Finding two cases of original Trade Flintlocks

[Rod Lassey]

There's an interesting case of a shipment of NW guns sent out to the HBC, that had spliced stocks in the LOCK area! :shake: The factors out at the forts were horrified that guns like that were ever shipped to them. The splices were indistinguishable until they were used or got wet, then they came apart. And then the Indian customer came back, demanding a new gun--not good for business! Those were British guns, as I recall. I'll look up the particulars when I get time.

Rod

 

[whitedog333]

That would've been a good way to loose your customers as well as your hair. Back in 1992, on one of our archaeological projects in southern Belize, Central America, I lived for several weeks in a thatched hut that sat just off the main trail between two Ketchi Mayan villages about 15 miles apart. My job was to unload the truck and pack all the gear and food on horses and mules every week for the Project base camp ten miles away up the jungle trail. While thus occupied, I started a little business of trading with the Indians for ancient Mayan Jade and other interesting things that they'd started to bring to me. These they would find within the fields where they grew their corn. I'd trade batteries, little radios, watches, tobacco, rum, whisky, Pepsi, matches, hammocks, canned fruit, Iced drinks (they'd never seen ice before), etc. I'd hold onto the scotch for myself and my buddy, Wild Bill Walter's who looked like a mountain man with his long beard and his long hair and hairy body. We'd often awaken in the morning to find several Indians standing around patiently waiting for us to open our eyes. They were very shy but very sharp. I traded an old empty canteen to one of them one day and down the jungle trail and around the bend he went, only to come back in a minute with a full canteen that had water dripping out of a hole in the side. Where he got the water beats me because I'd been hiking a half mile down to the river below to get my water every other day. Anyway, he indicated to me that he was not a happy customer and so I took back the canteen and gave him his choice of whatever else he wanted to keep the peace. Again, later on, another Indian walked five miles to my camp to complain that the radio I'd traded him had weak batteries and wouldn't work. He'd brought three hot sweet potatoes wrapped up in a banana leaf as a gift and I of course gave him twice the needed batteries and an old U.S. army grenade pouch and shoulder strap. He was delighted! It was important to keep the Indians happy as they were my customers. Besides, they all carried razor sharp machettes.

 

[dgold]

That would've been a good way to loose your customers as well as your hair. Back in 1992, on one of our archaeological projects in southern Belize, Central America, I lived for several weeks in a thatched hut that sat just off the main trail between two Ketchi Mayan villages about 15 miles apart. My job was to unload the truck and pack all the gear and food on horses and mules every week for the Project base camp ten miles away up the jungle trail. While thus occupied, I started a little business of trading with the Indians for ancient Mayan Jade and other interesting things that they'd started to bring to me. These they would find within the fields where they grew their corn. I'd trade batteries, little radios, watches, tobacco, rum, whisky, Pepsi, matches, hammocks, canned fruit, Iced drinks (they'd never seen ice before), etc. I'd hold onto the scotch for myself and my buddy, Wild Bill Walter's who looked like a mountain man with his long beard and his long hair and hairy body. We'd often awaken in the morning to find several Indians standing around patiently waiting for us to open our eyes. They were very shy but very sharp. I traded an old empty canteen to one of them one day and down the jungle trail and around the bend he went, only to come back in a minute with a full canteen that had water dripping out of a hole in the side. Where he got the water beats me because I'd been hiking a half mile down to the river below to get my water every other day. Anyway, he indicated to me that he was not a happy customer and so I took back the canteen and gave him his choice of whatever else he wanted to keep the peace. Again, later on, another Indian walked five miles to my camp to complain that the radio I'd traded him had weak batteries and wouldn't work. He'd brought three hot sweet potatoes wrapped up in a banana leaf as a gift and I of course gave him twice the needed batteries and an old U.S. army grenade pouch and shoulder strap. He was delighted! It was important to keep the Indians happy as they were my customers. Besides, they all carried razor sharp machettes.

Sounds like you made some very wise decisions.

 

[Rod Lassey]

here's a quote on spliced stocks, this from the American Fur Co.

'---but the worst of it is that every stock is made of two pieces joined at the breech and this the Indians cannot endure. When the Stock is new and varnished, you hardly discover this imperfection, but when they have been used, or exposed to the wet, it has an ugly effect, and very often the Indians bring them back to be exchanged for better, or those who have them on credit will not pay for them.'

AMFCo. papers, New York Historical Society

I really seem to remember the same thing happening to the HBC---I'll have to do some more digging through the books to see what I can find.

Rod