I got off the train from Barcelona in the early morning, sore from sleeping upright in my seat. The sun chased away my stiffness as I walked from the main station in Marseilles. A Gendarme gave me directions, then touched my shoulder. He spoke a little English.
“You"re a respectable young man. The Legion is full of criminals and misfits. Whatever it is that"s wrong, go home and make it right.” I thanked him and moved on.
I strode through the quiet streets, but I was nervous and uncertain about my decision to enlist in the Legion. At the Quai de Belges I headed for the Quai de Rive Neuve and where it became the Boulevard Charles Livon, on the right stood Bas Fort Saint Nicolas, sharing command of the narrows of Vieux Port with Fort Saint Jean on the other side.
At the entrance to the For
