person in my position is liable to see Sherlock Homes in the
most beefwitted policeman. I did not feel that I was advancing
in the confidence of the Germans. I got no secrets worth
reporting to London, and I was not at all sure whether the cut
of my clothes had not outweighed the eloquence of my
conversation. I thought I would do something more public. I
wrote a long parody on the Declaration of Independence and
applied it to Ireland.
invited a young lady violinist who has some Irish blood in her,
behind the more evident stigmata of the ornithorhyncus and the
wombat. Adding to our number about four other debauched persons
on the verge of delirium tremens, we went out in a motor boat
before dawn on the third of July to the rejected statue of
Commerce for the Suez Canal, which Americans fondly suppose to
be Liberty Enlightening The World.
I read my Declaration of Independence. I threw an old envelope
into the bay, pretending that it was my British passport. We
hoisted the Irish flag. The violinist played the "Wearing of the
Green". The crews of the interned German ships cheered us all
the way up the Hudson, probably because they estimated the
degree of our intoxication with scientific precision. Finally,
we went to Jack's for breakfast, and home to sleep it off. The
New York Times gave us three columns and Viereck was
in England there was consternation. I cannot think what had
happened to their sense of humour. To pretend to take it
seriously was natural enough in New York, where everybody is
afraid of the Irish, not knowing what they may do next. But
London was having bombs dropped on it. There was, however, one
person in England who knew me --- also a joke when he saw it:
the Honourable A. B., my old friend aforesaid. Owing to the
confusion inevitably attached to the mud with which we always
begin muddling through, this gentleman had been inadvertently
assigned to the Intelligence Department.
— The Confessions of Aleister Crowley.
New York, NY. Hill and Wang, 1969. Page 753.