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Date: 15 September 2003 Contact Information
Revision: 05 October 2007 Area: USA > WV > KS
THE STORY OF THE LIFE OF CHARLES WINGROVE
as told to and written by Grace Valentine
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The Life of Charles Wingrove
It was a cold day that sixth of January, 1846. The sky over looking the Virginian landscape was icy blue, the air was frosty and a sharp wind kept whipping around the corner of the blacksmith shop.
Inside the shop it was dark and warm and the flames from the fire cast friendly shadows along the walls. Harrison Wingrove was busy at his work, his blue eyes thoughtful and intent as he bent over the wagon wheel he had just placed on the form to shrink. Now and then as he worked he added his comments to those of the three men who sat laughing and joking at the back of the shop.
Suddenly the door was flung open and a wide-eyed youngster flung himself into the shop. "Mama says you're to get Dr. Palmer and hurry," he cried out. "Mrs. Wingrove's took sick."
"Daniell Sumner, what are you trying to say?" asked Harrison Wingrove catching the child's arm and bending over to hear the excited words.
"I don't know, really I don't. I was just a playing in the yard while mama was a visiting in your house. Pretty soon she comes to the door and says I'm to hurry quick and get you and tell you to fetch Dr. Palmer quick as can be."
"All right, Dan'l," answered Mr. Wingrove, fumbling with his apron ties. "It's just sooner than we thought. Here, David," he said turning to one of the curious on-lookers, "You watch things and I'll be back as soon as I can."
A few hours later he sat at his wife's bedside and held the tiny bit of humanity that had caused the morning disturbance. The doctor who had arrived too late to be of such assistance had gone and Mrs. Sumner was straightening up the room.
"He's a funny looking baby, Frances, " said Mr. Wingrove looking warily at the bundle in his arms. "No fingernails and no toe nails and so tiny. What shall we call him?"
"I doubt if he lives long enough to bear a name," whispered the woman from the bed.
"We could call him Charles," answered her husband, "after that young lawyer, Charles Sumner, who is doing so well up north."
"Yes," replied Mrs. Wingrove, "If he lives we'll call him Charles."
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Even as a baby Charles Wingrove was a persevering character and he was not to be discouraged by the fact that he had arrived in the world two months ahead of schedule.
Many years later, as an old man, he loved to tell of the happy days of his childhood in his Virginia home. The Wingroves lived about nine miles form the little town of Buchannon, VA (WV). Their home and blacksmith shop were built on the gentle slope of a hill over looking a stream. The house itself was very simple as were all pioneer dwellings. On the ground floor was one rather large room where the family ate and worked and entertained their company. Up above was another room where they slept.
Around the house Mrs. Wingrove (Frances) had planted trees and flowers, for she had inherited from her Dutch ancestors a love for beauty. [Frances' Garden]
Guns and horses were young Charles' playthings even as they were to play an important part in his later life. "My father taught me the use of a gun sight before I learned to walk," old Charley would boast. "Why, when I was just a kid I could shoot straight as could be without bothering to use the sight."
"See, when you hold the gun so," Harrison Wingrove would explain to his young son as he demonstrated his fire arm, "you will hit what you're aiming towards."
For demonstration he would kill a squirrel that had been scampering in the trees.
"Glub," the baby would answer as though he understood perfectly the point that his father was trying to convey to him. In a few months, though, it was the trained baby who cried excitedly, "Gun. Get gun," and pointed to a squirrel running up the branch of a tree.
"He's a smart one," Harrison Wingrove told his wife proudly.
"Smart, all right," Frances Wingrove answered wryly, "but he'll be the death of us yet with his clever ways."
And with that she picked up the baby and hastened into the house. With her skirts gathered under the armload of baby she climbed the ladder to the second floor and put the baby in bed, muttering something about peace and quiet.
"Harrison," she called to her husband the next afternoon as she stepped to the shop where he was working. "Have you the baby out here?"
"No, Frances, isn't he with you?"
"Well, I put him on the floor in the house with his playthings and went out to the garden to work and now he isn't there," her voice rose in panic.
"He must be there somewhere, Frances, Have you looked--"
"Yes, I've looked everywhere. He's probably walked away somewhere and something's happened to him."
"Calm down, Frances. I'll get the Sumner's and we'll hunt for him."
The afternoon hours sped quickly by as one after another of the neighbors heard of the missing child and joined in the search. Frantically Mrs. Wingrove scurried about, in and out of the house, trying not to think of the dangers that could be facing the missing child.
As the late afternoon shadows gathered the party of seekers made their ways back to the Wingrove home empty handed, each looking at the others of the party hoping they would have found some evidence of the baby.
Mrs. Wingrove was sobbing quietly in the arms of Mrs. Sumner when suddenly a cry broke the unnatural stillness. It was the cry of a baby, just awakening from sleep, and it came from overhead.
"He's a smart child," Harrison Wingrove stated proudly when the baby was once more safely down stairs and in his mother's arms. "To think he would climb up that ladder!"
"Yes he is a clever one," the mother replied wryly, "and he'll be the death of us yet."
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When Charles was two years old another boy was born to the Wingroves. After that Charles, still a baby himself, was often placed in the care of his half-brother, Otis (Otis Patrick Wingrove b. 28 September 1841), who was six years his senior. They had rough and tumble times playing about the Wingrove home.
When Charles was three years old good fortune struck the Wingrove household. It was a hot summer day and Harrison Wingrove and Otis had gone on a three mile hike to secure coal for the blacksmith shop. In the meantime a neighbor had arrived with a horse to be shod. While he waited on Mr. Wingrove and Otis he wandered about the yard, young Charles stumbling after him. Once Charles tripped and fell and the man stooped over to pick him up.
"What's this you fell over?" he asked reaching for a black rock that had been in Charles' pathway. Just then Harrison and his son trudged wearily in the gate.
"Hey, Wingrove," the man yelled. "Come over here."
Mr. Wingrove left his load in the shop and walked over to where Charles and the man stood.
"These are coal blossoms you've got here, Wingrove. Why, man, you've probably got plenty of good coal right here on your own place."
It was an exciting discovery and especially so when it was found that the coal was of good quality, the best for many miles around. Soon people from near and far came to the farm for their coal leaving money and news for the Wingroves.
The carefree days of Charles Wingrove's life passed all too quickly for there was little time for playing in that pioneering age. Duties were soon given to young hands and lessons pressed quickly into idle heads.
Since Harrison Wingrove had taught school before he settled down to being a blacksmith he felt that his children should have as much education as possible. As soon as Charles was able to walk the half mile to the "subscription school" he was sent. Harrison Wingrove and the other fathers in the district paid the teacher, each according to what his child was learning. Mr. Wingrove made sure that young Charles studied diligently and was glad to pay well for the results.
Playing was thereafter a matter of exercising the fine horses belonging to Harrison Wingrove and learning to shoot with speed and accuracy.
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"George Lambert brought a letter from the Sumners when he stopped here today," announced Mr. Wingrove to his family one late summer evening as they sat down to supper.
"What did they say, Harrison?" asked Mrs. Wingrove with interest. "How do they like Clarksburg and do they miss us?"
"Spencer writes that he has a nice tanning business and they are making many new friends but miss us all," replied Mr. Wingrove pulling the letter from his pocket. He unfolded the pages and began reading the scrawled handwriting.
"Clarksburg is a fine city and we are learning quickly to like our new home. I opened a tanning shop soon after our arrival and am doing very well. Daniel is studying law at the Academy and seems to be learning a great deal. Why don't you send your Charley down to live with us and let him go to the Academy, too? They say our school is the best in the state and he could help out in the shop for his keep. Send word back with George Lambert if Charley is to come and Martha will fix a place for him to sleep."
"What do you think about Charles going, Harrison?" asked his wife anxiously as Mr. Wingrove laid the letter aside.
"It would be a fine chance for him and the Sumners would keep an eye on him. Besides Otis is there and he could watch out for him, too."
"I think he should go," stated her husband, and so it was decided.
Life in Clarksburg was a decided change for the thirteen year old boy and was, if possible, even busier than his former life had been. School were less formal in those days and students learned as much as fast and as they could. Daniel Sumner kept watch over Charles' scholastic life and pushed him as fast as he could. There were other hours when Charles worked in Spencer Sumner's tanning shop learning what he could about the trade and helping as much as it was possible for him to. He was quick to learn and soon became a real help for Mr. Sumner. In the house Mrs. Sumner, too, found many tasks for him.
But it was an interesting life, though a busy one. Already the rumblings of the coming strife were to be heard and young Charles Wingrove listened closely to al the talk that pertained to the trouble. Household tasks or jobs in the shop were forgotten or neglected when a crowd gathered to talk of governmental difficulties.
Charles soon learned the attitude of the Sumners.
"Let the states secede if they want," Mr. Sumner would state vehemently. "Virginia, too, she belongs with the South. We've a right to our slaves and if the Yankees don't like it let's secede."
Back in the Wingrove home came word of the Sumner's attitude.
"Spencer Sumner is doing a lot of rebel talking, Frances," Harrison Wingrove said to his wife one evening, a worried frown marking his customarily serene countenance. "It isn't right. I think I better go down to Clarksburg and see that he doesn't give our Charles any peculiar notions."
So one day Mr. Wingrove made the thirty-eight mile journey to Clarksburg to visit with his friends and to advise his son.
"Spencer seems pretty set on this secession, doesn't he?" he said to Charles when they could get a moment by themselves.
"Yes, he wants a union of the southern states with Virginia a part of it and where the states can have slaves," explained Charles.
"Take a little heed to what he says, Charles," advised his father gravely. "The slave has a right to his freedom but it is more important that the United States remain one nation. We were meant to be one nation. Your great grandfather fought in the Revolutionary War for the United States and you may have to fight to keep the states united."
There was little need to urge Charles to keep his northern loyalties for his sympathies were already placed there.
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"We're old enough to fight, sir," said your Charles Wingrove to the mustering officer. The Civil War had started. Lincoln was calling for volunteers and fifteen year old Charles and a group of equally youthful companions were eager to be a part of it. Charles spoke up proudly for his friends.
"We could help, sir."
"Go back and help your grandmothers pick up chips," laughed the officer and motioned them out of the room.
Disheartened, the boys walked slowly out of the building, heads down and feet shuffling. They ambled down the road, the fire of enthusiasm taken out of them. When they reached the hill over looking the town they flung themselves on the ground and gave way to disgust over their youthfulness.
"Let's show 'em," said Charles jumping determinedly to his feet.
"Let's show 'em we can fight."
Snapping into a military posture he yelled: "Attention!"
Instantly the boys were on their feet, standing erect and awaiting the next command of their self-elected officer. And so they spent every free moment during the ensuing months, out on the hilltop, drilling, drilling.
"Two years later found nearly the same group of boys restlessly standing in line before another enlisting officer. This time Charles' younger brother, Albert (Albert Wingrove b. 25 March 1848), was included in the group. The Gettysburg battle was fresh in the minds of each and there was eager determination in the youthful faces.
"All those who are under eighteen years of age step out of line," commanded the officer. A moment of silence followed. The line remained intact.
"All right. Step forward one at a time and give your names,"
"Charles Wingrove-----" Enlisted at last.
NEXT >> Part of the War
Other Ellen Wingrove Strader Submissions:
- Descendants of Otis Patrick Wingrove
- Notes on Albert L Wingrove
- Descendants of Harrison Wingrove
- Many others linked from the above pages.
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