Nagant M1895 Silencer
NAGANT M1895 SILENCER. (See also, NAGANT M1895, UNIQUE WEAPONS) Unique among revolvers, the Nagant M1895 can be silenced. Other revolvers have a gap between the cylinder and the barrel, meaning that when they are fired gas, and therefore sound, is expelled. This is the most significant origin of the onomatopoeic bang, such noise which a muzzle suppressor will not alleviate. When the Nagant is fired, however, the cylinder is pushed tight to the forcing cone, the opening of the barrel. The gas must instead escape through the length of the barrel, meaning that a suppressor will in fact alleviate the noise. What makes this a remarkable happenstance is that the Nagant was not designed with this in mind.
Letter to Frank Chambers
Author: Russell "Snakeskin " Chambers
Single loose sheet, 8.5 x 11 in.
5/9
Pa,
I never did tell you how I got out jail. Sheriff made me earn it
Second day I was there, Sheriff Hardin does his rounds. Takes me out, makes me run up and down the yard. Lift sacks of grain. Checked my teeth. Then threw me back in with my cell-mate. An old fella, by the name of John Hayward. Stark crazy, on account of the climate, but a good man. In his sleep, he muttered about monsters in the swamp. And a sculptor. I considered his wife had left him for an artist.
Third night, Hardin comes to me. Offers a deal. My freedom, under conditions of his employment, no questions. Lady Luck had shined on me. Hardin took me into the yard. Chalked on the ground were concentric circles and strange patterns. Waiting round the edges were two other guards, and a handful of other prisoners.
One by one, me and other prisoners walked the circles, reciting lines Hardin told us to speak. An oath he made up. At the end, we were to drink a gulp of some brackish red liquid. The second boy hurled it up. He was taken out the yard and I heard a muffled cry. On my turn, the taste of nails, but I kept it down. There was to be a final test. I drew the short straw, I was first. A guard dragged a man by his hair out the cellblock. Threw him at my feet. In the moonlight, I saw it was John, my cell-mate.
Hardin handed me a gun. My Nagant. Fixed on the end was a heavy, improvised, muzzle. He explained this was as the community didn't take kindly to gunfire after dark. I understood what was to be done. He looked up at me, the crescent moon glinting in his eyes, like a snake's.
It seems having a record of these events is in my best interest. I'm beginning to wonder if I'll lose my mind.
Yours,
Russell
