_War. I re-enter the German service and am appointed aide to
Captain von Papen. The German conception of neutrality and how
to make use of it. The plot against the Welland Canal._
The meaning of Kueck’s telegram was plain. War had come at last, the war
that we had expected and prepared for during so many years. My country
was at war and I must leave whatever I was doing and return to its
service.
I went to Raul Madero with the telegram.
“It has come,” I said. “War. I shall have to go.”
We had spoken together too often, during the past few weeks, of my duty
in the event of hostilities, for any long discussion to be necessary now.
I asked for and received all that I believed to be necessary—a leave of
absence for six months with the privilege of extension. The next day,
August 3, 1914, I said good-bye to my troops and to my commander and
hastened north to El Paso.
At the Hotel el Paso del Norte, I met my former enemies, Kueck and his
stout secretary. We had dinner together and he gave me letters containing
instructions to proceed to New York and to place myself at the disposal
of Captain Franz von Papen, the German military attaché at Washington.
“When will Captain von Papen be in New York?” I asked.
“I have just received a communication from Papen,” replied Kueck, adding
with a gratified smile, “I am keeping him informed of conditions along
the border. He will be in New York two weeks from to-day.”
There was no necessity for haste then, and I remained in El Paso for five
days longer, keeping my eyes and ears open and learning, among other
things, more “facts” about Mexico than I could have acquired in Mexico
itself in a life time. “There are lies, damned lies and El Pasograms,”
some one has said. I collected enough of the last-named to cheer me on my
way to Washington and to make me marvel that Rome had ever been called
the father of lies. No wonder newspaper correspondents like to report
Mexican news from El Paso.
[Illustration: Dr. Kraske’s letter addressed to “Baron von der Goltz,”
arranging for an appointment with Captain von Papen. Translated it reads:
New York, August 21, 1914.
DEAR HERR VON DER GOLTZ:
I am very sorry not to have found you in after another
engagement. I was unable to come round and try to catch you.
I had arranged a meeting for yesterday morning between you and
a gentleman who is interested in you.
If you call on me to-morrow morning at whatever time is
convenient to you, I shall probably be able to arrange another
interview.
I am, etc.,
DR. KRASKE.]
Washington was technically on vacation at the time, but there was an
unwonted air of excitement about the city—far greater than formerly
existed when Congress was in full session. At the German Embassy I found
only a few clerks; but letters from Newport, to which the Ambassador and
his staff had gone for the summer, informed me that Captain von Papen
would meet me in New York in a fortnight. And then I learned for the
first time that it was impossible for me to reach Germany, but that I was
to be assigned to work in the United States.
I knew what that meant, of course, and I was not wholly unprepared for
it. Secret agents could be very useful in a neutral country, and I knew
from my acquaintance with German methods in Europe, that plans would
already have been made for conserving German interests in the United
States. What those plans were I did not know; but my only immediate
concern was to remove any possible suspicion from myself by doing
something that on the surface would seem to be absolutely idiotic.
I became violently and noisily pro-German. On the train I entered into
arguments (as a matter of fact I could not have escaped them if I tried)
in which I stoutly defended the invasion of Belgium and prophesied an
early victory for Germany. And when I arrived in New York I registered
at the Holland House, where my actions would be more conspicuous than
at one of the larger hotels, and proceeded to make myself as noticeable
as possible by spending a great deal more money than I could afford—and
talking. In a day or two the reporters were on my trail and I became
their obliging prey. What I told them I do not now remember in its
entirety, but newspaper clippings of the day assure me that I made many
wild and bombastic statements, promising that Paris would be captured
in a very few weeks—in a word uttering the most flagrant nonsense. The
reporters decided that I was a fool and deftly conveyed that impression
to their readers. And in a very brief time I had the satisfaction of
learning that I was everywhere regarded as a person of considerably more
loquacity than intelligence.
That was the very reputation I had attempted to get. I wanted to be
known—and widely—as a braggart, a spendthrift, a rattlebrain, for the
very excellent reason that in no other way could I so easily divert
suspicion from myself later on. I was a German, and consequently under
the surveillance of enemy secret agents, with whom—oh, believe me!—the
United States was filled. It was impossible for me to escape some
notice. Since that was the case, the safest course for me to pursue was
to comport myself in such a way that all interested persons would report
(as I afterwards learned they did report) that I was not worth watching,
since no sane government would ever employ me.
While I was engaged in achieving this enviable reputation, I had managed
to keep in touch with the Imperial German Consulate in New York, and
on August 21 I had received from the Vice-Consul, Dr. Kraske, a note
informing me that “the gentleman who is interested in you”—Captain von
Papen—“will meet you next morning at the Consulate.” That letter was to
figure two years later in the trial of Captain Hans Tauscher. I reproduce
it here. You might note that it is addressed to “Baron von der Goltz,”
although my card did not bear that title, and I had registered at the
Holland House under my Mexican military title of Major.
Upon the following morning I went to that old building at Number Eleven
Broadway. There in a little room in the offices of the Imperial German
Consulate began a series of meetings that were designed to bear fruit of
the greatest consequences to the United States—that would, had they been
successful, have made American neutrality a lie and would have perhaps
drawn the United States into a serious conflict with England, if not into
actual war.
I remember von Papen’s enthusiasm as he outlined the general program
to me. “It was merely a question of tying their hands”—that was the
burden of his statements, time and again. We could hope for nothing from
American neutrality; it was a fraud, a deception. Washington could not
see the German viewpoint at all. Everything was done to favor England.
Why, the entire country was supporting the allies—the government,
the press, the people—all of them! Nowhere was there a good word for
Germany. And that in spite of the excellent propaganda that Germany was
conducting. I remember that the failure of German propaganda was an
especially sore spot with him.
“How about the German-Americans?” I asked him upon one occasion.
He made a sound that was between a grunt and a cough.
“I am attending to them,” was his reply. I did not understand what he
meant until much later.
We talked much of American participation in the war in those days. Papen
was convinced that it would come sooner or later; and certainly upon the
side of the Entente—unless the German-Americans could be brought into
line. They were being attended to, he would repeat, but meantime it was
necessary for us to decide upon some immediate action. Of course there
was Mexico to be considered. It was too bad that Huerta had fallen. What
did I think of Villa? Could he be persuaded to cause a diversion if the
United States abandoned its neutrality?
I told him that I thought it very unlikely. “He is not very friendly
toward Germans,” I said, “and he appreciates the importance of keeping
on good terms with the United States. No, I don’t think you can reach
him—now. Later on, he may take a different attitude—when we have had a
few more victories.”
Von Papen nodded. I was probably right, he thought. We must show these
ignorant people how powerful the Germans were. It would have a great
moral effect. But that was for the future. Meantime what did I think of
this letter as a suggestion for possible immediate action?
“This letter” was from a man named Schumacher, who lived in Oregon, at
Eden Bower Farm. He had written to the Embassy, suggesting that we
secretly fit out motor boats armed with machine guns, and using Buffalo,
Detroit, Cleveland and Chicago as bases, make raids upon Canadian cities
and towns on the Great Lakes.
There were some good features to the plan—its value as a means of
terrorizing Canadians, for instance—but it was doubtful whether at that
time we could carry it out successfully. Then, too, we could not be sure
whether it was not merely a trap for us. Papen had been making inquiries
about Schumacher and was not entirely satisfied as to his good faith.
There were a number of other schemes which we considered at this time.
One was to equip reservists of the German Army, then in the United
States, and co-operating with German warships then in the Pacific Ocean
to invade Canada from the State of Washington. This plan was abandoned
because of the impossibility of securing enough artillery for our
purposes.
Another plan that we considered more carefully, involved an expedition
against Jamaica. This was a much more feasible scheme than any that had
been proposed thus far, and we spent many days over it. Jamaica was none
too well defended, and it seemed fairly probable that with an army of
ragamuffins which I could easily recruit in Mexico and Central America,
we could make a success of it. Arms were easy to secure; in fact, we had
a very well equipped arsenal in New York; and filibustering had become
so common since the outbreak of the Mexican revolution, that it would be
easy to obtain what additional material we needed without disclosing our
purpose. On the whole the idea looked promising, and matters had gone
so far that von Papen secured my appointment as captain, so that in the
event of my being captured on British soil with arms in my hand, I should
be treated as a prisoner of war.
Then just when we were making final preparations for my departure from
New York, von Papen came to me in great excitement and said he had come
upon a plan that would serve our purposes to perfection. Canada was,
after all, our principal objective; we could strike a telling blow
against it, and at the same time create consternation throughout America
by blowing up the canals which connected the Great Lakes!
“It is comparatively simple,” said von Papen. “If we blow up the locks of
these canals, the main railway lines of Canada and the principal grain
elevators will be crippled. Immediately we shall destroy one of England’s
chief sources of food supply as well as hamper the transportation of war
materials. Canada will be thrown into a panic and public opinion will
_demand_ that her troops be held for home defense. But best of all, it
will make the Canadians believe that the thousands of German reservists
and the millions of German-Americans in the United States are planning
active military operations against the Dominion.”
I looked at him in surprise. Where had he got such a plan? Papen
enlightened me with his next words.
Two men—not Germans but violently anti-English—had come to him with the
suggestion, he said. It was in a very indefinite form as yet, but the
idea was certainly worth careful consideration. He wished me to discuss
the matter with the two men at my hotel.
It did seem a good plan. As I discussed it the next evening with the two
men, whom von Papen had sent to me, it seemed entirely practicable and
immensely important. Together we went over the maps and diagrams they had
brought with them, which showed the vulnerable points of the different
canals and railways. After a number of conferences with them and with von
Papen, the plot took definite shape as a plan to blow up the Welland
Canal.
“It can be done,” I told von Papen one day, and together we discussed the
details. Finally von Papen looked up from the notes we had been examining.
“I think it will do admirably,” he said. “Will you undertake it?”
I nodded.
“Good,” said von Papen. “I shall leave the details to you—but keep me
informed of your needs and I shall see that they are taken care of.”
So began the plot which was literally to carry the war into America. My
first need was for men, and for help in getting these I appealed to von
Papen, who obligingly furnished me with a letter of introduction—made out
in the name of Bridgman H. Taylor—to Mr. Luederitz, the German Consul at
Baltimore. There were several German ships interned at that port, and we
felt that we should have no difficulty in recruiting our force from them.
Before I went to Baltimore, however, I did engage one man, Charles
Tucker, alias Tuchhaendler, who had already had some dealings with the
two men who originally proposed the scheme.
Tucker accompanied me to Baltimore, and together we paid a visit to
Consul Luederitz. The consul glanced at the letter I presented to him.
“Captain von Papen requests me to give you all the assistance you may ask
for, Major von der Goltz,” he said, intimating by the use of my name that
he had previously been informed of the enterprise. “I shall be happy to
do anything in my power. What is it you wish?”
Men, I told him, were my chief need at the moment. He said that there
should be no difficulty about securing them. There was a German ship in
the harbor at the time, and we could doubtless make use of part of the
crew and an officer, if we desired. He offered me his visiting card, on
the back of which he wrote a note of recommendation to the captain of the
ship. But while we were talking this man entered the office and we made
our preliminary arrangements there.
The following day, a Sunday, Tucker and I visited the ship and after
dinner selected our men, who were informed of their prospective duties. I
also listened to the news that was being received on board by wireless;
for the captain was still allowed to receive messages, although the
harbor authorities had forbidden him to use his apparatus for sending
purposes.
I needed nothing more in Baltimore, so far as my present plans were
concerned, but at Consul Luederitz’s suggestion, I decided to furnish
myself with a passport, made out in my _nom de guerre_ of Bridgman
Taylor. Luederitz was of the opinion that it might be useful at some
future time as a means of proving that I was an American citizen, and
accordingly we had one of the clerks make out an application, which was
duly forwarded to Washington; and on August 31st the State Department
furnished the non-existent Mr. Bridgman H. Taylor with a very comforting,
although as it turned out, a decidedly dangerous document. One other
thing I needed at the moment—a pistol, for my own was out of order. This
Mr. Luederitz provided me with, from the effects of an Austrian who had
committed suicide in Baltimore, not long before, and whose property, in
the absence of an Austrian Consulate in the city, had been turned over to
the German Consul.
The days immediately following my return to New York were filled with
preparations for our coup. I engaged three additional men to act as my
lieutenants, acquainted them with the main objects of our plan and
agreed to pay them daily while in New York, and to add a bonus when our
enterprise should succeed. These men had all been well recommended to me,
and I knew I could trust them thoroughly. One, Fritzen, who was later
captured in Los Angeles, had been a purser on a Russian ship. A second,
Busse, was a commercial agent who had lived for many years in England;
the third bore the Italian name of Covani.
Meantime I saw von Papen frequently, and had on one occasion received
from him a check for two hundred dollars, which I needed for the sailors
who were coming from Baltimore. That check, which is reproduced in this
book, was to prove a singularly disastrous piece of paper, for in order
to avoid connecting my name with that of von Papen, it was made out to
Bridgman Taylor. I cashed it through a friend, Frederick Stallforth,
whose brother, Alberto Stallforth, had been the German Consul at Parral
when I was there. He, incidentally, was later implicated in the Rintelen
trial and was detained for a time on Ellis Island, from which he was
subsequently released.
Mr. Stallforth lifted his eyebrows when he saw the name on the check. I
smiled.
“I am Bridgman Taylor,” I told him. He laughed, but said nothing, merely
getting the check cashed for me at the German Club on Central Park South,
of which he was a member.
In a few days everything was ready. My men had arrived from Baltimore,
my plans were definitely made—I needed but one thing: the explosives.
These, von Papen told me, I could obtain through Captain Hans Tauscher,
the American agent of the Krupps, which means, in effect, the German
Government.
It has been asserted many times in the last year that the charges
against Capt. Tauscher were utterly unfounded. It is easy to understand
the motives of this gentleman’s defenders. There are many people still
in this country whose friendship with the amiable captain would wear a
decidedly suspicious look were his complicity in the anti-American plots
of the first two years of the war to be proved. I shall not quarrel
with these people. But reproduced in this book are four documents, the
originals of which are in the possession of the Department of Justice,
which tell their own story to the curious and are a fair indication of
the way I secured the explosives I needed for my expedition.
These documents show:
First, that on September 5, 1914, Captain Tauscher, American
representative of the Krupps, ordered from the du Pont de Nemours Powder
Company, 300 pounds of sixty per cent. dynamite to be delivered to
bearer, “Mr. Bridgman Taylor,” and to be charged to Captain Tauscher.
Second, that on September 11th, the du Pont Company sent Captain Tauscher
a bill for the same amount of dynamite delivered to Bridgman Taylor,
New York City, on September 5th; and on September 16th, they sent him a
second bill for forty-five feet of fuse delivered to Bridgman Taylor on
September 13th—the total of the two bills amounting to $31.13.
Third, that on December 29, 1914, Tauscher sent a bill to Captain von
Papen for a total amount of $503.24. _The third item, dated September
11th, was for $31.13._
Is it difficult to tell of whom I got my explosives or who eventually
paid for them? I got the dynamite at any rate, by calling for it myself
at one of the company’s barges in a motor boat, and taking it away in
suitcases. At 146th Street and the Hudson River we left the boat, and,
carrying the explosives with us, went to the German Club, where I applied
to von Papen for automatic pistols, batteries, detonators, and wire for
exploding the dynamite. Von Papen promised them in two or three days—and
he kept his word.[3]
[Illustration: Before going to Baltimore, “Mr. Bridgeman Taylor”—Captain
von der Goltz—received this letter from Capt. von Papen. Translated it
reads:
New York, 27. VIII. 14.
I request the Consuls in Baltimore and St. Paul to give the
bearer of this letter—Mr. Bridgeman Taylor—all the assistance
he may ask for.
VON PAPEN,
Captain in the General Staff of the Army
and Military Attaché.]
Bit by bit, all this material was removed from the German Club—in
suitcases and via taxi-cab. They were exciting little rides we took
those days, and my heart was often in my mouth when our chauffeur turned
corners in approved New York fashion. But luckily there were no accidents
and in a day or so all of our materials were stored away; part of them
in my apartments—not in the Holland House, alas!—but in a cheap section
of Harlem. For von der Goltz, the spendthrift, the braggart, was seen no
longer in the gay places of New York. He had spent all his money, and
now, no longer of interest to the newspapers—or to the secret agents of
the allies—had taken a two dollar and a half room in Harlem where he
could repent his follies—and be as inconspicuous as he pleased.
So it came about that toward the middle of September we five—Fritzen,
Busse, Tucker, Covani and myself—took train for Buffalo, armed with
dynamite, automatic guns, detonators and other necessary implements,
and proceeded absolutely unmolested, to go to Buffalo. There I engaged
rooms at 198 Delaware Avenue and began to reconnoitre the ground. I made
a trip or two over the Niagara River via aëroplane, with an aviator
who unquestionably thought me mad and charged accordingly; and at the
suggestion of von Papen, I secured money for my expenses from a Buffalo
lawyer, John Ryan.
It had been decided that von Papen should let us know when the
Canadian troops were about to leave camp so that we might strike at
the psychological moment. A telegram came from him, signed with the
non-committal name of Steffens, telling me that Ryan had money and
instructions. Ryan gave me the money, as I have stated, but insisted that
he had no instructions whatever.
Then, after a stay of several days in Niagara, during which we did
nothing but exchange futile telegrams with Ryan and “Mr. Steffens”—we
learned that the first contingent of Canadian troops had left the
camp—and my men and I returned to New York, unsuccessful.
Our failure was greater than appears on the surface, for my men and
I were a blind. Our equipment, our loud talking, our aggressive
pro-Germanism—even our secret preparations, which had not been secret
enough—were intended primarily to distract attention from other and far
more dangerous activities.
We had been watched by United States Secret Service men from the very
beginning of our enterprise. During our entire stay in Buffalo and
Niagara, we had been under the surveillance of men who were merely
waiting for us to make their suspicions a certainty by some positive
attempt against the peace of the United States. We _knew_ it and wanted
it to be so.
And while they were waiting for sufficient cause to arrest us, other men,
totally unsuspected, were making their way down through Canada, intent
upon destroying _all_ of the bridges and canal locks in the lake region!
You can see what the effect would have been had our plan succeeded—Canada
crippled and terrorized—England robbed of the troops which Canada was
even then preparing to send her, but which would have been forced to
remain at home to defend the border. But far more desirable in German
eyes, the United States would have been convicted in the sight of the
world of criminal negligence. For my band of men—the obvious perpetrators
of one crime had been acting suspiciously for weeks. And yet, in spite
of that, we were at liberty. _The United States had made no effort to
apprehend us._
Good fortune saved the United States from serious international
complications at that time. While we were waiting for word from von Papen
the Canadian troops had left Valcartier Camp, and were then on their way
to England. Part of our object had been removed, and for the rest—well,
the plan would keep, we thought.
It was a disappointed von Papen whom I met on my return to New York—a
rather crest-fallen person, far different from the urbane soldier that
Washington knew in those days. We commiserated with each other upon our
failure, and talked of the better luck that we should have next time. I
did not know that there was to be no next time for me.
For it came about that Abteilung III B., the Intelligence Department of
the General Staff wished some first-hand information about conditions in
the United States and in Mexico; and I, who knew both countries (and who
was the possessor of an American passport bearing an American name) was
selected to go.
On October 3rd, 1914, Bridgman Taylor waved farewell to New York from
the deck of an Italian steamer, bound for Genoa. The curious might have
been interested to know that in Mr. Taylor’s trunk were letters of
recommendation to various German Consuls in Italy; strangely enough, they
bore the name of Horst von der Goltz within them, and the signature of
each was “von Papen.”
I had said good-bye to von Papen the night before, at the German Club. He
had asked me to turn over to him all the fire-arms I had, for use again
when needed.
We talked of the war that night, and of Germany, which I had not seen in
two years. And we spoke of the United States, and of what I was to tell
them “over there.”
“Say that they need not worry about this country,” he told me. “The
United States may still join us in the splendid fight we are making. But
if they do not it is of small moment. _And always remember that if things
look bad for us, something will happen over here._”
I left him, speculating upon the “something” that would happen; for then
I did not know of all the plans that were in my captain’s head. I was to
learn more about them later on—and I was to know a bitter disgust at the
things that men may do in the name of patriotism. But of those things I
will speak in their proper place.