"Yes. That's to teach you to respect black powder. Be careful when handling it, especially when you're reloading black-powder weapons. A mistake can injure, potentially even kill you."
"Great."
Ann smiled. "Just keep your wits about you and practice. Now, let's start with the components of ammunition for black-powder weapons. In most historical arms, there was no cartridge case, just loose powder, a projectile called a `ball' and a bit of cloth called a patch, which is greased to help you push the ball down the barrel and to help prevent fouling. During the American Civil War era, a bullet called the minie ball did away with the need for a patch, but it never caught on well with hunters and sportsmen."
Margo said, "Okay, ball and powder and patch. Show me."
Ann demonstrated the whole loading process. "There are two important things to remember about blackpowder firearms. One, be sure the ball is seated all the way to the bottom. Check the length of the ramrod," she showed Margo how, "to be sure you haven't left a gap at the bottom between the back of the barrel and the ball."
"Okay. But why's that important?"
"Remember what I said about thousands of pounds per square inch of pressure inside the cartridge cases of modern guns when smokeless powder begins to burn? Well, black powder doesn't burn, it explodes. If you leave a gap here," she pointed to the bottom end of the barrel, "what you've done, essentially, is build a miniature bomb."
Margo's eyes widened. "Oh."
"Yes. The gun barrel can blow up in your face. The other thing to remember is that sparks can still be smoldering inside the barrel. There isn't any way to get into this end of it. It's all closed up and solid, no breech to open, so you can't just check it. If you try to dump more powder into a hot barrel without swabbing it out first with a wet swab, you could ignite the powder you're pouring in-which could, in turn, set off the powder from the container you're pouring from. That's why you should always load from a measurer that holds just enough powder for one shot. Of course, under battle conditions, you may not have time to swab out the barrel," Ann said with a grin.
Margo had looked massively uncertain.
Ann's "Not to worry. If you hope to use firearms through most of their historical existence, you'll need to master these next lessons, but black-power firearms aren't dangerous so long as you learn what you're doing and pay attention while you're doing it. Power tools in untrained hands are just as dangerous, if not more so. Any questions before we get started?"
Margo glanced back toward Kit, chewed her lower lip, then shook her head. "No. Just show me what I'm supposed to do."
Ann started her on a simple replica Colt 1860 Army black-powder revolver, showing her how to load, prime with percussion caps, and fire six shots. Reloading took another entire two minutes. After Margo mastered the concepts involved, she asked cheerfully, "What's next? I know about flintlocks."
"Very good. And here is a beautiful Kentucky rifle to practice with."
"Ooh! Daniel Boone and settlers on the Cumberland Gap trail and..."
Kit grinned. His granddaughter's romantic notions had finally landed her with a gun she loved. She even did well with it. Malcolm just might win that bet, after all. After the flintlock, Ann took her on to more esoteric types like wheel-locks and even matchlocks.
"How in the world did people keep these things burning?" Margo demanded with a half-hearted laugh the second time her slow-smoldering match went out. "Am I doing something wrong? Or is it really that hard?"
Ann chuckled. "During battles, they'd keep the matches swinging in circles between shots just to be sure. Looked weird as hell during night fighting."
Margo grinned. "I'll bet. Rain must've been a bummer."
"Yes, it did wreak a bit of havoc on a few plans. But then, rain wasn't kind to bow strings, either, or to paper cartridges. Modern guns are nicely weatherproof compared to most projectile weapons. And speaking of other projectile weapons, we need to train you in crossbows and stickbows, recurves ..."
Margo's eyes widened. Then she grinned wickedly. "What, no blowguns? Or atl-atls?"
"Oh, goodie! One of my students finally wants to learn flint-knapping and spear throwing!" '
Kit couldn't help it. He started to chuckle.
Margo turned on him with a hot glare. " "What's so funny?"
"I'm sorry, Margo," he said, still laughing. -But you're so transparent. Learning flint-knapping wouldn't exactly be a waste of time. You literally could end up someplace where stone weapons are the only ones available. Remember that scout who just came back from the Wurm glaciation, did the work on CroMagnon lifestyles?"
"Yeah, I remember reading that. In the Shangri-la Gazette."
"Right And you did see what fell through the ceiling the other day, didn't you?"
Margo rubbed the back of her neck. "Yeah, well, I was thinking about that. What do you do if you come face to face with a wooly rhinoceros or something?"
"Look for the nearest tree," Kit advised. "They're mean-tempered brutes. It took a cooperative effort from multiple hunters to bring them down. As for the `or something,' it depends on what it is. I have a feeling we should add biology and big-game hunting to your curriculum."
She went a little green around the edges.
"Well, there's nothing intrinsically horrible about it," Kit pointed out. "It's useful to know how to kill various species if you're either starving to death or in danger of immediate dismemberment. And I've seen you eat meat, so I know you're not a vegetarian. What do they teach in high school these days?"
"Uh, respect for other living creatures?"
Ann just rolled her eyes.
"Well," Margo thrust her hands into her pockets, "I'm not a vegan or anything, and I like steaks and chicken and stuff and a neighbor gave us some venison once. I've just never had to hunt anything to get a meal. I know I grew up in Minnesota and all, but I've never even been fishing," she admitted with a slow flush that made Kit wonder again what her upbringing had really been.
Kit nodded, pleased that she was finally able to admit she lacked knowledge or skills she needed. "That's all right. Lots of city kids don't. As for respecting animals, there isn't a hunter alive that doesn't respect hell out of major predators. And most hunters respect game animals, too. It's a different mindset, maybe, from what you're used to, but the respect is genuine. Now ... if you plan on stepping through unexplored gates, you'd better know how to forage off the land. Not to mention knowing how to keep local four-footed critters from having you as a light snack between meals. So we'll start you on hunting techniques to get you ready for your first attempt at catching your own food."
"Okay."
"Just remember one thing: try to avoid putting fourfooted creatures on some moral pedestal that bears no resemblance whatsoever to reality. Misjudging animal behavior and motives does the animal no favors and can be fatal to you. I think," he stood up, "I'll head back upstairs now. You're making good progress," he allowed, "but you still have a lot of work ahead of you. Ann, thanks. I'll see you at dinner, Margo. Meet me at the Delight."
"Really?" Margo's face lit up.
"Yes, really," he grinned. "See you this evening."
As he left the range, he heard Ann saying, "Now, this is a very early type of firearm called a pole gun ... ."
CHAPTER TWELVE
Margo was on her way to the Delight when the bones behind her ears began to ache. She frowned and peered toward the nearest chronometer for the scheduled gate postings. "London ... Primary ... Rome ... Denver..." She ran down the whole list, but nothing was due to open. The sensation worsened.
"Oh, no, not again ..."
'Eighty-sixers began to converge. Margo decided she'd better skedaddle, post-haste. She put on a burst of speed-and propelled herself straight through a black rent in the air that appeared smack in front of her. She screamed and plunged through the gate before she could halt her forward momentum. She had a brief, tunnel-vision view of a broad, silver river in flood stage, long low banks that sloped gently up to what appeared to be a vast flat plain, and a walled city. A two-part fortified bridge with a tower spanned the river. Standing at the crest of a low, open hill, the city clearly commanded a strategic position overlooking the river. Twin spires of a white stone cathedral were visible above the city walls. Between Margo and the walls ...