Escaped Four Times from Foreign Legion!

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 780, 28 September 1929, Page 20

Escaped Four Times from Foreign Legion!

Cornelius Norton, Englishman Who Served in Morocco and V do-China for a Half-Penny , )ay... Red Trail of Terror j or Burning Sands . . . iumphant Swim For / Liberty . . .

vwvn ATER!—for God's sake give me some water:” irWb&lMr- 1 “Non, mou ami.” said ■ the sergeant to whom I had spoken. "It is not

I licked my blackened lfps and shot a despairing glance round the prison courtyard. There was not an inch of shade to protect me from the cruel tropical heat of the sun. From early morning until nightfall I was condemned to remain in this cursed place. For fifteen whole days it was to be my home. The punishment, I knew, was light—this was my first offence. 1 had committed the heinous crime of attempting to escape from the Foreign Legion (writes Lornelius Norton in “Titbits”). On my back was strapped a haversack filled with sand. In addition, it contained two sharp-pointed stones, which, with every step I took, dug deeply into my bleeding shoulderblades. My socks and boot laces had been taken from mo, so that my feet were rubbed and chafed by the coarse leather inside my boots. Not once was I allowed to sit down to rest my tired and aching limbs. Away over in the corner of the prison yard a fountain of running water twinkled invitingly in the blazing sunshine. But it was not for the prisoners. A sergeant with loaded rifle stood by. Why I Enlisted Such was my first real taste of the Iron discipline of the Legion! I don't know exactly what it was that induced me to join the Foreign Legion. The shipping strike of 1921 probably had more to do with it than anything else. I was at - Dunkirk, working as a “greaser” on a French vessel called the St. Louis, when the trouble started. Things looked black and I could ill afford to be out of a job. Then I heard that recruits were wanted for the Legion. There was fighting to be done. I decided to take my chance, boarded the next train for Paris, and within twenty-four hours ■was enrolled as a legionnaire. The following day 1 was sent to Marseilles with about twenty other recruits. How eagerly we looked forward to our new adventure! How we louged to start our life under the burning desert skies! It was not long before we were disillusioned. After a fortnight we reached a place called Sidi-Bel Abbes, where we ‘were to be stationed for a time. I remember waiting on the evening of my arrival for supper. X was famished after the Journey. “Hey!” said a voice at my elbow. “What are ye waiting for?” "Supper.” I replied. "I’m hungry.” "If ye wait all night, *e’U get nothing to eat. Still, hang on a'bit—l’ll see what X can do.” Marching in Chains My newly-found friend disappeared. In a short while he was back again with two melons, a loaf, some wine, - and a packet of cigarettes. I thanked him for his kindness, and settled down to eat. Long afterward I discovered that he and some of his friends had subscribed for the food I was devouring. I learned he was a Scotsman who had been a professional loot bailer, and had played several times for his country. But he had rfallenson evil days and had joined the Legion. Reveille sounded at four-thirty the next morning. There was no water to wash or shave, but I got used to that In time. We were handed a pannikin of some dark liquid labelled “coffee.” There was nothing to eat. The recruits were paraded before a Sergeant whose chief qualification Boomed to be his ability to shout. He stormed at us. He raved. He called us criminals, scum, animals. The Legion, he said, would make men cf Us— if such a thing were possible. For five hours without a break we toiled at various jobs. Some carried stones, others were on pick and shovel work. At ten o’clock there was a break for dinner—dried meat, vegetables served in the water in which they had been cooked, and a small cup of wine. Some days later, when I was strolling through the kitchen, I happened to notice the sacks of dried vegetables ns they stood propped against the wall. The beans were black and as hard as bullets. It was not to be wondered at. Stamped on each sack were the words, "Warehoused in 1S40!” After dinner there was more work until one o’clock. Occasionally this was varied by drill or target practice. We always continued until dark. Supper followed. Usually we were Served out with what was left from dinner. The rest of the day we had to ourselves. As new recruits we received a halfpenny a day. We were told not to be discouraged, as later this would be raised to a penny!

One day, as I was strolling round the encampment after dark, I turned to my Scottish friend. "Jock,” I said, "it’s time we got out of this.”

"I’m with you,” was the reply. “It’s killing me.” Then and there we made our plans. We decided to slip away overnight and make for Spanish Morocco. We had no map or compass, and would have to trust to Providence and the stars.

We escaped from the encampment without being noticed. Setting out at a brisk pace, we headed for what we took to be Spanish territory. Poor misguided creatures, little did we know we were walking round in circles! The following day we were pursued by Arabs, who were only too anxious to obtain the four shillings reward that is offered for the return of every deserter from the Legion. We were eventually handed over to gendarmes, who chained U 3 by the hands, and on our return to headquarters I was sentenced to fifteen days. A Dash for the Sea

I did not get another opportunity to escape for several months. We were often in skirmishes with the Arabs, who kept up a continual guerrilla warfare against us. Sometimes one man would attack us single-handed, sometimes five or six thousand. Our provisions were brought to us by friendly Arabs, who were well paid for their trouble.

But as each day passed, so I became more determined to escape from the Legion. The poor food and (he tyranny of the N.C.O.'s filled me with a hatred T had never known before. I decided to make my next attempt alone, so, slipping out of the encampment one night with nothing but a a small packet of food in my pocket, I struck out for the railway, where I hoped to pick up a coastal train. It was a long walk, but luck was with me. When I reached the permanent way, a freight train was moving slowly in the direction of Oran. It was the work of a few soconds to climb on to one of the wagons and conceal myself under a tarpaulin. My luck held, and I reached Oran in safety.

Once at the seaport, I made straight for the harbour, where I hoped to smuggle aboard a ship bound for England. I was not disappointed. The first thing to meet my gaze was a steamer flying the British flag, and I jumped aboard her like an excited schoolboy. I decided it was no use attempting to conceal myself; I would go straight to the captain and ask him to hide me until my danger was passed. I walked boldly to the cabin door and knocked. "Come.in!” cried a voice, and I went in.

In a few words I explained my position to the captain. He listened with an air of sympathy, and after deliberating for a short while told me I could stay on board. “Lie doggo.” he added, "till we’re out of port. You’re not a free man yet.” At that moment there was a loud knock on the door. Two gendarmes entered.

“Ah, Mr. Norton,” said one. “I believe you have forgotten that you are on leave without permission.” Through the Cut-Throats’ Country So near and yet so far! I looked desperately round for some way of escape. It was no good. Besides, they were two to one, and armed in the bargain. I turned to the gendarme who had spoken. "I thank you. m’sieur, for the reminder.” I said. "Let us return at once.” I bowed stiffly to the captain of the ship and walked quickly from the cabin. But I had a job to hold back the tears! Outside in the corridor stood my betrayer—a wizened Maltese orange seller, who was grinning in anticipation of the twenty-five francs that would soon be his.

For this, my second attempt at escaping, I was sentenced to ninety days’ imprisonment. I stuck it as manfully as I could, but it was a long time before I got over the bitter disappointment of my capture. When I came out, I told my Scottish friend—we were inseparable by this time —that I should make no further attempts at escaping because my time in the Legion was nearly through. "Don’t you believe it,” he said. “You will have to sigu on for another term of service. If you don’t, they’ll frame

up a false charge against you and put you in clink again until you do. There’s only two ways of getting out of the Legion—suicide or deserting!” My friend was right. I signed for another period of service, determined to escape at the first opportunity. Some of the fellows preferred the other way out. Suicides were frequent. In order to lessen my chance of recapture I decided that I would follow an entirely new route. My way lay through a country peopled" by rebels, desperadoes, and the worst type of cut-throats.

Once more I escaped under cover of darkness. But I was doomed to failure! After tramping seventy miles, I was surrounded and captured by native police. They tied me with my hands behind me to the saddle of a mule, so that I was forced to ruD sideways like a crab, or be dragged. This continued from four in the morning until six at night, with occasional stoppages for meals. I was allowed nothing to eat and drink. In addition, I had to put up with insults and gibes. The Death-Knell of Hope

At night I was tied up and left in the rain and cold until nine o’clock the next morning. I was then unbound an,d a plate of food set before me. But every time I stretched forward my hand, I was prodded in the small of the back with a bayonet.

I was more dead than alive when I reached the encampment. Of course, there was the usual ninety days’ punishment to follow. When I was released. I received some news which seemed to sound the death-knell to all my hopes, of freeing myself from the clutches of the Legion. I was to be transferred to Indo-China. As in a dream, I left the scenes of my old adventures, and found myself in a country from which there seemed no hope of escape.

And then twenty men succeeded in escaping! They had to march over 2,G00 miles of unknown territory to the sea. Thanks to the help of the friendly Chinese, most of them reached their goal. The news of this success acted like a tonic to me. What others had done, I could repeat. But once again Fate stepped in. I was called before the’ commandant. "Norton,” he said, “you are to return to Morocco. Be ready for an early start.” The following a contingent of us was sent to Haipong, where we embarked on a steamer for Sidi-Bel-Abbes. At Colombo I decided I would make a desperate dash for liberty along the quay. But the guards were wary. They had divined my intention.

At half-past four in the morning the ship weighed anchor, and we steamed slowly from Colombo. When we were about a mile from land, I saw my chance. For a few seconds the guards had relaxed their vigilance. I cleared the rails in a single leap, and fell with a loud splash into the sea. There were shouts and cries. A shot rang out, but I paid little attention. I freed myself from my greatcoat and struck’out for the harbour, which was just visible through The morning mist. Suddenly I heard two loud splashes. Was I being followed? Freedom at Last "Stick to it, comrade," cried a thick, guttural voice. “We are with you!” ' Others had followed my example! With steady, powerful strokes, we slowly lessened the distance between ourselves and the land. Every now and again I would turn to watch the steamer, now but a tiny speck on the horizon, to give some word of encouragement to the two Legionnaires—both Germans —who were following. Suddenly the air was rent by an awful scream. “The sharks have got me!” I shall never forget the look on poor Schmidt’s face as he disappeared beneath the waves. An awful sense of helplessness swept over me. I was powerless to lend him a hand. He, at least, would never have to endure the horrors of the Legion again. After that I wasted no more breath. Neither did’ I stop to look back. Gradually the harbour drew nearer and nearer. The early morning sun shining on the housetops seemed to welcome me on. At length my feet touched something hard. I stumbled forward and found I could walk. I had won!