to retrace our steps. For many months prior to the time mentioned, the
relations between the United States and Spain had been greatly strained
because of the troublesome Cuban situation. President McKinley had
entered a serious protest to the King of Spain, and told him that it
was important for our peace that the Cubans should be pacified. But
they were not pacified, and things went on from bad to worse until they
came to a startling and dramatic climax on the fifteenth of February,
1898, when the cruiser _Maine_ was blown up in the harbor of Havana and
a number of Americans were killed.
A wave of indignation swept the country from Maine to California. A
chorus went up from all classes in favor of demanding satisfaction
from Spain—for, in the popular mind, Spain was responsible for the
outrage. The cry everywhere was “Remember the _Maine_!” Prior to that
time the Spanish Minister had been recalled from Washington because
of an indiscretion, and now our Minister at Madrid, General Woodford,
was handed his passports, and on April 22, President McKinley issued a
proclamation saying that a state of war existed between this nation and
Spain.
That is history and is known to all. What followed is likewise history,
but it is by no means so well known. The first act of the State
Department was to inform all of the members of the staff of the Spanish
Embassy—in polite language, of course—that their room was preferable to
their company. This seemed like a matter of form that did not deserve
much thought. And the State Department, having served the required
notice, promptly forgot it. But there was one bureau of the United
States Government where it was kept in mind, and that was the Secret
Service Division.
[Illustration: JOHN E. WILKIE]
John E. Wilkie was then the Chief of that most important branch of the
Treasury Department, and he had been voted a modest sum by Congress for
the purpose of keeping the country free from spies. Heretofore his work
had been to keep the nation free from counterfeiters. In both cases he
was dealing with crafty and elusive enemies. He proceeded to build up a
war organization and he posted his best men in the large cities of this
country and Canada. In his office he had a large map of the United
States, and by the use of steel pins he could tell at a glance just
where his operatives were located. Thus he had men acting as the eyes
and the ears of the Government in the cities of Montreal, Toronto, New
York, Philadelphia, Washington, Newport News, Savannah, Jacksonville,
Tampa, Key West, Mobile, New Orleans, Galveston and San Francisco.
Now, when the members of the staff of the Spanish Embassy were told
to get out of the country Wilkie determined to make it his business
to see that they did get out. To make sure, he furnished them with
an escort—an invisible escort—in the person of the operatives of the
Secret Service Division. He suspected that some of them would be so
interested in the game of war that they might be tempted to remain on
this side of the ocean and take part in the game. And his suspicions
were perfectly correct. For instance, Ramon Carranza, who had been
Naval Attaché at Washington, found it convenient to linger in the city
of Toronto. That would have been perfectly proper if he had not been
found talking to a person who was far from proper.
And this is where this story really begins—with the episode of the
man who asked for a light in the semi-darkened corridor of a Toronto
hotel. The operative who had been sent to the Canadian city by Chief
Wilkie happened to stop at the same hotel as the former Attaché of the
Spanish Embassy. By a curious coincidence he happened to get a room
directly adjoining the one occupied by Señor Carranza. And, moreover,
he happened to see every one that came in or out of that room. Also,
he overheard some of the conversation that went on in the apartment.
Thus on the afternoon with which we are concerned he saw a man with
a hang-dog look go into the room, and from time to time he caught
fragments of conversation. One of the things he heard the Visitor say
was “so I will write to the address you have given me in Montreal.”
There was some further talk, which could only be heard indistinctly,
but the listener managed to discover that the man who was doing the
talking had a surprising knowledge of the conditions at the Brooklyn
Navy Yard. Presently the conversation came to an end and the visitor
left the room. The listener left his room at the same moment, and he
came into contact with the other man in the hallway. As they gained the
head of the stairway he turned to the strange talker in the most casual
manner and said:
“I beg your pardon, but will you kindly favor me with a light for my
cigarette?”
The mysterious stranger halted and courteously complied with the
request. And in those few seconds in that dim hallway, by the light
of the burning match, the Secret Service operative obtained what he
most desired—a view of the other man’s face. In that brief period of
time the characteristics of the suspect were indelibly stamped upon
his memory. The two men parted. The one who had been closeted with the
former Naval Attaché of the Spanish Embassy went out into the street
and proceeded to a remote part of the city. He went to an obscure
hotel and registered and was given a room. The operative of the
Secret Service followed him and at the first convenient opportunity he
scrutinized the hotel register. The name he found inscribed thereon was
“Alexander Cree.” His theory was that it was an assumed name. At all
events he shadowed his man. He watched his every movement, and soon
afterwards he sent a code telegram to John E. Wilkie, the Chief of the
Secret Service at Washington.
The scene now shifts to the National Capital. Mr. Wilkie was still in
his office occupied with the duties which pressed heavily upon a man in
charge of an important department, and whose force was scarcely large
enough for the work they were called upon to do day by day at a most
critical stage in the history of the nation. Shortly before midnight
the telegram came from Toronto. It was given to the code man of the
office and in a short time he had transcribed it. In plain English it
read as follows:
“Young Southerner, Alexander Cree, of Hillsboro, I think, leaves for
Washington to-night. My height and build, small, dark moustache, black
soft felt hat, black sack coat, black sailor tie, somewhat shabby,
evidently served on _Brooklyn_, has intimate knowledge of Naval
matters. Just had long interview with Naval Attaché. He is to write to
Montreal.”
This was news with a vengeance. There was great activity about the
offices of the Secret Service Division that night. Several of the best
men who were in the city were quickly summoned and given a description
of the man who was expected from Canada. It was almost midnight when
Chief Wilkie left for his home, but when he quit the Department to
get a few hours’ sleep it was with the knowledge that he had made
arrangements for giving Mr. Cree a hospitable reception upon his
arrival in Washington.
That night every railroad station leading into the Capital was closely
guarded by Secret Service men. They carefully scrutinized every
passenger who alighted, paying special attention to those who were
likely to have come from Canada. It was a big job, but it was performed
with thoroughness. Many a passenger that night must have been annoyed
at the manner in which he was watched by the alert representatives of
the United States Government. But, if they felt any annoyance, they
must have realized that they were living in war times and must expect
all sorts of queer things. Finally, “Mr. Alexander Cree” arrived,
and it is significant of the efficiency of the system that he was
immediately spotted by the waiting detectives. The description sent by
the operative at Toronto had served them well. They recognized him as
easily as if they were in possession of his photograph.
From that moment there was a Secret Service man watching him. When one
man was tired another quickly took his place, and, as a consequence,
there was not a thing he did, and scarcely a thing he said, that was
not known to Chief Wilkie a few hours afterwards. His first move was
to get something to eat, which was an entirely natural and by no means
an unpatriotic act. But after that he went to the Navy Department,
and apparently wandered about in an aimless manner. But, as a matter
of fact, he had a purpose in visiting that place. Just whether some
one in the Department was acting in collusion with him was not clearly
established. Finally he went to his lodgings on E Street. He occupied
a second-story room, and as soon as he reached it he made a light and
settled down to work before a desk which could be seen from the street.
Evidently a quantity of mail had accumulated during his absence in the
Dominion, because he was occupied for some time in opening and reading
letters. For hours he remained there silhouetted against the window
shade while the Secret Service men on the opposite side of the street
observed every move he made.
Thus, while Washington slept, an enemy of the Republic and its
defenders engaged in a game that was to have the greatest bearing upon
the conduct of the war. It is difficult to decide which was the most
amazing, the daring and impudence of the conspirator in thus working
under the very dome of the Capitol, or the pertinacity and bull-dog
determination of the Secret Service operatives in keeping this man
under their constant supervision. It began to look as if he would never
go to bed. But presently there was a movement in the room and in a
few minutes the dark-complexioned man in the soft hat came out of the
house and walked across the street in the direction of a letter box.
He opened the lid and slid a long envelope into the aperture. Then he
turned and went back to his lodgings. In a little while the light was
extinguished and then “Alexander Cree” retired to sleep the sleep—if
not of the just at least of the industrious man.
But the Secret Service operatives did not go to sleep. They were more
alert than ever. One man kept guard over the lodgings of the suspect
and the other remained by the side of the letter box. At daylight he
got into communication with Chief Wilkie, and as a consequence of his
report an arrangement was made with the Postmaster of Washington by
which that particular letter box was opened, and the particular missive
dropped into the box by the man from Toronto turned over to Chief
Wilkie. A short time later a “council of war” was held in the office
of the Chief of the Secret Service. The object of interest was the
suspected letter. It was in an ordinary white, oblong envelope, and
it was addressed to F. W. Dicken, 1248 Dorchester Street, Montreal,
Canada. The address instantly called to mind the report of the
operative in Toronto. He had heard the mysterious stranger say to the
Naval Attaché “so I am to write to the address you have given me in
Montreal.” It was evident that they were “getting warm” as the children
say in their games. But when the letter was opened all need for
conjecture was past. The amazing communication read as follows:
“A cipher message has been sent from the Navy Department to San
Francisco directing the Cruiser _Charleston_ to proceed to Manila
with 500 men and machinery for repairs to Dewey. A long cipher has
been received from Dewey at Department at 3.30 o’clock. They are
translating it now. Cannot find it out yet. Have heard important news
respecting movements of colliers and cruisers. _Newark_ at Norfolk
Navy Yard; also about the new Holland boat, as to what they intend to
do with her and her destination, I shall go to Norfolk soon to find
important news. My address will be Norfolk House, Norfolk, Virginia,
but shall not go until Tuesday.”
This was signed “G. D.” and was marked “in haste.” The first move
of Chief Wilkie was to make sure that the man was guarded. His
investigations proved that there was no possibility of “G. D.” escaping
from Washington. Then he got into communication with the Secretary of
War and the Secretary of the Navy and informed them of the information
that had been intercepted. The immediate effect of this was to tighten
the discipline in each of these Departments. All unauthorized persons
were to be kept out of the building and a strict watch was kept upon
all of the employees. The inference was that some one in the Navy
Department had been co-operating with “G. D.” and that this person had
supplied him with information upon his return from Canada.
The question of taking the spy into custody was next considered. It
was decided that this should be done at once. As it was a matter that
technically came under the military power of the Government, Chief
Wilkie made application to the War Department, and as a result of this
Captain Saye of the Eighth Artillery, with a corporal and one other
man, was ordered to report to him for duty. Thus fortified, the head
of the Secret Service Division started for the apartment on E Street.
The little procession going from the Treasury Department attracted very
little attention, and the passers-by did not realize what was going on.
But all of those in the little group understood the importance of their
mission so far as the Government was concerned.
It was eleven o’clock at night and when they arrived at the house
occupied by “G. D.” they discovered a light burning in the second-story
room. It was evident that the spy was continuing his habits of
industry. The Chief gained admission without any difficulty, and,
followed by the others, made for the upper room. The supposed Alexander
Cree was sitting at his desk engaged in writing. He seemed surprised at
the intrusion, but received his callers politely. Evidently his calling
had accustomed him to visits at all hours of the day and night.
“Well, gentlemen,” he said, “what can I do for you?”
“To start with,” said the spokesman of the invading party, “we would
like to have the letter you are writing and all of the documents you
have in that desk.”
For the first time he showed surprise. He smiled faintly and then
rejoined:
“Perhaps you will let me know the cause of this unexpected visit.”
“Certainly. We have come to arrest you as a spy!”
Cree turned very white. He steadied himself by resting against the side
of a bureau. It was some moments before he was able to speak, and then
moistening his lips with the tip of his tongue he murmured:
“Who are you, and what authority have you got for talking in this
manner?”
“It’s no use, young man,” was the quick retort, “we have the goods on
you, and if you have any doubt about it we can show you the letter
which you mailed to Montreal and which has been intercepted by the
United States Government.”
The spy looked at the speaker helplessly. His white face contrasted
sharply with his black moustache. For a moment he swayed uncertainly,
and fell to the floor in a heap. He was a most abject spectacle, and it
was necessary to carry him out of the room. That night he spent in a
cell, facing a charge of treason against the Government, and wondering
what his fate would be.
A mass of compromising letters and papers were found in the room. From
some of these it was proven that “G. D.” was a naturalized citizen
and a former yeoman on the cruiser _Brooklyn_. What had prompted him
to turn against his own country? Could it have been some grievance,
real or fancied? Was it Spanish gold? Chief Wilkie discovered many
interesting things among the papers that were found in the room on E
Street. Among them was a slip of paper which contained what is known
as Slater’s Code. It said: “To send add 100; to receive subtract 100.”
This was the key to the cipher which he was to employ in sending
messages to his employers. The cipher contained thousands of ordinary
words arranged alphabetically and having fixed consecutive numbers
of five figures each. Why he had not employed it in the compromising
communication to Montreal was never known. Possibly over-confidence had
made him careless for the moment.
In the meantime Chief Wilkie had his organization working overtime.
The United States map in his office containing the little steel pins
to indicate the position of his men in different parts of the United
States and Canada was consulted repeatedly during the next twenty-four
hours. Telegrams in code were sent in all directions. As the result
another spy was captured in Tampa, Florida. By one of the curious
freaks of fate this man was critically ill when he was taken into
custody and died shortly afterwards. But the greatest activity was in
Canada. It was learned that the Dorchester Street house had only been
leased a few days before, and that it was intended as the rendezvous
of the Spanish spies in Canada. It was clear that a private detective
agency had been organized in Canada for the purpose of obtaining
information concerning the movements of the American troops.
Another amazing thing that was discovered in connection with this spy
system related to the manner in which these men were to work. They were
to join the United States army and to go with the army of invasion into
Cuba, Porto Rico and the Philippines. When the opportunity offered they
were to permit themselves to be captured by the Spanish soldiers. After
furnishing all of the information possible to the enemy they were to
return to the American lines and continue their system of espionage.
All of this was worked out with the greatest attention to detail. Each
one of the spies was supplied with a plain gold or silver ring. On this
was engraved the words “Confienza Augustine.” That was to be their
means of identification to the Spanish Generals. Needless to say, the
discovery of the plot nipped that scheme in the bud, and rendered it
useless for the remainder of the war.
But what Chief Wilkie and his associates desired more than anything
else was some evidence to directly connect the members of the late
Spanish Embassy with the operations of “G. D.” and the plot in Canada.
It came sooner than was expected. One of the Secret Service operatives
who investigated the Dorchester Street house found some letters which
established this connection. One of them was a communication from Ramon
Carranza to Señor Don Jose Gomez Ymas. It was short and sweet. It said:
“We have had bad luck for they have captured two of our best spies—one
in Washington and the other in Tampa.”
This made it appear that the former Naval Attaché was quite as
indiscreet as the supposed Alexander Cree. At all events, the evidence
in the case was furnished to Lord Pauncefoote, the English Ambassador
to Washington, and, upon his representations, the Canadian authorities
made it their business to deport the entire Spanish outfit.
Two days later the Chief of the Secret Service Division went to the
jail at the National Capital for the purpose of interviewing the man
who had permitted himself to be made a dupe of the Spanish Government.
When the door of the cell was opened a dreadful sight met his eyes:
“G. D.,” the chief spy of the Spanish-American war, had hanged
himself—a dramatic and horrible climax to one of the most interesting
incidents in American history.
XIX
CARL LODY AND SPIES OF THE WORLD’S GREATEST WAR
The world’s greatest armed conflict which began with Austria’s
declaration of war against Servia on July 28, 1914, and which has since
involved most of the important nations of the earth, has produced
hundreds, nay, thousands of spies, but the very secrecy which is
so necessary to their work has prevented many of them from looming
conspicuously in the public eye.
The grim old Tower of London could tell many a sensational tale if its
stone walls had the power of speech. At an early period of the war it
was estimated that at least a dozen spies had been executed in the
Tower.
That being the case, how many spies were shot without the formality of
being brought to the capital for trial? How many were executed after
hurried “drum-head” court martials? It is safe to say that hundreds
perished and that most of them will go down into history unnamed and
unknown, unhonored and unsung.
Every one of the nations at war has utilized spies of one class or
another. They were captured within the lines disguised as women, as
war correspondents—even as priests. In the very heart of the city of
London they were caught masquerading as waiters, as cab drivers, and
even as clerks in establishments, both manufacturing and dispensing
munitions of war.
Now and then there were glimpses of these war tragedies which for
reasons of expediency are destined never to see the light of day. In
spite of the censors there were fragments of stories teeming with red
blood and human interest, even if not of historic importance.
The censorship on war news was strict, but it did not begin to compare
with that applied to everything connected with the apprehension, trial
and execution of spies. As a rule, there was no mention at all of these
tragic affairs, although earlier in the war readers of the London
newspapers might have found in the corner of an inside column two or
three lines merely announcing that another foreign spy had met his
doom. Who can describe the pathos and tragedy lurking behind those few
words of cold type?
One day a squad of soldiers escorted a prisoner into the grim gates of
the Tower. He had been caught making tracings of a barracks somewhere,
and he was going to suffer the penalty of espionage—which is death. It
is true that he was assured of a trial that day, but he saw inscribed
over the entrance to the Tower, “Abandon hope, all ye who enter here.”
One could see the ashy look on the poor devil’s face as he went through
the Traitors’ Gate, and one could imagine all of the details of the
impending business after he should be escorted into the Lower Green,
where all of the official executions take place.
Women spies were numerous in this war, and as a rule they were more
successful at this business than the men. One of them had herself
banished as a suspicious character from the German border. This was
done in order to deceive the English more easily. At one of the
barracks outside of London she soon won a host of admirers among the
younger officers. It happened that Kitchener was due about this time on
a visit of inspection and the woman determined to exercise her wiles
on him. Did she succeed? Let the man who tells the story answer that
question.
“One glance at the gaunt figure, rugged face and piercing eyes of the
man who had avenged Chinese Gordon robbed her of her assurance. She
realized that this man, instead of being a puppet, would be a master.
She fled for her life and was never seen again.”
Some time after that Felice Schmidt made her appearance at Marseilles
in the rôle of an apple seller. She was in that neighborhood for many
days and evidently was acquainting herself with the fortifications with
a view to informing the Germans of the conditions existing there. She
was young and beautiful and spoke French with a fluency that deceived
the soldiers and the natives of the town. The French soldiers, with
characteristic gallantry, treated her with much consideration. But one
day she was found in a secluded spot making a sketch of one of the big
guns. This led to an investigation. Incriminating papers were found in
her possession. She was tried by the council of war of the Fifteenth
Legion, convicted of espionage and put to death at the Lighthouse
shooting range.