Speaking of Safety...

Black Powder
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In regards to yesterday's safety bulletin and Juvat's appointment as Cooking Safety Officer, occasional reader RHT447 had this tale to relate:

RHT447April 17, 2018 at 1:39 PM

I recall a particular day in my youth during which the above mentioned safety gear would have been of some benefit. I was in college at the time (post Army hitch) and had packed all my gear and tools over to a friends house so we could cast some bullets. During the course of the day, one of my lead ingots got wet (which I knew). I set it aside, but then got distracted, and when the lead pot got low, sure enough in it went. The reaction is referred to as a steam explosion, and was instantaneous. It was over before I realized what had happened. It sounded like a short, muffled fart. 

Fortunately, I have worn glasses since the second grade. I was also deliberately wearing long sleeves and leather work gloves with gauntlets. There were several splotches of lead on my shirt and left sleeve, but the one that really got my attention was the one completely covering the right lens of my glasses. I got lucky that day. The only scar I still carry is on the inside of my left wrist where a small blob of molten metal went through the gap in the button cuff.

RHT447's tale of woe reminded me of a personal tale where things might have gone south in a real big hurry had luck and Divine Providence not taken a hand in matters.

There I was...*

Back in my days as a callow youth, civilian, handyman by trade, and itinerant Civil War reenactor, I was around that substance in the opening photo quite a bit. Wasn't all that rare to have a can of the stuff stowed at my abode for to go playing with fire sticks like these -

Civil War reenactors fire a volley during a musket firing demonstration.
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Retired Chief Aviation Structural Mechanic Don Reimert, a historical interpreter, fires a flintlock musket during a demonstration.
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I've had the pleasure of firing a Civil War rifle, a Civil War cannon, and various and sundry weapons of the flintlock variety.

RHT447's story reminded me of times when my brethren and I would cast lead bullets for our trusty rifled muskets and head on out to the farm belonging to the father of one of our merry band for to discharge said firearms out in the wilderness far from prying neighbors and the worried glances of the local constabulary.

Sometimes we'd make up cartridges before heading on down to the farm, sometimes we'd wait until we got there. Depended on our mood and the availability of a good place to melt lead and cast bullets. (For some reason I remember casting bullets from pewter as well as lead, sometimes pewter was easier to come by. And no, it's not because I'm so old that I was around when King George III placed on embargo on lead to keep it from us Colonials. Old NFO on the other hand? You'd have to ask him...)

Anyhoo, we decided on this one occasion to head on out to the farm, make bullets and cartridges out there on a rather fine day in summer in the Green Mountain State...

Wait, what? What do I mean by cartridge? Well, they weren't shiny and they weren't made of brass, they looked rather like this...

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Minié ball on the right, powder on the left, and...

Wait, what? Minié ball? What the heck is a Minié ball Sarge? Well, it ain't a mini-ball (little ball), nope, it's named after the French fella who invented it, Claude-Étienne Minié, and it was a nasty little feller who left big holes in the folks it hit.

Assortment of Minié balls.

But yes, I digress.

We had our rifled muskets (my own weapon of choice was an original SN&WTC rifled musket in .58 caliber), a couple of cans of powder, and a sufficient quantity of lead (and paper) to fix up some cartridges for our fire sticks.

Lead was melted and molded into the shape shown above (no incidents of the type RHT447 describes above occurred), powder was measured into paper, Minié balls were added to the mix and we wrapped it all up into immediately usable form. That is, the cartridges weren't nearly as fancy as those shown above and would have fallen apart after a couple of miles on the march in a cartridge box. But we weren't marching anywhere and the cartridges just needed to stay in one piece long enough to load and fire.

Fun times ensued as we expended our on-hand ammunition stock. A decision was made to hang out until the wee hours and perhaps sit around a campfire and imbibe beverages made from hops and barley. No, no, dinna fash yersel', the weapons were put away, we knew better than to mix firearms and strong drink. We were young and pretty stupid, but we weren't that stupid. Mostly.

Anyhoo. The night wore on, the campfire was cozy, the beer was cold(ish) and we had much fun lying to each other about what fine Civil War soldiers we would have made. Almost made me long for a bit o' hard tack now that I think back on it.

Things were wonderful, things were fine, until someone posed the question, "How much powder do we have left? We can camp here tonight, make some more cartridges in the morning, shoot some more, and then go to breakfast. Wouldn't that be special?"

Why yes, yes it would we all agreed. So we turned to the one non-drinker in our tribe and said, "Say Johnny, have a peek and see how much powder we have left."

Now the two cans of powder, still in the manufacturer's authorized metal containers had been dumped into a big coffee can with a plastic lid for easy access while making cartridges (we had a wee spoon thingie for measuring the powder, easier to dip into a big can than pour from a small can). Our Johnny went to collect the can and hefted it to see how much was within, he spoke, "Doesn't feel like much, but I can't really see it. Hold on a minute."

Do you know what doesn't play nicely with black powder? This sort of thing...

Well, it was dark, Johnny thought that a short trip to the fireside would do no harm. When he arrived, some of us were no longer paying attention to him, engrossed in our beer drinking activities we were, so weren't really watching what Johnny was doing.

Now back then coffee cans were big tin cans, sort of, once you opened them, by opening one end completely, you sealed the can with the translucent lid which came with it from the store. Note what I said there, "translucent lid."

So Johnny popped the lid, couldn't really see through it, and tipped the can towards the light. You know, the fire light. From the campfire, which had a number of pine logs in it. Now pine logs, especially the fresh variety, have pitch in them, pine pitch. A sticky, gooey substance which makes delightful pops and sparks when burning.

Did you get that? Sparks.

So as Johnny tipped the can to the light, one of the logs decided that it would be simply wonderful to pop and shoot sparks aloft into the night sky.

Not all of the sparks went aloft, one found it's way someplace it should not have been.

FOOOOOOOM!

Bright lights, loud noises, Johnny screaming, "I'm blind! I'm blind!" Which was true in a very temporary way. He quickly regained the use of his eyes and wondered immediately why the rest of us were laughing hysterically, like a group of loons, crazed, besotted loons.

Well, the powder was all gone, as were Johnny's eyebrows, eyelashes, and quite a bit of the hair in the area of his forehead. He looked rather like this...

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Bit more hair on the sides though than this chap.

Gunpowder and fire, not a good mix outside of the chamber of a fire stick.

Johnny didn't find it all that amusing, like he said, "I could've been blinded for life, that could have blown my head off!"

Well, yes, he was right. But he did look funny and like I said, we were callow.

There are times I wonder how I survived long enough to join the Air Force.




*SJC