London, November 6, 1660.
That afternoon, when Samuel Pepys arrived at the Navy Office, a most peculiar auction was about to begin.
Two ships were to be sold.
One was called the Indian, the other the Half Moon. Both were valuable vessels, and the merchants who had come to bid were men of considerable means.
Yet the most remarkable object on the auction table was neither a ship's plan nor a ledger.
It was a candle.
A mere inch long.
Pepys had never witnessed an auction quite like it.
The rules were astonishingly simple. A candle would be lit, and the bidding would begin. The moment the flame went out, the last valid bidder would win.
No countdown. No appointed hour at which the bidding must end.
Everything depended upon that little candle.
At first, the merchants appeared perfectly at ease.
Some exchanged glances. Others politely invited their neighbours to bid first. A few remained silent altogether, seemingly more interested in the leather shoes upon their own feet.
Now and then, someone offered a price, slowly and without much enthusiasm.
After a while, another bid would follow, delivered with equal indifference.
Wax crept down the candle and hardened at its base. The little thing seemed in no hurry to make up its mind, utterly indifferent to the valuable ships, the clever merchants, and all their elaborate calculations.
At last, the candle was nearly spent.
And suddenly, it was as though everyone in the room had awakened from a deep sleep.
A sharp bid shattered the silence.
Another voice followed.
Then another.
The merchants leaned forward, their eyes fixed upon the flame.
The gentlemen who had been so exquisitely polite only moments before now abandoned all pretence of dignity. Voices rose. Bids came faster.
One man drew out his words, hoping to keep his bid alive until the candle died. Another saw through the trick and howled over the last syllable, like a wolf desperately calling for a mate.
Only the tiniest flame remained.
And it was shrinking!
"Another fifty pounds!"
"I bid higher!"
"Wait! I spoke first!"
And then, the flame went out.
A thin thread of smoke rose from the wick.
But the room did not fall silent.
Quite the contrary.
The argument had only just begun.
Who had made the final bid?
Whose voice had sounded first? And whose offer had been uttered at the very last instant before the flame disappeared?
The merchants argued furiously. Even the auctioneer struggled to determine who had spoken last.
Pepys later recorded the absurd spectacle in his diary. At first, everyone had been inviting everyone else to bid. By the end, they were all shouting at once, making it almost impossible to tell who had made the final offer.
That day, both ships were sold.
The Indian fetched £1,300.
The Half Moon, £830.
Two transactions involving considerable fortunes, their final moments determined by two insignificant little candles.
Yet Pepys did not know that there was, in fact, a secret to this seemingly arbitrary method of auction.
Two years later, he witnessed another auction by candlelight.
On September 3, 1662, the familiar spectacle unfolded once again. The merchants hesitated to bid at first, only to erupt into frantic competition as the candle approached its end.
But this time, Pepys noticed a remarkable man.
Somehow, this fellow seemed able to place the final bid at precisely the right moment.
Not merely once, by chance.
He appeared to possess a peculiar advantage over everyone else.
Curious, Pepys approached him and asked for his secret.
The man explained that he had been watching the candle all along.
According to him, just before the flame expired, the smoke would begin to sink. It was this tiny sign that told him exactly when to make his final bid.
Pepys had never noticed such a thing before.
Astonished by the trick, he carefully recorded it in his diary.
It was a curious business indeed.
In that auction room, long before electronic clocks and digital countdowns, the merchants might know their ships, master their arithmetic, command the intricacies of trade, and possess fortunes that others could only envy.
Yet as the bidding drew to its close, all their fortunes hung upon one small candle.
And the cleverest man in the room was simply the one who had watched its flame more carefully than the rest.
Sometimes, what determines the fate of a great ship is neither the wind nor the sea.
But a wisp of smoke.
Only one thing is certain:
Before the auctioneer's hammer fell, the candle had burned.