Killed at Saarbruck!

With the Prussians in 1870

The title of this book is ironic. Early on readers will discover a facsimile of a newspaper article—discovered by the author upon his return to England—reporting his death from a bullet in the head. The news, as is said, was greatly exaggerated! Legge was one of that resolute breed of newsmen made famous in the 19th century—a special correspondent. These journalists not only supplied the public with newspaper copy but also became significant chroniclers of the momentous events of their times. Theirs was a roaming commission, which allowed them to see events from different perspectives and they had the necessary ability to transform what they had seen and experienced into significant books. Legge went to Europe to report on the Franco-Prussian War which broke out in 1870. This was arguably one of the first conflicts in which at least one of the protagonists fully understood the consequences of rapidly advancing technology and its potential on the field of conflict. The Prussians had learnt the lessons of the closely observed American Civil War. Legge elected to view the war from the Prussian perspective and his account is as full of detail and interest as one might expect from an eyewitness who was an expert with words.
Leonaur editions are newly typeset and are not facsimiles; each title is available in softcover and hardback with dustjacket.

To be out of the way of the gun-carriages which were galloping by every moment, I threaded my steps through the intricacies of a path skirting the forest, keeping up with the soldiers as well as I could. It was impossible, however, to make much way, for the path was interlaced with brambles and branches, and every other minute the unpleasant whistle and startling “boom!” of a grenade, falling in front or close behind me, made it necessary to “dodge” the missiles and make frequent détours, In the forest glades the peasants—men, women, and children—were vainly attempting to find shelter from the enemy’s fire, which increased rather than slackened.<br>
The day was one of the hottest conceivable, and after a run of between one and two hours I was obliged to throw myself down under a giant oak tree, by the side of the road, where I watched the soldiers gallop by, and listened to the cannonade of the enemy in the distance. Beneath the grateful shade afforded by the spreading branches of this monarch of the forest I penned the account of my first engagement—my desk being the leaf-covered ground, and my chair the gnarled roots of a tree. When I had finished my description of the battle, I hastened along the road in the rear of the defeated Prussians, expecting every moment to be overtaken by the enemy’s cavalry, or even by a regiment of infantry. It turned out, however, that we were not pursued; and I reached without hindrance a small wayside inn.<br>
The road in front of the tavern was crowded by soldiers. The wounded were being taken into the inn, and I shall never forget the horror of the villagers as each blood-covered man was brought forward. The women and girls wept over the mangled bodies, and the children ran crying into the houses. In the road there was as much mirth as though instead of a defeat it had been a victory. The soldaten, seated under the trees by the side of the road, or astride a heap of felled timber, quaffed their red wine, ate their bread and speck, and smoked as unconcernedly as though the enemy were no nearer than Paris, instead of within an. hour’s march.<br>
Late in the afternoon I left the Prussians, and returned towards St. Johann, having previously refreshed myself by a two hours’ nap in the forest, from which I was awakened by some soldiers, whose impression that I was a Fransozen I soon removed by wishing them “guten abend,” and giving them some cigars. When I arrived at the scene of the battle, what a change had come over the landscape! The road was strewn with branches of trees, bits of grenade and shrapnel, rifle bullets, pieces of uniform, a zünt-nadel or two, a sword-bayonet here and there. What had been verdant fields in the morning were now charred wastes.<br>
A little inn near the bivouac was in flames; along the road were dead and mangled horses; near St. Johann I found other cottages burnt down; and when I reached the town I found the Hotel Hagen deserted, the bedroom next to mine utterly destroyed by the French bombardment, the houses battered by the grenades, and the front of the railway station half destroyed. Very few people were in the streets. The French had not occupied the town, though they had entered Saarbrucken, and remained a short time. I looked out from my room at the hotel upon the heights beyond the Saar, where, without the help of my glass, I could see the French in large numbers walking backwards and forwards, and occasionally throwing a grenade or discharging a chassepôt.<br>
There was not a Prussian soldier to be seen—all had retreated; my friends of the Press had gone I knew not whither: and I had the pleasure of finding myself alone in the bombarded town of St. Johann, with the French cannons on the neighbouring heights, and a probability that at nightfall the cannonade would be resumed, and the defenceless town destroyed