Medusa with a name of infamy worse than that of the Gorgon,--the
monster after which she was called,--originated in the want of that
order and prompt obedience, which the pages of this volume are
intended to record, to the honour of British seamen.

In the history of no less than forty shipwrecks narrated in this
memorial of naval heroism,--of passive heroism, the most difficult to
be exercised of all sorts of heroism,--there are very few instances of
misconduct, and none resembling that on board the Medusa.

This contrast is marked and stated, not in an invidious spirit towards
the French, but because there is no example on record, which furnishes
such a comparison between the safety which depends on cool and orderly
behaviour in the season of peril, and the terrible catastrophe which
is hastened and aggravated by want of firmness, and confusion.

'It is impossible,' said a writer in the _Quarterly Review_, of
October, 1817, 'not to be struck with the extraordinary difference of
conduct in the officers and crew of the Medusa and the Alceste,
wrecked nearly about the same time. In the one case, all the people
were kept together in a perfect state of discipline and subordination,
and brought safely home from the opposite side of the globe; in the
other, every one seems to have been left to shift for himself, and the
greater part perished in the horrible way we have seen.'[1]

I have brought the comparison between the two wrecks again under
notice to show, that as certainly as discipline and good order tend to
insure safety on perilous occasions, so, inevitably, do confusion and
want of discipline lead to destruction. In the one case, intrepidity
and obedience prompted expedients and resources: in the other case,