We enter the Masonic Lodge in Concord and put on the gear. The black cartridge box wraps around my torso and hangs by my right hip. I hoist the 9-pound musket and place the tricorn hat on my head.

If it weren’t for my modern blue jeans, I’d be ready for 1775.
Doug Ellis, a former captain, usually marches side by side with his fellow Concord Minute Men. Today, he’s got a bumbling reporter to instruct in the ways of a latter-day citizen soldier.
“Shoulder your firelock!” he orders.
In two motions starting with the right hand, he swings the long musket across his torso. Then, against his left shoulder with the lock of the gun facing away. The long weapon adds a few feet to his height.
I repeat the motion.
The musket is balanced and ergonomic. With enough training, someone might feel good about holding it. For my part, I just don’t want to drop it. I also keep tapping my hat, which feels crooked on my head.
Ellis instructs me to hoist the musket in different ways, demonstrating how to present the firelock and how to properly place it by my side.
Another unfamiliar task
I embarrass myself as I try to flip the ramrod, a long steel rod meant to load a musket, down the barrel. I struggle to pull it out of its sheath and throw it down the barrel. It bounces with a ping.
“Prepare your firelock!” He orders once again.
I lift the musket and place its brass butt against my right shoulder. He steps behind me, placing his left foot along the side of my right. The barrel of his musket is parallel to mine.
“Fire!” he orders.
Normally, a flash of smoke and fire would billow about 15 feet from the mouth of the barrel. Instead, it snaps.
“Pretty cool, right?” he asks.
I asked him about the muskets, which he refinished himself. He walks through the details of stripping, sanding, and refinishing the walnut stock of the many firearms he’s fixed up. Some barrels, he said, have rusted over time.
I’m told the other Minute Men are especially fond of the ornate weapon I’m holding.
He details his work with pride, passing his hand along the long gun as if he’s refinishing it now. He talks about his appreciation for the ergonomic design and the balance of the musket, which was “remarkable” for the time.
I fire the musket one more time. Its snap echoes in the lodge.
I place the musket by a brown pew with blue cushions and remove my cartridge box. For some reason, the hat now feels comfortable.
I help him bring his equipment back to his car. Before he opens the trunk, he points at his license plate, which reads “1775.”
“My two loves: masonry and 1775!” he says.
This story is part of a partnership between The Concord Bridge and the Boston University Department of Journalism.



