Dear diary: You are now worth $6,000.
That's what James Bell, a junior officer aboard the good ship Planter, could jot down in his diary if he still kept one. Bell, though, would be close to 200 years old now, so he would likely instead write, "Yep, still not dead. I can't believe it, either."
According to a story from the Reuters news service, Bell kept a diary of his 1838 voyage from a port in east London to Adelaide, Australia, chronicling six months of such drunken debauchery that "it is amazing this ship ever arrived in Australia."
For Bell, it was a hellish journey. For the captain, who cavorted openly with two daughters of a doctor-preacher named McGowan, it appeared to be somewhat less hellish.
"The Capt was allowed to keep the daughters company at all hours, and during the whole time of our being in warm weather our bed on deck sufficed for all three," Bell wrote.
The captain did not keep a diary. He was busy. Steering the ship and all.
Bell noted that it wasn't just the skipper of this Love Boat who wallowed in sin.
"Such an example was soon followed up by all the ship's company but particularly by the three mates (who) carried immorality to a glaring height."
To learn just how high immorality glared aboard the Planter, you'll have to buy the book. It's being sold this month to the highest bidder by Bonhams auction house. According to Reuters, it could bring as much as $6,000.
For those who don't want to pay six grand but would like to know more about the shenanigans aboard the Planter, here are some excerpts from Officer Bell's diary (that I completely made up since I'm not going to pay $6,000 either):
24 November, 1838. Tomorrow, we set sail for Australia (I do love a good penal colony). The brochure says this six-month excursion will provide plenty of adventure in a relaxed and uninhibited atmosphere. I've booked an ocean view stateroom and my package is all inclusive! This will be the best trip ever!
25 November, 1838. We are off and sailing. The captain appears to be a nice chap. And I do believe one of those McGowan sisters has taken a fancy to me. Perhaps I shall invite her to the top deck for volleyball.
3 December, 1838. Things have taken a dark turn upon the high seas. The McGowan sister rebuffed my volleyball invitation and instead chose to join the captain in his quarters for compass reading lessons. I have also learned that "all inclusive" includes being punched in the face repeatedly by a man named "Smelly Pete."
28 December, 1838. Oh, the humanity. The whole of the ship has sunken to the depths of depravity. The captain openly courts both McGowan sisters and drinks something he calls "rum shooters" from their navels. The first mate has been keelhauled for refusing to join the conga line and Smelly Pete is certainly living up to his moniker.
12 January, 1839. Against my better judgment, I have decided to partake of strong drink to blunt the vision of these horrors which surround me.
12 January, 1839. WHOOO! Diary, dude, this is awesome! The captain is so cool. He let me steer the boat. I told him, "Captain, I love you, man." I would put this on my Facebook page if such a thing were to exist.
13 January, 1839. I awoke today with a taste in my mouth that I can only describe as cow dung which someone had set a-flame. My head throbbed as if containing a clock tower's chimes. I was dressed in nothing but knickers and a personal flotation device. Smelly Pete says I am his new "bestest friend."
On the bright side, only four more months to go.
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