captain informed him the danger was great; but, if he
desired to be _assured_ of his safety or otherwise, he was
to go towards the men that were pumping and listen whether
they were swearing. If they were, there was no immediate
danger. He came back and said to the captain, "Glory be to
God, they are swearing!" A short time was allowed to elapse,
and another visit was paid. He came back and informed the
commander that they were still swearing, but not quite so
hard; "Indeed," said he, "I thought I heard some of them
praying." "Ah," said the captain, "I fear if hard swearing
does not continue, and they begin to pray, there will be no
hope!" Whereupon the man of Holy Orders dropped on his knees
and offered up an eloquent supplication for Divine aid: "O
God, in Thy boundless compassion do Thou cause these sailors
to cease praying, and make them to swear with a vigour and
force that will appease the anger of the waves, and bring
Thy servants out of danger into safety!" The captain called
out "Amen," and added a supplementary petition for their
deliverance, which is said to have been granted.

Sailors of that day spoke of God with the profound belief
that He was their exalted fellow-countryman, and they did
not scruple to charge Him with indifference to their
nautical interests, if a foreigner, or a foreign vessel,
happened to gain a monetary or seafaring advantage over
them. This is not a mere legend. North Blyth, in the county
of Northumberland, was inhabited by personalities who held
definite opinions on these matters. One old gentleman, whom
I remember very well (his name was Readford, but he had the
distinction of being better known as "Barley"--why he was