Papa's got a brand new mag. Dept.

Shiloh’s Pride ...a tale of desperation and triumph...

Out to the range at break of day,
Bringin’ a Winchester—such dismay.
Downin' steel's a shuddering chore
With hits that 'plink' from a thirty bore,
And terrible groups for a grumblin' score
With a forty-five from a furrin shore,
And a Shiloh eighteen months away.

A promisin' looker that seventy-four,
The forty-five from the furrin shore;
There's folks, it's true, who can group 'em cold,
But a chamber reamer went uncontrolled
And made a barrel with a kink, I'm told,
Flingin' each careful cast astray.
And a Shiloh eighteen months away.

Sent chamber casts—with the kink—by post
To the land of corn, and the furrin coast
With an eloquent note, writ most polite
On a factory fault in obvious sight.
Though a second owner's inherited plight,
Steel is steel, please make this right.
'Non possiamo, eez-a not our way'
@%&#$!! (as one might say).
Our good man Bill was called that day
For a Shiloh just five months away.

A number three with a long grained stock
And feathery case on the lever and lock,
Where metal-to-wood will show no slack.
The right trued barrel in velvet black,
With Baldwin & Axtell, front and back.
Two and four tenths for the fire formed tube
To fit big bullets and lots of lube.
And expectation begins to weigh
With the Shiloh only a month away.

Shapin' a Lancaster spreads a mess
In a shop sized right for a one lung press;
"Clear the bench!" came the anguished cry,
"Bring brass and the paper patch supply,
And where the hell is that long trim die?"
With the simmering pot in flux and smoke
The smooth-sides roll from the mould from Hoch,
'Slice them sprues with a single stroke!'
No head for work, no sports hold sway
With the Shiloh only a week away.

Tossed and turned through a half slept night
By a curious dream of a dazzling sight;
Formed up at the sides of the marching grounds
Were columns and ranks of tall brass rounds;
Away in the distance a bugle sounds.
Then passing between this picketed track
Came a caisson waggon, extended back
For a rifle carried in a stalwart rack.
Saw the sun on wood and receiver gleam,
Saw a skinner rein from the front crossbeam,
Drawn by a twenty-one buffalo team...
Awoke with a start and...what the hey?!
Waugh! that Shiloh gits hyar today!

Hurrah! hurrah for the Shiloh clan!
Hurrah! for their excellent plan!
And ever, where white smoke rises high
Toward the dome of the silhouette sky,
The one-shot shooters will praise the name
Of the Shiloh-Sharps—to glorious fame!
The handsome rifle of Christian’s wright,
Raised to their craftsmen’s practiced height.
And worth the dollars and months away,
Like damned few things in life, I say.

   posted by Stephen at 9:28 PM | Plink