What!?! There's another way? Now they tell me...Personally, I’d love to learn, but not through repeated failures
The allure of the British gun
- Thread starter Pinfire
- Start date
I hear you, Mr Bill, guns get heavier to carry with age, and recoil is best minimized!
In my younger days, I believed the hype about ‘hot’ magnum loads. Shooting left me with a bruised shoulder, and swollen fingers from double triggers hitting them. Now, firing 7/8oz or 1oz loads is much more pleasant, and not flinch-inducing. The Victorians knew about managing recoil, and black powder was not as punishing, even with 1 1/8oz charges. And the Victorians were damn good about killing their targets, especially in the driven shoots with remarkable bag counts. They didn’t need anything over 3 drachms of powder, unless they were shooting at geese at extended ranges. The Field trials are a good indication that they knew 3 drachms of powder resulted in killing power out to 60 yards, with manageable recoil. Stronger cartridges do not magically make up for errors in marksmanship.
Anietfeld, I hope you find a good British 2 ½” gun, one that will give you much enjoyment in the field. It is a cultural object as much as a hunting tool, with much history attached. The advantage is that short-chambered guns are highly undervalued in the Canadian market, and changing European gun laws are resulting in a lot of perfectly serviceable guns ending up on this side of the Atlantic. Yes, these guns might have already had a lifetime of hunting behind them, but that only means your children or grandchildren will wear them out, maybe. I have had quite a few British, French and Belgian doubles over the years, and I have never had any one of them malfunction or break down. If they were made properly and reasonably cared for, a used European double shouldn’t need major repairs. The exceptions are ejector mechanisms, which can be exasperating to fix when they go wrong, and broken springs, which are a rare occurrence.
Maybe someone can chime in and tell of when a boxlock action failed, but I don’t know of any.
In my younger days, I believed the hype about ‘hot’ magnum loads. Shooting left me with a bruised shoulder, and swollen fingers from double triggers hitting them. Now, firing 7/8oz or 1oz loads is much more pleasant, and not flinch-inducing. The Victorians knew about managing recoil, and black powder was not as punishing, even with 1 1/8oz charges. And the Victorians were damn good about killing their targets, especially in the driven shoots with remarkable bag counts. They didn’t need anything over 3 drachms of powder, unless they were shooting at geese at extended ranges. The Field trials are a good indication that they knew 3 drachms of powder resulted in killing power out to 60 yards, with manageable recoil. Stronger cartridges do not magically make up for errors in marksmanship.
Anietfeld, I hope you find a good British 2 ½” gun, one that will give you much enjoyment in the field. It is a cultural object as much as a hunting tool, with much history attached. The advantage is that short-chambered guns are highly undervalued in the Canadian market, and changing European gun laws are resulting in a lot of perfectly serviceable guns ending up on this side of the Atlantic. Yes, these guns might have already had a lifetime of hunting behind them, but that only means your children or grandchildren will wear them out, maybe. I have had quite a few British, French and Belgian doubles over the years, and I have never had any one of them malfunction or break down. If they were made properly and reasonably cared for, a used European double shouldn’t need major repairs. The exceptions are ejector mechanisms, which can be exasperating to fix when they go wrong, and broken springs, which are a rare occurrence.
Maybe someone can chime in and tell of when a boxlock action failed, but I don’t know of any.
Sticking to the subject of individual gun testing, I don’t think any Victorian gunmaker would sell a gun that had not been test-fired, and many gunmakers had their shooting grounds, either purchased or leased. A prospective buyer would want to try the gun before agreeing to the sale, and such shooting grounds were ideal for that. It was also ‘normal’ for richer clients to try a new gun for the shooting season, before the annual settling of accounts with the various tradesmen. A gun could be returned if deemed unsatisfactory for whatever reason. Looking at old order books, one finds clients' names crossed out and replaced, with at times the guns renumbered. Occasionally, there might be annotations in the margins about Lord So-and-So not paying his bill… the social divide being so great, there was little a gunmaker could do about it. In any case, guns were tried and tested, and it was not left to the client to chase around for a warranty representative to clean up the mess of ill-fitting parts, aberrant point-of-aim, and poorly tempered steel, post-sale. A gunmaker releasing a faulty or poorly-shooting gun would soon find their business shunned and their reputation erased.
Even being a skilled and talented gunmaker was not a guarantee of success, and many firms lasted only a year or two before closing up shop. Location was important, as well as being aware of the competition and demand. This was one of the difficulties at the beginning of the breech-loader. It might take you three months to build one, involving up-front costs for materials and manpower, only to find that it doesn’t sell. Building only on demand solves that problem, but if there is no demand because no one has seen/tried one, you are just as screwed. For almost the entirety of the 19th century, London was the largest and most populous city in the world (New York City finally surpassed London in 1925). You would think that in such a wealthy enclave, the sporting-obsessed classes would create much demand, but even successful makers could only manage to sell a handful of breech-loaders in any year, usually fewer than 10. Before the Field trials, it is believed there were fewer than 300 pin-fires in all of Britain, and many of these would have been French and Belgian in origin.
This is why the results of the 1858 and 1859 trials were so important. The trials proved the breech-loader was nearly equal to the muzzle-loader in terms of patterns and hitting power, the red line for most shooters. It meant the other advantages of the breech-loader, in terms of the ease and safety of loading/unloading, barrel cleanliness, and doing away with ramrods, powder and shot flasks, and other paraphernalia, could shine through. By the 1860 shooting season, there would have been more British-built breech-loaders in circulation, a trend that would continue. It also meant gunmakers were more likely to invest in the required tools and skills needed to build the new guns, as orders increased. From the 1860 shooting season onwards, the breech-loader was no longer an oddity and was very much part of the shooting landscape. To be sure, fans of the muzzle-loader still trumpeted its superiority, but the claims sounded hollower and less justified, increasingly so as more switched to the breech-loading principle.
There was still much to be desired as far as the breech-loader was concerned. Ammunition was still French-sourced and variable in quality (child labour was used in the factories for fitting percussion caps in each pin-fire cartridge case, and it was a frequent annoyance to sportsmen to find their gun didn’t fire because of a missing cap). Not all gunmakers understood the angular mechanics of the hammer nose hitting the cartridge pins and the need for stronger mainsprings. As these details were worked out and guns and cartridges improved, inventors could concentrate on building stronger and easier-to-operate actions. The 1860s in particular were fertile years for gun technology, giving us everything from snap actions to choke boring, even the top lever-underbolt mechanism found in almost all hinge-action guns today.
To a sportsman in 1860, with the Field trial results still in recent memory, the choice of guns was great. The pin-fire was undergoing subtle outward changes, with the most visible being the change from the forward-facing underlever to the rearward-facing one that sat over the trigger guard bow. This 'lever-over-guard' configuration is commonly called the “Jones underlever,” which is amusing because the inventor Henry Jones had nothing to do with it, other than his invention of the double-bite interrupted locking lug (the real invention, patented in 1859), which used such a lever to operate it. The lever-over-guard was used by Charles Lancaster as early as 1853, in the design he bought from the Parisian gunmaker Louis Julien Gastinne. And the rearward lever was used from the 1840s by Beatus Beringer, who was possibly the first to do so. Who was the first to use the rearward underlever on a pin-fire game gun in Britain is not so clear, but I would put my money on it being either John Blanch or Edward Michael Reilly, both of London, though we’ll probably never know. By 1856, both of these makers were competing with Joseph Lang for the London breech-loading market, and may have built some rearward-levered guns from that year onwards. There aren’t enough surviving examples to tell.
When Jones’s patent expired in late 1862, the double-screw grip became widely used because of its strength and simplicity of manufacture. With it, the lever-over-guard also flourished, at least until the more practical snap-actions appeared on the scene. While the design was commonplace, it does not mean that gunmakers couldn’t put their personal touches on them, with variety in the shape and finish of the knob. How variable? Let’s take a look. Here are 30 pin-fire under-levers, and they are not all the same.
It is not until you look at a bunch of them side-by-side that the differences become apparent. The differences could be 'house styles,' or at the client's request.
Even being a skilled and talented gunmaker was not a guarantee of success, and many firms lasted only a year or two before closing up shop. Location was important, as well as being aware of the competition and demand. This was one of the difficulties at the beginning of the breech-loader. It might take you three months to build one, involving up-front costs for materials and manpower, only to find that it doesn’t sell. Building only on demand solves that problem, but if there is no demand because no one has seen/tried one, you are just as screwed. For almost the entirety of the 19th century, London was the largest and most populous city in the world (New York City finally surpassed London in 1925). You would think that in such a wealthy enclave, the sporting-obsessed classes would create much demand, but even successful makers could only manage to sell a handful of breech-loaders in any year, usually fewer than 10. Before the Field trials, it is believed there were fewer than 300 pin-fires in all of Britain, and many of these would have been French and Belgian in origin.
This is why the results of the 1858 and 1859 trials were so important. The trials proved the breech-loader was nearly equal to the muzzle-loader in terms of patterns and hitting power, the red line for most shooters. It meant the other advantages of the breech-loader, in terms of the ease and safety of loading/unloading, barrel cleanliness, and doing away with ramrods, powder and shot flasks, and other paraphernalia, could shine through. By the 1860 shooting season, there would have been more British-built breech-loaders in circulation, a trend that would continue. It also meant gunmakers were more likely to invest in the required tools and skills needed to build the new guns, as orders increased. From the 1860 shooting season onwards, the breech-loader was no longer an oddity and was very much part of the shooting landscape. To be sure, fans of the muzzle-loader still trumpeted its superiority, but the claims sounded hollower and less justified, increasingly so as more switched to the breech-loading principle.
There was still much to be desired as far as the breech-loader was concerned. Ammunition was still French-sourced and variable in quality (child labour was used in the factories for fitting percussion caps in each pin-fire cartridge case, and it was a frequent annoyance to sportsmen to find their gun didn’t fire because of a missing cap). Not all gunmakers understood the angular mechanics of the hammer nose hitting the cartridge pins and the need for stronger mainsprings. As these details were worked out and guns and cartridges improved, inventors could concentrate on building stronger and easier-to-operate actions. The 1860s in particular were fertile years for gun technology, giving us everything from snap actions to choke boring, even the top lever-underbolt mechanism found in almost all hinge-action guns today.
To a sportsman in 1860, with the Field trial results still in recent memory, the choice of guns was great. The pin-fire was undergoing subtle outward changes, with the most visible being the change from the forward-facing underlever to the rearward-facing one that sat over the trigger guard bow. This 'lever-over-guard' configuration is commonly called the “Jones underlever,” which is amusing because the inventor Henry Jones had nothing to do with it, other than his invention of the double-bite interrupted locking lug (the real invention, patented in 1859), which used such a lever to operate it. The lever-over-guard was used by Charles Lancaster as early as 1853, in the design he bought from the Parisian gunmaker Louis Julien Gastinne. And the rearward lever was used from the 1840s by Beatus Beringer, who was possibly the first to do so. Who was the first to use the rearward underlever on a pin-fire game gun in Britain is not so clear, but I would put my money on it being either John Blanch or Edward Michael Reilly, both of London, though we’ll probably never know. By 1856, both of these makers were competing with Joseph Lang for the London breech-loading market, and may have built some rearward-levered guns from that year onwards. There aren’t enough surviving examples to tell.
When Jones’s patent expired in late 1862, the double-screw grip became widely used because of its strength and simplicity of manufacture. With it, the lever-over-guard also flourished, at least until the more practical snap-actions appeared on the scene. While the design was commonplace, it does not mean that gunmakers couldn’t put their personal touches on them, with variety in the shape and finish of the knob. How variable? Let’s take a look. Here are 30 pin-fire under-levers, and they are not all the same.
It is not until you look at a bunch of them side-by-side that the differences become apparent. The differences could be 'house styles,' or at the client's request.
Londonshooter
CGN frequent flyer
- Location
- SW Ontario
I agree, John. It is the extra effort which really makes the difference. Here is a similar-but-different version of the Bastin action, this one reversed, by John Lyell of Aberdeen (not mine, sadly, but a friend's):
Londonshooter
CGN frequent flyer
- Location
- SW Ontario
That Lyell foreend seems to be one piece of wood - heavily inlet.
I'm just resting up after some recent exertions and having a gun day. The stay inside because it's too hot kind. Going over a new-to-me percussion gun, catching up on a couple weeks of correspondence and, of course, the Allure.
Possibly it's been years. I thought it was William Powell and son but my memory seems to work as poorly as everything else now. It was 26 inch barrels, fine damascus but nitro proof, 6lbs oddly had over 3 inch drop at the heel but fit well. Another one I've kicked my ass for selling.
I’ve been jotting down my wandering thoughts on the allure of the British gun since starting the thread last December, but I’ve been remiss in not defining what constitutes the term ‘British.’ It is worth taking a moment to ponder its application to the gunmaking world.
From a former life as a diplomat, I am sensitive to political terminology and to using precision in language. Even when immersing myself in gunmaking history, territorial politics invariably get mixed in at some point, so a clarification is in order. It might be a surprise to some that the terms United Kingdom, British Isles, British Islands, and Great Britain have entirely different meanings and are not interchangeable. Even the State of the United Kingdom and the Monarchy of the United Kingdom are separate, and include/exclude a number of lands and territories, depending on which one is used. Some sharp-eyed readers might have noticed that in this ‘British’ discussion thread, I have referenced Irish gunmakers, such as John Rigby, and the Kavanagh brothers. The island of Ireland was part of the United Kingdom from 1801 to 1922, so inclusion of Irish makers in a discussion on Victorian gunmaking is, I believe, appropriate. Today, the island of Ireland is made up of the independent and sovereign Irish State, and Northern Ireland, which is part of the Sovereign State of the United Kingdom (UK), whose official name is the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. Ireland is part of the British Isles, but only Northern Ireland is part of the British Islands. The UK also includes Great Britain, which is made up of the countries of England, Scotland and Wales (Great Britain does not include Northern Ireland, hence the long official name of the UK).
Where it gets even more curious is with the Crown Dependencies (the Isle of Man, and the Channel Islands), which are part of the British Isles and British Islands, but not the United Kingdom. These are independent jurisdictions that belong to the crown, and not the UK (or Great Britain). Yeah, really. And then there are the British Overseas Territories, which are dependent territories of the monarchy of the United Kingdom. These include Gibraltar, the Falklands, various Caribbean territories and South Pacific islands, and the British Antarctic Territory. These dependent territories are not part of the UK State or the British Isles/Islands.
All of this to say that in discussing the allure of the British gun, I am using the term ‘British’ to mean the British Isles, encompassing the countries of England, Scotland, Wales, the island of Ireland as it was in Victorian times, and the Crown Dependencies. Within this large geographic area, there were recognizable gunmaking centres, with the most important being London and Birmingham. Other cities and regions developed their own gunmaking cachet, such as Dublin, Manchester, and Scotland as a whole. Whereas Birmingham could produce cheap junk as well as fine pieces, Dublin, Manchester, and Scottish gunmakers held a very high reputation for quality. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a ‘poor’ Scottish gun.
My exposure to the complexities of the definition of ‘British’ happened as a result of acquiring a very basic-quality pin-fire gun marked “J. Hunt.” To my confusion, I couldn't find any reference to Hunt, a maker who operated in St. Helier, Jersey, in any of the usual reference works on British gunmakers. This is because these references only list those gunmakers recorded within the territory of the United Kingdom, which doesn’t include the Crown Dependencies. For gunmakers and gunsmiths operating in the Crown Dependencies, there is very little information on them – I couldn’t tell you how many of them there were.
The Channel Islands (the Bailiwicks of Jersey and Guernsey, and several uninhabited islets) are located off the coast of Normandy, France, and as I mentioned above, are not considered part of the UK but are held by the monarch of the United Kingdom. Specifically, these crown dependencies are island territories that are self-governing possessions of the crown. Jersey, located just 12 nautical miles off the French coast, was part of the Duchy of Normandy, whose dukes became kings of England from 1066. After England lost Normandy in the 13th century and the ducal title surrendered to France, Jersey and the other Channel Islands remained attached to the English crown. Jersey has enjoyed self-government since the division of the Duchy of Normandy in 1204. After the Napoleonic wars, the number of English-speaking soldiers stationed on the island and the number of retired officers and English-speaking labourers who came to the islands in the 1820s led to the island gradually moving towards an English-speaking culture. The population of Jersey rose to 56,000 in 1861, mainly due to agricultural development and industries such as shipbuilding and commodities such as cider, wool, and Jersey cattle. The parish of St Helier accounted for approximately half the population of Jersey at the time, and the urban portion of the parish made up the largest town on the island (it still does).
The gunmaker P. Vincent established his business in 1833 at Royal Square, St Helier. In 1847, H. Vincent took over the business and moved to Parade, St Helier. In 1855, his sons joined the firm, and the name changed to H. Vincent & Sons. In 1863, H. Vincent was recorded at 4 Hampton Place, and it would have been around this time that John William Hunt took over the business. In 1889, Hunt was recorded as a gunmaker at 69 King Street and 26 Broad Street, and he was also armourer to the Jersey National Rifle Association. It is interesting to note that local advertisements for the firm appear in both English and French, reflecting the mix of cultures on the island. Hunt advertised pin-fire guns (fusils a aiguille) into the 1890s, long after pin-fire guns were considered obsolete in Britain, but were still popular in France.
69 King St today, Broad St in behind. (Image capture Sept 2010, ©2025 Google)
The gun is a 12-bore double-bite screw-grip rotary under-lever pin-fire sporting gun, with no serial number. The 30 1/16” damascus barrels have Birmingham proofs and the maker's marks "HB" (possibly Henry Bayliss, 1855-1869, or Henry Boot, 1867). It is a typical utilitarian pin-fire that Birmingham built in the late 1860s or 1870s. The hammer noses are crudely shaped, the top rib is marked “J. Hunt Jersey,” and the back-action locks are signed “J. Hunt.” The gun is in poor, worn-out condition, with evidence of old repairs and part replacements. A curious modification is a simple V-notch sight added between the fences, suggesting it was used at some point for shooting ball, perhaps for sealing. This feature might have been added at any time in its long period of service (and perhaps long after the pin-fire disappeared in Great Britain). It is not a handsome gun by any means, but it is interesting from a historical/geographical perspective, and a reminder that a discussion of British guns requires a definition of the term ‘British.’
From a former life as a diplomat, I am sensitive to political terminology and to using precision in language. Even when immersing myself in gunmaking history, territorial politics invariably get mixed in at some point, so a clarification is in order. It might be a surprise to some that the terms United Kingdom, British Isles, British Islands, and Great Britain have entirely different meanings and are not interchangeable. Even the State of the United Kingdom and the Monarchy of the United Kingdom are separate, and include/exclude a number of lands and territories, depending on which one is used. Some sharp-eyed readers might have noticed that in this ‘British’ discussion thread, I have referenced Irish gunmakers, such as John Rigby, and the Kavanagh brothers. The island of Ireland was part of the United Kingdom from 1801 to 1922, so inclusion of Irish makers in a discussion on Victorian gunmaking is, I believe, appropriate. Today, the island of Ireland is made up of the independent and sovereign Irish State, and Northern Ireland, which is part of the Sovereign State of the United Kingdom (UK), whose official name is the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. Ireland is part of the British Isles, but only Northern Ireland is part of the British Islands. The UK also includes Great Britain, which is made up of the countries of England, Scotland and Wales (Great Britain does not include Northern Ireland, hence the long official name of the UK).
Where it gets even more curious is with the Crown Dependencies (the Isle of Man, and the Channel Islands), which are part of the British Isles and British Islands, but not the United Kingdom. These are independent jurisdictions that belong to the crown, and not the UK (or Great Britain). Yeah, really. And then there are the British Overseas Territories, which are dependent territories of the monarchy of the United Kingdom. These include Gibraltar, the Falklands, various Caribbean territories and South Pacific islands, and the British Antarctic Territory. These dependent territories are not part of the UK State or the British Isles/Islands.
All of this to say that in discussing the allure of the British gun, I am using the term ‘British’ to mean the British Isles, encompassing the countries of England, Scotland, Wales, the island of Ireland as it was in Victorian times, and the Crown Dependencies. Within this large geographic area, there were recognizable gunmaking centres, with the most important being London and Birmingham. Other cities and regions developed their own gunmaking cachet, such as Dublin, Manchester, and Scotland as a whole. Whereas Birmingham could produce cheap junk as well as fine pieces, Dublin, Manchester, and Scottish gunmakers held a very high reputation for quality. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a ‘poor’ Scottish gun.
My exposure to the complexities of the definition of ‘British’ happened as a result of acquiring a very basic-quality pin-fire gun marked “J. Hunt.” To my confusion, I couldn't find any reference to Hunt, a maker who operated in St. Helier, Jersey, in any of the usual reference works on British gunmakers. This is because these references only list those gunmakers recorded within the territory of the United Kingdom, which doesn’t include the Crown Dependencies. For gunmakers and gunsmiths operating in the Crown Dependencies, there is very little information on them – I couldn’t tell you how many of them there were.
The Channel Islands (the Bailiwicks of Jersey and Guernsey, and several uninhabited islets) are located off the coast of Normandy, France, and as I mentioned above, are not considered part of the UK but are held by the monarch of the United Kingdom. Specifically, these crown dependencies are island territories that are self-governing possessions of the crown. Jersey, located just 12 nautical miles off the French coast, was part of the Duchy of Normandy, whose dukes became kings of England from 1066. After England lost Normandy in the 13th century and the ducal title surrendered to France, Jersey and the other Channel Islands remained attached to the English crown. Jersey has enjoyed self-government since the division of the Duchy of Normandy in 1204. After the Napoleonic wars, the number of English-speaking soldiers stationed on the island and the number of retired officers and English-speaking labourers who came to the islands in the 1820s led to the island gradually moving towards an English-speaking culture. The population of Jersey rose to 56,000 in 1861, mainly due to agricultural development and industries such as shipbuilding and commodities such as cider, wool, and Jersey cattle. The parish of St Helier accounted for approximately half the population of Jersey at the time, and the urban portion of the parish made up the largest town on the island (it still does).
The gunmaker P. Vincent established his business in 1833 at Royal Square, St Helier. In 1847, H. Vincent took over the business and moved to Parade, St Helier. In 1855, his sons joined the firm, and the name changed to H. Vincent & Sons. In 1863, H. Vincent was recorded at 4 Hampton Place, and it would have been around this time that John William Hunt took over the business. In 1889, Hunt was recorded as a gunmaker at 69 King Street and 26 Broad Street, and he was also armourer to the Jersey National Rifle Association. It is interesting to note that local advertisements for the firm appear in both English and French, reflecting the mix of cultures on the island. Hunt advertised pin-fire guns (fusils a aiguille) into the 1890s, long after pin-fire guns were considered obsolete in Britain, but were still popular in France.
69 King St today, Broad St in behind. (Image capture Sept 2010, ©2025 Google)
The gun is a 12-bore double-bite screw-grip rotary under-lever pin-fire sporting gun, with no serial number. The 30 1/16” damascus barrels have Birmingham proofs and the maker's marks "HB" (possibly Henry Bayliss, 1855-1869, or Henry Boot, 1867). It is a typical utilitarian pin-fire that Birmingham built in the late 1860s or 1870s. The hammer noses are crudely shaped, the top rib is marked “J. Hunt Jersey,” and the back-action locks are signed “J. Hunt.” The gun is in poor, worn-out condition, with evidence of old repairs and part replacements. A curious modification is a simple V-notch sight added between the fences, suggesting it was used at some point for shooting ball, perhaps for sealing. This feature might have been added at any time in its long period of service (and perhaps long after the pin-fire disappeared in Great Britain). It is not a handsome gun by any means, but it is interesting from a historical/geographical perspective, and a reminder that a discussion of British guns requires a definition of the term ‘British.’
The view count slowly ticks upwards, so somebody must be reading this. Or, seeing lots of text, maybe readers quickly move on. I don’t know. I hope regular readers haven’t tuned out yet, and maybe some new readers have wandered by (though starting at the beginning must by now seem a daunting task). The subject of British shotguns, and what makes them interesting, is a vast one, and a thread like this one will only ever scratch the surface. For now, I’ll keep going. Or tell me to stop.
It is common to see “& Son” or “& Sons” added to a gunmaker’s name. Including, and then passing the business on to one’s male heirs (or, occasionally, to a wife or daughter) was the norm, not the exception. Especially after providing 7-year apprenticeships and living above the workshop, keeping the business within the family made perfect sense. Some of the greatest gunmaking firms have been family businesses stretching across generations, though none can match Fabbrica d'Armi Pietro Beretta, where the same family has owned the firm for almost 500 years.
Some family firms continued under the same name, while others added “& Son.” Harris Holland went another route, whereby upon adding his nephew to the company, it became Holland & Holland in 1876. For many gunmakers, building the family business made it less likely that a sibling would leave and start their own competing firm, though that sometimes did happen. It was more common for a family member to be sent to manage a satellite operation, or the reverse, as in the case of James Dalziel Dougall, who moved to London to manage the St James’s Street shop while his son John stayed behind and ran the Glasgow business.
The polarization of the muzzle-loader vs. breech-loader debate did not just happen within the pages of The Field. It happened at gunmakers’ benches as well. The split between William Greener, steadfast proponent of the muzzle-loader, and his son, William Wellington Greener, champion of the breech-loader, is well known and documented. They went their separate ways, furiously publishing books in support of their differing views. William Greener did, in fact, build some pin-fire guns, despite his noisy opposition to them. Business is business, I guess.
One family business survived the divide in ignition systems through fortuitous timing. Joseph Charles Reilly was born in Granard, County Longford, Ireland, in 1786. He moved to London (possibly changing his name from O’Reilly), married Martha Barkley in 1812, and in 1814, he opened a business as a jeweller at 12 Middle Row, Holborn. Typically for jewellers at the time, he also traded in guns. In 1816, he had a son, Edward Michael. In 1832, Edward Michael joined the firm as an apprentice, and by 1833, the business focused entirely on guns. In 1835, the firm moved to 316 High Holborn, trading as J C Reilly until 1840, and then as just Reilly, probably when Edward Michael became a partner. In 1847, the business relocated to 502 New Oxford Street, where it became heavily involved in manufacturing and selling air guns, which had gained popularity. New Oxford Street was built in 1847 to link the eastern end of Oxford Street with High Holborn. In 1857, Joseph Charles Reilly retired just as the breech-loader was appearing on the market, and the firm was re-named Reilly & Co in 1858. In 1859, the business was re-named E M Reilly & Co and moved to 315 Oxford Street, while the premises at 502 New Oxford Street were retained for storage or manufacturing purposes. The premises at 315 Oxford Street were formerly occupied by Joseph Manton and were next door to James Purdey. In about 1860, the firm referred to themselves as gun manufacturers rather than gun makers, reflecting their varied sourcing of guns.
Whether Joseph Charles saw any future in the breech-loader is not known, but the Reilly gunmakers were pragmatic businessmen, not inventors. The business model was to sell in quantity and supply orders faster than the competition. This meant guns were built and finished by Reilly, or finished by Reilly, or re-named by Reilly after being built by other gunmakers in London and Birmingham (guns built by others generally did not carry Reilly serial numbers). The firm in the 1880s claimed to employ 300 men, but this was likely a gross exaggeration and part of its marketing strategy (even the largest manufacturers didn't come close to that number). The firm probably kept a lot of second-hand and partly finished guns on hand, to fill orders quickly.
Joseph Charles Reilly is best known for his percussion muzzle-loaders, and in the 1858 Field trial, three Reilly muzzle-loaders took part, as well as two Reilly breech-loaders (all were middling in performance). Under the name Reilly & Co the firm competed in the 1859 Field trial, with one muzzle-loader and four pin-fire breech-loaders. Again, all performed well, but did not excel (its breech-loaders achieving 11th place in the 12-bore category, and 6th place in the 14-bore category). Edward Michael Reilly was one of the most vocal proponents of the pin-fire system (with Joseph Lang and John Blanch), from when Reilly built their first one in 1856. Reilly continued making muzzle-loaders until at least 1873, but breech-loaders were a significant and growing part of the business early on (they built their first central-fire gun in 1866).
Here are two E. M. Reilly pin-fire game guns. The first is a plainly-decorated 12-bore with a double-bite screw grip action, dating to 1867. The fine laminated steel barrels have London proofs and are marked “E. M. Reilly & Co Oxford Street London” on the top rib, while the back-action locks are marked “E. M. Reilly & Co London.” This was not the typical Reilly markings, which varied quite a bit, depending on who actually made the gun. Rib markings from around this time could be “315 Oxford Street,” “502 Oxford Street,” or “New Oxford Street” with or without the street numbers. While lacking in engraving, it nevertheless has a few flourishes, such as heel and toe caps (uncommon at the time), and a steel fore-end finial. It weighs 6 lb 15 oz.
The second is another 12-bore with a double-bite screw grip action, dating to 1868. It looks to be a second-quality gun, with bar locks and laminated steel barrels with Birmingham proofs. The barrels are marked “E. M. Reilly & Co. New Oxford St London.” The gun is also marked with a second set of serial numbers, suggesting the gun was made in Birmingham and retailed by Reilly. It has a steel butt plate, and a horn fore-end finial. While not a ‘best’ gun, it would have been very handsome in its day, and it survived in its oak and leather case, re-worked with facsimile label, with its loading tools and cleaning accessories. It weighs 6 lb 9 oz.
It is common to see “& Son” or “& Sons” added to a gunmaker’s name. Including, and then passing the business on to one’s male heirs (or, occasionally, to a wife or daughter) was the norm, not the exception. Especially after providing 7-year apprenticeships and living above the workshop, keeping the business within the family made perfect sense. Some of the greatest gunmaking firms have been family businesses stretching across generations, though none can match Fabbrica d'Armi Pietro Beretta, where the same family has owned the firm for almost 500 years.
Some family firms continued under the same name, while others added “& Son.” Harris Holland went another route, whereby upon adding his nephew to the company, it became Holland & Holland in 1876. For many gunmakers, building the family business made it less likely that a sibling would leave and start their own competing firm, though that sometimes did happen. It was more common for a family member to be sent to manage a satellite operation, or the reverse, as in the case of James Dalziel Dougall, who moved to London to manage the St James’s Street shop while his son John stayed behind and ran the Glasgow business.
The polarization of the muzzle-loader vs. breech-loader debate did not just happen within the pages of The Field. It happened at gunmakers’ benches as well. The split between William Greener, steadfast proponent of the muzzle-loader, and his son, William Wellington Greener, champion of the breech-loader, is well known and documented. They went their separate ways, furiously publishing books in support of their differing views. William Greener did, in fact, build some pin-fire guns, despite his noisy opposition to them. Business is business, I guess.
One family business survived the divide in ignition systems through fortuitous timing. Joseph Charles Reilly was born in Granard, County Longford, Ireland, in 1786. He moved to London (possibly changing his name from O’Reilly), married Martha Barkley in 1812, and in 1814, he opened a business as a jeweller at 12 Middle Row, Holborn. Typically for jewellers at the time, he also traded in guns. In 1816, he had a son, Edward Michael. In 1832, Edward Michael joined the firm as an apprentice, and by 1833, the business focused entirely on guns. In 1835, the firm moved to 316 High Holborn, trading as J C Reilly until 1840, and then as just Reilly, probably when Edward Michael became a partner. In 1847, the business relocated to 502 New Oxford Street, where it became heavily involved in manufacturing and selling air guns, which had gained popularity. New Oxford Street was built in 1847 to link the eastern end of Oxford Street with High Holborn. In 1857, Joseph Charles Reilly retired just as the breech-loader was appearing on the market, and the firm was re-named Reilly & Co in 1858. In 1859, the business was re-named E M Reilly & Co and moved to 315 Oxford Street, while the premises at 502 New Oxford Street were retained for storage or manufacturing purposes. The premises at 315 Oxford Street were formerly occupied by Joseph Manton and were next door to James Purdey. In about 1860, the firm referred to themselves as gun manufacturers rather than gun makers, reflecting their varied sourcing of guns.
Whether Joseph Charles saw any future in the breech-loader is not known, but the Reilly gunmakers were pragmatic businessmen, not inventors. The business model was to sell in quantity and supply orders faster than the competition. This meant guns were built and finished by Reilly, or finished by Reilly, or re-named by Reilly after being built by other gunmakers in London and Birmingham (guns built by others generally did not carry Reilly serial numbers). The firm in the 1880s claimed to employ 300 men, but this was likely a gross exaggeration and part of its marketing strategy (even the largest manufacturers didn't come close to that number). The firm probably kept a lot of second-hand and partly finished guns on hand, to fill orders quickly.
Joseph Charles Reilly is best known for his percussion muzzle-loaders, and in the 1858 Field trial, three Reilly muzzle-loaders took part, as well as two Reilly breech-loaders (all were middling in performance). Under the name Reilly & Co the firm competed in the 1859 Field trial, with one muzzle-loader and four pin-fire breech-loaders. Again, all performed well, but did not excel (its breech-loaders achieving 11th place in the 12-bore category, and 6th place in the 14-bore category). Edward Michael Reilly was one of the most vocal proponents of the pin-fire system (with Joseph Lang and John Blanch), from when Reilly built their first one in 1856. Reilly continued making muzzle-loaders until at least 1873, but breech-loaders were a significant and growing part of the business early on (they built their first central-fire gun in 1866).
Here are two E. M. Reilly pin-fire game guns. The first is a plainly-decorated 12-bore with a double-bite screw grip action, dating to 1867. The fine laminated steel barrels have London proofs and are marked “E. M. Reilly & Co Oxford Street London” on the top rib, while the back-action locks are marked “E. M. Reilly & Co London.” This was not the typical Reilly markings, which varied quite a bit, depending on who actually made the gun. Rib markings from around this time could be “315 Oxford Street,” “502 Oxford Street,” or “New Oxford Street” with or without the street numbers. While lacking in engraving, it nevertheless has a few flourishes, such as heel and toe caps (uncommon at the time), and a steel fore-end finial. It weighs 6 lb 15 oz.
The second is another 12-bore with a double-bite screw grip action, dating to 1868. It looks to be a second-quality gun, with bar locks and laminated steel barrels with Birmingham proofs. The barrels are marked “E. M. Reilly & Co. New Oxford St London.” The gun is also marked with a second set of serial numbers, suggesting the gun was made in Birmingham and retailed by Reilly. It has a steel butt plate, and a horn fore-end finial. While not a ‘best’ gun, it would have been very handsome in its day, and it survived in its oak and leather case, re-worked with facsimile label, with its loading tools and cleaning accessories. It weighs 6 lb 9 oz.
Regular readers still here? Here are some mid-week thoughts, and a good Birmingham workbench gun...
What do you consider a rare gun? A one-off, special-order, factory-lettered gun might indeed be rare, compared to its production-run brothers. We’ve all seen Winchesters whose owners claim them to be rare, despite manufacturing numbers in the tens of thousands, if not hundreds of thousands. I don’t think any factory-made gun can be called rare, though they may be uncommonly encountered, and highly desired (another subject entirely). Even hand-built guns, individually unique, can be produced in number over time. Is a Purdey rare? I don’t know many people who have one, yet the firm has sold over 30,000 guns since the firm was launched in 1816. I guess it’s probably a reflection of the social circles we find ourselves in; I don’t know anyone with a private jet either, but many thousands of those have been built, so somebody has them. Just not anyone I know.
Mid-Victorian sporting guns came out of a pre-factory, decentralized production structure. A gunmaker rarely did the dozens of operations required to make the component parts, and fit, assemble, and finish them in-house. The various tasks were scattered across multiple outworkers applying different skills, and the amount of work done in-house varied from gun to gun. At the beginning of the breech-loading age, few gunmakers had the tools, knowledge and talent to make the actions themselves, though this quickly changed. In the mid-1860s, over 500 gunmaking-related firms were operating in the Gun Quarter of Birmingham, an area north of the city centre bounded by Steelhouse Lane, Shadwell Street, and Loveday Street. Most are unremembered today, yet their workshops built the parts and the guns for which the more famous firms got the credit. When not filling orders for such firms, they could put up sporting guns under their name and increase the recognition of their work. But it is worth remembering that the annual output of sporting guns from any maker would have been small, in the tens of guns, not in the hundreds or thousands, as with the sought-after military contracts, and later factory production of sporting guns.
George B. Allen was born in Birmingham in 1803. He established his business in 1828 as a lock-maker, furniture forger and filer, and from 1838 onwards, he advertised himself as a gunmaker. In 1848, he occupied a space at 15 Weaman Row, St Mary's Square, in Birmingham. Thomas Birkett had a lock-making business nearby at 31 1/2 Whittall Street, having begun his trade in 1855. In the 1861 census, Allen was listed as living at 20 Russell St., with his wife Harriet, his son Henry, also a gunmaker, and two daughters. In 1864, George Allen died, and Henry (age 26) went into partnership with Birkett, trading as Birkett & Allen, from 15 Weaman Row. In 1866, Birkett left the partnership to open up as a lock- and action-maker at 2 Whittall Street, and Henry Allen continued the business under his name alone. In 1880, Henry Allen appeared to have closed shop, and Thomas Birkett continued his business until 1894.
The gun is signed Birkett & Allen, so this dates the gun between 1864 and 1866. It is a 12-bore double-bite screw grip rotary-underlever pin-fire sporting gun with no serial number. The top rib is signed “Birkett & Allen St. Mary's Square Birmingham,” and the back-action locks are marked “Birkett & Allen.” The 30 1/8” damascus barrels have London proofs. Both hammers have tips as stylized cap guards, and the right hammer is a replacement, possibly a period one. The gun has an elongated top strap, bold foliate scroll engraving with distinctive shading, and flat-topped chequering. On its face, this is a second-quality mid-1860s pin-fire game gun, beautifully made by skilled but not famous hands. The gun was probably never in royal company at any of the great shooting estates of the day, but it is nicely finished and decorated, and it was certainly someone's pride and joy. One can only guess how many sporting guns Thomas Birkett and Henry Allen may have built together in their two or so years of operation, but it will have been a small number, perhaps less than twenty, hardly worth the numbering effort. How likely is it to come across another Birkett & Allen-marked pin-fire? Not very.
Weaman Row has long been demolished, so no pictures of the workshop.
What do you consider a rare gun? A one-off, special-order, factory-lettered gun might indeed be rare, compared to its production-run brothers. We’ve all seen Winchesters whose owners claim them to be rare, despite manufacturing numbers in the tens of thousands, if not hundreds of thousands. I don’t think any factory-made gun can be called rare, though they may be uncommonly encountered, and highly desired (another subject entirely). Even hand-built guns, individually unique, can be produced in number over time. Is a Purdey rare? I don’t know many people who have one, yet the firm has sold over 30,000 guns since the firm was launched in 1816. I guess it’s probably a reflection of the social circles we find ourselves in; I don’t know anyone with a private jet either, but many thousands of those have been built, so somebody has them. Just not anyone I know.
Mid-Victorian sporting guns came out of a pre-factory, decentralized production structure. A gunmaker rarely did the dozens of operations required to make the component parts, and fit, assemble, and finish them in-house. The various tasks were scattered across multiple outworkers applying different skills, and the amount of work done in-house varied from gun to gun. At the beginning of the breech-loading age, few gunmakers had the tools, knowledge and talent to make the actions themselves, though this quickly changed. In the mid-1860s, over 500 gunmaking-related firms were operating in the Gun Quarter of Birmingham, an area north of the city centre bounded by Steelhouse Lane, Shadwell Street, and Loveday Street. Most are unremembered today, yet their workshops built the parts and the guns for which the more famous firms got the credit. When not filling orders for such firms, they could put up sporting guns under their name and increase the recognition of their work. But it is worth remembering that the annual output of sporting guns from any maker would have been small, in the tens of guns, not in the hundreds or thousands, as with the sought-after military contracts, and later factory production of sporting guns.
George B. Allen was born in Birmingham in 1803. He established his business in 1828 as a lock-maker, furniture forger and filer, and from 1838 onwards, he advertised himself as a gunmaker. In 1848, he occupied a space at 15 Weaman Row, St Mary's Square, in Birmingham. Thomas Birkett had a lock-making business nearby at 31 1/2 Whittall Street, having begun his trade in 1855. In the 1861 census, Allen was listed as living at 20 Russell St., with his wife Harriet, his son Henry, also a gunmaker, and two daughters. In 1864, George Allen died, and Henry (age 26) went into partnership with Birkett, trading as Birkett & Allen, from 15 Weaman Row. In 1866, Birkett left the partnership to open up as a lock- and action-maker at 2 Whittall Street, and Henry Allen continued the business under his name alone. In 1880, Henry Allen appeared to have closed shop, and Thomas Birkett continued his business until 1894.
The gun is signed Birkett & Allen, so this dates the gun between 1864 and 1866. It is a 12-bore double-bite screw grip rotary-underlever pin-fire sporting gun with no serial number. The top rib is signed “Birkett & Allen St. Mary's Square Birmingham,” and the back-action locks are marked “Birkett & Allen.” The 30 1/8” damascus barrels have London proofs. Both hammers have tips as stylized cap guards, and the right hammer is a replacement, possibly a period one. The gun has an elongated top strap, bold foliate scroll engraving with distinctive shading, and flat-topped chequering. On its face, this is a second-quality mid-1860s pin-fire game gun, beautifully made by skilled but not famous hands. The gun was probably never in royal company at any of the great shooting estates of the day, but it is nicely finished and decorated, and it was certainly someone's pride and joy. One can only guess how many sporting guns Thomas Birkett and Henry Allen may have built together in their two or so years of operation, but it will have been a small number, perhaps less than twenty, hardly worth the numbering effort. How likely is it to come across another Birkett & Allen-marked pin-fire? Not very.
Weaman Row has long been demolished, so no pictures of the workshop.
I couldn't agree more, TGB. The use of dark shading really elevates the patterns; it even brings out the names on the lockplates. When new and with freshly browned barrels and case-coloured steel, it would have been a striking gun, though it was an otherwise technologically-unremarkable mid-quality gun typical of Birmingham workbenches of the mid-decade.
Perhaps the engraver didn't work on many guns, given that this is an execution style I haven't seen elsewhere, or to this degree. Or it could be that I haven't seen enough guns from that time period, though, believe me, I've tried.
The Birmingham Jewellery Quarter was close to the Gun Quarter. In terms of numbers, the Jewellery Quarter was more important, employing about 7,500 families around 1861. Jewellery engravers were used to working on small curved metal surfaces, so they were ideal for the gun industry. As with the gun industry at the time, there were many hundreds of small workshops, all doing piecework. It also involved 7-year apprenticeships, as with gunmaking. Unlike the Gun Quarter, which was essentially demolished for urban development, the Jewellery Quarter still exists, and about 700 jewellery-related businesses still operate there.
After looking at how engraving and a few flourishes can enhance an average gun, I wish to explore the relative rarity of average guns of antique age that are still in good condition.
If we wanted to take a sample snapshot of the current shotgun scene in Canada, a look at the EE would probably be a pretty good start. There are a LOT of entry-level guns, mostly Turkish in origin, with a smattering of Italian, Spanish and Russian. There is a good proportion of older and current mid-level ‘B’ guns. And you get the occasional high-end, high-$$$ gun. This is not surprising, as one starting the sport might not want to invest big bucks at the beginning, and you will get those who wish to trade solid guns for ones with upscale features, or maybe better fit, wood, and decoration. There are many that have never handled a fine gun, or have never demanded anything more than it go ‘bang.’ As to the high end, it’s a very small market, one which is already saturated (and it excludes most of us, unless you’ve just won the lottery). Now, fast-forward to the year 2185, and assume we still have a planet, with game and shooting sports. How many of today’s guns will still be around then? The cheaply-made ones will have long been shot to pieces, the better ones kept for sentimental reasons, and the best guns might be treasured artefacts, and maybe even taken afield for occasional fun. All assuming that in the next 160 years, there won’t be a radical departure from cartridges and chemical propellants, causing everything made to date to be obsolete and unusable.
No, I haven’t lost my mind (at least, not yet, mostly). From now to the year 2185, sci-fi-level stuff, is the same time span as from 1865 to the present. From that year, the breech-loader had largely (but not entirely) displaced the muzzle-loader, and the cartridge gun reigned supreme (be it pin-fire, central-fire, needle-fire or base-fire). The switch to central-fire that occurred by the beginning of the 1870s caused many obsolete pin- and needle-fires to be scrapped or converted. Gunmakers took old guns in trade and melted down the steel, and threw old stocks in the wood stoves to keep warm. Parts were reused as much as possible. People who didn’t mind the social stigma of shooting ‘yesterday’s gun’ might have stuck with the pin-fire (which was, until recently from their perspective, the finest and most advanced gun in the world). Or handed them to gamekeepers to use until completely worn out. Or pushed to the back of the gun room, to be forgotten. In any case, the better the gun, the more likely it would be unmolested and even still cared for. It’s the same reason why more effort will be made to conserve and treasure, say, a Rolls-Royce or an exotic limited-edition sports car, rather than a delivery van.
While I’m very happy to come across best-quality guns, the more ordinary ones can be even rarer, because there were fewer and ever-diminishing reasons to preserve them as years went by. They often show signs of wear (like replaced hammers), because they were put to longer use as they repeatedly changed hands. Village smiths were more likely to perform ‘adequate’ repairs that kept guns going, compared to established makers whose repairs and rebuilds would be invisible. So a well-made gun by nobodies like Birkett & Allen is a great find, and it tells a lot about gunmaking in that era. That was a gun not meant for nobility, but for an upper middle-class gent who could afford £12-25 for a sound working breech-loader, and not the £35-65 for a ‘best’ gun.
Someone in the lower price bracket would not be deterred by a Birmingham rib address, and he might be aware that most guns were Birmingham-made, regardless of the name and address on the rib. Gun marketing being wholly unchanged through the centuries, a fanciful name or implied address might sway a prospective buyer. Today, we get Turkish guns with American-, Canadian-, or British-sounding product names; back then, you got misleading ‘London’ stamps. Here is another example of a mid-level, 1865-era Birmingham gun, not far removed in quality from the Birkett & Allen, but whose engraving style is less catchy.
James Bott established a business first at 8 Great Russell Street, Birmingham, and in 1853, he set up as a gunmaker at 67 Weaman Street in the Gun Quarter. It was a successful business, going through various address changes in the 1880s and 1890s, becoming James Bott & Son, and finally being sold to Joseph Bourne & Son in 1903. Bott probably supplied parts and guns to the trade, and he marketed guns under his name, which he may have made, or ordered from yet others (the small-scale sporting gun business was convoluted at the best of times). The gun is a 12-bore dating from around 1866 or so, and it has no serial number. The 30” damascus barrels have Birmingham proofs, and the top rib is signed “Patent Damascus JAs. Bott & Compy. Strand London.”
Herein lies the problem, as there are no patent marks or features on the barrels or the gun, and there is no record of James Bott having an address in London at the time, never mind the fashionable Strand thoroughfare in Westminster, central London (Bott did obtain a London address much later in 1890, at 38 Lime Street East in the Langbourn ward). There are no company business records, though Bott may have used a London-based agent or partner, perhaps a jeweller or other trader who could move his goods, but there are no records or evidence of such an arrangement that I can find. Furthermore, that level of business was probably beyond the capacity of a small operation employing at most a handful of men. Other Bott arms have been similarly marked, suggesting the lie was a general practice to augment his sales, or there is more to the Bott business than has been recorded so far. However, no London business directory has ever listed a “James Bott & Co.,” and it would have advertised if such a business had existed.
The gun has the ubiquitous double-bite screw grip action, and the back-action locks are unsigned. It has a handsomely engraved top strap and nicely shaped hammers, but is otherwise a standard-grade Birmingham pin-fire game gun without any remarkable features. The condition is poor and worn, which is to be expected with guns of this grade, and it weighs a rather hefty 7 lb 10 oz.
To give an idea of how prices dropped as Birmingham production increased and flourished over time, here is a Bott & Son advert in The Field from August 1884. Bott didn’t advertise in The Field before this. From his earlier dubious claim about a prestigious London address, I can’t vouch for his Portuguese royal patronage! Notice also that Bott wanted to be paid in cash up front.
If we wanted to take a sample snapshot of the current shotgun scene in Canada, a look at the EE would probably be a pretty good start. There are a LOT of entry-level guns, mostly Turkish in origin, with a smattering of Italian, Spanish and Russian. There is a good proportion of older and current mid-level ‘B’ guns. And you get the occasional high-end, high-$$$ gun. This is not surprising, as one starting the sport might not want to invest big bucks at the beginning, and you will get those who wish to trade solid guns for ones with upscale features, or maybe better fit, wood, and decoration. There are many that have never handled a fine gun, or have never demanded anything more than it go ‘bang.’ As to the high end, it’s a very small market, one which is already saturated (and it excludes most of us, unless you’ve just won the lottery). Now, fast-forward to the year 2185, and assume we still have a planet, with game and shooting sports. How many of today’s guns will still be around then? The cheaply-made ones will have long been shot to pieces, the better ones kept for sentimental reasons, and the best guns might be treasured artefacts, and maybe even taken afield for occasional fun. All assuming that in the next 160 years, there won’t be a radical departure from cartridges and chemical propellants, causing everything made to date to be obsolete and unusable.
No, I haven’t lost my mind (at least, not yet, mostly). From now to the year 2185, sci-fi-level stuff, is the same time span as from 1865 to the present. From that year, the breech-loader had largely (but not entirely) displaced the muzzle-loader, and the cartridge gun reigned supreme (be it pin-fire, central-fire, needle-fire or base-fire). The switch to central-fire that occurred by the beginning of the 1870s caused many obsolete pin- and needle-fires to be scrapped or converted. Gunmakers took old guns in trade and melted down the steel, and threw old stocks in the wood stoves to keep warm. Parts were reused as much as possible. People who didn’t mind the social stigma of shooting ‘yesterday’s gun’ might have stuck with the pin-fire (which was, until recently from their perspective, the finest and most advanced gun in the world). Or handed them to gamekeepers to use until completely worn out. Or pushed to the back of the gun room, to be forgotten. In any case, the better the gun, the more likely it would be unmolested and even still cared for. It’s the same reason why more effort will be made to conserve and treasure, say, a Rolls-Royce or an exotic limited-edition sports car, rather than a delivery van.
While I’m very happy to come across best-quality guns, the more ordinary ones can be even rarer, because there were fewer and ever-diminishing reasons to preserve them as years went by. They often show signs of wear (like replaced hammers), because they were put to longer use as they repeatedly changed hands. Village smiths were more likely to perform ‘adequate’ repairs that kept guns going, compared to established makers whose repairs and rebuilds would be invisible. So a well-made gun by nobodies like Birkett & Allen is a great find, and it tells a lot about gunmaking in that era. That was a gun not meant for nobility, but for an upper middle-class gent who could afford £12-25 for a sound working breech-loader, and not the £35-65 for a ‘best’ gun.
Someone in the lower price bracket would not be deterred by a Birmingham rib address, and he might be aware that most guns were Birmingham-made, regardless of the name and address on the rib. Gun marketing being wholly unchanged through the centuries, a fanciful name or implied address might sway a prospective buyer. Today, we get Turkish guns with American-, Canadian-, or British-sounding product names; back then, you got misleading ‘London’ stamps. Here is another example of a mid-level, 1865-era Birmingham gun, not far removed in quality from the Birkett & Allen, but whose engraving style is less catchy.
James Bott established a business first at 8 Great Russell Street, Birmingham, and in 1853, he set up as a gunmaker at 67 Weaman Street in the Gun Quarter. It was a successful business, going through various address changes in the 1880s and 1890s, becoming James Bott & Son, and finally being sold to Joseph Bourne & Son in 1903. Bott probably supplied parts and guns to the trade, and he marketed guns under his name, which he may have made, or ordered from yet others (the small-scale sporting gun business was convoluted at the best of times). The gun is a 12-bore dating from around 1866 or so, and it has no serial number. The 30” damascus barrels have Birmingham proofs, and the top rib is signed “Patent Damascus JAs. Bott & Compy. Strand London.”
Herein lies the problem, as there are no patent marks or features on the barrels or the gun, and there is no record of James Bott having an address in London at the time, never mind the fashionable Strand thoroughfare in Westminster, central London (Bott did obtain a London address much later in 1890, at 38 Lime Street East in the Langbourn ward). There are no company business records, though Bott may have used a London-based agent or partner, perhaps a jeweller or other trader who could move his goods, but there are no records or evidence of such an arrangement that I can find. Furthermore, that level of business was probably beyond the capacity of a small operation employing at most a handful of men. Other Bott arms have been similarly marked, suggesting the lie was a general practice to augment his sales, or there is more to the Bott business than has been recorded so far. However, no London business directory has ever listed a “James Bott & Co.,” and it would have advertised if such a business had existed.
The gun has the ubiquitous double-bite screw grip action, and the back-action locks are unsigned. It has a handsomely engraved top strap and nicely shaped hammers, but is otherwise a standard-grade Birmingham pin-fire game gun without any remarkable features. The condition is poor and worn, which is to be expected with guns of this grade, and it weighs a rather hefty 7 lb 10 oz.
To give an idea of how prices dropped as Birmingham production increased and flourished over time, here is a Bott & Son advert in The Field from August 1884. Bott didn’t advertise in The Field before this. From his earlier dubious claim about a prestigious London address, I can’t vouch for his Portuguese royal patronage! Notice also that Bott wanted to be paid in cash up front.
Me Lawrd Pinfire, yer command of letters and the organization of them is beholding.
It’s a pleasure to consume a cup of java whilst perusing your paragraphs.
Which lends me to ask, earlier in this thread you posted a photo of a SxS you have in your possession.
Did the barrel release left of center not concern you?
Please don’t take this question as one of contempt.
I’ve thought in this condition they were in need of some $$ repairs?
I’m off to the corner with me pointy hat on for some pennance.
It’s a pleasure to consume a cup of java whilst perusing your paragraphs.
Which lends me to ask, earlier in this thread you posted a photo of a SxS you have in your possession.
Did the barrel release left of center not concern you?
Please don’t take this question as one of contempt.
I’ve thought in this condition they were in need of some $$ repairs?
I’m off to the corner with me pointy hat on for some pennance.
Hey Kamlooky, good to hear from you.Me Lawrd Pinfire, yer command of letters and the organization of them is beholding.
It’s a pleasure to consume a cup of java whilst perusing your paragraphs.
Which lends me to ask, earlier in this thread you posted a photo of a SxS you have in your possession.
Did the barrel release left of center not concern you?
Please don’t take this question as one of contempt.
I’ve thought in this condition they were in need of some $$ repairs?
I’m off to the corner with me pointy hat on for some pennance.
No worries from my end, I'm glad folks are looking closely at pictures! And reading. And drinking coffee.
I think this is the gun you're alluding to?:
The subject of 'left of centre' is actually an interesting one, thanks for bringing it up. If I think in terms of British gunmaking, maybe 1950s and earlier (I know nothing useful after that, really), I can't imagine a gunmaker, whether a Purdey or Holland, or any lesser maker, putting out a Scott top-lever that didn't sit straight in the centre. If it sat to the right, it would go back to the bench for more fitting. Yes, in time, metal-to-metal surfaces wear down, and this needs attending to, and for many gunsmiths, this was the bread-and-butter stuff that kept them in work (selling something which will last several generations of use with minimal maintenance is actually a bad business model, I think). The more important question, to me, is whether the gun still closes tightly, without any movement whatsoever. In assessing a used double gun, my four primary checks, in rapid succession, are 1) rib damage, 2) barrel condition, 3) signs of bodging, and 4) action tightness. Lots more to look at after that, but only if it passes my big four, which to me are deal-breakers. I know that action tightness can be fixed, but as you say, that is big $$$ nowadays, and not the measly half-crown it cost to replace the hinge pin back in 1865. I want a used gun that will require no repairs in my lifetime, what's left of it, if I can help it.
So, back to the matter of 'left of centre'. If the lever is slightly off the centre line but the action still closes tight, then great, there is no way I will use it enough, or live long enough, to loosen the action. It is said that any good double gun will last at least three generations of use. What do I care if I am the second or third generation in that equation? My descendants can worry about that, or not; it might be good for a long time more, with the right ammunition. I have second-hand top-lever guns (from 1930, 1951) that I've shot for over 40 years, and the position of their levers haven't budged, because they were built right. I shoot low-recoil cartridges in my 2 1/2"-chambered guns, usually 7/8oz. These do not create the stresses that might loosen the action. I find that I can make up for the lower pellet count by aiming properly. Physics takes care of the rest, with pellet velocity and energy being sufficient to kill/break targets, because that's what the gunpowder is for. I ignore choke for the most part, because of the aiming properly thing. My misses are my own damn fault, not because of thousands-of-an-inch barrel constrictions that affect only a small percentage of the pellet count. Don't get me started...
Modern hinge-action guns with levers right-of-centre bug me. They offend my sensibilities, Kamlooky. It says to me, "let's not bother to fit the parts properly." Or, "let's skip the proper tempering of friction surfaces." Or, "this gun will definitely wear out, just you wait." It has now reached the point where we expect top lever guns to have right-of-centre levers, when we should expect them to be centred, as originally intended. If they are slightly off, we should be asking whether there is any movement in the action. If not, then rest easy, and have fun shooting.
Of course, these are the opinions of a grumpy old Fudd, for what they're worth. I do not claim to be an expert, but I try to be observant. High-volume competitive shooters may have different perspectives, but I don't consider myself in that category.
Hey Kamlooky, good to hear from you.
No worries from my end, I'm glad folks are looking closely at pictures! And reading. And drinking coffee.
I think this is the gun you're alluding to?:
The subject of 'left of centre' is actually an interesting one, thanks for bringing it up. If I think in terms of British gunmaking, maybe 1950s and earlier (I know nothing useful after that, really), I can't imagine a gunmaker, whether a Purdey or Holland, or any lesser maker, putting out a Scott top-lever that didn't sit straight in the centre. If it sat to the right, it would go back to the bench for more fitting. Yes, in time, metal-to-metal surfaces wear down, and this needs attending to, and for many gunsmiths, this was the bread-and-butter stuff that kept them in work (selling something which will last several generations of use with minimal maintenance is actually a bad business model, I think). The more important question, to me, is whether the gun still closes tightly, without any movement whatsoever. In assessing a used double gun, my four primary checks, in rapid succession, are 1) rib damage, 2) barrel condition, 3) signs of bodging, and 4) action tightness. Lots more to look at after that, but only if it passes my big four, which to me are deal-breakers. I know that action tightness can be fixed, but as you say, that is big $$$ nowadays, and not the measly half-crown it cost to replace the hinge pin back in 1865. I want a used gun that will require no repairs in my lifetime, what's left of it, if I can help it.
So, back to the matter of 'left of centre'. If the lever is slightly off the centre line but the action still closes tight, then great, there is no way I will use it enough, or live long enough, to loosen the action. It is said that any good double gun will last at least three generations of use. What do I care if I am the second or third generation in that equation? My descendants can worry about that, or not; it might be good for a long time more, with the right ammunition. I have second-hand top-lever guns (from 1930, 1951) that I've shot for over 40 years, and the position of their levers haven't budged, because they were built right. I shoot low-recoil cartridges in my 2 1/2"-chambered guns, usually 7/8oz. These do not create the stresses that might loosen the action. I find that I can make up for the lower pellet count by aiming properly. Physics takes care of the rest, with pellet velocity and energy being sufficient to kill/break targets, because that's what the gunpowder is for. I ignore choke for the most part, because of the aiming properly thing. My misses are my own damn fault, not because of thousands-of-an-inch barrel constrictions that affect only a small percentage of the pellet count. Don't get me started...
Modern hinge-action guns with levers right-of-centre bug me. They offend my sensibilities, Kamlooky. It says to me, "let's not bother to fit the parts properly." Or, "let's skip the proper tempering of friction surfaces." Or, "this gun will definitely wear out, just you wait." It has now reached the point where we expect top lever guns to have right-of-centre levers, when we should expect them to be centred, as originally intended. If they are slightly off, we should be asking whether there is any movement in the action. If not, then rest easy, and have fun shooting.
Of course, these are the opinions of a grumpy old Fudd, for what they're worth. I do not claim to be an expert, but I try to be observant. High-volume competitive shooters may have different perspectives, but I don't consider myself in that category.
Perfectly said, Steve.
Yup.
Great to sit back and enjoy the knowledge and penmanship of those in the know on here.
Thanks Pinfire
sillymike
CGN Ultra frequent flyer
Can't wait for the choke conversation to start 
And not only is this thread good at educating us about British doubles... it also helps me adding new word to my vocabulary !
- had to look up signs of bodging
And not only is this thread good at educating us about British doubles... it also helps me adding new word to my vocabulary !
- had to look up signs of bodging
