[or-roots] another good story this one from Mo. before they left to OR.

[DAVIESW739 at aol.com]

The sorting out and packing took several weeks. In the evenings my four  
brothers would  sit around the fire and make ram rods for their guns, and  mould 
the round lead bullets that were  used in the old muzzle loading  muskets. One 
of the guns, with its old flintlock, stands in the  corner as  I write these 
stories. It stands high as a tall man, and is so heavy that only a  strong man 
can level it and hold it steady. It was made by hand, and has a  silver plate 
on the side of  the carved stock, that tells the name of the  maker and the 
date. I was fairly good at running the hot lead into the iron  moulds and the 
boys would let me do it. They allowed me to "neck" the   bullets when they were 
cold. When fresh from the mould there was always an  uneven place  where the 
opening in the mould had been. It had to be  carefully cut off with a sharp 
knife, and it  was rather a tedious task. So  the boys were glad to leave it for 
me to do.  
 
    But I really wanted most to make a ram rod. I would  whittle and work on 
one for hours  and try to hold my tongue out of the  corner of my mouth like 
Jasper did when he was very intent  upon his work.  I thought perhaps it might 
help, but it was of no use. My ram rods were  always  crooked. I think I must 
have wondered about it, for Jasper said:  "Lottie, what do you want a ram  rod 
for, you haven't got any gun?" That  was quite true, but I had not thought of 
it.  
 
    When the ram rods were perfectly shaped, they were  scraped with a piece 
of glass,  then rubbed with sand till they were as  smooth and true as though 
they had been turned in a lathe. Then the boys would  take a thin tow  string 
and wrap it spiral fashion from one end to  the  other, spacing it maybe one 
inch apart. Then they would double back to  the starting place, then  they 
would hold it for a second in the flame and  the string would burn off in a flash. 
Then there  would be little brown  lines that formed tiny squares, scorched 
lightly but indelibly, from end  to  end of the rod. I thought them very 
beautiful. 
 
 
 
Walt  Davies
Cooper Hollow Farm
Monmouth, OR 97361
503 623-0460 

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