measure keeping up the balance of happiness between the rich and the poor.’
He must have talked at length with both Cook and Solander on this subject, and Cook makes his own long entry reflecting on the artificiality of European ‘civilisation’. But while Cook clung to the necessity of European forms and discipline, Banks was rather inclined to dwell on the superfluity of European needs. These were perhaps the reflections of a man who had always been used to wealth and comforts. ‘From them appear how small are the real wants of human nature, which we Europeans have increased to an excess which would certainly appear incredible to these people could they be told it. Nor shall we cease to increase them as long as Luxuries can be invented and riches found for the purchase of them; and how soon these Luxuries degenerate into necessaries may be sufficiently evinced by the universal use of strong liquors, Tobacco, spices, Tea &c. &c.’62
On 3 September 1770 Banks was making another reflective entry, this time on the state of the ship’s company after more than two years away from England. General health was outstandingly good, discipline remained effective, and the terrors of the Great Barrier Reef had shown how magnificently the crew could still pull together in a crisis. Yet there was a growing sense of exhaustion and sickness for hearth and home. ‘The greatest part of them were now pretty far gone with the longing for home which the Physicians have gone so far as to esteem a disease under the name of Nostalgia; indeed I can find hardly any body in the ship clear of its effects but the Captn Dr Solander and myself, indeed we three have pretty constant employment for our minds which I beleive to be the best if not the only remedy for it.’63
It was now, when three-quarters of their journey was safely done, and they had reached their first semi-Europeanised port, that real catastrophe struck. They put into Batavia on the Malay peninsula (now Jakarta, the capital of Indonesia), where the whole crew were progressively overcome by a lethal combination of malarial fever and dysentery. Between November 1770 and March 1771, when they reached the Cape of Good Hope, the Endeavour lost thirty-seven of its men, nearly half the original crew. At one point Cook was only able to muster fourteen seamen on deck. Banks’s personal team was reduced from eight to four. The expedition’s astronomer Green died; the scientific secretary Spöring died; Tupia and his little son Tayeto died; Monkhouse the surgeon died; Thompson the ship’s cook died; Satterley the ship’s carpenter died; Molineux the ship’s master died; Hicks the first lieutenant died; and Banks’s faithful artist, young Sydney Parkinson, died. Solander would have died too, but for Banks’s unstinting nursing care.64
Banks himself suffered for weeks from amoebic dysentery, sometimes ‘so weak as scarcely to be able to crawl downstairs’, and experienced ‘the pains of the Damned almost’. These deaths had a devastating effect on his memories of the expedition. Finally, within sight of England, his surviving greyhound bitch, Lady, universally loved among the crew, was heard to howl out in the night. The next morning she was found flung across a chair in the cabin, still guarding Banks’s writing table, but dead.
By the time they reached London on 13 July 1771, Banks felt little exuberance. He was shattered and disorientated. The bucolic memories of Tahiti were more than two years old, and instead he was haunted by the recent horrible deaths of so many friends and shipmates. Solander was still very weak, and not out of danger. Banks’s family were not in town to greet and congratulate him, but ‘dispersed almost to the extremities of the Kingdom’ for the summer. He wrote to his friend Thomas Pennant FRS immediately on arrival: ‘A few short lines must suffice…Mr Buchan, Mr Parkinson and Mr Sporing are all dead, as is our Astronomer, seven officers, and about a third part of the ship’s crew of diseases contracted in the East Indies-not in the South Seas, where health seems to have her chief residence. Our Collections will I hope satisfy you…I must see [my family] before I begin to arrange or meddle with anything…Grass I must have in the mean time. Salt provisions and Sea air have been to me like too much hardmeat to a horse. In a few days shall be able to write more understandably. Now I am Mad, Mad, Mad. My poor brain whirls round with innumerable sensations.’65
His safe return was greeted tenderly by his sister Sophia at Revesby in Lincolnshire. From the bottom of her heart she thanked the ‘Merciful god who has daily preserved my Dear Brother from the perils, and very great ones, of the Sea!’ Her sudden outburst of piety suggests how vividly she realised the dangers that her beloved brother had consistently played down, but barely survived. On his behalf she fondly (and unavailingly) promised that he would mend his ways and his Christian faith. She could pledge that he was well-intentioned, and was one of those who ‘according to their Faith, use their best Endeavours, far as in their power they can, to do the Will of the Supreme Being’.66 Sophia may well have had reason to worry about Banks’s state of mind. He spent a fortnight recovering on the family estate in Lincolnshire, but spoke little about his experiences, even to Sophia. He walked, ate, shot and slept; then ate and slept again.
On his return to London he made no attempt to get in touch with Harriet Blosset, though James Lee and Harriet’s mother clearly assumed that an engagement would be announced. It was obvious now that, whatever else, his experiences had left Banks utterly unfit for a quiet, regular, married life. Some evidence for this comes indirectly from a gossiping friend of Thomas Pennant’s. Even if not entirely accurate, it seems to reflect something of Banks’s disturbed state of mind. ‘Upon his arrival in England [Banks] took no sort of notice of Miss Blosset for the first week or nearly so…On this Miss Blosset set out for London and wrote him a letter desiring an interview of explanation. To this Mr Banks answered by a letter of 2 or 3 sheets, professing love etc but that he found he was of too volatile a temper to marry.’ They did have at least one painful meeting, when Harriet is reported to have wept and ‘swooned’.67
Further gossip was being reported by the novelist Fanny Burney and Lady Mary Coke in August. The story of the waistcoats provided much amusement. ‘Mr Morris was excessively drole according to custom; and said he hoped Mr Banks, who since his return has desired Miss Blosset will excuse his marrying her, will pay her for the materials of all the worked waistcoats she made for him during the time he was sailing round the world.’68
There was some talk of broken promises and scandal. One wit suggested that Banks should be ‘immediately placed in the Stocks…for this injury’.69 A friend of James Lee’s, Dr Robert Thornton, later claimed that Banks had given Harriet an engagement ring before he set out, and had made ‘many solemn vows’ which he now callously reneged on. In Thornton’s view it was the alluring women of Tahiti, with their free sexual practices, who had corrupted Banks’s feelings and destroyed his morals. ‘Some people are ill-natured enough to say that, vitiated in his taste by seeing the elegant women of Otaheite, who must indeed have something very peculiar in their natures to captivate such a man, upon his return, Mr Banks came indeed to see the young lady and the plants; but she found her lover now preferred a flower, or even a butterfly, to her superior charms.’ For Harriet the three-year wait ended in ‘a most mortifying disappointment’.70
But perhaps it was more a relief. The kindly Solander, who knew and liked Harriet and her mother, and had of course witnessed Banks’s anthropological behaviour in Tahiti, gently intervened and advised both parties not to proceed.71 Banks privately offered Harriet’s guardian James Lee a ‘substantial’ sum of money, which was accepted as a form of dowry for her future. The amount was rumoured to be £5,000 (half the sum he had previously laid out on the expedition), which suggests that Banks was not in the least callous, but felt
