Cochrane (20 page)

In winning the Westminster election, Cochrane had triumphed in no more than a preliminary political skirmish. The procedures and tactics of the House of Commons were as treacherous in their way as the rocks of Ushant. Indeed, there already lay in wait for him humiliations and defeats so frequent as to make some of his colleagues wonder if, after all, Cochrane might not be the stupidest man in politics, as Godwin believed. The courage which he had shown in war and the breezy honesty of his mob oratory were neither of them assets in an assembly whose older members were jaded to the point of cynicism.

However, Parliament opened on
26
June and Cochrane at last took his place on the benches of the Commons. It was a smaller and more intimate arena than its reputation suggested. Its dimensions were those of a small chapel with narrow galleries above the opposing benches, the bare Georgian interior having as its focal point the three rounded windows behind the Speaker's chair. The galleries were low enough, as Creevey describes, for a noble visitor like the Duke of Clarence, later William IV, to lean over and "halloo" into the debating chamber, in his amiable and simple manner, as though he were part of the proceedings. Beneath each gallery rose four tiers of benches, for government and opposition respectively, with a dozen feet of bare floorboards between the two parties. Far back under the galleries were the curtains, behind which elderly members were able to doze while still being available to vote if a division were called, and from behind which younger and more impatient members would interrupt proceedings with loud cock crows when they felt that their elders had allowed debate to dawdle on too late into the night.

The new Tory leader, the Duke of Portland, sat in the Lords, the government leader in the Commons being Spencer Perceval. Of the government ministers responsible for naval affairs, Lord Palmerston sat in the Commons, his Irish peerage being no disqualification, and John Wilson Croker also adorned the government benches. If Cochrane had any allies, they were the so-called "Mountain", a collection of the more liberal Whigs, the Radicals, and such men as himself. At Burdett's victory dinner after the election, Cochrane's health was still not drunk and all reference to him was avoided. Yet he and

Burdett became personal friends and it was clearly only a question of time before they entered into political alliance.

Cochrane wasted no time in opening his attack on the government. In the debate on the King's Speech he denounced the political corruption of Tories and Whigs alike. They hardly seemed to notice that they were being attacked. On
7
July, he introduced a long and complicated motion demanding an inquiry into sinecures and places enjoyed by members of the House of Commons. This was the blow by which he intended to rock the political establishment on its heels. Spencer Perceval said gently that it would be "invidious and improper to convey to the public an insinuation that members of parliament were influenced by considerations of private advantage". The motion was tastefully amended so that it would not give any such offence, nor serve any useful purpose, and was passed in its new form despite Cochrane's anger. "It is notorious," he burst out, "that commissions in the army and navy have been given for votes in this House!" But the old hands, who knew the rules intimately, silenced him with cries of "Order! Order!"
⁷³

Three days later, he returned to the attack again by introducing a motion for papers relating to the loss of the
Atalante
and the
Felix
to be made public. His opponents were Sir Samuel Hood, and Admirals Harvey and Markham, who began a baying chant of "Order! Order!" whenever he seemed likely to reveal anything discreditable to St Vincent or the Admiralty. At last they lured him into mentioning the lucky escape of the
Imperieuse
near Ushant, and howled him down with "Order! Order!" The Speaker, turning towards him, said calmly, "The Noble Lord must confine himself to the motion before the House."
⁷⁴

After the election triumph, the defeats and rebuffs of his experience in the Commons seemed a sour reward. The government mocked his crusading zeal and the Radicals began to regard him as a dangerous and foolish ally. If this was the best that "Sawney McCockran" of the election cartoons could do, his political career would be very brief indeed. However, since he might have damaging evidence about the Admiralty and its ways, and was certainly in a position to present it before the public, however ineptly, it seemed safer to evict him from parliament. He was ordered back to the
Imperieuse,
which was now ready to sail for the Mediterranean. If he went, he would be expected to resign his seat in the Commons. If he stayed, he must forfeit his naval career and the income upon which he depended.

But though he had made a poor impression in the House, the electors of Westminster liked what they had read of him. His attempt to reform parliamentary corruption and naval abuses within the first week of his Commons' career had been ill-judged. But he had shown great courage, fearing no man and no party. Unlike some reformers he had not forgotten his promises to those who elected him. Hearing that he had been ordered to sea again, the electors of Westminster met and decided to give him "unlimited leave of absence". His zeal and honour had been no match for the intrigues of parliamentary procedure, but they had won him a seat in the Commons which he was to hold virtually unopposed for more than a decade and during the most awesome personal scandals.

4

"Excessive
Use
of
Powder and
Shot"

The
calm azure waters of the Mediterranean between Sicily and Corsica combined with the routine drill of a frigate on active service to soothe uncomfortable recollection of Cochrane's parliamentary humiliation. The
Imperieuse
had sailed from Portsmouth on
12
September
1807,
in charge of a convoy of thirty-eight merchant ships, many of them packed with red-coated infantry companies on their way to reinforce Gibraltar and the island base at Malta. Demands on his attention and patience left Cochrane little leisure to shudder at memories of the Tories jeering at his ineptitude across the floor of the narrow chamber of the Commons. A merchant convoy of such size, each ship offering half a regiment of troops as prize, was the classic nightmare of an escort captain. Through the squalls and the cold rain-flurries of the Atlantic autumn, the slow troopers wallowed and straggled, while the signal gun on the
Imperieuse
boomed out its impatient warnings.

By
31
October the last of the convoy had been brought safely to Valetta, and Cochrane sailed again to join the squadron of the Commander-in-Chief, Lord Collingwood, who was cruising off Palermo.

Everywhere the news was bad. With a few exceptions, notably Portugal and Gibraltar, the entire coastline of continental Europe was hostile. Even Portugal, it was said, would be compelled to close her ports to British ships. At sea, the Royal Navy was supreme, but that seemed to matter little to Napoleon and even less to some groups in England. The newspapers and journals which reached the Mediterranean from London or Edinburgh spoke increasingly of the need to end a war in which there could be no victory. "The game, we fear, is decidedly lost," announced the
Edinburgh Review
echoing soberly the theme of newspapers and peace movements alike. Public petitions for peace were organised in manufacturing areas like Manchester, Bolton, and Oldham, the petitions being presented to parliament with great publicity.
¹

It was impossible that England, with a population of
15,000,000
should attempt to match Napoleon's army of
500,000
as well as finding
120,000
men to protect her vital maritime links. How, then, could the war be continued? Suggestions were made for scattered guerrilla warfare or commando attacks under the protection of the Royal Navy. It was thought possible that a beach-head might be seized in Holland or in northern Spain, round Santander. Moira and Ponsonby favoured a landing to secure the passes of the Pyrenees and cut Spain off from France. All these things would be a nuisance to Napoleon but it was difficult to see how they would overthrow him. At best, they would improve England's negotiating position when the inevitable peace talks began. Characteristically, Cochrane believed that the war could be won and that the Royal Navy could do it. He dismissed the complex plans of his superiors and devised a simple strategy to bring about a collapse of Napoleonic power from Moscow to Lisbon, and the Arctic Circle to Naples, in a matter of months and with no more than minimal allied casualties. He had yet to show that such theories could be put into practice, but his chance was soon to come.
²

Meanwhile, he cruised the waters between Sicily and Corsica, lulled by the routine of the
Imperieuse.
It was homely, by comparison with the hostility of his political experience. The rattle of buckets and holystone as the off-duty watch scrubbed the decks to blinding whiteness was accompanied by the more martial tread and shouted orders of the red-coated Royal Marines at drill. In the warmth of the Mediterranean day there was repeated gunnery practice, the crews going through the routine of running out the
18
-pounders, firing, swabbing, reloading, and firing again. There was target practice, too, firing at casks in the water, though Cochrane preferred to let his men spend their powder in earnest. And, of course, there were the routine duties of a ship's captain who was responsible for the welfare of his men. Stores had to be carefully and continually checked. "Cask of Pork, No.
1619,"
as it was officially designated, held a disagreeable consignment,
524
pounds of meat in a state of rapid decomposition. "Rotten and stinking occasio
ned by the weakness of the Cask
' Cochrane noted.
³

Lord Collingwood's squadron had left Sicilian waters to join the blockade against Toulon, leaving Cochrane to catch up with them.

On
14
November, nine days out from Malta, the
Imperieuse
sighted the sails of two ships, close under the cliffs of the western coast of Corsica. The one which drew Cochrane's attention was a three-masted merchantman, built for fast sailing. But the sides of the ship had been pierced to take guns and she was evidently a privateer. Cochrane guessed she might be from Genoa.

In a calm sea, the only practicable way of investigating was to lower the three boats of the
Imperieuse,
filled with Royal Marines and naval officers, including Midshipman Marryat, and to row across to the other ship. Two of Cochrane's officers, Napier and Fayrer were in command. As the three boats with their red-coated marines, pipe-clayed belts gleaming white in the sun, drew closer, there was a scurry of activity and the mysterious privateer hoisted out a Union Jack and draped it over the side. The leading boat of the
Imperieuse
stopped and hailed her, ordering the captain to identify his ship. He appeared at the rail and announced that she was the
King George,
a British, or rather Maltese, privateer. In that case, shouted Napier, she would have no objection to being inspected by the men of a British frigate.

The privateer captain, whose name was Pasquil Giliano, insisted that Napier and his marines were French, masquerading as British. If they attempted to board, his men would resist them. "I must board," shouted Napier. "You must take the consequences," Giliano retorted, and disappeared from sight.

Napier gave his order and there was an echoing cheer from the marines as the boat crews pulled with all speed for the sides of the privateer, avoiding the field of fire of the guns at her ports. They came alongside the
King George
without difficulty. Then, as if from nowhere, there was a fusilade of musket fire, the air filled with the hiss of bullets and the whistle of grapeshot. Marines and sailors fell, clutching their sudden wounds, blood darkening the scarlet uniforms. Fayrer's arm hung shattered and Napier had been brought down with blood streaming from behind his ear. Giliano's men had been concealed by the boarding nets hanging down the ship's sides and were firing at point-blank range upon the men in the boats.

Marryat and the survivors knew there could be no going back. Of the fifty-four men in the boat, they had already lost fifteen, but to pull away from the side of the privateer would be to expose themselves to the annihilating force of grape and musket fire. Swarming determinedly up the sides and on to the deck the remaining marines found themselves on a well-defended pirate ship. They did not yet know it, but the authorities in Malta had already offered a prize of
£500
for the capture of Giliano and his vessel.

"A most desperate conflict ensued," Marryat recalled, "the decks were strewed with the dying and the dead." The pirates guessed what their fate might be if they were taken, while the boarding party had no hope of retreat. In the end, Giliano fell dead in the fight and some of his men surrendered. This gave the marines a sufficient advantage and, though one group of the pirates fought on, they were, as Marryat put it, "cut to pieces" by the bayonets and cutlasses of Cochrane'smen.

Until the attack, Cochrane had no idea that he was attempting to board a notorious pirate, and he was badly shaken by the heavy losses which his men had sustained. Marryat observed him as the
King George
was taken back to Malta. "I never, at any time, saw Lord Cochrane so much dejected as he was for many days after this affair. He appreciated the value of his men - they had served him in the
Pallas,
and he could not spare one of them."

Worse still, as Cochrane informed Lord Collingwood, though the
King George
had at one time been allowed to sail under the British flag, the only subjects of the King w
ere three Maltese boys, one Gib
raltarian, and a naturalised Maltese, among the crew of fifty-two.

But that was not all. The Admiralty court at Malta ruled that, despite the reward offered for her capture, no prize money would be paid to Cochrane or his crew for bringing in the
King George.
Instead, he was presented with a bill for the legal costs of the hearing. Privately, he was informed that certain officials of the court had shares in the vessel and that their investment must not be forfeit. He vowed that when he had leisure he would give his full attention to the Admiralty court at Malta.
⁴

However, Cochrane's prospects were not entirely unpromising. Lord Collingwood, who had served for long enough under Nelson to recognise initiative when he saw it, was impressed by his new subordinate. Talking of Cochrane and his kind, he remarked, "the activity and zeal in those gallant young men keep up my spirits and make me equal to bear the disagreeables that happen from the contentions of some other ships".
⁵

For the moment there were "disagreeables" in store for Cochrane and the
Imperieuse.
Collingwood sent both captain and ship to take over command of the British blockade in the Adriatic from Captain Patrick Campbell. On arriving, Cochrane was astonished to find that Campbell was issuing passes freely to merchant ships and that the British blockade was virtually no blockade at all. Cochrane ignored the passes, seized the ships, and sent them off to Malta under prize crews. Campbell wrote privately to Collingwood, warning him against Cochrane, and added: "from his want of discretion he is unfit to be entrusted with a single ship, much less with the command of a squadron."
⁶

Collingwood had no idea what was going on, being preoccupied with the blockade of Toulon. His personal acquaintance with Cochrane was still slight and he decided, from prudence, to replace him as commander of the Adriatic blockade squadron. The
Imperieuse
was redirected to waters with which Cochrane had long been familiar, the Spanish Mediterranean coast.

The spring of
1808
was the final season of Cochrane's buccaneering in the manner he had perfected since assuming command of the
Speedy
eight years before. He was thirty-three years old, fifteen of those years having been passed in the navy, and he had reached that point at which a commander had either to act a significant part in the total strategy of war, or else become an old man in a junior rank. His acts of patriotic piracy were remarkable enough in themselves but because he repeated them with such ease and predictability, the public reaction to them grew progressively milder.

None the less, in his final cruise of this sort, Cochrane took a score of prizes and acted out enough naval dramas to fill several novels of Captain Marryat's type. On
21
February, for instance, he sighted a large French merchantman at dawn. She was carrying munitions for the
100,000
French troops in Spain and her capture would be both personally and strategically profitable. She was lying, in apparent safety, under the Spanish shore batteries in the Bay of Almeria, which would have been enough to deter any captain, except one who typified the hero of so many boys' adventure stories. Cochrane hoisted the American flag and sailed in to the attack.

In what was almost a parody of heroic action, the
Imperieuse
closed on her prey with boats hoisted out in readiness. As she dropped anchor, the boarding parties of marines were rowed across to the French ship at full speed. Only at the last moment did the French and the Spanish see what was happening, and then smoke and flame broke from the shore artillery as it opened on the
Imperieuse.
The boarding party clambered on to the deck of the French ship through a storm of musket fire. Casualties were heavy and Lieutenant Edward Caulfield, who led the attack, fell dead as he reached the deck. But the second boatload of Cochrane's men overcame the French resistance, the cable was cut, and the sails set. W
hile all this was going on, and
Cochrane was exchanging salvoes with the guns ashore, his men were also rowing through the smoke and the plumes of water thrown up by the shells to round up several smaller vessels which happened to be in the harbour.

No sooner had they done this than the wind dropped. The
Imperieuse
and her flock of prizes lay becalmed before the Spanish shore-batteries. In his journal, Midshipman Marryat recorded that the whole bay was "reverberating with the roar of cannon, the smooth water ploughed up in every quarter by the shot directed against the frigate and boats". From the quarterdeck, he watched the duel between the ranked mouths of the cannon ashore and their elusive target.