escape of ending my career a la lantern â of being torn to pieces by the frightened populace of Metz last Sunday; and was ordered to leave the town by the first train on Monday. And for what? Firstly, for being mistaken for a Prussian spy; and, secondly, for being proved to be the correspondent of an English newspaper. Voila tout! [7]
By the time it was printed in The Globe he was safe in London. Within a month Metz had and Paris was under siege. Mayhewâs comment about the community of squirrels was politely forgotten.
Sources
[1] German Life and Manners, Vol 2, 1864, p.608
[2] Illustrate Zeitung, Leipzig, 2nd July 1864
[3] The Globe, Saturday 23rd July, 1870
[4] The Globe, Wednesday 3rd August, 1870
[5] The Globe, Thursday 28th July 1870
[6] The Globe, Thursday 11th August 1870
[7] The Globe, Thursday 11th August, 1870
