There can be no doubt that highly-excited
feelings always stand in the way of exact discipline, and especially
of that prompt, hearty, and thoroughly confiding obedience to the
officer under whose orders we are serving. Such obedience is necessary
on this occasion, above all others, and is essentially required, in
order to accomplish the purpose in view.

Different officers will, of course, devise different plans for the
accomplishment of the same end. Every one who has been exposed to the
misery of seeing a man fall overboard must remember that by far the
greatest difficulty was to keep people back, there being always ten
times as many persons as are required, not only ready, but eager to
place themselves in the situations of greatest risk. In executing the
duties of a ship-of-war, there should be no volunteering allowed.
Every man ought to have a specific duty, or a set of duties, to
perform at all times. But these duties, in the case of a man falling
overboard, must, of course, vary with the hour of the day or night,
with the circumstance of its being the starboard or the larboard watch
on deck, with the weather being fine or tempestuous, or with the
course the ship is steering relatively to the wind, the quantity of
sail, and so on. The crew of every ship should be exercised or
drilled, if not as frequently, at least specifically, in the methods
of picking up a man, as they are trained in the exercise of the great
guns and small arms, or in that of reefing topsails.

Every one who has been much at sea must remember the peculiar sounds
which pervade a ship when a man is known to have fallen overboard. The
course steered is so suddenly altered, that as she rounds to the
effect of the sails is doubled; the creaking of the tiller-ropes and
rudder next strike the ear; then follows the pitter-patter of several
hundred feet in rapid motion, producing a singular tremor, fore and
aft. In the midst of these ominous noises may be heard, over all, the
shrill startling voice of the officer of the watch, generally
betraying in its tone more or less uncertainty of purpose. Then the
violent flapping of the sails, and the mingled cries of "Clear away
the boats!" "Is the life-buoy gone?" "Heave that grating after him!"
"Throw that hen-coop over the stern!" "Who is it, do you know?"
"Where did he fall from?" "Can he swim?" "Silence!" An impetuous, and
too often an ill-regulated rush now succeeds to gain the boats, which
are general