Ever since I was young, this has been one of my favorite historical markers. It’s in Schenectady’s Stockade, commemorating the ride of Symon Schermerhoorn (or Simon Schermerhorn, or any other set of spellings you please). As the Schenectady Massacre was underway, Schermerhoorn, with a musket shot in his thigh, rode his horse to Albany in the freezing night to raise the alarm.
“This morning about 5 o’clock ye alarm was brought here by Symon Schermerhoorn who was shott threw his Thigh yt ye french and Indians had murthered ye People of Skinnechtady; haveing got into ye Towne about 11 or 12 a Clock there being no Watch Kept (ye Inhabitants being so negligent & Refractory) and yt he had much a doe to Escape they being very numerous. They fyred severall times at him at last throw his Thigh and wounded his horse and was come over to Canatagione (Niskayuna) to bring ye news.”
The story that the gates of the Stockade were guarded only by snowmen that night is almost certainly untrue, and too great not to keep repeating.