FOREIGNERS IN THE LEGION
Within this present generation, men like Lord Kitchener, King Peter of
Serbia, Vernof, a Russian prince, and Albert F. Nordmann, who died in
Algeria and was reported a relative of Kaiser Wilhelm II, belonged to
this famous corps. This chapter presents some illustrious foreigners who
have served during the present war.
=Nagar Aza=, son of the Persian minister to France, decorated for
bravery and three times cited in Army Orders, again cited and decorated
for brilliant conduct at Auberieve, April 17, 1917.
=Edwin Bucher=, a Swiss sculptor, pupil of Roden and Bourdelle, has
marked the resting places of the Foreign Legion by carving exquisite
figures on the solid walls of everlasting rock.
=Marquis de Montesquion=, compelled to leave the French Army because his
Catholic soul would not permit him to dismantle churches, joined the
Foreign Legion. On Sept. 28, 1915, when acting as Lieutenant in
Battalion G, 2nd Legion, he saw a German white flag projecting from the
enemy’s position. He went over with eight men to take possession and all
were shot down by the treacherous enemy and killed.
=M. Lobedef=, a Russian, promoted to lieutenant in 1915. He later
returned to Russia and became Minister of Marine.
=Abel Djebelis=, a Maltese, winner of the Marathon race between Windsor
and London, England, June, 1914. He was wounded at Champagne in 1915 and
on the Somme in 1916, by two bullets each time. While waiting to be
mustered out at Lyons, July, 1917, he entered a race under the name of
Marius, and won from twenty competitors. Discharged for disability.
=M. Valsamakis=, a Greek, rose to a lieutenancy in the Legion and was
decorated with the Legion of Honor. He returned home and was arrested in
Athens for participating in the street riots of December, 1916.
=Piechkoff Gorky=, Russian, son of Maxim Gorky, the novelist, had an arm
blown away by a shell. He received the Legion of Honor for bravery and
is now attached to the Russian Mission in France.
=Bruno and Peppino Garibaldi=, Italians, sons of an illustrious father,
killed in bayonet attack in Artois, spring of 1915. French admirers have
had their profiles, in a medal, fitted into the statue of Garibaldi in
the Square Lowendal, Paris. The square is named for one Legionnaire, the
statue is built for another.
=Eilyaken=, an Egyptian, was attending the Conservatory of Music at
Brussels when the war broke out. A natural born actor, he burlesqued the
military system of the Legion so accurately that the sous-officers
managed to keep him in prison in order to silence his cutting sarcasm.
He was shot, square through both cheek bones, in the Champagne attack,
in 1915, and carried to shelter on the back of an officer. Mustered out
in 1916.
=An East Indian=, name unknown, blew in, like a blaze of glory, between
two French military policemen. He was dressed in English khaki—clothes,
leggings, spy-glass, map-book, canteen, haversack, spurs, a brand new
English rifle, with a pocket full of 100 franc notes.
“What is that, an English soldier?”
“No, a civilian.”
Such he proved to be, a practicing physician in London, who had equipped
himself, and arrived at the little village where the Legion was in
repose. A stout man, the officer in command, addressed the East Indian,—
“Why don’t you report yourself at headquarters?”
“How can I report myself, till I can find the place to report?”
“Why don’t you report to your superior officer?”
“I can’t report to him till I can find him, can I?”
“Don’t you know I am your superior officer;—why don’t you salute?”
“If you are, consider yourself saluted.”
The Major roared out, in disgust,—“Here, sergeant, take this fool to
prison.”
=De Chamer=, Swiss, a major in the Swiss National Army, fought his way
up in the Legion from a private to a captaincy. The Swiss residents of
Paris showed appreciation of their countrymen in the service of France
by inviting them to a banquet held in the Palais d’Orsay, on
Independence Day, Aug. 1, 1917.
=Emery=, Swiss, a student of Oxford University, England, outspoken,
independent and intelligent—a good comrade, was killed on the Somme,
July, 1916.
=Ben Azef=, an Arab, an Oriental priest, always wanted water, when there
was none. He would flop onto his knees, face toward the East, and bow
his forehead to the ground. Then get up on the trench and rail at the
Germans for their swinish propensities and ruthless rapacity.
A shell dropped into his section. His comrades threw themselves on the
ground and yelled out:—
“Get down, you, blamed fool, you’ll get killed!”
Ben Azef stood majestically erect, gazed calmly and contemplatively at
the shell (fortunately it was a dud—one which fails to explode) and
said,—“My friends, death to me is not destruction. It is the
consummation of my material life,—the commencement of my Life Divine.”
He was shot dead through the heart, in 1916.
=Ch. A. Hochedlinger=, an educated Polish gentleman, speaks half a dozen
languages, was twice wounded. When in hospital, he met and married a
lovely French girl from Algiers, who now conducts his business at
Bordeaux, while he gives his services to France.
=Michal Ballala=, an Abyssinian Prince, in spite of his color, had the
dainty figure and elegant bearing of a woman of fashion. He was wounded
in 1915.
=Colonel Elkington=, of the English Royal Warwickshire Regiment, served
as a private soldier in the Legion. He was seriously wounded in the
attack on the Bois Sabot, Sept. 28, 1915. He was decorated with the
Croix de Guerre and Medaille Militaire.
One morning, on inspection, an Alsatian Captain of the Legion, noticing
he was short a button, said,—“No button? Four days confined to
quarters.”
Elkington replied,—“Merci, mon capitaine.” (Thank you, my captain.)
On recovery from his serious wounds, he returned to England and was
reinstated in his former rank.
=Said Mousseine= and his two brothers, sons of Sultan Ali of the Grand
Comorres, who, being too old to fight, sent his best beloved to aid the
country he holds so dear. Said was promoted to corporal and transferred
to the 22nd Colonials.
=Augustus St. Gaudens=, cousin of the sculptor who made the Adams
monument in Rock Creek cemetery, Washington, D. C., whose father lived
near the old Academy of Design on Fourth Avenue, New York.
Another cousin of St. Gaudens, Homer, is in charge of the 300 men in the
U. S. Army, known as the Camouflage Corps, or the army in advance of the
army.
=Varma=,[C] a Hindoo, black whiskered, silent. Let those speculate about
him who would, let them glean what information they could.
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Footnote C:
In Aug., 1918, a man same name, same type, was arrested in Paris by
the gendarmes for making and selling bogus diamonds.
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=M. Ariel=, a Turk, dealer in antiques in civil life. He was seriously
wounded on the Somme, in 1916. I met him at Legion headquarters a year
later and found him carrying a purse made of his own skin.
=E. Seriadis=, a Greek, was a Lieutenant in the Army of Greece. He had
three medals from the Balkan wars. These he refused to wear because King
Constantine’s face disgraced them. He was serious|y wounded in the body
in 1915, and, during the winter of 1916, all the toes of both feet were
frozen off. At the age of twenty-three, he was mustered out—used up.
=Tex Bondt=, a Hollander, a wonderful character, a splendid specimen of
manhood, brave as a lion, quick as a steel trap, the only son of a
Count, with an unbroken lineage, extending back for 800 years, his
record in the Legion would fill a book.
He went out and captured two Germans single handed. He tried to capture
a third but was discovered. He threw a grenade, and, both sides taking
alarm, started an engagement. He was between the lines and was reported
missing. Four hours later, he reported himself alive.
In Alsace he worked and slaved to chop up a poor peasant woman’s
wood-pile—just to show her a Hollander could keep his word.
He was shot through the lungs and taken to the hospital. Months later,
reporting at the depot, he was informed that he was dead.
When on convalescence in Paris, living on one meal per day, he met one
of France’s most accomplished and wealthy daughters. He is now her
acknowledged suitor.
Seeing him in prison one day, I asked,—
“What are you in for?”
“Nothing.”
“How’s that?”
“Well, a friend in London asked me why I did not write about Legion
life, and I responded,—‘My dear fellow, if I wrote you all I know about
the Legion, it would make your hair stand on end!’”
=Sorenson=, a Dane, from Schleswig-Holstein, formerly a policeman at St.
Thomas, Danish West Indies. He came to me holding a letter in his hand
and said,—
“Just see here what those swine have done—they have fined my mother a
hundred marks because she gave a crust of bread to a French prisoner.”
Poor fellow, the last I saw of him was on Sept. 25, 1915, during the
attack. He had been buried by a shell—other soldiers had run over him in
the rush. After he worked through the loose earth and freed himself, I
listened to him as in broken French, English and Danish he apologized to
the captain for the broken straps of his knapsack and a lost gun. His
round chest was flattened out, his face dirty and bloody, grazed by
hob-nailed boots, and blood was trickling from a round hole in his
forehead. The captain, a good sort, patted him on the back and told him
to go to the Red Cross Station. The poor fellow staggered away and was
never heard from again.
=Guimeau=, Mauritius Islands, a plantation owner, of French descent,
under British rule, spoke French but no English. He was an energetic
character and a valuable member of the machine gun section.
In 1915, after taking several lessons in tactics, he went to the
lieutenant,—
“What are we waiting here for? Why don’t we go to the front?”
“We are waiting for the guns.”
“How many are needed for our section and how much do they cost?”
“Two, at 2,000 francs each.”
“Well, here are 4,000 francs. Buy them and let us get out where we
belong.”
When he was about to change to the British Army, the Colonel of the
Legion, the Chief of the Battalion and the Captain of the Company waited
for five minutes while the British Ambassador explained to Guimeau the
benefits of changing armies. After listening to the finish he
said,—“Will you repeat that in French? I did not understand a word you
said.” Knowing his desire to leave the Legion, his Captain asked, why
he, of French descent, speaking only that language, should not be
satisfied with his comrades who were proud of him. He replied,—“The
British flag is the flag of my country. It protects me. I want to
protect it.” So he went to Great Britain, and the British, not knowing
what to do with this handy, ready Legionnaire, sent him to school.
=Dinah Salifon=, son of an African King from the Soudan, Egypt, enlisted
in 1914. He was promoted to a Lieutenancy and decorated with the Legion
of Honor. He later became Commissioner of Police at Brazzarville.
=Etchevarry=, a French convict, escaped from French Guiana, made his way
to the United States and returned to France, under an assumed name, to
fight for his native land. He enlisted in the Foreign Legion. He made an
enviable record. But he was recognized and ordered to return to the
penal settlement. Measures were taken in his behalf by the Society of
the Rights of Men, in response to whose appeal President Poincaré signed
a reprieve. Etchevarry returned to the front a free man, in December,
1915.
=Nick Korneis=, a Greek push-cart peddler, who used to sell bananas at
Twenty-third Street and Avenue B, New York City, was decorated for
bravery at Verdun, with the following citation: “Korneis, Nick,
Legionnaire, 11th Company, Foreign Legion—Elite grenadier, who on August
20, 1917, won the admiration of all his comrades by his courage and
contempt for danger. He led his comrades to the conquest of a trench,
which was defended with energy, and which was captured along a distance
of 1,500 yards, after several hours of bloody combat;—took single
handed, numerous prisoners;—already cited twice in Army Orders.”
=Rene Betrand=, New Jersey, was over two years on the front, a member of
the Regiment Colonial of Morocco, which is part of the famous 19th Army
Corps. He received the Croix de Guerre for bravery, and at Douaumont,
Oct. 4, 1915, the Legion of Honor for personally finishing off a Boche
machine gun section and bringing in the gun. That is the record, a well
built, uninjured man on board ship gave me when I asked him how he had
earned the Legion of Honor, and why he wore the fouragere of the Foreign
Legion. In July, 1918, a man, same name, turned up in Paris decorated
with nine medals, minus an arm and a leg, claiming his body bore more
than 30 bullet and bayonet wounds. The gendarmes promptly arrested him
as the world’s greatest fakir, declared he had lost the arm and leg in a
railroad accident and that five imprisonments instead of five citations
composed his record.