Dan Snow's History Hit - 1. Thomas Cochrane: The Real Master and Commander

Episode Date: January 3, 2024

Dan tells a story as dramatic, unlikely and exciting as any ever penned by an author about one of Britain's greatest sailors. Thomas Lord Cochrane was a naval commander with an illustrious career in the Napoleonic Wars who once strapped himself to a floating bomb, in a rising storm, in the dead of a moonless night to take out a French fleet. Another time, he convinced an enemy force to surrender to a navy that didn’t exist. Napoleon dubbed him 'The Sea Wolf'.In part 1 of this 3-part series, Dan delves into Cochrane's early life and career starting out as a young man discovering a penchant for the sea, adventure and war.The whole series is available now for paying subscribers- you can sign up for the Apple app or at the link below.The rest of the series will be available for all listeners from Monday 8th January.Written by Dan Snow, produced by Mariana Des Forges, edited by Joseph Knight and sound designed & mixed by Dougal Patmore.Discover the past with exclusive history documentaries and ad-free podcasts presented by world-renowned historians from History Hit. Watch them on your smart TV or on the go with your mobile device. Get 50% off your first 3 months with code DANSNOW sign up now for your 14-day free trial.We'd love to hear from you! You can email the podcast at [e-mail] can take part in our listener survey here.

I'm going to tell you a story that is as dramatic, unlikely and exciting as any story ever penned by an author. But the best thing about this one is that it's absolutely true. It's about one of Britain's greatest sailors. A man who strapped himself to a floating bomb in shoal-infested waters in a rising storm in the dead of a moonless night. On another occasion, he convinced an enemy force to surrender to a navy that didn't exist. Byron, the great poet, wrote, There is no man I envy as much. The legendary Admiral Collingwood, Nelson's second-in-command at the Battle of Trafalgar,

the man who succeeded him, called him brilliant and wrote, His resources for every exigency have no end. and wrote, his resources for every exigency have no end. The Times newspaper wrote that no soldier or sailor of modern times ever displayed more extraordinary capacity. And I think the greatest praise for him came from the man whose ambitions he did so much to thwart, Napoleon Bonaparte, who named him the Loup de mer, the sea wolf.

His name was Thomas Lord Cochrane. He was born into impoverished aristocracy. The sea, as it's done with so many Britons, before and after was his route to fame and fortune. His rampages against the enemies of his Britannic majesty are unparalleled. But he had a hot temper. His decision-making was as poor ashore as it was infallible at sea. He made enemies way beyond the French and the Spanish. His poor judgment saw him disgraced and exiled. But that wasn't enough to stop him. And he played a critical role as the new nations of South America threw off the European yoke. He commanded the naval forces of no less than three nations and was offered the command of a fourth. You're listening to Dan Snow's History

here and this is the first episode in my series telling the epic story of Thomas Cochrane, naval officer, politician, criminal, mercenary and seawolf. This is his story. This is the story that's inspired Jack Aubrey from Patrick O'Brien's Mastering Commander and the Hornblower series by C.S. Forrester. I'm very grateful to the superb historian David Cordingly, who you're going to hear from in this series of podcasts, and whose book Cochrane the Dauntless is the last word on this matter, as beautifully written as it is meticulously researched.

Cochrane was as great as Nelson, yet most of us are unaware of his existence. Well, that changes now. Cochrane was born on December the 14th, 1775, near Hamilton in Scotland. It was a famously cold winter. Two days later, Jane Austen was born at the other end of the country. It's strange that both those families, one of Scottish aristocrats, the other of Hampshire gentry, would be transformed by the Navy. It just reflects the fact that institution shaped every aspect of British life, politics, industry and ideas. He was the eldest son of the Knight Thel of Dundonald. He was a rather fascinating sort of hobbyist scientist and inventor. His experiments had certainly managed to deplete the already much

diminished family fortune. He wasn't unsuccessful. One of his inventions was a method of producing coal tar on a large scale. Now, the Royal Navy would eventually use this tar as a sealant on the hulls of its ships, covering up the planking, but only once Cochrane's patent had expired. Young Cochrane would inherit his dad's fascination with tinkering. He was an innovator. He's obsessed with the power of steam. He's one of the first officers to use rockets. At the start of the Industrial Revolution, there was just a fascination with sciences and engineering. There was a sense of opportunity, a buzz around tech that I think those of us who've lived through the last 20 years can relate to. Science and engineering were the talk of educated gentlemen. They were of intellectual interest and, for the

Cochrane's anyway, they were perhaps a way of rebuilding the coffers of elite families in straightened circumstances. His long-suffering mother was Anna Gilchrist. She came from a well- respected military family. Her dad, her grandpa on her mother's side were both soldiers. So on both sides, young Cochrane had a lineage, a tradition of making war. And there was certainly no shortage of opportunity for that in the 18th century. The nascent British Empire, well, it needed its aristocrats to lead and to die. A class of men hungry for honour, who lived to emulate their warrior ancestors, to win glory on battlefields, to reaffirm their right to rule at home. An added urgency was that many of them, like the Cochrane's, were desperate for wealth, for cash, to support their grandeur.

Cochrane's industrious father was actually quite unusual. He was an eccentric, and he wasn't a terrific example to be emulated. Most aristocrats thought the surest route to fortune lay in hacking your way through a battalion of French foot guards or standing unflinching on a court deck as an enemy broadside spat a blizzard of iron. It might have been dangerous but it was a more honourable way of making money than joining a bank. As a result, the fate of the Cochrane's was often to fill shallow graves on the field of battle. Three of the family were killed under Marlborough as Europe fought over the Spanish throne. Another forebear died in the siege works at Louisbourg on the rain-lashed coast of Nova Scotia as General Wolfe helped capture France's

defensive anchor in Canada. Of Cochrane's uncles, one was wounded under Admiral Rodney off Martinique in the Caribbean. Another was killed the following year at Yorktown as General Washington and the French humiliated Britain on the shore of the Chesapeake, a battle that turned the world upside down and dealt what many worried was a mortal blow to Britain's imperial ambitions. Thomas had six brothers, two of whom would go on to serve with distinction in the military. William in the 15th Dragoons, achieving the rank of Major. Archibald, who became a captain in the Navy. His mother died

when he was nine. His father was distracted by his experiments. Thomas spent much of his childhood with his brothers, just let loose on the crumbling family estate in Culross, Fife. His father couldn't afford a smart school to send them away to. They played in the grounds, looking out at panoramic views of the Firth of Forth, busy with maritime traffic, a portal to the rest of the world. Edinburgh was 15 miles downstream, and beyond that, the oceans. But by 1793, the family couldn't paper over the cracks any longer. Humiliatingly, they had to sell this beloved estate to cover their debts. And I think that

drove Cochrane for the rest of his life. He developed a ferocious desire to restore his family to that position which they'd once occupied. Sure, he was thirsty for honour and reputation, but at the root of it all there was a rock-hard calculation of financial reward, and that was hidden by the very thinnest of veils, and sometimes not at all. He was tall, he had a big nose and pale skin, so we have that in common, but sadly not much else. He had auburn hair, blue eyes. His father wanted to send him off to the army, but a brief spell in a military academy in Kensington ended with him just despising the discipline. He hated the uniform, the discipline, and he pretty much went AWOL. He just left and

returned to Scotland. He spent a few years teaching himself and pestering his dad to let him join the navy. 1793 wasn't just a big year for the Cochrane family. France was locked in a paroxysm of revolution. The king's head was in a basket, his wives followed. Armies of enthusiastic recruits under officers of merit rather than breeding thrashed the ponderous forces of the old order. France was gripped with the desire to spread the word of revolution. Her armies invaded the low countries. France declared war on Britain. It was the start of a great war. It was a global upheaval that in turn spawned other wars. And collectively, these wars shaped Cochrane's fate and were in turn shaped by him. Cochrane may have had no money, but he had

something almost as precious in the 18th century. He had connection. Families and social networks looked after their own. They advanced the careers of their friends, of family members, and they expected reciprocity. Cochrane, as a well-connected aristocrat, had many allies he could call upon. First and foremost, his uncle, Alexander Cochrane, was happy to use his time-hallowed right as a commanding officer to take his relatives to sea. But first of all, Cochrane needed permission from that most important of family connections, his dad. In 1793, Cochrane got that permission. He joined the Navy.

He travelled from the mouth of one of Britain's great northern rivers to one of its most southern. With a bulky new sea chest in tow, Cochrane made for the Medway in Kent. Sheerness can be a pretty grim place, windswept on the edge of a marsh on the edge of the Isle of Sheppey. It sits at the mouth of the Thames on the eastern side of England. The River Medway had once been the navy's centre of gravity during the near unending Dutch Wars of the 17th century. On one occasion, which we don't like to talk about too much, the Dutch had sailed down the Medway and sunk, burnt or carried away

a good part of Charles II's Royal Navy. It was one of naval history's boldest strokes, and perhaps Cochrane took note. It was still a busy base, if overtaken perhaps by Plymouth and Portsmouth on the south coast, facing France directly. Cochrane, like young Nelson a generation before, was rowed out to a warship at anchor. He would have passed by open boats powered by muscled tars pulling on long oars, carrying supplies or new commanding officers. There would have been boats with scared or surly gaggles of impressed men, dragged from quayside taverns without so much to buy your leave,

to crew up King George's rapidly expanding wartime navy. It was the 29th of July. Cochrane was 17 years old. He was an able seaman and he clambered out of the little boat and shinned up the bulwark of a 28-gun frigate, HMS Hind. It was a little warship, but I think it would have seemed big enough to the teenager. He found the ship in a state of uproar. Teams of men were hauling down yards and topmasts, rolling up sails. Anything that moved was going to be taken ashore before a deep overhaul. Great bowels of gunpowder being winched up by a team of men pushing in a huge capstone from the powder magazine deep in the bowels of the ship. The vessel was getting a very thorough going over. The young Toph had a very real intro into life in the navy.

The first lieutenant of HMS Hind was a man who'd been promoted from before the mast. He was a former seaman. He was understandably no fan of young aristocrats parachuted into positions of authority because their uncles commanded the ship. The first thing he did was empty Cochrane's sea chest onto the deck, scattering his things, and then had it sawed in half because he insisted Cochrane had brought far too much aboard. It must have been mortifying. But I think we get a sense of Cochrane here. He responded heroically. He discarded his uniform, he dressed as a common sailor,

and he set about learning everything he could. He knotted. He helped repair the copper that sheathed the hull. He spliced rigging. And, tellingly, he became firm friends with the man who tormented him, that first lieutenant. He later called him his first naval instructor. He needed all the instruction he could get, because he was a total novice, despite the fact that, on paper paper he had years of experience. And that's because from the age of five his uncle had been enrolling Thomas on the crew books of several ships. This was a very common, if illegal, practice known as false muster. It enabled young

recruits with good connections to obtain the necessary number of years in service at a much earlier stage without having to set foot on a ship. He spent a few months learning the ropes literally on the hind before the whole crew was transferred to the 38 gun frigate HMS Thetis. After less than three months his uncle had made him a midshipman, really the first rung on the ladder to command. shipman, really the first rung on the ladder to command. In late November, Thetis left harbour and his seagoing career really began. On the Thetis, under command of his uncle, Cochrane would visit Norway in North America. By 1795, he'd been made an acting lieutenant. He was moved between a few stations in North America between 1795 and 98. In 1796 he sat an exam for lieutenant. Although patronage was important in the navy it was still not everything because the navy had a streak of meritocracy which was pretty unusual in that age. It required little knowledge

or skill to stand bolt upright and not dodge when bullets passed in the line of battle if you're fighting in the army. Army officers were therefore allowed to purchase to pay money for the next rank up. If you want to sail a square rigged ship through a gale safely off an unknown shore you have to know what you're doing. A naval ship was not an asset that can be entrusted to a novice no matter how blue the blood in his veins. Cochrane had to get some of the first professional qualifications in British history if he was to be made a full-time lieutenant and he passed. His apprenticeship had been thorough and effective. He'd also seen a bit of the world. He saw enough of slavery in Virginia to develop a fierce antipathy to it, calling it a horrid infringement of natural liberty.

In 1798, he was given a job by George Keith Elphinstone, Vice Admiral Lord Keith, second in command of the Mediterranean Squadron. Keith was also the son of an impoverished grand Scottish family, and he was successfully leaned upon to look after his own. Cochrane was squeezed on as eighth lieutenant on Lord Keith's flagship, the HMS Barfleur. For Cochrane, this was a big deal. He was an ambitious young naval officer, but he'd yet to see any serious action. There were 2,000 other young lieutenants in the navy. He needed to get ahead. His aristocratic support group had delivered him into probably the most exciting theatre of war, right under the eye of

an admiral, someone who had the power to further advance his career. Moving to the Mediterranean put him right in the heart of the conflict for the first time. It gave him a chance to prove himself. Quite quickly, Cochrane displayed a penchant for insubordination that would become something of a characteristic throughout his career. He was court-martialed on board Buffalo for disrespecting the ship's first lieutenant. He was eventually reprimanded for flippancy, but this was only the beginning of Cochrane's inability to get along with many of those around him, superiors and subordinates alike. As one biographer has put it, Cochrane saw enemies

where there were none, and as a result turned potential friends into enemies. On the 3rd of May 1799 there was an exciting moment as the French fleet slipped past the British blockade off Brest and got to Cadiz to join with their Spanish allies. Cochrane was aboard the British fleet that then stood in their way. It was actually strangely the only time in his career when it looked like he might take part in a big fleet action between big groups of battleships. But the French fleet didn't fancy it. They turned and fled rather than try and catch the British between the jaws of the French and the Spanish. In early 1800, the following year, Cochrane was taken ashore by Admiral Keith to meet the great Nelson in Palermo. As I mentioned at the beginning, I spoke to the

brilliant David Cordingly about Cochrane and here are his thoughts on the famous meeting between Cochrane and Nelson. He was 24, Nelson was 41, and if I could just read this, he says, it was never my good fortune to serve under his lordship, but during our stay at Palermo, I had opportunities of personal conversation with him, and from one of his frequent injunctions, never mind manoeuvres, always go at them, I subsequently had reason to consider myself indebted for successful attacks under apparently difficult circumstances. And that does explain his success. Surprise attack using false flags, a crew that adored him, and it worked. It wasn't luck, really. He had all the things that Nelson had. He was able to get his crew on side.

He'd learnt everything you need to know as a naval captain, how a ship runs, everything on board, he knew how to work. So his crew adored him, and he was the master of hit-and-run raids, surprise attacks, which he got from Nelson. In February 1800, Cochrane got his first command. It was temporary. It was a delivery job. He was put in charge of the captured French ship, the Généraux, which interestingly had been one of only two French ships to escape Nelson's blistering attack on their fleet at the Battle of the Nile in August 1798.

Well, it couldn't escape for long. It had now been captured, and Cochrane was tasked with sailing it to Mahon, a 700-mile voyage in winter with a scratched crew of misfits that captains around the fleet had tried to get rid of and a hold full of angry French prisoners. A storm engulfed the ship in Ili Sanka,

with Cochrane and his 18-year-old brother Archibald, who he'd taken aboard, working the rigging in place of the men who'd fallen ill. The tigallant masts were struck, meaning they were brought down and stowed on deck. Topsails reefed to within an inch of their lives. One of them was split. They lost part of the mizzenmast over the side. The rigging was loose. The masts were swaying.

They staggered into Port Mahon in Menorca. His first command had been quite the challenge, but it had saved his life. While he was on his voyage, his previous ship, Admiral Keith's flagship, had accidentally blown up in port with the loss of over 600 men, a ship that otherwise Cochrane would have been on. His good luck continued. On the 20th of April came the moment that every young officer dreamed of. On a cloudy afternoon, he was rowed out to HMS Speedy, a 14-gun brig sloop that had been built during the closing years of the American Revolutionary Wars. He hardly needed to climb over her side. She was almost the same height in the water as the rowing boat he went out to her in. He stood on the little deck. He gathered the crew around him and read out his commission. Cochran

was now a master and commander. You're listening to Dan Snow's History, talking about Lord Cochran. More coming up. To be continued... Normans. Kings and popes. Who were rarely the best of friends. Murder. Rebellions. And crusades. Find out who we really were. By subscribing to Gone Medieval from History Hit. Wherever you get your podcasts. HMS Speedy was the little vessel on which Cochrane would make his name. It was a baby. 78 feet long, it was steered by a tiller rather than a wheel. There were about 80 or 90 men packed on board, including his little brother Archibald, the men slept in a dark, cramped deck with five-foot headroom maximum. On top of that was the deck of the ship, the open deck, exposed to the

elements on which the cannons sat. But the cannon were as small as the ship. There were seven guns on either side of the ship, port and starboard. Each of these broadsides could fire just four pound iron balls. So to give you an idea, HMS Victory had guns that fired 32 pound cannonballs, which means that all the guns of HMS Speedy's broadside fired at once. The amount of metal thrown at the enemy was only just heavier in weight than the shot fired by one of HMS Victory's cannon. Cochrane himself referred to his ship as little more than a burlesque of a vessel of war. His cabin was six feet by four foot. It was so small he had to shave every morning by laying his water, his brush and his soap on the deck above and then sticking his

head through the skylight in his cabin. It was one of the smallest vessels in the Royal Navy. So why did this represent such a great opportunity for Cochrane? Well, it's because it was so small. It was not kept by the Admiral close at hand waiting for that massive naval battle. It was not tacking up and down outside an enemy naval base, intimidating the French or the Spanish. It could roam free. It was for hunting, scouting, opportunism, sniping, poaching. Her crew were experienced, hungry. It was a dream for a young man with seven years of naval experience. Cochrane later wrote, despite her unformidable character and the personal discomfort to which all on board were subjected, I was very proud of my little vessel, caring nothing for her

want of accommodation. Now, it's possible that someone high up in the navy had given him this ship as a way of getting rid of him, the hope being this young unruly upstart would sort of fade into obscurity. But if that was the plan, but if that was the plan, it backfired. On May the 11th, the fun began. The previous day, Cochrane had left port, escorting a convoy across the Mediterranean, when he spotted a strange sail on the horizon. Now, in very light winds, he ordered his men to rig sweeps, basically big oars. That's one advantage of a small boat. You can't row HMS

Victory like you can row the Speedy. They caught up with the stranger. It was a French predator with just six guns. With just a few warning shots fired from Cochrane, the French ship surrendered. He'd captured his first enemy vessel. He had his first prize. A fortnight later, Cochrane was unleashed. The commander-in-chief of the Mediterranean gave him permission to roam across the Western Med to sink, burn, destroy, and harass His Majesty's enemies. It was the job Cochrane was born to do. He was left to raid the French shipping routes at will. In the summer of 1800, he captured seven French and Spanish vessels. He began to gain a reputation amongst his enemies. They started to keep an eye out for the notorious 14-gun sloop. Learning of his reputation, Cochrane took some precautions. He painted the little ship to look like a Danish ship. He put in for a refit in Port Mahon in October, after Mediterranean storms had

carried away some of the rigging, and while in port, a new surgeon came aboard, James Guthrie. He became a firm friend of Cochrane and sailed alongside him on every command he held in the Royal Navy, the inspiration for Patrick O'Brien's Stephen Maturin. Later that year, in 1800, they were cruising along the coast of Spain at Alicante when they spotted what appeared to be a sluggish merchant vessel. Cochrane must have hoped that its holes were bursting with valuable trade goods. But as they got closer, the Spaniard flipped open a row of gunports, revealing itself as a naval frigate. It had been offering itself as bait, disguising itself, waiting for the young British captain

with the growing reputation. Cochrane was too close to escape. One broadside from that Spaniard would shred his little ship. He thought quickly, and he ordered the Danish colours, the ensign, to be broken out at the flagstaff at the stern. A sailor on board who'd spent some time in the Baltic trade shouted a few words in Danish to the Spanish crew, including crucially the dreaded word quarantine, which is similar enough in most languages. Cochrane wanted his enemy to think that he was a Danish ship and he had plague on board. The Spanish wanted to avoid the plague more than they wanted to check whether this strange Dane might in fact be Cochrane. They knew how this

unseen disease could spread through the filth-covered decks of a warship, crowned with unwashed men and little regard for hygiene. They'd all witnessed or heard tales of ship's company reduced to pitiable rabbles of coughing, sweating invalids. Blood on their lips and in their faeces, their dead cheek by jowl with the dying. The Spanish officers roared at Cochrane to steer clear. Cochrane celebrated by snapping up a couple more prizes along the coast, one of which was a ship laden with wine. And his career would continue to be notable for the use of false signals and national flags, which at the time was an acceptable ruse de guerre, though it doesn't seem very sporting

today. Over time, he got to know every headland and anchorage in the Western Mediterranean. He learned the power of surprise, of audacity. He practiced trickery and cunning. He used that Danish flag another time when he hidden a convoy of Danish merchant ships, then surprised two vessels that came snooping by, one French and one Spanish, and captured them both. It was the action of the 6th of May 1801 though that made Cochrane's name and gave birth to a legend. The Spanish were by now very keen to squash this rascally brig, which cut out ships from beneath Spanish guns, humiliated their captains,

and sowed terror in every port from Barcelona to the Straits of Gibraltar. At dawn on the 6th, Cochrane spotted a big ship patrolling off Barcelona. He crept closer until he saw it was a frigate with 32 guns capable of battering HMS Speedy to matchwood with a couple of broadsides her decks were crammed with a crew of 319 men five times the 50 or so Cochrane had at that point aboard the Speedy what did Cochrane do he disobeyed every tactical convention and sailed straight at her. In a cunning move to avoid receiving a devastating broadside from the Spanish ship El Gamon, he approached her under an American flag.

The Spaniard was confused and paused, buying the speedy, vital time. Then, when he was close enough, Cochrane tacked, shook out the British ensign, sailed around the stern of the Spanish ship so her first broadside thundered pointlessly out to sea. He slid up beside the ship, locked their rigging together, and he now knew that he was underneath

the trajectory of her cannon. They could fire, but the balls would pass over the heads of the speedies crew. Speedy's guns though were triple-shotted, that means three balls in every single barrel, and they were elevated to their maximum extent. At his command they shot these cannonballs blasting up through the deck planking and into the Spanish crew which had massed to repel borders. which had massed to repel boarders. This first devastating broadside from the Speedy killed the Spanish captain and wrought havoc among the crew.

The Spanish had been preparing to board, but in the confusion, before some of them could jump onto the Speedy, Cochrane pushed her away. He continued this dance, trying to stay out of the reach of the Spanish guns. But they were now a confused rabble, and Cochrane gave his crew an ultimatum. Either they would board the Spanish ship or be bored of themselves. Every man on the speedy climbed onto El Gamo, except the ship's sergeant, who remained holding speedy tiller. Cochrane divided his men into two groups.

One clambered aboard midships, the other at the head. Fighting on the deck was fierce and Cochrane's men were heavily outnumbered. Now it was time for an older way of war. There was no place for long-range gunfire here. It was now a fight where they could smell the breath of the men in front of them. They could see the confusion in a man's eyes as they thrust a cutlass into his guts. The deck was a heaving mass of fighting men and boys, bent on violence. Blades, pikes, horrifying boarding axes, shouts, the sound of steel on steel, the screams of the wounded.

Cochrane fought his way to the stern and hauled down the Spanish colours, the customary sign of surrender, and assuming the order had been given by one of their officers, the Spanish crew thought the fight was over. They surrendered, having lost 14 dead and 41 wounded, to the speedies three dead and nine wounded. Cochrane now only had 42 men to sail two ships and guard 263 prisoners. The latter were herded into the hold of the Spanish ship and then Spanish guns were manoeuvred round and depressed, pointed right down so they were aiming straight at the prisoners. Then the two vessels limped back to Menorca. It is still widely regarded as one from the greatest

millennium in human history. We're talking Vikings, Normans, kings and popes who were rarely the best of friends, murder, rebellions and crusades. Find out who we really were by subscribing to Gone Medieval from History Hit wherever you get your podcasts. your podcasts. Cochrane had secured his reputation as a fearsome naval commander, but more importantly, he'd earned himself a promotion to the highly sought-after rank of post-captain. All in all, in 13 months on the Speedy, Cochrane would capture or destroy a staggering 53 ships. He brought in 120 guns and more than 500 prisoners. For some context, other captains in the Mediterranean theatre at the time typically captured between one and ten ships in the same time frame, and he did it with one of the smallest combat ships available. A few months after that Cochrane

was told to escort a mail ship to Gibraltar. It was a boring mission so of course he spiced up by cruising close to the shore and seeing if he could sniff out any trouble and he was in luck. Near Alicante he spied a bay full of merchant ships. On his approach they sailed themselves right up onto the beach which they figured was probably better than capture. Cochrane, though, sent men ashore to burn them. One of the vessels was laden with oil, which burned all night, and unfortunately attracted the attention of a powerful French fleet. At dawn on the 3rd of July, 1801, Cochrane could see the Rock of Gibraltar,

which was, of course, occupied by the British, their vital naval base in the Mediterranean. But in the east, he spotted a blizzard of canvas. The wind was light. Whoever they were, he couldn't outrun them. As they approached, it became clear they were French. Big battleships, far bigger than the frigate he'd captured. He ordered every scrap of sail set. They got the oars out, the crew hauling frantically on the blades. He took the helm while everybody rowed. At 9am a few hours later he hurled his guns overboard to lighten the ship but the French wound him in, the bigger ships travelling faster through the water. Stores and food went over the

side as well but when one mighty French ship came close enough, she turned to fire a broadside. Luckily, it was too far out, and HMS Speedy survived. The French came closer, and Cochrane did the last thing that anyone would expect. He turned 180 degrees, set his studding sails, and charged off downwind through the French ships. The French lumbered slowly around to follow and did eventually catch back up and fire another broadside. Thankfully, the wind caught speed at exactly that moment. She heeled over so that most of the cannonballs fell short, but the ones that hit home ripped her rigging to pieces. Her main boom was shot away, rigging shredded, sails peppered with

holes. Cochrane knew the next broadside would be lethal. He struck his colours. He lowered his flag, having done more than honour, convention and even sanity dictated. He surrendered to a ship with five times the number of crew and 40 times the weight of broadside. The French captain refused to take his sword out of respect for how Cochrane had sailed. Cochrane was now a prisoner and it was typically eventful. When the British heard that there was a French squadron out and about now anchored in the Spanish base at Algeciras they attacked immediately with six ships of the line. Cochrane was having a pleasant breakfast with his French captor when a British cannonball smashed through a stern window and the pair of them decided to head up on deck

and watch the action. He was an eyewitness therefore when the Royal Navy suffered a rare and embarrassing defeat. In a confused skirmish the British lost one ship and withdrew. A few days later a prisoner exchange was organised and Cochrane found himself back with the British in Gibraltar. He'd been a guest of the French for just a few days. The British would have revenge for this sorry battle. They sailed out of Gibraltar about a week later and defeated the French and Spanish in an action so confused that two massive Spanish battleships with three decks of cannon each ended up fighting each other and both blew up. Cochrane had watched the British fleet slip out of Gibraltar and been able to hear the bands aboard playing Hearts of Oak to

encourage the British sailors aboard. Cochrane might have been safely back with the British but his beloved HMS Speedy was not, and its fate's a rather curious one. It was given by Napoleon to the Pope for his navy, and renamed Saint-Pierre, Saint-Peter. Meanwhile, Cochrane had to face a court-martial. He had lost one of his Majesty's ships, but he was quickly cleared of any wrongdoing, and he headed back to London. But in the British capital, he discovered there was a cloud on the horizon more threatening to Cochrane's career than any court-martial or French fleet giving chase. That cloud was peace. An end to the war with France. An end to Cochrane's expectation of fame

and fortune. Britain and France were exhausted. The peace of Amiens was agreed over the winter of 1801-2. Britain wanted to resume her trade with Europe and the Whigs in Parliament were getting more and more opposed to the war. Napoleon himself wanted to focus on domestic reforms and cement his own position as leader for life. He also wanted to focus on his North American empire. But that's another story. The Peace of Amiens was signed by Lord Cornwallis. He was in two minds, but as he put it, he was nervous about the ruinous consequences

of renewing a bloody and hopeless war. The Peace of Amiens was called the Definitive Treaty of Peace. So that's bad news for thrusting young naval commanders like Cochrane, whose business was war. Unfortunately for Cochrane, his promotion to the coveted rank of post-captain, the vital jump in any naval career, which he'd deserved ever since his capture of that Spanish frigate, had been delayed by his subsequent capture by the French and court-martial. by his subsequent capture by the French and court-martial. Agonisingly, ten men more junior to him had leapfrogged him and been made post-captains ahead of him. This meant that they were now on a fixed list of seniority. If they lived long enough, they would become admirals,

but it did mean that these ten men would now become admirals before him. Cochrane immediately suspected a conspiracy against him. Despite the peace, he desperately lobbied for a new command. But the fact was that in the peacetime navy, only half of captains get ships. The rest languish ashore on half pay. For Cochrane, it seems to a cruel fate that led Britain and France to make peace just as he'd established himself as one of the Royal Navy's brightest prospects. The good news for Cochrane was that that peace wouldn't last. For Britain and France, the pull of war was simply too great and Cochrane would find himself centre stage, propelled into the spotlight. His penchant for bold and unconventional tactics would see him selected for his most daring mission yet.

In the next episode, Cochrane drives a fireship, a flaming vessel, into the midst of an anchored French fleet. An inferno carried on the wind, a dangerous and unpredictable move. Genius if successful, deadly if done wrong. Don't miss part two of Thomas Cochran, the real master in command. If you're a paying subscriber to this podcast, the rest of this series is available right now. If you're a regular listener, then the next episode will drop on Monday the 8th.

But you know you want the rest of the story now, folks, so why don't you subscribe? You'll get the rest of this series, early access to all episodes, bonus content and everything ad-free. Subscribe in your Apple Podcast app or you can go to historyhit.com slash subscribe. Go for it. you you