Tales from the Gun Cabinet
The window of light grew slim then slimmer until nothing was left of the outside glimmer and only the dark remained. The 16 doubles which resided in the cabinet began to settle down. The opening of the door had set their old and in some cases near ancient spirits aloft with hopes of a trip to the coverts or blind. A few of the younger ones jabbered about the missed chance and the older ones just settled back again with a sigh of acceptance. They had grown patient with the passing of many years and seasons it seemed beyond count. The time spent thus not carried afield was perplexing to them for all had done their job well. They knew it from the tales they could each relate so when the window opened and one or two or three of the membership were taken out by rough yet loving hands although they appreciated the kindness, what with cleaning and light oiling and manipulating of their moving parts which clicked and snapped as to the purpose for which they were designed, they longed for the sun and wind and rain and the booming of the shells within their chambers and shot cannonading through their barrels. Yet each one of the membership got at least a day or two per season employed to the purpose of their intent. So while they waited they were encouraged for at times a member would leave for a day or two and upon returning they listened with rapt attention to the returnee’s tale. So it was that V19 Darne # Y912 was absent and they awaited his return and subsequent tale.
The window grew wide again and V19 was placed inside muzzle down and cushioned by the green blaize at butt and barrel and then the window closed. Where did you go, what did you do, what was it like? quickly queried the youngest member an Italian model Beretta 627EL who always seemed impatient to learn all there was to know. Let me rest a moment said V19 I am still awash with the remembrance of the past day. With that he smiled and lay a moment upon his cushion. Okay he said now I can tell you. As you know I left the membership early yesterday well before the dawning of the day so some of you may not even have noted my departure. I was hoisted and levered and glanced through, my triggers checked and hammers cocked ( sorry old Mortimer – I know that I don’t have hammers quite like yours of which you are so immensely proud but humor me and permit me to call them hammers all the same) and then snapped upon the caps, although I don’t require such coddling as some of you do. Anyway after that I was slipped into the canvas which some of you know, carried outside and placed in the auto – by the way have you seen the new auto? No let’s leave that topic for later for much discussion of it would detract from my story. So we left before the light of morning touched the ground and we traveled for an hour or so and when I again was slipped from the canvas I saw the sun peaking above the trees though the air was yet cool. Old Flint the Draathar was running about scenting the ground and peeing wherever he wanted – nasty stuff that, I have been too near it more than once – and then The Master whistled low and off we went. He carried me lightly for light I am and inside my chambers rested two dissimilar shells one of red with AA feather emblazoned upon it’s side along with #7 ½ the other also red but with 6 written upon it. The Master climbed the snaking path which unwound before us with poplar and willow bracketing us on the sides. When we came to area of sumac and young poplar growth there we slowed while that Old Flint searched about and then grew stiff legged. It was then I knew my turn was near at hand. A thunder of wings and a russet blur and then I leaped to the Masters shoulder and with a tug of my front and then surprisingly my rear triggers I sent the shot upon its path. My sliding breech was tripped and I spat out the two now empty hulls and accepted two fresh ones heavier with load and shot and my breech was briskly closed upon them. A “fetch it up” and soon enough Old Flint came to the Master’s left and while he held me at the balance of my frame he reached out to accept a grouse – for that is what it was – from Old Flint’s release of mouth. A light feather caressed my barrels as the breeze carried it past and it was like a pat from nature for a job well done. The other light guns smiled with remembrances of similar moments. V19 continued his story. So went the day with brambles and briars attempting to scratch my walnut and steel but with me resisting their insults. A dozen rounds fired through my tubes. Seven through my open right and five through my tighter left and together the dog, master and I captured 7 of those feathered missiles which the Master pursues with such vigor. But now I have a most interesting addition to my tale. The membership held their collective breath for V19 now had a blush of knowledge upon him which they had not seen afore.
Twas late in the day and we had just exited a particularly thick and heavy environ of brambles, branches and blow downs and having not moved a bird the Master stopped at the fringe of it next to a wide field. He squatted upon the ground and then removed from his inner jacket chest pocket one of those binocular things and gazed toward the southern horizon. He grew somewhat tense and then drew us close to the base of a large poplar which guarded the fringe of the woods we had just left. He cautioned Old Flint not to move while patting the dog’s head. He toggled my breech and removed the shells and replaced them with blue hulls marked with gold writing “Tungsten Matrix”, “ Kent “ and “4”. I had never held such shells before they were heavier with ringed collars of brass high upon their sides. The Master watched the southern skies with the binoculars for a full five minutes then swiftly slipped them back into his jacket pocket all the while softly cautioning Old Flint to remain still. Soon I heard a somewhat stirring noise of much honking descending it seemed from the very clouds. The Master knelt upon but one knee now and then of a sudden he shifted and swiveled and swung me with deliberation in a long and graceful flattened arc which carried my muzzles view across a great deal of the pinking western horizon or so it seemed to me and then my left trigger was pulled and I felt recoil such as I have not in many many years. My breech was toggled open and both the hull and shell removed and then my breech closed without being replenished. Then the Master rose and walked for a great distance out into the field where I knew no grouse would venture and after many steps he stooped and picked up this huge black, white and grey bird. A long neck it had and heavy it was as the Master exerted much more effort than he would with a grouse. He did not place it in the vest back pocket as he had the grouse but carried it with his right hand while he carried me in the left. He seemed most pleased as he and the dog and I found our way in the darkening evening back to the auto. What it was that we shot I have no idea. “Goose” spoke the Greener 10, yes said the C. Smith both of these old warriors carried Damascus barrels with substantial length of which they were immensely proud and even somewhat vain. Yes a Canada goose said the Greener again and never will you shoot a more admirable bird. Now you have just a taste of what we of the fowling clan have experienced so many times painting from the sky a majestic symbol of freedom. It certainly was large said V19 as to what it symbolizes I know not but this I can tell you for although I am pleased with having done it once I have little wish to do it again for those blue shells with gold writing recoil beyond what I want to endure. I prefer the paths and trails bordered by crimson, bronze and golden growth and grouse thundering from the thickets to those long necked honking giants for I much doubt that the Master could walk a day amongst the woods with seven of those in his vest. The membership reposed themselves upon their rests each with their memories flooding over them.
