Though there are no wind-mills in Scotland, there are some in the county of Durham, on the borders of England, for it appears my mate Sam was born in one of them.

His father and mother died when he was very young, and he, conjointly with the rats, was left sole owner and occupant of the mill.

Some of the neighboring villagers, seeing the poor boy left in this forlorn condition, got him into a charity school, whence he was bound apprentice to a shipmaster engaged in the coal trade, by whom he was sent to sea.

The ship young Sam sailed in was wrecked on the coast of France, and he fell into the hands of a fisherman, who put the mark on his arm we used to joke him about." "I thought so," said Jack; "the mark in question represents the patron saint of French sailors." "After a variety of ups and downs, Sam found himself rated as a first-class seaman on board a British man-of-war.

He served with myself on board the _Norfolk_, and was wounded at the battle of Trafalgar [1806], which, I dare say, you have heard of." "Yes, Willis, it was there that your Admiral Nelson covered himself with immortal renown." "There and elsewhere, Master Fritz." "It cost him his life, however, Willis, and likewise shortened those of the French Admiral Villeneuve and the Spanish Admiral Gravina; that, you must admit, is too many eggs for one omelet." "As you once said yourself, great victories are not won without loss, and the battle of Trafalgar was no exception to the rule.