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Ep. 3 - The Ypiranga Case · True Tales of The Secret Service

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Chapter three, the Ipiranga Case Mexico, said Bill Quinn, who now holds
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a soft berth in the Treasury Department by virtue of an injury received in the
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line of duty during a raid on counterfeiters a few years ago, to be
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precise, is back on the first page of the papers again, after being
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crowded off for some four years because of the World War. Funny coincidence that
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when you remember that it was this same Mexico that gave us our first indication
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of the way we might expect Germany to behave Huh, I said, a
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bit startled. What do you mean the first spark of the war was kindled
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in Serbia, not Mexico. Outside of the rumblings of the Algerisis case and
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one or two other minor affairs, there wasn't the slightest indication of the conflict
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to come. No, and Quinn's eyebrows went up in interrogation. How about
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the Epiranga case, the which the Epiranga case, the one where Jack Stuart
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stumbled across a clue in a Mexico city cafe, which led all the way
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to Berlin and back to Washington and threatened to precipitate a row before the Kaiser
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was quite ready for it. No, I admitted, that's a page of
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underground history that I haven't read, and I must confess that I don't know
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Stuart either. Probably not, said the former Secret Service man. He wasn't
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connected with any of the branches of the government that get into print very often.
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As a matter of fact, the very existence of the organization to which
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he belonged isn't given any too much publicity. Everyone knows of the Secret Service
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and the men who make the investigations for the Department of Justice and the Post
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Office Department. But the Department of State, for obvious reasons, conducts its
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inquiries in a rather more diplomatic manner. Its agents have to pose as commercial
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investigators or something else equally as prosaic. Their salaries are as a general thing,
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paid out of the President's private allowance or out of the fund given to
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the Department for use as it may see fit. Less than half a dozen
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people know the actual status of the organization or the names of its members at
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any one time, and its exploits are recorded only in the archives of the
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State Department. But who I persisted as Quinn stopped. Was Jack Stewart and
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what was the nature of the affair upon which he stumbled in Mexico City.
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Stewart replied, Quinn was just a quiet, ordinary sort of chap, the
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kind that you'd expect to find behind a desk in the State eight Department,
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sorting out consular reports and handling routine stuff. Nothing exceptional about him at all,
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which was probably one reason for his being selected for work as a secret
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agent of the department. It doesn't do, you know, to pick men
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who are conspicuous, either in their dress or manner, too easy to spot
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and remember them. The chap who swallowed up in the crowd is the one
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who can get by with a whole lot of quiet work without being suspected.
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When they sent Jack down to Mexico, they didn't have the slightest idea he'd
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uncover anything as big as he did. The country south of the Rio Grande,
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if you recall, had been none too quiet for some time prior to
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nineteen fourteen. Taft had had his troubles with it ever since the end of
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the Diaz regime, and when Wilson came in. The Mexican question was a
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legacy that caused the men in the State Department to spend a good many sleepless
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nights. All sorts of rumors, most of them wild and bloody, floated
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up through official and unofficial channels. The one fact that seemed to be certain
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was that Mexico was none too friendly to the United States, and that some
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other nation was behind this feeling, keeping it constantly stirred up and overlooking no
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opportunity to add fuel to the flame. Three or four other members of the
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State Department secret organization had been wandering around picking up leads for some months past,
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and upon the return of one of these to Washington, Stewart was sent
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to replace him. His instructions were simple and delightfully indefinite. He was to
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proceed to Mexico City posing as the investigator for a financial house in New York
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which was on the lookout for a soft concer session from the Mexican government.
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This would give him an opportunity to seek the acquaintance of Mexican officials and lend
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an air of plausibility to practically any line that he found it necessary to follow.
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But once at the capital, with his alibies well established, he was
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to overlook nothing which might throw light upon the question that had been bothering Washington
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for some time past, just which one of the foreign powers was fanning the
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Mexican unrest and to what lengths it was prepared to go. Of course,
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the State Department suspected, just as we now know, that Berlin was behind
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the movement, but at that time there was no indication of the reason.
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In the light of later events, however, the plan is plain. Germany,
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feeling certain that the greatest war Europe had ever known was a matter of
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the immediate future, was laying her plans to keep other nations out of the
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conflict. She figured that Mexico was the best foil for the United States,
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and that our pitifully small army would have its hands full with troubles at home.
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If not, she intended to let Japan enter into the equation, as
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shown by the Zimmerman note. Some two years later, when Stuart got to
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Mexico City, it did not take him long to discover that there was an
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undercurrent of animosity to the United States, which made itself felt in numberless ways.
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Some of the Mexican papers, apparently on a stronger financial basis than ever
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before, were outspoken in their criticism of American dollars and American dealings. The
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people as a whole, long dominated by Diaz, were being stirred to resentment
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of the gringos who sought to purchase the soul of a nation as well as
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its general wealth. The improvements which American capital had made were entirely overlooked,
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and the spotlight of subsidized publicity was thrown upon the encroachments of the hated Yankees.
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All this Stuart reported to Washington, and in reply was politely informed that,
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while interesting, it was hardly news. The State Department had known all
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this for months. The question was where was the money coming from and what
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was the immediate object of the game. Take your time and don't bother us
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unless you find something definite to report, was the substance of the instructions cable
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to Stuart. The secret Agent therefore contented himself with lounging around the very inviting
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cafes of the Mexican capital and making friends with such officials as might be able
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to drop scraps of information. It was November when he first hit Mexico City.
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It was nearly the middle of April before he picked up anything at all.
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Worthwhile. Of course, In the meantime he had uncovered a number of
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leads, but every one of them was blind. For a day or two,
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or a week at most. They would hold out glowing promise of something
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big just around the corner. Then when he got to the end of the
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rainbow, he would find an empty pail in place of the pot of gold
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he had hoped for. It wasn't surprising, therefore, that Stuart was growing
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tired of the life of continual mystery, of developments that never developed, of
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secrets that were empty, and surprises that faded away into nothing. It was
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on the thirteenth of April, while seated in a little table in front of
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a sidewalk cafe in the Caille de Victoria, that the American agent obtained his
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first real clue to the impending disaster. When two Mexicans whom he knew by
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sight but not by name, sat down at a table near his, he
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pricked up his ears purely by instinct, rather than through any real hope of
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obtaining information of value. The arrival of the usual sugared drinks was followed by
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a few words of guarded conversation, and then one of the Mexicans remarked,
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in a tone a trifle louder than necessary, that the United States is a
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nation of cowardly women, dollar worshippers who were afraid to fight, and braggarts
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who would not dare to back up their threats. It was an effort for
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Stuart to remain immersed in the newspaper propped up in front of him. Often
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as he had heard these sentiments expressed, his Southern blood still rose involuntarily,
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until his logic reminded him that his mission was not to start a quarrel,
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but to end one. He knew that no good could ensue from his taking
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up the challenge, and the very fact that the speaker had raised his voice
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gave him the tip that the words were uttered for his special benefit to find
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out whether he understood Spanish, for he made no attempt to disguise his nationality
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with a smile which did not show on his lips. Stuart summoned the waiter,
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and an atrocious Spanish, ordered another glass of lemonade. His complete knowledge
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of the language was the one thing which he had managed to keep entirely under
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cover ever since reaching Mexico, for he figured that the natives would speak more
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freely in his presence if they believed he could not gather what they were discussing.
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The trick worked a perfection. Pig headed Yankee commented the Mexican who had
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first spoken lemonade. Pah, they haven't the nerve to take a man's drink,
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and he drained his glass of pulque at a single gulp. The other,
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who had not spoken above a whisper, raised his glass and regarded it
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in silence for a moment. Then pros it, he said, and drank.
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Non di Dio warned his companion, be careful. The American hog does
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not speak Spanish well enough to understand those who use it fluently, but he
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may speak German. Stuart smothered a smile behind his paper. Spanish had always
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been a hobby of his, but he only knew about three words in German.
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I understand, continued the Mexican, that Victoriano is preparing for the coup,
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just as I always figured he would. Stuart knew that Victoriana was the
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familiar form in which the populace referred to Victoriana huerta self appointed president of Mexico,
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and the men who had steadfastly defied the American government in every way possible,
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taking care not to allow matters to reach such a hot stage that he
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could handle them through diplomatic promises to see that things improved in the future.
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El Presidente has always been careful to protect himself, the speaker went on.
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But now that you have brought definite assurance from our friends that the money and
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the arms will be forthcoming within the fortnight, there is nothing further to fear
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from the Yankee pigs. It will be easy to stir up sentiment against them
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here overnight, and before they can mass their handful of troops along the Rio
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Grande, we will have retaken Texas and wiped out the insult of forty eight.
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What is the latest news from the ship, the inquired the man across
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the table, But his Teutonic intonation of what was evidently a Spanish name was
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so jumbled that all Stuart could catch was the first syllable, something that sounded
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like eep is that the name, asked the Mexican, Yes, replied the
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other. She sailed from Hamburg on the seventh, allowing two weeks for the
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passage. She isn't fast, you know, that would bring her into Vera
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Cruz about the twenty first. Once there, the arms can be landed,
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and the events of the next few minutes moved so rapidly that when Stuart had
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time to catch his breath, he found it difficult to reconstruct the affair with
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accuracy. He recalled that he had been so interested in the conversation at the
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next table that he had failed to notice the approach of the only other man
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he knew in the State Department secret organization, Dawson, who had been prowling
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around the West coast on an errand similar to his Before he knew it,
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Dawson had clapped him on the back and exclaimed, Hello, Jack. Didn't
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expect to see you here, thought you'd be looking over things in the vicinity
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of the palace. The words themselves were innocent enough, but they were spoken
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in fluent, rapid Spanish, and Stewart had shown that he understood. Sapristy
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hissed the Mexican did you see, and he bent forward to whisper hurriedly to
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his companion. Stewart recovered himself instantly, but the damage had been done.
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Hello, Dawson, he answered in English, trusting that the men at the
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next table had not noted his slip, sit down and have something weather isn't
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it and not a lead in sight. These Mexicans seem to be afraid to
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enter into any contract that ties them up more than a year and eighteen revolutions
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can happen in that time. As Dawson seated himself, Stewart gave him a
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hasty sign to be careful, watching the Mexican and his companion out of the
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corner of his eye. He steered the conversation into harmless channels, but a
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moment later, the parrot the next table, called the waiter, gave some
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whispered instructions and left. What's the matter, asked Dawson. Nothing except that
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I involuntarily registered a knowledge of Spanish when you spoke to me just now,
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and I've spent several months building up a reputation for knowing less about the language
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than anyone in Mexico City. As luck would have it, there was a
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couple seated at the next table who were giving me what sounded like the first
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real dope I've had since I got here. I'll tell you about it later.
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The question now is to get back to the hotel before that precious pair
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get in their dirty work. A code message to Washington is all I ask.
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But if I'm not mistaken, we are going to have our work cut
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out for us and the way back. Scott serious as that is, it
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muttered Dawson. Well, there are two of us, and I'd like to
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see their whole Damn army try to stop us. Let's go. Wait a
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minute, counseled Stuart. There's no real hurry, for they wouldn't dare try
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to start anything in the open in case we get separated, or if anything
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should happen. Why are the Department in code that a vessel with a Spanish
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name, something that begins with EEP, cleared Hamburg, loaded with guns and
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ammunition expected at Vera Cruz about the twenty first. Germany's behind the whole plot.
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Now I'll settle up and we'll move. But as he reached for his
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pocketbook, a Mexican swaggering along the sidewalk deliberately stumbled against his chair and sent
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him sprawling. Dawson was on his feet in an instant, his fists clenched
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and ready for action. But Stuart had noted that the Mexican had three companions,
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and that one of the men who had occupied the adjoining table was watching
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the affair from a vantage point half a block away. With a leap that
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was catlike in its agility, Stuart seized the swaggering native by the legs in
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a football tackle and upset him against his assistants. Quick this way, he
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called to Dawson, starting up the street away from the watcher at the far
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corner. As he ran, his hand slipped into his coat pocket, where
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the small but extremely efficient automatic with which all government agents are supplied usually rested.
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But the gun wasn't there. Apparently it had slipped out in the scuffle
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a moment before. Hardly had he realized that he was unarmed before he and
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Dawson were confronted by five other natives coming from the opposite direction. The meager
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lighting system of the Mexican capital, however, was rather a help than a
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detriment, for in the struggle which followed it was practically impossible to tell friend
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from foe. The two Americans, standing shoulder to shoulder had the added advantage
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of team work, something which the natives had never learned. Don't use your
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gun if you can help it, Stewart warned. We don't want the police
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in on this. As he spoke, his fist shot out, and the
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leader of the attacking party sprawled in the street. No sound came from Dawson
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beyond a grunt as he landed on the man he had singled out of the
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bunch. The ten seconds that followed were jammed with action, punctuated with the
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shill cries for reinforcements from the Mexicans, and brightened here and there by the
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dull light from down the street, which glinted off the long knives, the
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favorite weapon of the Latin American fighter. Stewart and Dawson realized that they must
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not only fight, but fight fast. Every second brought closer the arrival of
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help from the rear. But Dawson waited until he could hear the reinforcements almost
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upon them before he gave the word to break through. Then, come on,
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Jack, he called, let's go, heads down. Fists moving with
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piston like precision, the two Americans plowed their way through. Dawson swore later
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that he felt at least one rib give under the impact of the blows,
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and he knew that he nursed a sore wrist for days. But Stewart claimed
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that his energies were concentrated solely on the scrap, and that he didn't have
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time to receive any impression of what was going on. He knew that he
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had to fight his way out, that it was essential for one of them
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to reach the telegraph office or the embassy with the news they carried. It
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was a case of fight like the devil, and trust to luck and the
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darkness for aid. Almost before they knew it, they had broken through the
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trio in front of them and had turned down the Kyeansha, running in a
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form that would have done credit to a college track team. Behind them,
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they heard the muffled oaths of their pursuers as they fell over the party they
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had just left. They don't want to attract a police any more than we
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do, gasped Dawson. They don't dare shoot. But as he spoke,
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there came the zip of a bullet, accompanied by the sharp crack of a
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revolver somewhere behind them. Careful warned Stewart, We've got to skirt that street
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light ahead, duck. And but with that he crumpled up a bullet,
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threw his hip Without an instant's hesitation, Dawson stooped, swung his companion over
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his shoulder and staggered on his right hand, groping for his automatic. Once
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out of the glare of the arc light, he felt that he would be
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safe, at least for a moment. Then clattering toward them, he heard
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a sound that spelled safety, one of the open nighthawk cabs that prowl around
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the streets of the Mexican capital. Shifting Stewart so that his feet rested on
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the ground, he wheeled and raked the street behind him with the fusillade from
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his automatic. There was only a dull mass of whitish clothing some fifty yards
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away at which to aim, but he knew that the counter attack would probably
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gain a few precious seconds of time, time sufficient to stop the cab and
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to put his plan into operation. The moment the cab came into the circle
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of light from the street lamp, Dawson dragged his companion toward it, seized
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the horse's bridle with his free hand, and ordered the driver to halt Before
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the cabby had recovered his wits. The two Americans were in the vehicle,
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and Dason and had his revolver pressed none too gently into the small of the
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driver's back. The weapon was empty, but the Mexican didn't know that,
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and he responded instantly to Dawson's order to turn around and drive as if seventy
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devils of Hades were after him. Outside of a few stray shots that followed
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as they disappeared up the street, the drive to the embassy was uneventful,
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and once under the shelter of the American flag, the rest was easy.
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Stuart had developed had sustained only a flesh wound through the muscles of his hip,
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painful but not dangerous. Within ten minutes after he had reached O'Shaughnessy's office,
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he was dictating a code wire to Washington, a cable which stated that
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a vessel with a Spanish name commencing with something that sounded like eep had cleared
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Hamburg on the seventh, loaded with arms and ammunition destined to advance the interests
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of Mexican revolutionists and to hamper the efforts of the United States to preserve order
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south of the border. The wire reached Washington at noon of the following day
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and was instantly transmitted to Berlin with instructions to Ambassador Gerard to look into the
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matter and report immediately. Vessel in question is probably the Ipiraga. Stated a
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code the following morning cleared Hamburg on date mentioned, presumably loaded with grain.
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Rumors here of large ship and of arms to some Latin American Republic. Practically
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certain that Wilhelmstras is behind the move, but impossible to obtain confirmation. Motive
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unknown. Ten minutes after this messa it had been decoded. The newspaper correspondence
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at the White House noted that a special cabinet meeting had been called, but
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no announcement was made of its purpose or of the business transacted, beyond the
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admission that the insult to the flag at Tampico had been considered Promptly. At
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noon, the Great Wireless Station at Arlington flashed a message to Admiral Mayo,
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in command of the squadron off the Mexican coast. In effect, it read,
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proceed immediately to vera cruz awight arrival of Steama Ipianga loaded with arms,
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prevent landing at any cost blockade upon pretext of recent insult to flag. Atlantic
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Fleet ordered to your support. The rest of the story concluded, Quinn is
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a matter of history how the fleet bottled up the harbor at Vera, Cruz,
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how it was forced to send a landing party ashore under fire, and
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how seventeen American sailors lost their lives during the guerrilla attack which followed. All
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that was spread across the front pages of American papers in big black type,
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But the fact that a steamer named the Ipianga had been held up by the
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American fleet and forced to anchor at a safe distance offshore under the guns of
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the flagship was given little space. Apparently it was a minor incident, but
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in reality it was the crux of the whole situation, an indication of Germany's
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rancor, which was to burst its bounds before four months had passed. Another
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case in which the arm of Uncle Sam had been long enough to stretch halfway
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across a continent and nip impending disaster. But I inquired, as he paused,
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what became of Dawson and Stuart. That I don't know, replied Quinn.
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The last time I heard of Jack he had a captain's commission in France
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and was following up his feud with the hun that started in Mexico City four
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months before the rest of the world dreamed of war. Dawson I believe is
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still in the Department and rendered valuable assistance in combating German propaganda in Chile and
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Peru. He'll probably be rewarded with a consular job in some out of the
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way hole, for now that the war is over, the organization to which
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he belongs will gradually dwindle to its previous small proportions. Strange, wasn't it
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how that pair stumbled across one of the first tentacles of the World War in
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front of a cafe in Mexico City. That's one beauty of government detective work.
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You never know when the monotony is going to be blown wide open by
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the biggest thing you ever happened upon. There was little Mary mcnillis who turned
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up the clue which prevented an explosion compared to which the Black Tom affair would
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have been a Sunday school party. She never dreamed that she would prevent the
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loss of millions of dollars worth of property and at least a score of lives,
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but she did without moving from her desk. How I asked, But
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Quinn yawned, looked at his watch and said, that's entirely too long a
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story. To spin right now. It's past my bedtime, and missus Quinn's
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likely to be fussy if I'm not home by twelve at least, She says
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that now I have an office job, she can at least count on my
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being round to guard the house, something that she could never do before.
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So let's leave Mary for another time. Good night, and he was off
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end of chapter three.