As you may have heard, the Howdah pistol concept originated in British occupied India in the late 18th to early 19th century. This particular twin-barreled behemoth was named the Howdah pistol because it was carried in the basket on top of the elephant which is called the Howdah.
The Bengal tiger (
Panthera tigris) had a beastly habit of leaping out of trees on top of His Majesty's intrepid adventurer-explorers. This wasn't sporting at all. Something had to be done. Wielding a double- or single-barrel rifle was too problematic and too slow to get on the fleeting target whilst seated in the Howdah.
Although it's fascinating to speculate that one of John Bull's big game hunters came up with the idea of cutting down the stock and barrels of a big bore rifle to produce a more portable means of protection against the pernicious pussy cats, it is speculated that idea germinated from one of the local Punjabis named,
Dharmaraj Yama Dharmaraj Tmhari Aukaat Ke Bahar Ladchatte. His friends just called him
"Sahib Salmonella." He got that nickname after he took ill from eating a bad batch of chilled monkey brains.
He didn't like the humorous moniker but preferred to be addressed as
Dharmaraj Yama Dharmaraj Tmhari Aukaat Ke Bahar Ladchatte. The locals didn't like that as the new nickname fit his personality. When the Brits arrived, it was impossible for them to say his full name.
Known for getting right to the point with indigenous peoples, the Tommies decided to call this perspicacious Punjabi by the name of Sal. That pleased everyone except Sal's mother and his wife. Whenever they got mad, they called him by his first and all four middle names.
I digress in this whimsical tale of adventure and invention. After their introduction to firearms, the Punjabis and the rest of India got along quite well with this new implement until the Sepoy rebellion of 1857 but that's another history lesson.
Sal was an entrepreneur of the first order. He was always trying to make an extra rupee when he wasn't stealing it. Then he discovered British pounds - sterling pounds mind you! So, he hired out as a guide to some of the empire's wealthiest explorers. This was a lucrative arrangement until his clients wanted him to convey them down too many tiger trails.
Sal wasn't the brightest candle in the window but he wasn't crazy either. As the guide, he was expected to ride in the number one Howdah on the number one elephant with the number one guy in the caravan. That's precisely where the tigers like to get their appetizer before munching on the rest of the trail buffet. This didn't sit well with Sal.
"Oh, greatest Sahib and ever omnipotent, grand and illustrious potentate, I beg of you please let me ride in the last Howdah on this trail," Sal would beg. [Imagine a Russel Peters' monologue and you have an idea of what he sounded like.]
The number one guy in the number one Howdah would usually ask,
"I say old boy, you are acting awfully nervous about these tigers, aren't you? What's wrong with riding in my Howdah so you can guide me along this trail?"
"Oh, greatest Sahib and ever omnipotent, grand and illustrious potentate, I am not afraid as you believe."
"Well then be a good chap and tell me why you want to ride in the last Howdah," the Brit would then look at him whilst puffing placidly on his pipe.
"Oh, greatest Sahib and ever omnipotent, grand and illustrious potentate, please I beg a thousand and one pardons but I thought your's was a non-smoking Howdah. I'm allergic to pipe smoke and need to stay very far away. The village Shaman tells me to lay off the carbs and stop smoking. The second-hand smoke is also bad for me." Tapping the tobacco out of his pipe the intrepid explorer looked at Sal and said,
"I say old boy, I must beg a thousand and one pardons from you because I didn't know this was a non-smoking Howdah. I'll stick to my pipe whilst in camp. Now do come along and ride with me as the sun is going down." That was just what Sal did not want to hear. Twilight was about the time for the tiger's evening meal. The supplications for a suitable rearrangement began to irritate the client and Sal could not demur any longer.
They didn't make it more than forty yards when a 400-pound tigress attacked the wealthy Welshman and tore his head off in one bite. The smell of curry wafted past the tigress' nose. Then she set her eyes on Sal, who was now on the ground running past the elephants who were skedaddling like a bunch of drunk Irishmen on parade in Piccadilly Circus.
Sal tripped over a buried tree root and did a face plant in a basketball sized pile of elephant dung. He got up as fast as he could but emerged from the dung pile face-to-face with the tigress. Confused by the odoriferous combination of curry and elephant dung, the tigress had to think about this for a second.
That gave Sal time to grab a Brown Bess that someone dropped. He hoped to put a round of buck & ball in her brain. The Bessy was too long and cumbersome for close quarters battle with a tigress. When Sal swung the musket around, he accidentally bumped her on the head. This only made her mad. She went after the poop-faced Punjabi with a vengeance!
Round and round the forest, she chased Sal who was quickly tiring. He was about to resign himself to join his ancestors. He was hoping that he be reincarnated as a bird so he could fly away from predicaments like this in his new life. Alas, he tripped again.
After he got up, the tigress charged at Sal with her jaws open wide and fangs glistening in the setting sun. The Welshman's blood was fresh on her lips.
The rest of this little tome happened faster than it takes to tell.
Sal held onto Bessy with both hands trying to point it at the pouncing pussy cat to get a point-blank shot at her but she was too fast. Instead of chomping on Sal, she ended up getting a .72 caliber smooth bore barrel stuck in her wide-open jaws and down her throat.
Sal tried to get a shot off but the frizzen had popped open in the melee spilling the powder out of the pan. Instead of dying from lead poisoning the tigress expired by choking on the barrel of the musket. Sal wasn't taking any more chances. He withdrew Bessy and planned on clubbing that darn cat to death if he could. After a minute, he could see she was dead.
Sal laid the musket down and sat underneath a tree to catch his breath with the dead tigress at his feet. It took a few more minutes for his mates to find him. The look of astonishment on everyone's face told Sal that he must be somewhat of a celebrity.
Right away everyone assumed that Sal had killed the tigress with his bare hands. Oh well, if that's what they wanted to think, then who was Sal to spoil a good story. Henceforth he was known by all of India as
"Baagh ke hatyaare ko salaam." Which means
"Sal the Tiger Killer." He kept the Brown Bess but decided that he needed something more maneuverable and lighter in the hand. With that in mind, he went to work with his saw. Yep, you got it. Sal's saw cut down Bessy, turning it into the very first Howdah pistol. It took another fortnight to refinish and polish his new lead delivery system. The rest is history with thousands of Howdah variants made for adventure seekers over the next two centuries.
Here is a photo of my Howdah pistol with a 20 gauge muzzleloading shotgun.
The last photo is the only known picture of Sal the Tiger Killer.
