"I knew that before," said I.
"Then you'se sure done gone crazy, to come he-ar, sonny. Wait a bit, white man. I'se going to tell Smith. He's an American. He's all right. So long!"
And in the shambling gait of his race he walked hurriedly away. One of the recruits hailed from Munich. He was in high debate with another Bavarian légionnaire….
"You're from Munich, you fool? There's no beer here!" the old légionnaire yelled. "Why didn't you stay in Munich and stick to the beer, eh? Isn't it bad enough if one Munich fool drinks their sticky old wine? Why, I've almost forgotten how a 'Masskrug' looks, and what the 'Hofbraühaus' is like. It's a sinful shame, it is. Yes, there's no beer here. You'll be surprised, you will!"
I was still laughing at the two légionnaires from the city of beer and "Steins" when an old soldier started talking to me very softly.
"Won't you give me your suit of clothes? You must sell it, you know, and you will not get more than a few sous for it."
I looked at the man. "Why do you want my clothes?" I asked him.
"To get away! I must get out of this! My God, if I had civilian clothes, I might get through. I'd run away at once and I am pretty sure I could manage to sneak out of Algeria. You'll give me your suit, won't you? This is about my only chance. I'll never have enough money to buy a suit. Is it all right? As soon as you are uniformed, I'll come for the suit. I can easily find out in what company they are going to put you."
Again the man looked at me with scared, pleading eyes, anxiously waiting. He was evidently in deadly earnest. I was deeply impressed. He meant to desert, of course. I had read enough about the Foreign Legion to know that desertion from that corps was a desperate and perilous undertaking. This poor devil was determined to risk it and—I could help him. It occurred to me that, in a very short time, I might feel very much as he felt now. Certainly he should have my clothes….
"You can have them and welcome."