Having read about and researched backcountry Rev War battles for years, it seemed high time I loaded and fired a flintlock rifle for myself. I got the chance a couple of days ago, thanks to some of our living history volunteers at Marble Springs.
I’m not that familiar with modern guns, so on the rare occasions when I fire them, somebody usually has to walk me through it. (“Here, pull that thing back. No, not that one. Wait, the safety’s still on.”) The weird thing about preparing to fire the flintlock was that I pretty well knew what to do at each step, since a lot of the books I’d read described the whole process from start to finish. It felt a bit like doing something you’d done many times before but hadn’t done for a long while.
The biggest surprise was the recoil—or rather the lack of it. Compared to the modern weapons I’ve fired, the flintlock was very easy on the shoulder. It was more like a firm nudge than a kick.
It did take quite a bit more effort to ram the round than I expected. Of course, I’d read enough about eighteenth-century weapons to know that you needed a fair amount of elbow grease to load a firelock with a rifled barrel. But the experience of actually doing it for myself drove the lesson home, just as my brief stint as a Rev War artilleryman a few years ago gave me a more visceral appreciation of statements I’d read in veterans’ accounts. I think that visceral sort of knowledge is useful, even if you won’t always be able to convey it in your research and writing.