=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. CHAPTER VI ENGLISHMEN AND RUSSIANS LEAVE About 350 Englishmen were with the Americans in the same Battalion of the 2nd Legion. They had enlisted when the Huns were advancing on Paris. Common peril drew the bravest of all countries to the front. Possibly, they were promised later transfer to the English Army; but, once in the Legion, they were as nuns in a convent, to do as told, dead to the outside world. An American writer has said, “England’s greatest assets are patriotism and money.” He overlooked the foundation of both—MEN, the Englishman who dares to do and does it. He knows his rights, and insists on them. After the Germans were driven back at the Marne and trench conditions established, these men demanded to be sent home to fight for their native land. They went to the Captain, who could not help. They went to the Colonel, who would not. They had the British Ambassador request their release from the French War Department, with no better results. Ere they were transferred, the subject was brought up in the Chamber of Deputies. Just before they left, a number went to the company captain with their breakfasts, cups of black coffee, in their hands. “What is this, mon capitaine?” “Your little breakfasts, mes enfants.” “This would not keep a chipping sparrow alive—let alone a man.” “You received a half loaf of bread yesterday.” “Yes, but we ate that yesterday.” “Well, I am sorry. That is the regular rations of the French Army. I cannot change it.” Walking away, disgruntled, a cockney muttered to his comrade,—“’E thinks we are blooming canaries!” The bull-dog tactics of the persistent English did not appeal to the officers of the Legion. Probably the last to go were Poole and Darcy, two powerful silent fellows, who were in hospital, delayed by unhealed wounds.