'Napoleon is Dead' E-Book

Richard Dale

• Herausgeber: The History Press
• Kategorie: Sachliteratur, Reportagen, Biografien
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 400

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2007

Beschreibung

Early on 21 February 1814, an army officer revealed that the French had been defeated and Napoleon killed. When the London Stock Exchange opened at 10.00 am, the City was full of rumours of an allied victory. This work offers a tale of one of the earliest stock market scams; a tale of greed, deceit and the public humiliation of Lord Cochrane.

Leseprobe

‘Napoleon is Dead’

‘Napoleon is Dead’

Lord Cochrane and the GreatStock Exchange Scandal

RICHARD DALE

First published in 2006

The History Press The Mill, Brimscombe Port Stroud, Gloucestershire, GL5 2QGwww.thehistorypress.co.uk

This ebook edition first published in 2013

All rights reserved © Richard Dale, 2006, 2013

The right of Richard Dale to be identified as the Author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyrights, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

EPUB ISBN 978 0 7524 9601 6

Original typesetting by The History Press

To the memory of my father, 1911–2006

Contents

Preface

Acknowledgements

Author’s Note

One

February 1814

Two

The Officer in Red

Three

The Stock Exchange Investigation

Four

Protestations of Innocence

Five

The Case for the Prosecution

Six

The Case for the Defence

Seven

Downfall

Eight

Counter-Attack

Nine

Was he Guilty?

Ten

How it Happened

Eleven

Recovery

Twelve

Vindication

Postscript

Appendix: Exhibits

1.Cochrane’s affidavit of 11 March 1814

2.James Le Marchant’s correspondence with Cochrane, April 1814

3.Tracing of notes

4.Extracts from Thomas Shilling’s evidence

5.William Crane’s evidence

6.Cochrane’s letter to his solicitors regarding Mary Turpin’s Evidence

7.Cochrane’s statement before the Court of King’s Bench, 20 June 1814

8.Affidavits of Cochrane’s servants

9.Affidavits of two ‘respectable tradesmen’ residing near Marsh Gate

10.Letter from James Hullock to Butt regarding Cochrane’s wine bill

11.Cochrane’s charges against Lord Ellenborough before the House of Commons

12.De Berenger’s social engagements with the Cochranes, January 1814

13.De Berenger’s account of his arrival at 13 Green Street

14.Anonymous letter de Berenger claimed to have received while in prison

Bibliography

Preface

The name of Thomas Cochrane should be better known. He commanded no great fleets, he was associated with no single large-scale action on which the fate of nations turned and he served for much of his active life as a mercenary under foreign flags. Yet Cochrane was one of the most brilliant naval commanders the world has known – and certainly unrivalled in his time in single-ship combat and as a leader of small battle squadrons. He wrought havoc on the French, Spanish and Portuguese navies in Channel waters, the Mediterranean, the Atlantic and the Pacific, he terrorised onshore garrisons and fortified anchorages along the French, Spanish and South American coasts and he was accorded high honours by the governments of Brazil, Chile and Greece – as well as Britain – in recognition of his exceptional contribution to the cause of freedom and independence in these countries. This book, however, does not set out to eulogise Cochrane’s extraordinary achievements at sea. Instead, it focuses on a darker chapter in the naval hero’s career – one that drove him from his native country, changed the course of his life and cast a long shadow over his later years.

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank the Earl of Dundonald for his generosity in allowing me free use of the Dundonald family papers deposited with the National Archives of Scotland, including in particular the trial documents previously held by Farrer & Co., Lord Cochrane’s solicitors in 1814. I would like also to thank the staff of the National Archives of Scotland and especially David Brown, who offered helpful insights on the interpretation of certain documents. I also received valuable assistance from the staff of the Inner Temple Library, the British Library and the Plymouth Naval Studies Library. Finally, I would like to express my gratitude to Farrer & Co., who were most helpful in guiding me towards relevant documentary sources and in making available material from their own legal archives.

Author’s Note

The main source for the Stock Exchange trial is the published transcript of the court proceedings taken down by William Gurney, who was short-hand writer to both Houses of Parliament. In describing the trial and the events preceding it I have adhered closely to the verbatim evidence of witnesses and the speeches of counsel presented in this transcript, although grammar and style have been adjusted occasionally to help the modern reader. The italics and underlining in quoted material indicate original emphasis unless otherwise stated.

I have quoted from the personal letters of Cochrane and his wife, Kitty, which are to be found in the Dundonald family papers deposited with the National Archives of Scotland, although much of this correspondence is also cited by Ian Grimble in his biography of Cochrane. The letters from de Berenger to Cochrane from which I have quoted are published as appendices to de Berenger’s book The Noble Stockjobber. The quotations from Henry Crabb Robinson’s diary for 1814 are cited by Henry Cecil in his book A Matter of Speculation.

The new evidence I have drawn upon is to be found in the trial papers lent to the National Archives of Scotland by the Earl of Dundonald, which were formerly held by Farrer & Co. These documents include the defence briefs prepared for Cochrane, Cochrane Johnstone and Butt, pre-trial correspondence between Cochrane and his solicitors, depositions and affidavits, case notes, various trial-related memoranda and Cochrane’s charges against Farrers as well as their response.

ONE

February 1814

For England the year 1814 opened with great promise. There was at long last a real prospect that Napoleon would finally be crushed by the Allies’ massively superior forces under the command of Blücher and Schwarzenburg. Indeed, so confident of victory were the Allied leaders that they had begun to compile seating plans for dinner parties to be held at the Palais Royal in Paris. Yet, against all the odds, Napoleon was able to exploit a fleeting opportunity that presented itself in early February, when the Allied armies separated, to inflict a series of lightning defeats, first on the Silesian army of Blücher and then on the Russo-Austrian forces of Schwarzenburg. It was in the context of these bewildering changes of fortune on the battlefield, as well as uncertainties surrounding the parallel peace negotiations taking place in Châtillon, that rumours and counter-rumours swept through London and its financial markets in mid-February.

The market in government bonds was especially sensitive to military and political developments across the Channel, and during these crucial weeks the two most actively traded government securities – Consols and Omnium – fluctuated in response to every rumour. On Thursday 10 February, for instance, the afternoon edition of The Courier reported unsubstantiated rumours of Napoleon’s downfall: ‘some say that Bonaparte has been killed in battle, others that he has been assassinated, that Paris is surrounded by the Allies . . . and that the Senate is in Treaty with the Allied Sovereigns.’ Over the next three days, the premium on Omnium increased from 20 per cent to 28 per cent and Consols rose by 7 per cent to 71¾. Yet on Monday 14 February the news was reversed: The Courier reported information received from Dover, based on contacts between fishing boats off Saint-Valery, that Bonaparte had won a great victory. The premium on Omnium fell back to 25 per cent and Consols dropped by 4 per cent, while across the Channel French funds rose by 3–4 per cent.

Although government bonds may have fluctuated by only a few percentage points, the gains or losses represented by these movements were hugely magnified by the practice of buying stock without immediately paying for it. An investor might, for instance, buy Omnium for the account, in which case the purchase price would not have to be settled until the next Stock Exchange account date – by which time the purchaser would hope to have made a successful offsetting sale. Alternatively, a forward contract, specifying some other longer-term settlement date, might be entered into. Sales of stock could also be ‘for time’, so that the seller need not be in possession of the stock at the time of sale: a seller who had sold forward in this way would be hoping to buy the stock more cheaply before the settlement date.

Given the vital importance of news from the Continent, Stock Exchange speculators, or ‘plungers’ as they were called, were prompted to develop their own sources of information – as Rothschild was to demonstrate the following year when he famously benefited from being first with the news of Waterloo. Some investors, as well as newspapers, maintained agents at the Channel ports to relay information to them in London as soon as it was brought ashore – whether from fishing vessels, merchant ships or naval patrols. Messages could then be rushed up to London in a matter of hours, either by express rider or, if to be delivered in person, by post-chaise.

The Admiralty, however, had its own communication system based on semaphoric or ‘line-of-sight’ telegraph. This consisted of a network of semaphore towers linking the Admiralty in London to Portsmouth, Deal, Great Yarmouth and Plymouth. Telegraphs were sited on suitable hills at intervals of 6 or 7 miles. Ropes controlled six pivoted ‘shutters’ which were attached to a raised frame, and these could be moved either into a horizontal (invisible) or vertical (visible) position. The telegraph network, which could be effective only in daylight and clear weather, was manned by sentinels who were not allowed to leave their telescopes for more than two minutes at a time during the day. The Deal telegraph, which is especially relevant to the story that is about to unfold, was linked to the Admiralty along a relay of fifteen stations: short messages could be transmitted through this network in only a few minutes, weather permitting.

As the military fortunes of the embattled European powers ebbed and flowed across the Channel in these early weeks of 1814, England was on heightened alert. The Admiralty communications system was primed, innkeepers along the main coach road into London anxiously awaited messengers carrying news of the war and in every Channel port there was an air of expectancy. In this febrile atmosphere, stock-market ‘plungers’ bought and sold on every scrap of news while a group of more serious speculators positioned themselves for the announcement of great events.

TWO

The Officer in Red

At around 1 a.m. on the morning of 21 February a striking figure could be seen in the dim light walking through the streets of Dover. The gentleman, who wore a red uniform under a grey greatcoat, appeared to be a military officer, and his bearing suggested that he had travelled far and was near exhaustion. The officer stopped at the Ship Inn and knocked loudly at the door – loudly enough to attract the attention of the landlord of the neighbouring Packet Boat public house, who came with candles to see what the commotion was about.

The night porter of the Ship opened the door to the officer, and there ensued, in the presence of the Packet Boat landlord, an agitated conversation in the hallway of the inn. The officer spoke brusquely and in terms that discouraged further questioning: ‘I have this last hour been landed on a beach from France after travelling for two nights and I am the bearer of dispatches that are the most important to be brought to England these past twenty years. I must have horses and in the meantime I would be obliged if you would bring me pen and paper so that I can inform the authorities of what has passed.’ On being asked the nature of his news, he waved his interrogator aside: ‘Do not pester me with questions. You will know it tomorrow from the Post-Admiral.’

Mr Wright, the landlord, was roused, and he, together with certain guests who had been woken by the knocking, joined the officer in the parlour. Among these was Mr William St John, who was staying in Dover as an agent of The Traveller newspaper: he was there to obtain intelligence for the paper on developments in France but he also hoped to use such information for his own Stock Exchange dealings. Clearly the City spies were out that night in Dover.

Once candles had been brought into the parlour, the officer’s full regalia could be seen by those present. It consisted of a scarlet uniform coat with long skirts buttoned across, a red silk sash, grey pantaloons and a fawn-coloured fur cap circled with a gold band. He wore several ornaments, the most prominent being a star on his breast and a silver medal suspended from his neck, and he carried a small portmanteau. The officer requested privacy and addressed himself to the landlord:

I am the bearer of sensational and glorious news – the best that could possibly be wished. But I cannot say more. I must ask you to arrange with great urgency an express horse and rider to carry a message to the Admiral at Deal as well as a post-chaise and four to take me to London. For the present I need pen, paper and ink and I would be obliged if you could also provide some refreshment to sustain me.

Once writing materials and a bottle of Madeira had been supplied, the unexpected visitor proceeded to draft a hasty dispatch, as follows:

To the Honourable T. Foley,

Post Admiral, Deal

Dover, one o’clock am

February 21st, 1814.

Sir,

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 dispatches 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 slaid [sic] 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, and immediate peace is certain. In the utmost haste, I entreat your consideration and have the honour to be,

Sir,

Your most obedient humble Servant,

R. du Bourg

Lieut-Colonel and Aide-de-Camp to Lord Cathcart.

Wright took the letter and entrusted it to one of his own boys with instructions that it be delivered to Admiral Foley personally at Deal. At about the same time a chaise and four was brought to the door of the Ship by two postboys to convey Colonel du Bourg (as we may now call him) to London – first staging post the Fountain Inn at Canterbury.

Du Bourg had offered to pay the Ship’s landlord in gold Napoleons, as might be expected from a traveller newly arrived from France. Wright, however, preferred to receive Bank of England notes, and these were duly produced. From now on, however, du Bourg paid his way along the route to London in gold Napoleons, which the various postboys were happy to accept. The next staging post after the Fountain Inn was the Rose at Sittingbourne and thereafter the Crown at Rochester, where, at around 5.30 a.m., du Bourg entered the parlour to refresh himself with a little chicken and beef provided by the landlord, William Wright, who happened to be the brother of the landlord of the Ship Inn at Dover. Wright was already aware that important news was about to break, since a postboy from Dover carrying an urgent letter to be delivered in London had just passed through with the information that an official messenger was en route. Clearly, du Bourg’s sensational news was preceding him to the metropolis.

Wright was understandably curious to know more about the dispatches brought by the officer in red. ‘I am led to suppose that you are the bearer of some very good news for this country,’ he tentatively began. Du Bourg answered him with a perfunctory ‘He’s dead,’ as he took his refreshment. ‘Who do you mean, Sir?’ Wright asked. ‘The tyrant Bonaparte,’ was the reply. When Wright asked whether this was really true, du Bourg replied curtly: ‘If you doubt my word you had better not ask me any more questions.’ Whereupon Wright apologised for presuming to doubt him and asked whether he might know the dispatches, given the anxious state of the country and of Rochester in particular.

Du Bourg deigned to give a more informative reply:

There has been a very general battle between the French and the whole of the Allied Powers commanded by Schwarzenburg in person. The French being completely defeated Bonaparte fled for safety. He was overtaken by the Cossacks, however, six leagues from Paris at the village of Rushaw. Having there come up with him they literally tore him to pieces. I myself have come from the field of battle as aide-de-camp of Lord Cathcart. The Allies have been invited to Paris and the Bourbons to the Throne of France.

After this brief ten-minute stopover at Rochester the same chaise drove du Bourg to the Crown and Anchor at Dartford. The landlord here had once again been alerted to the breaking news by a preceding postboy, and du Bourg elaborated again on Napoleon’s downfall: ‘The Allies are in Paris, Bonaparte is dead, destroyed by the Cossacks, and literally torn in a thousand pieces; the Cossacks fought for a share of him as if they were fighting for gold. The country can expect a speedy peace.’

As dawn broke on a cold and misty morning the coach was on its final stage between Dartford and London. Du Bourg gave the remains of his bottle of Madeira to the postboys and engaged them in conversation. He shared with them his sensational news, which he asked them not to repeat to anyone until their return from London, and said that he had had to walk 2 miles after he came ashore because his French crew were afraid of coming too near to Dover. He then addressed one of the drivers: ‘Postboy, you have had a great deal of snow here, I understand. Here is a delightful morning, I have not seen old England for a long while.’

As they approached London the officer evidently wished to avoid attracting attention to himself. At Bexley Heath he asked the postboys to moderate the pace of the horses. Past Shooters Hill he asked them where the first hackney coach stand was located. On being told that this was the Bricklayers Arms, he said it was too public; they were without luck at the Three Stags in Lambeth Road, but, finding a solitary coach at Marsh Gate, du Bourg asked that the chaise be drawn up alongside. After pulling up the window blind, he was able to transfer directly to the coach without stepping out. The coachman was then instructed to drive to 13 Green Street, Grosvenor Square, the private residence of Lord Cochrane, where du Bourg arrived just before 9 a.m.

Despite his precautions, du Bourg’s arrival in London did not go entirely unnoticed. Richard Barwick, clerk to Messrs Paxtons and Company, Bankers of Pall Mall, was passing by Marsh Gate on his way to work when he noticed a man getting into a hackney coach from a post-chaise. The horses of the chaise were sweating profusely from their exertions, and the postboys told him that the gentleman was a general officer carrying news from France. Knowing, as a banker, the value of inside information, Barwick decided to follow the hackney coach. This he did as far as the Little Theatre at the Haymarket, when he had to turn off in order to be at his office by 9 a.m. (Presumably he had in mind personal rather than corporate gain, since the latter might have justified his being late for work.)

While sensational news was spreading along the coach road from Dover to London, the other avenue of communication that du Bourg had opened up was encountering difficulties. The postboy arrived in Deal with du Bourg’s message to Admiral Foley at about 3 a.m. Thomas Foley was woken and asked the maid to bring him the letter so that he could read it in bed. Doubting the veracity of the sensational contents, he then questioned the postboy in his dressing room. He remained highly sceptical, but in any event, when daylight came, thick mist obstructed line-of-sight communication. Foley therefore decided not to try the telegraph but instead sent du Bourg’s letter to the Secretary of the Admiralty, accompanied by a note of his own.

Notwithstanding the failure of the telegraph at Deal, du Bourg’s reports from the battlefield, first communicated by postboys and coaching-inn landlords along the London Road, were shortly after breakfast time on the morning of 21 February beginning to multiply among merchants, dealers and brokers in the City of London. When the stock market opened that Monday at 10 a.m., government bonds were quoted at around the levels they had reached at close of business the previous Saturday. But soon the market began to stir as news spread of the officer in red and his extraordinary dispatches. The leading government trading stock, Omnium, having opened at 26½ premium soon rose to 30¼, but towards midday, when there was no official confirmation of the reported Allied victory, doubts crept in and stock prices began to fall back. At this point, between midday and 1 p.m., the market was given dramatic renewed impetus by the appearance in the City of a post-chaise drawn by four horses decorated with laurels, the two gentlemen passengers wearing blue greatcoats with white lining and cocked hats with white cockades – the uniform of French royalist officers. This impressive cortège came over London Bridge, down Lombard Street, along Cheapside and over Blackfriars Bridge, the occupants scattering paper billets inscribed with ‘Vive le Roi!’ and ‘Vivent les Bourbons!’ The City saw the triumphal display as corroboration of Napoleon’s downfall, and Omnium, reversing its earlier decline, touched 32½.

In the early afternoon, the City still awaited official confirmation of the news, and an expectant crowd gathered outside the Mansion House in anticipation of an announcement from the Lord Mayor. But, when messengers were sent to the West End, it was found that no dispatches had been received by the office of the Secretary of State. At this point it became clear that investors had fallen victim to an elaborate hoax, and government bond prices began to subside. Omnium sank back to 28 by the close of business, and there was a further fall to 26½ the following day, bringing quotations back to the level prevailing before the appearance of Colonel du Bourg.

Since ordinary investors had been duped on a large scale, there was an immediate outcry, and calls for an investigation to identify and prosecute the culprits. In its leading article of Tuesday 22 February The Times thundered against the ‘fraud of the most impudent and nefarious description’, expressing the hope that ‘Great exertions will . . . be made by the frequenters of the Stock Exchange to detect the criminal’. On that same day the Committee of the Stock Exchange, with its reputation now at stake, met and appointed a subcommittee to enquire into the hoax and to bring to justice those responsible. The subcommittee appears to have pursued its investigations with great energy over the next ten days, because on 4 March the Exchange posted a notice asking whether ‘all those members of the Stock Exchange who transacted business either directly or indirectly for any of the persons undermentioned on Monday 21st February last, would favour the Committee with an interview’. There followed the names of the Honourable Cochrane Johnstone, Mr R.G. Butt, Lord Cochrane, Mr Holloway, Mr Sanders and Mr M’Rae. At the same time a reward of £250 was advertised for the discovery of Colonel du Bourg. The wheels had been set in motion for the preparation of an indictment for conspiracy and a sensational trial that would not only hold London’s population in thrall for its duration but whose outcome was bitterly contested for more than a century afterwards.

THREE

The Stock Exchange Investigation

The Stock Exchange Committee charged with investigating the fraud carried out on the morning of 21 February had three main lines of enquiry. First, there were the fictitious ‘French officers’ who had been carried in a triumphal progress through the City; second, there was the identity of the mysterious Colonel du Bourg who had been the chief perpetrator of the hoax; and, finally, there were the beneficiaries of the fraud who had created a false market in government stock in order to generate profits for themselves. It was this last group who had presumably funded and instigated the whole charade.

The sub-plot revolving around the French officers was the first to be unravelled, although some of the detail recounted below was not revealed until the trial. Four men were involved – Mr Sandom, a spirit merchant who had fallen on hard times, Mr Lyte, a navy agent, Mr M’Rae, described in court as a ‘person in the most desperate circumstances’, and Mr Holloway, a wine merchant who appeared to have acquired the services of the other three.

The French officers’ post-chaise was traced to the Rose Inn at Dartford, whose landlord, Mr Foxall, said that he had received a letter at 7 a.m. on Monday morning from Sandom, a regular customer, asking him straightaway to provide a chaise and pair to be sent to Northfleet to collect some gentlemen. These would return to Dartford, where four good horses were to be made ready to drive them at full speed to London. According to Foxall, the chaise, when it returned from Northfleet, drove furiously into his yard carrying Sandom and two other gentlemen who were dressed in blue and wore large cocked hats with white cockades.

Foxall asked Sandom whether the gentlemen wanted breakfast. He replied: ‘No, they have breakfasted at my home, they have been in an open boat all night and they are very much fatigued.’ On being asked who they were, he added: ‘I do not know who they are but they have news of the utmost consequence and I beg you to let them have the best horses you can provide.’ Foxall then provided four fresh horses and harnessed them to a new chaise, since the wheels of the first vehicle were insufficiently well greased for a fast drive to London.

The postboys from the Rose Inn then drove the three gentlemen towards the metropolis. As they approached Shooters Hill, however, Sandom got out with one of the others and walked. He explained to the postboys: ‘My lads we do not want you to distress your horses up this hill but when you get up you may get on a little . . . I shall give you twelve shillings apiece for driving.’ The équipe then made its dashing tour round the City via London Bridge, Lombard Street and Cheapside, before moving off towards Marsh Gate. Here the three gentlemen descended from the chaise, changed their cocked hats for round ones and disappeared from view.

A certain Sarah Alexander, who had lodged on the same floor in Fetter Lane as M’Rae and his wife, was able to throw further light on the officers’ dress. Because they were all hard up and coal was dear, Sarah often shared a fire with the M’Raes. According to Sarah, on Sunday 20 February M’Rae brought back two dark blue officers’ coats with ornamental braiding and lined with white silk, together with two opera hats, one having a gold tassle at each corner and a brass plate. M’Rae told his wife to make two white cockades, and, being asked the purpose, he said they were ‘to deceive the flats’ (speculators). The following day, he brought back only one coat and asked for the white lining to be removed before taking it to the dyers to be dyed black. The white cockades and the paper they were quilled on were thrown onto the fire. M’Rae, who had been almost penniless, now had in his possession £10, £2 and £1 notes, explaining that he had gained £50 for what he had done. Soon after, he disappeared without leaving an address.

M’Rae’s role in the affair was further elaborated on by an acquaintance of his, Mr Vinn. In mid-February Vinn had received a letter as follows:

February 14, 1814

Mr Vinn,

Please meet me at the Carolina Coffee House, Burchin Lane, about eleven tomorrow, upon very particular interesting business.

Yours very respectfully, Alexander M’Rae

Vinn went to the Carolina Coffee House at the appointed time and met M’Rae, who confided that he, Vinn, could make his fortune if he was prepared to participate in a scheme that was being planned by men of consequence and affluence where his knowledge of French would be particularly useful. On being asked whether there was any moral turpitude attached to the scheme, M’Rae replied:

Not at all. What is contemplated is practised daily by men of the first consequence. It involves nothing more or less than biting the biters or, in other words, a hoax upon the Stock Exchange. It is to be performed by going down to Dartford, Folkestone or Dover, as may be instructed and on the appointed evening it will be necessary for you and I to have dresses appropriate to the character of French officers.

Vinn claimed that at this point he insisted on having nothing to do with the project, although he did go so far as to provide two French phrases in writing at M’Rae’s particular request. The phrases were ‘Vive le Roi’ and ‘Vivent les Bourbons’. Vinn left and immediately made the story public but without mentioning M’Rae’s name. Some people may therefore have been alerted to the fact that a Stock Exchange scam was in the offing.

Given the facts that were coming to light about the French officers’ dash through the City, it is perhaps not surprising that towards the end of April both Mr Holloway and Mr Lyte, on whom suspicion had already fallen, approached the Stock Exchange with a full confession of the sub-plot and the identity of those who had participated. Holloway, however, insisted that he had acted independently and denied any connection with Lord Cochrane, Cochrane Johnstone or Butt. His sole motive, he said, had been to profit from a rise in price of government stock (he had indeed sold out his entire £40,000 holding in Omnium on the morning of 21 February). Holloway and Lyte hoped that by confessing before the impending trial they could avoid prosecution – in vain as it turned out.

The Stock Exchange’s second line of enquiry focused on the person of Colonel du Bourg and his red uniform. Here again events moved rapidly. As early as 6 March an undisclosed person, quite possibly one of Lord Cochrane’s servants, claimed and received the £250 reward that had been offered for the identification of du Bourg. The informer named a certain Charles Random de Berenger as the imposter. A few days later on 11 March Lord Cochrane published an affidavit (see p. 22) stating, inter alia, that the gentleman in uniform who had been seen visiting his house in Green Street was none other than this very same de Berenger. On 26 March the Stock Exchange revealed that a waterman, dredging for coal with a drag above Old Swan Stairs, had recovered a scarlet regimental coat from the Thames. This had been cut into pieces and bundled together with an embroidered silver star and a silver badge, weighed down with pieces of lead and brass, and tied up in the covers of a white chair cushion. At around this time de Berenger was heard of in Sunderland, where he was apparently aiming to leave the country under an assumed name. Finally, on 8 April the fugitive was arrested in Leith. His possessions included a portable writing desk, various personal papers, a bugle, some Napoleon coins and a large number of bank notes. De Berenger was then brought to London on 12 April and committed to Newgate to await his trial.

Charles Random de Berenger, a 42-year-old adventurer in straitened financial circumstances, was a remarkable individual. In physical appearance he was unprepossessing: of middling height, he was described by one witness as having a large red nose, large whiskers and a rather blotched face. His father was a native of Germany who had been an aide-de-camp to Frederick the Great of Prussia during the Seven Years War. His family had then settled in North America after inheriting landed property there but, because they sided with the Crown, they subsequently lost this in the War of Independence. De Berenger had then moved to London, where he tried without great success to earn a living as a draughtsman, designer and inventor. By 1814 he was confined as an insolvent debtor under the rules of the King’s Bench, which meant that his movements were restricted to a short distance from his lodgings in Lambeth. De Berenger had considerable military experience, belonged to a volunteer corps of sharpshooters under the command of Lord Yarmouth and was an acknowledged crack shot, weapons expert and specialist in pyrotechnics. He also had wider interests and was often to be heard playing the trumpet or violin in his rooms in the morning. All in all, de Berenger’s military background, audacity and inventiveness made him an ideal candidate to play the role of Colonel du Bourg.

De Berenger was connected to Lord Cochrane through his friendship with the latter’s uncle, Mr Cochrane Johnstone, and they had from time to time dined at the same table. The precise extent of the intimacy between Cochrane and de Berenger was to become a key issue, Cochrane claiming in his affidavit that de Berenger’s visit to his house on the morning of 21 February was motivated solely by the desire to discuss the possibility of a naval appointment. In any event, de Berenger was sufficiently familiar with Cochrane’s domestic arrangements to know that he had just taken up residence at 13 Green Street, Mayfair, even though the house had been acquired only three days before the events of 21 February.

The third line of enquiry conducted by the Stock Exchange focused on the identity of those who had profited from the surge in government stock values on the morning of the hoax. Suspicion immediately fell on an investment syndicate comprising Lord Cochrane, Cochrane Johnstone and Mr R.G. Butt. It transpired that these three gentlemen, transacting mainly through a broker named Joseph Fearn, had invested heavily in government stock in the days immediately preceding the great hoax and that as of 19 February their holdings were as follows:

Omnium

Consols

(£)

(£)

Lord Cochrane

139,000

–

Mr Cochrane Johnstone

410,000

100,000

Mr Butt

224,000

168,000

773,000

268,000

Furthermore, these purchases had been paid for on account and not for cash, the next settlement day being 23 February. Any profits realised before that date would therefore represent a windfall return obtained with no capital outlay (although the syndicate of course faced heavy losses if prices moved down rather than up). As it happened, the syndicate, for whom Butt acted as investment manager, sold out the entirety of their combined holdings in a series of hectic transactions between 10 a.m. and noon on Monday 21 February – so hectic, indeed, that in the confusion Mr Fearn sold 10,000 Consols too few and 24,000 Omnium too many.

Lord Cochrane had been dabbling on the Stock Exchange, with advice from Mr Butt, since October 1813. However, as of 11 February he appears to have held no government securities. Then on 12 February he contracted to buy £100,000 Omnium, a holding increased by further purchases to £139,000 as of Saturday 19 February, the whole amount being sold the following Monday morning at a profit of just under £2,500.

Who, then, was Lord Cochrane and who were his fellow partners in the investment syndicate Messrs Cochrane Johnstone and Butt? Sir Thomas Cochrane enjoyed the courtesy title of Lord Cochrane, being the eldest son of the 9th Earl of Dundonald, whom he later succeeded as the 10th Earl. Tall, impressive, intemperate, with flaming red hair, Cochrane was, at the age of 39, a major national figure, an aristocratic grandee, renowned both for his brilliant naval exploits and for his fiery performances as a populist Member of Parliament, representing first Honiton and then Westminster.

The Cochranes were an ancient Scottish family descended from the Vikings whose estates had been considerably reduced over time. The 9th Earl of Dundonald had added to the family’s financial problems by giving up a naval career to become a professional inventor. But his inventions and scientific experiments came to nothing, with the result that Cochrane and his siblings were brought up in penury.

Joining the navy at the beginning of the revolutionary wars with France and Spain, Cochrane was quick to make a name. In 1800, aged 25, he was given command of the Speedy, a diminutive vessel of 158 tons, with fourteen 4-pounder guns and 90 officers and men – later reduced to little more than 50. Ordered to cruise off the Spanish coast and disrupt enemy shipping, Cochrane created havoc: during the thirteen months of his command the Speedy, once described as a ‘burlesque on a ship of war’, captured over 50 vessels, 122 guns and 534 prisoners, the biggest catch by far being a large Spanish frigate (over 600 tons, 32 heavy guns and 319 men), which was forced to surrender when the Speedy manœuvred under its guns and fired successive broadsides at point-blank range.

Following the Peace of Amiens in 1801, Cochrane, like many other naval officers, became temporarily redundant, and he decided to use this period of enforced leisure by enrolling at Edinburgh University to further his education, first in ethics and then in chemistry. After hostilities had been resumed, Cochrane, in 1805, was appointed captain of the Pallas, a new 32-gun frigate. Cruising off the Azores, he succeeded in securing several rich prize vessels before returning triumphantly to Portsmouth with enormous Mexican gold candlesticks, 5-feet high, attached to each masthead. When the Pallas suffered severe damage in an encounter with the French, Cochrane and his crew were transferred to the frigate Impérieuse, initially with a roving commission ‘to harass the Spanish and French coast as opportunity served’. Once again, Cochrane wrought havoc, although this time the damage was inflicted mainly on French coastal communications. By breaking down roads and bridges and blowing up batteries, towers and signal stations, this one frigate severely disrupted the inland movement of French armies and their supplies. Cochrane also demonstrated his familiarity with the importance of the new telegraphic communication systems when he reported to Lord Collingwood that he had blown up and completely demolished ‘the newly constructed semaphoric telegraphs, which are of the utmost importance to the safety of the numerous convoys that pass along the coast of France . . .’.

However, Cochrane’s greatest achievement came in 1809 when an English fleet under Lord Gambier was instructed to attack the French fleet in the Basque Roads. Cochrane’s mission was to organise fireships to drive the French fleet ashore and leave them stranded and helpless – an objective that he achieved with total success. He organised and led a frontal attack by night on the French battle fleet of fifteen ships, which were moored in what was thought to be an impregnable anchorage protected by heavy shore batteries. Five French ships were destroyed, with most of the rest driven ashore and forced to discard their guns. The destruction might have been complete were it not for a delayed follow-up by the English fleet that allowed many of the French vessels to heave off and escape. Nevertheless, for his signal services on this occasion, Cochrane was decorated with the Order of the Bath, an almost unprecedented distinction for anyone below the rank of admiral. He was also acclaimed as a national hero.

It is worth noting that throughout his naval career Cochrane showed himself to be a master of deception. When commanding the Speedy he had avoided detection by painting his vessel as a Danish brig, and hiring a Danish quartermaster who could be passed off as captain. He had also made use of the quarantine flag to keep enemy vessels at a distance, claiming he had sailed from Algiers, where the plague was rife. Some years after the trial of 1814, when Cochrane found himself fighting for the Brasilians against the Portuguese, he was to engage in a monstrous double bluff. Attacking the province of Maranham with a single fighting ship, he came in under Portuguese colours, and those on shore, believing him to be a reinforcement from Portugal, sent out a messenger with dispatches and congratulations on his safe arrival. Cochrane then told the messenger who he really was, explaining also that he was the vanguard of a powerful naval squadron coming up behind. Cochrane sent a message back to the Portuguese commander of Port Bahia to the effect that the commander could prevent the destruction of his city and forts by overwhelming force if he would accept reasonable terms for capitulation. The terms were accepted and Cochrane took the surrender with one ship under his command.

Cochrane’s activities at sea were also characterised by a determined quest for prize money – a motivation that reflected his desire to restore the Dundonald family fortunes. Although he is understood to have collected prizes running into several tens of thousands of pounds, Cochrane objected strongly to the more democratic rules for the distribution of booty introduced by the new regulations of 1808. Under the old rules, £20,000 of prize money distributed among the ship’s crew of a first rate would be allocated as follows: £2,500 for the fleet admiral, £5,000 for the ship’s captain and about £6 15s per man for the seamen and marines. Under the new regulations, the distribution was £1,666 for the admiral, £3,333 for the captain and £10 5s per man for the remaining crew. Cochrane complained bitterly about this reduction in the financial incentive enjoyed by captains, and in 1812 he claimed in the House of Commons ‘that it was the diminution of the prize money by recent regulations which principally induced me to leave the profession for the last two or three years’.

After his Basque Roads exploit Cochrane did indeed decline to continue in service with the Impérieuse, whereupon he was placed on half-pay. For the next three years he devoted himself to his parliamentary career and in particular to the exposure in the House of Commons of naval abuses and maladministration, the wretched financial provision made for wounded officers and the alleged maltreatment of French prisoners. He also appears to have developed an interest, like his father, in patenting inventions, his pet scheme at the time of the Stock Exchange hoax being the manufacture of a ship’s lantern, with an intensified glare, on which he had been working for the past year. Cochrane’s design was a major improvement on the standard Argand oil lamps whose globe had a single aperture. The resulting mixture of atmospheric and consumed air retarded the light. Cochrane was able to intensify the light by providing two apertures, one admitting atmospheric air to the burner and the other expelling consumed air.

Cochrane showed the romantic side to his nature when he fell in love with a 16-year-old beauty, Katherine Barnes, who was an orphan with a modest family background. He whisked her off to Scotland, where, in August 1812, the couple went through a marriage ceremony at the Queensbury Arms at Annan, with two servants acting as witnesses. To remove any doubt about the legitimacy of this union, Cochrane and his bride were remarried in an Anglican church in 1818, at the specific request of Kitty’s guardian.

Towards the end of 1813, war having broken out with the United States, Cochrane’s uncle, Sir Alexander Cochrane, was appointed commander of the British fleet on the North American station. Sir Alexander departed immediately in a frigate, leaving his flagship, the Tonnant, to be fitted out at Chatham and brought out by his nephew who returned to service as flag captain. However, having joined his ship on 8 February 1814, Cochrane successfully applied for two weeks’ leave of absence to put his domestic affairs in order and to complete the process for patenting his lantern. Accordingly he arrived back in London on 14 February, and it was here at his new residence in Green Street that de Berenger found him on that fateful Monday morning one week later.

Cochrane’s two investment partners on the Stock Exchange’s ‘wanted’ list were the Honourable Andrew James Cochrane Johnstone and Richard Gathorne Butt. Cochrane Johnstone was a younger son of the 8th Earl of Dundonald and therefore Cochrane’s uncle, although only eight years his senior. He was both a charmer and a rogue. From 1797 until 1803 he had been governor of the island of Dominica in the West Indies – a post that he used for his own personal enrichment. He dabbled in the slave trade, as well as in the sale of arms, and he was eventually cashiered by the Army for his underhand financial dealings. When he married the daughter of the Earl of Hopetown, he added the name of Johnstone to his own, and after her death he married another heiress – the daughter of Baron de Clugny, Governor of Guadeloupe – from whom he was later divorced. After his forced resignation from the army, Cochrane Johnstone bought the parliamentary seat of Grampound, a notoriously corrupt constituency that was to be abolished in 1822. He continued to engage in multifarious business projects, most of which turned sour: on one occasion he bought sheep and wool in Spain which were to be paid for by exports of muskets from England. However, his London agent could not obtain export licences for the muskets, while the sheep failed to sell at the price expected, the result being a disastrous loss. At the time of the Stock Exchange fraud Cochrane Johnstone had debts of around £16,000, and it was only his status as a member of Parliament that kept him from a debtor’s prison and allowed him to live in some comfort, first in Harley Street and later in Great Cumberland Street.

Richard Butt, a man in his late thirties, had previously been pay clerk in Portsmouth Dockyard. By 1813 he had become what might be described as a ‘day trader’ and investment adviser – that is, he had no regular job but was reputed to speculate successfully on the Stock Exchange while acting as investment adviser to others, including Cochrane. He lived in some style, having bought a house in Cumberland Place.

These, then, were the prime suspects to emerge from the initial Stock Exchange investigation into the hoax of 21 February. De Berenger was cast in the role of chief perpetrator, while Cochrane and Cochrane Johnstone were the alleged originators, along with Butt, the stock-market expert. The gentlemen concerned were not, however, prepared to wait on events. In keeping with Cochrane’s favoured naval tactics, they launched an immediate preemptive counter-attack.