This was a good deal for the captain to say, and more, I felt conscious, than I deserved. The officers were very civil to me, and I felt that I had certainly risen in public estimation, and was no longer looked upon as a little boy.
A few days after this Spellman came into the berth in a great rage, stating that he had overheard the boatswain say that Mr Merry was worth his weight in gold, and that he, Spellman, was not worth his in paving-stones. “Listeners never hear any good of themselves,” observed one.
“And if you are not worth your weight in paving-stones, I should like to know what you are worth?” asked old Perigal.
“I am much obliged to the boatswain for his good opinion of me,” said I. “But he probably was thinking of the saying that London is paved with gold, and meant to say that you were worth your weight in gold paving-stones.”
“That may be,” answered Spellman, willing to be pacified; “but I cannot say I liked his tone.”
On this there was a general laugh. The boatswain’s tone was well-known. It was wonderful what withering contempt he could throw into it. The men dreaded it more than they did even his rattan, and that, in his hand, was a somewhat formidable weapon. I remembered his promise when Spellman was quizzing me, on our return from capturing the Chevrette, and I found that he had fulfilled it. I thanked him the next time we met off duty.
“Yes, Mr Merry; I like to serve my friends, and serve out my enemies. Not that poor Mr Spellman is an enemy of yours or mine; but—I say it with all due respect—he is a goose, and I like to baste geese.”
I did not repeat to Spellman what Mr Johnson had said of him. I had an intuitive feeling that it was harmful to tell a person what another says of him, except it happens to be something especially pleasant. I believe more ill-blood and mischief is created in that way than in any other.
Soon after this, we sailed on a cruise to the westward, for the purpose of intercepting some of the enemy’s homeward-bound merchantmen.
Notwithstanding what I have said of Spellman, I was in reality on very good terms with him. He was continually playing me tricks; but then I paid him off in his own coin. I had, however, made the friendship of another messmate, George Grey by name. He was about my own age and size, and came from Leicestershire, but from a different part of the county to that where my family lived. I liked him, because he was such an honest, upright little fellow. No bullying or persuasion could make him do what he thought wrong. I do not mean to say that he never did anything that was wrong. When he did, it was without reflection. I never knew him to do premeditated harm. We stuck by each other on all occasions; skylarked together, studied navigation together; and when we were together the biggest bully in the mess held us in respect. Mr Johnson liked George Grey as much as he did me.