CHAPTER XLVII.
AN AUCTION IN A MAN-OF-WAR.
Some allusion has been made to the weariness experienced by theman-of-war's-men while lying at anchor; but there are scenes now andthen that serve to relieve it. Chief among these are the Purser'sauctions, taking place while in harbour. Some weeks, or perhaps months,after a sailor dies in an armed vessel, his bag of clothes is in thismanner sold, and the proceeds transferred to the account of his heirsor executors.
One of these auctions came off in Rio, shortly after the sad accidentof Baldy.
It was a dreamy, quiet afternoon, and the crew were listlessly lying'around, when suddenly the Boatswain's whistle was heard, followed bythe announcement, "D'ye hear there, fore and aft? Purser's auction onthe spar-deck!"
At the sound, the sailors sprang to their feet and mustered round themain-mast. Presently up came the Purser's steward, marshalling beforehim three or four of his subordinates, carrying several clothes' bags,which were deposited at the base of the mast.
Our Purser's steward was a rather gentlemanly man in his way. Like manyyoung Americans of his class, he had at various times assumed the mostopposite functions for a livelihood, turning from one to the other withall the facility of a light-hearted, clever adventurer. He had been aclerk in a steamer on the Mississippi River; an auctioneer in Ohio; astock actor at the Olympic Theatre in New York; and now he was Purser'ssteward in the Navy. In the course of this deversified career hisnatural wit and waggery had been highly spiced, and every way improved;and he had acquired the last and most difficult art of the joker, theart of lengthening his own face while widening those of his hearers,preserving the utmost solemnity while setting them all in a roar. Hewas quite a favourite with the sailors, which, in a good degree, wasowing to his humour; but likewise to his off-hand, irresistible,romantic, theatrical manner of addressing them.
With a dignified air, he now mounted the pedestal of the main-top-sailsheet-bitts, imposing silence by a theatrical wave of his hand;meantime, his subordinates were rummaging the bags, and assorting theircontents before him.
"Now, my noble hearties," he began, "we will open this auction byoffering to your impartial competition a very superior pair of oldboots;" and so saying, he dangled aloft one clumsy cowhide cylinder,almost as large as a fire bucket, as a specimen of the complete pair.
"What shall I have now, my noble tars, for this superior pair ofsea-boots?"
"Where's t'other boot?" cried a suspicious-eyed waister. "I rememberthem 'ere boots. They were old Bob's the quarter-gunner's; there wastwo on 'em, too. I want to see t'other boot."
"My sweet and pleasant fellow," said the auctioneer, with his blandestaccents, "the other boot is not just at hand, but I give you my word ofhonour that it in all respects cor-responds to the one you here see--itdoes, I assure you. And I solemnly guarantee, my noble sea-faringfencibles," he added, turning round upon all, "that the other boot isthe exact counterpart of this. Now, then, say the word, my finefellows. What shall I have? Ten dollars, did you say?" politely bowingtoward some indefinite person in the background.
"No; ten cents," responded a voice.
"Ten cents! ten cents! gallant sailors, for this noble pair of boots,"exclaimed the auctioneer, with affected horror; "I must close theauction, my tars of Columbia; this will never do. But let's haveanother bid; now, come," he added, coaxingly and soothingly. "What isit? One dollar, one dollar then--one dollar; going at one dollar;going, going--going. Just see how it vibrates"--swinging the boot toand fro--"this superior pair of sea-boots vibrating at one dollar;wouldn't pay for the nails in their heels; going, going--gone!" Anddown went the boots.
"Ah, what a sacrifice! what a sacrifice!" he sighed, tearfully eyeingthe solitary fire-bucket, and then glancing round the company forsympathy.
"A sacrifice, indeed!" exclaimed Jack Chase, who stood by; "Purser'sSteward, you are Mark Antony over the body of Julius Cesar."
"So I am, so I am," said the auctioneer, without moving a muscle. "Andlook!" he exclaimed, suddenly seizing the boot, and exhibiting it onhigh, "look, my noble tars, if you have tears, prepare to shed themnow. You all do know this boot. I remember the first time ever old Bobput it on. 'Twas on a winter evening, off Cape Horn, between thestarboard carronades--that day his precious grog was stopped. Look! inthis place a mouse has nibbled through; see what a rent some enviousrat has made, through this another filed, and, as he plucked his cursedrasp away, mark how the bootleg gaped. This was the unkindest cut ofall. But whose are the boots?" suddenly assuming a business-like air;"yours? yours? yours?"
But not a friend of the lamented Bob stood by.
"Tars of Columbia," said the auctioneer, imperatively, "these bootsmust be sold; and if I can't sell them one way, I must sell themanother. How much _a pound_, now, for this superior pair of old boots?going by _the pound_ now, remember, my gallant sailors! what shall Ihave? one cent, do I hear? going now at one cent apound--going--going--going--_gone!_"
"Whose are they? Yours, Captain of the Waist? Well, my sweet andpleasant friend, I will have them weighed out to you when the auctionis over."
In like manner all the contents of the bags were disposed of, embracingold frocks, trowsers, and jackets, the various sums for which they wentbeing charged to the bidders on the books of the Purser.
Having been present at this auction, though not a purchaser, and seeingwith what facility the most dismantled old garments went off, throughthe magical cleverness of the accomplished auctioneer, the thoughtoccurred to me, that if ever I calmly and positively decided to disposeof my famous white jacket, this would be the very way to do it. Iturned the matter over in my mind a long time.
The weather in Rio was genial and warm, and that I would ever againneed such a thing as a heavy quilted jacket--and such a jacket as thewhite one, too--seemed almost impossible. Yet I remembered the Americancoast, and that it would probably be Autumn when we should arrivethere. Yes, I thought of all that, to be sure; nevertheless, theungovernable whim seized me to sacrifice my jacket and recklessly abidethe consequences. Besides, was it not a horrible jacket? To how manyannoyances had it subjected me? How many scrapes had it dragged meinto? Nay, had it not once jeopardised my very existence? And I had adreadful presentiment that, if I persisted in retaining it, it would doso again. Enough! I will sell it, I muttered; and so muttering, Ithrust my hands further down in my waistband, and walked the main-topin the stern concentration of an inflexible purpose. Next day, hearingthat another auction was shortly to take place, I repaired to theoffice of the Purser's steward, with whom I was upon rather friendlyterms. After vaguely and delicately hinting at the object of my visit,I came roundly to the point, and asked him whether he could slip myjacket into one of the bags of clothes next to be sold, and so disposeof it by public auction. He kindly acquiesced and the thing was done.
In due time all hands were again summoned round the main-mast; thePurser's steward mounted his post, and the ceremony began. Meantime, Ilingered out of sight, but still within hearing, on the gun-deck below,gazing up, un-perceived, at the scene.
As it is now so long ago, I will here frankly make confession that Ihad privately retained the services of a friend--Williams, the Yankeepedagogue and peddler--whose business it would be to linger near thescene of the auction, and, if the bids on the jacket loitered, to startit roundly himself; and if the bidding then became brisk, he wascontinually to strike in with the most pertinacious and infatuatedbids, and so exasperate competition into the maddest and mostextravagant overtures.
A variety of other articles having been put up, the white jacket wasslowly produced, and, held high aloft between the auctioneer's thumband fore-finger, was submitted to the inspection of the discriminatingpublic.
Here it behooves me once again to describe my jacket; for, as aportrait taken at one period of life will not answer for a later stage;much more this jacket of mine, undergoing so many changes, needs to bepainted again and again, in order truly to present its actualappearance at any given period.
A premature old age had now settled upon it; all over it boremelancholy sears of the masoned-up pockets that had once trenched it invarious directions. Some parts of it were slightly mildewed fromdampness; on one side several of the buttons were gone, and others werebroken or cracked; while, alas! my many mad endeavours to rub it blackon the decks had now imparted to the whole garment an exceedinglyuntidy appearance. Such as it was, with all its faults, the auctioneerdisplayed it.
"You, venerable sheet-anchor-men! and you, gallant fore-top-men! andyou, my fine waisters! what do you say now for this superior oldjacket? Buttons and sleeves, lining and skirts, it must this day besold without reservation. How much for it, my gallant tars of Columbia?say the word, and how much?"
"My eyes!" exclaimed a fore-top-man, "don't that 'ere bunch of oldswabs belong to Jack Chase's pet? Aren't that _the white jacket?_"
"_The white jacket!_" cried fifty voices in response; "_the whitejacket!_" The cry ran fore and aft the ship like a slogan, completelyoverwhelming the solitary voice of my private friend Williams, whileall hands gazed at it with straining eyes, wondering how it came amongthe bags of deceased mariners.
"Ay, noble tars," said the auctioneer, "you may well stare at it; youwill not find another jacket like this on either side of Cape Horn, Iassure you. Why, just look at it! How much, now? _Give_ me a bid--butdon't be rash; be prudent, be prudent, men; remember your Purser'saccounts, and don't be betrayed into extravagant bids."
"Purser's Steward!" cried Grummet, one of the quarter-gunners, slowlyshifting his quid from one cheek to the other, like a ballast-stone, "Iwon't bid on that 'ere bunch of old swabs, unless you put up ten poundsof soap with it."
"Don't mind that old fellow," said the auctioneer. "How much for thejacket, my noble tars?"
"Jacket;" cried a dandy _bone polisher_ of the gun-room. "Thesail-maker was the tailor, then. How many fathoms of canvas in it,Purser's Steward?"
"How much for this _jacket_?" reiterated the auctioneer, emphatically.
"_Jacket_, do you call it!" cried a captain of the hold.
"Why not call it a white-washed man-of-war schooner? Look at theport-holes, to let in the air of cold nights."
"A reg'lar herring-net," chimed in Grummet.
"Gives me the _fever nagur_ to look at it," echoed a mizzen-top-man.
"Silence!" cried the auctioneer. "Start it now--start it, boys;anything you please, my fine fellows! it _must_ be sold. Come, whatought I to have on it, now?"
"Why, Purser's Steward," cried a waister, "you ought to have newsleeves, a new lining, and a new body on it, afore you try to shove itoff on a greenhorn."
"What are you, 'busin' that 'ere garment for?" cried an oldsheet-anchor-man. "Don't you see it's a 'uniform musteringjacket'--three buttons on one side, and none on t'other?"
"Silence!" again cried the auctioneer. "How much, my sea-fencibles, forthis superior old jacket?"
"Well," said Grummet, "I'll take it for cleaning-rags at one cent."
"Oh, come, give us a bid! say something, Colombians."
"Well, then," said Grummet, all at once bursting into genuineindignation, "if you want us to say something, then heave that bunch ofold swabs overboard, _say I_, and show us something worth looking at."
"No one will give me a bid, then? Very good; here, shove it aside.Let's have something else there."
While this scene was going forward, and my white jacket was thus beingabused, how my heart swelled within me! Thrice was I on the point ofrushing out of my hiding-place, and bearing it off from derision; but Ilingered, still flattering myself that all would be well, and thejacket find a purchaser at last. But no, alas! there was no getting ridof it, except by rolling a forty-two-pound shot in it, and committingit to the deep. But though, in my desperation, I had once contemplatedsomething of that sort, yet I had now become unaccountably averse toit, from certain involuntary superstitious considerations. If I sink myjacket, thought I, it will be sure to spread itself into a bed at thebottom of the sea, upon which I shall sooner or later recline, a deadman. So, unable to conjure it into the possession of another, andwithheld from burying it out of sight for ever, my jacket stuck to melike the fatal shirt on Nessus.