The allure of the British gun

Having covered a Scott gun, here’s moving on to a Webley, to finish the story about Webley & Scott. This Webley-marked gun is not in very good condition, but it can still illustrate something about the firm and mid-Victorian gunmaking.

As with so many gunmaking families, the origins go back a ways. Philip Webley was born in Birmingham in 1813, and his older brother James was born in 1807. Their father or grandfather established a gun implement-making business in 1790. Philip was apprenticed in 1827 to William Ryan and worked alongside Benjamin Watson. The Watson line is interesting in itself and worth a short detour; it began when the original Benjamin Watson, a gunlock maker, opened his own business in 1723 in Birmingham, on Catherine Street (later renamed Whittall Street). Watson died in 1777, and the firm continued at 27 Whittall Street with Watson’s son, also named Benjamin, and William Ryan, as Ryan & Watson. In 1799, they advertised as “Manufacturers of fowling pieces, rifle guns, air guns, and pistols of every description.” They were one of the leading gunmaking firms, and in 1813, they bought £100 worth of stock to fund the building of the “Gun Barrel Proof House of the Town of Birmingham.” William Ryan was a member of the governing body and later became a Guardian of the Proof House. Benjamin Watson the second died in 1820, leaving his son, also named Benjamin, to work at the firm, which was renamed William Ryan & Son at 32 Whittall Street. From 1824 to 1835, William Ryan & Son were recorded at 110 New Street, where Philip Webley completed his apprenticeship.

Philip’s brother was also apprenticed, but to whom is unknown. In 1834, Philip and James established a partnership as percussioners, lock filers and gunmakers at 7 Weaman Street, at the old premises of William Davis, a gun implement maker, mould and tool maker. William Davis had died in 1831, leaving the business to his wife Sarah. In 1838, Philip married Caroline Davis, Sarah’s daughter. The Davis business at that time was listed at 84 Weaman Street. The 1841 census had Philip listed as a bullet mould maker, living at St Mary’s Row. In 1845, Philip sold his half of the partnership to James, and used the money to purchase Sarah Davis’s business. In the 1851 census, Philip was listed as a gun and pistol implement maker living at 84 Weaman Street, and James was listed as a gunmaker employing 24 persons, a substantial business, at 14 St Mary’s Row. James Webley died in 1856. In 1859, Philip’s son, Thomas William, was made a partner in the firm, and the name was changed to P. Webley & Son. James Webley’s widow, Louisa, continued their business, and in the 1861 census she described herself as a gun maker employing nine men and seven boys; some time after 1865 she retired, and Philip bought the business. From around 1863 up to the First World War, Philip Webley supplied rook rifles to Holland & Holland. In 1863 and 1864, the firm’s address was 84-84 Weaman Street, but from late 1864 to 1875 the address was 84 Weaman Street. In 1869, Thomas William Webley became a Guardian of the Birmingham Proof House.

Here is a gun from the 84 Weaman Street period, a 12-bore double-barrelled underlever dual pin-fire-centrefire gun, probably made around 1869 or 1870, numbered 1999. While Webley had been in business a long time by this time, its main business was revolvers, and relatively few sporting guns were produced. The 26 5/8” damascus barrels have likely been slightly shortened. There is no address on the rib, suggesting the gun was not built by Webley but brought in from 'the trade'; the back-action locks are marked “P. Webley & Son.” The gun has an extractor that engages with a fixed projection on the hinge pin. The chambers are over-bored, possibly for use with Thomas William Webley centre-fire/pin cartridges, patent no. 2030 of 1865. The action is an unmarked double-bite screw grip action, and the gun is set up for dual fire, with a two-piece striker system that appears based on Thomas G. Sylven’s patent no. 806 of 1866, which may have lapsed by the time this gun was built; however, the upper parts of the strikers are missing. The gun has minor border and foliate scroll engraving, and a figured stock. Several screws and parts are missing or replacements. With the trimmed barrels, the weight is 6lb 14oz. Overall, it is in sorry shape, but I’ve never come across another Philip Webley pin-fire. Dual-fire guns were popular for a brief period at the end of the 1860s, when it was unclear which system, pin-fire or central-fire, would prevail, and not everyone sold central-fire ammunition. This situation was about to change decisively.

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This is what the Sylven-type dual-fire strikers should look like, above the breech:
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When loaded with a pin-fire cartridge, the hammer noses hit the exposed pin first. When loaded with a central-fire cartridge, the hammers hit the vertical (upper) part of the strikers, which transfer their energy to the horizontal part of the strikers, which strike the central primers. Not energy-efficient, but with strong springs, good enough to work.

Here, I can finish up this short version of the combined history of Webley and Scott. In 1877, Webley bought the business of Tipping & Lawden. On 24 March 1888, Philip Webley died, and in 1893, Thomas William and his brother Henry acquired the business of Joseph Lang & Son. However, in 1897, the firm of P. Webley & Son was acquired by W & C Scott & Son, and the name was changed to Webley & Scott Revolver & Arms Co. Ltd. By this time, Webley had become the largest manufacturer of revolvers, and Scott had been the largest manufacturer of sporting guns. In 1906, the name changed again to Webley & Scott Ltd. In 1958, Webley & Scott Ltd. was acquired by RH Windsor Ltd., which was subsequently purchased by Arusha Industries Ltd. in 1960. In 1965, Webley & Scott bought W.W. Greener Ltd. One of the models produced from 1965 to 1979 was the Greener GP single-barrel shotgun. From 1970 to 1978, the company imported over/under shotguns from Beretta, finishing them under the Webley & Scott name. In 1973, Webley & Scott was bought by the Harris & Sheldon Group, but production was very low. In 1979, Webley & Scott ceased manufacturing shotguns altogether, although the firm continued to produce air pistols under the name W & C Scott (Gunmakers) Ltd. In 1985, both Webley & Scott Ltd and W & C Scott (Gunmakers) Ltd were acquired by Holland & Holland. However, in 1991, Holland & Holland decided to centralize all its production at its Harrow Road factory in London, and the Birmingham operation was subsequently closed.
 
Extractors were an inspired idea. Ejectors, I'm not so fond of, although I must acknowledge that they make sense in rapid fire situations such as driven shoots.

Pinfire, perhaps you could lend your always thorough historical perspective and entertaining writing style to the origins and development of these systems?
 
Wow, almost 15,000 views to this thread, so far. Hopefully, it is not just a bunch of internet bots clicking in, but actual, breathing persons interested in what makes British guns particularly appealing. And old British guns at that.

There is a lot of material to work from. But I can’t help but think I’m only scratching the surface of so much of it. How do you compress technology, sport, and society into a few paragraphs? Of course, we’re moving away from being a sit-down-and-read society, our attention spans are dwindling. Sure, we’re story-telling apes who enjoy a good story, but we’re slowly turning into servile consumers of micro-dosed computer-generated slop. This is bad news for anyone who does research and dares to put it out there. We can and will be replaced by AI, it is said, without anyone giving it more than a shrug.

I did a bit of an experiment yesterday. Having just finished a few paragraphs on Philip Webley, I asked ChatGPT to do the same… The resulting text was credible, and accurate in a wide-picture sense, with generally accepted dates. The main focus was on Webley revolvers, which is understandable. It was bland, to be sure, but, upon reading it twice, surprisingly uninformative. Using a trick I was shown recently, I asked for further details, like family-related information, and business arrangements. This is where the slight fissures and cracks in the narrative started opening up into gaping deficiencies, with missing and dubious information. As the language model was struggling, I changed tack, and asked for a photo of a Webley pin-fire. Almost immediately I was provided with a photo of a hammergun that was neither a pin-fire nor a Philip Webley, despite ChatGPT claiming it was. Ah. Here’s the problem with AI as it relates to gun subjects. We believe it’s thinking, but it isn’t. It is not finding what may be buried deeply in out-of-print books, old newspapers and periodicals, and any data sources that might be behind a paywall. It does not know if the information is true and verified, only that it exists, put into cyberspace by anyone, unquestioned. Information from knowledgeable sources carry no weight over information that is, well, just made up by somebody. Or made up by the generative language model in a moment of need, as many people working in fields where accuracy matters, are finding out.

Trying to understand what has happened decades or even a century or more ago invariably invites speculation and theories, based on available data, such that it is. In the gun world, this is undoubtedly the case. My opinions and understanding of gunmaking history have evolved over the years, as more information has come to light, often thanks to the Internet and its impact on communication. It is so much easier to be in contact with people than it used to be. New information usually pushes me down new rabbit holes, in search of corroborating evidence and supporting data. I have never claimed to be all-knowing, only that I do research and try to double- and triple-verify my facts. I’m sure I get some things wrong, and can hopefully correct myself in due course. Ironically, the more I write, the better AI becomes, as it picks up the information I put out there. In querying ChatGPT, it quoted several of my sentences back to me, and helpfully provided citations to articles I had written in the past. Weird, but there it is. We need more writers when it comes to gun subjects, to counteract the AI-generated articles and YouTube scripts we get inundated with. OK, my rant is done. Back to guns.

Well, not quite. I just saw Straightshooter’s request for a few words on extractors and ejectors. It will be my pleasure to do so, good Sir. But I couldn’t help myself, I Googled ‘origin of ejectors in shotguns,’ just to see what Google’s AI would serve up. I wasn’t disappointed. The AI could not name who developed the first extractor. The AI further identified J. Needham as the inventor of the first shotgun ejector. If it were meant to be the gunmaker Joseph Needham, that would be wrong. It was Joseph Vernon Needham, the son of Joseph Needham, who was the inventor. The AI cited another source, taken from a gun board, naming W. J. Needham as the inventor. Wrong again. This refers to William and Joseph Needham, the name William Needham’s firm changed to in 1851, neither of whom had anything to do with the development of ejectors (and that Joseph Needham, JV’s father, is different from William Needham’s son, Joseph Needham-- confused yet?). Wait, there’s more. AI informed me that W. W. Greener bought ‘J. Needhams’s’ ejector design. Wrong once more. Greener purchased the businesses of Joseph Vernon Needham and Joseph and Henry Needham (Henry being William’s brother) in 1874, that much is correct, if lacking in the wider detail. But J. V. Needham retained the rights to his ejector, they weren’t part of the sale, and he earned substantial royalties as a result.

Do. Not. Trust. AI.

It will take me a few days to take some pictures of some interesting extractors, and dig through my notes for some juicy tidbits. Stay tuned.
 
Pinfire, it would be interesting to ask the same questions to AI in six months intervals for the next two years. It will be interesting to see the evolution.
 
Pinfire, it would be interesting to ask the same questions to AI in six months intervals for the next two years. It will be interesting to see the evolution.
Yeah, Marc, it would be nice to think that I might have a tiny chance at making AI information more complete. But no matter how much I write, lots of other stuff is being added and repeated, and AI can’t tell what is accurate and what is not. Widely repeated wrong information is probably more likely to be picked up by the algorithms, but who really knows? It is frightening to think that AI will eventually determine what we know…
 
Probably the biggest issue with AI is that it doesn’t exist. I spent the vast majority of my career in the IT industry, which has provided some insight. What the tech giants HAVE achieved are properly known as EKSes (Expert Knowledge Systems). These are not AI; not even close. Naturally, it is being called AI and touted as AI, because huge advantages in capital allocation accrue to the first to market.

In reality, it is nothing more than a massive database with data collection, relevancy metrics, and reporting tools. Granted, it’s an impressive tangle of code, but it doesn’t even scratch at intelligence.

Is it self-aware? No. Does it truly “understand” a question? No. Can it anticipate the research it may be missing? No. This is why it can be so spectacularly wrong at times. If it could actually learn, it would quickly develop an understanding of human nature and the implications behind the way questions are structured. It can do none of these things. I prefer the term AS (Artificial Stupidity) for what has been developed to date.

An all-too-real example is the recent Air India crash. Black box evidence has revealed that the plane’s own software failed to receive/detect wheel sensor data confirming takeoff, so the software refused the pilots’ actions to try to power up the engines, adjust the trim, or any other actions to save the plane and the lives on board and on the ground. In short, the software insisted that the plane was still on the ground and refused all commands inconsistent with that state. The so-called AI overrode all emergency measures.

Canvasback hit the bullseye. Fully developed AI, if and when it is ever accomplished, is likely to judge humanity to be a defective and dangerous species.
 
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Wow, almost 15,000 views to this thread, so far. Hopefully, it is not just a bunch of internet bots clicking in, but actual, breathing persons interested in what makes British guns particularly appealing. And old British guns at that.



Do. Not. Trust. AI.
Does it count every time you click on the thread, or is it one per view per customer? If it's every time, then I'm probably responsible for about 5,000 out of the 15,000.
 
Does it count every time you click on the thread, or is it one per view per customer? If it's every time, then I'm probably responsible for about 5,000 out of the 15,000.
Not sure but recently, I acquired my 2nd English SxS 12ga. A Purdey. Arrangements for this latest, was from a friend who was experiencing serious ill health issues. He had opted for 'going'
the MAID 'route' and asked if there was any of what he had that I was interested in. So, I've posted a few times to this thread with that info.
 
OK Straightshooter, here are the first parts of the why, when and who of extractor and ejector history, or at least what I know from my notes. Apologies if I'm covering stuff you probably already know, but I like to be thorough and start at the beginning.

Few inventions come out of nowhere. Removing a charge from a gun barrel has been a problem since the invention of the gun. Starting with muzzle-loaders, where the powder, wadding and charge are tamped down tight out of necessity, there were two solutions. The first was to fire the charge, and certainly in the eras of the flint-lock and cap-lock, it was commonly described how a sportsman would discharge his gun up the fireplace chimney after a day afield. The other solution was to pull the charge, using a worm or screw tip on the end of the ramrod to grab the ball or top card or wadding, spill out the shot if a shotgun, and go back in to draw out the last bit of wadding before pouring out the powder. Twice, for a double gun. Some described the tediousness of the procedure, but it was just part of the routine of using a gun. And if you were part of the moneyed class, someone else would do it for you.

I know you all think the next thing I will say is that it all started with the pin-fire, but this time, and this time only, you would be wrong. The first commercially-viable breech-loading sporting gun appeared amid the turmoil of the Napoleonic Wars (1803–1815), when in Paris the gunmakers Jean Samuel Pauly (a Swiss) and Joseph-François Prélat (a Frenchman) developed around 1808 the first central-fire cartridge, incorporating grains of fulminating compound in its metallic base. The cartridge was patented by Pauly in September 1812 for use in a gun with fixed barrels and a lifting breech, or a gun with a fixed breech and downward-pivoting barrel. The Pauly cartridge used a metallic base (termed a rosette) with a narrow touch-hole and a paper tube body affixed to the rosette. The loose fulminate grains were held in a depression in the exterior portion of the rosette with wax. One description had the priming compound, a mixture of potassium chlorate, sulphur, and powdered charcoal, bound together with gum arabic, and fixed to the rosette with a paper patch; a later version of the cartridge used a one-piece brass case. The fulminate was provided separately, and the shooter had to add the fulminate to the ready-made cartridge. It is unclear if the metal rosette, with its bevelled edge, was fully obturating — if it provided a gas seal upon firing — or not, though Pauly believed the materials the rosettes were made from, either brass, lead or copper, were plastic enough upon firing to provide a good seal from the pressure. The fired cartridge was pushed out with a wooden ejector rod inserted from the muzzle (essentially a ramrod). The rosette could be reused, needing a new paper body (with powder charge and load), and fulminate. So, the first breech-loading cartridge ejector was actually a ramrod. As every other gun had a ramrod, the fact of having one under a breech-loading gun did not seem odd at the time.

In early 1814, Pauly took on a 14-year old apprentice, Casimir Lefaucheux, a name of great significance to pin-fire history. Pauly left Paris for London shortly afterwards, and the gunmaker Henri Roux continued the Pauly business. From about 1815, Roux added a rim to the rosette to aid with extraction, and he developed a fork-like hand tool to remove the metal rosette from the breech-end, instead of using a wooden rod from the muzzle end. This, it could be argued, is the first purpose-designed cartridge extractor: a hand-held tool.

Roux tool and rosette; credit goes to Dr. Georg Priestel, an expert on Pauly guns:
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In 1827, Casimir Lefaucheux took over the business began by Pauly. Around 1832, Lefaucheux developed his hinge action, with a drop-down barrel rotating on a hinge pin, perhaps inspired by the Pauly 1812 patent. On Lefaucheux’s gun, the barrel was permanently hinged on a transverse pin under the barrel ahead of the chamber. When released, the muzzle end of the barrels dropped at a shallow angle and the breech end of the barrels rotated upward to allow loading paper cartridges. I say paper cartridges, because Lefaucheux’s first design was for a capping breech-loader. An external cap had to be fixed to a nipple, and the paper cartridge, containing powder and shot, was fully consumable, requiring no extraction. In January of 1833, Lefaucheux obtained his patent for his hinge-action, external-cap breech-loading gun. He then went to the next step, of placing the primer inside the cartridge, and on 31 March 1835 Lefaucheux obtained a patent for his new pin-fire cartridge design, which contained the fulminate mixture within the thin metallic base of the cartridge.

The protruding pin provided the necessary finger hold to easily remove an unfired cartridge from the chamber. Even when fired, the pin is sufficiently protruding to allow removal with a simple flick of the finger—in theory. In practice, there were a flood of problems caused by varying cartridge manufacturing processes and the fact that no two chambers were bored to the same size, as standardisation was still in the future. If the chamber was too loose, the paper or even the metallic base would split, either jamming the metal base in tight, or separating the stiff paper body from the base. Slightly damp paper might swell and jam the cartridge, and pulling out the metallic base might also separate the base from the paper tube, leaving an awkward obstruction. Breech-loaders were meant to do away with the paraphernalia of the muzzle-loader, namely ramrods, flasks, shot bags, cap tins etc., so having to carry a ramrod ‘just in case’ to dislodge recalcitrant cartridges was frustrating and a backward step, made worse by the fact that breech-loaders had no place for a captive ramrod. In the first years of the pin-fire game gun in Britain, extracting problem cartridges, whole and in broken bits, was a constant bugbear. This led to the development of another hand tool, this time a slender hook with which to pull split paper tubes from the chamber, usually also incorporating a small hole to gain purchase on the protruding pin stub for extracting jammed cartridge heads. So, extractor number two is once more a hand tool.

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A clever side note on the path to the extractor is found on some sliding-barrel actions. In 1855, the Bastin Brothers of Hermalle-sous-Argenteau, Liège, patented an action whereby the breech remained stationary and the barrels slid forward. A feature of the Bastin system is a recess cut under the hammer nose, which holds the pin after firing. When opening the action, the recess keeps the fired cartridge from moving with the barrels, thereby extracting it – a flick of the wrist then ejects the spent case. If one or both barrels are unfired, the cartridges stay in the chambers; the cleverness of this selective extraction is that it requires no additional mechanism or modification. The Bastin action has a forward-pivoted, pull-down underlever with a hinged catch on the distal end. While it looks ungainly, it is remarkably smooth and easy to use, and while not as time-efficient and ergonomic as the later snap-actions, it has a certain quirky elegance. The Bastin Brothers were inventors, not gunmakers, and they made actions for other gunmakers and not whole guns. The Bastin system remained popular in Britain well into the 1860s, appearing on guns built by James Purdey and others. Here is one on a gun by the Masu Brothers of London and Liège, showing the captive cartridge with the barrels slid forward:

Bastin action:
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Next comes the central-fire...
 
Pin-fire cartridges had no need/use for a cartridge rim, and chamber mouths were not cut for them. Some manufactures produced pin-fire cartridges with a hint of a rim, but this was an artifact of the manufacturing process when forming the metallic base. If you discount the Roux rosette, the first true metallic cartridges with rimmed bases appeared with the central-fire cartridge, first developed by Clement Pottet of Paris in 1829, and improved by François Eugène Schneider, also of Paris, and many others. Then the Parisian Louis-Nicolas Flobert invented the first rimfire metallic cartridge in 1845, the forerunner of the humble .22. Arms firing the Flobert cartridge would have had simple extractors, but as this discussion is about shotgun extractors, I’ll leave it at that.

A Clement Pottet patent illustration, from 1855, showing the rimmed central-fire cartridge bases:
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Albert Henri Marie Renette of Paris obtained a French patent in 1835 for a slide-and-tilt breech-loading action, a capping-breech-loader. In 1853, Renette's son-in-law and partner, Louis Julien Gastinne, received French patent No. 9058 for this breech action on a hammer gun intended to use the then-new internally-primed Pottet/Schneider central-fire cartridges. Gastinne’s action required an extractor, and as far as I know, this is the very first built-in mechanism that we would recognise as an extractor on a shotgun. The patent agent Auguste Edouard Loradoux Bellford patented Gastinne’s design in Great Britain, receiving patent No. 2778 of 1853. Interestingly, the first centre-fire guns were termed needle guns, from the pointed strikers (this was quite separate from needle-fire guns, a whole different subject for another day). The patent description describes “cartridges, with perforated copper or metal, or other bases are used, which are with-drawn after the explosion by a “moveable chamber-mouth” and suitable apparatus.” The first shotgun cartridge extractor was termed a “movable chamber-mouth”; thankfully, that name didn’t stick. This patent was later assigned to Charles Lancaster of London, in 1853, and first used for his base-fire cartridge, which had a rimmed base. Unfortunately, there are no surviving examples of a base-fire cartridge. Outwardly, it looked like a typical centre-fire shotgun cartridge, except the priming mixture was not in a central cap, but smeared between the perforated base and a foil outer covering; the broad striker would hit anywhere on the base, detonating the mixture and igniting the powder. Lancaster also built a version of his gun with narrower strikers, to use the early Pottet/Schneider centre-fire cartridges, which had just started to appear.

Here is Lancaster’s extractor, on a 14-bore of his made for the Pottet/Schneider cartridge, built in 1858:
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Schneider sought British patent protection for his own breech-loading gun and cartridge design, which he obtained in 1861 (No. 1487). This was based on his French patent No. 46957 of 1860. The rights to build Schneider’s patent were bought by George Henry Daw of 57 Threadneedle Street, London, and he improved the design, for which he was awarded Patent No. 1594 in 1862. The gun incorporated an extractor, built around the barrel under-lugs. I don’t have my own to show, but the extractor patented by William Sparks Riley, pictured a few posts ago, is similar to Daw’s extractor. At the International Exhibition of 1862 in London, Daw was awarded a prize medal for ‘his’ cartridge. Aside from Lancaster’s Pottet cartridge, Daw had the monopoly on the central-fire cartridge based on Schneider’s design for a few years. A much-publicized court case between Daw and Eley Brothers in 1865 resulted in Daw losing and being almost bankrupted. This left Eley Brothers and others free to market and develop central-fire cartridges, and the wider availability of the central-fire cartridge hastened the demise of the pin-fire after this date. More central-fire actions were being built by different makers, as well as pin-fire conversions, and all of these incorporated some kind of extractor.

Daw's extractor:
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That should be all that can be said about the humble extractor, but there is one more curious detail that has rarely been noted. It comes back to the fact that in the early days of breech-loaders, including central-fire guns, there was very little in the way of standardisation, in both guns and cartridge manufacturing. This meant there was no standard cartridge rim size, and any gunmaker cutting a shoulder into the barrel breech to accommodate the rim risked making the shoulder too large, resulting in loose cartridges, or too shallow, resulting in ill-fitting cartridges and being unable to close the action. For a brief period, some gunmakers stamped the preferred rim size on the barrel face, to allow customers to use cartridges that best fit the gun. Once cartridge manufacturers standardised rim measurements gunmakers could adapt accordingly, and this practice was not continued.

Next, a few extractor designs...
 
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Here are some quick photos of extractors of various designs added to pin-fire guns, either built as or converted to dual-fire, and pin-fire-to-central-fire conversions. These are mostly of the simple type with a guide drilled through the lump.

Thomas Horsley of York, conversion to central-fire:
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William Powell & Son of Birmingham, conversion to dual-fire (Note: the Powell is interesting in that it has split extractors, one for each barrel. However, in practice they work in unison, and are not selective):
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The Breech Loading Armoury Company (Limited) of London, dual-fire:
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Westley Richards of Birmingham, converted to central-fire:
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Here endeth my notes on the shotgun “moveable chamber-mouth,” aka the extractor. I will cover ejectors separately. As pin-fires never had ejectors, my comments will be brief and not as nicely illustrated!
 
I think I understand a bit more about where some of the AI confusion over ejector history comes from. Two sources that I greatly respect, W. W. Greener’s The Gun and its Development (6th Ed., 1897), and Crudgington & Baker’s The British Shotgun (Vol. 2), list Joseph Needham as the inventor of the ejector. This does refer to Joseph Vernon Needham, without including the middle name. Where the confusion occurs is that Joseph Vernon’s father, a gunmaker, is also named Joseph, as is the son of William Needham, another gunmaker. To reduce confusion, several authors and sources specify JV Needham as the inventor of the ejector (correct), while others assign the invention to J Needham (also correct, if describing the same person, without using the middle initial). Less careful authors have credited the invention to one of the other Josephs, or to William, probably inadvertently. Sigh. Names in British gunmaking are a tangled skein.

Readers might have noticed an underlying thread in my posts about the history of the extractor. As in, all gun inventions came out of Paris. Perhaps an over-generalization, but mostly correct. Almost every 17th-, 18th-, and 19th-century firearm invention of consequence has a Parisian or French connection somewhere. I have my own theories about why this happened, but this thread is about British guns, and the ejector is a good way to bring us back on track. The ejector is definitely a wholly British invention, as British as fish-and-chips, or sitting in a deck chair on a freezing, windswept stony beach and claiming to enjoy it.

Because JV Needham’s invention came about in 1874, and much of my knowledge and understanding comes to a crashing halt at the 1870 mark, I’m not the best person to explain the details. I fully accept one old gunmaker’s assessment that the ejector is an overly-complicated mechanism designed to perform a minor task. As with so many inventions, patent protections meant that few were making and designing ejector guns before Needham’s patent ran out in 1888. Eventually, there was a flurry of inventions all designed to do the same thing, but slightly differently. Crudgington & Baker note the three desired qualities of an ejector: it should throw out only the spent cases, the ejection should happen after the lock-work has been c_ocked (to avoid a reloaded but inoperative gun), and that ejection should happen faultlessly regardless of how quickly or slowly the gun is opened. Needham’s patent, originally conceived for a trigger-plate-action gun, uses the power of the mainsprings to do the job. Just about every other mechanism uses separate springs to operate the ejectors. Greener claimed that Needham’s invention was not really successful until Greener himself had improved upon the design in 1882. In any case, Crudgington & Baker discuss and illustrate approximately 80 ejector patents (!) in their chapter on the subject, covering the period from 1874 to 1890, and I encourage anyone interested in the technical aspects to read their chapter on the subject. Greener’s 6th edition of his book also devotes a chapter to the ejector gun and ejector mechanisms, an advance on his 3rd edition of 1881, where Needham’s ejector is mentioned only in passing.

My interest lies in the reasons why the ejector was devised in the first place, and where it sits in the evolution of the game gun. An ejector can be deemed essential if the shooting opportunities, i.e. targets, are many and fast. Game guns came out of a world of walked-up shooting with limited game, where the time and fuss required to re-load muzzle-loaders between shots was not seen as a problem. Few estates had sufficient game to support driven shoots based on natural gamebird reproduction. Owners of such estates could easily afford pairs of guns with servants to load them. The arrival of the breech-loader meant one’s shooting speed greatly increased, which is pointless if you’re after the same amount of game as before. Eventually more people than just the very richest could afford better guns, and one breech-loader could do the work of two muzzle-loaders with loaders. Add in more shooting-focused estates, more dedicated gamekeepers, improved gamebird husbandry, railway access, and better guns, and you pave the way for more driven shoots and more shooting opportunities. Then, having a breech-loader, or pair of breech-loaders with a loader, makes sense. At that point non-rebounding locks on hammerguns were replaced with rebounding locks, making loading and unloading that much quicker. The next big jump is with hammerless, barrel-cocking actions. Now, just opening (or closing) the gun c_ocks the firing mechanism, a huge advance. And this is the moment where Mr Needham decided that, hey, a fractional amount of time could be gained by throwing the spent cases rather than flicking them out with one’s fingers, and he devised a mechanism to do just that. In so doing, Needham prompted a trickle, and then a flood, of inventors creating competing and complicated designs to toss spent cartridge cases. British gunmakers, being manifestly anal about their craftsmanship, produced remarkably tuned designs that, on a double gun, fired both cases to land in the same spot, for no other reason than they could. If you think gun locks are impressive technology, ejectors are like having an additional set of finely-tuned locks set in a cramped space – just to perform that minor task. What could go wrong?

I am in awe and admiration of ejector doubles, but I don’t want any. When working as they should, they are marvels. When they are broken, they are a gunsmith’s worst nightmare. Good luck finding a smith who can tackle worn ejector sears or a broken v-spring for some obscure patent design (in some, the ejector spring has multiple functions and is a devil to replicate and replace, and where a broken ejector spring means a bricked gun). If it is just about impossible to find someone in the UK to do this specialized work, what do you think it would be like here? A lot has been written about ejector systems, mostly about how frustrating they can be when they malfunction. If you have a properly working British ejector gun, hooray! I hope it gives you a lifetime of trouble-free operation. If the ejector breaks, there is nothing that can be fixed with off-the-shelf replacement parts, even if those existed, which they don’t.

I also don’t like chasing after fired hulls. I’m quite happy with garden-variety extractors.

Sorry, Straightshooter, I don’t have any British ejectors to photograph, but I hope these posts sufficiently address your original request!
 
Hmm, things have gone a bit quiet here. Maybe this thread has run its course? Everyone on vacation? Or did I bore everyone to death about extractors and ejectors? Pretty in-the-weeds stuff, I admit.

There is so much that makes British guns interesting. Certainly the designs, the quality of craftsmanship, and even a bit of social history behind them, and the times they came out of, all contribute towards their charm. Conversely, I find most new guns don’t have much of a story to tell, being the product of cost-conscious factory assembly, and little social history beyond being a disposable sport accessory, the way people talk about them. But it might just be me.

There is not much love for damascus steel barrels these days. That’s a shame. Part of this comes from the advice drilled in to us, that damascus barrels are unsafe and accidents waiting to happen. Some of that is true of course, for barrels that have been neglected or abused, bubba-ed or otherwise tampered with. Yet well-maintained damascus barrels can survive modern nitro proofing, and I use two such guns for my grouse hunting and occasional clay-bird enjoyment. One dates from the 1840s, converted to centre-fire, the other built as a centre-fire gun in 1864. I trust these barrels, and admire their beauty.

W.W. Greener in his book, The Gun and Its Development, describes various types of damascus, and their process of manufacture. Generally, damascus barrels are made from a single twisted bar, two twisted bars, or three twisted bars, coiled around a mandrel and hammer forged into a tube. The Belgians could make especially fine barrels using up to six twisted rods, though three was usually sufficient.

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Good damascus barrels, on a Kavanaugh:
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And a Boss & Co.:
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Fancy Belgian tubes, on a Masu Brothers:
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And the French were talented as well, here with a Chalet gun:
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Laminated barrels were made in a similar process, but usually composed of superior metal, with a higher steel content. Sadly, over time, the term ‘laminated steel’ became a kind of product name used on the decidedly inferior barrels of hardware-store guns. Here is what a proper laminated steel barrel looks like:

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I hope that by now, anyone interested in the making of damascus steel barrels has seen this online video, which, while from the 1920s, gives an idea of what hand-forged barrel tube making in the mid- to late-19th century was like.


Both British and Belgian tubes were used in British gunmaking. Regardless of source, the tubes (for a double gun), were brazed together, barrel lumps and loops brazed or soldered on, and ribs soldered on, and sent to the proof-house. Richard Akehurst, in his book Game Guns and Rifles (1969), notes that in the 1870s, John Marshall of Monway Iron and Steel Works, Wednesbury, Staffordshire, “supplied the majority of damascus shotgun barrels to the Birmingham gun trade, and while generally of sound quality, they contained a lot of “greys.” These greys were caused by small pieces of scale becoming embedded in the metal during the fire welding. They did not materially effect strength, but they left marks when the barrels were polished, which rendered them unfit for the barrels of best guns.” In muzzle-loaders you could not see down the barrel, so greys were of no consequence; with breech-loaders, it was another matter. It was because of greys in British barrel tubes that the trade sourced barrel tubes from Belgium (mostly) and France. They were much clearer of greys, but were softer. To quote J. H. Walsh in The Modern Sportsman’s Gun and Rifle (1882) regarding the use of Belgian tubes:

“We were, in common with our competitors, excepting for first and second quality, using a large proportion of these tubes; in fact, we think that quite three-fourths of the tubes used in Birmingham are Belgian make, and nearly all the London trade use them, with this difference, that they use the best quality, which are no doubt harder than the cheaper kinds, but are still softer and less durable than those of English make, and cost as much.”

“For many years we have been almost entirely dependent upon one maker for Damascus, stub Damascus, and laminated steel iron
[John Marshall]; he, having a monopoly, has not cared to trouble himself to keep his iron up to its original good standard, notwithstanding the fact that, in consequence of its high price and want of clearness (freeness from greys), his trade has been gradually leaving him and going to Belgium.”

“One reason for the cleaner forging done by the Belgian smiths was that they used a smaller forge fire composed of a mixture of powdered clay and small coke that kept the work cleaner than the big coke fires of Birmingham.”


It would seem that the most beautifully figured Damascus tubes used in British pin-fires were of Belgian origin, made into finished barrels by British smiths and proofed in Britain. Industry was not far behind, with the use of steam-powered hammers and machines to twist steel billets, thereby reducing the need for hand-forging, and increasing production output. On this subject, the Rose Brothers of Halesowen, Worcestershire, patented a method for making damascus tubes by machine, first in Britain (Aaron Rose, Patent No. 13,299 of 24 October 1850), and in the United States (William Rose, Patent No. 39,174, of 7 July 1862). The machine-Damascus barrels were British and not foreign-sourced, to anybody who cared, and strong, but not as attractive as the imported barrels. To a Victorian sportsman, barrels were everything; the fact that Rose Brothers barrel tubes were for the most part only used on lower-end guns, seems to confirm that top makers prioritized the attractiveness of foreign-made barrels, deeming it more important than any semi-patriotic concerns. As to markings, the Rose Brothers-made barrels typically are stamped “roses patent No. 20”. This is a mystery, where some have postulated the ‘No. 20’ might refer to a provisional patent number. That doesn’t make sense to me. In any case, I have not been able to get to the bottom of that one.

The Rose Brothers operated the Hales-Owen Mills & Forge between 1860 and 1892 (Halesowen, often spelled differently, was about 11km from Birmingham). However, there were so many with the Rose family name involved in iron work around Birmingham that deciphering the family connections is complex, made worse by the penchant of using the same forenames from generation to generation.

I believe it started with Aaron Rose, born in 1792 in Rowley Regis, Staffordshire. Aaron Rose was recorded as a gun barrel maker at Birch Hill Mill, Halesowen from 1841 to 1850. In the 1851 census, Aaron was listed with his wife, Elizabeth, and three sons (Major, George, and John Aaron), living on Church Street. Aaron died in 1853, and in that year the name of the business changed to William and Major Rose. William Rose was born in 1821, and in the 1851 census was listed as a gun barrel borer, living in Birch Hill; I don’t know the family relationship to Aaron Rose. From 1860 the business traded as Rose Brothers, Hales-Owen Mills and Forge. They also had a retail warehouse selling guns and revolvers at 13 Newton Street, Birmingham, so some entire guns are marked ‘Rose Brothers.’ After 1864, the retail operation was run by Miss R. Rose; the retail warehouse subsequently moved to 25 Newton Street. William left the business in 1865 (in the 1871 census William Rose was listed as a retired gun barrel manufacturer; William was last recorded in the 1891 census). In 1878 the partnership of Moses Rose, Major Rose, George Rose and John Aaron Rose was dissolved, with Moses and Major Rose continuing the business, as Rose Brothers. Various patents were obtained in 1884 and 1885 for other methods of making barrels. In 1889, the firm closed the Birmingham warehouse and traded at Halesowen Mill as the Rose Tube Co. Ltd., the directors of which were Aaron and Benjamin Rose, presumably children of earlier generations. The firm closed in 1892.

Here are some guns with Rose Brothers tubes:

Frederick Gates of Derby:
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Reuben Hambling of Salford, Manchester:
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Jeffrey, Birmingham:
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Fedele Primavesi & Sons of Cardiff:
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There must be lots of guns out there that have Rose Brothers barrels. My small sample size is limited by my pin-fire obsession, but any damascus tubes made prior to 1892 might turn up with their stamp.

Anyone else still have affection for damascus tubes?
 
I love Damascus barrels. Especially when finished in the white and black style favoured by American makers (who used Belgian tubes).

I’ve had several Remingtons with Damascus, a Damascus barreled Sauer sidelock and a Lindner made Charles Daly with Damascus tubes. Absolutely beautiful.

Henri Pieper, in addition to making guns under his own name and founding what is now the largest sporting gin maker in the world, FN, also owned a Damascus barrel factory. Their workers were so skilled they could and did create patterns in the barrels that spelled out Pieper’s name.

You must forgive me Steve, for regularly veering over to the Continent, despite this thread being dedicated to the allure of British guns. I find all welll made vintage guns fascinating and purposely try not to use national origin as a measure of the gun. I really adopted the old adage “buy the gun, not the name”.
 
Thanks for the interesting articles. Great information and awesome photos. Noticed the William Powell and son, Birmingham gun. Years ago I owned a 16 gauge box lock marked William Powell and Son Rygate. Would that be the same maker? It was a well-built gun.
 
You must forgive me Steve, for regularly veering over to the Continent, despite this thread being dedicated to the allure of British guns. I find all welll made vintage guns fascinating and purposely try not to use national origin as a measure of the gun. I really adopted the old adage “buy the gun, not the name”.
All is forgiven, James. It's hard to disentangle Britain from the Continent when talking fine guns. And impossible where barrels are concerned.
 
I've been away from my computer for a couple weeks but while I was away was thinking about the Allure thread and that composite barrels would make a great subject. Pinfire, you had discussed British machine-made tubes with me at the classic. I will have to watch out for Rose barrel stamps in the future.
 
We could look at a lot of British guns without necessarily getting closer to answering the question about why these guns have a special attraction. Perhaps we recognize something in Britain's shooting culture which appeals to us. Each country has had a slightly different gunmaking world and shooting culture, influenced by history, societal structure, and game species. In Britain, shooting was heavily influenced by social stratification. People with spare time, spare cash, and access to land were generally limited to the wealthy and noble classes. A gentleman didn’t have to work, so he found other activities, interests and pastimes to amuse himself. (Sort of like being retired, and writing for fun about guns…?) The sporting gun trade was limited in scope for a long time in Britain, where the peak of success for a gunmaker was measured by selling a few dozen guns annually.

The growth of the shooting culture, and the artistry and science of gunmaking, needed encouragement. What Britain did have was a steady stream of weekly publications, produced year after year, devoted to gentlemanly pursuits that included shooting. All countries had authors (including gunmakers) putting out books and pamphlets. On the Continent, a few monthly publications did crop up, with the most successful being Le Chasseur français, published in France starting in 1885, and still going. However, Britain had its weekly newspapers, such as Bell's Life in London and Sporting Chronicle, a British weekly sporting paper published between 1822 and 1886. This paper would face stiff competition against the weekly newspapers The Field (1853-present, now a monthly magazine), Sporting Life (1859-1998), The Sportsman (1865-1922), and The Sporting Times (1865-1932). While these tilted heavily towards horse racing news, other sports and interests were also covered. Weekly magazines also popped up, the most notable one being Shooting Times & Country Magazine (1882-present, notable for never having missed a single issue, despite the inconvenience of two world wars).

The most influential and consequential in terms of shooting and gunmaking was, without doubt, The Field. Books and pamphlets were influential, but a new medium, the weekly sporting newspapers, offered information, commentary, a floor for debate, and the active participation of a substantial readership. None were more influential to the development of the pin-fire gun in Britain than The Field, whose first edition of 1 January 1853 coincided with the appearance of breech-loaders. The Field was the brainchild of the novelist Robert Smith Surtees, more widely known as R. S. Surtees. Though a London publication, he wished to see an illustrated newspaper aimed at sportsmen, landowners, farmers, hunters, and generally country gentlemen with interests outside of London’s urban landscape. His founding editor, Mark Lemon, was chief adviser at The Illustrated London News at the time. Lemon had previously co-founded, with Henry Mayhew, the humorous paper Punch in 1841. The Field was published every Saturday morning, in time for rapid dispatch by train and post to points beyond, at the price of sixpence per copy.

Trying to find one’s niche in the newspaper market was a continuous concern for The Field, and its focus and coverage of sport-related subjects varied greatly over time, as with how it titled itself. In its first decade, The Field started as a gentleman’s sporting and family newspaper, with the official title being “The Field or Country Gentleman’s Newspaper.” Initial circulation was 130,000. From 23 April 1853, the title changed to “The Field Illustrated, or Country Gentleman’s Newspaper.” From 2 December 1854 the title reverted to “The Field; The Country Gentleman’s Newspaper.” From 6 January 1855 to 26 December 1857, the title changed to “The Field, The Farm, The Garden; The Country Gentleman’s Newspaper,” and the inner masthead became “The Field, The Farm, The Garden.” From 2 January 1858, the title was unchanged, but the inner masthead was changed to the shorter “The Field.”

The newspaper tried to be all-encompassing, and was, for a time, one of Europe’s largest newspapers, with a spread of 24 pages. News from the Crimean War was prominently covered (including accounts of battles, including the ‘charge of the Light Brigade’), as well as parliamentary news, royal news, and general high-society events and ‘fashionable intelligence’ (aka gossip). Regular sporting section headings included Sport and Sportsmen, The Turf (horse racing), Hunting (with horse and hounds), Angling, Coursing, Yachting and Rowing, and Shooting. More general subjects as The Library, The Naturalist, The Country House, The Garden, The Farm, The Veterinarian, and Poultry and Pigeons rounded out the rural-themed content, and a Pastimes section included falconry, cricket, chess, archery, swimming, racquets, wrestling, fencing, billiards, skating, golf, whist and croquet. In sections more relevant to London life, there was Amusements (theatre and plays), News of the Week, The Court, The Army, The Navy, and The Church. Any one issue might not include all of these headings, and others might appear somewhat randomly, such as Freemasonry and Masonic Intelligence, or news of the latest and most lurid police cases. In addition, there was usually at least one full page of advertisements touting myriad products befitting the varied subject content; by 1855, the advertising content was closer to three full pages or more, as notices such as properties to let, and positions available, became commonplace. There is no denying that The Field offered something for everyone, in very fine print.

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One can succinctly summarize the decade-long debate of muzzle-loaders versus breech-loaders that occurred within the pages of The Field as a vivid exchange of views that ultimately led to the newspaper proposing and hosting a series of public trials — indeed, this is how most books describe it, if explained at all. While true, it does not adequately reflect the concerns and opinions amongst a very privileged social class, about how best to pursue a leisure activity that relatively few in Britain could enjoy. Shooting was a gentleman’s sport, and the guns that could withstand shooting seasons of thousands of shots fired had to be of high quality and therefore expensive. The pin-fire game gun, then termed a fowling-piece, was not an everyman’s gun, at least not in the 1850s. Neither was a top-grade muzzle-loader.

In the earliest years of the breech-loader in Britain, few were being made locally, and these were usually expensive and exclusive. One option was to bring in a French or Belgian gun after travelling to the Continent. Others preferred to have British-marked guns, that were imported by local gunmakers either complete or partially finished. Styles of these varied from the traditional Lefaucheux pattern with a forward-facing underlever, to more varied sorts of actions, such as the sliding-barrel Bastin Brothers action pictured previously, and Beringer actions.

Beatus Beringer, a gunmaker of Paris and St. Étienne, obtained 29 patents in the 1830s and 1840s, almost all dealing with breech-loading guns. He invented the “Système Beringer,” which allowed his guns to fire either pin-fire cartridges or percussion caps and loose powder (with removable breech chambers). His guns functioned with a rearward-facing under-lever, whose shape also formed the trigger guard bow. I do not have an original Beringer, but I have this 16-bore pin-fire game gun signed by Robert Marrison of Great Orford Street, Norwich, built with a Belgian copy of the Beringer lever. In outward appearance, it looks like a typical Beringer gun, with a short wooden fore-end and a rearward under-lever that doubles as the trigger guard. The design originated in the mid-1830s. By the 1850s, the Beringer patent was no longer protected, and Jean Louis Mathieu Godin of Herstal, Belgium, made this action. The damascus barrels have both Liège and London proofs. The fore-end is permanently attached, and the wood is unchequered. The combined rearward under-lever and trigger guard bow is identical to those on Beringer guns, locking in place with a stud on the rear end of the grip finial. The gun also has a concealed grip-safety (Godin’s patent), where a small stud behind the triggers has to be depressed by the returned underlever before the triggers can be pulled. The double-bite locking nut is based not on Beringer’s design, but Lefaucheux’s, making this gun very much a hybrid. Being a 16 it is a bit lighter, at 6lb 10oz. Dating this gun is a challenge, but my best estimate is 1855 or soon after, as these guns had minimal appeal in Britain. The mid-to-late 1850s is a curious time for breech-loaders in Britain. The new invention was beginning to gain popularity. Still, only a handful of makers knew how to make one, and even if such makers could make 10 or more in a year, they probably had difficulty selling them at high prices to a skeptical market. If the Great Orford Street address rings a bell, it is because the gunmaker Robert Ringer also had his premises there, and I described one of his guns in this thread some days ago. Norwich was close to important shooting estates, so it was a good place to be a provincial gunmaker.

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In my next post, if interest continues, I’ll go back to The Field, and the public trials of 1858 that pitted the tried-and-true muzzle-loader against the upstart breech-loader.
 
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