I've seed him miss birds only three feet away with it.

An' one day he drew it all of a suddent an' let fly at a big bum-bee that wos passin', yellin' out that it wos the finest wot he had iver seed.

He missed the bee, of coorse, 'cause it wos a flyin' shot, he said, but he sent the whole charge right into Martin's back--Martin was my comrade's name.
By good luck Martin had on a thick leather coat, so the shot niver got the length o' his skin." "One day I noticed that the natter-list had stuffed small corks into the muzzles of all the six barrels of his revolver.

I wondered what they wos for, but he wos al'ays doin' sich queer things that I soon forgot it.

'Maybe,' thought I, jist before it went out o' my mind--'maybe he thinks that'll stop the pistol from goin' off by accident;' for ye must know he'd let it off three times the first day by accident, an' well-nigh blowed off his leg the last time, only the shot lodged in the back o' a big toad he'd jist stuffed into his breeches pocket.