Southern Derringers of the Mississippi Valley

In Short

This volume serves as a specialized guide to "Southern Derringers," a category of nineteenth-century pocket pistols manufactured or marked by regional gunsmiths and agents throughout the Mississippi Valley. Moving beyond the well-known Philadelphia-made Deringers, the work catalogs twenty-nine verified makers, offering technical descriptions, historical context, and personal anecdotes from decades of collecting. It acts as both a visual reference and a call to action, encouraging fellow enthusiasts to continue the research into these largely overlooked artisans and the specific, often hand-crafted variations they produced.

The Story

The narrative begins with a long-standing passion for muzzleloading firearms, tracing the author’s evolution from a twelve-year-old hobbyist to a seasoned curator of Mississippi Valley weaponry. At its core, the book argues for a clear distinction between two types of arms: genuine Henry Deringer pistols—often bearing the names of Southern agents like Hyde & Goodrich or F. H. Clark—and those uniquely manufactured by gunsmiths in Memphis, Nashville, Vicksburg, and beyond.

The arc of the collection follows a path of discovery. The author recounts how, beginning in 1957, he systematically acquired specimens, moving from common, mass-produced pieces to rare, hand-crafted artifacts. As the collection grows, the prose shifts from simple identification to a deeper investigation of the craftsmen themselves. Through diligent study of city directories, census records, and family interviews, the author breathes life into figures like Franz Bitterlick, a Nashville gunsmith who survived the Civil War, and the Shreveport-based Jerome Bonaparte Gilmore, whose military service and eventual post-war life as a mayor provide a human counterpoint to the cold steel of his pistols.

The progression is not merely chronological but geographical and technical. The reader is guided through the variations in design—the shift from round, ribbed barrels to full octagon barrels, the use of silver versus steel furniture, and the subtle mechanical differences, such as the inclusion of a wedge or a screw to secure the barrel. The "story" concludes with an acknowledgment of the gaps that remain. The author catalogs makers about whom almost nothing is known, such as the elusive J. A. Schafer or the obscure A. J. Millspaugh, framing these mysteries as opportunities for future collectors. By detailing the survival rate of these weapons—estimated at times to be as low as one in four—the author highlights the fragile nature of this history. He concludes by inviting the reader to participate in the ongoing search, expressing a hope that his own records will eventually be expanded by the collective effort of the community, ensuring that the legacy of these local gunsmiths is not lost to time.

How It Unfolds

Setting the Scope The author defines the geographic and technical boundaries of his study, explicitly excluding pocket and dueling pistols to focus solely on the regional derringer. He establishes his credentials through decades of collecting and collaborative research with a network of fellow enthusiasts.

Distinguishing the Pedigree A vital technical distinction is drawn between "agent-marked" Henry Deringer pistols and those actually forged in Southern shops. The author provides a guide to reading barrel markings and identifying the subtle variations in stampings that indicate the gun's true origin.

The Craft of Collection The narrative moves into specific profiles of makers, including F. H. Clark, Schneider & Company, and Frederick Glassick. Each entry combines a physical description of a specific specimen with historical snippets about the firm’s operational years, often tied to the tumultuous period surrounding the Civil War.

Investigating the Unknown The final beats focus on the mysteries of the trade, detailing makers for whom only a single specimen or a scrap of newspaper advertisement remains. The author discusses the use of primary source material, such as census records and city directories, to anchor these fleeting names in time.

A Call for Continuity The text closes with a reflection on the value of preservation and the necessity of further research. By listing the remaining gaps in his own knowledge, the author creates an open-ended conclusion that invites the reader to take up the mantle of the researcher.

The People

The book is populated by a mix of historical gunsmiths and modern-day collectors. The author himself acts as the primary lens, a man driven by a desire for accuracy who is willing to spend years hunting for a specific pistol or paying a "handsome profit" to secure a rare specimen. His collaborators—men like Hume Parks and Dr. Bill Huckaba—represent the communal effort required to preserve this history.

Among the historical figures, Jerome Bonaparte Gilmore stands out as a man of dual lives. A gun manufacturer in Shreveport, his path is interrupted by the Civil War, where he rises to the rank of Colonel, is wounded, and survives to become a respected mayor. His story contrasts with the more mysterious artisans like A. R. Mendenhall, a young, single gunsmith living with a grocer in DesArc, Arkansas, whose life is reconstructed primarily through census data. These figures are defined by their work, yet the author seeks to understand them as men—noting, for instance, how Franz Bitterlick survived the war by allegedly taking a four-year trip around the world, leaving his business to be run by his brother-in-law, Joseph Legler. Each figure, whether a noted Confederate contractor or an obscure repairman, is granted a measure of dignity through the author's meticulous tracking of their dates of birth, death, and professional associations.

In Its Own Voice

"I suspect that it is merely intended to be a guide for someone who has more patience than I to do the research work that is required on a complete story."

The author expresses a characteristic modesty in the foreword, framing his work as a foundational effort rather than an exhaustive finality.

"About 1962 I stopped buying Yankee Deringers and still have thirty odd such pieces; they were too easy to get."

This line illustrates the author’s transition from general interest to a deep, specialized obsession with Southern-manufactured arms.

"A careful study of the southern manufactured derringers shows that all of them started around 1855 or later with some of them continuing production until the 1870s."

The author provides this crucial chronological anchor to help readers date their own specimens and understand the era of these guns.

What It's Really About

The central theme is the preservation of regional heritage against the erosion of time. The author argues that Southern gunmaking was not merely a derivative of Northern manufacturing but a distinct, decentralized craft that responded to the specific needs of the Mississippi Valley frontier. Underlying the technical talk of caliber, barrel markings, and furniture styles is a deeper question: how do we reconstruct the lives of people who left behind no diaries or journals, but only the tools and products of their labor? The book functions as an argument for the importance of "small history"—the realization that the identity of a town or a region is often found in the quiet, painstaking work of its local artisans, and that without deliberate effort, these stories will inevitably vanish.

Why Read It Today

Readers with an interest in nineteenth-century technology, Southern history, or the mechanics of antique firearms will find this a deeply rewarding, if niche, experience. The writing style is warm and conversational, making the reader feel like a guest in the author’s workshop. You will appreciate the sincerity of the author, who is refreshingly honest about his own mistakes—such as being "stuck" with a faked or altered gun—and his ongoing struggle to complete his collection.

However, be aware that this is a technical manual at heart. You should expect an abundance of detail regarding barrel lengths, screw placements, and metal compositions, which may feel dense to a casual reader. The book also reflects the period attitudes and the specific, localized focus of a 1970s-era collector. There is little attempt to mask the difficulty of the research or the frustration of chasing down long-dead gunsmiths. What stays with you is not just the technical knowledge, but the sense of a personal mission—the realization that the history of a region is often held together by the dedication of a few persistent individuals who refuse to let the past fade into total obscurity.