Memoirs of the Foreign Legion by Maurice Magnus

At five o'clock next morning the bugle blew the _réveil_. At 5.30 all the soldiers, equipped with their kit, assembled in the courtyard for _rassemblement_. Although I was not yet in uniform I had to go down and stand in line with the other members of the squad just as if I were going to march out with them for the exercises. I felt like a fish out of water. A tall good-looking officer, obviously a gentleman, came up to me and asked me in English what I was doing here. I was beginning to get a bit tired of the repetition of the same story. Was it really so extraordinary that a fairly decent person should enlist in the Legion? It was--only I did not know it then. He was very tactful and nice, and after he had learned the main facts he returned to the group of officers, who were holding an inspection of the troops before marching out, and communicated to them the things he had just heard. I was told later that he was a Greek from Patras whose mother was English.

A fair-haired young Jewish lieutenant, of almost miniature size, then came up to me and asked me in French if I happened to know his brother, who was a lawyer in New York, and had something to do with the Red Cross Association of the Allies in America. I did not. He was very cold and brief and haughty, and showed no interest whatever.