Copyright 1918 by John Lane Company

FOREWORD

The scenes of this story belong to bygonedays. As the passer-by views the uglyhalf-constructed railway terminus whichnow sprawls itself over the original site of that historicgroup of Police buildings, known as the “Post,”little does he appreciate the pangs of real regretwhich stir the hearts of old members of the Force,as they recall associations of earlier years.

Scattered now beyond the writer’s ken are thosegood fellows with whom he served in years gone by.They were men of a type fast disappearing, withwhom any one would have been proud to associateand call “comrades.” No longer do those once orderlygrounds resound with the clear notes of thetrumpet-call, the neighing of troop-horses, or theharsh-barked word of command. Gone is the oldGuardroom at the gates of the main entrance. Thespot where the O.C.’s house lay half hidden amidstits clustering shrubbery and trim, well-kept lawn andkitchen garden, is now but a drab area of railwaytracks. Missing is the towering flag staff, fromwhose top-gaff, visible for miles around, there flewfrom “Reveille” to “Retreat” the brave emblemof our Empire.

But today, while these lines are being penned,many members and ex-members of the old Force arestill sternly serving that flag; gaining well-deservedmilitary honors, shedding their blood, and layingdown their lives in the great and terrible struggle forsupremacy between Human Liberty, and Iron Oppressionthat overshadows the world.

Aye! ... small wonder that the sight of the oldspot awakens strange memories in those of us whowere stationed there in our youth. Members of aforce of comparatively small numbers, it is true, butwith a reputation for efficiency, discipline, and sternadherence to duty which has rarely been equaled, andis too widely known to need any further eulogy inthis story.

—R. S. K.

PART I