We were sure we had witnessed, in a blind sort of way, a death at sea. Watching the smooth black sea seemed to make it all pretty clear. After a moment, thrashing in the water. Now the thrashing in the water got wild, and while we'd been calm minutes before, this was unbearable. The lifeboat creaked, swung and bounced down the hull of the ship, and only then was it clear just how dangerous this rescue was.
Broken bones are the normal reward for a rescue team.
Worse, Mr. MOB swam with all the power of panic straight at the lifeboat and the hull of the ship, hampering his own rescue. Shouted appeals to stay calm and wait were no use. So mostly we stayed silent, and freaked quietly. But eventually they got him, snagged him with a boathook I guess, and dragged him over the side, smothered him with blankets and started the long lurching trip three stories up the hull of the great white mothership. The medical crew stood by with a neat, nautical array of orange emergency stuff that they'd probably never expected would actually be needed or do any good, except maybe for an injured crew member.