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Top image courtesy Colt.com
Colt—the name has stood for great firearms for nearly two centuries. From the first Paterson revolver of 1837 to the M16 rifle, millions of people have bought, bartered or stolen to acquire a Colt gun. With its long and storied history Colt conjures up a plethora of images at the mention of the name. Some wax nostalgic over the elegant cap-and-ball revolver models of 1836, ’51 and ’60. Others lean toward the notion that pistol development reached its pinnacle with the Browning-designed 1911.
Still others get giddy over the gorgeous Python. But there is no doubt that the one gun that has defined Colt for some 144 years is the Model 1873 Single Action Army (SAA) revolver, a.k.a Model P or Peacemaker. Twice the company has tried to jettison this revolver and focus its business on more modern arms, and thrice the demand from people from all over the world has compelled Colt to bring the SAA back into production. 
Many incorrectly credit Samuel Colt with inventing the revolver, citing the well-known tale of his time aboard the ship Corgo on a voyage to Calcutta where he observed the ship’s wheel could be locked into position via a capstan on the spokes. It is on that voyage that the 16-year-old seaman carved a wooden prototype of a pepperbox revolver.
However, the revolver was actually first invented in the late 16th century in Europe and was nothing more than expensive curiosity. What Colt did is take the concept and figure out how to manufacture it into a workable firearm. He was also the one who first made the use of interchangeable parts a practical reality in the manufacturing process. Colt died in 1862 of complications of gout.
His net worth at the time of his death was about $15 million—about $350 million in today’s dollars—and though his company had gone through several fits and spurts, the percussion revolvers made under the Colt name were used by militaries, lawmen, outlaws and citizens throughout the world.
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In 1849 Rollin White went to work for Colt making revolver barrels one at a time on a lathe. While working at Colt he came up with the idea of a bored-through cylinder that could be loaded from the breech. In the meantime Colt had put White under contract to manufacture the lockworks of revolvers. Colt was reportedly more concerned with marketing its revolvers than improving them.
When White attempted to pursue an improvement on the Colt design he was summarily fired. In 1855 White patented his bore-through cylinder design. Though White’s patent was an ultimately futile attempt to improve on the cap-and-ball concept, Smith & Wesson realized that the bored-through cylinder deign would be necessary to allow the use of a self-contained, breech-loading cartridge. A year later White signed an exclusive agreement with rival Smith & Wesson to manufacture the first cartridge repeating revolvers.
Colt could not work on a bored-through cylinder for its revolvers without paying arch competitor S&W a royalty until 1869. During this time Colt engineers William Mason and Charles Richards put forth some conversion concepts resulting in the 1871-72 Open Top revolver chambered in .44 Henry rimfire. Colt submitted the revolver to the army for testing, but it was rejected. The army wanted a more powerful cartridge and a more robust revolver than an open-top. Mason is credited with adding the topstrap to the design.
Concurrently Colt and the Union Metallic Cartridge Co. were developing a new cartridge that had more power than anything produced thus far. This new cartridge featured an inside-lubricated bullet that would not pick up dirt and grit in the field.
The bullet was a .454-caliber weighing 255 grains and powered by 40 grains of black powder. It also featured a centerfire primer, a concept developed in 1855 and perfected by several inventors, including Col. Edward Mounier Boxer, a British artillery officer. The cartridge, .45 Colt, was chambered in the new revolver and submitted to the army in 1872. The army accepted both the revolver and the cartridge, and production began in 1873.
Image courtesy Colt.com
The SAA was an instant success, and civilians as well as the military clamored for the robust sidearm. Barrel lengths were 4 3/4″ (often referred to as Gunfighter), 5 1/2″(a.k.a Artillery) and 7 1/2″ (Cavalry or standard). Initially the frame and hammer were color casehardened with the remainder of the metal parts deeply blued. Stocks were either walnut or black hard rubber. Sights consisted of a blade front and a groove in the topstrap for the rear.
Its cylinder held six cartridges, but those who carried one daily soon learned to carry five cartridges with the hammer down on an empty chamber. There is no hammer or firing pin block on an SAA so the pin would rest directly on the primer of a cartridge under it, thus making the real possibility of an accidental blow to the hammer or dropping of the gun resulting in something perforated that was never intended to be perforated.
The correct method to load an SAA, by the way, is to bring the hammer to half-cock to free the cylinder, load one cartridge, skip one cylinder and load the remaining four. Then bring the hammer to full cock—this is important—and lower it onto the empty chamber.
Loading this way ensures the hammer will always be on an empty chamber and should prevent the user from looking at the front of the cylinder with the barrel pointed at his head to see bullet noses. Too, lowering the hammer from half-cock to its resting position does not allow the locking bolt to register in a cylinder notch. Not only is this not a safe way to pack the gun, it wears an unsightly groove in the cylinder.
Image courtesy Colt.com
As Colt developed the SAA, Winchester also came out with an improved lever-action rifle that was introduced at the same time. The 1873 Winchester was chambered in an equally new center-fire cartridge developed by Winchester, the .44-40 Winchester Center Fire. Cowboys, frontiersmen, settlers and explorers of the west decided it would be real handy to have a rifle and six-gun chambered in identical cartridges, so in 1877 the first SAA was chambered in the Winchester round. It was called the Frontier Six-Shooter. Eventually the revolver would be chambered in some 36 different cartridges ranging from .22 LR to .476 Eley and including the .44 Magnum (very few—I’ve heard of just two examples).
Collectors have divvied the SAA into three generations. First-generation SAAs (1873 – 1941) were initially made with iron frames that were color casehardened to withstand the higher pressures of the cartridges that were being developed. They also have removable bushings in the cylinder that support the base pin. Up until 1896 the base pin latch was retained by a screw. After serial number 164,100 the base pin latch was spring loaded.
Four years later steel metallurgy had improved to the point that Colt certified the SAA capable of being used with smokeless powder. Today a relic, non-shooting example of a first-gen SAA will fetch as much as $8,000, and a near 100-percent sample will go for somewhere north of 50 grand. Those with historical provenance…well, the sky is the limit.
Colt first attempted to retire the SAA after World War II. The tooling was pretty much worn out, and the company wanted to focus on more modern designs. That made perfect sense until television renewed the interest in cowboys and rugged frontiersmen ways of life. An upstart by the name of Bill Ruger brought out a close copy of the SAA called the Blackhawk and began selling the pants off of Colt. Jumping like a gut-shot grizzly, Colt quickly retooled and brought out the Second-generation SAA in 1956.
Second-generation guns had some smaller improvements in manufacturing but are nearly identical to the first-generation guns. The hammers on second-generation revolvers are blued with polished white sides. Numerous variations including the long-barreled Buntline—cashing in on the television show “The Life and Legend of Wyatt Earp,” starring the recently departed Hugh O’Brien—Sheriff’s model and an adjustable sighted New Frontier model in 1961 were produced. By 1974 interest had waned again and Colt decided to cease further manufacture.
The shooting public would have no such nonsense regarding a favorite, though. Enough of us sunk the spurs into Colt to cause it to rethink that decision and in 1976 the third-generation SAA was brought out. Third-generation SAAs have a solid cylinder bushing press fitted to the cylinder and a different thread pitch for the barrel and frame. Though not the hot seller that modern polymer semi-autos are, the demand remains steady for the iconic SAA.
When it was first introduced the SAA could be bought with a $20 gold piece. The price is nearly the same. Today the MSRP of a Colt SAA is $1,499 for a blue model; $1,699 for an all-nickel-plated gun—which is about the same spot price for an ounce of gold.
Volumes have been written on the SAA—no surprise since anything that has been so much a part of a civilization for nearly a century and a half is bound to have had every nuance of it examined. It has been the tool of cavalrymen, cowboys, lawmen and outlaws. Whether used to protect and defend, an ersatz hammer to pound fence staples or as a movie star, the Colt Single Action Army has delivered every time. Rusty relic or pristine safe queen the SAA carries with it an elegance and panache few manmade objects could command.
Will’s Civil War-era cannonball (above) originated from the guns of a Union gunboat that once plied the waters of the
Mississippi during the War Between the States.
The Bormann time fuse was a simple powder train arranged underneath something like a clock face. The gunner turned
the fuse with a key and punched through the desired time delay with an awl. The train was supposed to ignite upon firing,
but Bormann fuses suffered a 50 percent failure rate in combat.
America, while still the finest place on earth to live, seems awash in a sundry of tribulations these days. Our moral compass spins faster than the federal government’s debt clock, and verifiable examples of sound judgment in Washington seem skimpier than Paris Hilton’s wardrobe. In addition to these oft-lamented ills, there also seems to be a precipitous and unprecedented decline and dearth of Dads.
Mind you, we’ve got scads of fathers. You can’t swing a dead cat in a public venue without striking a male who has fathered a child. But what we are really growing short on is good old-fashioned, share-an-address-with-his-children Dads. The impetus behind this contemporary pestilence is a complex contagion, but I am blessed with such a Dad, and I am proudly one myself. There are some interesting perks a man can expect from the job.
Mine was a fairly rural upbringing, and we Dabbs men have always prided ourselves on being able woodsmen. My own Dad was out squirrel hunting many years ago when he happened upon what looked like a piece of fruit half buried in the mud. This particular strand of Delta forest was on the wet side of the Mississippi River levee and as such had flooded vigorously every spring since the very beginning of time. Being a typical inquisitive American male, my dad acquired a stick and poked it. The incongruous item turned out to be, much to his surprise, a dud Civil War-era cannonball. As he and I share an unfortunate amount of genetic material, he did exactly what I would have done––he innocently picked it up and carried it home.
When this particular cannonball was fired in retaliation in 1862, weapons of war were far simpler. The naval cannon involved
was smoothbore and driven by blackpowder.
Obligatory Disclaimer
Before half the world writes in with colorful observations of what a rank idiot I am, this amusing little tome does indeed have a happy ending. However, never disturb or relocate unexploded ordnance. Your local Law Enforcement officials can put you in contact with the proper agencies for managing such things. The anecdote related herein occurred many years ago. My dad and I are both older and wiser now. The story is related solely for its entertainment value. Testosterone is the most potent poison known to man and many a voyage across the River Styx was indeed launched with the otherwise-innocent question, “I wonder what that does?” Now, back to our tale.
As my dad was walking to his Jeep with the heavy bomb hoisted upon his shoulder, he kept wondering what people would think if it spontaneously detonated. He doubted much would subsequently be discovered of his remains beyond his two smoldering boots. A typical local bait shop discussion might go something like this––“I heard Woody was out squirrel hunting the other day and just blowed slap up. I seem to recall the same thing happened to Billy Ray back in ’73.”
Anyway, he got the thing to the house, aggressively photographed it, and entombed the entire affair in the backyard. On my next free weekend, I made my way home. At the time, I was a mechanical engineer/former Army helicopter pilot grinding his way through medical school. Between the two of us, we had exactly zero useful professional expertise to lend to this unusual undertaking.
At cursory glance, the thing looked like a rusted version of the “Death Star” from the Star Wars movies. It was a typical example of hollow shot fired from the Union gunboats that plied the Mississippi River some nearly 150 years ago during the War Between the States. The iron ball incorporated a Bormann time fuse. This soft metal insert sports something akin to a clock face replete with embossed numbers. Prior to firing, the gunner would punch through the number corresponding to the desired time delay with an awl and load the bomb fuse-forward. Fiery blowby would supposedly ignite the black powder train enclosed therein and detonate the ball the appropriate distance from the gun. Bormann fuses suffered roughly a 50 percent failure rate in combat.
There had been a minor skirmish involving the nearby port town of Friars Point, Mississippi, where Union forces occupied the town and, for reasons lost to history, burned all the churches to the ground. Angry locals fired upon the moored gunboats from the banks of the river, and Union forces peppered the surrounding countryside with random cannonade. The sketchy performance of the Bormann fuse is the reason our example remained intact. Satisfied the fusing system was a simple waterlogged powder train and not some dangerous clockwork contrivance, we advanced to the next stage of our adventure.
Civil War-era gunboats were remarkably complex vessels for their time. Steam-powered and heavily armed, these
leviathans projected Union combat power along the vital Mississippi River. The cannonball depicted in this article was
fired in 1862 from a gunboat similar to this one. Photo courtesy: US National Archives.
Technical Details
We procured a drill press, mounted it atop an old tabletop and headed out to the woods in my folks’ gosh-awful-huge motor home. Behind the RV we pulled a boat trailer loaded solely with a pickle bucket full of sand ridiculously over-secured with heavy nylon tie-down straps. As this is not a particularly atypical sight in the rural Deep South, we aroused little suspicion. Upon arrival at the base of the Mississippi River levee, we ran 300 feet of orange extension cord out into the forest and tied a comparable length of trotline to the drill press handle. We gently removed the sand from the bucket and replaced it with water to keep everything cool, fired up the RV generator and were in business. We had acquired a large rubber gasket upon which to place the rusty cannonball so as to retain it securely within our contraption. I oriented our proposed 1/4-inch breach 90 degrees out from the fuse.
Imagine if you will, the sight of two nominally grown men crouched in trepidation behind a large fallen log next to a motor home, big enough for its own zip code, parked at the base of the Mississippi River levee. Now picture we are also gently tugging a trotline snaking off blindly into the woods. This bizarre sight greeted the game warden as he pulled up alongside us in his big green cop truck.
No, this isn’t Will and his dad extracting gunpowder from their cannonball. Note the lack of safety equipment?
These Union troops had none as they extracted the gunpowder from captured Confederate torpedoes.
Photo courtesy: US National Archives
Law Enforcement Involved
“What you boys up to?” the cop inquired amicably. My dad and I looked at each other, and after a moment’s reflection I said, “Drilling a hole in an old cannonball?” They say honesty is always the best policy.
Now this is one of the countless things I do truly love about the rural Deep South. Had we lived in New York, New Jersey, California, or some similarly storied locale, we’d undoubtedly be immediately clapped in irons, transferred to some special dungeon and labeled a father-and-son homegrown terrorist squadron. However, as we live in God’s country down here in Mississippi (don’t knock it––at least our air is still invisible), this upstanding officer of the law simply said, “Cool. Don’t blow yourselves up.”
We socialized for a bit before he wished us good fortune in our undertaking and drove off. It turns out he was simply concerned we might be trying to camp at the base of the levee, a practice indeed verboten per local statute. Convinced our sojourn was but temporary he departed placated.
The entire process took about 3 hours. We gently tugged on the trotline for a few minutes then unplugged the extension cord to allow everything to cool off while we visited together in safety behind the ample fallen log. We repeated the process as needed while surveilling the ball through a pair of binoculars. When finally we had the hole bored, we allowed another 1/2 hour for cooling and squirted a bit of chilled motor oil into the hole as a spot of insurance.
The cannonball now rests proudly on my mantle, minus the 1/2-pound of quite volatile Yankee black powder it once contained, the very centerpiece of my ever-expanding cool guy-stuff collection. Additionally, Dad and I had an absolute blast together (figuratively, of course) and but for the grace of God got neither killed nor arrested.
The world is awash in fathers, but what it needs is more Dads. Will thanks the Lord every day for his dad.
Musings
deactivating Civil War-era artillery rounds. It is in the murky spaces between these two ends of the spectrum where profound happiness resides. My own three kids are grown nowadays, and were we to serendipitously trip over a Civil War-era cannonball today, we would indeed leave its recovery to the professionals. However, while we did our share of romping and stomping through the woods together, truth be told, they were not necessarily the greatest beneficiaries of our adventures. This notion has added a depth and richness to my life not to be found in the more civilized pursuits. In the broad field of human accomplishment, little brings quite so much satisfaction, if well executed, as the rewarding job of being a Dad. To my own Dad, thanks. I love you.