A Soldier of the Legion An Englishman's Adventures Under the French Flag in Algeria and Tonquin

The _Ministère de la Guerre_--The recruiting office--Would-be warriors--The Commandant--A repulse--Enlisted--Something about the Legion--Marseilles--The _Abd-el-Kader_--Oran--Sidi-bel-Abbes--In camp--Snow in Africa--Another Briton--Instruction of recruits--An American--The 3rd Battalion--Barrack-room pranks--Route-marching.

Most Englishmen, whose knowledge of the gay city of Paris is in the slightest degree superior to that of the ordinary summer tripper, are acquainted with the fine red stone building on the Boulevard St Germain, which is known as the Ministère de la Guerre, therefore it is unnecessary to give a lengthy description of this imposing edifice; above all, as its connection with the present history is of the shortest. It must, however, be explained why I, on the morning of the 26th February 1890, after pushing aside a big swing-door, found myself in the vestibule of this home of the supreme direction of one of the largest standing armies in the world, whose glorious traditions began on the field of Ivry, and amongst whose galaxy of leaders figure the personalities of Condé, Turenne, Carnot, Hoche, Bonaparte, Canrobert and MacMahon.

I chanced one evening, after I had been living for the past two years in the French capital, whilst in the company of several army officers, to meet an Austrian gentleman, of old lineage and great wealth, who entertained us with the recital of his experiences during the Tonquin campaign of 1883-85. Owing to an affaire de coeur, he had enlisted in the Foreign Legion, had risen to the rank of sergeant-major, was twice wounded, and had been decorated with the médaille militaire for bravery in action.

This narrative so excited my imagination and desire for adventure that I fell into slumber that night only after having decided on taking a similar course, in the hope of warring in strange lands and seeing life out of the rut.

I should here say, before going further, that owing to the action so suddenly decided upon, I was often in the future to undergo suffering and privation; yet never once during the five years of my service did I regret the step taken and wish it retraced.

The next morning I put my project into execution, and, as aforesaid, went to the fountain-head for information. Perhaps the officials may have had serious doubts as to whether I was in my right mind; and there was some excuse for them, for it is not every day that an individual comes to the Ministère, and in a matter-of-fact manner asks to enlist, in just such a way as one might ask for a room at an hotel. Whatever their thoughts may have been, they were exceedingly obliging, and informed me that I must go to the Rue St Dominique, the central recruiting office, and obtain all the necessary information.

Somewhat disappointed at the delay, I started off at once for the destination they had indicated to me, which is near to the famous Hôtel des Invalides, and half an hour later found myself in a room which bore a strong resemblance to the booking-office of a London railway station. There were wooden benches round three sides of it, and five wickets in the wall on the fourth. Facing the entrance and in the corner of the room was a door, on which was painted in white letters, "Bureau du Commandant de Recrutement"; and in the other corner, on the same side, was another exit, leading to the room where, as I afterwards learnt, the medical examination of future recruits took place. Upon the whitewashed walls were several notices all bearing the same heading, "République Française--Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité," and containing instructions to conscripts as to the time and place at which they must present themselves for enlistment.

It is hardly necessary to state that military service is compulsory in France. There were about thirty men in the room, some sitting alone, or in pairs, on the benches, others standing in groups. They were of all classes of society, if one could judge by their costumes, and the conversations which were going on were little above a whisper. A sort of timid expectancy seemed to reign supreme.

Little or no attention was paid to my entrance, so I had time to take things in. Espying over one of the wickets the words, "Engagements Volontaires," I walked up to it, and attracted the attention of a sergeant of the line who was in the office writing in a big ledger. When I had stated my object he stared very hard at me, and, having taken my name, told me to wait until called for.

I went over and sat on one of the benches, from which could be seen all that was going on in the room, and amused myself by examining the different types present, speculating, meanwhile, on the social status of each and the wherefore of their presence.

There were many who were mere lads, the eldest of whom could not have been more than nineteen. From scraps of their conversation which reached me it was evident that they were volunteers who came to offer their services before the time had arrived for their incorporation, which is generally between the ages of twenty and twenty-one years. They were drawn from all classes, and were attired in anything from the silk hat and blue velvet-collared sacque coat of the well-to-do bourgeois to the dark cotton blouse and casquette so popular on the boulevards extérieurs. Seated in one corner were two young men who bore the outward stamp of respectability. These, I afterwards learnt, were in quest of the medical certificate which would allow them to enter the Military Academy of St Cyr, which, like our college at Sandhurst, is a school for army officers.

My attention was next drawn to a group of six or seven individuals who were standing in a circle round one, whose rotund face and short red hair could be seen above their heads. They were all men of from twenty to thirty years of age. Several of them were neat and clean in appearance, and seemed to be of the artisan class, but there were others in a decidedly "down-at-heel" condition. The red-headed man was evidently a wit in his way, if one could judge by the smiles and low laughter which greeted his frequent sallies; and I was regretting that I could not catch the meaning of his words, being too far away for that, when by chance our eyes met; and after making his way out of the group, he came across the room, sat beside me, and opened the conversation with a polite "_Bonjour, Monsieur!_"--to which I responded with equal urbanity.

"Excuse me," said my interlocutor, "but you are not a Frenchman, are you?"

"No; I am an Englishman."

Then desirous, no doubt, of excusing his seeming indiscretion, he continued:

"I asked you that question because I am myself a stranger--a Swiss--and from your appearance I thought you might be here with a similar intention to my own: that of enlisting in the Foreign Legion. Am I right?"

"Yes," I answered, having no reason to conceal the object of my presence there, and, besides, the looks of the man rather pleased me. He was evidently a frank-speaking, good-tempered fellow, and his clean-shaven face and neat exterior indicated a certain respectability. I took him for an actor or a gentleman's valet. Knowing that I should be likely to meet and mix with all sorts and conditions of men in the road I had chosen, on taking my decision I had determined to accept things as they were without complaint, so long as the life would bring me new experiences which I could not hope to encounter in the ordinary stay-at-home, humdrum existence.

"Well," he continued, "it appears that we have both chosen the same route. I hope we shall be in the same regiment."

"The same regiment!" I exclaimed in surprise, "I thought there was only one Legion."

"Formerly it was so," he replied; "but that fellow over there--a German, who is going to enlist for a second time--tells me that about five years ago the old Legion was formed into two corps, which go by the name of the 1st and 2nd Régiments Étrangers."

I looked in the direction he indicated, and saw a tall man of about thirty, whose stalwart form and straight shoulders betokened the soldier. He was reading one of the bills on the walls. This information interested me immensely, and I was just thinking of how I could best approach this individual with the view of obtaining fresh details, when the door of the Commandant's office opened suddenly and a non-commissioned officer appeared, and, to my consternation, shouted out my name. Instinctively I rose and answered "Present," just as if I were answering to a call-over at school, all the other occupants of the room eyeing me curiously as I did so.

In response to a gesture from the sergeant I stepped across, entered the office, and found myself in the presence of a gentleman in the uniform of a major of the line, who was seated at a big table covered with papers and text-books. He was a red-faced man of about forty, with short-cropped grey hair and a heavy moustache of the same tint. The eyes that looked into mine had a kindly light in them, which belied the somewhat brusque manner of their owner.

I uncovered as I entered the room, and saluted him with the stereotyped "_Bonjour, Monsieur!_" to which he nodded a response, and, without further preamble, said:

"So you are desirous of enlisting in one of the Régiments Étrangers?"

"Yes, sir," I replied.

"Since when have you come to that decision?"

This unexpected question rather nonplussed me, but regaining my composure I answered with apparent coolness:

"Oh! since yesterday."

He smiled, and then said, to my astonishment and anger:

"_Eh bien!_ you are a fool, my friend. Ah! that hurts you, doesn't it?" (I had flushed at his observation). "Sure proof that stern discipline would not suit you," he continued. Then in a softened and more kindly tone he rattled along so quickly that there was no chance of putting in a word:

"_Sacré bleu!_ The Legion--why, you don't know what it is. Well, I will tell you--hard work--hard knocks--hard discipline, and no thanks. And how does it end? Your throat cut by some thieving Arab if you have luck; if not, wounded, and then his women make sausage meat of you. In Tonquin the same sort of thing--only worse, with fever and sunstroke into the bargain. A bad business! yes, a bad business!" Then his voice took quite a paternal tone, and he continued: "You look like a gentleman--you are one, I'm sure. Mind you, I don't mean to say there are not others over there--there are many--poor fellows! Your family, too!--think of them--such a sudden decision. Sapristi! and all for some trifling bêtise, sans doute. A petticoat, I'll swear--don't deny it--I have been young also--a faithless sweetheart--Pish! There are a thousand others who would be delighted to console you. No! No! A good dinner, the Moulin Rouge, and to-morrow you will be cured, sacré bleu!" He laughed, and added: "Try that; and if to-morrow you still feel the cravings for a military career, well, come and see me."

Disappointed and somewhat resentful, for at the time I did not appreciate the kindly intention which underlay the advice he had given me, and imagined that I had been treated with undue contempt and familiarity, I replied: