Seldom are we lucky enough to meet in real life a character so strong
and vivid, so full of subtle characteristics, that his appearance in a
novel would make the author's name. Such a character was Hawk.

When you consider, you find that many an author of note has made a
lasting reputation by evolving some such character; and in most cases
this character has been "founded on fact." For example, Stevenson's
"Long John Silver," Kipling's "Kim," and Rider Haggard's "Alan
Quatermain."

Had Kipling met Hawk he would have worked him into a book of Indian
soldier life; for Hawk was full of jungle adventures and stories of
the Indian Survey Department and the Khyber Pass; while his
descriptions of Kashmir and Secunderabad, with its fakirs and
jugglers, monkey temples and sacred bulls, were superb.

On the other hand, Haggard would have placed him "somewhere in
Africa," a strong, hard man trekking across the African veldt he knew
so well; for Hawk had been in the Boer War.

Little did I realise when I met him on the barrack-square at Limerick
how fate would throw us together upon the scorching sands and rocky
ridges of Gallipoli, nor could either of us foresee the hairbreadth
escapes and queer corners in which we found ourselves at Suvla Bay and
on the Serbian frontier.

I spotted him in the crowd as the only man on parade with a strong,
clear-cut face. I noted his drooping moustache, and especially his
keen grey eyes, which glittered and looked through and through.