New to BP shooting and have a question

[mugsie]

I cast and reload all my own bullets from WW's for a variety of revolvers, pistols and rifles. The other day I purchased an 1858 Old Army from Cabellas - my first foray into BP. So now the quesiton - why don't BP balls in revolvers get lubed like cast bullets do? Other than the felt wad behind the ball, I see no lube being applied. Any reason or should I begin to lube them too?

Thanks....

[218bee]

I do not shoot BP revolvers, so take this with a grain of salt, but I thought once bullet is seated in the cylinder you would then fill end of cylinder with lube. I seem to remember that but am not sure. If you do, you want to use a BP lube to keep fouling in barrel soft. Hope that helps and am sure someone more knowledgeable than I will be able to help ya. Good luck and have fun with it.

[Muddy Creek Sam]

mugsie,

I shoot 1851 Navy Colts in SASS, So do lube over the Ball, others use lubed wads, One guy I know lubs the underside of the balls with stiff lube prior to loading. Using lube over the ball can be very messy. I lube my barrel well before matches and use wonderwads. Have never had a problem. I use straight balistol to lube the barrel and white lub on the pin.

Take care,

Sam :-D

[Uncle R.]

I bought a Ruger Old Army in 1973 (?) and Nonte's Black Powder book tought me how to load and shoot it. I filled the chambers with Crisco after seating the balls and it shot good and didn't lead. It WAS kinda messy though - the Crisco got on everything including the inside of my holster.
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A "buckskinner" with full regalia of fringe and skunk-skin cap often shot at our club and was the acknowledged expert on all things blackpowder - at least to a young man like I was at the time. He told me the Crisco wasn't needed - the old-timers never used it - and being young and foolish I believed HIM instead of Nonte.
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Things went along pretty well until I had the cross-fire. Three chambers went off and it sure woke me up! The Old Army is built like a bank vault and nothing was damaged except maybe my skivvies but I learned my lesson. You need SOMETHING to seal those chambers!
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I now use Lee conicals with beeswax in the lube grooves and they seal nicely and shoot well. For round balls I STILL seal with Crisco and it still works fine - and it's still messy. That's why I like the conicals. Got no experience with wads...
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Uncle R.

[SharpsShooter]

I've never used wads in a C&B Revolver. I used Crisco also as a lube/sealer. The first time you have multiple chambers discharge will sure get your attention.

SS

[mugsie]

WOW! Multiple chambers discharging?! What happened? Much damage? Where'd the balls go (the ones in the cylinders!:mrgreen:) Hand OK?

[floodgate]

mugsie:

I've had that happen, mostly with old originals with worn or eroded chambers or undersized balls. If you look at them, you'll see that most C&B revolvers have enough clearance that the ball on either side of the one in battery will fly clear of the frame without much more damage that a smear of lead. The noise level goes up, of course, but I've never been aware of much increase in recoil. Of course, that's why you never want your off hand forward of the cylinder, and why it is best to keep onlookers well back and to the sides. You can see why the Colt .56 caliber M1855 Revolving Rifles were not popular with the troops assigned them - the forends were a bad place to put their off hands - flash burns if not worse. Some of the commercial revolving rifles had the trigger guards formed into a left hand rest.

I once had an original 1960 .44 Army Colt (only $25 back in 1950, and easily replaced) let off five chambers on the first shot - I had replaced the nipples and the new ones were over-long and slammed into the recoil shield; only the RH chamber in line with the capping groove was left unfired. The balls from the other chamber on the right and both on the left went free without damage, but the bottom one blew the rammer downrange and split the rammer tunnel under the barrel - which actually tightened the piece up a bit. I fired off the remaining chamber with no trouble, replaced the rammer, and the nipples with correct ones, and shot it a few more times before retiring it for parts. Again, I was not aware of any great amount of recoil, but my Dad, who was with me, said it made quite a BANG, and the broken rammer looked funny scampering away across the desert!

Floodgate

[Southern Son]

I remember reading on the internet a damn funny story on the internet, called something like "Why I hate black powder." I have tried to find it but can't, the writer tells the story of his first trip to the range with a cap and ball revolver, and what he did with the crisco had me laugh so hard I got head spins. Does anyone else know the story I am talking about?

[45nut]

Why I Don’t Shoot Blackpowder!



Understand that from the time I could put together a rational thought, I’ve been fascinated by guns. My mother used to prop me in front of the little round picture box as a baby so I could watch men on horseback shooting at each other with guns...


The first “real” shooter I owned was a Mattel Fanner 50... it shot Mattel Shootin’ Shells and used Greenie Stick ‘Em caps. I was greased-lightning fast and Grim Reaper deadly with it... for my punishment of erroneous deeds my mom would take the gun away for a few days... dad, on the other hand, used the gunbelt for a more heartily applied punishment to the South end of this Northbound cowpoke. It seems like that gunbelt got as much [applied] use as that Fanner 50. Who knew old people would jump that high when you shot them in the butt? Sorry, Nana... but the bone china tea set dad bought to replace the one you were carrying was much prettier and newer than that 150 year old set you were always bragging to Aunt Gladys about... And Cousin Peter? Sorry about the eye, buddy. But at least it kept you out of the army...

When I was twelve I was shipped off for the summer to church camp, where I was introduced to the joys of the .22 Long Rifle cartridge. There were six shooters in my squad and we could choose from the six semi-auto and two bolt action rifles available. Even then it was evident I’d be a purist: I was the only one to choose a bolt action. While the other kids were busy shooting hundreds of rounds of ammo downrange as quickly as they could, I carefully aimed my bolt action in the general direction of the targets... while actually shooting birds over by the pond like Gary Cooper taught George Tobias to shoot turkeys in Sgt. York– “sorta from back to front...”, and imagining each of those evil birds was wearing a German helmet. I still say the counselors should have told us on Orientation Day. I mean, who even knew there WERE swans, huh? They looked like big ducks wearing holdup masks, if you really want to know the truth. Dad didn’t see it that way, though... especially since he had to pay for the swans– and they didn’t refund the seven weeks’ unused camp tuition when they expelled me, either. Did I mention what dad used my Fanner 50 gunbelt for?


After my exposure to the real thing at camp– albeit for only a brief period– I wasn’t too interested in playing with the Daisy BB guns my friends had. I was above owning one of those childish things... but not above borrowing one to play with every once in awhile. And Ritchie? Sorry about the eye, buddy. But at least it kept you out of the army...

I finally turned eighteen and could [legally] own my own black powder revolver, but I was just a bit short in the savings department. Not being the patient sort, I chose the most expedient means to get the money. As I look back now, I suppose I am sorry those junior high kids couldn’t turn in their paper route money that week...

I’d been looking at a pretty, brass-framed BP revolver in the case at Shattuck’s Hardware for a couple of months, and boy! Was I ever proud the day I went in and plunked down the money for it! Eleven dollars in one dollar bills... and eighteen dollars in quarter and dimes. Old Man Shattuck was a great old guy, whose eyesight, thankfully, had gotten really bad over the years... otherwise he’d have chased me out of the store like he used to after he caught me stealing that Barlow when I was thirteen... but he didn’t recognize me as he sold me the .36 caliber pistol... he even threw in a box of pure lead balls with the pistol and percussion caps when I bought the pound of black powder. I told Mr. Shattuck that I was anxious to shoot it and was heading straight for the dump, and asked him to show me how to load the gun. “It’s pretty simple,” I recall his telling me. “You measure your powder into the cylinder chamber, put a bullet over it, ram it down in with the hinged thing under the barrel, put your cap over a nipple, and you’re set to shoot.” I thanked him for his help and headed for the door.

“One last thing!” he called to me as I was running out the door, “Don’t forget to put grease over your balls! Crisco works fine!” I didn’t understand the need for the last part, but I stopped at Tony’s Grocery and bought a little blue can of Crisco grease. And now... to the dump! Where bottles and cans, rats and crows were just waiting for this ol’ cowboy to do ‘em in!

I replayed Mr. Shattuck’s instructions in my head as I laid out all my gear on the smoothed-out, brown paper bag at my feet. The first thing I realized was that I didn’t have anything to measure the powder with... UNTIL I remembered my knife! I carried one of those folding stag handled camper’s knives– you know, the ones with a fork on one side and a spoon on the other? The spoon was perfect for what I needed! Very carefully (thank heaven there wasn’t any wind blowing) I poured a spoonful of powder from the can into the spoon, then tipped the spoon up and tapped the powder into the cylinder. Sure, I spilled a bunch over because the spoon held so much more, but what the heck! Powder was cheap, back then... and I had plenty to spare...

Being a methodical kind of kid, I filled all six chambers with the powder, managing to spill as much around my feet, I suppose, as I was getting into the cylinder. I can laugh now, but when I bent over to get the bullets all the powder fell out of the cylinders onto my boots... so I had to fill them all over again! I managed to get all the chambers filled with powder and then stuck a bullet into the first cylinder... I had to really tap it in with my knife to get it started... then shoved it in as far as it would go with the rammer thing. I lost a little powder in the process, but eventually I had all six chambers loaded and ready to go. Then I put percussion caps over the things sticking out the ends of the cylinders...

Oops! I forgot a couple of things!

Now, I’ll admit my ignorance about a lot of things... but why I was supposed to smear Crisco on my balls is still a mystery to me. But I figured Old Man Shattuck knew what he was about, so I looked around to make sure I was alone, then dropped my pants to my knees, opened the can of Crisco and began to smear it over Lefty and Righty. Standing there in the hot summer sun, slowly massaging soft, silky grease into my scrotum... gee WHIZ! I guess the old man knew what he was talking about after all ! Welcome to the joys of shooting! I had to force myself out of my reverie...

One last thing and then I’d be ready to shoot... I took my baseball cap off and stuffed it inside my shirt over my left nipple. Okay... I guessed I was ready (except, of course, that in my haste I’d forgotten to pull up my pants...)

Well sir, I crooked my left arm out in front of my face, rested the trigger guard of the pistol in my right hand on it, drew a tight bead on an old Four Roses bottle, and squeezed the trigger. I remember a bright flash, a burning sensation on my arm and face, then something hit me square in the forehead and the lights went out.

It must have been quite sometime later when I awoke. I was laid out across the back seat of Sheriff Miller’s car (I knew this from the plexi-glass partition and a previous ride when I’d been sixteen), the rider’s side door was open and my feet and lower legs were hanging out. As I raised my head to look for the source of the voices I heard I felt like someone had hit me in the head with a sledgehammer. I could see two men in the dim, evening light, just outside the door and within my range of vision. At least, I thought they were two men... I could hear two speaking but they were sorta spinning around and they looked like six. From the voices I knew they were Sheriff Miller and my Dad...

“... busy on another call so the volunteer fire department was the first out here,” I heard the Sheriff explaining to my dad. “Mabel Krutchner called it in... said she saw smoke comin’ from the dump and had heard an awful explosion over this way."


“Near as I can tell from what the firemen say, when they got here they found your boy lying over there. At first they thought he was dead. The dump was on fire all around him, his left arm and face were all black, his boots were scorched pretty badly, he had a HUGE knot on his forehead where somebody’d cold-cocked him... And... well, we think the boy’s been... well, taken advantage of.”


“What do you mean ‘Taken advantage of?’” I heard my dad ask.

“Well, Al, it’s like this,” the Sheriff said. “The first men to get to your boy said he was unconscious; they found part of a gun by his body; his pants were down around his ankles, his crotch was smeared with KY Jelly and he was sportin’ a big boner...”

Then I heard Mr. Shattuck’s voice. “I always knew there was something wrong with that boy...This will probably keep him out of the army...”

And THAT’S why I don’t shoot black powder

[montana_charlie]

And THAT’S why I don’t shoot black powder
You probably don't use Crisco to grease your biscuit pan, either...huh?

[45nut]

I just posted the story, I didn't write it.

[Southern Son]

THAT'S THE ONE 45 NUT. One of the funniest stories I ever read.