In the Foreign Legion

he légionnaires : How the Legion squared accounts with the civilians : A forbidden part of the tow

Sidi-bel-Abbès was part of the Legion's sacred tradition. At five o'clock the gigantic gates of the barracks were closed and only a little side door remained open. Here the sergeant of the guard posted himself and carefully inspected everybody who wanted to go out, so that the Legion's reputation for

ld endless stories of stolen trifles they had concealed, lounged at the street corners and cried the evening paper, the Echo d'Oran; Arabs in white burnouses, carrying in their hands the dangerous Arabian sticks, in which they find a never-failing missile, stood motionless, silently watching with looks of suspicion the "Rumis," th

e main streets in which the European shops and fashionable cafés lie. For private financial reasons the légionnaire does not buy in these shops

f small courts and alleys is hidden. There the Spanish Jews an

ses unintelligible to a true believer. Poverty and filth reigned in these places, but they were good enough for the poor despised légionnaire. One café in this quarter had an individuality of its own, depending exclusively on the custom of the Legion. In a corner by the theatre a pretty little Spanish girl had put up a wooden hut and filled it with rickety old chairs, to be treated and used with great care, given her in charity probably somewhere or other merely to get rid of them. There she sold coffee to the soldiers of the Legion. This little woman had a good eye for business. Her coffee was, 'tis true, merely coloured hot water and not especially good water at that, but the soldier of the Legion willingly drank it, for Manuelita's coffee was very cheap indeed, and a prett

Arabian proverbs on the floor and against the walls there were long marble benches. Arabs crouched on these benches and smoked comfortably gurgling narghiles-the incarnation of quietude and silence. For hou

Smith, however, was his bosom friend, and these two always greeted one anothe

ng water. Then he conjured dreamland into the tiny little cups, adding a drop here and a drop there from mysterious bottles, a drop of essence of oranges, a drop of hashish oil and a drop of opium. Ben Mansur's coffee, with its wonderful aroma and the restful oblivion which that little cup gave, was a wonder never to be forgotten. Smith and I used to sit on the marble benches by the hour, legs c

ews, with the sharp features common to their race, haggled over a bargain; Algerian Jews walked stately through the alleys, in long flowing robes of blue and brown silk, men of importance who held the wealth of the country in

hannels of Jewish trade. The Ghetto of Sidi-bel-Abbès has earned a small fortune in these small transactions. A légionnaire is seldom much of a man of business and he certainly is always in a big hurry to get his dollar or his five marks or his five pesetas changed into francs and centimes-so he submits with more or less grace to fantastic rates of exchange, getting little more than three francs for a dollar and about four francs for a "fünf Mark Schein." All other business of the Ghetto with the soldiers of the

s true, but all the same they buy it. The small silver coins of the Ghetto have been the ruin of more than one soldier of th

egion are identical in a small way, and as a result the Ghe

aire in the streets, as if he were plague-stricken. He himself-why, he has managed to bring it about that the officers' mess is now merely used as an evening club, while the officers have to dine in hotels, in order that the honest citizen may make a little money out of them. The sub-lieutenants dine in one hotel, the first lieutenants in another, the unmarried captains and higher officers patronise a third. Every hotel had to have a share in the spoils,

itizen of Sidi-bel-Abbès, but nevertheless he despises the Legio

h-tried patience of the Legion has its strongly defined bounds and sometimes it gives way. When the Legion is not occupied in Tonquin or Madagascar or some such lovely neighbourhood, the regimental band gives a concert several times a week in the Plac

he Place Sadi Carnot, with orders to let no soldiers pass,

outrage" was sent to barracks and in a very few minutes the men of the Legion were assembled in full force, discussing in fifteen different langu

colonne du rég

y a conjuring trick into the side streets, and in five minutes there was not a single soul in civil

the chairs on which the ladies and gentlemen of Sidi-bel-Abbès had been sitting, made a p

he colonel of the regiment and made a great noise about

ven o'clock. My men have leave till mid

nt the chairs," wa

ng else," laughed the colonel. "You leave

der of the town council says that a légionnaire can only get a ticket for the gallery in the town's theatre, but if a légionnaire with

saves the citizens and their goods when the stream of the Mekerra becomes a roaring torrent in the rainy season, and he protects the helpless townspeople when the descendants

onment: the "village nègre," the negro town, the home of every sort of disease and crime. The beasts in huma

look-out for patrols, I crossed the big drill-ground one night and turned, close behind the mosque, into the maze of huts

either side with outstretched arms. The miserable low houses were half in ruins, and irregular holes took the place of doors and

hed at full length almost naked, with the warmth-giving firepan beside her. She was too worn out or too lazy to speak, she merely invited the passers-by with a gesture to come into her hut. Near her a Frenchwoman, in whose face her awful life had cut deep furrows, sat in a torn silk dress on the bare ground. Beside them Arabian girls crouched, children almost, the copper bangles on their arms and legs showing that they were from the far South. Italian women, with the characteristic gold earrings of their race, and Spaniar

derstood of it was quite enough. The language of the légionnaire leaves nothing wanting in the way of force and clearness-the language of the village nègre was filth condensed. Two negresses began to quarrel as to whether a common légionnaire could be in possession of even one sou, a weighty que

alley was called the Street of the Seven Delights. Smith had told me t

en of Sidi-bel-Abbès despised the soldier of the Leg

prison for me, so I dived into the protecting darkness of a small by-street. Stumbling and falling contin

nd squatted on the ground smoking their narghiles. Most of them hardly looked u

of red and yellow, in fantastical arabesques. Many cushions were spread on the white sand. The Arabs themselves sat on finely woven yellow mats. At respectful distance from the men girls stood and lounged about, wondrous yout

mpty sat

pty had a

's horses and al

Humpty-Dumpty

n with fair hair and features who must once have been beautiful. Smoking an Arabian cigarett

hear the sound of one's own breathing. The girl let the thin veil of a garment she was wearing fall down to her hips and stood immobile as a statue for a minute or two, her arms

around her body of pure copper colour. Her dancing was wondrously graceful-it was beautiful beyond dispute. A

nly the girl seized one of the torches and swung it in broad circles around her head. The firelight fell with its ruddy glow on her shining hair of black-blue. The his

m among the Arabs and many silver

as one stunned; she had forgotten herself and forgotten her

ent slowly home to

and flowers, is the scene of a red-trousered invasion. Not very far from the Jardin Public lies the regimental garden, where the Legion raises its vegetables and plants its potatoes. I found it very funny when I was for the first time commandeered to carry dung in the Legion's garden-it seemed to me a most peaceful occupation for a modern mercenary.... Far out stretches the long line of flower gardens, with their narrow foot-paths shaded by olive-trees. Right at the end of the town, where the gardens come to an end and the sand begins, there lies the cemetery of Sidi-bel-Abbès. Its showy monuments, its well-kept flower-beds, and its silent groups of trees do not

onnaire. The crosses are hung with wreaths made of glass beads and with an artificial flower here and there. The name of the dead man is written on a small piece of board and underneath the name stands his number. To this comes the laconic addition: "Légion étrangère." I felt sorry for these poor fellows who even

s sleep somewhere in the sands of Africa-where they fell. Thirteen hundred légionnaires lie buried in Mexico.

ctability over the graves of the légionnaires. I looked at the endless line of g

storben....