During the War of the Rebellion, a new and influential club was
established in the city of Baltimore in the State of Maryland. It
is well known with what energy the taste for military matters
became developed among that nation of ship-owners, shopkeepers, and
mechanics. Simple tradesmen jumped their counters to become
extemporized captains, colonels, and generals, without having ever
passed the School of Instruction at West Point; nevertheless; they
quickly rivaled their compeers of the old continent, and, like
them, carried off victories by dint of lavish expenditure in
ammunition, money, and men.
But the point in which the Americans singularly distanced the
Europeans was in the science of gunnery. Not, indeed, that their
weapons retained a higher degree of perfection than theirs, but
that they exhibited unheard-of dimensions, and consequently
attained hitherto unheard-of ranges. In point of grazing, plunging,
oblique, or enfilading, or point-blank firing, the English, French,
and Prussians have nothing to learn; but their cannon, howitzers,
and mortars are mere pocket-pistols compared with the formidable
engines of the American artillery.
This fact need surprise no one. The Yankees, the first
mechanicians in the world, are engineers— just as the Italians are
musicians and the Germans metaphysicians— by right of birth.
Nothing is more natural, therefore, than to perceive them applying
their audacious ingenuity to the science of gunnery. Witness the
marvels of Parrott, Dahlgren, and Rodman. The Armstrong, Palliser,
and Beaulieu guns were compelled to bow before their transatlantic
rivals.
Now when an American has an idea, he directly seeks a second
American to share it. If there be three, they elect a president and
two secretaries. Given four, they name a keeper of records, and the
office is ready for work; five, they convene a general meeting, and
the club is fully constituted. So things were managed in Baltimore.
The inventor of a new cannon associated himself with the caster and
the borer. Thus was formed the nucleus of the "Gun Club." In a
single month after its formation it numbered 1,833 effective
members and 30,565 corresponding members.
One condition was imposed as a sine qua non upon every candidate
for admission into the association, and that was the condition of
having designed, or (more or less) perfected a cannon; or, in
default of a cannon, at least a firearm of some description. It
may, however, be mentioned that mere inventors of revolvers,
fire-shooting carbines, and similar small arms, met with little
consideration. Artillerists always commanded the chief place of
favor.
The estimation in which these gentlemen were held, according to
one of the most scientific exponents of the Gun Club, was
"proportional to the masses of their guns, and in the direct ratio
of the square of the distances attained by their projectiles."
The Gun Club once founded, it is easy to conceive the result of
the inventive genius of the Americans. Their military weapons
attained colossal proportions, and their projectiles, exceeding the
prescribed limits, unfortunately occasionally cut in two some
unoffending pedestrians. These inventions, in fact, left far in the
rear the timid instruments of European artillery.
It is but fair to add that these Yankees, brave as they have
ever proved themselves to be, did not confine themselves to
theories and formulae, but that they paid heavily, _in propria
persona_, for their inventions. Among them were to be counted
officers of all ranks, from lieutenants to generals; military men
of every age, from those who were just making their debut in the
profession of arms up to those who had grown old in the
gun-carriage. Many had found their rest on the field of battle
whose names figured in the "Book of Honor" of the Gun Club; and of
those who made good their return the greater proportion bore the
marks of their indisputable valor. Crutches, wooden legs,
artificial arms, steel hooks, caoutchouc jaws, silver craniums,
platinum noses, were all to be found in the collection; and it was
calculated by the great statistician Pitcairn that throughout the
Gun Club there was not quite one arm between four persons and two
legs between six.
Nevertheless, these valiant artillerists took no particular
account of these little facts, and felt justly proud when the
despatches of a battle returned the number of victims at ten-fold
the quantity of projectiles expended.
One day, however— sad and melancholy day!— peace was signed
between the survivors of the war; the thunder of the guns gradually
ceased, the mortars were silent, the howitzers were muzzled for an
indefinite period, the cannon, with muzzles depressed, were
returned into the arsenal, the shot were repiled, all bloody
reminiscences were effaced; the cotton-plants grew luxuriantly in
the well-manured fields, all mourning garments were laid aside,
together with grief; and the Gun Club was relegated to profound
inactivity.
Some few of the more advanced and inveterate theorists set
themselves again to work upon calculations regarding the laws of
projectiles. They reverted invariably to gigantic shells and
howitzers of unparalleled caliber. Still in default of practical
experience what was the value of mere theories? Consequently, the
clubrooms became deserted, the servants dozed in the antechambers,
the newspapers grew mouldy on the tables, sounds of snoring came
from dark corners, and the members of the Gun Club, erstwhile so
noisy in their seances, were reduced to silence by this disastrous
peace and gave themselves up wholly to dreams of a Platonic kind of
artillery.
"This is horrible!" said Tom Hunter one evening, while rapidly
carbonizing his wooden legs in the fireplace of the smoking-room;
"nothing to do! nothing to look forward to! what a loathsome
existence! When again shall the guns arouse us in the morning with
their delightful reports?"
"Those days are gone by," said jolly Bilsby, trying to extend
his missing arms. "It was delightful once upon a time! One invented
a gun, and hardly was it cast, when one hastened to try it in the
face of the enemy! Then one returned to camp with a word of
encouragement from Sherman or a friendly shake of the hand from
McClellan. But now the generals are gone back to their counters;
and in place of projectiles, they despatch bales of cotton. By
Jove, the future of gunnery in America is lost!"
"Ay! and no war in prospect!" continued the famous James T.
Maston, scratching with his steel hook his gutta-percha cranium.
"Not a cloud on the horizon! and that too at such a critical period
in the progress of the science of artillery! Yes, gentlemen! I who
address you have myself this very morning perfected a model (plan,
section, elevation, etc.) of a mortar destined to change all the
conditions of warfare!"
"No! is it possible?" replied Tom Hunter, his thoughts reverting
involuntarily to a former invention of the Hon. J. T. Maston, by
which, at its first trial, he had succeeded in killing three
hundred and thirty-seven people.
"Fact!" replied he. "Still, what is the use of so many studies
worked out, so many difficulties vanquished? It's mere waste of
time! The New World seems to have made up its mind to live in
peace; and our bellicose Tribune predicts some approaching
catastrophes arising out of this scandalous increase of
population."
"Nevertheless," replied Colonel Blomsberry, "they are always
struggling in Europe to maintain the principle of
nationalities."
"Well?"
"Well, there might be some field for enterprise down there; and
if they would accept our services——"
"What are you dreaming of?" screamed Bilsby; "work at gunnery
for the benefit of foreigners?"
"That would be better than doing nothing here," returned the
colonel.
"Quite so," said J. T. Matson; "but still we need not dream of
that expedient."
"And why not?" demanded the colonel.
"Because their ideas of progress in the Old World are contrary
to our American habits of thought. Those fellows believe that one
can't become a general without having served first as an ensign;
which is as much as to say that one can't point a gun without
having first cast it oneself!"
"Ridiculous!" replied Tom Hunter, whittling with his bowie-knife
the arms of his easy chair; "but if that be the case there, all
that is left for us is to plant tobacco and distill whale-oil."
"What!" roared J. T. Maston, "shall we not employ these
remaining years of our life in perfecting firearms? Shall there
never be a fresh opportunity of trying the ranges of projectiles?
Shall the air never again be lighted with the glare of our guns? No
international difficulty ever arise to enable us to declare war
against some transatlantic power? Shall not the French sink one of
our steamers, or the English, in defiance of the rights of nations,
hang a few of our countrymen?"
"No such luck," replied Colonel Blomsberry; "nothing of the kind
is likely to happen; and even if it did, we should not profit by
it. American susceptibility is fast declining, and we are all going
to the dogs."
"It is too true," replied J. T. Maston, with fresh violence;
"there are a thousand grounds for fighting, and yet we don't fight.
We save up our arms and legs for the benefit of nations who don't
know what to do with them! But stop— without going out of one's way
to find a cause for war— did not North America once belong to the
English?"
"Undoubtedly," replied Tom Hunter, stamping his crutch with
fury.
"Well, then," replied J. T. Maston, "why should not England in
her turn belong to the Americans?"
"It would be but just and fair," returned Colonel
Blomsberry.
"Go and propose it to the President of the United States," cried
J. T. Maston, "and see how he will receive you."
"Bah!" growled Bilsby between the four teeth which the war had
left him; "that will never do!"
"By Jove!" cried J. T. Maston, "he mustn't count on my vote at
the next election!"
"Nor on ours," replied unanimously all the bellicose
invalids.
"Meanwhile," replied J. T. Maston, "allow me to say that, if I
cannot get an opportunity to try my new mortars on a real field of
battle, I shall say good-by to the members of the Gun Club, and go
and bury myself in the prairies of Arkansas!"
"In that case we will accompany you," cried the others.
Matters were in this unfortunate condition, and the club was
threatened with approaching dissolution, when an unexpected
circumstance occurred to prevent so deplorable a catastrophe.
On the morrow after this conversation every member of the
association received a sealed circular couched in the following
terms:
BALTIMORE, October 3. The president of the Gun Club has the
honor to inform his colleagues that, at the meeting of the 5th
instant, he will bring before them a communication of an extremely
interesting nature. He requests, therefore, that they will make it
convenient to attend in accordance with the present invitation.
Very cordially, IMPEY BARBICANE, P.G.C.