You'll Shoot Your Eye Out

You see, water guns like the super Soaker weren't the first firearms to have air pumps. Back in seventy nine, Italian gunsmith and inventor Bartolomeo Gerardoni had devised a new kind of weapon, but rather than rely on gunpowder and a spark to propel a bullet, his creation used something a little less explosive air. The Girardoni air rifle could hold up to twenty rounds in its tube shape magazine, which was affixed to the side of the barrel, and loading the chamber was a lot easier than it had

been with conventional rifles. There was no pouring any powder or tamping down any wadding. All someone had to do was tip the muzzle forward, then pushed the spring loaded slider. It would scoop up a ball and push it into position. When it came time to shoot, the round would eggs ait the rifle with eight p s I behind it. Hunters loved it because it was much quieter than a normal rifle and it didn't start all the animals, and because there was no gunpowder residue to deal with, it

didn't need to be cleaned as often either. Several guns were provided to the Habsburgs during the Austro Turkish War in the seventeen eighties and nineties. However, not every soldier was capable of wielding such a weapon, so they were reserved for two rolly and snipers. Unfortunately, the rifles were all but wiped up by the time that Napoleonic Wars came to be. The French abhorred it due to its lack of smoke, and Napoleon himself ordered any Austrian caught

with one to be killed. But somehow one of these air rifles landed in the possession of Merryweather Lewis of Lewis and Clark fame. There are numerous mentions of it in his journal, but he didn't use it to hunt or attack the native populations. Instead, it was just a show piece. It's hard to believe, but Louis often brought out the rifle to demonstrate for the native people's and their leaders. They had seen guns before, carried on the shoulders of fur traders entering their lands, but this was

something different. During one incident, a rogue tribal member had stolen Lewis and Clark's last horse. Looking to get it back, Louis confronted them. The sue expected trouble and drew back their bowstrings arrows aimed at the explorers and his men. Now, Louis didn't want to kick off a war between his people and the tribes. His orders had been to observe and report back on the indigenous populations, of course, while also helping them understand that their lands were being taken

away from them. So he pulled out the rifle, which caught the eye of the Sioux leader, Black Buffalo. Louis held it up and aimed it at a cottonwood tree a hundred yards away. He pulled the trigger four times, one after the other in rapid succession. Four small rounds fired straight out, pop pop, pop, pop, but no smoke, no recoil. The Sioux whispered among themselves as they lowered their bows. Black Buffalo was enthralled they had just witnessed magic.

Louis was smart enough to keep the device of mystery from the Sioux. He never let them see how it worked, and led them to believe that it would never run out of AMMO. But the real question is where had he gotten it? After all, the Garadoni air rifle had been taken out of commission years earlier. Well, historians believe that Louis had been given the rifle by President Thomas Jefferson.

Jefferson had served as a United States Minister to France in seventy five and had most likely acquired the firearm during one of his many tree rips. Louis had been appointed his secretary in eighteen o one and was hand chosen by Jefferson for the expedition. Unfortunately, the Garadoni air rifle was not long for this world. For one, it's firing mechanism was far too fragile and required an expert gunsmith to make repairs. They were also too expensive to

manufacture and mass. No government would pay to supply an entire army with air rifles when they could use the tried and true guns at the time for a fraction of the price. It may not have revolutionized warfare, but Bartolomeo Gardoni's air rifle did help shape the American West, and it didn't have to kill a single person to do it. Born in Bradford, England, in Maurice Wilson rarely did what people expected him to. For example, his father owned a wool mill and the men the family worked

there when they came of age. However, Wilson did not join his father and brothers as intended. Instead, he enlisted with the British Army two fights in World War One when he turned eighteen. He was a capable fighter and was eventually promoted to captain. In April of nineteen eighteen, he managed to hold a machine gun post by himself against an army of enemy Germans. The ordeal earned him

the Military Cross for conspicuous gallantry and devotion to duty. Sadly, his army career came to an end a few months later when he was hit by a machine gun fire and sent home. Wilson was plagued by chronic arm pain for the rest of his life, and he was left with a nagging question about what to do with the rest of his life. He got married in England and then moved to New Zealand when he met someone new.

After several years spent building a life there, Wilson sailed to Vancouver, Canada and traveled around North America for a while. He was a wanderer, a restless soul in search of meaning in his life. His travels eventually brought him back home to England, where he had hoped to recenter himself. Unfortunately, his time in the war and the effects of his nomadic lifestyle had also caught up with him. Suffering from rapid weight loss, lethargy, and a bad cough, Wilson fled

to Mayfair in London. He met a man who had allegedly cured his own illness, along with the illnesses of over one people, through prayer and fasting. Five weeks later, Wilson emerged completely healed and with a new lease on life. The experience had changed him and he wanted to share it with the world, and to do that he came up with a bold new idea. As he put it, I'll perform some task so hard and so exacting that it could only be carried out by someone aided with

divine help. He'd been in Germany, resting after his five week intensive healing when it hit him. While reading the newspaper, he stumbled upon an article about George Mallory's failed attempt to scale Mount Everest back in ninet. Mallory had been interviewed by The New York Times one year earlier. When asked why he wanted a climates he responded, because it's there as good a reason as any, I guess. Maurice

Wilson sure thought so. But after reading the article, Wilson believed that he could be the first person to summit Everest. It would be the perfect demonstration of his newfound faith in prayer and fasting. But he couldn't do it the same way Mallory had eight years prior. For one, Nepal was off limits without help from the British government. He also needed money to plan the trip, higher climbers and

buy supplies. He thought that he could do it better, faster and cheaper than those who had tried before and failed, and so Wilson came up with the bright idea to fly himself to Everest instead. His plan was foolproof, well to him, at least to everyone else it was proof that he was a fool. After departing England, he would fly himself to the mountain and land his plane about fourteen thousand feet up from the base. With most of the distance already covered, He would then climb his way

to the top alone. There was just one problem. Wilson couldn't fly a plane, but he didn't let a silly thing like experience stop him from pursuing his dream. Instead, he bought a three year old de Haviln gypsy moth biplane named the ever Rest that's rest with a w R. He then learned how to fly it just well enough to earn a pilot's license, and I mean barely. After an engine failure that resulted in three weeks of repairs in the aircraft, Wilson finally set up for Nepal in

May of nineteen thirty three. He made several refueling stops in France and Italy. It was even arrested in Tunisia, but he kept going. He even ignored the bureaucrats who told him that he couldn't fly over Nepal or Persia. Nothing was going to stop Wilson from reaching the summit, not even having his plane impounded in Italy. Authorities forbade him from entering Tibet, even on foot, so he stayed in Darjeeling during the winter as he got to work

on a new scheme. With the help of three sherpas, Wilson dressed up as a Buddhist monk and snuck into a Tibetan monastery in April of nineteen thirty war. It was situated right at the base of Mount Everest. From there he made it to Camp two on the East Rungbuck Glacier, having dumped many of his supplies along the way. Wilson set up his tent two miles below Camp three

on April twenty one, which was his birthday. He was also just shy of the North call a past that had been carved by glaciers, which sat between Mount Everest and the Tibetan mountain chong Su. He recorded the day in his journal, writing it's the weather that's beaten me, that damned bad luck. Sadly, his luck didn't change. He was forced to return to the monastery to heal from

a twisted ankle and snow blindness. A little over two weeks later, he returned to the mountain, reaching Camp three in only three days, but he refused to stop, leaving his sherpas behind. Wilson continued to climb. They begged him to go back to the monastery. It wasn't safe to go on, but he couldn't return and confirm everyone's doubts about him. His Sherpaz waited for him to return for about a month, but he never made it back to the monastery. Maurice Wilson's body was found one year later.

Journal inte Its final entry was dated May thirty one of nineteen thirty four. It read, off again, gorgeous day, A promising start, but I guess the weather had turned. I hope you've enjoyed today's guided tour of the Cabinet of Curiosities. Subscribe for free on Apple Podcasts, or learn more about the show by visiting Curiosities podcast dot com. The show was created by me Aaron Manky in partnership

with How Stuff Works. I make another award winning show called Lore, which is a podcast book series and television show, and you can learn all about it over at the World of lore dot com. And until next time, stay curious. Ye