Erebus. Michael Palin

at the age of thirteen.

      Over the years he impressed all who worked with him. No less a figure than John Barrow endorsed him warmly: ‘A most zealous young officer, who, by his talents, attention and energy, has succeeded in working himself up to the top of the service.’ That Crozier never quite reached the top is a mystery. Something in his personality seems to have held him back: a lack of sophistication, perhaps, a lack of confidence ashore, an awareness of his limited formal education. His biographer, Michael Smith, describes him as ‘Rock solid and reliable’, but goes on to say, ‘Crozier was born to be a number two.’

      Edward Joseph Bird, thirty-seven, was chosen as First Lieutenant of Erebus. He too had sailed with Ross, latterly as second-in-command on HMS Endeavour on one of Parry’s expeditions. Bird was described by Sir Clements Markham, a Victorian geographer and explorer and for many years President of the Royal Geographical Society, as ‘an excellent seaman, unostentatious and retiring’. He was bearded, with prematurely receding hair brushed forward and a marked resemblance in build and general chubbiness to John Franklin. Ross trusted him implicitly.

      In June, Crozier wrote to Ross in some frustration, concerned that no First had yet been chosen to accompany him on Terror. He seemed not to want to take the decision himself. ‘I myself know not one of any standing who would suit us, however there must be plenty,’ he wrote, adding, somewhat enigmatically, ‘we do not want a philosopher’. At that time the words ‘philosopher’ and ‘scientist’ were often indistinguishable, so it’s not clear whether Crozier was merely indicating a preference for a naval man or signalling discomfort with intellectuals. Eventually Archibald McMurdo, a capable Scot, was chosen to be Crozier’s First Lieutenant. He knew Terror, having been Third Lieutenant on her when she narrowly avoided destruction in the ice on Back’s expedition of 1836. Charles Tucker was chosen as master of Erebus. He would be the man in charge of navigation.

      Others on board with Arctic experience were Alexander Smith, First Mate, and Thomas Hallett, purser, both of whom had served with Ross and Crozier on Cove. Thomas Abernethy, who was appointed gunner, was a reassuring presence all round. Though his artillery duties were largely honorific, he was a big, powerfully built man who had been one of Ross’s closest and most trusted companions on many Arctic forays. Indeed, he had been at his side when he reached the North Magnetic Pole.

      Thankfully for future historians and researchers, two appointments on Erebus went to men who recorded her adventures in minute detail: Robert McCormick and Joseph Dalton Hooker. McCormick, who had been on the Beagle with Charles Darwin, was the ship’s surgeon and naturalist, a combination that may seem strange today, but was understandable in this pre-pharmaceutical age, when doctors made their own medicine and plants were the main ingredient – in fact, the Apothecaries Act of 1815 had made the study of botany a compulsory part of medical education. He was, as they say, a character, and quite full of himself. On the Beagle McCormick had become increasingly irritated by the freedom that Captain Fitzroy accorded Darwin, who, despite having no official naval status, was often allowed ashore to naturalise whilst McCormick had to stay on board. In the end McCormick got himself invalided off the expedition, to no one’s great disappointment. The irritation had clearly been mutual. ‘He chose to make himself disagreeable to the Captain,’ tutted Darwin, adding, ‘. . . he was a philosopher of rather an antient date’.

      McCormick was certainly well read in natural history, geology and ornithology and had at some point impressed – or perhaps pestered – Ross enough to have been assured of a post. So here he was, settling himself and his books, his instruments and his specimen cases onto HMS Erebus. Opinionated as he may have been, his diary offers a precious source of information about her four years in the Antarctic.

      Joseph Dalton Hooker was the son of William Jackson Hooker of Norwich, who, through the influence of the ubiquitous Sir Joseph Banks, had been appointed to the Chair of Botany at Glasgow University. William realised from very early on that his son had a precocious talent. At the age of six he had correctly identified a moss growing on a Glasgow wall as Bryum argenteum. By the time he was thirteen he was an obsessive botanist, able to recite long lists of Latin names.

      William Hooker, through his wide range of contacts, had heard of the proposed Antarctic expedition and, sensing the potential for a budding naturalist to make his name, used all his influence to get an assignment for his son. This was, after all – for reasons both scientific and commercial – a golden age for botany. As Jim Endersby, Hooker’s biographer, writes, ‘Much of the wealth of Britain’s empire rested on plants’ – from timber and hemp for the ships, to indigo, spices, tea, cotton and opium that they carried. Understanding how, where and why things grew where they did was of immeasurable benefit to the government. It made sense, therefore, to have a botanist aboard the expedition.

      As it turned out, the only official position open to Hooker was that of assistant surgeon, and to this end Joseph rapidly qualified as a doctor. But it was clear where his true interests lay. ‘No future botanist will probably ever visit the countries whither I am going and that is a great attraction,’ he wrote to his father. On 18 May 1839, six weeks before his twenty-second birthday, Joseph Hooker received the news that his appointment as second surgeon on HMS Erebus had been confirmed. He would be the youngest man on board.

      Throughout the expedition, like his immediate superior McCormick, Hooker kept copious journals, probably encouraged by the example of Charles Darwin. (He told his father that he slept with a set of proofs of The Voyage of the Beagle under his pillow.) As was the practice on publicly financed expeditions, all diaries and notebooks kept on board were seen as the property of the Admiralty and had to be surrendered at the end of the voyage. And, as M.J. Ross, biographer and great-grandson of Sir James, points out, there were no professional scientists on this expedition: all the officers and crew were members of the Royal Navy and were therefore subject to these restrictions. Letters home, however, were exempt from examination, making young Hooker’s copious correspondence with his family all the more valuable. It offers an informality and openness that no official report could contain.

      After receiving his commission, Hooker was ordered to report to Chatham Dockyard where, as he records in his journal, ‘I spent nearly four tedious months . . . waiting until the ships should be fully ready and equipped’. He was quartered, or ‘hulked’ as they called it, on an old frigate called HMS Tartar. It was common then to use retired warships as temporary accommodation. Some, like Turner’s famous ‘Fighting Temeraire’, were used as prison ships and had a reputation for being indescribably filthy.

      A number of other crew members were similarly hulked on the Tartar, including Sergeant William Cunningham, who was in charge of a squad of Marines, consisting of a corporal and five privates, allotted to HMS Terror. A similar detachment would have been aboard Erebus. The Royal Marines’ role was rather like that of a police force. They were charged with maintaining order and discipline on board, searching for and returning deserters, carrying out punishments, collecting and despatching mail, rationing out spirits, securing the ships when in port, and providing a guard for visiting dignitaries. In addition to all these duties, Sergeant Cunningham kept a daily diary, or memorandum book, throughout the voyage. From his initial entry, we know that he and his men arrived on the Medway on 15 June 1839 and were immediately put to work fitting out the ships.

      By the beginning of September, Erebus was fully crewed up, with twelve officers, eighteen petty officers, twenty-six able seamen and seven Marines, making up a complement of sixty-three. About half the personnel were First Entry men – who had never before served in the Royal Navy, but in many cases had seagoing experience on whalers. Provisions and equipment were also brought on board, including warm clothing of the best quality. Last to be loaded was food for the voyage, including 15,000 lb of beef and 2,618 pints of vegetable soup.

      On 2 September, Erebus and Terror were inspected by the Earl of Minto, First Lord, and three senior Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty. Final instructions were received from the Admiralty on the 16th, and three days later Erebus and Terror moved downriver to Gillingham Reach, where compasses were adjusted and last provisions taken on board. Ross’s mother and father had come down from Scotland to see him off and they stayed on