I borrowed an old hat from the landlord which had stuck in its side a small red cockade.

The thing was hung as a target in a leafless cherry tree at twenty paces, and the cockade was to be the centre mark.
Each man was to fire three shots apiece.
Barshalloch--for so his companions called my opponent after his lairdship--made a great to-do about the loading, and would not be content till he had drawn the charge two--three times.

The spin of a coin gave him first shot, and he missed the mark and cut the bole of the tree.
"See," I said, "I will put my ball within a finger's-breadth of his." Sure enough, when they looked, the two bullets were all but in the same hole.
His second shot took the hat low down on its right side, and clipped away a bit of the brim.

I saw by this time that the man could shoot, though he had a poor weapon and understood little about it.

So I told the company that I would trim the hat by slicing a bit from the other side.