Admission to the Legion is not the result of the efforts of the
recruiting sergeant. All the men are volunteers, and although all
classes and all nationalties are welcome to join they are not unduly
encouraged to do so. There have been cases in which men who have come
to enlist at the military headquarters in Paris have been told of the
disadvantages they would have to encounter, and advised "to think the
matter over seriously" before signing away their liberty for a period
of five years. Yet, almost to a man, they have come back to undergo the
extremely rigorous medical examination--the only examination, by the
way, with which they are troubled. For, as regards their real name and
nationality, no proofs are required. The authorities show no curiosity
whatsoever about a man's past. They take it for granted that he has a
very good reason for wishing to disappear for a while from the society
of his relatives and friends and become merged with others of like mind
in a semi-anonymous body, training, marching, and fighting without
respite.
The military authorities formerly used to pay the legionaries
the princely salary of a half-penny a day (recently raised to
twopence-halfpenny), and their kit does not even include socks, yet
they are expected to possess sufficient physical vigour to march a
distance of twenty to thirty-two miles, over rocky, slippery ground and
through jungles, in less than eight hours, halting only ten minutes
each hour, and with a load of seventy to eighty pounds. This is a
terrible test of speed and endurance, yet one out of which these men
come, through systematic training, with flying colours, and of which
they are all of them justly proud. "No questions asked, but strict
obedience and iron discipline"--this might be the motto of the corps,
in which such famous soldiers as MacMahon, Canrobert, Chanzy, De
Négrier, Servière, and Villebois-Mareuil have been officers. In spite
of this display of delicacy, however, many a man's story leaks out. He
may be as silent as the Sphinx for years, yet the time comes when his
taciturnity is overcome through some little incident, and his secret,
or part of it, as in a case related by Mr. Frederic Martyn, in his
"Life in the Legion," is out.
It was during the French campaign in Mexico, says Mr. Martyn, who
himself served for five years in the Legion. A large city having been
captured, the general in command wished to propitiate the inhabitants
by celebrating a spectacular military High Mass in the cathedral. When
all the troops had been assembled, it was found that the clergy had
gone on strike. In the face of this dilemma, the general was just about
to abandon the ceremony when a corporal of the Legion stepped forward
and, saluting, said, "_Mon général_, I was a bishop before I became a
corporal, and I will celebrate the Mass." Another eye-witness of this
incident states that the ex-bishop also offered to preach a sermon, but
the general considered that the Mass alone was sufficient.
M. Maurer, a former officer in the Legion and now President of the
Mutual Aid Society for former officers, N. C. O.'s, and soldiers of the
foreign regiments in Paris, informed us that he remembered this bishop,
whose fall was due to drink.
This recalls another ecclesiastical anecdote. At the time of the
Fashoda incident a legionary was drowned at Zarzis whilst attempting
to save a fisherman. His comrades made a coffin out of the only wood
available, some pieces of old packing-cases, on one of which--the
portion, as it happened, which we used for the top--were the words,
"Keep the contents dry." Again no priest was thought to be there to
perform the last rites over the dead, until an Italian private stepped
forward, revealed his priestly identity, and recited the Burial Service
by heart.