Let me advise him that adherence to the pursuits of his profession, of which he is so great an ornament, will tend more to his own honour and to the advantage of his country than a perseverance in the conduct which he has of late adopted, conduct which can only lead him into error, and make him the dupe of those who use the authority of his name to advance their own mischievous purposes.35
Cochrane saw only in this a promise that "if I would quit Sir Francis Burdett, sell my constituents, and come over to the ministerial side, the Government would - despite the affair of Lord Gambier - put me in the way of advancement". That was only half the truth. Such statements and warnings also carried their implication of the chastisement which awaited those who perversely rebelled against established order. Cochrane had shown himself wilful and incorrigible. He was ripe for retribution.36
On 21 February 1814, some eighteen months after Cochrane's marriage to Kitty Barnes, there occurred one of the most extraordinary incidents in the history of the nineteenth century. By this time, Napoleon's army had fallen back into eastern France. Its strength was depleted but it was not yet routed. Indeed, there were constant rumours of counter-attack and victory by the French against Bliicher and Schwartzenberg. On 14 February, the English newspaper the Courier reported that there were rejoicings in Boulogne and Calais for a great French triumph on the battlefields of Champagne. By 17 February there was news of a Napoleonic victory at Chateau-Thierry, in which the French had taken 6000 prisoners and thirty guns. On 18 February, the Courier reported Napoleon's attack at Montmirail. His campaign, though perhaps a desperate last defence had, in the words of The Times, "been attended with immediate success".37
Such was the situation on Saturday 19 February, with close fought battles reported from the eastern approaches to Paris and rumours of the Cossacks or the Prussians no more than fifteen or twenty miles from the city itself. But the victory which had eluded Napoleon after Moscow now seemed to be eluding the allies in France.
Early on the morning of Monday 21 February, a group of men in the parlour of the Packet Boat public house at Dover were suddenly aware of loud, insistent knocking at the door of the Ship Inn opposite. The landlord of the Packet Boat went out and found an officer in the red uniform of the general staff and grey coat, and assisted him in rousing the boots of the Ship. He gave his name as Lieutenant-Colonel Du Bourg, aide-de-camp to Lord Cathcart, who was British ambassador to Russia. Du Bourg said only that he had just been landed on the beach by a French ship and that he must have writing materials at once, as well as a horse and rider to carry an urgent message to the port admiral at Deal.
By 1 a.m. he had written his momentous despatch to Admiral Foley.
I have the honour to acquaint you, that the L'Aigle from Calais, Pierre Duquin, Master, has this moment landed me near Dover, to proceed to the capital with despatches of the happiest nature. I have pledged my honour that no harm shall come to the crew of the L'Aigle, even with a flag of truce they immediately stood for sea. Should they be taken, I have to entreat you immediately to liberate them; my anxiety will not allow me to say more for your gratification than that the Allies obtained a final victory; that Bonaparte was overtaken by a party of Sacken's Cossacks, who immediately slayed him, and divided his body between them. General Platoff saved Paris from being reduced to ashes; the allied sovereigns are there, and the white cockade is universal; an immediate peace is certain.38
Admiral Foley, roused from his bed to read this despatch, sought some kind of confirmation from the bearer, who could only add that he had been instructed to bring the message from Dover and that Colonel Du Bourg had already left for London in a chaise-and-four, paying his way with gold Napoleons. There was nothing more that the admiral could do until dawn, when it would be possible to telegraph John Wilson Croker at the Admiralty by means of the semaphore system. Foley was not prepared to take the message at face-value, though there was nothing inherently unlikely about it. Napoleon had, as a matter of fact, very nearly been killed on 29 January when the patrol he was with was attacked by a group of Cossacks, one of whom had only been brought down within a yard or so of the Emperor himself. Moreover, it was generally expected that, barring some major reversal of military fortune, there would be an allied victory before long and that Paris would be occupied.
But when dawn came, Dover was shrouded in fog. There was no hope of using semaphore to telegraph to London, news from Calais. Foley sent a messenger after Du Bourg, who was by then approaching the city. The rumours spread along the way. There had been a great battle in which the French were utterly defeated and Napoleon was killed soon afterwards. Du Bourg had been present as Lord Cathcart's aide-de-camp and had been ordered by the Czar himself to bring the news to England.
On the outskirts of London, Colonel Du Bourg paid off the post-chaise and transferred to a hackney carriage, ordering it to drive him to Grosvenor Square. At this point, his work was apparently done.
Presently the news of Napoleon's death and the final allied victory was sweeping through London, and not least through the Stock Exchange. Apart from Bank Stock, East India Stock, and such government securities as 3 per cent Consols and 4 per cent Reduced, there was one dominant commodity on the Exchange, known as Omnium. It was made up of Consols and Reduced, and was well-known for the volatility with which its price might rise or fall. Moreover, it was much used for time bargains, by those who would not actually buy the stock but merely the title on it, hoping to clear a profit before payment was due without having to find the money to buy the stock outright. Buying "on margin" was the term later given to it.
Omnium stood nowhere near 100 per cent of its value on the Exchange. On Saturday 19 February, it had closed at 26, opening at 26 on Monday 21 February. Du Bourg had arrived in London at 9 a.m. and the Stock Exchange opened for business an hour later. As the rumours became more detailed, prices of all stock began to climb, none more so than that of Omnium. By noon, it had moved up from 26% to 30, to the manifest delight of those who had bought at 19 only a fortnight earlier. But when it was discovered that not even the Lord Mayor had received confirmation of the rumours from any authority, the price of Omnium faltered.
The doubters were soon laughed to scorn. Over London Bridge, down Lombard Street, along Cheapside, and over Blackfriars Bridge came another post-chaise and four. By a happy chance, it passed right through the heart of the most sensitive and speculative area in the city. More to the point, the horses were decorated with laurels and the three occupants of the chaise were French officers, though now they wore the white cockade of the restored House of Bourbon in their hats. In case there was still any broker who remained unconvinced, the officers tossed papers out of the chaise, inscribed with "Vive le Roi! Vivent les Bourbons!" Omnium regained its momentum and surged forward to 32. Those who sold at the end of the morning realised a profit of more than 20 per cent in three hours. Those who had held it for a fortnight found themselves almost 70 per cent better off. As for men who dealt in the shadowy regions of options and time bargains, their profits were potentially enormous.
Even before the end of the day, however, there was little doubt over the "Stock Exchange Hoax", as the fraud was termed. It was soon discovered that Napoleon was still alive and undefeated. Omnium sank rapidly back to 26, the despair of all those who had not had the good sense to sell at 32.
While the great financial drama of 21 February was taking place, Cochrane was occupied over very different matters. Since 1812, England had been involved in war with the United States, brought about by British insistence on applying blockade measures to neutral countries trading with France. The Americans retaliated, and the Perceval government in London seemed inclined to compromise. But the assassination of Perceval and the general dilatoriness of his ministerial colleagues frustrated the decisive action which might have avoided war. At sea, it was discovered that the English frigates were no match for the Americans. This was hardly surprising, since the Americans built their frigates to a different design, more nearly
resembling a British 50-gun ship. When this simple truth was at length appreciated by the Admiralty, there was a rush to reinforce the Royal Navy on the far side of the Atlantic. Cochrane was even offered temporary command of H.M.S. Tonnant, then fitting out at Chatham. The commander of the Tonnant was, in fact, his uncle, Alexander, who had already sailed on another ship. But Cochrane was to be allowed to take the Tonnant across the Atlantic and, with luck, to see active service of some kind after five years of enforced retirement.
At the time of the Stock Exchange fraud, Cochrane had a week's leisure remaining before he was to join the Tonnant for her Atlantic voyage. He was much preoccupied with a new type of lamp which he had designed and which was being made for him near Snow Hill. On the morning of 21 February, he left his house in Green Street, off Park Lane, and went to have breakfast with another uncle, Andrew Cochrane-Johnstone, in Cumberland Street. Cochrane-Johnstone was now busily engaged in Stock Exchange speculations and had acquired a partner in the business, Richard Gathorne Butt, a former pay clerk at Portsmouth dockyard. Cochrane himself had invested his prize money in Omnium. He held a nominal £139,000 valued at 28 per cent and had given instructions to his broker that it was to be sold as soon as the price increased by 1 per cent. His profit would then be about £2000 on an investment of some £36,000.
After breakfast on 21 February, he left Cumberland Street with his uncle and Butt, the three of them travelling by coach together. At Snow Hill, Cochrane got out of the coach and went to attend to the business of his new lamp, while the other two drove on to the Stock Exchange. There the first tremors of the sensational rumour brought by Du Bourg were already having their effect.
Cochrane had been at the factory in Cock Lane for about three quarters of an hour when his footman Thomas Dewman arrived from Green Street with an urgent message. The signature was illegible but it had been written by an army officer who had arrived at Green Street soon after Cochrane's departure and insisted on seeing him about a matter of great importance. Cochrane's first thought was that something had happened to his brother William, who was serving with Wellington in Spain. He left Cock Lane and returned to Green Street at once.
The officer who awaited him was not from Spain. His name was Random de Berenger, a soldier of fortune whom he had met at one of his uncle Basil Cochrane's dinner parties in the previous month. He had asked Cochrane to let him join the Tonnant in order to command the sharpshooters on board. Cochrane explained that the Tonnant was in no state to receive any more officers then but that he might join her later at Portsmouth. Berenger made no secret of his desperate financial plight. He was confined to the King's Bench prison for debt, though allowed out of it so far as the rules permitted.39
On the morning of 21 February he repeated his request to be taken on board the Tonnant. Cochrane explained that he could join her at Portsmouth. Berenger seemed desperate for some form of immediate military employment, so Cochrane advised him to approach friends who had already assisted him, including Lord Yarmouth.
Berenger's rather surprising answer was to say that he could not go to Lord Yarmouth in the clothes he was wearing, which included a grey greatcoat and what soon appeared to be a sharpshooter's green uniform underneath. He asked Cochrane to lend him a civilian hat and great coat. There was another reason for this, as Berenger explained. He was one of the debtors who enjoyed the privilege of being allowed out of the King's Bench prison but if he was seen coming and going in uniform, the warden or his servants would suspect that he was planning to abscond and the privilege would be withdrawn. It was an entirely reasonable supposition.
Cochrane fetched a hat and coat, while Berenger wrapped up his own in a towel. It was logical to suppose that Cochrane's compliance with the request was as much out of a desire to get rid of this visitor and return to his own affairs as out of any great concern for Berenger.
At that point, the whole affair might have ended. It was entirely true that Cochrane was one of those who made money out of Omnium that day. He had bought at 28 with orders to his broker that the stock should be sold on a 1 per cent rise. In fact, it was sold that morning at 29. An astute speculator would have done rather better by selling at 32. In Cochrane's case, all his money was in Omnium, remaining there until the eventual 1 per cent rise took place, at which point he would collect a modest 3 or 4 per cent return on his outlay.
On the discovery of the great Stock Exchange fraud there was consternation and outrage in the city and the press. It was The Times which led the demands for discovery and retribution.
Great exertions will, no doubt, be made by the frequenters of the Stock Exchange to detect the criminal. ... If his person should be recognised he will probably be willing to save himself from the whipping-post by consigning his employers to the pillory, an exaltation which they richly merit.40
The Stock Exchange had at once set up a committee to examine witnesses and investigate the transactions carried out on 21 February. By no means all the evidence was reliable. Fearn, the broker employed by Cochrane-Johnstone and Butt, swore that Cochrane himself was at the Exchange at 10 a.m. on 21 February. Since there were innumerable witnesses to account for his presence elsewhere during the entire morning, this evidence was later withdrawn. Then, on 4 March, the investigators asked all brokers who had done business on 21 February for Cochrane, Cochrane-Johnstone, Butt, and three other men, Holloway, Sandom, and M'Rae, to "favour the Committee with an interview". The last three men, who had gambled hard and unsuccessfully on the Exchange, were identified as the "French officers" who drove through the city at mid-day on 21 February. Cochrane-Johnstone and Butt had sold Omnium totalling £410,000 and £224,000 respectively, and Consols to a value of £100,000 and £168,000. They had not owned such amounts, having bought on credit to resell at a 20 per cent gain before settling day.41
Cochrane was not yet finally implicated. To clear his name, he swore an affidavit, detailing his movements on 21 February, admitting that Berenger visited him in the green sharpshooter's uniform, and that Cochrane lent him the coat and hat asked for. English law did not allow a defendant to give evidence at his trial, so the preliminary affidavit was Cochrane's only means of self-justification, and his one chance to swear that he had had no reason to suppose Berenger was involved in any crime.42
On 8 April, Berenger was arrested at Leith under the Aliens Act. His patron, Lord Yarmouth, had already been warned off by a private letter from the Prince Regent. "The Bow Street officers are now after him," wrote the Prince, referring to Cochrane and the others as "the scoundrels with whom he is connected." Yarmouth should beware of what these men "might from pique, resentment & disappointment induce him or persuade him to invent against you". Papers in Berenger's possession connected him with Cochrane-Johnstone and Butt. He held bank notes which originated from Cochrane. Soon he was identified as "Du Bourg", a truth he later confessed in order to incriminate Cochrane. Why had Cochrane described Berenger's uniform as green, unless to conceal that he recognised the red staff coat as part of a fraud, which he none the less aided? On 23 March, a bundle was raised from the Thames river bed. It held a red uniform, such as "Du Bourg" had worn, cut into pieces.43
There was no longer any question of Cochrane being allowed to sail with the Tonnant. On 27 April 1814, he was indicted by the Grand Jury of the city of London, at the Old Bailey, as one of the ringleaders of the most ingenious swindle of the age.
Whatever malpractices were subsequently proved or alleged against his enemies, it has to be admitted that Cochrane was a difficult man to defend in such circumstances. He had no doubt that his innocence would be clear to the eyes of any jury, and so he left the conduct of his defence entirely to his solicitors and counsel, not even electing to appear at the trial nor to attend the consultation with his advocate.44
There was some justification for his optimism. After all, it was his voluntary affidavit which revealed that Berenger had visited him on the morning of 21 February and that Cochrane had lent him a hat and greatcoat to disguise his uni
form. Was it likely that a man who was party to a deep-laid fraud would come forward and offer the prosecution the very evidence which they needed to build their case? Again, if Cochrane had been a party to the conspiracy, why had he not altered his instructions to his brokers in order to profit by it ? As it was, he had merely left them with the standing arrangement whereby they were to sell his Omnium stock when it moved up 1 per cent. That might have happened anyway in a week or two, without the fraud or hoax.
It was true that Berenger was found to have bank notes in his possession which were traced back to Cochrane-Johnstone, Butt, and Cochrane himself. These were alleged to be payment to Berenger for his part in the conspiracy. Yet Cochrane's notes had not gone directly to Berenger, having been paid first to Butt in order to discharge a loan. There was independent evidence from the bank to this effect.
On the other hand, Lord Mulgrave had promised him a host of enemies, and there was every indication that the promise had been fulfilled. As soon as the Stock Exchange committee voiced its suspicions, John Wilson Croker wrote to Cochrane on behalf of the Admiralty demanding a further explanation of his conduct. On 22 March, Cochrane sent an outline of his defence, including affidavits from his servants who confirmed that Berenger had been wearing the green uniform of the sharpshooters and not the staff officers' red uniform when he visited Cochrane. Their Lordships were not prepared to comment on this evidence, except insofar as they informed Cochrane that he had now been superseded in his command of the Tonnant. One of the key witnesses for the defence on the matter of the green uniform was Isaac Davis, who was just leaving Cochrane's employment to join the navy. His affidavit was enclosed in the letter to the Admiralty on 22 March. However, when an attempt was made to recall him for the trial in June, it was discovered that the navy had despatched him to Gibraltar on H.M.S. Eurotas on 1 May.45
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