Actually, he does. So do hundreds of thousands of so-called re-enactors–history buffs who go out and replay centuries’ worth of American combat. They relive not only the patriotic volleys of the Revolution, but also the goriest battles of the Civil War and even the trench warfare of World War I, complete with vintage planes swooping overhead. On a holiday weekend, it can make for darn good free entertainment.
That’s how, on the last weekend of December, my husband and I found ourselves with 18,000 other fans at the same Revolutionary War re-enactment as Batten. Sure, we wondered if we were crazy as we pulled on long johns and wrapped scarves around our ears in the predawn chill. But as the inky darkness lifted, we gazed in genuine amazement as rank on rank of threadbare American soldiers made their way down to the banks of the Delaware River. Suddenly we were back in December 1776. America had declared independence from Britain in July, but lost every battle since. George Washington needed a victory–soon–or he faced the dissolution of his Army. So on Christmas night, he ferried his troops across the Delaware in the sleet and snow and marched them into Trenton, New Jersey, for a surprise attack on the Hessians.
I had read about the Hessians, of course, those fearsome warriors who fought in the pay of King George III. But to behold them that morning, the sun glinting menacingly off their tall brass miter caps, their colonel barking out commands in German, was to despair for our own sorry soldiers. Yet thanks to luck and surprise, the Americans soon had them on the run through the streets of Trenton–“the same streets where the original battle was fought, but with taller buildings,” says Richard Patterson of Trenton’s Old Barracks Museum. My husband and I rocked to the thuds of cannon volleys–powerful, even though they were blanks. We hung on the words of historian Wayne Daniels, who, microphone in hand, gave a running CNN-style narration of the events as if he were covering breaking news. “This is unbelievable,” he exclaimed. “The pride of Europe, well disciplined, well equipped, surprised by the Continentals.”
Before long, Washington had eked out a desperately needed victory and saved the Revolution from becoming a footnote in British history books. My husband and I joined in the cheers at the sight of the general, leading his troops on horseback as they marched by, their tricorner hats raised in celebratory “huzzahs.”
No wonder Americans love to relive these moments. They make great theater, not to mention great history lessons. Even the minutiae entertain–say, the tantalizing tidbit that some 18th-century men used padding to enhance certain physical attributes. No, not those attributes. Falsies in cotton stockings did wonders for spindly calf muscles. Of course, there are other ways to solve the problem. “My secret is double pairs of stockings,” confides John Wright, who looks dashing in the red coat and 10-inch bearskin hat of a Royal Welch Fusilier.
It’s not just the battles that Wright enjoys (particularly on days like this, when the British lose). He also loves to make kids squirm with his re-creations of 18th-century amputations–a swig of rum to deaden the pain, a strop of leather between the teeth to prevent biting off the tip of the tongue. And he can’t help throwing in the odd bit of trivia. “Did you know men didn’t wear underwear then?” he asks. “Their shirts were thigh-length, so they wrapped them around their legs.” Does that mean he skips underwear? “It depends if my breeches are linen or wool,” he says. Ouch.
It’s all great fun. But it’s also moving in ways my husband and I hadn’t anticipated. Let’s face it. We Americans have been feeling shaky lately. But the Revolution was a time when things were truly iffy. In late 1776, the American cause looked so bleak that it provoked Thomas Paine to write, “These are the times that try men’s souls.” (And as re-enactors might add, men’s soles.) Yet we survived. We even assimilated about a third of the Hessians, who remained in this country, despite wartime propaganda that demonized them as brutal mercenaries. “Our enemies became us,” says re-enactor David Emerson. “Might that not happen again?” It’s a calming thought. And on this day in Trenton, I take a peculiar comfort from walking–figuratively, if not literally–in my ancestors’ shoes.
