"
"There are none in Scotland," continued Willis; "at least I never saw
one there."
"How do they manage to grind their corn then? There should be oats in
the land o' cakes, at all events," said Jack, with a smile.
"Well, in countries that have plenty of water, they can dispense with
mills on land. 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.
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