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- 7691
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:36.274Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
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- 7618
- text
- Some allusion has been made to the weariness experienced by the
man-of-war’s-men while lying at anchor; but there are scenes now and
then that serve to relieve it. Chief among these are the Purser’s
auctions, taking place while in harbour. Some weeks, or perhaps months,
after a sailor dies in an armed vessel, his bag of clothes is in this
manner sold, and the proceeds transferred to the account of his heirs
or executors.
One of these auctions came off in Rio, shortly after the sad accident
of Baldy.
It was a dreamy, quiet afternoon, and the crew were listlessly lying
around, when suddenly the Boatswain’s whistle was heard, followed by
the announcement, “D’ye hear there, fore and aft? Purser’s auction on
the spar-deck!”
At the sound, the sailors sprang to their feet and mustered round the
main-mast. Presently up came the Purser’s steward, marshalling before
him 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 many
young Americans of his class, he had at various times assumed the most
opposite functions for a livelihood, turning from one to the other with
all the facility of a light-hearted, clever adventurer. He had been a
clerk in a steamer on the Mississippi River; an auctioneer in Ohio; a
stock actor at the Olympic Theatre in New York; and now he was Purser’s
steward in the Navy. In the course of this deversified career his
natural wit and waggery had been highly spiced, and every way improved;
and he had acquired the last and most difficult art of the joker, the
art of lengthening his own face while widening those of his hearers,
preserving the utmost solemnity while setting them all in a roar. He
was quite a favourite with the sailors, which, in a good degree, was
owing 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-sail
sheet-bitts, imposing silence by a theatrical wave of his hand;
meantime, his subordinates were rummaging the bags, and assorting their
contents before him.
“Now, my noble hearties,” he began, “we will open this auction by
offering to your impartial competition a very superior pair of old
boots;” 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 of
sea-boots?”
“Where’s t’other boot?” cried a suspicious-eyed waister. “I remember
them ’ere boots. They were old Bob’s the quarter-gunner’s; there was
two on ’em, too. I want to see t’other boot.”
“My sweet and pleasant fellow,” said the auctioneer, with his blandest
accents, “the other boot is not just at hand, but I give you my word of
honour that it in all respects corresponds to the one you here see—it
does, I assure you. And I solemnly guarantee, my noble sea-faring
fencibles,” he added, turning round upon all, “that the other boot is
the exact counterpart of this. Now, then, say the word, my fine
fellows. What shall I have? Ten dollars, did you say?” politely bowing
toward 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 the
auction, my tars of Columbia; this will never do. But let’s have
another bid; now, come,” he added, coaxingly and soothingly. “What is
it? One dollar, one dollar then—one dollar; going at one dollar; going,
going—going. Just see how it vibrates”—swinging the boot to and
fro—“this superior pair of sea-boots vibrating at one dollar; wouldn’t
pay for the nails in their heels; going, going—gone!” And down went the
boots.
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