The Gun Club

During the War of the Rebellion, a new and influential club was established in the city of Baltimore in the State of Maryland. It is well known with what energy the taste for military matters became developed among that nation of ship-owners, shopkeepers, and mechanics. Simple tradesmen jumped their counters to become extemporized captains, colonels, and generals, without having ever passed the School of Instruction at West Point; nevertheless; they quickly rivaled their compeers of the old continent, and, like them, carried off victories by dint of lavish expenditure in ammunition, money, and men.

During the War of the Rebellion, a new and influential club was founded in Baltimore, Maryland. It is well known how eagerly that nation of shipowners, shopkeepers, and mechanics took to military affairs. Ordinary tradesmen leaped over their counters to become instant captains, colonels, and generals. They had never attended the School of Instruction at West Point. Nevertheless, they quickly came to rival their counterparts in Europe. Like them, they won victories by spending ammunition, money, and lives lavishly.

But the point in which the Americans singularly distanced the Europeans was in the science of gunnery. Not, indeed, that their weapons retained a higher degree of perfection than theirs, but that they exhibited unheard-of dimensions, and consequently attained hitherto unheard-of ranges. In point of grazing, plunging, oblique, or enfilading, or point-blank firing, the English, French, and Prussians have nothing to learn; but their cannon, howitzers, and mortars are mere pocket-pistols compared with the formidable engines of the American artillery.

But the Americans far surpassed the Europeans in the science of gunnery. Their weapons were not more advanced than European ones. Instead, they were enormous and could therefore fire over distances never before reached. The English, French, and Prussians have nothing to learn about grazing, plunging, oblique, enfilading, or point-blank fire. But their cannons, howitzers, and mortars are mere pocket pistols compared with the formidable weapons of the American artillery.

This fact need surprise no one. The Yankees, the first mechanicians in the world, are engineers—just as the Italians are musicians and the Germans metaphysicians—by right of birth. Nothing is more natural, therefore, than to perceive them applying their audacious ingenuity to the science of gunnery. Witness the marvels of Parrott, Dahlgren, and Rodman. The Armstrong, Palliser, and Beaulieu guns were compelled to bow before their transatlantic rivals.

This fact should surprise no one. The Yankees are the world's best mechanics and are engineers by birth. In the same way, Italians are born musicians and Germans are born metaphysicians. So it is only natural that Yankees would apply their bold ingenuity to the science of gunnery. Just look at the marvels created by Parrott, Dahlgren, and Rodman. The Armstrong, Palliser, and Beaulieu guns had to bow before their rivals from across the Atlantic.

Now when an American has an idea, he directly seeks a second American to share it. If there be three, they elect a president and two secretaries. Given four, they name a keeper of records, and the office is ready for work; five, they convene a general meeting, and the club is fully constituted. So things were managed in Baltimore. The inventor of a new cannon associated himself with the caster and the borer. Thus was formed the nucleus of the “Gun Club.” In a single month after its formation it numbered 1,833 effective members and 30,565 corresponding members.

When an American has an idea, he immediately looks for a second American to share it. If there are three, they elect a president and two secretaries. With four, they appoint a record keeper, and the office is ready to work. With five, they hold a general meeting, and the club is fully formed. That is how things were done in Baltimore. The inventor of a new cannon joined forces with the cannon caster and the man who bored it. Together, they formed the core of the “Gun Club.” Within a month of its founding, it had 1,833 active members and 30,565 corresponding members.

One condition was imposed as a sine quâ non upon every candidate for admission into the association, and that was the condition of having designed, or (more or less) perfected a cannon; or, in default of a cannon, at least a firearm of some description. It may, however, be mentioned that mere inventors of revolvers, fire-shooting carbines, and similar small arms, met with little consideration. Artillerists always commanded the chief place of favor.

Every candidate for admission to the association had to meet one essential condition. They had to have designed or improved a cannon, at least to some extent. If not a cannon, they had to have designed or improved a firearm of some kind. However, inventors of revolvers, rapid-fire carbines, and similar small arms received little respect. Artillery experts were always the most favored.

The estimation in which these gentlemen were held, according to one of the most scientific exponents of the Gun Club, was “proportional to the masses of their guns, and in the direct ratio of the square of the distances attained by their projectiles.”

One of the Gun Club’s most scientific experts described how highly these gentlemen were regarded. Their standing was “proportional to the mass of their guns and to the square of the distances their projectiles traveled.”

The Gun Club once founded, it is easy to conceive the result of the inventive genius of the Americans. Their military weapons attained colossal proportions, and their projectiles, exceeding the prescribed limits, unfortunately occasionally cut in two some unoffending pedestrians. These inventions, in fact, left far in the rear the timid instruments of European artillery.

Once the Gun Club was founded, it was easy to imagine what American inventive genius would produce. Their military weapons grew to enormous proportions. Their projectiles went beyond the prescribed limits and unfortunately sometimes cut innocent pedestrians in two. These inventions left the timid weapons of European artillery far behind.

It is but fair to add that these Yankees, brave as they have ever proved themselves to be, did not confine themselves to theories and formulae, but that they paid heavily, in propriâ personâ, for their inventions. Among them were to be counted officers of all ranks, from lieutenants to generals; military men of every age, from those who were just making their début in the profession of arms up to those who had grown old in the gun-carriage. Many had found their rest on the field of battle whose names figured in the “Book of Honor” of the Gun Club; and of those who made good their return the greater proportion bore the marks of their indisputable valor. Crutches, wooden legs, artificial arms, steel hooks, caoutchouc jaws, silver craniums, platinum noses, were all to be found in the collection; and it was calculated by the great statistician Pitcairn that throughout the Gun Club there was not quite one arm between four persons and two legs between six.

It is only fair to add that these Yankees, who had always proved brave, did more than work out theories and formulas. They paid dearly for their inventions in person. They included officers of every rank, from lieutenants to generals. They ranged in age from soldiers just making their start in the profession of arms to those who had grown old at the gun carriage. Many whose names appeared in the Gun Club’s “Book of Honor” had died on the battlefield. And most of those who returned bore the marks of their unquestionable courage. The collection included crutches, wooden legs, artificial arms, steel hooks, rubber jaws, silver skulls, and platinum noses. The great statistician Pitcairn calculated that, throughout the Gun Club, there was not quite one arm for every four members and two legs for every six.

Nevertheless, these valiant artillerists took no particular account of these little facts, and felt justly proud when the despatches of a battle returned the number of victims at ten-fold the quantity of projectiles expended.

Nevertheless, these brave artillerymen paid little attention to these small facts. They felt justly proud when battle reports counted ten victims for every projectile fired.

One day, however—sad and melancholy day!—peace was signed between the survivors of the war; the thunder of the guns gradually ceased, the mortars were silent, the howitzers were muzzled for an indefinite period, the cannon, with muzzles depressed, were returned into the arsenal, the shot were repiled, all bloody reminiscences were effaced; the cotton-plants grew luxuriantly in the well-manured fields, all mourning garments were laid aside, together with grief; and the Gun Club was relegated to profound inactivity.

One day, however, peace was signed between the survivors of the war. What a sad, melancholy day! The thunder of the guns gradually died away. The mortars fell silent, and the howitzers were muzzled indefinitely. The cannons, their muzzles lowered, were returned to the arsenal. The cannonballs were piled up again, and all bloody memories were erased. Cotton plants grew luxuriantly in the well-fertilized fields. All mourning clothes were put away, along with grief, and the Gun Club was left profoundly inactive.

Some few of the more advanced and inveterate theorists set themselves again to work upon calculations regarding the laws of projectiles. They reverted invariably to gigantic shells and howitzers of unparalleled caliber. Still in default of practical experience what was the value of mere theories? Consequently, the clubrooms became deserted, the servants dozed in the antechambers, the newspapers grew mouldy on the tables, sounds of snoring came from dark corners, and the members of the Gun Club, erstwhile so noisy in their seances, were reduced to silence by this disastrous peace and gave themselves up wholly to dreams of a Platonic kind of artillery.

A few of the more advanced and devoted theorists returned to calculating the laws of projectiles. They always came back to gigantic shells and howitzers of unprecedented caliber. But without practical experience, what were mere theories worth? As a result, the clubrooms emptied. Servants dozed in the antechambers, newspapers grew moldy on the tables, and snoring came from dark corners. The Gun Club members had once been so noisy at their meetings. Now this disastrous peace had silenced them, and they gave themselves up entirely to dreams of purely ideal artillery.

“This is horrible!” said Tom Hunter one evening, while rapidly carbonizing his wooden legs in the fireplace of the smoking-room; “nothing to do! nothing to look forward to! what a loathsome existence! When again shall the guns arouse us in the morning with their delightful reports?”

“This is horrible!” said Tom Hunter one evening, as he rapidly charred his wooden legs in the smoking room fireplace. “Nothing to do! Nothing to look forward to! What a miserable life! When will the guns wake us again in the morning with their delightful blasts?”

“Those days are gone by,” said jolly Bilsby, trying to extend his missing arms. “It was delightful once upon a time! One invented a gun, and hardly was it cast, when one hastened to try it in the face of the enemy! Then one returned to camp with a word of encouragement from Sherman or a friendly shake of the hand from McClellan. But now the generals are gone back to their counters; and in place of projectiles, they despatch bales of cotton. By Jove, the future of gunnery in America is lost!”

“Those days are gone,” said cheerful Bilsby, trying to stretch out his missing arms. “What wonderful times they were! You invented a gun, and as soon as it was cast, you hurried to test it against the enemy! Then you returned to camp with a word of encouragement from Sherman or a friendly handshake from McClellan. But now the generals have gone back to their shops. They ship bales of cotton instead of shells. By Jove, the future of gunnery in America is lost!”

“Ay! and no war in prospect!” continued the famous James T. Maston, scratching with his steel hook his gutta-percha cranium. “Not a cloud on the horizon! and that too at such a critical period in the progress of the science of artillery! Yes, gentlemen! I who address you have myself this very morning perfected a model (plan, section, elevation, etc.) of a mortar destined to change all the conditions of warfare!”

“Yes! And no war in sight!” continued the famous James T. Maston, scratching his gutta-percha skull with his steel hook. “Not a cloud on the horizon! And at such a critical moment in the progress of artillery science! Yes, gentlemen! This very morning, I perfected a model of a mortar (plan, section, elevation, etc.). It is destined to change all the conditions of warfare!”

“No! is it possible?” replied Tom Hunter, his thoughts reverting involuntarily to a former invention of the Hon. J. T. Maston, by which, at its first trial, he had succeeded in killing three hundred and thirty-seven people.

“No! Is it possible?” replied Tom Hunter. He involuntarily thought of an earlier invention by the Hon. J. T. Maston. On its first trial, it had killed three hundred and thirty-seven people.

“Fact!” replied he. “Still, what is the use of so many studies worked out, so many difficulties vanquished? It’s mere waste of time! The New World seems to have made up its mind to live in peace; and our bellicose Tribune predicts some approaching catastrophes arising out of this scandalous increase of population.”

“True!” he replied. “Still, what was the point of all those studies and all those difficulties we overcame? It was a complete waste of time! The New World seems to have decided to live in peace. And our warlike Tribune predicts some coming disasters caused by this scandalous population growth.”

“Nevertheless,” replied Colonel Blomsberry, “they are always struggling in Europe to maintain the principle of nationalities.”

“Still,” replied Colonel Blomsberry, “they are always fighting in Europe to uphold the principle of nationalities.”

“Well?”

“Well?”

“Well, there might be some field for enterprise down there; and if they would accept our services—”

“Well, there might be some opportunities down there. And if they would accept our services...”

“What are you dreaming of?” screamed Bilsby; “work at gunnery for the benefit of foreigners?”

“What are you thinking?” screamed Bilsby. “Work on guns for the benefit of foreigners?”

“That would be better than doing nothing here,” returned the colonel.

“That would be better than doing nothing here,” said the colonel.

“Quite so,” said J. T. Matson; “but still we need not dream of that expedient.”

“Exactly,” said J. T. Matson. “But we still don't need to consider that solution.”

“And why not?” demanded the colonel.

“And why not?” the colonel demanded.

“Because their ideas of progress in the Old World are contrary to our American habits of thought. Those fellows believe that one can’t become a general without having served first as an ensign; which is as much as to say that one can’t point a gun without having first cast it oneself!”

“Because their ideas about progress in the Old World go against the way we Americans think. Those fellows believe you can’t become a general without first serving as an ensign. That’s like saying you can’t aim a gun unless you first cast it yourself!”

“Ridiculous!” replied Tom Hunter, whittling with his bowie-knife the arms of his easy chair; “but if that be the case there, all that is left for us is to plant tobacco and distill whale-oil.”

“Ridiculous!” replied Tom Hunter, whittling the arms of his easy chair with his bowie knife. “But if that is the case, all we have left to do is plant tobacco and distill whale oil.”

“What!” roared J. T. Maston, “shall we not employ these remaining years of our life in perfecting firearms? Shall there never be a fresh opportunity of trying the ranges of projectiles? Shall the air never again be lighted with the glare of our guns? No international difficulty ever arise to enable us to declare war against some transatlantic power? Shall not the French sink one of our steamers, or the English, in defiance of the rights of nations, hang a few of our countrymen?”

“What!” roared J. T. Maston. “Won't we spend the years we have left perfecting firearms? Will we never get another chance to test how far projectiles can travel? Will our guns never light up the sky again? Won't some international dispute ever let us declare war on a power across the Atlantic? Won't the French sink one of our steamships? Or won't the English hang a few of our countrymen in defiance of international law?”

“No such luck,” replied Colonel Blomsberry; “nothing of the kind is likely to happen; and even if it did, we should not profit by it. American susceptibility is fast declining, and we are all going to the dogs.”

“No such luck,” replied Colonel Blomsberry. “Nothing like that is likely to happen. And even if it did, we wouldn't benefit from it. American sensitivity is rapidly declining, and we're all going to the dogs.”

“It is too true,” replied J. T. Maston, with fresh violence; “there are a thousand grounds for fighting, and yet we don’t fight. We save up our arms and legs for the benefit of nations who don’t know what to do with them! But stop—without going out of one’s way to find a cause for war—did not North America once belong to the English?”

“That’s all too true,” replied J. T. Maston, even more fiercely. “There are a thousand reasons to fight, and yet we don’t fight. We save our arms and legs for nations that don’t know what to do with them! But wait, we don’t have to look far for a reason to go to war. Didn’t North America once belong to the English?”

“Undoubtedly,” replied Tom Hunter, stamping his crutch with fury.

“Definitely,” replied Tom Hunter, furiously stamping his crutch.

“Well, then,” replied J. T. Maston, “why should not England in her turn belong to the Americans?”

“Well, then,” replied J. T. Maston, “why shouldn't England belong to the Americans in turn?”

“It would be but just and fair,” returned Colonel Blomsberry.

“That would be just and fair,” replied Colonel Blomsberry.

“Go and propose it to the President of the United States,” cried J. T. Maston, “and see how he will receive you.”

“Go and suggest it to the President of the United States,” cried J. T. Maston, “and see how he responds.”

“Bah!” growled Bilsby between the four teeth which the war had left him; “that will never do!”

“Bah!” growled Bilsby through the four teeth the war had left him. “That will never do!”

“By Jove!” cried J. T. Maston, “he mustn’t count on my vote at the next election!”

“Good grief!” cried J. T. Maston. “He can’t count on my vote in the next election!”

“Nor on ours,” replied unanimously all the bellicose invalids.

“Not on ours either,” all the warlike veterans replied in unison.

“Meanwhile,” replied J. T. Maston, “allow me to say that, if I cannot get an opportunity to try my new mortars on a real field of battle, I shall say good-by to the members of the Gun Club, and go and bury myself in the prairies of Arkansas!”

“Meanwhile,” replied J. T. Maston, “let me say this. If I can’t test my new mortars in a real battle, I’ll say goodbye to the Gun Club members. Then I’ll go and bury myself in the prairies of Arkansas!”

“In that case we will accompany you,” cried the others.

“In that case, we'll go with you,” the others cried.

Matters were in this unfortunate condition, and the club was threatened with approaching dissolution, when an unexpected circumstance occurred to prevent so deplorable a catastrophe.

Things were in this unfortunate state, and the club was close to breaking up. But an unexpected event prevented this terrible disaster.

On the morrow after this conversation every member of the association received a sealed circular couched in the following terms:

The day after this conversation, every member of the association received a sealed notice that read:

BALTIMORE, October 3. The president of the Gun Club has the honor to inform his colleagues that, at the meeting of the 5th instant, he will bring before them a communication of an extremely interesting nature. He requests, therefore, that they will make it convenient to attend in accordance with the present invitation. Very cordially, IMPEY BARBICANE, P.G.C.

BALTIMORE, October 3. The president of the Gun Club is pleased to inform his colleagues that he will present something extremely interesting at the October 5 meeting. He therefore asks them to make time to attend. Very cordially, IMPEY BARBICANE, P.G.C.