Winchester "One of One Thousand"

By Robert D. Jones

When a modern-day construction worker unearths skeletal remains beneath a gigantic boulder, the story of a unique and fascinating journey through history begins. The only real clue to the puzzle is a saddle and a rifle—still intact—clutched in the desiccated bones of what was once a man’s hand.
The rifle, a Winchester Repeating Arms 1873, is a specially made “one of one thousand,” which sold for more than five-times the cost of a standard Winchester rifle. From the New York shop where it was originally sold new, this particular rifle begins its amazing and volatile journey across America in a story like no other.
Travel back in time when a Belgian immigrant arrives and is just hours into the New World when he purchases the rifle. Journey with the gun as it ultimately passes through the hands of eight owners, each with their own story of the firearm and their unique and individual adventures in the Wild West.
Before being unearthed more than a century later, this rifle will have traversed the early West in a remarkable story unlike anything readers are likely to have before encountered.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brighton Publishing LLC
• Release date: Jan 10, 2012
• ISBN: 9781936587858

Robert D. Jones

Robert D. Jones (DMin, Westminster Theological Seminary) is associate professor of biblical counseling at the Southern Baptist Theological Seminary. He is a founding member of the council board of the Biblical Counseling Coalition and a member of the Evangelical Theological Society.      

Book preview

Winchester

"One of One Thousand"

A novel by

Robert D. Jones

Brighton Publishing LLC

435 N. Harris Dr

Mesa, AZ 85203

www.BrightonPublishing.com

Copyright © 2012

ISBN: 978-1-936587-85-8

E-Book

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Preface

1873, The Gun that Won the West was released by Winchester. It was the first rifle to be chambered for a centerfire black powder cartridge. The lever action rifle was an instant success, with 720,000 eventually produced. Early advertising told of one of one thousand rifles made having such highly accurate barrels they would be hand-fitted to the finest receivers and deluxe wood along with set triggers, a rear tang sight, and engraving. Best estimates are 133 to 136 were ever made; only a handful is known to be in existence. They are highly collectable and extremely valuable.

Chapter One

The Slab

Heat waves rising off a slab of rock made Bill, the job foreman, look like an air puppet waving its hands in front of the Starbucks where he picked up some coffee on his way to the oilfields. The giant arm of his track hoe had just lifted one side of a slab of rock next to the cliff face where he was digging.

Hold it right there, Bill yelled to him. Would you look at that, Bill said to nobody.

Under the rock was a human skeleton, its skull smashed into the rotted leather and broken wood of a saddle where the skeleton had rested its head. Next to the skeleton, a rusty rifle was still clutched in the desiccated bones of his hands. Bill reached over and picked up the rifle. Wonder where he came from?

Chapter Two

The Traveler

The open sea rose and fell in front of him; behind him, a sea of humanity moved about, seemingly as random as the waves. Magnus stood at the foredeck, belly against the railing. He looked down and watched the ship slice through the water. It was cutting a path from which he could never return. The horizon in front of him showed only a gentle curve where blue sky met green waves. Beyond that horizon lay a new life. What it held for him he could only imagine. He loved the life the sea was separating him from. Being of noble birth he lived in privilege. Now, at only twenty six years of age, it all slipped further and further behind him.

He looked about at the crowd of travelers. The wind was favorable. Word spread that they should make landfall on this day. He had watched his homeland fade into the horizon behind him. 1 January, 1873. Today he would see the vast continent that would be his new home. People were crowded onto the main deck, fore and aft. Their faces told many stories. Most were poor, possessing little more than the rags they wore. The faces showed a curious mix of excitement and fear. Fear of the unknown, fear of how they would survive, and for many, fear of how they would even eat. He felt a twinge of guilt knowing he had means and always would. He was being forced away from his privileged life that always provided him with not only with the necessities of life, but with excitement and the wealth to pursue his passions.

As he looked to the horizon wondering about his future, a man approached the railing and spoke to the sea. The words came in Magnus’s native Flemish language.

From La cite Ardente to America, God bring me luck.

Magnus spoke to the man. The fiery city, you are from Liege in Belgium?

I am, was the stunned reply.

I learned to swim in the Meuse at a young age, Magnus told the man.

You are also from Liege? the man asked.

I am from many places but I know your city well. What causes you to leave such a beautiful place, my friend?

Like most, I need work. I am a skilled fourth generation engraver, but the work has not been enough. I must do better for my family.

The engraver proudly pulled three oval medallions the size of the palms of his hands and held them out to Magnus.

My great grandfather embellished wheel lock and matchlock weapons. My grandfather etched beautiful flintlocks. My father engraved and put gold inlay on cap locks, masterful works of art used by Belgian nobility.

Magnus declined to tell the man his own ancestors had likely possessed the firearms of which he spoke.

Excitement rippled through the crowd, a shout went out in blended languages, some Magnus understood, some he did not; words all meaning the same: land. Quickly asking the stranger his name and returning the medallions, Magnus bid his new friend farewell. Good Luck to you, Claudio he thought as he took a firm grip on his cane moving back from the railing as others pushed toward it.

Into Upper New York Bay they sailed, passing Fort Gibson. Soon the big baroque-style ship was docking. People began to gather on the port side next to the dock. Magnus moved to the starboard side. Through the elaborate rigging of the ship, he watched the sun set on America. One of the few passengers with his own room and bunk, he decided to stay on the ship for the night and not fight the lemmings abandoning the ship as though it was sinking.

The cane and the clothes he wore were everything he brought with him. Soon, there would be funds available to him at banks in every major city in America. He would have to exercise great care in drawing money from banks, but for now, he had plenty of money with him. The coins he had were foreign, but being gold he should have no trouble converting them. Back in his room, he waited long enough for the deck to clear. Walking the deck he spoke briefly with deck hands. The sailing vessel on which he stood, Hope America was owned and based out of Boston, but he was able to glean some general information about Manhattan and Long Island from the crew. He wanted to leave the city as soon as possible. First, however, he needed to purchase a few items for his travels.

The calm sea of the Bay was a welcome change from the usual rough waters of the Atlantic. The calm rocking of the ship tranquilized him into the deep sleep of the dream world.

Morning broke into his room through the open porthole. It dragged him reluctantly out of his dreams back to his new reality. A reality he had yet to define. Pulling on his boots, he wondered how long it would take before his dreams were played out in this new world. Boots on and eyes fully opened to the new day, he picked up the cane which spent the night between him and the wall. He held it as though it was a living thing. Taking a firm grip on the ivory handle he twisted it off. Taking out two gold coins he put them in the hidden inner pocket of his vest. Twisting the handle back into place he looked at the solid white ivory. It was with sorrow during the voyage that he borrowed a file and removed the scrimshaw family crest adorning the top of the cane. Taking the cane he tapped it on the floor and went topside. With the aid of the cane he walked with only a slight limp. Most people viewed the cane more decorative than functional. Along with a few scars the limp was his reminder of a mountaineering fall. The cane was necessary for the rare times when with no warning his left leg would go limp momentarily. The incidents were rare; but, on those occasions, the cane kept him from falling.

A deck hand lowered a gangway. Halfway down, he stopped to look back. The ship was a magnificent work of art, a massive sculpture in wood. He would never sail again. It was late winter 1873 as he walked the plank into his new life. He would, by necessity, be a traveler for the rest of his life—a traveler in a new world. An extended residency would never be possible. As his feet made the transition from maritime to terra firma, he accepted his new and permanent lot in life. He was a traveler.

***

His first stop was at a bank where he had no trouble converting his gold coins. From there it didn’t take long to find a tailor’s shop. Entering, he surveyed the store noting the many bolts of fabric. He felt the thread quality between his fingers and thumb. There were a few bolts of fine silk from Asia, a clear indication the shop made high quality garments. A long glass topped counter held an impressive collection of buttons, including some very fine bone and ivory sets. The proprietor, a small Italian man, burst through a curtain behind the counter, buttoning up his vest on the move. He snatched up his cloth measuring ruler that hung from the neck of a mannequin. Only when he had tugged down on his vest repeatedly and twisted both ends of his mustache did he feel presentable and ready to speak.

Good morning sir, sorry to make you wait. I was attending to some new cloth, it was brought to me only this morning from the just arrived ship Hope America, the tailor informed Magnus.

The same fine ship that brought me to your door, Magnus replied.

As Magnus inspected the shop he was being inspected himself. It was obvious to the skilled tailor that the clothes the stranger wore were finely made. Only one pleasantry had been exchanged, but it was enough for the tailor to notice the stranger’s English was good, but not his native tongue. It was obvious to the small man with the ruler around his neck that he was in the presence of a well-to-do and well-educated man. Well- to-do was just the kind of customer he coveted.

A fine shop you have, Magnus said. Your accent and dress are Italian, but from your work you seem to have been trained in France.

Aldo is my name, and you are correct on both charges, came the reply along with an extended hand. I can only assume from your attire that you have been attended to in many fine shops on the continent, so I take that as a great compliment.

Aldo, I require one complete set of clothing including a frock coat. For the coat, I have some special requirements.

Aldo picked up a large pencil using it to point toward a stepped platform. On the platform, Magnus was half-measured and it seemed half-molested as the cloth ruler moved about his body. A small ladder next to the pedestal was necessary for the little man to measure anything above the waist. Aldo wrote down the measurements and details given him for the items of clothing to be made and exactly how they should be constructed. The curtain behind the button counter parted. A young lady allowed only her head to intrude. The pretty face started to withdraw but froze as her gaze landed on Magnus. Magnus was a large, striking figure. Standing on the pedestal, she imagined she was looking at a chiseled statue of a Greek god. Aldo waved his pencil in a threatening gesture toward the curtain causing the girl to disappear.

After the measuring was completed, Magnus sat in leather chair in the corner. He watched the strange little man go to work. He wondered if the little man had become a tailor in order to be able to make clothes to fit the odd, frail little body that scurried about before him. He was skinny as a vegetarian wolf. Any hips or butt he may have had were hidden inside his pants. Without the suspenders he wore, he looked as if he would walk right out of them. What he lacked in hips and rear, he made up in his neck and nose. His head was strangely narrow; and, combined with the massive protrusion that was his nose his head looked like a weather vane. If he were to be caught outside in a good stiff breeze, Magnus was sure his head and nose would keep him facing into the wind. He probably avoided being caught in the wind for the additional reason that, with his nose into the wind, his massive ears would likely beat him silly.

Magnus asked Aldo when he would be ready for the final fitting.

My apprentices and I will work late. We can do the final fitting early in the morning and I can be finished late tomorrow. Does that suit you?

It will have to do, Magnus replied and walked out into the bustling city, with his thoughts as his only companion.

***

Having only one set of clothes, and such fine ones, had spawned many rumors on the ship. Especially during those times when he sat naked in his room having paid one of the crew for the rare shipboard luxury of having his clothes laundered. He heard there were rumors he was an eccentric nobleman who escaped an asylum. Another rumor was that he was caught with the wrong women and ran onto the ship at the moment it was being untied from the dock. There had been many explanations concocted to explain him—some ludicrous, others just as odd, but none as strange as the simple truth.

***

Walking past a hardware store, he studied the wares displayed in the window when a folding knife with two blades of about three inches in length caught his eye. After entering the store, he purchased the knife and a pocket watch. The watch was not nearly the quality or nearly as ornate as he was accustomed to, but it would do. He was not trying to impress anyone and did not need to draw attention to himself. He must be careful not to give people reason to think he had the kind of wealth he possessed.

The man behind the counter broke his thoughts, Can I get you anything else?

Two of your finest cigars and directions to a gun shop please, Magnus said.

***

Firearms, Clayton Harvey Proprietor were the two lines painted in gold on the window. Inside, he was greeted by the mixed smell of gun oil and walnut. A man wearing a leather apron was rasping away at a rifle stock and the aroma was a welcome change from the foul scent of the streets. The man in the apron wiped off his hands and introduced himself.

Harvey Clayton, how may I help you?

My name is Magnus. I would like to look at firearms. I see you have quite a collection.

Clayton walked behind a wooden counter; and behind him on the wall on wooden pegs hung perhaps a hundred handguns from long barreled revolvers to vest guns.

I will be traveling west, beyond the Mississippi. What would you suggest? Magnus queried.

Clayton looked at the wall, and then looked back at Magnus. The cane he had just placed on the counter would cost more than any firearm on the wall. You’ll need a handgun if not two. Many men carry an exposed revolver along with a smaller handgun in their vest, coat, or boot. Let’s start with revolvers. I can show you some fine cap and ball models if you like to roll your own, as they say. Better yet, I have some fine rim fire models. Or, if you want the best… Clayton reached under the counter and brought out a revolver. Colt Single Action Army, Clayton said handing the gun to Magnus.

From the cylinder it was clearly not a cap and ball. Shifting it around in his hand he felt the weight and balance. He opened the loading gate and pulled the hammer back to the half-cock position allowing the cylinder to rotate. The firing pin on the hammer was unusual. It was a tapered pin centered on the face of the hammer. Clayton saw Magnus focus on the hammer and Clayton took a brown paper box of twelve cartridges out of a drawer. Opening the flap, he held a cartridge out to Magnus.

.45 caliber centerfire, 40 grains of black powder behind a 255 grain slug. Very powerful. Just out this year. My contacts at Colt tell me it will leave every other revolver made sucking on a hind teat. It won the US Government Revolver Trials last year and has been adopted by the government as its official sidearm.

Is ammunition going to be a problem? Magnus asked.

Being Government Issue along with being sold to civilians, ammunition should be found easily almost anywhere, Clayton said.

Almost anywhere was Magnus’s new address. The price?

This gun will be listed mail order for seventeen dollars. I am not trying to cheat you. Honestly, this is a revolutionary new model. It’s in high demand. It will be some time before supply catches up with demand. I can easily sell this gun for double the price. In truth, even for triple the price. I’m inclined to keep this one until I have more.

Magnus took two twenty dollar gold pieces from his vest and placed them on the counter. The gun, a baker’s dozen of those boxes of cartridges, a cleaning kit, and gun oil.

It was with some hesitation that Clayton went to the ammunition shelf. What is your destination in the west? Clayton asked.

No place in particular. In time, I may see it all, Magnus told him.

If I was headed west I would want a rifle along with a sidearm. The West is full of all kinds of varmints—human and otherwise. That colt will serve you well in a face-to-face fight with the human type; forty yards—maybe more—if you practice, keep it close, easy to get to, and loaded. When the sun is your roof and you have to deal with the underbelly of humanity that you’ll run into, I’d want a rifle.

Always the salesman I see, although not necessary in this case. That was my next question—what would you suggest in a carbine?

Clayton walked to the wall at the end of the counter. A salesman would show you a Henry like this one, or a Winchester 1866 like this one. But to go with that new Colt you should have the new Winchester Repeating Arms 1873 lever action rifle. It comes in a new .44 caliber centerfire cartridge, much improved in power and long range performance. Problem is, like the Colt it’s brand new. I haven’t even seen one yet, but it is going to be a dandy. The new Colt and Winchester will change the balance of power in the West. The men in possession of these weapons will likely end up on the winning side in most conflicts. Right now, the West is full of guns that came out of the Civil War, a lot of them junk, some good firearms for the time; but none built with the precision, firepower, and range of these two. Carrying a rifle like the new Winchester will be a force to be reckoned with; I expect the sight of it would often prevent a fight.

Looks like I got here just in time for a revolution in firearms. Not such a shrewd salesman after all, promoting a gun you don’t have. Magnus told Clayton. So how do I get one of these new rifles?

You may be in luck. My brother Claude is coming in on the train tonight. He is the big boss in the barrel making division at Winchester Repeating Arms up in New Haven. He will be in the city on business but is delivering some guns to me; and hopefully including a sample of the new rifle.

Tomorrow, then, I will return. Can you recommend a hotel and restaurant near here? Magnus asked.

I can do better if you are not too particular about who you dine with. If you are here when I close at six o’clock it would be my pleasure to take you to dinner along with my brother. If you chose not to, I will see you tomorrow, Clayton said.

Clayton gave Magnus a gunny sack to carry his Colt and other items in.

A shoddy holster for such a fine handgun, Clayton told Magnus. As you can see I sell holsters and belts.

Thank you. I have something else in mind, Magnus said. You can expect to see me here at six.

Magnus walked back toward the tailor’s shop. The city smelled. The streets made him nervous—too many people to watch. He knew he was safe until the next boat from Europe landed, but crossing the Atlantic was a fickle thing. It was possible that a ship having left after his departure with a better captain or more favorable winds could have arrived ahead of him. His enemies had the means and power to dispatch a ship. He needed to get out of the city and disappear into the vast continent that lay west of him.

Back at the tailor shop Magnus showed the Colt to Aldo. For the frock coat, I want the right hand pocket made into a holster of sorts. Use suede leather, flesh-side against the gun. It needs to hold the revolver in exactly this position. He held the gun against his right hip. The gun must slide out smoothly, tight around the barrel and cylinder back to the trigger guard, then loose enough that I can get my hand around the grip easily. I don’t want the gun to show. Make the pocket but don’t finish attaching it until we do the fitting in the morning. I want it positioned perfectly before it becomes permanent. Put three big buttons on the front of the coat. They need to fasten and release quick and easy. Can you have it all done by tomorrow?

I will have it all ready for you: coat, pants shirt, vest, and your personal items. Can you leave me the gun?

Handing the Colt to Aldo, Magnus walked back out into the smells of the streets. The smells in the tailor shop and gun shop were pleasant. The smells of the city were foul. He would soon leave the smells behind him. He needed open, raw places. Places where he could control his surroundings. It would be more to his liking and safer for him the sooner he traveled.

***

His new pocket watch showed five minutes to six when he arrived back at the gun shop. Clayton was in the process of locking up the shop, no small task involving bars, chains, and very large locks.

Are you a gunsmith or a locksmith? Magnus asked as he walked up to the front door of the shop.

A little of both, a tedious job I will have to do again after dinner. I live above my shop. We are meeting Claude at Pepe’s, a restaurant just a few blocks away. Claude is coming straight from the train station. With luck the train will be on schedule. He will stay with me while in the city.

The walk to the restaurant was pleasant. A breeze blew off the ocean replacing the usual stench of the city with the clean smell of salt air. Clayton stopped at a corner building with a set of large wooden doors set back from the street with windows on both sides. Inside patrons sat at tables with white linen tablecloths and fine glassware. On the brick wall next to the entrance was a Menu behind glass, something Magnus had never seen before.

I don’t see Claude inside, does the Menu suit you? Clayton asked.

The salt in the air has wet my appetite for seafood which looks to be the specialty, Magnus said.

Let’s go inside and get a table; Pepe’s fills up quickly at dinner time, Clayton said.

Clayton had just ordered a bottle of wine when he saw his brother enter the restaurant. He was a larger man than Clayton. As he removed his coat, muscular arms were revealed above his busted up hands with several crooked fingers, evidence of a life of working metal. His strength was evident in the grip as he shook hands at the introduction. Sitting down he put his elbow on the table in a mock arm wrestling challenge to his brother.

When we were boys in the old country Clayton use to box me good at any opportunity. Then I grew up, now he won’t even arm wrestle with me let alone stir up a fight to give me the opportunity to give him the whipping I owe him. He wasn’t shy in matching me up against anybody he could find to arm wrestle or box for money or food to keep us alive on the voyage over and when we first arrived, Claude said.

Clayton approved the wine and watched as it was poured into tall stemmed crystal.

Claude broke two men’s arms back in those days, Clayton said. He built those arms pulling mandrels through gun barrels putting the rifling’s in. He is a master at barrel making. That talent and those arms got him the position he has at Winchester. Did you bring me the rifles? Most important to Magnus here, did you bring a new 44 lever rifle?

The rest of the guns will be delivered to your shop in the morning. The new lever rifle I have with me, Claude said.

Magnus admired the black leather bag Claude carried into the restaurant bandoleer style over one shoulder. He thought the bag an odd shape, now he realized it concealed a rifle. He was anxious to see the rifle but taking it out in the restaurant was not the appropriate thing to do.

Knowing he would soon be putting distance between him and the sea Magnus ordered a sampler plate of various shell fish. He wanted to enjoy the bounties of the sea while it was possible.

The dinner conversation was lively. Both brothers held strong desires to see the western frontier, and hoped to do so during their lives. They spoke of many places giving Magnus good information in making his travel plans. Both suggested getting on a train and riding it all the way to California. Magnus had already considered doing just that, but it seemed too obvious a plan if someone was looking for a man that was putting distance between himself and his past.

Clayton insisted on paying for dinner. On the walk back to the gun shop they stopped at a tobacco shop and Magnus bought three cigars. While Clayton penetrated the fortress of iron to enter the gun shop, Claude and Magnus puffed on their cigars.

A fine rum soaked cigar under a man’s nose makes the city easier on a person’s senses, Claude said.

The two bottles of wine may be lending some help as well, Magnus said.

Inside, Claude placed the black bag on a counter and pulled the rifle from an ingenious hidden compartment that was built into one side of the bag. He handed the rifle to Magnus. It was indeed a fine weapon. Octagon barrel, finely figured walnut, engraving on the barrel, action, and butt plate. Mounted