The mate shouted back:
"What the devil's the use of lettin' go the anchor when there's ne chain fast te'ed?"
"Never mind a d—n about that," shouted the skipper at the top of his voice and with feverish excitement. "Chuck the b—y thing ower and trust to Providence for'd hangin' her. We better de that, ye' fool as drive to Norraway or some other place o' worship!"
The anchor was thrown over, but Providence did not yield to Geordie's persuasive ingenuity, thereupon his faith gave way and he switched his mind and utterance on to a singular form of petition to "Had her, Lord, had her" (hold her). History tells us that Geordie believed this latter appeal to have been answered, as it fell calm, and the sea became still.
Some sailors were rowing off to their vessel in a jolly-boat on the same occasion, and when the wind went down a dense fog came on, with the result that they missed their ship. They were all night in the fog, and in the morning as there was no indication of it clearing up they were filled with anxiety. At last one of their number said there was nothing else for it but to pray, and called upon a companion to do so, but he said that he had never prayed in his life.
"I don't know what to ask."
"Divvent ask," promptly replied his shipmate, "until you've made all kinds of promises"; whereupon all kinds of specific pledges of an extraordinary character were prompted, and the praying commenced and was continued with great facility and becoming earnestness, when all at once the sailor who had suggested prayer called out:
"Stop, stop! Don't commit yourself too far. I think I see the land," and the man who was in the act of praying opened his eyes, beheld the land himself, and called out:
"Why the devil didn't you tell me sooner, before I made all them promises?"
"I cautioned you as soon as I saw it myself," said his friend; "why didn't you keep your own eyes open?"