Three "toots"[1] on the horn in the crow's nest, sounded and a four-masted sailer shot up, as if a picture thrown on the screen of fog ahead.
"Hard Starb'd!" the order snapped out on the tail of the words of the course. The wet and draggled officer of the watch had not yet received his reply—he was still in charge.
His order came with the harsh jangle of the telegraph—he was stopping the port engine—and we swept past an iron four-masted ship, her crew clambering to the bulwarks, her sails slatting in the breeze, as we got the first sound of her horn.
The above is an instance where something happened at a critical moment. But both officers were trained men, and the man in charge knew he was still responsible, and acted without a second of delay.
Responsibility. Few men, aside from those who serve as officers at sea, have the responsibility of life and property so directly under them as the officers of the watch.
The young man who takes his first watch as officer in charge—with the great vessel—her lives—and cargo, all obedient to his order and dependent upon his skill and quickness in the sudden emergency that may spring up at any moment; that youngster is to be congratulated. Few men are given the direct handling and responsibility for such mighty forces.
He, in most cases, realizes this. Accidents are usually the outgrowth of carelessness, resulting from long watches at sea where nothing ever happens.
It is necessary that the officer of the watch constantly keep his edge. The old-fashioned system of "watch and watch," that man- and soul-killing drill of an age of short-sighted "economy," has come to be frowned upon by those who have had to pay the bills resulting from accident and loss.
The Officer of the watch should come to the bridge fresh and in full vigor. His senses of sight and hearing should be acute; he should be completely awake during the whole four hours of his duty.
He should constantly keep in mind what he must do under certain emergencies.