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. I had never got the boatswain to commence his history. I told Grey that I was determined to get it out of him, as it was certain to be amusing, though we agreed that we were not bound to believe all he said. He certainly was an extraordinary character. A boaster and a man (I do not like to use a harsh term) who is addicted to saying what is not true, is generally found to be a coward, and often a bully; whereas my worthy friend was as brave as a lion and, gruff as was his voice, as gentle as a lamb, as he used to say of himself, if people would but stroke him the right way; and I can assert a kinder hearted monster never lived. Grey and I, one afternoon when it was our watch below, found him in his cabin. He was taking his after-dinner potation of rum and water, y-clept "grog," and reading by the light of a purser's dip.