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."