Memoirs of the Foreign Legion by Maurice Magnus

QUITE unexpectedly one afternoon the General arrived. The troops had marched to the _champ de tir_, the guard at the gate was asleep, the guards inside the guard-house were telling smutty stories, when the toot-toot of the entering automobile brought them to their senses. Great consternation and confusion; but it was too late--the General had come in without receiving as much as a salute. Where was the music, the bugle, the "Marseillaise" that should have been played? He poured out his ire on the poor one-legged Colonel, and he in turn gave every one his due or rather what was not due. Who knew the General was coming? No one. If he had announced his visit, no such message arrived, and the Legion isn't lying in wait every day for a General.

When we returned from the shooting field we heard the news, and also that the next day we were to be reviewed by the General on the field at the further end of the town beyond the railway station. We had to look very spick and span, and we did.