In 1862, John Gilleland, a Confederate dentist, builder, and mechanic in Athens, Georgia, had a vision—an experimental cannon designed to unleash twin cannonballs linked by a taut chain.
After lobbying and raising the money from his fellow Athenians, Gilleland commissioned a nearby foundry to build it. The weapon - cast as a single piece - featured side-by-side bores splayed just slightly outward. The intent? To send the balls whirling through enemy ranks, cutting them down like wheat before a scythe.
The reality was quite different.
The cannon was test-fired three times. The first shot was a disaster. Witnesses watched as the weapon "plowed up about an acre of ground, tore up a cornfield, mowed down saplings, and then the chain broke, sending the two balls hurtling in opposite directions." [1]
The second attempt showed promise—sort of. The chain shot across the landscape, cutting into a dense thicket of young pines. One observer likened the devastation to "a narrow cyclone or a giant mowing machine" slicing through the trees. [1]
The third firing sealed the cannon’s fate. The chain snapped immediately. One ball tore into a nearby cabin, demolishing its chimney. The other spun wildly off course and struck an unfortunate cow, killing it instantly.
And yet, Gilleland declared his invention a success.
True, his artillery piece had "mowed down" everything in its path—fields, forests, farmhouses, and livestock. But not a single result was the intended target.
Today, Gilleland’s ill-fated cannon rests on the lawn of Athens City Hall, a monument to ingenuity, ambition, and the eternal human quest to build new ways to wage war. As history shows, some weapons work, while others merely become curiosities—better suited to decoration than destruction.
This was one of the millions of forgotten stories from the Irrepressible Conflict.
Mac
═══ ⚔ 𝑻𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑪𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒓𝒔 ⚑ ═══
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