Captain Francis Crozier

by Michael Smith

  It is easy to understand Sophy Cracroft’s reluctance. Crozier in 1844 was not an attractive proposition. His grey hair and middle-aged spread hinted at someone carrying the burdens of an exacting life and looking a little more than his 47 years. A contemporary observation by McCormick, the surgeon on Erebus, described Crozier as a ‘somewhat heavy man’.

  Nor were his circumstances very promising. All he could offer was the lonely existence of a sea captain’s wife or the unappealing alternative of scraping along on naval half-pay – a paltry 14s 9d a day (about £42 in current terms).

  Crozier did not own a grand estate or farmlands to generate private income and had lived his entire adult life out of a trunk. None of this held any charm for an attractive young woman more accustomed to the style and glamour of a colonial governor’s household and who found no shortage of male callers.

  The state of Crozier’s mind began to alarm the two people who knew him best: Ross and Jane Franklin. Both were concerned that in pursuing Sophy his behaviour had become increasingly erratic. Lady Franklin, sensing the danger, wrote to Ross:

  There is another matter on which I wish to speak to you but I think it had better not be in writing – it relates to Captain Crozier and Sophy under present circumstances. I shall be glad of your advice … I wish to tell you what Sophy writes to me on the subject.2

  The precise circumstances of Lady Franklin’s intervention are not clear, but a clue can be found in an apologetic letter written by Crozier to Ross a few months later, in October 1844. In his note, Crozier asked his old friend to show some understanding of his recent behaviour. Clearly chastened by events, he wrote:

  I am now quite recovered and trust with God’s blessing to keep myself clear of all such scrapes in future. I ought to have had more wisdom, however. James dear, I gave you enough bother about it.3

  Rejected, out of work and with uncertain prospects, Crozier decided to take a long holiday. The navy, perhaps aware of his depressed state, generously gave him extended leave of one year.

  Yet even the prospect of a long holiday away from the emotional stress of London failed to raise his spirits. In a letter to Ross, he explained that his elderly sisters in Dublin were unhappy at the length of time he would be away. But in a melancholic footnote, he added: ‘I just felt I was a bother to them and a burden to myself.’

  In the autumn of 1844, he embarked on a ‘grand tour’ of Europe, the sightseeing and cultural journey around the fashionable cities of France, Spain and Italy so popular at the time with Britain’s young aristocrats and Romantics.

  But in his depression, Crozier had delivered an unusual snub to Ross and his heavily pregnant wife Ann by leaving London without bothering to say farewell. This was uncharacteristic of Crozier and guilt caught up with him on the first leg of the trip. While passing through France, he dropped a brief note to Ross apologising for the slight. ‘It has caused me much pain’, he confessed. ‘But the truth is I could not make up my mind to visit London now.’

  Crozier had commenced his European tour in a confused and uncertain state of mind. In a letter to Ross, he wrote:

  I believe, after all, that a few months abroad will be the best thing for me. I have one year’s leave but, I think, much less will serve me as I feel adrift wherever I am. However a little travel will cure all, I hope.4

  The slow, meandering tour through Europe did little to relieve the gloom or ease the feeling of loneliness. He travelled from Paris to the south of France and made a quick detour into Spain before visiting the great cities of Venice, Florence and Rome. But loneliness was eating at Crozier. Although he promised Ross to put his ‘bygones’ behind him, Crozier was struggling to cope. In a somewhat incoherent letter written to Ross from the south of France, he confided:

  I could go anywhere being so much alone as I have been, has been the best thing in the world for me, plenty of time to review times past with, I do believe, an unbiased mind. In a word I am quite happy and, under all the circumstances of age, etc, I would not if I could that it were otherwise.

  Now, James dear, you know the state of the case with me, in as few words as I could put it, therefore I will pester you and dear [Ann], my kind friends, with no more bygones.5

  A thousand miles away, in London, events were moving at a more significant pace. The North West Passage, which had been off the political agenda at the Admiralty for the best part of a decade, was suddenly the centre of attention again. The architect, once more, was Sir John Barrow.

  Now 80 years old, Barrow was pushing for a final triumph to cap his extraordinary 40-year reign at the seat of power. The spark for Barrow’s last hurrah was the return of Crozier and Ross from the Antarctic. In 1844, as Crozier was wandering through the galleries and museums of Florence, Barrow finalised a new plan to complete the discovery of the North West Passage.

  In Barrow’s obsessive mind, one final push could bring to a successful conclusion his quest to find the North West Passage, which he began so optimistically in 1818. The risks, he asserted, were small and he persuaded the government that the prize was within grasp, with perhaps only a few hundred miles of the passage still undiscovered. ‘So little now remains to be done’, he wrote.

  Erebus and Terror were on standby after their marathon voyage and he pledged that many experienced Arctic officers were ‘ready and willing to embark on an expedition’. The risks, he concluded, were small.

  The public, too was eager to support Barrow’s mission in these self-assured early days of the Victorian era. Queen Victoria had ascended the throne in 1837 with Britain in the unrivalled position of being the world’s most powerful nation, controlling a fifth of the earth’s surface and the destinies of hundreds of millions of people. Confident, expansive and ambitious, Britain strode the world politically, economically and militarily.

  From his desk at the Admiralty, Barrow encouraged Britain to use its power to extend the boundaries of the Empire and by the early 1840s the country had embarked on a massive expansion of its domain, driving into places as far apart as Africa, Hong Kong and Afghanistan. Navigating the North West Passage, as Barrow optimistically proposed, was a natural and simple extension of this imperial endeavour.

  Barrow played the patriotic card with his customary skill, and issued a rallying call for the passage to be completed before any upstart foreign nation stole British thunder. His message was simple and chimed perfectly with the overwhelming sense of national destiny and superiority felt by Victorian Britain:

  If left to be performed by some other power, England by her neglect of it, after having opened the East and West doors, would be laughed at by all the world for having hesitated to cross the threshold.6

  Barrow assembled key strongholds of support for his new scheme, including the authoritative Royal Society. He approached the Prime Minister, Sir Robert Peel, with the names of seven prominent Arctic officers – including Parry, Franklin, Back and Ross – whose opinions could be relied upon to support his proposal.

  The most glaring omission from the list of Arctic worthies was that of Crozier, though this may partly be explained by his absence from the country. More likely, the oversight was another indication of the Admiralty’s shamefully misguided opinion of Crozier.

  Barrow’s campaign to send a new expedition worked and Peel duly approved the plan. A few days later, Barrow retired as Second Secretary at the Admiralty supremely confident that the final piece of the jigsaw he had been playing with for three decades was now in place.

  Erebus and Terror, the two old warhorses, were ordered to be made ready and thoughts turned to the selection of an expedition leader. Among those under consideration were Ross, Parry and Crozier, but Barrow, seeking to influence events from beyond the Admiralty, had his own candidate.

  James Clark Ross was the natural choice, but he turned down the role. Ross, now 44, had faithfully promised Thomas Coulman, Ann’s father, that his exploring days were over after the demanding Antarctic voyage and in the autumn of 1844, Ann Ross gave birth
to their first child after a difficult pregnancy.

  Not everyone was convinced of the plausibility of Ross’ explanation, particularly given that many other explorers had left their wives behind when sailing into the unknown. A more likely explanation is that Ross, like Crozier, was still feeling the strain of the Antarctic voyage, and had taken to drinking heavily.

  Some at the Admiralty felt that Parry, who had carried Barrow’s torch in the early days, would come out of retirement for a last shot at glory. But Parry was 54 years old and dogged by ill health. After the death of his first wife, he had remarried and in 1843, shortly after Crozier and Ross arrived back from the Antarctic, became the father of twin girls. Understandably, Parry had lost his appetite for more years of toil in the Arctic.

  Barrow’s choice of expedition leader was the unlikely figure of Commander James Fitzjames, an engaging and able officer with friends in the right places but with no Arctic experience. The Admiralty, now under new management, was wary about handing over responsibility for the expedition to a relatively untried officer with no working knowledge of the ice, even if he was the best friend of Barrow’s son.

  Barrow’s act of naked patronage, probably his last, was politely rejected and the Admiralty searched the ranks for a more battle-hardened commander. In the circumstances, the choice of leader came down to either Francis Crozier or Sir John Franklin. But while Crozier hesitated, Franklin leapt at the chance.

  Franklin was anxious to lead the party after the unhappy events that led to his expulsion from Van Diemen’s Land. After being so long away from the sea, he was particularly eager to resurrect his reputation at the Admiralty and to resume his active naval career.

  His selection campaign was fronted by the ambitious Lady Franklin, who believed that the government owed her husband a debt after the shabby treatment meted out by the Colonial Office. She worked tirelessly behind the scenes to secure the posting and was not averse to playing the emotional card in her attempts to get Franklin appointed. Seeing that Ross was advising the Admiralty on the appointment, she wrote to him with a warning of what would happen if Franklin was overlooked: ‘I dread exceedingly the effect on his mind’, she told Ross.

  Yet Franklin, a stout 59-year-old, was self-evidently too old and not fit enough for the job. Although he was universally liked, not everyone accepted that he should command the expedition. Sabine and Back, two knowledgeable Arctic hands, felt he was unsuited to the task and Sir Francis Beaufort, the distinguished head of naval hydrography, had reservations about sending Franklin as commander.

  The man with the unenviable choice to make was Lord Haddington, the First Secretary of the Admiralty and Barrow’s former political master. Haddington was initially sceptical about appointing a man nearing 60 and preferred Crozier. With a politician’s nose for trouble, Haddington probably sensed that the finger of blame would be pointed at him if the ageing Franklin was struck by disaster.

  But Franklin was a popular character at the Admiralty and had the support and sympathy of the Arctic elite, including Ross, Parry and Richardson, who felt that he deserved a chance to become leader. Richardson, a doctor, gladly offered to sign a medical certificate stating that Franklin was ‘perfectly sound’ and Parry took a leaf out of Jane Franklin’s book by telling Haddington that ‘the man will die of disappointment’ if not chosen as leader.

  Haddington searched for an excuse to reject Franklin and summoned him to a meeting where he broached the sensitive topic of Franklin’s age. Haddington insisted, ‘You are 60!’ Franklin replied, ‘Not quite, my lord. I am only 59’.

  Haddington’s ideal choice for leader was Crozier who, by some distance, was the most experienced of the Arctic captains still on active duty. He also possessed the most recent knowledge of the region and had intimate understanding of Erebus and Terror after spending four years in the Antarctic with the two vessels.

  On the face of it, Crozier’s credentials for leadership were second to none. He was widely recognised as a thoroughly reliable seafarer with an unblemished record of five polar voyages – three with Parry and two with Ross – spread over more than two decades. At 48, he was still young and vigorous enough to lead an expedition.

  Leopold McClintock, who became a notable figure in the later story, had little doubt about Crozier’s abilities to command. Commenting on Crozier’s standing in the navy, McClintock wrote: ‘Captain Crozier had now achieved the highest professional reputation.’7

  In contrast, Franklin had not been to the Arctic for seventeen years. His reputation as an Arctic explorer, improbably enough for a person of his generous physique, was built largely on trekking overland rather than on sea voyages. ‘The man who ate his boots’ had never commanded an Arctic expedition by sea. It had been 27 years since Franklin had last navigated Arctic waters in the Trent and he would reach the milestone of his sixtieth birthday the next time he took a ship into the ice.

  For reasons that remain unclear to this day, Haddington never spoke publicly about his preference for Crozier. According to Ross, Haddington only made the offer of leadership ‘privately’ to Crozier.

  It is equally curious that Ross did not support Crozier’s case to be leader. Although the reasons for his reluctance are blurred by time, Ross may have seen it as an act of kindness towards his closest friend, who was racked by depression and self-doubt. Ross knew better than anyone that the Irishman was not the man for this job, though a greater act of kindness might have been to persuade Crozier to decline a role in the expedition altogether.

  Letters written by Crozier at the time show his uncertain state of mind. One moment he was considering pressing for command of the expedition and in the next he suggested going north, but only as Franklin’s deputy. For two months, he fretted over his decision, desperately trying to balance his passionate sense of duty against his own fragile state of mind.

  He finally reached the fateful decision to stand aside from the leadership battle during a visit to Florence at the end of 1844. When informing Ross that he did not want to be considered as commander, Crozier added the revealing explanation:

  In truth, I sincerely feel I am not equal to the hardship. I am, in truth, still of opinion as to my own unfitness to lead. You, on that subject as well as all others, know my whole mind.8

  Crozier then made the worst of all decisions by abandoning the leadership race but volunteering to serve as Franklin’s deputy. A more clear-thinking person might have withdrawn from the expedition.

  Crozier’s determination to sail regardless of his own frailties was a response to the call of duty. In a letter to his sisters in Dublin, which showed that the call of duty outweighed the emotional strain and physical exhaustion, he declared: ‘It was not my place to become one of the party to be left at home.’9

  The mystery is that, while Crozier felt positively certain he was ‘not equal to the hardship’ of leadership, he was prepared to push himself into travelling as Franklin’s second-in-command. Physically and emotionally, there was precious little difference between being number one and number two on a challenging voyage likely to last two or more years. His four gruelling years in the Antarctic with Ross had emphasised the point. On past experience, he would carry the heavy burden of responsibility for choosing officers and crew, fitting out the ships and managing the expedition’s scientific programme, as well as taking full command of Terror for the whole journey.

  Ross backed the claim of Franklin and recommended that either Crozier or the experienced Bird should travel as his deputy. ‘With Franklin as its commander and Crozier or Bird as his second, I should feel no doubt of the success of the undertaking’, Ross wrote confidently to Sabine in December 1844.

  Against his better instincts, Haddington accepted the recommendation of Ross, Parry and Richardson and on 7 February 1845 appointed Franklin to command the North West Passage expedition. It was to be the largest, most ambitious expedition ever to leave Britain.

  The appointment was a poor one, based largely on sentiment and
a faint sense of guilt within the Admiralty. As Pierre Berton, the Arctic historian, later concluded, the expedition ‘was to be led by a man who got the job because everybody felt sorry for him’.10

  The choice of Franklin should have been the trigger for the usually clear-thinking Crozier to withdraw. But Crozier was not thinking clearly. Having made the decision to volunteer as deputy, he somehow felt relieved. He was rejuvenated by the prospect of getting back to sea and regardless of the dangers welcomed this latest opportunity to serve the navy. ‘I feel quite satisfied in my own mind’, he wrote to Ross, ‘that I was right in volunteering to go second to Sir John and also in not volunteering as leader, come of it what may.’

  Convinced he had made the right decision, Crozier urged Ross to use his influence at the Admiralty to ensure that he was given the position of second-in-command.

  I hesitate not a moment to go second to Sir John Franklin, pray tell him so, if too late I cannot help it. I would not on any terms go second to any other, Captain Parry or yourself excepted. Act for me, my dear friend, in this as you see fit and I will carry it out in every particular.11

  It is likely that there was another, more emotive, consideration in his mind. Despite earlier rebuffs, Crozier still clung to hopes of marrying Sophy Cracroft and the expedition, which offered the prospect of fame and promotion to its successful commanders, was an outstanding opportunity to impress her. Bringing back the keys to the North West Passage would make him irresistible.

  However, Crozier’s appointment as Franklin’s deputy was by no means cut and dried. There were, apparently, lingering doubts within the Admiralty about his suitability. While still languishing in Florence, Crozier was in a ‘sad state of anxiety’ awaiting Haddington’s decision. A week after Franklin’s appointment, he wrote to Ross: ‘I am all ready, should I be required.’