Stories from my Father - Guns

At the age of 93, my father set out to write down by hand some of the things that he remembered over a long and active life. My brother transcribed these recollections, and I share some of them with you now.

One Shot Wonder

When our work was light enough, we farm boys would get together and go rabbit and bird hunting.  On one such time, I was carrying a single shot 22 rifle.  Have forgotten where I got that and what happened to it later.  I was bragging that I did not have to shoot game on the ground because I was a good wing shot.  Of course I was not such a good marksman as I boasted to be.  About then a quail flew up and away.  I drew a bead on it and fired.  The bird tumbled to the ground.  The other boys called it an accident, which it was.  No other birds flew up that day to prove I was a fake.  Some time you get by with a boast. 

 

Soldier’s Bullets

The area in front of our house in Fort Stockton was an open prairie.  However the ground had been disturbed as if it had a previous use.  After a rain we could go out there and find lead bullets.  About 45 caliber, some an inch long and others three-quarters of an inch long.  We suppose the long ones were rifle bullets and the shorter from pistol ammunition.  Beyond question those chunks of lead were from the guns used by the soldiers that were at the Fort when it was activated.  Probably fired in target practice.  History does not record any real battle having taken place that near the fort.  And ammunition of that size would sure be a lethal weapon. 

My First Gun

Every farm boy wants a gun to go rabbit hunting.  I pestered my dead to get me a target rifle.  He made excuses for a few years, knowing I was too young to safely handle a gun.  In a few years I learned that the hardware store in Godley had a second-hand small gauge shot gun for sale.  I had a few dollars from picking cotton for a neighbor.  I bargained for the gun and bought it.  It was called a 44XL gun and used a special ammunition that had a short brass shell extended with a regular fiber shell to hold the charge of shot.  It was the equivalent of a 410 shot gun in performance.  The gun prove to be a very good rabbit and bird gun.  I do not remember what ever became of that gun, but no I had no longer had it when I reached adulthood. 

  

 Dad’s Muzzle Loader

My father had a very long double barrel shotgun that a neighbor friend had given him.  It was a muzzle loader.  I did not have anywhere to purchase shot, powder and caps for a muzzle loader.  I took the powder and shot from regular 12 gauge shotgun shells and, using old rags as wadding, I loaded the old muzzle loader and fired it with regular kitchen matches touched to the tip the percussion cap was supposed to be on.  It kicked like a mule so I did not fire it many times.  I inherited that old gun and passed it on to grandson, Bill Gann, who has an interest an old guns. 

Assaulting The Barn

The center stem of a drinking fountain came into my possession some how.  It was a brass cylinder about 3 inches long and one-half inch diameter with one end rounded like a bullet.  I got the idea it would make a good cannonball for the old muzzle loader I have told about.  I assembled the wadding and powder and proceeded to load old “Long Tom” with that projectile.  Then what to shoot it at? 

The barn looked like a good target.  Couldn't miss it.  I aimed at the hay loft window closure from about 100 yards distance and fired away.  A hole a cat could crawl through appeared in the door.  I went in the barn loft and saw the projectile lodged in a rafter.  It had almost broken the rafter in two.  I never mentioned the experiment to my dad.  He would not have been pleased with the damage to the barn.  I wonder if that old barn is still standing on that farm? Been 75 years since I shot the cannon at it.  That old gun was the kind you mixed salt with the shot to preserve the game you killed until you had time to travel to it.  Now top that one. 

 

The Marksman

Sometime after we were married I bought a single shot 22 caliber small  rifle.  Cora proved to be a better marksman than I.  We were sitting on the front steps shooting at various targets on the fence about 20 feet away.  I stuck a match in a crack in the top of the post and challenged her to strike the match.  She raised the gun and struck the match the first shot.  I said you can't do it again.  She did, with the next shot.  I went on in the house and washed the dishes.