Twenty-five years in the Secret Service: The recollections of a spy

by Henri Le Caron

One of the first things I did, therefore, was to cable for my wife and children; and having eased my mind on this score, I went to work with a will in the preparation of my evidence. For ten long working days, Mr. Houston and I waded through the hundreds of letters and Clan-na-Gael documents I had now at my disposal, he taking notes as he went along, and I dictating many items brought to my recollection by the letters I was perusing. We worked in this way from ten to six o’clock each day, undisturbed by visitors of any kind; and when I left him, Mr. Houston, with the assistance of his clerks, worked far into the night, copying the circulars, and transcribing the notes which remained at the end of our day’s work.

On Tuesday morning, the 5th of February 1889, the curtain was rung up, and throwing aside the mask for ever, I stepped into the witness-box and came out in my true colours, as an Englishman, proud of his country, and in no sense ashamed of his record in her service. On what followed I need not dwell. While I was under examination, my old employer, Mr. William Baber of Colchester, was brought into court by the well-known detective Meiklejohn, in order that he might identify me. Nothing, of course, came of the incident; but as I once more saw Mr. Baber, I thought to myself how little he knew of the part I had played at his father’s death-bed. It was in 1884 that I was hurriedly called one day to see a patient who was said to be dying. I found him an old man of eighty, surrounded by his family and friends. In a few minutes he was dead; and finding that all round about me were strangers to the grim monster, I performed the last offices for the body. As I was so employed, the poor people related to me their history, and then I learned to my surprise that the man whose eyes I was now closing in death was none other than the father of my former employer at Colchester, who had emigrated to America some few years previously.

Great as was the sensation produced by my strange and weird but true story, it was as nothing compared to that brought about by the perfect corroboration afforded by the assassination of poor Cronin, of whom I have said so much. Little did I think, when day after day I stood in the witness-box to tell my tale, and morning after morning read the scoffing references of those who believed it not, that in a little while the blood of a murdered Gael would cry out in judgment against those of whom I spoke, and that in the outcome truth would prevail, and the black foul conspiracy be dragged into the open light. Yet so it was; and to-day there are none who question the existence of the murderous alliance to which I testified, and of men within its ranks prepared to obey its leaders, even unto the shedding of blood.

LIII.

I have told my story, and little more remains to be done. Yet I cannot lay down my pen without rendering some little tribute to one whose care and caution on my behalf I can never repay. I refer to Mr. Anderson. For twenty-one years I served under this gentleman in the Secret Service, and no greater honour can I pay him than to say that during all this time I was never discovered. Only those who have played my part can fully appreciate what this means. Not always careful, not always guarded enough in the rattle and bustle of my life, there were times when, had it not been for my chief’s watchfulness, discovery might have overtaken me. But he never wavered or grew lax in his care. He proved indeed to me, not the ordinary official superior, but a kind trusty friend and adviser, ever watchful in my interests, ever sympathising with my dangers and difficulties. To him, and to him alone, was I known as a Secret Service agent during the whole of the twenty-one years of which I speak. Therein lay the secret of my safety. If others less worthy of the trust than he had been charged with the knowledge of my identity, then I fear I should not be here to-day on English soil quietly penning these lines.

If my identity remained undiscovered, it was not for want of attempts on the part of colleagues of Mr. Anderson to find it out. It was but natural, of course, that those associated with my chief should seek to penetrate his reserve regarding such a voluminous correspondent as myself, and to gain, at first hand, possession of the many important pieces of information which he alone appeared to be able to supply. All attempts, however, in this direction, and they were many, proved fruitless. So determined was a certain public official at one time to discover my identity, that having in some way got hold of my Christian name, Thomas—I always wrote in the name of Beach to Mr. Anderson—and assuming it to be my surname, he despatched a detective to Chicago to discover the man called Thomas in the organisation there. Of course there was no chance of getting at me in this way, but, nevertheless, I was warned in time, and left no possible loophole for discovery. Imagine, dear reader, the weakness of such a policy as this, which would commit the safety of an important informant to the irresponsible knowledge of an ordinary detective!

When this attempt failed, communications were sought to be opened up with me by the same official through Sir John Rose and Judge M‘Micken, with whom I had acted at the time of the Fenian raid of 1870. So strong, indeed, was the pressure brought upon Judge M‘Micken, that the old gentleman travelled specially to Chicago to see me on the point. However, I would have none of it. I was quite contented, and too well assured of my safety as I was; and so, much to my own satisfaction, I was left undisturbed in Mr. Anderson’s charge.

There was only one thing about which he had frequently to remonstrate with me, and that was my expenditure. Many a lecture did I receive from him on the subject of money spending. It was not, of course, his fault, but rather that of the system. Indeed, so kind and friendly was he that he at times advanced me money for which he himself had to wait for repayment for some time, if indeed he ever got all of it back, which I very much doubt. Of course I could not help spending the money. I tried to be as sparing as possible, and, whenever I could, debited my expenses to those other undertakings which I allied with my Secret Service work. But it was not always possible to pursue such an economic course, and in very many instances where Mr. Anderson could not pay, I had to pay myself. I occupied a certain position; I had to live up to that position. The expenditure of money amongst the Irish patriotic class was an absolute necessity for my purpose, and consequently I could never put any money by, but rather lived up to, if not, indeed, at times beyond every penny of my income.