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.

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 BrazzarvilleBrazzarville.

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.