If I wanted anything in the way of clothing, thread, needles, or literature, the chances were that my invaluable jacket contained it.

Yes: I fairly hugged myself, and revelled in my jacket; till, alas! a long rain put me out of conceit of it.

I, and all my pockets and their contents, were soaked through and through, and my pocket-edition of Shakespeare was reduced to an omelet.
However, availing myself of a fine sunny day that followed, I emptied myself out in the main-top, and spread all my goods and chattels to dry.

But spite of the bright sun, that day proved a black one.

The scoundrels on deck detected me in the act of discharging my saturated cargo; they now knew that the white jacket was used for a storehouse.
The consequence was that, my goods being well dried and again stored away in my pockets, the very next night, when it was my quarter-watch on deck, and not in the top (where they were all honest men), I noticed a parcel of fellows skulking about after me, wherever I went.