Going to Church 1845 - Part 2

Several mentions of Benjamin Upton and his family~

Going to Church in 1845

Old Time Tales of Warren County

There is no one inside the church, its sexton has come and opened door and window to let in the warm June air, for the little building has been shut up all week and it would be much chillier indoors than out if the building had not been aired. There is no carpet on the floor, just smooth pine boards. The pews are straight and high and hard, eight steps lead up to a high pulpit where the preacher has ample vantage to look down upon his flock and discern, perchance, any who are nodding or inattentive. And should the good man observe any levity among the boys, seated down front, he has only to nod to one of his elders, two of whom are equipped with long rods for reminding irreverent youth that this is the Lord's house.

There is smooth, white plaster on the walls, only a year old. The church, built in 1840 has been only partially finished for nearly four years, but services have been held nevertheless. The windows have small panes of plain glass. There are iron sconces with tallow candles on the walls, but the church is seldom used at night. A pile of hymn books is on the pulpit floor, a large bible, with embroidered ribbon marker lies on the pulpit itself. The little church, with the warm June sunshine streaming in at its doors, stands in the midst of its green fields, awaiting the coming of its Sabbath morning congregation.

A horse was still a rich man's luxury in Warren County in the year 1845. Lumber dealers, riding down to Pittsburgh on their rafts were beginning to come home on horseback, having invested perhaps two hundred dollars in their first horse. Oxen were much less expensive, they were better than horses in many respects in the woods, they were slow, but not much behind a team of horses at the end of a day. And then, oxen required no expensive harness and George Gregg, living on the Brokenstraw just above Youngsville would make a fine ox yoke with green hickory bows and a good staple and ring for eight dollars.

At ten o'clock the first wagonful of church goers appeared, two entire families seated on boards laid across a wagon bed, the vehicle drawn by a pair of large red steers which swayed their long horns in perfect unison as they plodded along. There were fourteen in the wagon, husbands and wives, children in all stages of growth and an old, white-haired grandmother who sat, for safety and comfort, in the exact center of the wagon where there was a little springiness, and no danger of falling out. When the passengers had alighted at the church door the driver, a broad shouldered young man who had walked beside the team, unyoked his oxen and put them in a small field across the lane, there to graze and rest. For there were to be two church services, one at ten-thirty which lasted till about half past twelve, a second service at two-thirty lasting till well past four, to round out the day's preaching. So it was as well to turn out the oxen, for how could the good Reverend John McMaster, standing in his high pulpit which commanded a view of the ox pasture, look across the lane and announce as his text, "My yoke is easy and my burden is light" if he saw there the poor oxen standing for six hours under their heavy yokes.

Two church services within a few hours were not such a hardship when one considered the dinner that came between. Above the sides of the wagon box handles of huge baskets protruded. The regular Sabbath picnic dinner, eaten on the lawn at the church was a weekly event looked forward to for days. Each family brought its bountiful hamper, extra bountiful perhaps because of the custom of presenting to the preacher's family the pies, cookies, rolls of fresh butter, jars of jam, loaves of bread, the chicken that came in oversupply.

People who lived in Warren County in 1845 thought nothing of walking four or five miles to church. Some of the younger folk preferred walking to the slow-moving ox team, even an old man could walk faster than oxen moved. So fully half of the country congregation that, assembling this bright June morning is coming on foot, the men with baskets over their arms.

At a quarter past ten there are nine span of oxen that have brought nine wagon loads of people to the church, the perfect day has brought everybody out, it is going to be a big congregation. And now, the sound of horses' hoofs on the wooden bridge spanning the Brokenstraw. Everyone knows who is coming. Daniel Horn owns the first two seated carriage in the region, and a team of fat bay horses which can plough a field, skid logs or trot off to church with their master and his family. The Daniel Horns are social leaders in the community, their large house with its ten rooms and great stone fireplace, three miles up the creek is the scene of many sociables and much entertaining. The third sheriff of Warren County, a commissioner for two terms, Daniel Horn is a prominent man. And he is proud of his fine family.

The boys and girls, standing about with their fathers and mothers near the church door, take a great interest in Daniel Horn's horses, the bright buckles of the harness, the high wheeled, two seated carriage, built in Pittsburgh and brought with great care over the stage coach roads to the Brokenstraw Valley. Daniel has his daughters, Martha and Ellen with him, his wife and son Clinton. The young ladies are very pretty in flowered chintz dresses, light poke bonnets lined with pink. They are holding little parasols on their knees. As the girls alight from the high carriage, putting first a slim foot on the iron step, then gaining the ground they reveal low shoes fastened with black silk bows, and white-stockinged ankles.

Moses Andrews and his brother Robert appear. They are both members of the choir, Moses singing in a deep bass voice, Robert in soprano. Benjamin Upton has come to church cross-lots from his farm up Hosmer Run. Jacob Young, James White and his boy William, Robert Prather, the McCrays, the Mandavilles, Harniltons, Browns have arrived. The small, square church building, with its narrow eaves and no spire nor bell, looks scarcely large enough to hold the congregation as it files in, the men and large boys at one door, women, girls and smaller children at the other. As they pass the threshold conversation ceases, a reverential hush falls on the congregation. Men and women bow their heads a moment in silent prayer.

The Reverend McMaster, who wears nicely polished boots in the pulpit, a long skirted coat, wide-winged collar and white cravat, rises from his straight-backed chair, advances to the pulpit and announces the Doxology. The choir, seated in the balcony at the rear, sings it heartily; "Praise God from whom all blessings flow, praise him all creatures here below, praise him above ye Heavenly Host, Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost."

There is no organ, just the voices. Robert Andrews, the leader was proud of his choir. It met regularly for practice and sang well.

In the brief hush that followed the singing of the doxology, songs of nearby birds cane through the open windows, a swamp blackbird whistling in a wild cherry tree, the hillside cooing of a dove. The opening prayer, a hymn, "Safely through another week God has brought us on our way ;"the scripture reading, the long prayer, a very long one, another hymn. Moses Andrews' heavy bass thunders from the choir loft. Beside him stands his brother Robert, son of the first settler on the Broken-straw. Robert's little six year old son, Hiram, is sitting with his mother in the congregation. The boy is destined to become a staunch pillar of this same church and serve as elder till well past his eightieth year.



SOURCE:Ancestry.com. Old time tales of Warren County [database on-line]. Provo, UT: The Generations Network, Inc., 2005.
Original data: Bristow, Arch.. Old time tales of Warren County. Meadville, Pa.: Press of Tribune Pub. Co., 1932.