held high aloft between the auctioneer's thumb
and fore-finger, was submitted to the inspection of the discriminating
public.

Here it behooves me once again to describe my jacket; for, as a
portrait 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 be
painted again and again, in order truly to present its actual
appearance at any given period.

A premature old age had now settled upon it; all over it bore
melancholy sears of the masoned-up pockets that had once trenched it in
various directions. Some parts of it were slightly mildewed from
dampness; on one side several of the buttons were gone, and others were
broken or cracked; while, alas! my many mad endeavours to rub it black
on the decks had now imparted to the whole garment an exceedingly
untidy appearance. Such as it was, with all its faults, the auctioneer
displayed it.

"You, venerable sheet-anchor-men! and you, gallant fore-top-men! and
you, my fine waisters! what do you say now for this superior old
jacket? Buttons and sleeves, lining and skirts, it must this day be
sold 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 old
swabs belong to Jack Chase's pet? Aren't that _the white jacket?_"

"_The white jacket!_" cried fifty voices in response; "_the white
jacket!_" The cry ran fore and aft the ship like a slogan, completely
overwhelming the solitary voice of my private friend Williams, while
all hands gazed at it with straining eyes, wondering how it came among
the bags of deceased mariners.

"Ay, noble tars," said the auctioneer, "you may well stare at it; you
will not find another jacket like this on either side of Cape Horn, I
assure you. Why, just look at it! How much, now? _Give_ me a bid--but
don't be rash; be prudent, be prudent, men; remember your Purser's
accounts, and don't be betrayed into extravagant bids."

"Purser's Steward!" cried Grummet, one of the quarter-gunners, slowly
shifting his quid from one cheek to the other, like a ballast-stone, "I
won't bid on that 'ere bunch of old swabs, unless you put up ten pounds
of soap with it."

"Don't mind that old fellow," said the auctioneer. "How much for the
jacket, my noble tars?"

"Jacket;" cried a dandy _bone polisher_ of the gun-room. "The
sail-maker was the tailor, then. How many fathoms of canva