Dan Snow's History Hit - 3. Thomas Cochrane: From Disgrace to Freedom Fighter

Episode Date: January 3, 2024

3/3. After a meteoric rise to fame, Cochrane finds himself in front of a court and stripped of his titles for fraud on the London Stock Exchange. Known for his ingenuity and schemes, Cochrane breaks out of prison before embarking on the adventure of a lifetime in South America. He's put in charge of the Chilean and then Brazilian navies, helping these mighty countries break free from Spain and establish their independence. But Cochrane wasn't just doing it out of a sense of justice, he charged a high fee for his services and ensured to pillage what he could along the way.  In the final episode of the series, Dan recounts the later years of Cochrane's extraordinary life and how, even in his 70s, he was regarded as a liability by the Admiralty. Written by Dan Snow, produced by Mariana Des Forges, edited by Joseph Knight and sound designed & mixed by Dougal Patmore. You can find a link to episode 1 here: https://shows.acast.com/dansnowshistoryhit/episodes/1-thomas-cochrane-the-real-master-and-commanderEpisode 2 here: https://shows.acast.com/dansnowshistoryhit/episodes/2-thomas-cochrane-the-real-master-and-commanderWe'd love to hear from you! You can email the podcast at [e-mail] can take part in our listener survey here.

It is the summer of 1808. The Napoleonic Wars are raging. France has invaded Spain, occupied many of its cities and key military installations. The Spanish people are fighting back with a fierce determination. In their struggle against French occupation, they are supported by the British. A British army is operating in the Iberian Peninsula. Britain's Royal Navy is harassing any French-controlled piece of the European coastline. In one of the most celebrated naval actions of the age, in the sheltered bay off the Basque Roads on the Biscay coast, a group of British ships has driven an entire French squadron ashore.

Battleships resting on their sides, stuck on mud and sand, as the crews desperately try and lighten them and hope they can be refloated off at the next high tide. The assault is led by Thomas Lord Cochrane. He had commanded from the deck of a floating bomb, an explosion ship filled with shells, casts of gunpowder and hand grenades, all detonated by a fuse laid and lit by Cochrane and his crew, which gave them a few moments to jump overboard and row to safety. Those explosive ships were followed by 20 fire ships, flaming spectres in the moonless

night that drifted towards the French to disorientate, sow confusion and perhaps burn enemy vessels. The attack is a success, but only thanks to Cochrane's leadership. His overall commander, the superior officer Admiral Gambier, refused to follow up the success. He held back his big battleships in deeper water rather than allowing them to close with the stranded enemy and smash them to matchwood. Infuriated, Cochrane took matters into his own hands and sailed his little frigate, his much smaller ship HMS Imperieuse, right up close to the stranded French ships to blast them himself, forcing Admiral Gambier, shaming him to send in bigger ships in his wake. After this battle of Basque roads, Cochrane knows that if he hadn't taken the lead in that way,

if he hadn't taken decisive action, the endeavour would have fallen far short of the expectations of their lordships at the Admiralty back in London. And Cochrane returned to Britain determined that the rest of the world will know that as well. He's about to make some very powerful enemies. Enemies who will ensure that his life, his reputation, his fortune is dealt a near lethal blow. His fortune is dealt a near lethal blow. You're listening to Dan Snow's History Hit, and this is the final episode in my series on Thomas Lord Cochrane, the real master and commander, dubbed by Napoleon as the Seawolf. And in this episode, we'll be hearing about Cochrane's tragic fall from national treasure to national disgrace.

And his story will get even more astonishing. So get ready, folks. Captain Thomas Lord Cochrane returned to Britain, carrying news of this remarkable victory. Britain's armies were struggling on the continent. Napoleon appeared dominant. So news that nearly an entire squadron of Napoleon's fleet had been burnt, scattered, driven up on the shore,

neutralised in the jaws of the Basque roads, was celebrated with gusto by a nation in need of victories. No one doubted that Cochrane was the hero. He appeared in popular ballads. He was the toast of London. He was made a knight of the Order of the Bath. That was an honour of chivalry seldom awarded to lowly frigate captains. There were only 36 of these illustrious knights in the UK at any one time.

Cochrane was now among that elite. But as the immediate celebrations died down a little, the questions started. The Times newspaper pondered, if the whole French squadron of a dozen or so ships had ended up on their sides, on their beam ends as it's called, on the rocks, on the mudflats, why'd only four of them ended up being destroyed? William Wordsworth, the poet, wondered whether the excessive caution demonstrated by Lord Gambier's fleet, in effect, amounted to cowardice. Did Cochrane enjoy his new celebrity? Did he quietly and in a dignified fashion sort of rise above the fray? Did he revel in the praise and let others draw their conclusions

when they read the reports about Admiral Gambier? No, he did not. He took those questions, those whispers, as a slight on his own effectiveness, on his own bravery, the decisions that he had made. And he wanted the world to know that any mistakes that had been made in following up his success had not been his own fault. He wanted the world to know that Admiral Gambier had screwed up. I spoke to Cochrane's biographer, David Cordingley, whose book Cochrane the Dauntless was the inspiration for this series. And it's as brilliantly written as it is meticulously researched. And when I talked to him, he summarised what happened next. If Cochrane had left things as they were, all would have been well.

But he's furious that Gambia had not sent in the British fleet to destroy the entire French fleet when they were aground. So he stands up in Parliament and refuses to support a vote of thanks to Gambier. Gambier is very upset about this and demands to have a court-martial. Admiral Gambier got his court-martial. Cochrane was dragged back into court. Gambier, Cochrane, and the committee of admirals that would decide their fate met in the great stern cabin of the battleship, HMS Gladiator, and they were certainly in an arena. The panel was made up of Gambier's friends and colleagues, a strange assortment of admirals who Cochrane, at various stages of his career, had snubbed or been rude to or disobeyed. The events of the Battle of Basque Roads were picked apart, forensically

Cochrane was savagely cross-examined He was caught off guard, he was tripped up with legal niceties Captains who'd been there came in to give their evidence And funnily enough, when they found themselves in front of a board of admirals In whose hands their future careers lay They toned down their criticisms of Admiral Gambier The court found in favour of Gambier. He was handed back his sword. He was told that he had shown zeal, judgment and ability.

The establishment had closed ranks. They'd protected one of their own. They'd protected an admiral against a maverick, an upstart frigate captain. Cochrane never knew when he'd been beaten. That's what made him so great, with a deck beneath his feet. But in the corridors of power in London, perhaps it was a disadvantage. He took his fight to Parliament. Don't forget, he was an MP. He stood up and made an excoriating speech criticising Gambier. But again, the establishment closed ranks. He endured a bruising debate and lost the vote. These fights in Parliament pushed him towards a group of people that perhaps weren't his natural allies by birth, but became fellow travellers. They were the radicals. These were men who wanted root and branch reform.

radicals. These were men who wanted root and branch reform. They wanted constitutional change, an upheaval in who could vote in Britain and how they could vote. They wanted to extend the franchise, allow far more people to have a say in the government of the country. They wanted to reform constituencies so that new cities like Manchester would receive their own representation. Manchester would receive their own representation. Cochrane shared with these radicals a sense that he'd been excluded, done over by the existing establishment. And it wasn't just the fact he felt aggrieved. He believed in the causes that he espoused. He believed that Gambier had shown insufficient zeal in the face of the enemy. He tried to expose corruption in the Admiralty, and there was certainly plenty of it. He spoke out against ridiculously generous pension so-called office holders, friends of friends of the high and mighty, far more than combat veterans received, for example. One scion of a noble family

had some advice for him. He suggested that adherence to the pursuits of his profession, for him. He suggested that adherence to the pursuits of his profession, of which he is so great an ornament, will tend more to his honour and to the advantage of his country than 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. The oligarchy that ruled over George and Britain was warning one of their own, warning Lord Cochrane to hold his tongue, mind the company he kept, otherwise he would face exclusion. Cochrane, well, he ignored this advice. He picked fights, seemingly with everyone he could. He even, at this point, sails to Malta to argue his case before a

court that was deciding how much prize money he was owned. He ended up getting arrested on that particular expedition, though naturally he hacked through the bars and escaped. Tangentially, while he was on that trip, I should say, in a rather disturbing episode, he visited Sicily. He went to a sulphur mine and he witnessed a group of people killed when sulphur caught on fire and produced a cloud of sulphur dioxide. As a result of that, he dropped detailed plans for sulphur dioxide's use on the battlefield as an early form of chemical warfare. You'll remember from episode one, his father was an inventor and Cochrane had definitely inherited his fascination with chemistry, physics and engineering. He came home from that very odd trip and continued his pursuit of justice.

He railed against the low pay of sailors. He spoke up, quite rightly, for French prisoners of war who were treated dreadfully in a prison on Dartmoor. But he made no effort to lobby, to schmooze. Perhaps you need to learn that roaring about something in Parliament was very different to working through committees and people who could actually bring about change. He became regarded as a subversive, as a radical, as a class traitor, as a troublemaker. When he presented an idea to the Prince Regent for using poison gas and rockets to attack the French naval base at Brest, it went nowhere. It was quietly shelved. During this turbulent period of his life, however, he did find time to get married. He was 36 and his bride was

the 17-year-old Kate Corbett Barnes. He would sometimes call her his little mouse in letters. Obviously, being Cochrane, the marriage was extremely complicated. His uncle wanted to restore the fortunes of the family and offered to leave Cochrane a lot of money to re-establish himself in Scotland if he married a certain wealthy heiress. Well, Cochrane didn't want to marry that heiress, so instead he eloped to Gretna Green and married the teenage Kate instead, thereby infuriating his uncle as he had with, well, too many people in his life. In 1814, his enemies seized the opportunity that they'd been looking for to utterly destroy him. Cochrane's youngest uncle was a real piece of work. He was a scoundrel. He was a slave-trading governor of Dominica,

and he maintained a large harem while he was in that position. He was hounded out of every job he did for egregious corruption, which is pretty difficult in Georgian Britain. And he and a companion, by 1814, had come up with a scheme to make a lot of money. His friend pretended to land in Dover, bringing news from the continent that Napoleon had been killed by Cossacks, by Russian troops. He travelled to London, spreading the rumour everywhere he went.

Then a coach was seen galloping through the city of London, apparently with French emigres, so French exiles, waving French flags, shouting, vive le roi, long live the king. With all these rumours swirling and all these strange sights, the London stock market rose rapidly. Government stock rose by nearly 20%. It then fell back a few days later when no confirmation arrived. This strange spike triggered a stock market investigation, and it was found that six people had made a lot of money in that brief window. One of them was Cochran's uncle, another three were the three dodgy blokes who'd been posing as Frenchmen on the carriage, and another person was Thomas

Cochrane himself. It's one of the enduring mysteries of the Cochrane story. Was he in on the ruse? To be fair to him, he maintained all the way through that he'd told his stockbroker that he wanted to sell his shares if they reached a certain level. I believe that's now referred to as a limit order. Once they'd gone up a certain amount, his stockbroker obeyed that instruction and sold his stock. In fact, the stock would keep going up for a few days after that, so Cochrane certainly would sell at the peak. Still, the problem for Cochrane is his uncle had definitely been behind the ruse. His uncle had been staying with him in his house when it happened, and the dodgy friend bringing the fake news of Napoleon's death had been observed

arriving at Cochrane's house. And of course, Cochrane had made lots of money on the surging market. It was pretty damning circumstantial evidence. Their lords of the Admiralty were watching closely. Before Cochrane had even gone to trial, he was suddenly replaced as captain of the battleship HMS Tonnant, in which he'd been to head to America to sort out the less than stellar British efforts in the War of 1812 that had broken out with the Americans. Cochrane's first baby was born amidst this scandal, and with the baby only two days old, Cochran was formally charged with unlawfully conspiring to spread false news and occasion a rise in the prices of government funds.

Cochran again mishandled the legal process. He missed the opportunity to establish a separate defence so he would be tried alongside his uncle and his dodgy friends, all together, in a joint enterprise. Now, given that most of the others were absolutely guilty as hell, this was a huge problem. The judge, Lord Ellenborough, was a high Tory, deeply conservative, hated radical politicians, and there were other people involved throughout the process with links to other enemies that Cochran had made along the way. The trial was a farce. The jury returned its verdict. All defendants were guilty. Cochran wrote, All my fortitude is required to bear up against this unfortunate and unmerited stroke. He launched an appeal with fresh evidence of his innocence, but it was ruled

inadmissible because two of the guilty men had bolted out of the country when they heard the result of the trial. So Cochrane was left holding the can. He was sentenced to a year in prison, and most humiliatingly of all, he was ordered to endure a session standing in the pillory, basically the stocks, for an hour outside the Royal Exchange. When the sentence was given, the colour drained from his face. He stood expressionless, stupefied. He had to be helped out of the courtroom. He was taken to the King's Bench prison on Borough High Street.

He had a relatively comfortable lodging in those days. Rich people could secure themselves slightly nicer accommodation in prisons. But he had to pay, and his enemies had even worse in store for Cochrane. While he was locked up, the Prince Regent was persuaded to strip him of his naval rank. Degradation, it's called. He would be removed from the navy list. He would lose all seniority. No longer a captain. no longer a naval officer.

His career expunged. I will never permit a service, hitherto of unblemished honour, to be disgraced by the continuance of Lord Cochrane, the Prince Regent declared. But there was more. I shall also strip him of the order of the bath. In August, there was a ritual at midnight in Westminster Abbey. The so-called Bath King of Arms took down Cochrane's standard from its niche in the Henry VII Chapel, where the standards of the most honourable knights of the order of the bath remain to this day. Cochrane was no longer in the Navy. He was released from prison to speak for himself in a parliamentary debate in which they were deciding whether to expel him from Parliament. The record is littered with asterisks. He made

foul-mouthed attacks on Lord Ellenborough the Judge, always charging hard at his enemies, sometimes not the smartest strategy. The motion to throw him out of the House of Commons passed 144 votes to 44. A friend reports that he wept. But even in this darkest hour, there were glimmers of hope. The electors of Westminster, the people that had put him in Parliament, were not going to be told by anyone who was allowed to represent them. And when there was a by-election, they immediately returned Cochrane. He ran unopposed. It was a brave man who stood against Lord Cochrane that summer. In the same way, the government faced a problem over Cochrane going in the pillory for an hour.

They knew that His Majesty's sailors and many of the people of London were not going to stand by and watch a national treasure humiliated as others sought to pelt him with muck. The government did not want a riot of furious tars charging through the town, enraged by the degradation of one of the most celebrated and beloved comrades. So the government announced that, by coincidence, they'd chosen that opportunity to commute anyone who had been sentenced to stand in the pillory, and that might include Lord Cochrane. So that was one final humiliation he didn't have to face. But in every other way, his life was basically over. He'd lost his job, he'd lost his income, he'd lost his status as a

crusading parliamentarian, he'd lost his honour, his reputation, his future. He'd lost his status as a crusading parliamentarian. He'd lost his honour, his reputation, his future. He was languishing in prison. He wrote to his wife that he didn't want her there. This is not a place favourable to morality. I wish you to remain as uncorrupted as you are by the wickedness of the world. It must have been unbearable for him. And in fact, he refused to bear it. He was never going to stay put in there if he could help it. He escaped from prison. He used rope to get over the wall, but then one of them snapped and he fell 20 feet and knocked himself out. Once revived, he made for his house in Hampshire, where he spent a lovely fortnight with his wife and his son while a nationwide manhunt was launched. Then he decided to go to London. He strolled into Parliament and demanded to be seated. The warden of the prison was summoned and tried to overpower him.

There was a fight and he was eventually dragged back. Having tried to escape, he'd sacrificed his eligibility for decent lodgings. He was locked up in a dank cell for months. His health collapsed and he's very lucky to survive. Vast numbers of prisoners in Georgian England succumbed to so-called jail fever in the horrific conditions under which they were kept. He was eventually released the day after the Battle of Waterloo. And in July 1815, what did he do straight away?

He threw himself into picking a fight with the judge who'd sent him down. He tried to impeach Lord Ellenborough. Not a single MP backed his cause. He was soon back in court, of course, because he had to answer for his escape from prison. The jury found him guilty, but after a spirited defence, the judge decided to let him off with a fine, which Cochrane refused to pay, obviously. Then he received the news that his Hampshire house was being repossessed for unpaid bills. He made the rather interesting decision of surrounding it with bags of coal, saying they were gunpowder, and threatened to blow the whole house sky high unless he was left alone. This is the point which I believe script

writers refer to as the nadir, the lowest possible point of the story. Our principal character, our hero, is bankrupt. He's pretending to blow up his own house rather than lose it. The way he'd been treated by the establishment pushed him ever further towards the radicals. He attended a political meeting in Winchester and he rejected a loyal toast to the Prince Regent, suggesting instead that they drink a toast to Magna Carta and the Bill of Rights, for which our forefathers fought and bled.

A clergyman spat at him. Very Christian. Other clergymen jumped on him and started to beat him up, oddly. Cochrane loved the fight, and he was now fighting with a bunch of priests. He'd become a bit of a joke. But then, in this darkest of moments, he was thrown a lifeline

by a man from Chile. Antonio Alvarez had come to Britain from a Spanish colony trying to throw off the imperial yoke. He needed men who could sail and who could fight. And he had $100,000 with him to sign them up.

Cochran's reputation as a naval fighter had somehow endured, and he was offered the job of Commander-in-Chief of Chile's naval forces. Cochrane had few other options. He said yes. Alvarez reported back to the Chilean rebel government that he'd signed up one of the most famous and perhaps the most valiant seamen in Britain, and one who'd fought for liberal principles in the British Parliament.

Cochrane went to that Parliament and gave one last speech. He announced, It's probably the last time I shall ever have the honour of addressing this House on any subject. He explained why he'd supported radical causes, and he predicted that unless those in power agreed to widen the franchise, to share power, to absorb more Britons into the political process, there would be riot and possibly revolution. Cochrane was urging the British elite, a group that he had been born into, to reform from within before violent radical reform was imposed on them from without.

On the 15th of August he set sail for South America and he'd not see Britain again for seven years. After a typical, uncomfortable rounding of Cape Horn with the decks awash, scoured by snow flurries, they sailed into the Chilean port of Valparaiso on the 29th of November. South America was in turmoil. It had not escaped the revolutionary energy of the late 18th century. The American Republic, United States of America, was an example widely admired. If the American colonials could throw off the British yoke, why could not the Spanish in South America do the same? The opportunity came when Europe was engulfed in chaos following the French Revolution.

It was the ideal time to split from Spain. The Spanish were hardly in a position to restore, to impose, reinforce Spanish rule, while Spain was fighting an existential battle in their own homeland against the French, Napoleon's brother with his trotters up in Madrid. In the north of the continent, Simon Bolivar led Bolivia and Colombia to independence. In the south, Uruguay and Argentina broke away. A man called José de San Martín led a force from Argentina over the Andes trying to liberate Chile. His close comrade was Bernardo O'Higgins, wonderfully named. He had an Irish father who'd been the Spanish viceroy in Peru, and he'd actually been educated in Britain. But he knew that in South America, the sea was vital. The interior of that continent was nearly impenetrable. It's hugely

difficult to trade through to establish industry. Everything went by sea along the coasts. He said after one success fighting the Spanish on land that this battle and a hundred more will be meaningless unless we control the seas. These vast expanses of South America were far more easily traversed by ship along the coast than by dodgy roads prone to mudslides and battered by earthquakes.

Commerce and control and Spanish reinforcement all relied on movement by ships. And when Cochrane arrived, Spain controlled the Pacific. It wouldn't do so for much longer. You're listening to Dan Snow's History, talking about Lord Cochrane. 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.

When Cochrane arrived in Chile, the Chileans threw great parties for him, but he chafed at delays. He was here to fight, not feast. O'Higgins told them that his job was to head north, gather intelligence, but avoid trouble. O'Higgins wanted to invade, move north from Chile and invade Peru the following year, which was the administrative centre of Spanish America, with Lima its capital and Calao, the principal Spanish port, next door to it on the Pacific coast. Cochrane was showed a fleet. He had seven little ships. Two-thirds of his seamen were Brits or Americans. And on the 16th of January 1819, he set sail. He was back in the business of fighting Spaniards. There's a surprise guest on board as he sets off. His six-year-old son had been carried on the shoulders of a joyful crowd of well-wishers to the quayside when Cochrane was leaving. He said he wanted to see his dad,

so a lieutenant dutifully took him on board, but then it was too late to send him back, so he was given a little midshipman's uniform and he joined the crew. He sailed north and he got to Calau. So far, so good, obeying orders. But then he jettisoned them. He immediately attempted to seize a Spanish frigate while a carnival was absorbing the attention of the defenders. But the winds failed at exactly the wrong moment and left him at the mercy of the guns in fortresses along the coast.

His young son, obviously a family trait, disobeyed orders to stay below. He climbed out of the captain's window up the stern and ran around on deck carrying gunpowder. At one point a sailor was beheaded next to him by a cannonball, his brains splashing all over the child. Thankfully the cannonball missed Cochran's son and we're told that he was fine, although one can imagine there might have been a mental legacy that he would have had to endure. Hearing that Cochrane was now at sea off his coast, the Spanish commander wrote to him, asking what on earth he was doing there, and Cochrane replied that a British nobleman is a free man, capable of judging between right and wrong,

and at liberty to adopt a country and a cause which aim at restoring the rights of oppressed human nature. He launched another attack in March with an explosion vessel, his old playbook. This also failed, and he switched to a policy of raiding ships and capturing precious cargo. This proved very lucrative. He wouldn't only capture ships, he would land ashore, he would seize mule trains capturing the famous bullion from the silver mines of South America. Their precious cargoes rowed back to fill the hulls of his ships. He captured enemy ships, he captured and destroyed Spanish forts. And it's notable that for all his highfalutin rhetoric to that Spanish commander about judging between right and wrong and fighting against those who oppress human nature, Cochrane was also very mindful of prize money and restoring

his financial position. He headed back to Chile with his prizes and then headed north again in late 1819. Another attack on Calao failed. Again the wind died and the fire ships just stopped dead in the water. The rockets that he fired looked impressive, but hit nothing of any value. So he switched target and headed south. Val de Villa was the last Spanish possession in Chile. It's the first port you get to after rounding Cape Horn, right down the south of Chile. It was very, very big. It was very, very well defended, a very important Spanish settlement.

But they weren't expecting Cochrane. And he did, in true style. He sailed straight in, flying a massive Spanish flag. He took a small boat to make soundings, that is, measure the depth of the water, took a good close look at the artillery and the forts around the Grand Harbour. When an official came out to check up on them, he immediately took him prisoner and proved very talkative. He told Cochrane and his men that a supply ship was on the way with stores and the garrison's wages. Cochrane waited and pounced on it when he arrived. $20,000 of silver

was transferred to his lockboxes. He sailed up the coast to pick up some more Chilean soldiers, and then in late 1820 he launched what was possibly the riskiest grade of his career and that's against some pretty stiff competition as you'll know by now. He decided to return to Valdivia and attack it, the strongest Spanish fort in the Americas, defended by 2,000 men in forts with interlocking fields of fire. But while he'd been there sneaking about he'd noticed that the guns primarily pointed out to sea, so he made the logical decision to attack the forts from the land. At this point, he gives a brilliant summary of his operational approach to war. I want to quote it

in detail. He told a subordinate, cool calculation would make it appear that any attempt to take Val d'Ivia is madness. This is one reason why the Spaniards will hardly believe us in earnest, even when we commence. And you will see that a bold onset, with little perseverance afterwards, will give a complete triumph. For operations unexpected by the enemy are, when well executed, almost certain to succeed,

whatever may be the odds, and success will preserve the enterprise from the imputation of rashness. That is Thomas Lord Cochrane in one paragraph. The build-up to the attack did not go smoothly. They managed to hit a reef. Cochrane had to get into his shirt sleeve and fix the pumps himself so the men could stem the water coming in through a gash in the hull. They had to abandon the flagship and transfer to smaller vessels. But he didn't give up. No, no. He landed marines on the shore, who went round the fort and stormed it from the landward side. As the defenders bolted, a second fort opened its gates to let the fugitives in, and Cochrane's Chileans stormed in with them too. In a confusing, dispiriting night for the Spanish, one by one, all the forts on the western side of the port were abandoned or captured in this chaotic fashion.

As he gathered his forces to attack the rest of the forts, he had his flagship sail in. And the Spanish thought this ship must be packed with reinforcements. The remaining defenders fled, they looted their own town. They abandoned vast piles of military supplies. Now, far from carrying reinforcements, Cochrane's flagship only had a skeleton crew aboard. It was leaking so badly, they had to run her straight onto a mudflat to stop her sinking. But Cochrane had done it.

There was jubilation in Santiago at the news. Cochrane's pay was doubled. He was given a great Chilean estate. But, you know, old habits die hard, even in South America. Cochrane chose to see enemies everywhere. He started picking fights with Chilean politicians. He was a difficult man. Meanwhile, in a remarkable subplot, a Spanish agent had attempted to kill his wife. He'd broken into their house and wounded her with a knife, but was overwhelmed after a struggle. It's fair to say that Cochrane made life pretty difficult for everyone around him. Hungry for more success, he now headed north, back to that tricky, that stubborn Spanish headquarters

at Calau, and he came up with a typically audacious plan. He wanted to capture, the Navy call it, to cut out the flagship of the Spanish Empire's fleet in the Americas, the Esmeralda, a 44-gun frigate. It was anchored behind a barrier, a floating barrier, or a boom, under the guns of a recently reinforced fortress mounting 300 cannon, and it had no fewer than 27 gunboats protecting her. Cochrane made his customary reconnaissance, rowing around in a small boat, taking depth of the water, checking the range of guns, the elevation, the fields of fire, familiarising himself with every detail of the harbour. As he did so, the Spanish fired shot and shell.

He was drenched, rocked by the detonations, the explosions, the impact of these cannonballs and shells beside his little boat. And he returned to his flagship and asked for volunteers for an incredibly dangerous mission. Every single sailor and marine on the three ships immediately volunteered. In preparation for the attack, Cochrane sent two of his ships out to sea, lulling the Spaniards in thinking he'd gone offshore looking for some prey, looking for some ships to capture, hoping they'd be put at their ease. But at 11pm, Cochrane's men took to the boats. They muffled the oars with rags, there was no squeaking of wood on wood. They arrived at the floating boom, where they were challenged by a guard boat. Cochrane's men responded by threatening to kill them all, to a man. They stayed quiet.

Cochrane's crew pulled alongside the frigate and clambered up the sides. Most of the Spaniards aboard were asleep. One sentry, though, hit Cochrane with the butt of his musket. He fell back onto a protruding piece of wood that punctured into his back. He was then shot in the thigh, but staggered aboard to continue the attack. It was all over in 15 minutes. Cochrane and his men had control of the Esmeralda. Now, during his scouting, Cochrane noticed that the other ships in the harbour hoisted distinctive lanterns into the rigging

to identify themselves as Spaniards to their comrades in the forts ashore. Cochrane now ordered these lanterns to be raised on Esmeralda. So the gunners above ceased firing, thinking the Spanish must still ceased firing, thinking the Spanish must still be in control of the flagship if they'd raised the correct signal lanterns. Cochrane was weak from his injuries. He ordered the Esmeralda's topsails to be shaken out

and they ghosted out of harbour on the gentle breeze. This spectacular coup, this capture of the Spanish flagship, left Cochrane in undisputed control of the Pacific coast. The Spanish had now absolutely no chance of reasserting themselves in South America. Their garrisons would wither on the vine, cut off from resupplies, unable to support each other, and one by one simply surrendered. In July of 1822 Lima, the capital of Peru, fell to the independence forces. Cochrane entered the city in a chariot drawn by four horses. The poet Byron, when he received news of this back in Britain, was so jealous that he couldn't really cope. There is no man I envy as much. And by complete coincidence, one autumn day last year,

after an inconveniently cancelled flight, I found myself in Lima's port, looking out at the same shoreline as Cochrane. I'm looking out now at the Pacific Ocean. It's lapping against the breakwater I'm standing on. The harbour in front of me is filled with anchored vessels, a few Peruvian naval vessels out there as well. And in the spring of 1820, this anchorage was also crowded.

This was the most important Spanish naval base on the Pacific. All of the gold of the Inca came down on mule trains from the Andes and loads onto galleons here in Calhoun and therefore attracted the attention of some of Britain's greatest sailors and marauders, among them Sir Francis Drake. It was from here the Spanish were able to exercise naval supremacy over the whole of the Pacific coast of South America. A naval supremacy that Cochrane knew, the Chileans knew,

had to be snatched from them if these new nations, Chile, Peru, were to have any chance of lasting independence. It is such a treat to be here on the other side of the world from where I'm usually studying and thinking about Cochrane. To see the anchorage from which he captured Esmeralda, to look at the coastline, to see the strength of the forts, it was as audacious as we've come to expect from Cochrane. And when you're here standing on the breakwater,

you get such a powerful sense of that, so much more immediate than reading about him in the comfort of my own home. I'm Matt Lewis. And I'm Dr. Eleanor Janaga. And in Gone Medieval, we get into the greatest mysteries. The gobsmacking details and latest groundbreaking research. From the greatest millennium in human history. We're talking Vikings.

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wherever you get your podcasts. Chile was independent. Peru was independent. Cochrane was a hero, but obviously he fell out with his political masters and he left the service of the Chilean Navy in November 1822. Five Chilean naval ships have since been named after him. He'd won back a bit of his reputation, and he'd firmed up his financial position, and there were other nascent countries in the market for his talents. In March 1822, the Brazilian War of Independence against Portugal began. Brazil had got a taste of being master of its own fate during the Napoleonic Wars, when the Portuguese court had evacuated Portugal and had been based there. At the end of the war, the Portuguese went back to Europe, well, most of

them. The king's son, Prince Pedro, who'd spent his formative years in Brazil, stayed behind and was persuaded to declare independence, break away from his father's empire. Cochrane was offered the job of commander-in-chief of the new Brazilian navy. He was interested. The Chileans had won their battles with no prospect of action. They'd also run out of money to fund their navy. As so often in the aftermath of victorious revolutions, there was the hint of civil war in the offing, and a giant earthquake destroyed Cochrane's house.

So three fairly strong reasons to up sticks and leave. He negotiated hard with the Brazilians. He forced them to create a special rank for him so that he was now superior to everybody else in the Brazilian Navy, and he named a very steep price for his services. But you know what? He knew his worth, so why not? Within a day of arriving in Brazil, he'd met Pedro, he'd reviewed his fleet, he had a big battleship of 64 guns, the Pedro I. He had three frigates, two smaller corvettes, three little brigs, and some even smaller ships. Within two weeks, he was at sea. The Portuguese, for their part, sailed out of San Salvador with 11 warships, and the two forces met on the 4th of May. Cochrane just went straight at them.

But he discovered that his crew's gunnery was absolutely terrible, and he believed that there were actually reluctant Portuguese sailors on board his own ship that were deliberately sabotaging the ship's efforts. He had no option but to retreat. He then came up with a classic Cochrane plan. The Portuguese fleet had San Salvador as its safe haven. So, of course, what did Cochrane decide to do? Well, if you've been paying any attention at all to these episodes, you'll know exactly what he's about to do. He decided to go straight at it. He combed through his entire fleet. He got all of his most reliable crewmen into three ships and he started blockading the port of San Salvador. The defenders began to grow hungry, to grow desperate. Cochrane then pushed

his luck. He decided on a display of strength. He sailed his ship straight into the harbour while the Portuguese top brass were busy at a ball. And in the end, that was actually enough. The people of San Salvador were so terrified by the prospect of an attack by the world's most famous sailor that they simply forced the Portuguese governor to order the abandonment of the city. In early July, 17 warships and 75 transport ships, carrying the loyal Portuguese and their most precious possessions, sailed out of San Salvador as the flag of an independent Brazil was raised behind them. These Portuguese ships sailed into hell. They were spread out, they were demoralised, they were loaded down with possessions of an evacuating army, and they were now prey for the

seawolf. Cochrane attacked where and when it suited him. After a week of running battles, he'd managed to capture 16 ships and 2,000 men. Cochrane had to return to Brazil to repair his ship, but one of his subordinates kept up the attacks all the way to the mouth of the river Tagus in Portugal itself, with Lisbon in sight. Cochrane himself then sailed north. He went near the mouth of the Amazon. He sailed straight into São Luís, an important port. This time he had British colours, a British flag, flying from his flagstaff. He anchored up close to the shore, and when local dignitaries came out to wish him well, he arrested them all.

He then sent a proclamation ashore, stating that a mighty fleet was on the way to liberate the region by force. There was, of course, no mighty fleet on the way at all. The citizens, however, did not want to see a running battle in the streets. Their houses used as strongholds and firing positions, sources of booty for half-drunk sailors with rum and adrenaline coursing through their veins. They surrendered the town immediately. He stripped the town in a way that puts Francis Drake to shame. The treasury was emptied, every ship captured, that's 30 vessels in all. He confiscated the

private property of any Portuguese person he found there, and he sent any trade goods in warehouses back to Rio de Janeiro. He played the same trick against one province in the north, just sending in a ship demanding surrender, telling them that a much bigger fleet was imminent. And like another domino, the province fell to Cochrane's demands, agreeing to support an independent Brazil. In less than four months, he had, quote-unquote, liberated the capitals of three provinces, a vast territory stretching along 2,000 miles of coastline. Cochrane arrived back in Rio de Janeiro to tumultuous celebrations. The Marquês of Marnau. In typical Cochrane fashion, you know what's coming next.

He spent the next few months falling out with everyone and fighting about prize money. The grind of all that, plus the obvious descent of Brazil into civil strife, caused him to jump in a Brazilian naval ship and sail to England, pretending he'd been caught by country winds. On June the 26th, 1825, he arrived in the Solent. The legality of the situation was extremely unclear. Cochrane, though, didn't care. He barrelled in with a massive Brazilian ensign on the stern, the pendant of an admiral at his masthead. He fired a salute towards Aix-Mess victory, and the naval commander replied in kind, the first time any European state had ever accorded

sovereign status to the flag of Brazil. He only spent a few months in Britain because he was being wooed once again. Another would-be nation wanted to enlist the mighty Cochrane to help secure their freedom. This time, it was the Greeks. They lobbied him to come and help liberate them from Ottoman-Turkish rule. And somehow, once again last year, by pure chance, I found myself in the wake of Cochrane's global pursuit of adventure, money and freedom. I'm now standing right on top of the Acropolis in Athens. Below me is the city stretched out on the valley floor, the coastal plain leading down

to the sparkling blue water of the Aegean. The Acropolis where I am, as you well know, it's got the Parthenon on it, the Temple of Athena, Nike, I can just see peeking around the corner, the Erechtheion, the Propylaia. There would have been a nine-metre-high bronze statue of Athena up here in the 5th century BC, the sun flashing off the polished metal, visible for miles away out at sea.

But by the 19th century, most of that had gone. A terrible explosion here in the late 17th century when the Ottomans were using this as a magazine, a powder magazine, helped to reduce the Parthenon to its current ruinous state. But today it looks much like it would have done in the 19th century. There would have been a mosque up here because Greece was still under Turkish occupation.

And as I'm standing here looking out at the Aegean, I can already see a couple of islands, I can see headlands. I don't need to tell you all about the importance of sea power in Greek history. I can actually see the site of one of the great naval battles of all time, the Battle of Salamis fought in 480 BC when proud Xerxes stood on a nearby hilltop watching as his Persian fleet was annihilated by the Athenian and Greek allied fleet. That was in September 480, a battle that helped change the course of history, protecting Greece, protecting the fledgling democracy here in Athens from Persian occupation and annexation.

So sea power in the ancient world in Greece was essential and sea power in the 19th century was essential. The Turks were supplying their strongholds here in Greece by sea and Cochrane knew it. He was a man in demand and he demanded a vast amount of money to go and help. He also demanded a fleet of cutting-edge steamships. The Greeks accepted his terms and he arrived here in March 1827. And when I say here, he really did come to this spot. His first job was attempting to relieve a Greek force that was being besieged by the Turks on top of the Acropolis. A very brave group of Greek patriots had seized the Acropolis. They were now being besieged, and his job was to try and relieve them. Cochrane sailed to Piraeus, the port just below me now, a giant ensign flying from the stern of his ship.

It was his own design because the Greeks didn't really have a flag at that point. An owl of Athena. It's a shame the Greeks didn't pick that one up and run with it. From the shore, he blasted a Turkish position, Turkish strongpoint, a monastery that I can still see the remains of just across the way here. It was a key position from which the Turks were besieging the Acropolis. The Turks in that monastery surrendered.

Cochrane had won another victory, but this time it would be his last. The last victory of a long, near unparalleled career. Everything went a little bit wrong after that. The Greeks failed to follow up the success and they failed to rescue their beleaguered countrymen on the Acropolis. He then led an assault on Alexandria in Egypt with fire ships, but most of his fleet ran away. And meanwhile, the British, Russian and French navies had tried to secure an armistice between the Greeks and the Turks. They'd drawn up beside the Turkish-Egyptian fleet to begin talks.

Now, not unexpectedly, an accidental incident set off a more general engagement. Soon there was a terrible exchange of gunnery. After a few hours in the bay of Navarino off the coast of Greece, there was nothing left but a shattered mass of hulls, spars and rigging. The combined navies of the British, the Russians and the French had fought and won the last major battle of the Age of Sail. Fifty enemy ships had been sunk. Greek independence was now a matter of time, and there was little more that Cochrane could do to hasten it. He returned to Britain. He returned to a life of invention, of advocacy, of family. For full readmittance into society, he had to wait for two key enemies to pass. King George IV, who'd been Prince Regent, died in 1830. He was succeeded by his little brother William, William IV he became, who'd

served in the navy and he admired Cochrane. In politics, the Duke of Wellington and the Tories also left office, making way for the Whigs, men more aligned to Cochrane's politics. In July 1831, Cochrane's poverty-stricken father died at 83, and Cochrane finally became the 10th Earl of Dundonald. Finally, on the 2nd of May 1832, as Britain was wracked with violence, with upheavals in the campaign for parliamentary reform, it was decided at a Privy Council meeting that a full pardon would be issued to Cochrane and he would be reinstated in the Royal Navy. Finally, redemption.

Cochrane was restored, not only to the Royal Navy, but to his seniority within it. He was now a rear admiral in his Britannic Majesty's Navy, but he obviously refused to serve in a posting until his knighthood was restored, and he'd have to wait for that. So instead he blew all his money on crazy inventions. Poison gas, steam engines, it's all a bit steampunk to be honest. He must have been in utter pain and his wife separated from him and it was certainly the case for Team Cochrane that absence was more conducive to a happy marriage than constant companionship. Finally a new monarch, the young Queen Victoria, announced that she would give him the next vacant slot for Knight of the Bath. Victoria eventually reappointed him Knight of the Order of the Bath in May 1847. And then in one final very happy chapter, Cochrane finally raised his admiral's

flag on a Royal Navy ship of the line at sea. He served as commander-in-chief of the North American West Indies Station from 1848 to 1851. He was a vice-admiral, that was Nelson's rank, and his son serving alongside him as lieutenant. Crewmen always remembered that he didn't like flogging, didn't like whipping. They were captivated by his yarns, his ability to talk to everyone as equals. They called him simply Dad. His admiral's pennant was hauled down from the foremast in Portsmouth and he disembarked. He was 75 years old and he'd left his last British ship as a serving officer. He was considered, amazingly, for a command role in the Baltic during the Crimean War, but it was decided that even as an ancient man there was much too high a chance that he'd risk everything in a daring attack. And he was not given the job. He died eventually in 1860 during an operation to

remove kidney stones. He's buried in Westminster Abbey. And every year, a delegation from the Chilean Navy hold a wreath-laying ceremony at his grave. So passed one of Britain's greatest sailors. But he's unique in the pantheon of greats because he never commanded Britain's forces in a major battle. His audacity, his leadership, the love of his followers, his companions, makes him one of the most alluring, one of the most fascinating and inspiring figures in British naval history.

Add to this commitment and his reforming zeal, taking principled stands against slavery, against a restricted franchise that puts him very much on the right side of history. It's been such a pleasure writing and making this series. If there are any other figures that you feel strongly about that you'd like to hear a deep dive on the future, do let me know. The email is in the show notes.

You should also hit follow in your podcast app so you never miss an episode of this podcast. Thank you again to David Cordingley for his brilliant biography, Cochrane the Dauntless, which offers so much wonderful detail into Cochrane's life. The producer for this series was the brilliant Marianna de Forge, and the editor was the long-suffering, the excellent Dougal Patmore. Bye-bye. © transcript Emily Beynon you you