Cities and towns -- Middle Atlantic States; Middle Atlantic States -- History
But the theological coin of the Synod of Dort, whether acceptable or not
to the English, was more or less inaccessible, being hid in the napkin
of the Dutch language. Evidently there was need of an English house of
worship in Albany. In 1714, therefore, Governor Hunter issued letters
patent granting a plot of ground in Jonker Street below the fort for
a church and cemetery. The Common Council made protest. The point at
issue was a question, not of doctrine, but of municipal rights. They
issued notice to suspend the laying of the foundations. They arrested
the workmen. They petitioned the Governor. They sent a messenger by
express in a canoe to New York,—a journey in those days of such magnitude
that the church was well under way by the time the return voyage was
accomplished. Despite all obstacles, the work went on and in the course
of a year the first English church west of the Hudson was built. The two
churches, the Dutch at the foot and the English at the head of State
Street, were the chief ecclesiastical landmarks of eighteenth-century
Albany. Like rocks in a stream, they stood in the broad thoroughfare and
preserved the magnificent approach to the future Capitol.
[Illustration: ST. PETER’S CHURCH, ERECTED IN 1715, FORT FREDERICK IN THE
BACKGROUND.
(FROM A WATER-COLOR SKETCH IN THE BRITISH MUSEUM.)]
Little as it was, Albany was the nest of important events and a maker
of history in those troublous days. Second to New York in size and
resources, it served as a wary sentinel and tremulous alarm-bell to the
exposed province. For well-nigh a century, all beyond it to the west
and north, except the hamlet of Schenectady and the French settlements
on the St. Lawrence, was wilderness and savages. It occupied a post of
the gravest peril and responsibility. We get a glimpse of the situation
and of the current history in the scene on that Sunday morning, the
9th of February, four years after the granting of the charter, when
Symon Schermerhoorn, shot through the thigh, told at the north gate of
the stockade his breathless story of the night attack and the horrible
massacre at Schenectady.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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