In the straits of Lemaire, going round Cape Horn, we overtook and were
likely to pass a British ship, wire rigged, a ship of fine style. The
sea was rough; we were coming too near. The boy Ben was having his
trick at the wheel. He was the youngest on board. The little fellow
did his best to keep the ship from broaching to, but the sea was too
strong for his young arms. I pitied Ben, for I knew how mortified he
would be to have another supplant him; and he was ambitious of making
good his standing as a sailor. Just then a kind voice called to him;
“Ben, you are a good little steersman; you can steer as well as any of
them most of the time; but just now the sea is getting up; we should
like to pass that ship and not get too near her; one of the able bodied
sailors ought to be at the helm; ring the bell and call Nelson to come
and take the wheel.” Nelson came, and worked the ship so that she soon
shot ahead. Ben left the wheel with the proud satisfaction that his
efforts were appreciated and praised; that only Nelson could do better
than he; and Nelson was twenty years his senior. The little incident
made me also sensitive about the eyes. I would rather do such an act of
kindness to a young man than outstrip a British clipper.