This, then, seems the first material step in the establishment of an improved system in that branch of seamanship which relates to picking up men who fall overboard.  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 generally so crowded that it becomes dangerous to lower them down, and more time is lost in getting the people out again than would have manned them twice over, if any regular system had been prepared, and rendered familiar and easy by practice beforehand.