"Give me a gun, Captain," said I, "and I will shew you
how to uncork that bottle."

I took the musket, but its weight was beyond my strength
of arm. I was afraid that I could not hold it out steadily,
even for a moment, it was so very heavy--I threw it up
with a desperate effort and fired. The neck of the bottle
flew up in the air a full yard, and then disappeared. I
was amazed myself at my success. Every body was surprised,
but as every body attributed it to long practice, they
were not so much astonished as I was, who knew it was
wholly owing to chance. It was a lucky hit, and I made
the most of it; success made me arrogant, and boy-like,
I became a boaster.

"Ah," said I coolly, "you must be born with a rifle in
your hand, Captain, to shoot well. Every body shoots well
in America. I do not call myself a good shot. I have not
had the requisite experience; but there are those who
can take out the eye of a squirrel at a hundred yards."

"Can you see the eye of a squirrel at that distance?"
said the Captain, with a knowing wink of his own little
ferret eye.

That question, which raised a general laugh at my expense,
was a puzzler. The absurdity of the story, which I had
heard a thousand times, never struck me so forcibly. But
I was not to be pat down so easily.