Captain Francis Crozier

by Michael Smith

  But Parry changed his mind as the incidence of scurvy increased and as men struggled to cope with the back-breaking work of sawing a channel through the ice to free the ships. Two men from Fury and another from Hecla died and Lyon warned of the ‘very serious consequences’ of remaining in the ice for another winter.

  Parties were sent out to scout the local land and bring back any fresh game they could find, but the men were not natural hunters and their catches were invariably disappointing. On one trip, Crozier went ashore with Parry and the two discovered a previously unknown river running through a deep gorge more than 50-feet (15-metres) wide and flanked by magnificent mountains. It was promptly named Crozier River.

  By early August, Parry’s resolve was shaken to the core. He climbed the mast to scan the horizon to the west, but saw only an unbroken white seascape as far as the eye could see. ‘One vast expanse of solid ice’, he noted.

  Fury and Hecla Strait had no intention of revealing its secrets and, after thirteen frustrating months at the entrance to what Parry believed was the North West Passage, the expedition was abandoned. It was not until 1948, some 125 years after the visit by Fury and Hecla, that a modern icebreaker managed to complete the first navigation of Fury and Hecla Strait.

  Fury and Hecla turned for home on 12 August, reaching the Shetland Islands on 10 October 1823, where the explorers were greeted by enthusiastic crowds and the pealing of church bells. Barrels of tar were set ablaze in the streets to light up their homecoming after a disappointing and frustrating journey that had lasted 27 months.

  Shortly before sailing, Parry had optimistically told Barrow that ‘nothing short of the entire accomplishment of the North West Passage’ would satisfy the expectant public. The expedition, he now conceded, was an ‘extreme disappointment’.

  Nevertheless, the voyage had confirmed that Hudson’s Bay did not hold the key to the passage and a few more blanks on the map – notably the opening of Fury and Hecla Strait – had been filled. With public opinion still highly favourable, a fresh attempt to find the passage was inevitable.

  Crozier returned from the Arctic in the autumn of 1823 to find the nation abuzz over the North West Passage. The public demanded nothing less than a successful outcome and Barrow, sensing the popular mood, decided to take the bold step of accelerating the pace of discovery.

  In early 1824, only months after the return of Fury and Hecla, Barrow fired a broadside of four separate expeditions into the ice in one final push to accomplish the task. Crozier, caught up in the heady atmosphere, volunteered to sail again.

  The first expedition of 1824 was handed to Lyon, fresh from Hecla, who was given command of the small Griper and ordered to undertake a highly risky venture. He was told to travel unsupported into the ice of Repulse Bay on the edge of Foxe Basin before marching 1,000 miles (1,600 kilometres) overland to Port Turnagain – the most easterly spot reached by Franklin in his search of the Canadian coastline in 1819–22.

  The second expedition would take Franklin and Richardson overland and by canoe down the Mackenzie River to the western end of the continent. For the third mission, Captain Frederick Beechey was ordered to take the Blossom around Cape Horn and enter Arctic waters by way of the Bering Strait.

  The fourth mission was given to Parry, who was asked to take Fury and Hecla back to Lancaster Sound and to explore down Prince Regent Inlet, a potentially promising channel first sighted during the 1819–20 voyage. If successful, it was assumed the strait would bring the ships to the western end of the Fury and Hecla Strait, thus eliminating the need to navigate waters that had thwarted Parry’s ships a year before.

  In the most co-ordinated campaign so far, Parry was asked to erect flagstaffs and place food caches along the coast to support the overland marches of Franklin, Richardson and Lyon, while Beechey was told to station Blossom near the entrance of the Bering Strait for a rendezvous with both Franklin and Parry.

  Crozier, still rated a midshipman, was among a total complement of 62 assigned to Parry’s ship and was to sail aboard Hecla, Parry’s new flagship. Command of Fury was given to Captain Henry Hoppner. Among his crew of 60 was Ross, newly promoted to lieutenant.

  Crowds flocked to the Thames to see the ships, now among the most famous in the fleet. Over 6,000 people climbed Hecla’s gangplank to sign the visitors’ book, while the officers – resplendent in crisp, blue uniforms and fine braid – were applauded at a glittering farewell ball to mark their departure.

  Hecla and Fury sailed down the Thames on 19 May 1824, accompanied by the supply vessel, William Harris. But Parry’s luck, which had been critical to his great voyage in 1819–20, had run out.

  Parry began one of his missions to the Arctic by cheerfully proclaiming, ‘Oh, how I long to be among the ice!’ A more realistic judgement on the perils of exploring in the ice was made more than 30 years later by Leopold McClintock, the accomplished voyager, who wrote: ‘I can understand how men’s hair have [sic] turned grey in a few hours.’1

  Parry’s ships ran into severe difficulties off the west coast of Greenland soon after unloading stores from the William Harris. The ships entered the cold waters of Davis Strait where, to their dismay, the ice was twice as thick as when Parry last visited the area in 1819.

  Hecla ran aground on a rock during one manoeuvre and the ship, battered by high seas and the grinding ice, tipped over onto its side. Just when it seemed the ship might founder, Hecla was righted and managed to float free.

  The journey up Davis Strait and across Baffin Bay towards Lancaster Sound in unseasonably bad weather was horrendous. Fury and Hecla fought against strong winds, freezing fog and the constant threat of collision with icebergs. The decks and sails were coated with a layer of ice and the pack seemed impenetrable. It looked as though the 122 men and ships would be prevented from entering Lancaster Sound and would be forced to spend the winter trapped in Baffin Bay.

  Fortunately, the ice eased a little and the ships were able to resume sailing. But the journey across Baffin Bay to Lancaster Sound had taken almost two months – about twice as long as expected. Hecla and Fury did not turn west into Lancaster Sound until 10 September, well behind schedule and with little time left to reach their target of Prince Regent Inlet before the autumnal ice closed in.

  Hopes of making progress were further hit when heavy pack ice confronted the ships 20 miles (32 kilometres) from the entrance to the inlet. The short navigable season was now almost non-existent. Even the usually optimistic Parry became despondent. For a brief moment, he contemplated abandoning the enterprise that year and returning home.

  The foul weather then delivered a fresh blow when very strong gales from the west drove the ships out of Lancaster Sound and back into Baffin Bay. Just when things looked at their bleakest, the winds suddenly changed direction and Hecla and Fury were thrown back into Lancaster Sound almost as quickly as they had been ejected.

  Propelled by powerful easterly gales, the ships rebounded into Lancaster Sound and raced 200 miles (320 kilometres) to the mouth of Prince Regent Inlet. The inlet, a broad expanse of water running due south between the towering cliffs of Baffin Island and Somerset Island, was a daunting challenge. In wild weather and with autumn descending, the most pressing matter was to find shelter for the winter. Clinging resolutely to the coastline, Fury and Hecla edged slowly south down Prince Regent Inlet in high winds, taking frequent depths and anxiously scanning the shoreline for a suitable harbour on the western shores of Baffin Island. After sailing about 50 miles (80 kilometres) along the coast, a small bay was spotted and the ships were quickly installed in their winter quarters.

  Map 5: The Voyage of Fury and Hecla, 1824-25.

  The bay, named Port Bowen, was an austere, inhospitable spot surrounded by dark, brooding cliffs and with few diversions to help the men pass the dark winter months. There was little wildlife and no sign of kindly Eskimos to provide fresh game or willing company. Parry gloomily recorded the ‘motionless torpor’ of the bleak setting.

&
nbsp; It was a long, tedious winter, despite the usual sideshows and routines designed to keep the crews occupied. The traditional Arctic theatre was abandoned in favour of elaborate costume balls that featured officers dressed up in ever-more absurd outfits and waltzing through the night in women’s clothing.

  Crozier blacked himself up with boot polish as footman to a grand dame in the unlikely shape of Hoppner. On one occasion – to the merriment of all – Parry disguised himself as an old tramp and shambled across the ice to Fury begging for a few spare coppers.

  Crozier took up his now familiar role of taking copious magnetic readings, making detailed observations of the weather and acquiring regular water samples. He was happy with his scientific duties, particularly when joined by Ross and Lieutenant Henry Foster, a young officer regarded as one of the most capable scientific brains of the age.

  The days passed slowly. Parry was affected by rheumatism and a few tentative inland voyages to explore the neighbouring vicinity yielded very little new knowledge. By early July, with the release from the ice approaching, the crews were sweating from the hard labour of sawing an escape channel through the ice. One gruelling session lasted almost unbroken for 26 hours.

  Freedom came on 20 July 1825 when the ships were able to sail unscathed from Port Bowen and resume the journey southwards down Prince Regent Inlet. Parry ordered the ships to cross the inlet and begin looking for a passage to the west along the rocky coastline of Somerset Island.

  But once again, the expedition was assailed by an atrocious combination of powerful winds, freezing temperatures and a heavy buildup of ice blocking their path. During one storm, Fury was driven towards the coastal cliffs where hefty chunks of ice were clinging to the rocky shoreline. Men from Hecla jumped over the side to help smash up the threatening ice and all hands were relieved when high tides carried Fury back to open water.

  It was only a brief respite and the ice and winds made a fresh assault, driving the ships back towards the shore. Once, the vessels came close to colliding in the high winds and again Fury was hurled towards the cliffs by the strong winds.

  At the mercy of the elements, Fury was driven onto the shore. Beams began to buckle and crack as the ship hit the beach and a sound like a gun shot announced the snapping of the ship’s rudder. As water poured in, Hoppner’s crew worked around the clock to stem the tide, while officers from Fury took the risk of venturing over the broken sea ice at the height of the storm to inspect the damage.

  Fury needed urgent repairs. Men worked solidly for two weeks in hazardous conditions trying to plug the leaks and replace fractured timbers. Only when raging winds and swirling blizzards made it impossible to work did the men retreat across the sea to Hecla for a brief rest.

  On one occasion, Hecla was forced to retreat to safer waters when violent winds threatened to drive the ship aground. Gales battered the stricken Fury, ramming the ship further onto the beach. From their vantage point at sea, the men on Hecla could only watch helplessly. For four days, Hecla was forced to stand off the beach, which lies in Cresswell Bay on the south-eastern side of Somerset Island. When the winds eased off slightly, men hurried back across the sea to find Fury beached like a dead whale. The ship was lying on its side and ice, driven by the high winds, had closed around the hulk. Fury was doomed.

  Parry and Hoppner came ashore on 25 August for a closer inspection of the wreckage. Parry recorded the ‘utter hopelessness’ of the vessel. Repairing the ship would take weeks, perhaps a month, which would leave no time for exploration that season. There was also a serious risk of Hecla being driven ashore by the fearsome winds. With one ship written off and the other at risk, Parry had little choice but to abandon Fury.

  It also meant abandoning the expedition. The crew of 60 men was given an hour to remove personal belongs, while stores and equipment from Fury that could not be carried on Hecla were stockpiled on the beach as a source of life for future venturers in the area. The bleak, windswept shore was named Fury Beach.

  On 25 August 1825, Hecla left the mortally wounded Fury to the mercy of the brutal Arctic climate. John Page, one of Fury’s seamen, died suddenly as Hecla prepared to sail for home; he was the only casualty of the expedition.

  Hecla, badly overcrowded with men and supplies from Fury, turned for home. It was a poignant moment and marked the end of Parry’s long and occasionally hazardous quest to find the North West Passage. Worn out by almost eight years of endeavour, Parry effectively gave up his search at Fury Beach. But as he turned for home, he scribbled a final philosophical entry in his journal: ‘The only real cause for wonder is our long exemption from such a catastrophe.’2

  Hecla passed along Lancaster Sound and into Baffin Bay, where, to their surprise, they found little ice in the seas that had threatened so much danger only a year before. After a comfortable and uneventful trip, Hecla was back in British waters by October and was finally paid off on 21 November 1825. Parry’s third expedition– the least successful of all his voyages – had been a dismal failure that brought the quest for the North West Passage no closer.

  Barrow’s three other expeditions from the salvo of 1824 produced mixed results. Lyon’s venture in the Griper was a total failure. Faced with heavy ice and hurricane-force winds, the ship failed to reach its destination of Repulse Bay and a defeated expedition crept back into England after only five months. Lyon never went to the Arctic again.

  Beechey in the Blossom endured a mammoth 73,000-mile (117,000-kilometre) journey to the Bering Strait that lasted three and a half years and cost the lives of numerous crewmen. At one point, he was only 160 miles (256 kilometres) along Canada’s northern shore from the overland expedition of Franklin and Richardson, but neither knew of the other’s existence and the opportunity of an historic link-up between parties from east and west of the passage was lost.

  Franklin and Richardson achieved the most, trekking thousands of miles and mapping large swathes of unknown land during their two-year journey.

  Crozier emerged from Parry’s expedition in a far better position than he might have envisaged given the mission’s failure. Now an established Arctic hand, he had found his métier. Three winters in the Arctic had enabled him to made his mark and exploration, despite its rigours, was precisely the type of duty that enabled him to serve the navy. He resolved to go north again.

  chapter seven

  North Pole Trek

  Months passed before Crozier’s value to the country’s programme of Arctic exploration was officially recognised. In March 1826 – six months before his thirtieth birthday – he was finally promoted to the rank of lieutenant.

  Progress through the ranks had been excruciatingly slow because of the continuing surplus of idle navy officers and it had taken Crozier over fifteen years, more than half his lifetime, to become a lieutenant. But without Arctic exploration, it is likely that his progress would have been slower still. Luckily for Crozier, the scheming Barrow was plotting to send more ships north.

  By the mid-1820s, Barrow had fine-tuned his targets of exploration. After almost a decade of focus on the North West Passage, he now considered it timely to switch attention towards the North Pole. Buchan’s unsuccessful expedition in 1818 was the last attempt to reach the Pole, but by 1826 Barrow had persuaded the Admiralty to fund a fresh endeavour.

  Barrow’s enthusiasm for the North Pole was linked to his persistent fondness for the ‘Open Polar Sea’ theory and he cited the reports of Lieutenant Constantine Phipps – who had made a particularly unsuccessful attempt to reach the Pole in 1774 – as justification for another expedition.

  Phipps, he reminded the Admiralty, had turned back at 80° north after finding his path blocked by ‘one continued plain of smooth unbroken ice’. Barrow perceived the obstacle encountered by Phipps as an opportunity, not a deterrent. Scoresby added his weight to the fanciful notion by claiming it was possible to drive a coach-and-four across the unbroken field of ice.

  Barrow’s theory seemed plausible. Ships would take men a
s far as possible into the pack, where they would unload small boats and drag them over the ice until they reached Phipps’ ‘plain of smooth unbroken ice’. At this point, parties could haul their small boats over the undemanding terrain until they reached the ‘Open Polar Sea’, where the small craft could be launched for a gentle cruise to the most northerly point on the globe.

  The idea for a new North Pole expedition was first proposed by Franklin after his return from the 1818 voyage with Buchan. But Barrow sat on the scheme for years before offering the project in 1826 to his personal favourite, Parry.

  Barrow needed to be persuasive. Following the loss of Fury, Parry had returned to London convinced that his exploring days were at an end. After four Arctic expeditions, he was drained and within months of coming home had fallen in love with Isabella Stanley, the 24-year-old daughter of a minor aristocrat. Arctic exploration had never been further from his thoughts.

  But Barrow, having dusted off Franklin’s plan, urged Parry to have another shot at glory. Parry dutifully abandoned his plans to retire and agreed in early 1827 to go to the North Pole again, driven perhaps by thoughts that he needed to repair his reputation after the embarrassment of losing Fury. Isabella Stanley, whom he married in 1826, faithfully gave him a silk flag to fly at the Pole.

  Parry assembled his repertory company of tried-and-tested Arctic players for the North Pole expedition. There was a familiar feel about proceedings as Crozier, Ross, Foster and Bird agreed to join up. Hecla, too, was spruced up for one final attempt to grant Parry the triumph he so earnestly sought.

  Crozier was asked to play a crucial role in the expedition, an appointment that underlined Parry’s respect for the Irishman. While Parry and Ross led the trek to reach the Pole, Crozier was to take effective command of Hecla.