I scanned every outland face, wondering if I should meet it again in the New World. A negro in cotton drawers, shivering in our northern dune, had more attraction for me than the fairest maid, and I was eager to speak with all and every one who had crossed the ocean. One bronzed mariner with silver earrings I entertained to three stoups of usquebaugh, hoping for strange tales, but the little I had from him before he grew drunk was that he had once voyaged to the Canaries. You may imagine that I kept my fancies to myself, and was outwardly only the sober merchant with a mind set on freights and hogsheads. But whoever remembers his youth will know that such terms to me were not the common parlance of trade. The very names of the tobaccos Negro’s Head, Sweet–scented, Oronoke, Carolina Red, Gloucester Glory, Golden Rod sang in my head like a tune, that told of green forests and magic islands.

But an incident befell ere I left which was to have unforeseen effects on my future. One afternoon I was in the shooting alley I have spoken of, making trial of a new size of bullet I had moulded. The place was just behind Parlane’s tavern, and some gentlemen, who had been drinking there, came out to cool their heads and see the sport. Most of them were cock–lairds from the Lennox, and, after the Highland fashion, had in their belts heavy pistols of the old kind which folk called "dags." They were cumbrous, ill–made things, gaudily ornamented with silver and Damascus work, fit ornaments for a savage Highland chief, but little good for serious business, unless a man were only a pace or two from his opponent. One of them, who had drunk less than the others, came up to me and very civilly proposed a match. I was nothing loath, so a course was fixed, and a mutchkin of French eau de vie named as the prize. 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. This I achieved, though by little, for my shot removed only half as much cloth as its predecessor. But the performance amazed the onlookers. "Ye’ve found a fair provost at the job, Barshalloch," one of them hiccupped. "Better quit and pay for the mutchkin."

My antagonist took every care with his last shot, and, just missing the cockade, hit the hat about the middle, cut the branch on which it rested, and brought it fluttering to the ground a pace or two farther on. It lay there, dimly seen through a low branch of the cherry tree, with the cockade on the side nearest me. It was a difficult mark, but the light was good and my hand steady. I walked forward and brought back the hat with a hole drilled clean through the cockade.

At that there was a great laughter, and much jocosity from the cock–lairds at their friend’s expense. Barshalloch very handsomely complimented me, and sent for the mutchkin. His words made me warm towards him, and I told him that half the business was not my skill of shooting but the weapon I carried.

He begged for a look at it, and examined it long and carefully.

"Will ye sell, friend?" he asked. "I’ll give ye ten golden guineas and the best filly that ever came out o' Strathendrick for that pistol."

But I told him that the offer of Strathendrick itself would not buy it.

"No?" said he. "Well, I won’t say ye’re wrong. A man should cherish his weapon like his wife, for it carries his honour."

Presently, having drunk the wager, they went indoors again, all but a tall fellow who had been a looker–on, but had not been of the Lennox company. I had remarked him during the contest, a long, lean man with a bright, humorous blue eye and a fiery red head.