The world’s one organization which, for a century, has offered refuge to any man, no matter what nor whence, who wished to drop out of human sight and ken, does not, for obvious reasons, maintain a regular hotel register and publish arrivals.

Records of the Foreign Legion are open to no one. This picturesque aggregation of dare-devil warriors neither supports nor invites staff correspondents. Even the names used by the gentlemen present do not, necessarily, have any particular significance.

The American was a new element in this polyglot assembly. If there is anything he excelled in, it was disobedience. Independence and servility do not go hand-in-hand. He considered himself just as good as anyone placed in authority over him. He knew that he must obey orders to obtain results, that obedience was the essence of good team work; but he wanted no more orders than were necessary. He was willing they should be neutral,—who had not the courage to stand up for their convictions. His conscience had demanded that he put himself on the side of Right. Always courteous to strangers, Americans would dispute and wrangle among themselves. They had a never-failing appetite, also a peculiar habit of cooking chocolate in odd corners,—contrary to orders. They never would patch their clothes. They did no fatigue duty they could dodge. They carried grenades in one pocket and books in another, and only saluted officers when the sweet notion moved them.

A corporal, who, for obvious reasons, changed from Battalion C to Battalion G, speaking of early days said: “The Americans were the dirtiest, lousiest, meanest soldiers we had. They would crawl into their dugout, roll into their blanket; and, when I went to call them for duty, the language they used would burn a man up, if it came true. Yes,” he continued, “one night I heard an awful noise down the trench;—it was bitter cold and sound traveled far, so I hurried on to see what was wrong. A little snot from New York was making all the racket. He jumped up and down, trying to keep warm, his feet keeping time to his chattering teeth, till he wore a hole through the snow to solid footing. Every time he jumped, his loaded rifle hit the ground.

“You fool, don’t you know that thing will go off?”

“Don’t I know. Of course I know. What do I care? Do you know what happened in Section 2 last week, when a gun went off?”

“No.”

“It accidentally killed a corporal!”

The officers, however, noticed, after the first shock of misery and suffering, that they pulled themselves together, tightened their belts and made no complaint. On the rifle range, they held the record. On route march, they were never known to fall out. In patrol work, between the lines, others would get all shot up and never come back. The Americans always got there; always returned; if shot up, they brought back their comrades. They were soon looked upon with respect and pride. They learned faith in their officers. The officers, in turn, found them dependable.

It was customary for visiting officers to ask to see the Americans. When so ordered, this aggregation of automobile racers, elephant hunters, college students, gentlemen of leisure, professional boxers, baseball players, lawyers, authors, artists, poets and philosophers, were trotted out, and stood silently in line, while Sergeant Morlae, his head on one side, extending his finger with the diamond on would say,—“These are the Americans, mon General.”

Did they like it? They did not. They were unable to vent their rage on the general; but they did on Morlae. True, he had made soldiers of them, in spite of themselves. He had shamed, bluffed, bullied, scolded them into being soldiers. They did not mind that. They knew it had to be. But, being placed on exhibition got their goat.

However, each man carved out his own particular block and put his mark thereon. Strong characters, they cannot be passed over living, or forgotten dead. M. Viviani said, at Washington:—“Not only has America poured out her gold, but her children have shed their blood for France. The sacred names of America’s dead remain engraved in our hearts.”

Denis Dowd, of New York City, and Long Island, a graduate of Columbia University, and of Georgetown, District of Columbia, a lawyer by profession, of Irish descent, a fine soldier, passed the first year in the trenches and was wounded October 19, 1915. We were in the same squad—were wounded different days—again met in same hospital. While in hospital, he received a package from the ladies of the American Church of the Rue de Berri, Paris, in which was a letter. This was followed by correspondence, later a daily correspondence. Then came an invitation to pass his furlough with new found friends. Inside of twenty-four hours after meeting, this hard-headed lawyer was affianced to the lady, daughter of a professor at the Sorbonne. He entered, for the study of aviation, the Buc Aviation School, and stood at the head of a class of fifteen aspirants. While making a preliminary flight, previous to obtaining his brevet, he was killed, August 11, 1916. In life he showed a contempt of danger. He passed away with a smile on his lips. His body was buried at Asnieres, near St. Germain.

D. W. King, Providence, R. I., member of a family connected with cement products interests in England and America, a Harvard graduate—of uncomplaining and unflinching disposition, though small in stature, he was great in courage. I have seen him marching without a whimper when his feet were so sore that only the toes of one foot could touch the ground. He always had an extra cake or two of chocolate, and was willing to divide with the individual who could furnish fire or water. He changed from the Foreign Legion to the 170th, in 1915, and was seriously wounded in 1916. On recovery he went into the Aviation.

Edgar Bouligny, a real American from New Orleans, Louisiana, had served two enlistments in the U. S. Army. His father was minister to Mexico, and during the civil war threw himself on the side of Human Liberty, as the son, later, put in his fortune and health for International freedom. He went from Alaska to France. He rose to be sergeant in the Foreign Legion. He was three times wounded, then transferred to the Aviation. Obtaining his brevet in three months, he went to Salonica, Albania, Greece and the Balkans. He was decorated with the Croix de Guerre, with silver star, in January, 1917.

J. J. Casey, a cartoonist from San Francisco, California, went into the Foreign Legion in the early days and is still going strong. Naturally of a quiet disposition, he will fight at the drop of the hat, on provocation. He was shot in the foot on September 25, 1915, was in the hospital of the Union de Femmes of France at Nice and went back to the front, where he still remains.

Arthur Barry, Boston, Massachusetts, formerly a gunner on U. S. battleship Dakota, now acts as an Irish battleship ashore and throws grenades on the dry land Boche, whenever an opportunity occurs,—of a happy, devil-may-care disposition, all work is a lark to him, while growling and his temperament are total strangers. Twice wounded, the last time I saw him was in hospital at Lyons, where he was waiting till a shell splinter could be extracted. He had already decided that he would go direct to the front instead of to the regimental depot on recovery. He was decorated for bravery at Chalons, July 14, 1917. Was later transferred to the American Engineers, wearing the red fouragere of the Legion of Honor.

James J. Back, an engineer by profession, who spoke French fluently, went from the Foreign Legion to the Aviation in the early part of 1915. It was announced in “La France,” Bordeaux, September 2, 1917, that he was taken prisoner by the Boche. When his machine broke, he fell inside the German lines. He was taken before a court martial, charged twice with being a Franc-tireur American, which called for the death penalty; but was twice acquitted. He still languishes in prison. The published account is true; but it did not mention that the news was over two years old.

Bob Scanlon, professional boxer, soldier of the Legion, kept having narrow escapes from death so often that he became a mascot of good luck. In civilian life he had whipped Mar-Robert, Marthenon, and Joe Choynski—even the Boche shells respected him! He changed from the Foreign Legion into the 170th, then went into the machine gun company. He lost his good luck. He found a piece of shell which ripped him up badly. Two years later, in September, 1917, in Bordeaux, coming back to his old gait, he gave a boxing exhibition with Lurline, the French Champion.

Laurence Scanlon, wounded in the Foreign Legion, went into Aviation, dropped his aeroplane through, and into, a cook-house. His captain running, expecting to find a corpse, met Scanlon coming out of the door, who saluted and reported himself present,—“It is I, mon capitaine, just arrived.”

John Brown, American citizen, got mixed up with a shell explosion in the September attack in Champagne, in 1915. All his comrades were killed; but this tough nut has just been blown about till he is bent double and one eye is almost gone. He has been in eleven hospitals during twenty-three months. In August, 1917, he was ordered to go to regimental depot for two months “Inapt.” The regimental doctors gave him an examination, then sent him back to hospital.

F. Capdevielle, New Yorker, splendid fellow, after a year in the Foreign Legion changed to the 170th, where he rose to be sergeant. But a young man, he has a great record for longevity, having been through the successive attacks of the two regiments volontÉ, without receiving a scratch, though he was used up physically in the spring of 1917, and put in a couple of months recuperating in Paris. He was decorated for gallantry, at Verdun, in the spring of 1916.

Tony Pollet, champion boxer, from Corona, New York, came to America with his parents, had his first papers—was the tallest, best-built man in his company—a terror on wrong doers—in social life as gentle as a woman. The boxing match between him and Bob Scanlon at Auxelle Bas, Alsace, will pass down in the traditions of the Legion for all time.

Later Tony whipped the three cooks. He was put in charge of the kitchen for punishment; but he got into disgrace again because the Legionnaires caught a pet cat, skinned it and threw it into the soup.

Living on his income of one cent a day, as he had no money, too proud to expose his financial condition, he did not go to Paris, July 4, 1915, but suffered his martyrdom in silence. Wounded in Champagne in 1915, also on the Somme in 1916, when permission came for a furlough in America, he had forty-two cents. He stowed away on a Trans-Atlantic steamer to New York, where the authorities claimed, he was not an American. If he had declared his intention to be an American, he had lost the evidence of it. So they locked him up two days at Ellis Island.

When in hospital one night, he stole out to see his girl, caught, and standing before the medical board, who threatened to revoke his convalescence, he replied hotly—“You do that, and I will make you more trouble than you can shake off the rest of your life. You must not think you are handling a Legionnaire from Africa now;—I will show you what a real American Legionnaire can do!” The old Colonel, a judge of men, spoke up;—“Silence yourself. Attention, eyes front, about face, forward march.” Tony walked away; but he got his furlough.

George Peixotto, painter by profession, brother of the President of the American Chamber of Commerce in Paris, joined the Foreign Legion and was detailed to the 22nd artillery. Now, instead of making life-like figures, he makes figures lifeless!

Bullard. After the Champagne attack, in 1915, was changed from the Legion to the 170th, then again into the Aviation. A busy man, he managed to dodge the Boche bouquets, and, so far, he has kept right side up with care. Always likes to have Old Glory in sight.

Bob Soubiron, in civil life a racing automobilist, former racing partner of Ralph de Palma. After a year of active service with the Legion, he was wounded in the knee and evacuated. He concluded that was too slow. So, in order to get a touch of high life, he went into the Aviation. He was decorated for bravery with the following citation:—“Soubiron, an American, engaged in the French service since the beginning of the war,—member of the Foreign Legion, took part in battle of the Aisne, in 1914, and the attack in Champagne, in 1915;—wounded October 19, 1915, entered Aviation, and proved a remarkable pilot—forced an enemy to fall in October when protecting aviators who were attacking an enemy’s observation balloon.”

Lincoln Chatcoff, Brooklyn, New York, one of the old originals, went from the Legion into Aviation and was decorated with the Croix de Guerre. Unable to get permission to go to England, he demanded a pass to Paris. He went to the Minister of War’s office, explained his case, and said,—

“Now, I want to know the truth.”

“About what?”

“Whether I am a Legionnaire or an Aviator?”

“You look like an Aviator.”

“Well, am I one or not?”

“You must be one.”

“Am I one or not?”

“Yes.”

“Then I demand to be treated as one.”

“What do you want now?”

“Permission to go to England.”

He got it.

He became an expert in his line. He used to take his old friends up in the air, ask them if they had been to confession, or had said their prayers, then turn a double somersault, finish with an Egyptian side wiggle and land his victims, gasping for breath. On June 15, 1917, he had aloft an American ambulance man, who was killed by the process. Chatcoff, himself, was sent to the hospital for repairs.

Kroegh was in the Legion the first year. He went down with the boys to the Fourth of July wake in Paris. Then he went to Norway, when he organized and brought back a detachment of Norwegian Ski-runners, who hauled provisions and wounded men over the snow-clad hills of the Vosges in the winter of 1915-1916.

Eugene Jacobs, from Pawtucket, Rhode Island, went from the Legion to the 170th, where he became one of the best liked sergeants. He was decorated with the Croix de Guerre for bravery. A butcher by trade, he now carries a carving knife on the end of his rifle.

Barriere was killed at la Cote. His little brother, Pierre, 15 years old, who had come from America to be as near him as possible, was working at the American Express Company’s office at the Rue d’Opera, Paris, when the bad news came. He quit his good situation, stopped correspondence with all friends, and lived through his grief silently and alone, like the little man he is.

John Laurent, a quiet, gentlemanly man, was in the Legion till October 12th, 1915, when he changed into the 170th. An actor in civil life, he became a real, living actor in the most stupendous drama ever staged. He plays his part to perfection.

Collins, writer and journalist, passed the first year of the war in the trenches of France. Evacuated for inspection, the next we heard of him was from the Balkans. Wounded, he turned up in Paris for convalescence. Then, back to the French front. He became such a truthful and realistic writer, through actual experience, that the censor cut out the half of the last article he wrote to the New York Herald; and the public hears from him no more.

Charles Trinkard, Brooklyn, went through the Croanelle and Campaigne affairs with the Foreign Legion. He was wounded in Champagne September 25, 1915. Afterwards he joined the Aviation, and was killed in combat, November 29, 1917. His machine fell into a village occupied by the Legion. A few minutes after his death permission arrived allowing him, after three years’ service, to visit his American home.

Charles S. Sweeney, a West Pointer, rose in the Legion successively to corporal, sergeant, lieutenant and captain. He was wounded in the head in 1915. Decorated with the Legion of Honor and Croix de Guerre, he returned to America. On the declaration of war, he became a major in the American Army and drilled rookies at Ft. Meyer, Va. He carried the colors that enwrapped O’Connel’s coffin—the Stars and Stripes, and the Tri-color, to the latter’s home at Carthage, Mo.

Mouvet, San Francisco, Cal., brother of M. Maurice and Florence Walton, the dancers, joined the Legion, August, 1915. He was wounded, also, decorated with the Croix de Guerre, July 4, 1916. He served five months in the Aviation, then returned to the Legion; and in December, 1917, was again seriously wounded.

Prof. Orlinger, Columbia University, New York City, put in the first winter in Croanelle, changed to the 167th, wounded and invalided home. Short of stature, the long strides he made on march, to keep step, were an additional attraction in the ever-interesting adventure.

Algernon Sartoris, son of Nellie Grant, daughter of General U. S. Grant, former President of the United States, serves at present in the Foreign Legion.

Paul Pavelka, Madison, Conn., an old timer, bound up Kiffin Rockwell’s bayonet wound at Arras, May 9, 1915.

It was his section that started the attack on the Bois de Sabot in Champagne in 1915. Orders came to reconnoitre the Boche position. Everybody knew that these trenches were German. They could see the rifles of the soldiers over the trench tops. Musgrave said, “Let’s go see what in hell sort of a show they have over there.” The section, about forty men, went and just two, Pavelka and Musgrave, both Americans, came back. After fourteen months in the trenches, he changed to the Aviation. He, a splendid marksman, put twelve bullets, out of twelve shots, into a moving target at one hundred yards. Killed near Monastir, November 1, 1917, he was buried at Salonica.

Frank Musgrave, San Antonio lawyer, a long-limbed raw-boned Texan, not only looks the part but acts it. Original as they make them, even in original states. It was a joy to meet such a character. After dodging death in Champagne, he changed into the 170th and at Verdun was captured in the spring of 1916 by the Boche, during an attack. He is now a prisoner in Germany.

Frank J. Baylies, New Bedford, Mass., drove ambulance in Serbia in 1916. Went into the French Aviation. At Lufberry’s death, he became the leading American Ace and was himself killed June 17, 1918. The news of how he was shot down in combat with German aviators, and went to his death among the flames of his machine on German soil, was brought in a letter dropped by an enemy pilot. He brought down 11 Boche machines, was promoted to lieutenant, and decorated with the Legion of Honor.

David E. Putnam,^[B] Brookline, Mass. Putnam succeeded Baylies as chief American Ace with 12 Boche machines to his credit. In the month of June, 1918, he brought down seven machines.

Paul Ingmer, New York City. American of

Danish extraction, joined the Legion in 1916, went up on the Somme for a preliminary, though bottled up in the Legion like Johnny Walker’s whisky, is still going strong, and getting better with age.

Nicholas Karayinis, New York. One of the Americans who lived to tell about it. Changed from Legion to American Army.

Cyrus Chamberlain, Minneapolis, Minn. Killed in combat while he and a Frenchman were fighting twelve German aviators. Odds 6 to 1. Though he lost his life, he gained the admiration of a brave people, and freely gave his blood to cement the tie that binds the two Republics. Decorated with the Croix de Guerre. Buried at Coulommiers.

Harold E. Wright. Along with others had much trouble getting discharged from the French army. June 6, 1918, was ordered to Paris to be transferred to American Army. No papers. Waited around for weeks. Went to French Minister of Aeronautics for information. Was told to report to the Commander of the Fourth Army at the Front, where he was arrested as a deserter, and ordered to be shot at sunrise. Friends interceded, and he was ordered to report at the Bureau of Recruitment, Paris, where he received his discharge from the French Army, dated January 21, several days before he was sentenced to be shot. Again arrested on orders of the Prefect of Police, an examination of his papers resulted in him being catalogued with the U. S. Army. Provost Marshal receipted for him like a bale of merchandise.

Manual Moyet, Alabama. American Legionnaire, wounded near Soissons, May, 1918. Three times cited for bravery. Last citation: “Legionnaire Manual Moyet, during the Vilers-Bretioneaus combat, withstood effectively with his automatic rifle, the enemy machine guns, deciding the progress of his section. Afterwards he broke up several counter attacks along the front.” He wrote from a hospital bed to a friend, “Believe me, I am sure that after the war it is going to be the greatest honor to have served in the Foreign Legion. I am getting better and hope to be ready for duty in a month. As I grow older I understand things better and better; we are not fighting for fun, but for liberty. After you have killed two or three Boches you do not mind dying. The spirit of the Legion is wonderful, although many of the most famous of the legionnaires are dead. Should I live to be a hundred years I shall never forget a man from my section who, mortally wounded, lay between the lines shouting, ‘Vive la France, Vive la Legion I die, but I am satisfied to die for Liberty.’”

Elof Nelson, a real, quiet, pleasant man, changed from the Legion to the 170th. The only Swede in the Legion at that time, he adopted the Americans. He was killed on the Somme in 1916.

George Marquet, New York, three times wounded—the last time on July 1, 1916, at Hill 304, near Verdun. This company, the 8th of the 6th Regt. of the Line, while defending the hill against continued Boche attacks, out of 200 men had only one sergeant and twenty-four men at the close of that memorable day.

Jack Noe, Glendale, L. I., Foreign Legion, was wounded in the attack near Rheims in the spring of 1917, and captured in the general mix-up. He escaped and made his way back to the French lines.

R. Hard, Rosebank, Staten Island, New York, having only one eye, went into the gas manufacturing works, and commenced to fill gas shells with a bicycle pump. Gradually, the business developed till ten men could turn out 1,875 shells every ten hours. A thin, wiry man, the gas fumes affected his heart. Stout men get the poison in the lungs.

Henry La Grange went to France at the outbreak of war and was ordered to the Foreign Legion: “No,” he said, “I want to go to my grandfather’s regiment, the 8th. If I can’t join that I will not go at all.” His great-grandfather had fought in Egypt. The grandson, following the old man’s footsteps, rose to the rank of sergeant. He was decorated with the Croix de Guerre and, later, detailed to America to instruct the growing army in artillery observation.

Mjojlo Milkovich, of San Francisco, Cal., a professional boxer, left the Golden West with $6,000 in his pocket and an elaborate wardrobe. He was torpedoed in the “Brindisti” and, after five hours in the water, reached shore, naked as the day he was born. At Corfu, Greece, he joined the French Army, was wounded on the Bulgarian front and tended in the Scottish Woman’s Hospital at Salonica. After his recovery he went direct to the front, and, again severely wounded, was sent to France. At quarters one day he accosted me:

“What, you understand English?” “Yes.”

“Are you an American?”

“Yes.”

“So am I,—can’t speak a word of French.”

The three main cords of his leg were severed by shell splinters. He chafed at the slow hospital life, and, every second day, he pounded the doctors on the back.

“Why don’t you let me go back to America? You have got my leg, you know I can never march again. Why don’t you let me go home?” He was decorated with the Croix de Guerre, with the following citation: “A very good soldier, seriously wounded, advancing resolutely to attack a village very strongly fortified.”

I asked him what he saw down in the Balkans.

“I saw enough—so that I’ll never forget it.”

“Well what did you see?”

“I saw enough to make me sick.”

“Well, what did you see?”

“I saw boys seven and eight years old with throats cut.”

“How many did you see?”

“Seven or eight at least.”

“What else?”

“I saw young girls who tried to protect themselves with faces streaked with knife wounds—some had their noses cut off.”

“What else did you see?”

“I saw old women laying in corners dying of hunger—I saw others out in the fields eating grass.”

Milton Wright, an American citizen, born of American parents, went from Philadelphia to France on a four-masted ship. On shore, without a passport, was arrested by the gendarmes, who communicated with his captain, who replied: “We don’t want him. He is a German spy.” So he was in prison four or five months. He was then told he could go into the Foreign Legion for the period of the war. He did not understand, as he could not speak French. The French officials did not speak English. He was signed up for five years.

The skipper owed him for several weeks’ wages. His going left an opening to take back Frenchmen who would give thousands of dollars to get away and escape military service. Wright was an innocent, honest fellow, a victim of circumstances. But he felt he was wronged and would not drill. Finally, after being worried almost crazy, he was given a railroad ticket to Boulogne, and mustered out.

James Ralph Doolittle, of New York, started in the ambulance. He found it too slow for a live man, so he joined the Foreign Legion. He was decorated with the Croix de Guerre, with palm. He was a splendid fellow, good soldier and a gentleman. He was three times wounded. The last time he dropped 600 feet, breaking an ankle and seriously disfiguring his face. He passed his convalescence in America, November, 1917.

Dr. Julian A. Gehrung, of the New York Eye and Ear Infirmary, offered his services to the then personally conducted American Ambulance. He did not know they wanted chauffeurs and drivers, who could be ordered about, rather than doctors and men of established reputation who could run their own affairs. So, he, known in America from coast to coast, was snubbed. March 24, 1917, he was offered by the French Government, the supervision of a large hospital. Accidentally meeting an American soldier of the Legion, a French officer came along, patted him on the back and said, “Ha, ha, you have got a fine appointment. You have found a compatriot. You are now satisfied.” Quick as a shot, the answer came back, “No, I am not satisfied, I want to be sent to the front.”

James Paul, St. Louis, Mo., twenty years old, the first American killed in the Legion after the United States went into the war, was an enthusiastic grenadier. He was decorated with the Croix de Guerre for having alone, with grenades, stopped a night attack at Bellay-en-Santerre, in July, 1916. He was killed by a treacherous prisoner, whose life he had spared. Having killed the Germans in that dugout, excepting this prisoner, who threw up his hands and cried “Kamrad,” Paul started to run to the next dugout, when the German grabbed a rifle and shot him in the back through the heart. Barry and other Americans paid special attention to that prisoner. He did not die then, but, some hours, later, when the Legion was being relieved, he breathed his last.

George Delpesche, of New York City, an energetic member of the Legion, and an excellent scout, a volunteer for dangerous missions, lived through places where others were killed; but he was wounded in 1916 and transferred to the 35th Regiment of the Line with headquarters at Fort Brezille, Besancon. Decorated with the Croix de Guerre for taking, alone and unaided, five prisoners.

Emile Van de Kerkove, Pawtucket, Rhode Island, of Belgian descent, three times wounded, was decorated while in the 246th Regiment with the Medaille Militaire for having alone, with a machine gun, repelled a Boche attack. He is now in the 10th Regiment of the Line.

William Lawrence Bresse, a son-in-law of Hamilton Fish, was killed in action.

Ivan Nock, Baltimore, Foreign Legion, formerly sergeant in the Maryland Militia, a civil mining engineerengineer, came from Peru to help France. He was wounded in the head by an explosive bullet near Rheims, April 20, 1917. He was decorated with the Croix de Guerre, with the following brilliant citation: “A grenadier of remarkable courage, wounded April 20th, 1917, by a bullet in the head, just after he had shot down his fifth German. He cried: ‘I will not leave the field until I have killed my sixth Boche.’ He kept his word.”

Paul Norton, architect, died of wounds received in action.

Kiffin Yates Rockwell, a real American, born at Atlanta, Georgia. One of his ancestors was a staff officer in Washington’s Continental Army. Kiffin served the first winter in the trenches with the Foreign Legion, and was wounded in a bayonet attack at Arras, June, 1915. He helped to form the Franco-American Escadrille. He was killed at Rodern, in captured German Alsace, September 23, 1916, by an explosive bullet, when in combat with a German machine, and fell a few hundred yards back from the trench, within two miles of where he shot down his first Boche machine. He was decorated with the Medaille Militaire and Croix de Guerre and buried at Loscieul, Vosges. Asked why he entered the Legion, he said: “I came to pay the debt we owe, to Lafayette, to Rochambeau.”

Paul Rockwell, brother of Kiffin, also spent the first winter in the Legion. He was badly wounded and mustered out. Remaining in Paris, he devoted his time to bringing the two Republics closer together, and easing the hardships of his former comrades in the Legion, who recognized in him a true friend. He was married to Mlle. Jeanne Leygenes, whose father was formerly Minister of Public Instruction. He is at present on the front, attached to the General Headquarters of the French Army.

Robert Rockwell, of Cincinnati, Ohio, thought cutting up as a surgeon in hospital not strenuous enough for a live wire, so he joined the Aviation to do a little aerial operating.

F. Wilson, one of the old originals, used up on the front, went into hospital service. At the regimental hospital, at Orleans, he made a specialty of tending and easing the path of poor, distressed, brother Americans.

Billy Thorin, Canton, S. D., was wounded in the head at the attack of the Legion on the Bois Sabot, September 28, 1915. He returned to the front and was gassed on the Somme, July, 1916. He was fourteen months in hospital and mustered out September, 1917. Formerly he was a marine in the U. S. Navy, also a sailor in the Chinese Imperial Navy. As a South Sea trader, he fought cannibals in the New Hebrides. He had been severely wounded in the Mexican War. He says: “Compared with a German, a Mexican is a gentleman.”

Chas. Jean Drossner, San Francisco, California, one of the old originals, went through the hard fighting in 1915. He was wounded in the hand and mustered out. He is the son of a capitalist.

A snippy under-officer in the Legion, not liking his independent remarks about the size of the eats, said: “You have come into the Legion to get your belly full.” The American replied, “I may not get very much food, I don’t see that any one does, but I have money. Here, buy something for the boys.” He opened his vest and handed over three 1,000 franc notes.

Maurice Davis, of Brooklyn, New York, rose to the rank of lieutenant and was killed in action.

Harold Buckley Willis was reported killed September 3, 1917, but later developments proved that, during a combat with German machines, he was compelled to land on German soil, August 18, and was taken prisoner.

Rouel Lufbury, Wallingford, Conn., Foreign Legion, changed to Aviation, a real cosmopolitan American, for fifteen years roamed the two hemispheres. Now, crippled by rheumatism, he rides his aerial carriage and kills German aviators for recreation. He served as a United States soldier in the Philippines and held the marksmanshipmarksmanship record in his regiment. While engaged in railroad work in India, on refusing to say “Sir” to a prominent citizen of Bombay, he lost his job just about the time the P. C. felt the toe of Lufbury’s boot. He traveled in Turkey, Japan, China, Africa and South America October 12, 1916, the day Norman Prince was mortally wounded, Lufbury got his fifth Boche machine. By December, 1917, he had brought down, officially, eighteen. He is the first American to be awarded the gold medal of the Aero Club of France. He is also decorated with the Croix de Guerre with six palms; and is a chevalier of the Legion of Honor. In the spring of 1918, he was transferred and promoted major in the American Army, and when engaged in battle, a bullet from the enemy punctured the gasoline tank, and he jumped from the burning machine to his death.

Joseph C. Stehlin, Sheepshead Bay, Long Island, brought down a Boche machine, when he had only been twenty days in service on the front. He attacked three enemy machines alone and brought down one with a pilot, observer, and two guns.

George Meyer, Brooklyn, New York, was killed in the Foreign Legion, by a shell, while waiting for the order to go over the top near Rheims, April, 1917.

Robert Arrowsmith, New Jersey, was wounded in the hip, and lying in hospital when America entered the war. The wound not healing quickly, he objected to hospital life, because: “There is so much going on, and so much work to be done.”

Dr. David D. Wheeler, Buffalo, New York, practicing physician, thought being a doctor in the rear was too much of a shirker’s business. So, he went into the Legion at the front; and the Legionnaires still talk about the American, who wore no shirt most of the time, who never unslung his knapsack en route, who tented alone, who never bent the body or dodged a bullet, who was supposed killed at the Bois Sabot, but who lived through it and was found in hospital. Wounded himself seriously, he had cared for others professionally in “No-Man’s-Land,” while under fire. He was decorated with the Croix de Guerre, with palm, and mustered out, used up.

John Charton, Foreign Legion, seriously wounded by a machine gun bullet in the attack on Balloy-en-Santerre, July 4, 1916, after months in hospital, was sent back as reinforcement to a Zouave Regiment. He then went into the Aviation at Avord.

Kenneth Weeks, of Boston, 25 years old, a graduate of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, and a member of Delta Kappa Epsilon Fraternity, author of “Driftwood,” “Esau and the Beacon,” “Five Impractical Plays,” and “Science, Sentiment and Sense.” Passed the first winter in Battalion D, of the 1st Legion in Rheims Sector. He was in the Arras attack of May 9th and 10th, and mentioned for bravery. Acting as a grenadier in an attack on Givenchy, June 17, 1915, he was first reported missing, then captured; and, several months later, officially, killed.

He said, “Mother, is it not better that I should die than that the Germans should come over here?”

Paul Raoul le Dous, Detroit, Michigan, promoted to sergeant, decorated with the Medaille Militaire for saving his captain’s life on the Ancre.

Ernest Walbron, Paterson, New Jersey, volunteered at the start of the war, fought in Artois, Verdun and the Somme.

In August, 1916, was detailed as interpreter to an English Regiment, while leading it to the front was hit by a piece of shell. As no one else knew the way, he kept going till he reached the destination, then fainted. He could not be taken back on account of the bombardment. Gangrene set in and his leg was amputated. He was decorated with the French Croix de Guerre and Medaille Militaire, also with the English Military Medal.

Andrew Walbron, brother of Ernest, decorated with the Croix de Guerre, Corporal in the 78th Regiment, has been wounded four times.

Paul Maffart, American, Foreign Legion, 19 years of age, killed.

Haviland, Minnesota, brought down his first Boche machine, April 28, 1917.

Ronald Wood Hoskier, South Orange, New Jersey, a Harvard graduate, Aviator. His father is also in France in Red Cross work.

Hoskier fell while he and his companion were fighting six Boche machines. He and two Boche fell among the advancing English troops and were all killed, April 24, 1917.

Cited in General Orders of the French Army: “Sergeant Ronald Wood Hoskier, an American, who volunteered for service in the French Army. He showed splendid conduct and self-sacrifice. He fell on April 23, 1917, after defending himself heroically against three enemy machines.”

Paul Perigord, college professor, formerly an instructor in St. Paul Seminary, later a parish priest at Olivia, Minn., went to France and into the trenches at the outbreak of hostilities. Cited four times in army orders, decorated with the Croix de Guerre, promoted to a Lieutenancy in the 14th Regiment of the Line. Later, he returned to America on a patriotic lecturing mission.

Victor Chapman, son of John Jay Chapman, was one of the splendid fellows that it was a pleasure to meet and never to forget. Changing from the Legion to the Aviation he was killed near Verdun, June 23, 1916, in a battle with French comrades against German machines. The “Petit Parisian” headline announcing the event, said: “The king of the air dies like a king.”

Harvard University students have raised a fund, known as the Victor Chapman Scholarship Fund, of $25,000, bearing interest of $1,000 a year, which is set aside for the education of a worthy French student. A young man from Lyons is at present at Harvard, perpetuating and cementing the ties for which Chapman gave his life.

Eugene Galliard, Minneapolis, Minn., served two years in the trenches, twice wounded, was mustered out as a lieutenant and returned to America.

John Huffer, an American of the Legion, was decorated with the Medaille Militaire, and the Croix de Guerre, with five citations, four being palms.

Bennet Moulter, an American, went from Mexico to France, changed his animosity from Caranza to the Kaiser; and was seriously wounded July, 1917.

Christopher Charles, of Brooklyn, New York, 21 years old, machine gun operator, has been in all attacks since September, 1914. He was decorated with the Croix de Guerre at Chalons, July 14, 1917. At Bordeaux, I met his marraine (godmother), who said,—“Yes, I know Christopher Charles. I met him when he was wounded in hospital here. That boy is an American. His place is in his own country now. I will get him out of the Legion if I have to go to Washington to do it.”

Norman Barclay, New York City, formerly of Long Island, aviator, was killed by aeroplane, nose diving. Had two years’ service on the front before being snuffed out. Killed June 22, 1917.

Robert Mulhauser entered the Legion in 1914, changed to the 170th in 1915, was decorated with the Croix de Guerre and promoted to Lieutenant at Verdun. He has been cited in Army Orders three times.

Walter Appleton, New York City, scion of the great American publishing house. The last time I met him was north of Suippe, in the middle of the night, unloading barrels from a wagon in the darkness, where the first line men connected with the commissary. Zouaves with canvas pails of wine, Moroccans carrying loaves of bread on their bayonets, Legionnaires looking after their own, and ready to pick up any straggling food. Dead horses and men lay alongside, a German captured cannon pointed to the rear was near-by, surrounded by broken cassions and German dead. Shells were exploding overhead. We ran into each other in the mix-up, shook hands, said “Hello,” and separated into the night.

Alan Seeger, a Harvard graduate, killed in bayonet attack, in “No-Man’s-Land,” Independence Day, July 4, 1916. Buried in the Army Zone. The only tears that will water the flowers that grow on his hillside grave will be the evening dew, even as he dropped his brilliant thoughts on the close of life.

Seeger Gems. “I love to think that if my blood has the privilege to be shed, or the blood of the French soldier to flow, then I despair not entirely of this world.”

“When at banquet comes the moment of toasts, when faces are illumined with the joy of life and laughter resounds, then flow towards the lips that which I at other times much loved, from the depth of the cup with the foam, as an atom of blood on the juice of the vine.”

“That other mighty generations may play in peace to their heritage of joy, one foreigner has marched voluntarily toward his heroic martyrdom and marched under the most noble of standards.”

Letter to his mother:

“I am feeling fine, in my element, for I have always thirsted for this kind of thing, to be present always where the pulsations are liveliest. Every minute here is worth weeks of ordinary experience. If I do not come out I will share the good fortune of those who disappear at the pinnacle of their careers!”

G. Casmese, real friend, old soldier of the Legion, got mixed up and disappeared in the quick-acting movements of these chain-lightning times.

Russell A. Kelly, son of a New York stock broker, went through the hard and early fighting and was killed at Givenchy, June 17, 1915. His father, a true descendant of the Isle of Unrest, on hearing the news said,—“He did his duty—I do not complain.”

John Huffert, New York, would not drive a motor car in the rear, so he scrambled out on top. In an aeroplane, he became the hero of several desperate battles above.

John Roxas, Manila, Philippine Islands, son of the largest land owner in the Philippines, having absorbed American freedom, he is carrying it to Germany.

William E. Dugan, 27 years old, Rochester, New York, graduate of Massachusetts Institute of Technology, joined the Legion, Sept. 19, 1914, changed to aviation, October 15, 1915. Decorated with Croix de Guerre, wounded at Verdun.

Kenneth Proctor Littaner, Sergeant in military life, poet in civil life, decorated and cited, as follows:—

“A good pilot, brave, devoted to duty, an excellent soldier, invariably showing energy and coolness, especially on Feb. 8, 1917, in course of an engagement with a German machine, his aeroplane hit in several places, he compelled his adversary to retreat.”

Narutz, an American philosopher, a serious personage, went through the hard fighting of 1915 and was killed on the Somme in July, 1916.

Norman Prince, Boston, Mass., a Harvard man of splendid character, was descending in the early darkness at Corceuix, when his machine ran into a telegraph wire and tipped. Taken to Gerardmer, while lying unconscious, the Legion of Honor was pinned to his breast alongside of the Croix de Guerre and the Medaille Militaire. That day he had brought down a Boche machine, the third he had accounted for. Cited as follows:—

“Prince, Sergeant, Pilot in Squadron V. B. 108:—An American citizen, who enlisted for the duration of the war; excellent military pilot who always shows proof of the greatest audacity and presence of mind;—ever impatient to start, he has executed numerous expeditions of bombardment, particularly successful in a region which was difficult in consequence of the firing of the enemy’s artillery, by which his aeroplane was frequently hit.”

Killed October 15, 1916.

Fred Prince, brother of Norman, is now in the aviation, while the father, Mr. Prince, is one of the best friends of the Foreign Legion boys, and they, like France, do not forget.

Dr. Van Vorst, from the middle west, a Spanish War veteran in America, adjutant in the Foreign Legion. He introduced new sanitary ideas into the camps of repose and kept the stretcher bearers busy cleaning up.

William Thaw, Pittsburgh, Pa., passed the first winter, 1914-15, in the trenches with the Legion, rose in aviation to lieutenant. One of the best liked Americans in France. Cited frequently in General Orders, decorated for bravery, wounded in the arm. Promoted to Major in U. S. Army.

One Citation: “Thaw, pilot, corporal at that time of Squadron C. 42:—Has always given proof of fine qualities, courage and coolness. On two separate occasions, in the course of scouting tours, his machine was violently shelled and was struck by shrapnel, great damage being done. Nevertheless, he continued to observe the enemy’s positions and did not return until he had accomplished the object of his mission.”

Another citation: “Lieutenant Wm. Thaw, an excellent pilot. He returned to the front after receiving a serious wound, and has never failed to set an example of courage and dash. During the German retreat, he showed initiative and intelligence by landing near troops on the march, so as to place them in possession of information. Brought down his second aeroplane, April 26th.”

Braxton Bigelow, grandson of John Bigelow, author, New York City, a mining engineer by profession, followed this occupation in Alaska and South America, was promoted to captain in France and disappeared in a trench raid, July 23, 1917.

Henry Claude, Boston, Mass., one of the Legion grenadiers, was cited in the Orders of the Day and decorated for conspicuous gallantry at Auberieve, June, 1917.

Edward M. Collier, Bass Rocks, Iowa, Aviator, injured in a smash-up June, 1917.

Elliot C. Cowdin, a Harvard man, member of the Foreign Legion, home address Gramercy Park, Manhattan and Cedarhurst, L. I.

First American to receive the Medaille Militaire.

Citation:—“Cowdin, Sergeant, Pilot in Squadron V. B. 108, an American citizen engaged for the duration of the war; executes daily long bombardment expeditions, is an excellent pilot and has several times attacked the enemy’s aeroplanes. He attacked them and forced them successively to descend; one of them appeared to be seriously damaged, as was his own and his motor by the firing from the German avion; his helmet also bore the traces of several shots.”

Snowy Williams has been in different sections of the Foreign Legion, in Serbia, Albania, Egypt, Africa and France. He was gassed, wounded, taken prisoner, almost burned to death in hospital; but made his escape, was decorated with the Croix de Guerre and twice cited in Army orders. A famous jockey, he runs with the Legion rather than with horses, and comes out, in both cases, a winner.

Everett Buckley, Kilbourne, Illinois, a former racing automobile driver, having competed with Barney Oldfield. On Dec. 15, 1917, during a battle with a two sector Boche machine, had his control cut, dropped 8,000 feet and arrived, a prisoner, in Germany. Eight months later made his escape into Switzerland.

M. Paringfield, of San Francisco, a soldier of the Legion, was shot below the knee in an attack, spring of 1917. Killed in autumn, 1917.

Allen Richard Blount, son of Richard Blount, the chemist of North Carolina and Paris, entered the Foreign Legion with his father’s consent, who said he would be satisfied if the boy killed five Boches.

One morning that young man brought thirty German prisoners into the French lines, received the Croix de Guerre, a brilliant citation, and a trip to Paris, and went back again for more.

Edward Charles Genet, Sassening, New York, killed in aeroplane near Ham, is buried at Golancourt in a German cemetery. The machine was smashed, the body placed in a wagon, drawn by one horse, which also carried the wooden cross which marked the grave and the U. S. flag which covered the coffin.

F. W. Zinn, Battle Creek, Michigan, graduate of University of Michigan, passed the first year in the Legion, was hit by a chunk of metal in Champagne attack, September 1915, which did not break the skin, but broke bones and made internal troubles. On recovery, he went into the Aviation. Later he was promoted to Captain in the U. S. Army. As modest as he is brave, decorated for gallantry, having received two citations in two weeks, he said:—“Do not say anything about me, there are too many unknown Frenchmen who deserve publicity more than I.”

Harman Edwin Hall, killed at Givenchy, June 17, 1917.

W. R. Hall, or Bert Hall, one of old Legion, who went into the Aviation, well-known, well-liked, good soldier, decorated with the Croix de Guerre with three citations. On furlough in America June, 1918. Author of “En l’Air.”

James Norman Hall, Corporal, Colfax, Iowa, aviator, author of “Kichinger’s Mob,” shot down two Boche machines, and destroyed a third. Four days later, June 25, 1917, fighting seven machines, was wounded, and reported killed. However, he managed to make the French territory, and landed in an empty trench with the wings of his machine resting on each side.

Writing to a friend, he said:—“I am flying 125 miles an hour and now I see why birds sing.” Hall was the first American aviator to win the distinguished service cross of the American Army.

John Earle Fike, Wooster, Ohio, Foreign Legion, killed at Givenchy, June 17, 1915.

James B. McConnell, 28 years of age, born in Chicago, graduate of Haverford, Pennsylvania, and University of Virginia, a Railroad, Land and Industrial Agent, by profession. Writing for an American magazine, he was killed before the material was printed.

He said:—“The more I saw of the splendidness of the fight the French were making, the more I felt like a slacker.” He was decorated with the Croix de Guerre, and killed March 26, 1917, while fighting two German aviators. His body was found amid the wreckage of the machine by French troops on the advance through the devastated district. The old bullet marked propeller from this wrecked machine, which formerly marked his grave, has now been superseded by two cannon, erected by special order of the U. S. Government.

McConnell said,—”The war may kill me but I have to thank it for much.”

Schuyler Deming, American citizen, soldier of the Legion, killed in attack August, 1917.

Dr. James A. Blake, American Surgeon, who gave his services to France at the outbreak of the war;—was requested by the French Government to take charge of the hospital in the Ave. du Bois du Bologne with 300 beds. He was decorated with the Legion of Honor.

Marius Roche, New York, arrived in France in 1914, only 17 years of age, decorated with the Croix de Guerre, wounded at Verdun.

Edward Mandell Stone, a Harvard graduate, was the first American volunteer killed in France.

N. Frank Clair, Columbus, Ohio, died in hospital of wounds received in action.

Nelson Larson, a former American sailor, was killed on the Somme on our Independence day, July 4, 1916.

Brock B. Bonnell, Brooklyn, New York, soldier of the Legion, seriously wounded, returned home to America, decorated with the Croix de Guerre, the Medaille Militaire and a wooden leg.

Frank Whitmore, Richmond, Va., decorated for conspicuous bravery, on the Somme, July, 1916, wounded in the spring offensive, 1917, now in hospital, covered with bandages, medals and glory.

Edward Morlae, California, an old American ex-soldier. He served in the Philippines with the First California Heavy Artillery, then in the Mexican Civil War, then turned up in France and tried to pass Spanish conversation off for French. He was wounded in October, 1915, decorated with the Croix de Guerre and is now in America. A good soldier and aggressive character, he is one man who will always be remembered by Americans in the Legion.

H. W. Farnsworth, Harvard graduate, Boston, Mass., killed in attack 1915, was a correspondent of the Providence Journal and in Mexico when the war broke out.

From France in his last letter home he wrote,—“If anything happens to me you may be sure that I was on my way to victory for these troops may have been demolished, but never beaten.

He preferred to become a Petit Zephyr de la Legion Etrangere and to sleep, like the birds, under the open sky, surrounded by congenial comrades, exchanging horizons with each season.

J. S. Carstairs, a Harvard graduate, was a member of the Foreign Legion.

Geo. W. Ganson put in the first winter in the trenches with the Foreign Legion. He was a Harvard graduate whose ministerial manner did not prevent the mud from hanging to his clothes, nor the whiskers on his face. He was mustered out and went back to America, but he returned to France in 1917 and went into the artillery service.

Robert Pellissier, a Harvard graduate, became a sergeant in Chasseur Alpins. He was killed on the Somme, August 29, 1916.

Henry Augustus Coit, a Harvard man, died of injuries received at the front, August 7, 1916.

Robert L. Culbert, New York City, was killed in action in Belgium.

Albert N. Depew, an American youth, wears his Veterans of Foreign Wars badge beside his Croix de Guerre. He has been a gunner and chief petty officer in the United States navy, a member of the Foreign Legion, also captain of a gun turret on the French battle ship Cassard. After his honorable discharge from the American navy, he entered French service, was transferred to the Legion, fought on the west front, and participated in the spectacular Gallipoli campaign, was captured on the steamship Georgic by the Moewe, a German commerce raider, and spent months of torture in a German prison camp. He has written a book, “Gunner Depew”; and is at present on a speechmaking tour of America.

Demetire, St. Louis, Mo., soldier of the Legion, killed four Germans,—two with grenades, two with rifle, in an outpost engagement the night previous to the attack of April 17, 1917. Going over the top the following day, he was killed.

Henry Beech Needham, American journalist, was killed near Paris, 1915, while making a trial flight with Lieutenant Warneford, who was the first man to, alone, bring down a Zeppelin machine.

D. Parrish Starr, a Harvard graduate, was killed in action September 15, 1916.

Andrew C. Champollion, New York, an American, painter by profession, Harvard graduate, a big game hunter, went to the front March 1st, 1915. He was a descendant of the Champollion, who deciphered the Rosetta Stone, and grandson of Austin Carbin. His ancestors had followed Napoleon’s Eagles through Italy and Egypt and this boy was killed by a bullet in the forehead at Bois le Pietre, March 23, 1915.

In his last letter he wrote:—”Last night we slept in the second line trenches (not so bad), but today we are nose to nose with the enemy on the frontiest of fronts. It is the damnedest life imaginable. You are no longer treated like an irresponsible ass, but like a man, while you live the life of a beast or a savage.

Guy Augustine, of San Francisco, son of the U. S. Consul to Barcelona, member of the Foreign Legion, was decorated with the Croix de Guerre for bravery at Chalons-Sur-Marne, July 14, 1917.

Sylvain Rosenberg, New York, 23 years of age, son of Max Rosenberg, with the 19th Company of the 251st Regiment, wounded on the Marne, Sept. 7, 1914;—in Argonne, Dec. 8, 1915,—cited in the Orders of the Day,—and killed March 15, 1916, at Verdun.

The Lafayette Escadrille, No. 124, is an offspring of the Legion, formed by Rockwell, Curtis, Thaw, Hall, Back, Chapman, Cowdin and Prince, who kept pounding the Colonel of the Legion on the back, so much that he gave his consent, to get rid of them. It has formed a nucleus of All-Americans that became the start, or foundation, of that immense fleet of aeroplanes that is to furnish the eyes that will find the weak places in the enemy’s line through which the Allies will march to victory. First Americans to carry their national flag into action as a fighting unit, April 11, 1917.

Originally called the Franco-American Escadrille, but the name was changed to satisfy pro-Germans, who claimed to be Americans, but these aviators did not change their emblem. The Red Indian sign is still on the machines. The old boys from the Legion are in the seats, and we hope to see every man an officer, dressed in the uniform of his own country.

About the time the United States entered the war, the Americans of the Legion offered their services to the American Government at home and were not then accepted and the following letter, among others, was sent to the New York Herald by a French lady:—

“Sir:—May I ask through your columns why it is that those few Americans, brave enough to seek voluntarily, while their country was still neutral, the ranks, of our army, have not yet been claimed by their own Government, whose citizens they remain, while all at home are apparently receiving commissions and honor, are these men to remain sergeants and soldiers in the French Army, unrecognized and unhonored by their mother country?

“To me, their part was such a beautiful one, to leave home and luxury and peace for this carnage to follow their ideals, to risk death voluntarily, if it aid their friends.

“Surely, your people cannot understand how deeply the spirit of those boys has touched the hearts of French women in these trying times. And, now that the spirit of your people has risen to their side, are these leaders to be forgotten?

“The two aviators, Genet and Hoskier, who have died since April 3, were in French uniform. Frenchmen respect them; do not Americans?

The Continental edition of the New York Herald is not a mail order catalogue, or a political organ, it is a real newspaper, and the only American journal published in France. It is well printed on good paper. It records the doings of society. Its columns are open to the opinions of others. It publishes the most cutting criticism of its own policy with the greatest of pleasure. It prints every appeal for charity—from humans to cats.

It fought for International Honesty, when leaders and trimmers were silent. When the leaders woke up, it pushed. Its accurate information, often suppressed by the censor, makes every blank space an honor mark. While the editor, like the petite Parisienne, whose demure eyes cannot conceal the lurking mischief within, just writes enough editorially to make the reader wish for more.

Its vigorous American attitude in 1915 and 1916 gave the French people hope. It gave the repatriated American comfort, for it strengthened his convictions. He felt better for knowing that some, at least, of his countrymen had the courage to stand up for the cause he was willing to die for. So, he went forward cheerfully. He knew he was following the right path and he was not alone. The Herald gave him comfort. It sustained him in adversity.