For centuries the armies of France have had a certain proportion of
foreign troops. Readers of Scott will remember the Scottish archers,
and there is a regiment in the British army to-day which was at one
time a Scottish corps in the service of the Most Christian Kings of
France. Almost everyone has heard of the Irish Brigade, a force whose
records fill many a bloody and glorious page of European history
and whose prowess more than once turned the ebb-tide of defeat into
the full flood of victory. It has been computed that almost 500,000
Irishmen died in the French service; and we may well imagine that
half-a-million dashing soldiers did not yield up their lives for
nothing.
In the time of the great Napoleon there were many foreign brigades
in the grand army. Everybody has read of the famous Polish lancers
who time and again shattered the chivalry of Prussia, Austria, and
Muscovy in those combats of giants, when kingdoms were the prizes and
marshalships and duchies mere consolations for the less lucky ones.
These Poles were magnificent fools. Poniatowski and his riders clung
to Napoleon, led the way in his advances, covered the rear in his
retreats, and all the while the cynical emperor had little, if any,
thought of restoring the ancient glories of Poland, and thus repaying
the country for the valour and devotion of her sons. Other foreign
cavalry he had as well, but they became more or less mixed with the
native Frenchmen, and thus do not stand out so boldly to our mental
vision as the Poles. Chief amongst the great emperor's foreign infantry
brigades was the Irish one. Indeed, to this one alone of them an eagle
was entrusted, and it may do no harm to remark here that that eagle,
much as it was coveted by certain enemies, was never lost, and was
handed back to French custody when the Irish Brigade ceased to exist
as an independent body after the final defeat at Waterloo. Most of
the brigade, not caring for the monarchy after having so long and so
faithfully served the empire, took advantage of the offer made to them
of taking service under the British monarch, and were incorporated in
various regiments of the British army. Indeed, in the late twenties and
early thirties of the nineteenth century it was by no means uncommon to
meet in Irish villages a war-worn veteran who had been in most of the
great European battles--Jena, Austerlitz, Borodino, Waterloo--and had
finished his soldiering under the burning suns of Hindostan.
In the Crimea, again, a foreign legion, somewhat like the legion formed
by the British Government for the same campaign, was amongst the troops
sent out by Napoleon the Third. I know very little about this corps,
but I am quite sure that it got its full share, and more, of danger,
hard work, and privations. Anyway the Crimean campaign, except for a
few battles, was more a contest against nature than against the enemy.
In the Franco-Prussian war we next find mention of the Legionaries. At
the battle of Orleans, when that city was captured by the Prussians,
the Foreign Legion and the Pontifical Zouaves covered the French
retreat. When we learn that out of 1500 of the former only 36 remained
at the end of the day there will be little need to ask where were the
Legionaries during the rest of the war. It must be remembered also,
that the 1500 men who fought and fell outside Orleans were the remains
of the Legionaries brought from Algeria, and that their comrades left
behind were amongst the most distinguished of those who quelled the
rebellion of the Kabyles in the year '71. It is only just to mention
that the Pontifical Zouaves covered themselves with glory at this
fight; they went into action along with the Legion on the 11th of
October 1870, 370 strong, of whom only 17 survived the day.
The Foreign Legion, as I knew it, consisted, as I believe it still
consists, of two regiments, each containing four battalions. As a
battalion numbers 1000 men the total strength of the service soldiers
may be put at 8000. In addition there are depot men, including band,
drill instructors, and recruits; but I have said enough about the
depot already, so I shall now confine myself altogether to the service
soldiers.
Every battalion is divided into four companies, and thus a company
contains, approximately, 250 officers, sub-officers, and soldiers.
The officers are three--captain, lieutenant, and sub-lieutenant. Next
comes the sergeant-major of the company, a sub-officer who keeps the
accounts. There are two sergeants, one for each of the two sections
into which the company is divided, and under them a number of corporals
in command of squads, every squad being, be it understood, a distinct
unit in the economy of the section to which it belongs. The men are
divided into two classes, the first and the second, and from the first
class are chosen the corporals as vacancies arise.
The uniform consists of kepi with a brass grenade in front, blue tunic
with black belt, red trousers, or white, according to the season. With
the red trousers go black gaiters, with the white ones white spats,
somewhat like those worn by Highland soldiers in the British army. The
knapsack, greatcoat, and other impedimenta are rather heavy, especially
when 150 rounds of ball cartridge are included. I don't know the exact
weight, but I remember that I used to feel an ugly drag on my shoulders
at the end of a day's march. The pouch for ammunition at the side also
pressed heavily against the body, and we often wished that those who
had the arrangement of a man's equipment should wear it on the march,
day in day out, if only for a month. There might be some common-sense
displayed by them after that. But in all ages and nations a man's
accoutrements--I use the word in the most general sense--have been
decided on by tailors and good-for-nothing generals--oh, there are
plenty of them in every army in the world--and, worst of all, by women,
who twist and turn the said generals around their little fingers. Look
at a private soldier of any army when standing at attention in full
marching order; you are pleased with the sight; his head is erect, his
straightened shoulders seem easily to support the heavy pack behind;
the twin pouches look so beautifully symmetrical. Ask that soldier how
he feels at the end of a thirty-mile march. If he isn't a liar, he will
tell you that the rifle is rather heavy, but he doesn't mind that; that
the pack galls a bit, but that's to be expected; and that the pouches
weighted with ammunition have given him a dull, heavy pain in each
side just above, he imagines, where the kidneys are, and if that pain
could be avoided he would think little of all the rest. Many a time I
have taken the packets of cartridges from the pouches before we had
gone a quarter of a mile and stowed them away between the buttons of my
tunic--there they had ribs and breast bone to rest against. Why don't
the people whose business and interest it is to get the best out of
the private soldier give the private soldier a chance? But they won't.
Of all the humbugs on the face of God's earth the military officer of,
say, twenty years' service is the worst.
The soldier of the second class wore no decoration on his sleeve, the
soldier of the first class had a red chevron, the corporal wore two
red chevrons, the sergeant a single gold one, and the sergeant-major
two gold ones. It was a good thing to be a soldier of the first class,
not because you wore a chevron or got extra pay, but because, when a
charge was made against you by sergeant or corporal, the officers
would listen carefully to your defence, and you generally got what the
second-class man rarely got--a fair chance as well as a patient hearing.
Squad etiquette was rather peculiar. You were assigned to a squad, and
on entering were made free, as I may say, of the mess, and how you got
on afterwards with your enforced comrades depended largely on yourself.
You might be very well liked, or thoroughly disliked, but violent likes
and dislikes were rather uncommon. As a rule, you had just a little
trouble in asserting your right to a fair share, and that always, of
what was going. If you had a dispute with another your comrades looked
on and listened; if you came to blows they prevented the affair from
going too far; and unless the corporal was a brute he allowed his squad
to arrange their own affairs out of working hours in their own way.
But you dared not form friendships with men outside the squad; if you
did you were set upon and punished in every way by your comrades, and
your friend was served in the same way by his. Let me give an instance.
A rather nice, quiet fellow, an Alsatian, was in my squad at a place
called Zenina when we received a new draft of recruits from the depot.
Amongst these was another Alsatian, who came from the same place as
my comrade, and, as was natural, the two became fast friends. Under
the circumstances nothing was said at first, and had either asked for
a transfer to his friend's squad all would have been well. After some
time, however, the comrades of both began to object. Why, we asked one
another, should Schmidt openly abandon us and our genial company for a
man who should by right be good comrade with others? Well, Schmidt was
abused, and bore the abuse calmly; he got only half a share at meals,
and still did not go further than a meek protest; he came back after
seeing his chum, and found all his kit flung outside the door of the
hut, his rifle fouled, his bayonet covered with salt water, his straps
dirty, and his buckles dull; still he bore with all. Next evening
he went to visit his friend, and, while he was absent, we formed a
soldiers' court-martial and tried him. One man represented the accuser,
another took the part of Schmidt, but the result was quite evident from
the first. He was found guilty of neglecting his duties as a comrade,
and as he had openly abandoned his squad and thereby shown his contempt
for it, at the same time exposing us to the derision of all the
battalion, it was high time that the squad should adequately punish him
and thus vindicate its character.
The chief difficulty was about the punishment. It was first proposed
that we should put him _en crapaudine_ for a night, seizing and binding
him while all in the cantonments were asleep, and releasing him in
the morning before the reveille. However, it was pointed out that the
corporal would not be likely to permit that, and, if he did permit it,
Schmidt might report the matter and get the corporal into trouble. Now
the corporal was a good fellow. He swore at us and abused us and would
allow not even a sullen muttering in reply, but he would not, if he
could help it, of course, get a man into trouble with the sergeant or
the captain or the commandant. Occasionally he would find a bottle of
wine, half-a-bottle of brandy, or a score or two of cigarettes in his
corner. He said nothing, and as soon as the bottle was empty he did not
have anything more to do with it: it was removed without a word by some
one of us and quietly, I may say unostentatiously, deposited where its
presence need not be accounted for by any of our squad.
After a good deal of talking we finally settled on a plan. What it
was will appear in a short time. That night we could not do as we had
resolved, for the corporal came in at an early hour in the evening
as drunk and as abusive as a man could be. He rolled against me, and
cursed me for a dirty, drunken pig, who could not carry his liquor like
a soldier. He stood tottering in his corner of the room, and gave out
more bad language than he had ever done before. And we were not quiet.
He got quite as much as he gave; we described for his benefit our
conceptions of his father and his mother--his father was a dog and his
mother the female of the same species--we attributed to himself all the
bad qualities that we could think of; we even called him coward, and
dared him to report us at once to the sergeant or the captain. He knew,
and we knew, that if he did so his arrest would at once follow and that
the chevrons on his arm would not be worth one of the brass buttons on
his tunic. We overpowered him with abuse at length, and he fell asleep
muttering curses and threats, which were altogether forgotten in the
morning.
Next evening the chance came. The corporal had taken a hint that it
would be just as well for him for his own sake to have some appointment
that would keep him away until the last moment before roll call. I may
admit that when he woke in the morning he looked, and I suppose felt,
very ill, and even refused his morning coffee when it was first offered
to him. I took the coffee then from the man who had offered it, and,
while all the rest, as it had been arranged, turned their backs, poured
into it nearly a quarter of a pint of brandy. He saw what I was doing
and took the mixture from me. Smelling it carefully first, he swallowed
a little; liking the taste, he swallowed some more; and in less than
two minutes he handed back the empty vessel to me, with a wink and
a nod of the head that told me how delightful had been the little
surprise prepared for him.
As he was going out another man held out his hand with a couple
of cigarettes. "Thanks, my comrade, how you are kind!" said the
_sous-officier_.
When he came in for soup, I again poured some brandy from the bottle
into a tin cup in such a way that the corporal saw but the rest did
not, being discreetly engaged. He did not wait to have it carried
to him, he came swiftly round, took the cup, and drained it at a
gulp. Then somebody left six or eight cigarettes near the corporal's
bedplace, and all walked out except the corporal and myself. I went
to the door, looked out, came back to my own bunk, took out a bottle
of wine nearly three-quarters full and the tin cup, walked over to
the corporal, filled the cup to the brim, and dutifully offered it
to my superior officer. He drank, and returned the empty cup to me.
Filling it for myself, I finished the contents, and then asked him
for a cigarette--just one. The corporal gave it me, and I began the
conversation.
"Bad for us others if you lost the chevrons, corporal."
"Why? Why? what did I say last night?"
"Oh, nothing to speak about; but, corporal----" Then I stopped and
looked straight at him.
"Well, my comrade, what do you wish to say?"
Now he was afraid; he began to fear something hidden by the kindness.
"But, my corporal, could you not make an appointment now, so that after
the evening soup you would be engaged until roll call--away from this
place and in good company?"
"Oh yes, yes; that is easy."
"And your comrade might like to smoke and drink a little; if so, my
corporal, after the evening soup, when we others leave the room, look
behind your knapsack."
"Good comrade; but will anything happen?"
"Yes; a man will go to hospital for a week."
"To hospital?"
"Yes."
"Only to hospital?"
"My honour; only to hospital."
"And for a week?"
"Well, perhaps for ten days."
"But only to hospital?"
"Have I not pledged my honour?"
"Very good; I will see my good friend Jean this evening. But you, you
will remember, only the hospital."
After the evening soup, as all were going out, he called me.
"It is settled, my comrade; only the hospital?"
"But yes," I answered.
"Not this?" said the corporal, fingering a bayonet.
I shook my head.
"Not this?" and he touched the butt of a rifle.
I answered as before.
"And only hospital; word of honour?"
"Word of honour," I replied.
"Be it so then; I am well content."
Then he looked behind his knapsack and found half-a-bottle of brandy, a
bottle of wine, and six cigars. He turned, put out his hand to me, and
said:
"You are my good comrade. Have no fear; if there should be trouble, it
is you, it is you that I will save." I laughed and shook his hand; he
gave me a cigar, and the next moment was sorry for his generosity.
Schmidt went off after the evening soup to see his chum.
"Very well, very well," we said to one another. Lots were quickly
drawn--we had not a son amongst us to toss with--and Nicholas the
Russian, Guillaume the Belgian, Jean Jacques from Lorraine, and I
were chosen as executioners of justice. The others lounged outside
in different places, all anxious to let us know in good time of the
arrival of the condemned. About an hour after soup we were warned that
he was coming towards the hut. At once the blanket which was ready was
laid on the ground directly inside the door, and each man stood at his
corner waiting for the victim. The others outside gaily saluted him,
and the fool did not suspect the unusual courtesy; he was humming an
air to himself as he stepped through the doorway on to the blanket. In
a second we had raised it at the corners; he stumbled and fell, in a
limp heap, in the bottom. We jerked the blanket upward, and crash came
his head against the roof of the hut. We let go at the word of command,
given by the Russian; flop went his body against the floor. Again and
again this was repeated, till our arms were tired, and the others who
had crowded in and had been excited by the fun swore that he had not
been punished sufficiently and that they would take our places. I was
glad enough to surrender my corner to an Italian, for, indeed, my arms
were weary, and my feelings--I was only a boy, you must remember--were
shocked at the sight of the unresisting and almost insensible bit of
humanity in the blanket.
After a short time the Russian said the game should stop, and we, the
other appointed dispensers of punishment, backed him up. Some grumbled,
but Nicholas, to give him his due, was not a man to be turned from his
purpose, and his reputation was such that nobody was very anxious to
fall out with him. So the blanket was dropped for the last time, pulled
from under the Alsatian, replaced on his bed, and we all went out,
leaving the wretched fellow groaning on the ground. After a short talk
we came back, gave him a drink, put him to bed, and prepared to meet
the corporal on his return.
The corporal came in a little before roll call.
"What's wrong?" he asked as he heard the moaning of the Alsatian.
Nobody answered. The corporal went across to the injured man's cot and
again inquired. The poor devil told him as well as he could, and the
_sous-officier_ at once ordered us all not to leave the hut until his
return. He went out, and came back in a few minutes with the sergeant
of the section. There is no need in telling all about the inquiry that
followed; suffice it to say that the corporal was the only man sleeping
in the room that night--the Alsatian was in hospital and we others
under guard.
Of course, our conduct was approved of throughout the battalion.
Regimental tradition is dearer than justice, and we were regarded as
good soldiers and good comrades who had merely vindicated our honour.
But the army tradition is: when a charge is made and proved, punish.
Officers _may_ sympathise, but they _must_ punish. Therefore we of the
squad, corporal and Alsatian excepted, were sentenced to do extra drill
every day for a month and sleep in our clothes under guard every night.
It was a hard punishment. The weather was hot, we had little change of
underclothing, and when we lay down on the planks for the night with
the shirts and drawers on that we had worn during the day our sleep
was restless, fitful, and uneasy. It is a wonder we did not mutiny;
however, that would be going too far, so we counted the days and nights
that intervened until we should be free soldiers again. The Alsatian
was transferred from the hospital to another battalion, and I came
across him again, and was glad to find that he bore no malice; indeed,
he admitted that we were justified in acting as we had done and that it
was his own fault, as he had not asked for a transfer.
The incident I have related will give some idea of my life in the
corps. I shall have soon to relate another story, which will show that
jealousy might arise between companies as well as in a squad.