Part 8

He dropped everything and hastened to the home of the Prime Minister. He found him alone, and at breakfast. Bismarck greeted him with lazy, good natured tolerance, and bade him be seated until he had finished, what was to him at that moment the most important thing in the world—his meal. While Steiber waited he had a chance to study the personality of this remarkable man.

It seemed to him that Bismarck was all body. He was impressed more than anything else with the bulkiness of the Prime Minister. He was massive,—“as big as a mountain,” as he afterwards expressed it. For the rest of it, there was nothing to dispel the popular conception of the man, the broad shoulders, thick neck, grisly mustache, bushy eyebrows and grim determined look.

“Steiber,” said the Prime Minister between bites, “we have real work cut out for you now—work and not mere child’s play.”

“And might I inquire what it is, your Excellency?” asked the spy respectfully.

“All in good time,” was the playful response. “For the present you will see that we have important business on hand.”

This allusion to the meal spread before the man of blood and iron, of course, brought the expected laugh from the Chief of the Prussian Secret Service. And he sat and watched with amazement the gastronomic powers of the great man. He had heard of Bismarck’s ability in this line, but had never witnessed anything like the present exhibition. He had been told that on one historic occasion, in the presence of the Emperor, the count drained a quart of champagne from a loving cup without pausing for breath, and now he believed it.

The breakfast which was to satisfy the morning appetite of Bismarck was an average meal—the kind that ordinarily pleased him. It consisted of six eggs, a beefsteak, several slices of pheasant, a dish of fried potatoes, a plate of rye bread, cakes, three cups of coffee and a quart of red wine. Two large hunting dogs hovered about the table, and from time to time during the meal the Prime Minister tossed bits of meat to them. After he had concluded his breakfast Bismarck leaned back in his chair with a sigh of satisfaction. Presently he reached for a long-stemmed pipe, and lighting it, sent clouds of smoke about the room. He was at peace with all the world—and with Bismarck, too.

“Now,” he said lazily, and yet with a sort of determination, “for business.”

Steiber realized, when his patron arose, that Bismarck was a tall man, a fact that was not always apparent because of his great bulk. The Prime Minister laid his pipe aside and paced the floor as he talked. Presently he sat down again and lit a cigar. And during the remainder of the interview he continued smoking. He was what is popularly called a “chain smoker,” each cigar being lighted by the stub of its predecessor.

His instructions were clean cut and to the point. Steiber was to go into France and spy out that country for the benefit of Prussia. He was to have unlimited means and all of the assistance he might require. He was to get plans of forts and defenses generally; to ascertain the size and condition of the French army and to learn all that was possible of the secrets of the French War Office. In a word, he was to repeat, in France, what he had already done in Bohemia.

When Bismarck dismissed Steiber the spy had the greatest commission of his career. He had little doubt of his ability to execute it. He feared no man, except possibly Bismarck. The meeting and the parting of the two men on that eventful day might be called historic. The Chancellor even went so far as to lay his hand on the shoulder of his agent.

“Remember the Fatherland!”

The builder of the German Empire stood there with all of the immensity and impressiveness of a bronze statue, and as the spy left he carried with him the remembrance of the tall figure, the broad shoulders, the thick neck, the grisly mustache, the keen eyes, and the grim, determined look. And as a background there was the table littered with the remains of that amazing meal and the Japanned plate filled with smoldering cigar stumps.

Steiber went forth proud and boastful and with the vision of more medals to cover his ample breast. His big ears seemed to become bigger, his enormous nose appeared to grow larger, and his shifty eyes were fairly dancing with delight.

He hurried to his office and began to prepare for the campaign of espionage. It was not the sort of thing to plan in an hour or a day. He devoted weeks of labor to the task. Maps of all kinds were consulted and all sorts of secret information was brought from all sorts of impossible hiding-places. He considered next the men that should go with him and the various branches of work that should be assigned to them, and finally the job was completed with the thoroughness for which the official German is noted.

When Steiber started on this secret invasion of France he took with him two lieutenants, Zernicki and Kalten. Their work lay in the military line. They visited fortifications in all parts of France; they carried cameras with them, and in spite of the regulations forbidding such things, they made photographs of the defenses and even of the cannon in the forts. Disguised as peddlers they made their way into the various garrisons and studied the methods of the drill, discovered the number of men attached to each of the regiments, and altogether obtained a mass of information that could not possibly have been gleaned from blue books or official publications.

In the same manner men were sent to the different navy yards. They explored the warships and cruisers and obtained data which was promptly forwarded to the Foreign Office in Berlin. Napoleon III reigned over France at this time, and while he must have known the danger that threatened his country by reason of German aggression, he apparently made no effort to avert it. Spies ran about almost under his nose and he could not see them. Some years before this, when it was reported that the people of Paris were discontented, he said:

“Well, gild the dome of Les Invalides—that will give them something to look at.”

And, indeed, he gave the people a great deal to distract them from the fear of both poverty and war. He was largely responsible for making Paris the most beautiful city in the world. He laid out the magnificent boulevards, built the great sewers and in other ways made the city the joy and pride of the inhabitants.

There had long been ill feeling smoldering between France and Germany and the two countries were on the verge of war in 1866. But this significant fact was lost on Napoleon III, and the German spies, when they came into France, found a fertile soil to cultivate.

Steiber did not stop at learning the secrets of the army and navy. His spies even went to Versailles and were to be found in public and semi-public institutions everywhere. They consisted of both men and women. If one went into a restaurant the waiter who attended to his wants was likely to be a German spy. If a Frenchwoman—possibly the wife of an army or naval officer—went to her dressmaker’s she was fitted by a female who probably was on the payroll of Doctor Steiber. At one time, it is hinted, there were five thousand Prussian spies working on French territory. Never was a country so overrun by the secret agents of a foreign power.

Finally, in the latter part of 1869, Steiber completed his work and started back to Berlin. And all this time the complacent French Emperor and the credulous French people, were in ignorance of how they had been betrayed by the thousands of foreign visitors. Steiber, Zernicki and Kalten carried several large trunks with them—trunks that were zealously guarded by day and by night. These trunks contained plans of all sorts and reports that had been returned by the myriads of spies under the Chief of the Prussian Secret Service. Suppose these trunks had been captured and confiscated by the French police? Suppose Steiber and his emissaries had been arrested while they were still on French territory? Is it too much to say that it would have changed the course of history?

Steiber on his return to Berlin went direct to the home of the Chancellor. He found him, as before, resting after one of those meals for which he was famous. It seemed very familiar, the broad shoulders, thick neck, grisly mustache, bushy eyebrows and grim, determined look. He greeted his agent with a playful manner and bade him tell all he knew. That consumed some time, for it must be remembered that Steiber and his corps of assistants had spent more than two years in France. It is true that much of the information had been sent as fast as it was collected, but Bismarck wanted direct, first-hand news from his trusted servant.

And while he talked the Chancellor smoked one cigar after another and occasionally tossed bits of meat to the dogs that were constantly by his side. After the interview Steiber received another medal to add to the collection he had already acquired. And then Berlin, so to speak, having set the stage, calmly awaited the course of events.

The climax came quicker than was anticipated. Napoleon demanded that the King of Prussia should bind himself by an autograph letter never to support Prince Leopold as a candidate for the Spanish crown. Bismarck, confident in his power, and fortified by the knowledge that he had of the French unpreparedness, calmly refused to lay the request before the monarch.

This was an intolerable slight from one who was regarded as a subordinate. A few days after this the French Ambassador chanced to meet the King in a public walk at Ems, and there and then asked him to give the desired promise. King William refused, with indignation, to transact business under such circumstances and later notified the Ambassador that he would not be given an audience at the royal palace.

Napoleon regarded this as the insult direct, and as a consequence of the incident war was declared between the two countries. The people, of course, were unfamiliar with real conditions. They did not know that their country had been infested with foreign spies and that they were utterly unprepared for war. They were angered at the apparent slight that had been put upon the French nation and they were filled with a burning patriotism. In no time the streets of Paris were filled with but one cry:

“On to Berlin!”

Napoleon, heading a hastily mobilized army, marched north and camped at Metz, whence he proposed crossing the Rhine into Germany. But the Germans, instead of waiting for this, invaded France, hurrying directly toward Paris. The scorn and indignation of the people was intense. Marshal McMahon fought bravely, but was driven back, and Marshal Bazaine, after a struggle, was driven within the fortifications at Metz. Everything had come about as the Germans anticipated. A large part of the French army was shut up in a trap, while the remainder struggled for existence.

On the eve of the first of September, 1870, the King of Prussia arrived at Versailles and took up his lodgings in the palace belonging to the Duc de Persigny. And with him was Doctor Steiber, gloating and continually washing his hands in invisible water. Was not all of this his work? Had he not spied out the land? Had he not invaded France before the army arrived? In a word, was not this conquest of the army but a confirmation of his victory of espionage? He was more boastful than ever and his big ears and big nose were everywhere in evidence.

While the King of Prussia ruled like a conqueror, Steiber played the tyrant in his own way. He had large powers and he did not hesitate to use them. One incident will show the character of the man. A wealthy and popular young Frenchman, Monsieur de Raynal, had returned to Versailles from his honeymoon, arriving just in time to meet the German invaders. He kept a diary of the happenings of the invasion. It was not much—merely a colorful account, day by day, of the doings of the invaders. Perhaps he did not draw a flattering picture of the Prussians. How could he? The confiscation of the offending document and maybe the temporary imprisonment of the writer would have been ample punishment, if indeed, any were necessary. But the beggar on horseback did not think so.

He decreed that the gallant Frenchman should be executed. Friends of the gentleman interceded and asked clemency on the ground that he was but newly married and on his honeymoon. Steiber spread out his big hands, shrugged his ugly shoulders and said, “Ah, but that only makes my task the more painful.” Even the German soldiers entered their protest. But in spite of it Monsieur de Raynal was executed. And Steiber rubbed his hands, washing them, as ever, in invisible water. But all the water in creation would not wash the blood of innocent victims from those dirty hands!

While this was going on in Versailles the brave McMahon was pressing forward to the relief of Bazaine. Presently he reached Sedan, where a great battle was fought, resulting in the decisive defeat of the French. On the evening of the following day Napoleon—Napoleon the Little—as he was derisively called by Victor Hugo—sent a letter to the King of Prussia in which he said:

“Not being able to die at the head of my troops, I can only resign my sword into the hands of Your Majesty.”

Following this, Napoleon, with McMahon and 80,000 prisoners of war, surrendered to the enemy. Three days later the Emperor was deposed and France made a Republic. So rapidly did one event follow another. Bazaine held out until October when he, with 6,000 officers and 170,000 men, laid down their arms. Bazaine was afterwards tried and sentenced to degradation and death for having failed in his duty to France. The sentence was commuted to twenty years’ imprisonment, from which he effected his escape.

Then came the Third Republic, the siege of Paris and the treaty of peace in February, 1871; France agreed to give up all of German-speaking Lorraine and the whole of Alsace and to pay 5,000,000,000 francs to Germany. The story of how the inhabitants of Alsace were compelled to choose between becoming German citizens or leaving the province is a sad one. The melancholy procession, when fifty thousand of them left their homes and their all and marched into France on the 30th of September, 1872, will never be forgotten.

The great statue in the Place de la Concorde in Paris, with one of its marble figures draped in mourning on national holidays, has been a constant reminder to posterity.

When the victorious Germans returned to Berlin Doctor Steiber was with them—proud and boastful as ever. The order of the Red Eagle was added to his numerous decorations, and it was reputed that he became a millionaire in addition.

The Franco-Prussian War—or at least the result of that war—has ever been a mystery to patriotic Frenchmen. But the solution of it may be found in that secret invasion of spies led by Steiber and his unscrupulous lieutenants.

X

THE ADVENTURE OF PRIVATE MORGAN IN THE CAMP OF CORNWALLIS

This is the story of how a private soldier in the New Jersey Brigade displayed remarkable shrewdness and unusual courage, and participated in the glory of one of the most successful campaigns of the Revolutionary War by acting as the agent of General Lafayette in entering the British lines, and obtaining valuable information concerning the movements of Cornwallis.

It is quite possible that other private soldiers of the Continental army may have performed exploits just as thrilling in their nature, but Charles Morgan had the good fortune to be the man of the hour, and the fact that he secured precisely the information that was desired at one of the critical stages of the Revolution stamps him as a man of more than ordinary intelligence and resourcefulness. Nothing succeeds like success, and Morgan succeeded far beyond his most sanguine expectations.

General Lafayette had reached a point in his campaign where he desired to obtain accurate information regarding the resources and intentions of the enemy. He had been worrying Cornwallis for several weeks and in the summer of 1781 the British commander reached Virginia after vainly pursuing the French general and destroying millions of dollars’ worth of property. Eventually he reached Yorktown, on a narrow peninsula at the mouth of the York River. He had no desire to go to this place, but did so because there was nothing else to do under the circumstances. During his chase of Lafayette he boastingly said: “The boy cannot escape me,” but to his amazement the youngster with a larger army had turned around and begun to chase him. It was then that Cornwallis had retreated to Yorktown in order to get help by sea from New York. There he began the work of fortifying himself, little dreaming that he was placing himself in a trap from which it would be almost impossible to escape. While he was waiting for the soldiers to arrive from New York a French fleet of warships under Count de Grasse was coming to block him. This was the great opportunity of the Continental army to strike a blow that might be heard around the world. Washington’s plan, and it was concurred in by Lafayette, was to march rapidly south from the Hudson to Yorktown, and, with the help of the French fleet on one side and Lafayette and his army on the other, to capture Cornwallis with his whole force. Needless to say, a movement of this character required an immense sum of money for provisions, pay and powder. In this crisis Robert Morris, patriot and Philadelphia financier, came to the rescue and furnished nearly $1,500,000 for the work of putting the patriot army in the proper condition.

Lafayette disposed his forces with great military ability, but there were some points in the proposed plan of campaign which were not quite clear to his mind. He was anxious to procure exact information of the strength of the forces under Cornwallis, and if possible to learn the exact nature of that general’s plan of campaign. He looked about him for some courageous and intelligent man who could obtain the information he desired. His choice fell upon Charles Morgan, a member of the New Jersey Brigade, who had attracted his attention by bravery in battle. He sent for Morgan and told him that he considered him a proper agent for the accomplishment of his purpose and proposed that he should enter the British camp in the character of a deserter, but in reality a spy.

The soldier was delighted at the thought of being selected for such a hazardous enterprise. Lafayette at that time was in all the glory of his young manhood. To Morgan he was the very embodiment of romance. He had looked upon him for months with wonder and delight. He was to him the bright particular hero of the Revolution. That a man should give up family, friends and fortune, and all of the prospects of a great career, should leave his own country to go to a foreign shore for the purpose of casting his lot with the struggling colonists, made him sublimely heroic. The courtly airs of the young nobleman also captivated the imagination of the New Jersey soldier. Morgan, before entering the army, had been a farmer. He was sturdy and wholesome, yet without the benefits of an education, and the French general dazzled him with his simplicity of manner no less than by his natural assumption of authority. He could scarcely believe his ears when he was told that he was to act as the confidential agent of the General in such an important enterprise.

“This mission,” said Lafayette, “is a dangerous one. It may cost you your life. Under the circumstances I am not willing to order you to do what I desire. If you go to the camp of Cornwallis it must be a voluntary act, and with the full understanding of its possible consequences.”

“I am perfectly willing,” was the prompt reply, “and am glad to serve you and my country.”

The Marquis beamed upon him with satisfaction in his countenance. He spoke to him in a fatherly manner and added:

“Now, if there is any assistance you require from me, either with money or men, do not hesitate to ask for it.”

Morgan shook his head.

“None at all. I am glad to take the risk, but I would not like to do this work unless my motives are perfectly understood. I only ask one thing and that is that if I should be detected and executed you will cause a notice to be inserted in the New Jersey papers saying that I was acting under the orders of my commanding officer.”

The required condition was readily accepted by the General, who then proceeded to explain just what he wished to ascertain.

That night Morgan entered the British lines in the guise of a deserter, and was warmly welcomed by the English soldiers. The officer who first met him looked at Morgan with some curiosity, and said:

“Why did you leave the rebels? Were you afraid that they were about to be defeated?”

Morgan protested warmly that he had no such thought in his mind.

“I have been with the American army from the beginning of the war,” he said, “and I went into the contest with all my heart and soul. While I served with General Washington I was perfectly satisfied and I would have gone until the end, but when they put me under the charge of a Frenchman I felt that it was time to call a halt. I was unwilling to fight under a foreigner. I did not like it, I chafed under it, and finally I made up my mind to desert, and here I am.”

With this story, which was given with an air of the greatest plausibility, the British were satisfied. They received the supposed deserter without suspicion and assigned him to duty as a soldier in one of the English regiments. But before going on actual duty the young man was taken to Cornwallis and his story repeated. The British general was attired in all the glory of his high office and the members of his staff presented a glittering array of gold lace. Morgan could not help but contrast their prosperous appearance with the shabby and threadbare condition of the American army. Cornwallis was an imposing looking man who evidently was filled with the importance of his rank. He spoke harshly enough to his officers, but assumed a kindly manner with the deserter from the American ranks.

“How many men has Lafayette under his command?” he asked.

Morgan gave a quick reply, giving the number at much less than the actual force under the French general.

“How long will it take the Marquis to cross the James River?” asked Cornwallis.

“Three hours, my lord,” was the answer.

“Three hours,” exclaimed Cornwallis. “Don’t you think it is more likely to take three days?”

“Not at all, my lord,” was the response. “The Marquis has a certain number of boats, and each boat will carry a certain number of men, and if your Lordship will take the trouble of calculating you can find that he can cross the stream in about three hours.”

Cornwallis turned to his officers and began speaking in an undertone to them. There was much discussion and a great deal of shaking of heads, and finally the Earl said in the hearing of Morgan:

“The scheme will not do. We will have to change some of the lines.”