Winfield M1876 Centennial

WINFIELD M1876 CENTENNIAL. (See also, WINFIELD, RIFLES) The Winfield M1876 Centennial was so named for its debut at the 1876 Centennial International Exposition, the first World's Fair and a celebration of the United States first century in existence. What could have been more American, therefore, than for Winfield to mark the occasion by releasing a higher caliber variant of their iconic repeating rifle. With significantly more stopping power than its predecessor, this became a favored rifle amongst big-game hunters.

Interviewee: William Carter
Topic: Local folklores
Single sheets. Typewritten transcription. 8 x 11 in.1/5

Now many of my fine tales are those of my own but many of my finest tales are those of dear friends, retold while supping broth and passing a flask of whiskey around the fire. And the finest of those stories was told to me on such a night as this, when a light snow flurry graced us with its presence, and the flakes were turning to drops before us and hissing on the coals. So this isn't my story, but another's, and that's the story of the hunt for the last wildcat

Two women in my company, Ethyl and Jana, were travelling with me in the shows early days as we traipsed up and down the East Coast. That year, I remember we marveled at the forests of New England, bustled through New York and Philadelphia, and sweated through the Carolinas, and then at the end of summer, were held up in Virginia. In Richmond, an unsettled debt had caught up to me, and I couldn't pay wages. So, for some time, the show came to halt. They was understanding, but many left not to return.

Ethyl and her sister Jana tried what they could to get together a few dollars to get us all on the road again. They had a sick mother at home, see, and had to send a little money each month. Now, they had had one stroke of a good fortune: in Philadelphia, we'd performed at the Centennial Exhibition, and taken a sponsorship from one Mr. Winfield to shoot his new Model 1876. So they wrote to his company again, and some kind secretary offered them a bit of money to tour the hunting towns of Virginia and make a show of the rifle.

So I forlornly said goodbye to them for a brief while, and they set out with not much else than their wits, a pair M1876s and their famous trusty six-shooters. They went from town to town, drawn deeper into the ancient bower of ponderous woodland and marsh that had once formed the first frontier. Though now enclosed with roads and towns, that place harbored many mysteries much older than our own young country.

Interviewee: William Carter
Topic: Local folklores
Single sheets. Typewritten transcription. 8 x 11 in. 2/5

Ethyl and Jana visited all the bigger towns, Harrisonburg, Lynchburg, Roanoake, and so on, performing their shooting tricks. They spun and fanned their Winfields, shooting pennies clear out the air, plucking the stems from apples, and piercing the hearts out of playing cards. But that weren't all they did to make their mark, as where the season permitted, they hunted bears, elk, and boars. Mr. Winfield was delighted as mail orders came in from across the state, and he dispatched a courier to take them a message, as a particular opportunity had arisen

Deep in the Monongahela Forest, a small town by the name of Marlinton had made its name in the national press. Marlinton was a town as old as they come, the first town founded west of the Appalachians, by a man called Marlin and another called Sewell. Shortly after founding the town, the two had quarreled badly, and the story went that Sewell went out to live in a nearby hollow sycamore tree. What a tree that must have been. I can't rightly picture it. Marlin found him soon after, killed him there, and left him to rot in the roots. The town took Marlin's name, but soon misfortune befell it. The townspeople figured that Sewell's spirit was cursing them, so they began leaving gifts in the tree hollow to placate him, and the town had better fortune.

Marlinton had made it into the press, though, as a particularly gruesome gift had been found in the tree. Now people normally left little offerings of food and drink, nothing too precious. But then, something had begun leaving different offerings, mice and birds and so on, their necks snapped. And over time the offerings had grown bigger: stoats, ferrets, cats, goats, and finally a dog. The wounds to these poor creatures only grew more savage: skin shorn off, limbs torn asunder, heads lolling at the base of the trees.

That was enough to spook people, so one man volunteered to keep watch over the tree, and catch the culprit. He weren't seen back in town for a while, and when they returned to the tree, they found him doubled over, lifeless and stuffed into the hollow trunk. His wounds were such that the people concluded that they could of only been caused by a wild cat, toying with its prey. So the put out a call, for someone to help them with their problem.