The Oregon State Militia Revolvers

Before Oregon’s National Guard was formalized, the state relied on locally raised militia units—some sanctioned by the governor, others more informal. Across the Willamette Valley, these volunteer companies trained in open fields, mustered in town squares, and answered when called. Their uniforms didn’t match. Neither did their sidearms.

Unlike federal troops with standardized issue, Oregon’s militia men—especially officers and non-commissioned leaders—often provided their own revolvers. Sometimes the county supplied them. Other times they came from hardware stores in Salem or passed hand-to-hand between neighbors. No two armories were alike.

You’d find a Colt New Army in one captain’s holster, a Harrington & Richardson top-break in a sergeant’s. Some carried Iver Johnsons, while others brought aging Civil War percussion models still in usable shape. A few companies received surplus Springfield rifles—but revolvers were rarely issued in quantity.

In reports from the Adjutant General in the 1890s, you’ll find meticulous inventory notes: fifty rounds of .38 Smith & Wesson, two damaged Colt double-actions, and three “revolvers—origin unknown.” The budgets were thin, and so were the options.

But that didn’t mean these sidearms were ornamental. During a labor flare-up in Salem, or while posted to help suppress a fire near Silverton, the presence of a worn revolver on a belt was often enough to restore a sense of order—whether it was ever fired or not. These weren’t cavalry raids; they were parades, watches, drills, and the quiet authority of being visibly armed.

What fascinates me is the mix:

• Locally purchased revolvers from valley gun shops
• County-loaned firearms repurposed from sheriff’s stores
• Privately owned top-breaks passed from father to son
• Odd imports, stamped "Eibar" or “Belgium,” showing up in muster rolls

By the time the Dick Act of 1903 restructured the system, Oregon’s scattered militias began merging into a more standardized force. But those decades before—roughly 1870 through 1905—left behind a quietly eclectic armament history.

If you find a revolver with old leather wear and a faint inventory number scratched near the butt, it may not be federal. It may have once hung at the hip of a Marion County militiaman, answering a bugle call on the edge of a hop field.

Until next time,
Orme Dumas