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IN THE FOREIGN LEGION


BY

ERWIN ROSEN


LONDON
DUCKWORTH & CO.
HENRIETTA ST. COVENT GARDEN
1910

_All rights reserved_

Printed by BALLANTYNE & CO. LIMITED
Tavistock Street, Covent Garden, London




PROLOGUE


Once upon a time there was a young student at a German University who
found life too fresh, too joyous, to care very much for professors and
college halls. Parental objections he disregarded. Things came to a
climax. And the very next "Schnelldampfer" had amongst its passengers a
boy in disgrace, bound for the country of unlimited possibilities in
search of a fortune....

The boy did not see very much of fortune, but met with a great deal of
hard work. His father did not consider New York a suitable place for
bad boys, and booked him a through passage to Galveston. There the
ex-student contracted hotel-bills, feeling very much out of place,
until a man who took a fancy to him gave him a job on a farm in Texas.
There the boy learnt a good deal about riding and shooting, but rather
less about cotton-raising. This was the beginning. In the course of
time he became translator of Associated Press Despatches for a big
German paper in St. Louis and started in newspaper life.

From vast New York to the Golden Gate his new profession carried him:
he was sent as a war correspondent to Cuba, he learned wisdom from the
kings of journalism, he paid flying visits to small Central American
republics whenever a new little revolution was in sight. Incidentally
he acquired a taste for adventure. Then the boy, a man now, was called
back to the Fatherland, to be a journalist, editor and novelist. He was
fairly successful. And a woman's love came into his life....

But he lost the jewel happiness. The continual fight for existence and
battling for daily bread of his American career, so full of ups and
downs, was hardly a good preparation for quiet respectability. Wise men
called him a fool, a fool unspeakable, who squandered his talents in
light-heartedness. And finally a time came when even his wife to be
could no more believe in him. The jewel happiness was lost....

The man at any rate recognised his loss; he recognised that life was no
longer worth living. A dull feeling of hopelessness came over him. And
in his hour of despair he remembered the blood of adventure in his
veins. A wild life he would have: he would forget.

He enlisted as a soldier in the French Foreign Legion.

                 *       *       *       *       *

That man was I. I had burned my boats behind me. Not a soul knew where
I was. Those who loved me should think that I was dead. I lived the
hard life of a legionnaire; I had no hopes, no aspirations, no thought
for the future; I worked and marched, slept, ate, and did what I was
ordered; suffered the most awful hardships and bore all kinds of
shameful treatment. And during sleepless nights I dreamed of love--love
lost for ever....

Some five hundred years I wore the uniform of the Legion. So at least
it seemed to me.

Then--the great change came. One day there was a letter for me.

Love had found me out across a continent. I read and read and read
again.

That was the turning-point of my life. I broke my fetters, and I fought
a hard fight for a new career....

Now the jewel happiness is mine.

ERWIN ROSEN

HAMBURG, 1909




CONTENTS


                                                       PAGE

CHAPTER I

LEGIONNAIRE!

In Belfort : Sunrays and fear : Madame and the waiter : The
French lieutenant : The enlistment office of the Foreign Legion
: Naked humanity : A surgeon with a lost sense of smell :
"Officier Allemand" : My new comrades : The lieutenant-colonel :
A night of tears                                                    1


CHAPTER II

L'AFRIQUE

Transport of recruits on the railway : What our ticket did for
us and France : The patriotic conductor : Marseilles : The gate
of the French Colonies : The Colonial hotel : A study in blue
and yellow : On the Mediterranean : The ship's cook : The story
of the Royal Prince of Prussia at Saida : Oran : Wine and
legionnaires : How the deserter reached Spain and why he
returned                                                           16


CHAPTER III

LEGIONNAIRE NUMBER 17889

French and American bugle-calls : Southward to the city of the
Foreign Legion : Sidi-bel-Abbes : The sergeant is not pleased :
A final fight with pride : The jokes of the Legion : The wise
<DW64> : Bugler Smith : I help a legionnaire to desert : The
Eleventh Company : How clothes are sold in the Legion : Number
17889                                                              35


CHAPTER IV

THE FOREIGN LEGION'S BARRACKS

In the company's storeroom : Mr. Smith--American, legionnaire,
philosopher : The Legion's neatness : The favourite substantive
of the Foreign Legion : What the commander of the Old Guard said
at Waterloo : Old and young legionnaires : The canteen : Madame
la Cantiniere : The regimental feast : Strange men and strange
things : The skull : The prisoners' march : The wealth of
Monsieur Rassedin, legionnaire : "Rehabilitation" : The Koran
chapter of the Stallions                                           48


CHAPTER V

THE MILITARY VALUE OF THE FOREIGN REGIMENTS

A day's work as a recruit : Allez, hurry up! : The Legion's
etiquette : A morning's run : The "cercle d'enfer" and the lack
of soap : The main object of the Legion's training : Splendid
marchers : Independent soldiers : Forty kilometres a day :
Uniform, accoutrements, baggage, victualling : The training of
the legionnaire in detail : The legionnaire as a practical man :
Specialties of the Legion : Programme for a week in the Legion :
The legionnaire as a labourer                                      77


CHAPTER VI

"THE LEGION GETS NO PAY"

The money troubles of the Legion : Five centimes wages : The
cheapest soldiers of the world : Letters from the Legion : The
science of "decorating" : The industries of the legionnaires :
What the bugler did for a living : The man with the biscuits : A
thief in the night : Summary lynch law : Herr von Rader and la
Cantiniere : "The Legion works--the Legion gets no pay!"          105


CHAPTER VII

THE CITY OF THE FOREIGN LEGION

The daily exodus to town : Ben Mansur's coffee : The Ghetto :
The citizens of Sidi-bel-Abbes and the legionnaires : How the
Legion squared accounts with the civilians : A forbidden part of
the town : Primitive vice : A dance of a night : The gardens :
The last resting-place of the Legion's dead                       117


CHAPTER VIII

A HUNDRED THOUSAND HEROES--A HUNDRED THOUSAND VICTIMS

The hall of honour : A collection of ruined talents : The battle
of Camaron : A skeleton outline of the Legion's history : A
hundred thousand victims : A psychological puzzle : True heroes
: How they are rewarded : The chances of promotion : The pension
system of the Foreign Legion                                      135


CHAPTER IX

"MARCH OR DIE!"

The Legion's war-cry : A night alarm : On the march : The
counting of the milestones : Under canvas : The brutality of the
marches : The legionnaire and the staff doctor : My fight for an
opiate : The "marching pig" : The psychology of the marches :
Excited nerves : The song of imprecations                         155


CHAPTER X

THE MADNESS OF THE FOREIGN LEGION

An unpleasant occurrence : The last three coppers : The Roumanian
Jew from Berlin : Monsieur Viaisse : The Legion's atmosphere : The
Cafard demoniacs : Bismarck's double : Kruegerle's whim : The
madness of Legionnaire Bauer : Brutal humour : A tragedy          176


CHAPTER XI

THE DESERTERS

The Odyssey of going on pump : Death in the desert : The
Legion's deserters : A disastrous flight in a motor-car : The
tragic fate of an Austrian engineer : In the Ghetto of
Sidi-bel-Abbes : The business part of desertion : Oran and
Algiers : The Consulate as a trap : The financial side of
desertion : One hundred kilometres of suffering : Hamburg
steamers : Self-mutilation : Shamming : In the Suez Canal :
Morocco, the wonder-land                                          197


CHAPTER XII

A CHAPTER ON PUNISHMENTS

The return of the poumpistes : The scale of punishments in the
Legion : Of spiteful non-commissioned officers : The Legion's
axiom : Sad history of Little Jean : The punishment machine :
Lost years : A legionnaire's earnings in five years--francs,
127.75 : The prisons in the Foreign Legion : Pestilential
atmosphere : Human sardines : The general cells : Life in the
prison : On sentry duty among the prisoners                       226


CHAPTER XIII

SOME TYPES OF VICE

A variety of human vices : The red wine of Algeria : Shum-Shum :
If there were no wine                                             248


CHAPTER XIV

MY ESCAPE

In the Arab prison : The letter : Days of suffering : Flight! :
The greedy "Credit Lyonnais" : Haggling in the Ghetto : The palm
grove as a dressing-room : On the railway track : Arab policemen
: Horrible minutes : Travelling to Oran : Small preparations :
On the steamer _St. Augustine_ : Marseilles : Ventimiglia : Free
                                                                  255


CHAPTER XV

J'ACCUSE

Two years after : Shadows of the past : My vision : Public
opinion and the Foreign Legion : The political aspect of the
Foreign Legion : The moralist's point of view : The "Legion
question" in a nutshell : A question the civilised world should
have answered long ago : Quousque tandem...?                      274




CHAPTER I

LEGIONNAIRE!

In Belfort : Sunrays and fear : Madame and the waiter : The French
lieutenant : The enlistment office of the Foreign Legion : Naked
humanity : A surgeon with a lost sense of smell : "Officier Allemand" :
My new comrades : The lieutenant-colonel : A night of tears


Another man, feeling as I felt, would have preferred a pistol-bullet as
a last resource. I went into the Foreign Legion....

It was evening when I arrived in the old fortress of Belfort, with the
intention of enlisting for the Legion. Something very like
self-derision made me spend the night in the best hotel.

Awakening was not pleasant. The sunrays played hide-and-seek upon the
lace of the cover, clambered to the ceiling, threw fantastic colours on
the white little faces of the stucco angels, climbed down again,
crowded together in a shining little heap, and gave the icy elegance of
the room a warm tone. Sleepily I stared at their play; sleepily I
blinked at the enormous bed with its splendid covering of lace, the
curious furniture, the wonderful Persian rug. Then I woke up with a
start and tried to think. A thousand thoughts, a thousand memories
crowded in upon me. Voices spoke to me; a woman's tears, the whispering
of love, a mothers sorrow. And some devil was perpetually drumming in
even measure: lost, lost, lost for ever....

For the second time in my life I felt the Great Fear. An indescribable
feeling, as if one had a great lump in one's throat, barring the air
from the lungs; as if one never could draw breath again. I had once
experienced this fear in the valley of Santiago de Cuba, when one of
the first Spanish shells from the blockhouse on San Juan Hill burst a
few feet from me. This time it was much worse.

Ah well, one must try to forget!

I dressed with ridiculous care, paid my bill in the "bureau," and
earned a lovely smile from madame for my gold piece. Ah, madame, you
would hardly flash your pretty eyes if you knew! The head waiter stood
expectant at the door, bending himself almost double in French fashion.
He reminded me of a cat in bad humour.

I gave him a rather large silver piece.

"Well, my son, you're the last man in this world who gets a tip from
me. Too bad, isn't it?"

"Je ne parle pas...."

"That's all right," said I.

I walked slowly through the quaint narrow streets and alleys of
Belfort. Shop after shop, store after store, and before each and every
one of them stood flat tables packed with things for sale, taking up
most of the pavement. Here was a good chance for a thief, I thought,
and laughed, marvelling that in my despair the affairs of the Belfort
storekeepers could interest me. Mechanically I looked about and saw a
house of wonderful blue; the city fathers of Belfort had built their
new market-hall almost wholly of sapphire-blue glass, which
scintillated in the rays of the sun, giving an effect such as no
painter has as yet been able to reproduce. I felt sorry that a building
of such beauty should be condemned to hold prosaic potatoes and
greenstuff. Vivacious Frenchmen and Frenchwomen hurried by hustling and
jostling each other in the crowded streets.... Don't hurry about so.
Life is certainly not worth the trouble!

Ironical thoughts could not alter matters, nor could even the most
wonderful blue help me to forget. I must get it over.

A very young-looking lieutenant came up the street. I spoke to him in
my rusty college French:

"Would you please to direct me to the recruiting office of the Foreign
Legion?"

The officer touched his "kepi" politely and seemed rather astonished.

"You can come with me, monsieur. I am on the way to the offices of the
fortress."

We went together.

"You seem to be German?" he said. "I may be able to assist you. I am
adjutant to the general commanding the fortress."

"Yes, I am German, and intend to enlist in the Foreign Legion," I said,
very, very softly. How terribly hard this first step was! I thought the
few words must choke me.

"Oh, la la...." said the officer, quite confounded.

He took a good look at me. I seemed to puzzle him. Then he chatted (the
boy was a splendid specimen of French courtesy) amiably about this and
that. Awfully interesting corps, this Foreign Legion. He hoped to be
transferred himself to the "etrangers" for a year or two. Ah, that
would be magnificent.

"The Cross of the Legion of Honour can be earned very easily in
Southern Algeria. Brilliant careers down there! Oh, la la! Eh bien,
monsieur--you shall wear the French uniform very soon. Have you
anything particular to tell me?"

Again that curious glance.

I answered in the negative.

"Really not?" the lieutenant asked in a very serious tone of voice.

"No, monsieur, absolutely nothing. I have been told that for the
Foreign Legion physical fitness is the only thing required, and that
the recruiting officers cared less than nothing about the past lives of
their recruits."

"You're quite right," said the lieutenant; "I asked in your own
interest only. If you had special military knowledge, for instance,
your way in the Legion could be made very easy for you."

Some time later I understood what he meant. Now I answered that I had
served in the army like all Germans.

Meanwhile we had reached a row of small buildings. Into one of them the
lieutenant went with me, up a flight of steep, rather dirty stairs,
into a dingy little office. At our entrance a corporal jumped up from
his seat and saluted, and the officer spoke to him in a low tone. Then
my little lieutenant left and the corporal turned to me.

"Eh, enter la Legion?" he said. "Mais, monsieur, you are not dressed
like a man desiring to gain bread by becoming legionnaire! Votre nom?"

I reflected for an instant whether I should give my right name or not.
I gave it, however. It did not matter much.

"Eh, venez avec moi to the others. The medecin major will be here in a
minute."

So saying the corporal opened a door and gave me a friendly push. I
drew back almost frightened. The atmosphere of the close little room
was unspeakable. It was foul with the smell of unwashed humanity,
sweat, dirt and old clothes. Long benches stood against the wall and
men sat there, candidates for the Foreign Legion, waiting for the
medical examination, waiting to know whether their bodies were still
worth five centimes daily pay. That is what a legionnaire gets--five
centimes a day. One of the men sat there naked, shivering in the chill
October air. It needed no doctor's eye to see that he was half starved.
His emaciated body told the story clearly enough. Another folded his
pants with almost touching care, although they had been patched so
often that they were now tired of service and in a state of continuous
strike. An enormous tear in an important part had ruined them
hopelessly. These pants and that tear had probably settled the question
of the wearer's enlisting in the Foreign Legion.

A third man, a strong boy, seemed very much ashamed of having to
undress. These poor men considered nudity a vile and ugly thing,
because, in their life of poverty and hunger, they had forgotten the
laws of cleanliness. They were ashamed, and every move of theirs told
it. There, in the corner, one of the men was shoving his shoes
furtively as far as possible under the bench, that the holes in them
might not be seen, and another made a small bundle of his tattered
belongings, thus defying inspection.

A dozen men were there. Some of them were mere boys, with only a shadow
of beard on their faces; youths with deep-set hungry eyes and deep
lines round their mouths; men with hard, wrinkled features telling the
old