Sgt. John Weir

According to nephew John R. Weir (transcribed by Asa Fitch on 27 April 1870 - available in New York Public Library, Ration 12 1952, Vol. 1-7):

"My father's brother, John, came to Cambridge about the same time that Father did, and settled on a farm two miles from the roadway west on the road to Center Cambridge. He had a large family, sons named, Daniel, Spencer, and John, and several daughters."

Source: "Descendants of Robert Weir and Elizabeth Green of Old Cambridge - White Creek Washington County, New York - Compiled by Jane C. Whitaker

Sgt. John Weir, who had been a scout in the service of Sir William Johnson in the Mohawk Valley, stopped off at Cambridge, N.Y., to make a short visit with his older brother Robert and his wife Elizabeth (Green) Weir. While at the Weir home in the McKie neighborhood, John met, fell in love with, and married Elizabeth's younger half-sister Deborah Green. In February 1776, John purchased 100 acres of Cambridge Patent from Abraham Jacob Lansing, original grantee. He established a homestead there, and raised his family of nine children by his first wife, Deborah, and two by his second wife, Rebecca Wilson.

Tradition credits Sgt. John Weir as the local hero who rode to Bennington to warn General John Stark of the approaching Indians and unmounted dragoons in search of horses for them and supplies for Burgoyne's army.

Source: Narrative written by Mary Josepha (Woodard) Law on 16 May 1898 - Told to Mary by her aunt Nancy Weir Warren (granddaughter of Sgt. John Weir) "It is the early evening of Monday, August 11, 1777. The long summer day is drawing to a close and the hot August sun, whose fervid rays havve been painting the wheat fields a deeper golden hue, is sinking to rest behind the distant hills, wrapped in draperies of royal splendor of such brilliant colors as would tax the pen of a Stephen Crane to render into words.

"A light breeze is passing through the forest and reaches the little clearing where John Weir and his young wife, Deborah Green, had established a home and were doing yeoman service in conquering the primitive forces of nature and turning the wild forest land into a well-tilled farm. The sturdy farmer throws off his hat of home-braided straw and leans carelessly upon the fence, near which he stands.

"His strong arms had split and piled those rails, against which he rested, enclosing a small paddock where his stout farm horses rested in stolid contentment, and a couple of sleep red and white cows peacefully grazed. In a corner a little apart, reaching his head over the fence, stood good Black Warren, his master's pet and pride, sniffing the evening air with dainty dilated nostril, responding to his master's whistle with a low whinney of joy.

"The black and white hound laid herself on the grass at John Weir's feet, too indolent to do more than snap at an audacious flea or raise an ear, when with the deepening twilight, came the bay of her brothers from the hillside, where the followed the trail of the wildcat or the lynx.

"It is easy to imagine the peaceful scene upon which the eyes of John Weir rested 121 years ago. The farm is now occupied by the family of the late George Arnott, and lies about two miles southwest of the village, in Duell Hollow. The fertile soil, the beautiful hills and valleys, even a small portion of the forest land are unchanged to this day.

"The house, a small two-room frame building, is so substantially built and heavily timbered that it is still in use as the kitchen of the modern farmhouse. The barn of hewn logs was the work of John Weir, his neighbors and kinsfolk, and ruse as it would appear to our eyes, presented in that day, a picture of comfort, almost luxurious.

"At the doorway of the cabin sat Deborah, a slim, dark-haired energetic young woman busily plying her knitting needles and softly crooning a lullaby as her foot jogged the wooden cradle in which slept her first born, Catherine, a babe of six months while and ever anon, her eyes wander from the face of the babe to the corner of the clearing where already flourished beside a red 'piney,' the white rosebush, dear to the hearts of all of Deborah's descendants. A root from this same rosebush, with a pink peony, cherished by Captain Gilmore's daughter Elizabeth are treasured ornaments of our own garden.

"Oftenest and the longest, Deborah's eyes rested lovingly upon the figure of her hero, for like Desdemona, she was won by the dangers he had brave. Though barely 35 years of age, John Weir had crowded into that brief span a lifetime of adventure, and was certain nothing could ever tempt him to leave the quiet and contentment of his sheltered forest nook.

"Born near Boston in 1742, he was the fourth generation of his family in America. He was early apprenticed to a respectable citizen of Boston, to learn the now obsolete trade of the art of making leather breeches, but the trade not being to his mind, ran away to be a soldier, after a very brief experience with the needle, having learned just about enough to enable him to keep his own clothing in repair during his life as a rover.

"John joined a company of volunteers in the French and Indian War and fought for the English and the Colonists until peace was declared between France and England in 1765. It is no stretch of the probable to suppose that while engaged at Lake Champlain he met a youth of his age or rather some 10 years older, one Amos Woodard of Canterbury, Connecticut, who became my father's grandfather. In due course of time he settled in the Cambridge Valley at the close of the Revolution, when the two old Indian fighters, undoubtedly, swapped stories during the long winter evenings, with no evening papers waiting to be read, to distract their attention and destroy social visiting.

"The close of the war with Pontiac in 1769 four John Weir in the Mohawk Valley with Sir William Johnson. Possessing a cautious-cool head, the instincts, and the training of a hunter, a ready wit, and great physical endurance, John became one Sir William's most skilled and trusted scouts, and was constantly engaged in expeditions, and adventures of importance and danger. At the close of these wars, John left Sir William Johnson and the Mohawk Valley intending to return to Boston, but he turned aside on the way to pay a visit to his brother Robert who had migrated to the west, and settled in the Cambridge Valley, near Ash Grove, where James Benedict now lives.

"There John found his brother, prospering and married to Elizabeth Green, one of five sisters, and three brothers, several of whom became fathers and mothers in the Israel comprised in the Coila Church.

"Sally Green married a Blake and moved into the wilds of Greenwich, but the descendants of Mary (Green) McAuley, and Nellie (Green) Coulter, and of the later Greens, Samuel, Thomas and Drive William, still keep the name and memory of the family Green in the land.

"So John Weir came to Cambridge in 1771, intending to make Robert a short visit; go on to Boston, and then return to the Far West near the Great Lakes, little dreaming that the glance of a maiden's eye, and the glow of a blushing cheek would change the current of his life, and perchance the destiny of America, for without John Weir there might have been no victory at Bennington, and a famous historian has said, 'without Bennington there would have been no Saratoga and without a Saratoga, no Yorktown.'

"Young Deborah, spending some weeks with her beloved older sister, Elizabeth, listened while she spun, to the brothers talking together of the years since they parted, until to quote Othello: 'This to hear would she seriously incline, but still the house affairs would draw her hence, whichever as she could with haste dispatch, she's come again, and with a greedy ear, devoured up his discourse.'

"After years of wandering and bloodshed, small wonder that the charm of womanly sympathy, and the comfort of domestic life won the rover's heart, and the wooing quickly spread.

"John settled near the King Church, where land was secured under the direction of Deborah's family and guided by John's keen practical judgment, the young couple entered upon a peaceful life, from which the war between the colonies, and the mother country failed to rouse them.

"John Weir was naturally conservative, and having long served under the banner of King George, was reluctant to take up arms against the kind, and this attitude was strengthened by the influence of his wife's relatives, most of whom were Tories during the early days of the Revolution. After the foe came to their own hearthstones, it was another story, and the names of Thomas Green, William McAuley, James and Alexander Coulter appear in the list of Cambridge militiamen.

"While this explanation has been made, Deborah's knitting has grown at least an inch, but baby Catherine has awakened, and is now in her mother's arms, and JOhn Weir after a long and critical study of the fine wheat field, his principal crop, and that upon which the comfort of his family during the coming winter depends, has decided it must be reaped at once, and that the morning light should find him with sharpened sickle, ready for the heavy task. So giving Black Warren a good night pat, he turns toward the house, when his keen ear detects a distant sound, as quickly as the dog who raises his head to listen.

"Nearer comes the sound, until there is no longer a doubt, it is indeed the beat of a horse's hoofs, and of one urged to its utmost speed. As to who the messenger was, tradition is silent, except that John Weir received the tidings of Baum's coming, from one of his Tory relatives. It might have been a brother-in-law, or more likely a young nephew, sent to warn of coming danger, but the message he brought to that quiet home all know full well -- 'the Hessians are coming through the valley, a thousand strong, on their way to capture the supplies at Bennington, and with them are a host of Iroquois. Even now, the advance guard is building a road for the artillery over the hills this side of Union Village.'

"While Deborah exclaimed and wondered and listened to the story, John Weir sat in silence as one dazed by what he had heard. The Indians within a day's march of his fireside!!! No one within the Cambridge Valley realized as well as he the horrors of an Indian invasion.

"Earliest of his boyhood memories was the sad face and questioning eyes of his grandmother; and he hears again the story of her husband, starting through the woods for provisions at Boston, and never returning, the only clue to his disappearance being a fragment of clothing found where tracks of moccasined feet, and marks of a struggle told of a tragedy, then unhappily as common as it was horrible. The there comes to John Weir a vision of the retreat of Munni toward Fort Edward, and the massacre of his brave comrades, all unarmed. This minds him of another dread experience of his own, when he and a single companion lay in hiding sixteen terrible days, with scanty supply of water and no food, except the wild berries, and a rabbit or two, snared and eaten without a fire. Better far starvation than Indian mercies.

"Then a thought comes to him, born of his experience and the knowledge of the Iroquois. On the way over they will be to some extent under discipline, but upon their return march, if victorious, drunken with liquor and with blood, what scenes of horror would this lovely region know. The massacre at the lakes, when the Indians returning to Canada in 1746, after the invasion of the Hoosac Valley and Fort Massachusetts, disposed of the weaker of their captives, would be repeated, and still louder in his ears rings the death cry of the Allen family up in Argyle, when less than a month ago on July 25, 1777, nine persons were surprised, and murdered while seated at the dinner table.

"Where could the women and children hide from the double terror of the brutal German and the red fiend. Strongest of all passions in the man's soul was the fear, and the hatred of the Indian on the warpath, triumphant.

"Turning to the messenger, he asks one question, 'Has the militia been ordered out, and who has gone to warn General Stark at Bennington?' The answer is 'I guess nothing is done yet, and who would dare ride through the forest to Bennington?'

"Fiercely the struggle rated within John Weir's bosom for a time! Wife and child were dear to him, why should he leave them, when his care, and protection were most needed. If he went to join General Stark, the supply of food for the winter could not be garnered in, and they must suffer, or be dependent on the grudging aid of disapproving friends.

"More than all, whoever set out on this perilous ride might never reach Bennington; Baum had, doubtless, his Indian scouts scattered the entire distance, and fortuneate indeed the rider who could wind his way, undetected by their sharp eyes and quicker ears. Life was as dear to him as to any other man. Why should he risk it. But who of those about him had the training in woodcraft and Indian warfare that would give them even the one chance in a thousand - 'Thou are the man,' fate spoke loud and clear to John Weir's heart.

"A moment later he rose with a stern-set look Deborah had never seen before, which turned her cheek pale with anguish thought she knew not way. 'Deborah, my girl, I must this very night see Captain Gilmore and Major Ashton; their militiamen must be on their way to Bennington before sundown tomorrow. Someone must go south to warn the Whitesides, and their neighbors, and find Colonel VanWert, if his furlough has not already expired. For myself, I must go warn General Stark, and at once for every moment lost means greater danger on the way. Lad, stay you here until I return, if so be God's will. Sweetheart, the winter must go, and hard times are ahead of you, but better starvation, than the tortures of the Indian devils. If I come not back, Robert and Elizabeth will give you, and the little Catherine a home, and your family will care for the clearing.'

"Then bidding Deborah gather a supply of food into the old leather haversack, John filled his big horn flash with powder, bullets, and with a hasty kiss for wife and babe, saddled Black Warren, and rode out into the darkness of the summer night.

"Who shall attempt to describe the agony of the faithful wife - yet he had acted otherwise, woudl not the hero of her youthful fancy have dimmed the luster of his golden shield? The woman of those olden days were of heroic mold, and it is safe to guess that Deborah after a few prayers, and tears lay quietly to sleep in preparation for the great work she was already planning to attempt and to do.

"Its needs nothing of fiction to add to the story of John Weir's midnight ride on his good black horse, through the darkness of the forest paths, over the hills to Bennington. This heroic and historic journey needs no ornaments of imagination to make it vivid. What dangers he escaped only that Hand that guided the steps of the black horse and its rider knew, but thanks to that protecting power, John Weir reached General Stark early on Tuesday, August 12.

"Immediately runners were sent out to rouse the countrymen, and fifteen hundred farmers gathered to defend their homes, while a messenger was sent to Colonel Warner at Manchester asking for troops and ammunition. Upon the arrival of Weir, Stark at once dispatched two men, loyal and true, toward Cambridge to meet Colonel Baum, to whom they pretended they were deserters, and told a story of the strongly entrenched position of the Americans which caused Baum to delay two days at Cambridge waiting for reinforcements. The Indians, meantime, were stealing horses and cattle from the settlers. On the night of the 13th, Baum encamped near Waits Corners, and the next morning he reached the hill in White Creek that is known as the Bennington Battlefield. Captain Gilmore and his Cambridge Company under Major Ashton with Lieutenants Jonathan French and John Miller; Quartermaster John Baker, with Thomas Whiteside, John and Julius Collins, Gresham Woodworth and Caleb Wright; John Weir's brother Robert, and William Hay, a man of some note in the early history of Cambridge, with sever of the Heath family, and gallant Dan Crossman and Thomas Comstock with many other worthy patriots from this region, whose memories we revere, and whose valor is our boast, among the un-uniformed militia, which Baum, learned in the science of war, failed to recognize as fighting men.

"The Indians, however, had no doubts as to the quality of the frontiersmen's aim, and after one of their great chiefs was killed, and another severely wounded, they skulked away, leaving their allies to their fate.

"The story of the battle is too familiar to rehearse here - how the Germans entrenched themselves, and on Friday both sides waited through the pouring rain for fresh troops. Saturday morning the Continentals decided to wait no longer, but sending parties of the militia to surround the enemy and attack in the rear, made that famous onslaught at 3:00 in the afternoon, which left only a tenth of Baum's soldiers to tell the tale to Burgoyne, while of the other 900, 200 brave men and good fighters, with their gallant leader, 'soldier of fortune' though he was, lay with up-turned faces beneath the August sky. No one did better service in the Continental army than Sergeant John Weir; with his cool head, trained eye, and trusty rifle, he soon proved he had well eared the title given him by Sir William Johnson of 'the most expert rifleman in the Mohawk Valley.'

"Meanwhile, Deborah had no been idle. She was a worthy member of the most thrifty, careful and practical family in that section; John might go gallivanting off after Indians, if he would, but that wheat should not be wasted. With the break of day Tuesday morning she arose, prepared the simple morning meal, helped her young relative attend to the horses, and milked the cows. Then taking the sickles, and baby Catherine in the cradle, they went to the wheat field, where for three days she toiled, reaping the grain with as steady a hand as that with which John brought his gun to bear upon the foe.

"Thursday night found the work nearly completed, and on Friday in the rain, Deborah went to her relatives hoping for news of John. She only learned that the previous evening, stragglers from the Hessian camp, and most of the Indians had passed through the valley in full retreat, having with them the wounded chief, mounted on Captain Gilmore's gray horse, that they had stolen on their way to Bennington. The chief seemed to be badly wounded and his men were in too great a haste to commit further depredations.

"Brave Deborah went back to her task the next day. During the afternoon she could hear the dull sound of the distant cannon, and knew the battle was on. Feverishly, she toiled on, forgetting her own fatigue, thinking only of the dangers surrounding her husband, if he had survived the perils of his midnight ride.

"The terrible day dragged to a close, and before night the last sheaf of wheat was cared for, and Deborah spent the night hoping and listening for John's return. When the morning comes again, and no word of comfort, she determines to end the suspense, saddled the stout farm horse, takes little Catherine before her on a pillow, and goes forth to learn the worst.

"The birds sang cheerily in the clear air on that summer Sabbath of long ago, but who can tell how many times her woman's heart quickened and sickened at a glimpse of a stealthy form gliding in dim distance among the trees, while she clasped the infant closer at every rustle in the underbrush.

"Soon after passing the log tavern, where now stands the Checkered House, she met a group of Continentals, a melancholy band escorting a wagon where lay the bodies of Daniel Crossman and Thomas Comstock, who had given their lives for freedom, two of the 14 Americans who fell.

"Comstock was the first husband of the grandmother of Berry Long, and with Crossman rests in the old graveyard below the village.

"Neighbors joined Deborah before she had covered the nine weary miles to the battleground.

"There she found her husband unharmed, and just burying the last of the dead, an Englishman whose body had been found in a clump of bushes, where like a wounded animal he had crawled to die alone.

"What further service John Weir rendered his country, I do not know except that in an old Gazetteer of Washington County, I find him mentioned as having served in the Revolution, as distinguished from others of the settlers that we know were at Bennington. Very likely he went with Gilmore to Saratoga, and took part in the struggles that led to Burgoyne's surrender, but of that I have been unable to find any record as of yet.

"Deborah lived to bear John seven other children, and died relatively young. John, afterwards, married Rebecca Wilson, and lived to a good old age, dying in 1826, aged 84, and sleeps with his comrades in the old graveyard.

"The Little Catherine married her cousin Thomas, and it was from the lips of her daughter, Mrs. Nancy Warren, that I first heard the story of the brave old pioneer and his faithful wife: 'The gun is rust, their bones are dust, their souls are with the Lord, we trust.'"