As if already fading into a memory, the White Cliffs of Dover disappear into the distance, their chalky facades paling into grey beneath a darkening sky. Is a storm about to start? Passengers in a small and crowded boat are about to find out; among them, and seated in the foreground, are a couple, sailing into the unknown in Ford Madox Brown's dramatic painting The Last of England (1855).

Obscuring the view of her homeland, perhaps on purpose, and shielding herself from the elements, the woman in this pair holds up a protective umbrella, which is taking a battering. On its hooded outside, tiny white droplets have formed from sea spray, produced by the crashing waves.

She looks firmly ahead, as does her husband. His fixed expression is one of resolute determination, as if he must not betray even a flicker of fear. Her wide-eyed gaze, on the other hand, conveys both hope and anxiety about the precarious journey and their end destination.

1855, oil on panel by Ford Madox Brown (1821–1893)

But who are these passengers and where are they travelling to? In the background, a white lifeboat offers a clue: inscribed with gold lettering, it bears the name of their boat, El Dorado, the legendary country of gold and riches in South America.

Legends, as well as myths and fairy tales, were a great source of inspiration for members of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, including Dante Gabriel Rossetti, John Everett Millais and William Holman Hunt, with whom Brown was associated. These radical painters rejected contemporary academic practice to paint vivid scenes that were true to nature and morally edifying.

Yet, while his fellows were concerned with painting romanticised visions of imagined pasts, Brown was far more interested in framing the real-life dramas of everyday life. For instance, his sprawling, hierarchical composition Work (1852–1865) depicts British labourers being watched by the intelligentsia in a commentary on the social classes in Victorian England.

Born in Calais, the son of a ship's purser, Brown would also have been familiar with maritime scenes. It's highly likely that he was moved to paint The Last of England by a personal experience: he'd been among a party of men who'd watched their fellow artist and friend Thomas Woolner depart by boat from Gravesend in 1852. Leaving behind British shores, Woolner hoped to make a fortune in Australia's goldfields, as many others did as part of the southern hemisphere's gold rush of the 1850s.

The imagined couple in this painting, likewise, have set sail with visions of a better future, possibly in far-away Australia. Dangling from the foreground's low-hung netting are cabbages – their provisions for the long journey. Meanwhile, by their feet is stacked a small pile of books, the only treasured material possessions to be seen.

This detail offers a glimpse into their past, echoing John Watson Nicol's painting, Lochaber No More (1883), in which an exhausted couple are pictured with their most significant belongings assembled close to them on the ship's deck. Given the limited space on board, what travellers choose to take with them carries meaning. Brown's inclusion of books also indicates that his sitters are an intelligent, middle-class couple, who have made this decision to depart England. But is it a wise one?

Even though they are seated, the couple are caught in a scene of movement as the quick, cold air whips them, the salty breeze sticking strands of the woman's hair to her forehead. Her appearance contrasts starkly with that of most Pre-Raphaelite muses, whose long auburn hair falls in perfect waves in paintings such as Emma Sandys' A Lady Holding a Rose (c.1870–1873) or Rossetti's Aurelia (1863–1873).

On this occasion, Brown's sitter was his second wife Emma Hill, whom he'd married just two years earlier. His favourite model, Hill appears in numerous other paintings, including Pretty Baa-Lambs (1851–1859), in which an immaculately dressed mother holds her baby while feeding grass to a group of lambs beneath a cloudless blue sky; it's an idyllic scene of rural family life.

But this mood of contentment is long gone in The Last of England, which Brown worked on mostly outside in his garden, delighting when the weather was poor, as this is how he wanted it to appear in the painting. The cold conditions can be felt on the female character's flushed cheeks, while her bonnet's bright pink satin ribbon, which took the artist four weeks to paint, flies horizontally in the wind.

As they make this perilous journey, the artist shows his viewers that it's not just the couple's own lives at risk, as their hands reveal.

Wearing a long brown coat, the man has pushed one of his hands beneath this thick outer layer, resting it firmly, and meaningfully, upon his heart. Laid on his knee is his other pale white hand, which is gripped tightly by the gloved fingers and thumb of his wife.

She is otherwise covered by a grey shawl, which she has wrapped around herself, trying to keep warm. Yet, while bundled up, a small window in the woman's cloak reveals her dress, painted a Pre-Raphaelite purple. This rich triangle of colour leads the viewer's eyes to her other hand, which is missing a glove. Why has she taken the protective garment off? In an act of pure love, she is using it to heat the tiny hand of her baby, whose knitted sock can also be seen touching her husband's bare hand, physically connecting all three of them.

They are not alone in the boat, either, which is crowded and dangerously so. Making it more unstable is a pair of drunk men, while several other children appear in the background, faces half-hidden in the crowd. Having used a circular 'tondo' format, Brown has created a telescope-like perspective through which the viewer is thrust directly into the scene, adding to the sense of closeness and claustrophobia as these passengers emigrate.

Brown has painted a particular moment in history, one which is not immediately familiar to contemporary audiences. The idea of mass emigration to colonial territories is perhaps one that people today might find uncomfortable – even exploitative.

Yet, at the same time, Brown's painting does have relevance for modern viewers. For decades, immigration of people from former colonial territories has been made into a political issue, with 'Stop the Boats' just the latest slogan. When migrants are portrayed in the news they are often viewed from afar, dehumanised as faceless numbers.

Offering another viewpoint with his masterpiece, Brown has painted a more humanising side to the story of migration. Through a closely cropped composition and with immediacy, he invites empathy for his subjects – whose expressions hold fear and anxiety, as well as courage and hope – as they travel across dangerous waters in a fragile vessel, at the mercy of the elements.

Bringing viewers on board with his protagonists in The Last of England, Brown has created a powerful painting that encourages viewers to stop, look and ask of the passengers, 'why did they get into the boat?' It's a poignant question which we might all ask ourselves about modern-day migrants, many of whom are not sailing away from the White Cliffs of Dover, but rather towards them.

Ruth Millington, art historian and freelance writer

This content was supported by Freelands Foundation as part of The Superpower of Looking

Discover our learning resource on Ford Madox Brown's The Last of England

Further reading

Jan Marsh, Peter Funnell, et al., Pre-Raphaelite Sisters, National Portrait Gallery, 2019

Ruth Millington, Muse: Uncovering the Hidden Figures behind Art History's Masterpieces, Penguin, 2022

Julian Treuherz, Ford Madox Brown: Pre-Raphaelite Pioneer, Philip Wilson, 2011