“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.  Sam, having been wounded, was sent to the hospital, and when his wound was healed, he was allowed leave of absence to recruit his strength, so he thought he would take a run to Durham and see how it fared with the paternal windmill.  Time had, of course, wrought many changes both outside and in, but it still remained perched grimly on its pedestal, but now entirely abandoned to the bats and owls.  The sails were gone, and the woodwork was slowly crumbling away; but the basement being of hewn granite, it was still in a tolerable state of preservation.  The place, however, was said to be haunted; exactly at twelve o’clock at night dismal howls were heard by the villagers to issue from the mill.  According to the blacksmith, who was a great authority in such matters, Sam’s father was a very avaricious old fellow, and had hid his money somewhere about the building; and you know, Master Jack, that when a man dies and leaves his money concealed, there is no rest for him in his grave till it is discovered.”

“I really was not aware of it before,” replied Jack; “but I am delighted to hear it.”

“When Sam arrived, nobody disputed his title to the property, except the ghost; but Sam had seen a good deal of hard service, and declared that he would not be choused out of his patrimony for all the ghosts in the parish; and, in spite of the persuasions of the villagers, resolved to take up his abode there forthwith.  Sam accordingly laid in a supply of stores, including a month’s supply of tobacco and rum.  He first made the place water-tight, then made a fire sufficient to roast an ox, and when night arrived made a jorum of grog, a little stiff, to keep away the damp.  This done, he lit his pipe, and began to cook a steak for his supper.  The old mill, for the first time since the decease of the former proprietor, was filled with the savory odor of roast beef.”

“And there are worse odors than that,” remarked Jack.  “Whilst the steak was frizzling, he took a swig at the grog; and, thinking one side was done, he gave the gridiron a twist, which sent the steak a little way up the chimney, and, strange to say, it never came down again.