How can you even hope to be a lowly pole-sitter in the crow's nest if you don't know what you're looking for, ye scurvy rickett-boned bilge rat, ye? Now there's a thing to ponder upon your bunk, instead of dreamin' of home, or pining for the company of some syphilitic trollop at the pub.
Danger at sea took on many forms once you found yourself bounding the Spanish Main. Just the mere shape of a rigged ship could cause the heartiest sailor's blood to run cold. A good lookout would know just the sort of trouble one could expect when a frigate was spied along the horizon: plenty.
Not unlike the way the very shape of a Ford Crown Vic could cause heart-stoppage for anyone zooming along the back roads of a small Georgia County during the 70's. For sure, you were going to be hailed, hove-to, and scuttled by some mirrored-sunglass wearing County Mountie.
Look sharp there, now. What do you see?