Antique American firearms turn me on, and in particular, a Sharps' carbine, first patented in the US in 1848. Naturally it was love at first sight. But it was far away, even if so close. It was being offered at a London auction house. For competition I had a myriad of dealers who knew their way around the place a lot better than I did, and were not consumed by both fear and anxiety; the rest who weren't dealers, were probably just plain folk like me who wanted the gun almost as much as I did. I say "almost" because this gun was my history and my heritage, and not theirs. It could never have the same meaning for them as it did for me, even though this one was brought over, along with numerous others, for use with the British Cavalry

It was a breech-loading arm, that fired a single, initially complete cartridge, but which was chopped off at the back, exposing the powder, ignited by a cap - with this arm, a roll of caps. There were problems, eventually overcome, strongly motivated by a need to be able to fire a whole cartridge from the breech, and not endure the painfully slow process hitherto employed. Between 1861 and 1866 the US Government bought more than 89,000 of these arms for use in the Civil War, which evolved to employing full blown copper cartridges toward the end of the war. Southern forces, probably better led, but still using muzzle-loaders, never had a chance.

The British liked the gun, bought, initially, a thousand of them, soon afterwards, bought another five thousand, all at twenty five dollars each. It was an arm used in the American West, including in confrontations with Indians. But by 1881, Sharps' the gun maker had ceased to function.

At the auction house, I met my good friend Hughie Thornton, who knows his way around guns better than most. I expressed my interest in the Sharps', in which case, Hughie, true gentleman he is, said he wouldn't bid against me. But there were large numbers about who weren't quite so considerate. The bidding started off with enthusiasm, and it wasn't long before I was getting queasy, and emotionally prepared to let somebody else have my gun. "Bid!" Hughie urged me. So I did. But I got topped. I was ready to drop out. Hughie wouldn't let me. "Bid!" he kept shouting, "Bid!" I think he was shouting. Maybe he was just whispering.

He obviously wanted me to have that gun, and while the thought of money was obviously there, it was also not there, or maybe I just repressed it. Pusillanimous though I was from the start, and even more so as the bidding continued, I wasn't being allowed to falter. The last voice I heard was my own. Could be it wasn't a voice, but my heart thumping. In reality it was my arm that was the last one raised. I had bought a Sharps.

© Sidney Du Broff, 2010