Odd this day
Ah, the 210th anniversary of the day Thomas Cochrane, later 10th Earl of Dundonald, perpetrated the outrageous Great Stock Exchange Fraud: scamming the London Stock Exchange into believing Napoleon had died so he could sell his government securities at a massive profit. Unless he didn’t.
Some people did, though, and one of the conspirators was Andrew Cochrane-Johnstone, who was, inconveniently, Thomas’ uncle. The saga began when a man in a red uniform, apparently Colonel de Bourg, aide-de-camp to Britain’s ambassador to Russia, arrived in Dover bearing the news of Napoleon’s demise at the hands of Cossacks. He asked that the news be transmitted to London that very day — which it was, by the only means then available faster than a messenger on a horse: optical telegraph (a series of signals, a bit like semaphore, mounted on wooden huts between London and the coast). The ‘Colonel’ then set off for the metropolis himself, spreading the good news at pubs along the way.
When he reached London, three French officers in Bourbon uniforms were seen celebrating in the streets. This alleged sighting was also taken as a good omen, and the Stock Exchange went wild at the imminent peace. Government stocks soared, especially a type called Omniums. Cochrane sold £139,000 worth — which represented everything he held, which he happened to have acquired the previous month, and which would be worth around £10m today.
When it turned out that Napoleon was still thriving, people were Not Very Happy. When it emerged that Cochrane’s uncle was one of the conspirators, and that de Bourg was actually Charles Random de Berenger, who had — according to a witness — visited Cochrane’s house on 21 February, things looked less than good for him.
As his 2004 biographer, Brian Vale, wrote in The Audacious Admiral Cochrane:
The case against him was circumstantial and clearly did not amount to undisputed proof. On the other hand, to claim — as Cochrane did — that he was demonstrably innocent, and that no further questions needed to be asked, was ludicrous.
His case wasn’t helped when de Berenger was arrested in April, trying to escape via Leith, with bank notes in his pockets which came from Cochrane.
Another complication for him was that he was such a daring and successful sea captain that Bonaparte had named him le loup des mers (wolf of the seas), and he later became one of the inspirations for both Horatio Hornblower and Patrick O’Brian’s Jack Aubrey. This should have been a point in his favour, but his bravery was such that in 1809, he’d led a fireship attack on the French fleet in the Bay of Biscay, and then strongly opposed a parliamentary vote of thanks for James Gambier, Admiral of the Fleet, who had failed to capitalise on the advantage. This had made him unpopular in government circles, and — when Gambier was acquitted at court martial — technically guilty of libelling the admiral.
Add to this that Cochrane was the radical MP for Westminster with a penchant for reform, and the judge in the Stock Exchange case was a High Tory, and… well, the allegedly ignoble lord found himself in a bit of a bind. Or, to be more precise, sentenced to a pillory for an hour and prison for a year. He was also kicked out of the navy, removed from the Most Honourable Order of the Bath (in a ceremony which involved his banner being taken down in Westminster Abbey and then kicked down the steps outside), and removed from Parliament.
In his 2013 book, Cochrane the Dauntless, David Cordingly says he was allowed out of prison to speak in Parliament in his defence, but swore so much that Hansard had to use asterisks, and attacked the judge, Lord Ellenborough, with such venom that reporters present were told they’d be sued for libel if they printed it.
Parliament later rescinded the pillory sentence on the grounds that putting a naval hero through such an ordeal would cause a riot. And, at the by-election prompted by his ejection from Parliament, his opponents stood aside and he was re-elected unopposed — 11 days after he’d left. He was eventually pardoned in 1832 and allowed back in the navy, then given his knighthood back in 1847. His banner was restored to Westminster Abbey in 1860. Unfortunately, he wasn’t there to see that, because it was done just in time for his funeral.
While he was out of the British navy, though, he took up a job with the Chilean one, and was instrumental in winning both that country and Peru independence from Spain. He was also involved in Brazil’s fight for independence from Portugal — although he did have a habit of getting into scraps with his employers just as he should have been celebrating a great victory. But they remember him fondly, anyway. The Chilean navy still lay wreaths on his Westminster Abbey grave.
Did he actually defraud the Stock Exchange, though? No one knows.
Sorry.
