"Chief Joseph Brandts field..." or Living Between Worlds

     I think one of the great things about our hobby is the way in which we as reenactors, some of us anyway, exist between two worlds. In the 18th century, the two worlds were European and Native. For us, we certainly still have that dynamic happening, but we also have our existence in this modern world, and our fascination and recreation of the old world. It's between these two worlds that we find ourselves when we clock in for the 9-5 while our head is full of old world knowledge, quotes from narratives, projects we have on the horizon or events we can't wait to attend. It happens when we drive down the road in our car, and stare off into a field or wooded area and imagine ourselves traveling through with our gear and think about going in the woods soon to "get away from it all". Our ancestors of course never thought about camping in the woods as "getting away from it all." But none the less, the forest has become our last bastion of peace and quiet in an ever busy and loud world and it's the nearest and closest thing at hand to experiencing life "back then". Rarely do we have a town or old house from the era to "play" in, so the woods will have to suffice. 

Guy Johnson by Benjamin West

    

Living in between worlds was a theme of a recent trip to New England, which I will spare a lot of the details accept what is relevant to this particular post, but suffice to say, it was a splendid time and got me thinking a lot about this phenomenon in the past and in the present. The first big stop on the trip and the focus of this post was "Johnson Hall" in Johnstown NY. Built in 1763, this site was the definition of "between two worlds". Sir William Johnson was the Superintendent of Indian Affairs during the French and Indian Wars up until his death in 1774. His consort, Molly Brandt, a native woman and sister of Joseph Brandt is a fascinating example of the these worlds coalescing. As we were informed by Wade Wells, the site manager, Johnson Hall was a place of constant activity and especially when it came to native visitors. There were many councils held there and Johnson was constantly entertaining. 

    From a living history portrayal standpoint this becomes a very fascinating intersection of cultures. We have many examples of captives and other people going to live with natives, maybe staying a while and then leaving in the case of someone like James Smith or William Wells. But we rarely have a man of such prominent means living with a native woman who is running the household, a very European household, while also maintaining her cultural identity and manner of dress. 

    For us as reenactors, I think this can serve as a great introduction into how we think about our kit. In the early 1770s, the year Sir William dies and the subsequent years, we have Nicholas Cresswell, a man of moderate means traveling in the backcountry. Cresswell encounters along the way natives who give him clothing and goods. And it's in this context that we can build a case for the exchange of cultures in various circumstances. In 1774 Cresswell writes : 

"Saw four Indian Chiefs of the Shawnee Nation, who have been at War with the Virginians this summer, but have made peace with them, and they are sending these people to Williamsburg as hostages. They are tall, manly, well-shaped men, of a Copper colour with black hair, quick piercing eyes, and good features. They have rings of silver in their nose and bobs to them which hang over their upper lip. Their ears are cut from the tips two thirds of the way round and the piece extended with brass wire till it touches their shoulders, in this part they hang a thin silver plate, wrought in flourishes about three inches diameter, with plates of silver round their arms and in the hair, which is all cut off except a long lock on the top of the head. They are in white men's dress, except breeches which they refuse to wear, instead of which they have a girdle round them with a piece of cloth drawn through their legs and turned over the girdle, and appears like a short apron before and behind. All the hair is pulled from their eyebrows and eyelashes and their faces painted in different parts with Vermilion. They walk remarkably straight and cut a grotesque appearance in this mixed dress. Got to Mr. Gibbs's in the evening." 

    Cresswell also buys some goods and "some silver trinkets to barter with the Indians". So there is an expectation that he may want to trade with them while on the journey. It's little details like this one that are so cool and offer a good addition to your kit if you're someone traveling in the manner of Cresswell and his companions in the backcountry. Getting these details right and balancing them in a manner that keeps you from standing out as "unique" is the key. Basically, that rule of thumb of who, what, where, and when. 

    Now, living in these two worlds. I have found that for us as modern reenactors, the struggle as I mentioned above is between the modern and the old worlds. I don't think it's some desire to go back wholesale to some pre-technological time, although some technologies we'd probably be better off without. I think what is actually at play is a desire to get in touch with things that aren't part of our daily life anymore but at one time were. Hunting, going to the woods for extended periods, sewing, gardening, and learning other crafts is a way of connecting. 

    For Cresswell and the natives he encountered, the connection was in sharing and learning each others customs. He writes of his time in Ohio near the Moravian settlement : "At Coashoskis. Mr. Anderson could not find his horse. Sold all my goods for Furs. In the afternoon rambled about the Town, smoking Tobacco with the Indians and did everything in my power to make myself agreeable to them. Went to see the King. He lives in a poor house, and he is as poor in dress as any of them, no emblem of Royalty or Majesty about him. He is an old man, treated me very kindly, called me his good friend, and hoped I would be kind to my Squaw. Gave me a small string of Wampum as a token of friendship. My Squaw uneasy to see me write so much.

    Back to our modern world. Reenacting seems like a relatively new phenomena, but it's actually really old. I would say it's new in the sense that we now care about the accuracy and details, but the idea of dressing up and commemorating long ago events isn't new at all. Indeed, ancient tribes gather at times to commemorate valiant deeds and events in their oral traditions and act them out. I think people have always been interested in their past. I think what is new is the amount of leisure time we have. Those of us who are into this weird history stuff fill that leisure time with recreating a time that had less leisure. Always with this dichotomy. 

     At the height of Cresswells living between worlds, he participates in a dance of which the viewers are very amused to see him attempt their ways. "At Coashoskin Mr. Anderson found his horse. Saw an Indian Dance in which I bore a part. Painted by my Squaw in the most elegant manner. Divested of all my clothes, except my Calico short breechclout, leggings, and Mockesons. A fire was made which we danced round with little order, whooping and hallooing in a most frightful manner. I was but a novice at the diversion and by endeavouring to act as they did made them a great deal of sport and ingratiated me much in their esteem. This is the most violent exercise to the adepts in the art I ever saw. No regular figure, but violent distortion of features, writhing and twisting the body in the most uncouth and antic postures imaginable. Their music is an old Keg with one head knocked out and covered with a skin and beat with sticks which regulates their times. The men have strings of Deer's hoofs tied round their ankles and knees, and gourds with shot or pebblestones in them in their hands which they continually rattle. The women have Morris bells or Thimbles with holes in the bottom and strung upon a leather thong tied round their ankles, knees and waists. The jingling of these Bells and Thimbles, the rattling of the Deer's hoofs and gourds, beating of the drum and kettle, with the horrid yells of the Indians, render it the most unharmonious concert, that human idea can possibly conceive. It is a favourite diversion, in which I am informed they spend a great part of their time in Winter. Saw an Indian Conjuror dressed in a Coat of Bearskin with a Visor mask made of wood, frightful enough to scare the Devil. The Indians believe in conjuration and Witchcraft. Left the Town, went about two miles. Camped by the side of a run. A young Indian boy, son of one Baubee a Frenchman, came after us and insists on going with us to Fort Pitt. Find myself very unwell this evening, pains in my head and back. Nancy seems very uneasy about my welfare. Afraid of the Ague."

    What an amazing description. He also recounts a sweat lodge later in the journal. 

    I think you get the idea. I love the idea that we live in between the modern and the old and reenacting, between the European and the Indigenous. I think it helps me appreciate the clash of worlds that was happening in the 18th century. I certainly enjoy getting out into the woods or to an event to pretend for a few days that I'm someone else in a different time, but I also enjoy that after event pizza or cheeseburger with a tall glass of soda. What can I say...

    Thanks for reading. 

 POST SCRIPT: If you're enjoying the blog, hop over to our YouTube channel and check out the interviews we've been doing. Also, if you haven't ordered a shirt, info is in the last post. Thanks to the patrons for sponsoring the work of this blog! If you haven't yet, consider becoming a patron via the link in the upper right hand corner of the blog (mobile users must switch to desktop mode to see it.) 

    

    

The Fall Season, VHS Tapes and Goals

     Summer hasn't been extremely busy on the reenacting front, but there has been a lot of other stuff going on. Eileen and I's band Sweet William has been releasing new music, doing art and such. We've had kids visiting at various points this summer and that has been a blast. Just a lot of family stuff and staying close to home. But this fall looks to be filling up with some really good events and we're looking forward to getting out and seeing folks. The living history community is home and I never feel like I get quite enough time out in it. 

Just a few of the titles. I've added more since this was taken

    I've been collecting VHS tapes, just another weird hobby on top of the several other weird hobbies I have. When I was a kid, like so many others, movies really fueled my passion for history and informed what I spent my time doing. I'd get up early, throw on Last of the Mohicans, Gettysburg or something like that and then the rest of my day was set. I'd dress up, take off into the woods and I'd be totally occupied for hours. And so those memories are tied up with the VHS format. Sticking those tapes in the player, rewinding, fast forwarding. Not the instant gratification we experience now with streaming and such. There was actually some effort involved. At any rate, I've accumulated most of my childhood favorites and all of the history movies I enjoyed growing up and even some new ones to me. It's been a lot of fun. 

    Yesterday (as I write this), I took the boys out into the woods and we had a fun time aping the "savage." I really hope all my kids grow up with a love of history and getting out into the woods and knowing something of the old ways. 

    

    The fall season will soon be upon us and I'm excited for the events coming up. It's also gonna be time to start preparing for the fall and winter outings I've been wanting to do. I've been talking with Jim Jacobs a lot and we are making some plans to get out into the woods. His knowledge and woods skills are really something I'm wanting be exposed to so that hopefully by some osmosis and observation I can get to be a slightly better woodsman. When you spend time with people who have been doing it for a long time, and you keep your eyes open, you'll pick up on little things that they do, habits that they have developed, items they never leave camp without, items they never forget to include in their kit, small ways they arrange their gear, the devil in the detail type of stuff. 

    I've been cooking up a plan to hit the woods with Eileen at some point this fall. Hike in, build a shelter and just enjoy the woods, work on some skills, make some moccasins and scout around. It's got me thinking about brush huts and makeshift wigwams. John U Rees did a great paper on this subject in a rev war context back in 2003. You can read that here. 

    In 2018 during the Floyd's Defeat event, Tom Landefeld and I built a brush shelter the first night. We stayed nice and warm and it's probably the most pleasant night I've ever spent in the woods. Later on we built a bigger shelter once the rest of the company arrived. 

Brush shelter by Tom Landefeld

    

Shelter we built the following day when our party arrived

    A good belt axe, a tumpline, some kind of rope or cordage and a blanket or plenty of brush and you're in business. We had some canvas tarps and some oil cloth with us on that particular outing. Really came in handy as the snow began to to fall the next morning and by noon it looked like this. 

    So my main goals this fall and winter are simply to get out in the woods more, work on some sewing projects and hone the skills a bit more. Let me know what goals or exciting things you have planned for the fall season in the comments. 

Bledsoe's Muster, Raid on the Kentucky and Other Announcements

     Well after a great immersion event this past spring, we are ready to announce next years. 

    Raid on the Kentucky will build off of this past years success and be more of a force on force military style campaign event. Our goal is a 20 plus man company so now is the time to get those kits squared away and be looking towards the future. More details will roll out as we get closer. Registration can be found here. As always, include a photo of your kit. 

    In September of this year, we are hosting the revamping of the rifle frolic at Bledsoe's Fort in Tennessee. This is a juried event and registration can be found here. This event will be a great experience and will feature a militia muster, rifle frolic, trade blankets, and good evening socializing. 

     We're also doing another shirt, this time with Kobuck's blessing. He found this quote years ago it became the slogan of the old ACM. Pre-Orders can be made here!  

    We've started publishing a physical dimension to the blog, a quarterly zine. For those who don't know, zine is short for magazine and is usually a small, self published and about whatever topic you want it to be. Zines were popular during the punk movement and now can be found on a wide variety of topics. So being an old punk rock dude, I thought the Shirttail Mess needed one. They'll have articles and such along with some irreverent humor and shenanigans. Just something fun to get in the mail, and I don't know about you but I love getting cool stuff in the mail. 

    In other news, you might have noticed a new feature up in the right hand corner of the blog if you're reading this on a desktop. If you're on your phone you have to switch to desktop mode. You can become a Patron on the blog for $5 a month. I'm really wanting to produce more written material here and also expand the presence of the blog onto YouTube and such. I've got several cool projects in mind and I hope you'll enjoy them! If you become a patron, you'll also get the following perks: 

-Subscription to the Zine (4 a year)

-Your name on the blog as a patron 

-Exclusive patron merchandise (stickers etc.) 

And whatever else I think of as it grows. 

 This blog has been a joy to write along with my best buddy Matthew Fennewald and now my wonderful wife Eileen,  and I'm always amazed as I travel around who has read it. People I've never even met and people who it has helped inspire. And that's the whole goal. Inspiring others to get out in the woods and enjoy history. 

 I'm really looking forward to the future!  

The Backcountry Farmer because It wasn't all killing deer and fighting Indians

     Once again our image of the backcountry is going to be challenged. The rugged frontiersman hunting deer and stalking through the woods in search of Indians is still so prevalent and yet, what were most people doing? Well, in the 1770s, 85-90 percent of the population farmed to one degree or another. Thats a LOT of people working the land and so when we're thinking about our persona, the likelihood of everyone portraying a market hunter or a longhunter in the backwoods starts to feel a little niche. That's because it was. In the time period, you might have a job doing that for a while, but what do you do the rest of the time? What if you're a settler in the frontier of Virginia or what is now Kentucky or Tennessee? Is everyone in around the nearby station a market hunter? Who's doing the farming? 

    Well, to that end I'm going to start delving into the agricultural aspects of the 18th century as it was THE mode of life for most people in the 18th century. Clearing land, building a cabin, plowing up the dirt, putting in a crop and harvesting.     

    As we've already established the appearance of someone in the backcountry in previous posts there won't be a need for it here. But I wanted to look at what Cresswell had to say about farming, so I dove in and here's what I found. He places his very reason for coming to the Americas in the first place on farming. 

"From the best accounts I have been able to get, and from my own Idea of the country, I am sensible a person with a small fortune may live much better and make greater improvements in America than he can possibly do in England. Especially in the Farming way, as that is the business I have been brought up to. I have made it my study to enquire more particulars about it. The land I am told is good and the price is very low. Consequently Agriculture must be in its infant state. The Climate must be good on some part of the Continent, for it is all climates in extent."

Upon his arrival in Virginia, he is extremely critical of their farming practices. 

"The Land here is level, sandy and barren in general, except where it is mixed with Oyster shells which renders it very fertile. Agriculture is in a very poor state. In short, they know very little about farming. Tobacco and Indian corn is all they make and some little wheat. All done by Negroes. The Tobacco is all worked with Hoes, the Indian corn with Ploughs, but of a bad sort and without a Colter. The furrow they make is not more than two inches deep and does little more than kill the weeds. Land sells upon an average here, at about three Dollars pr. acre. (Thirteen shillings and Sixpence Sterling.)"

He later remarks on the expense of land and how much yield for crops and cattle breeding. 

"I am exceedingly pleased with these two Counties, and am determined to settle in one of them, if ever these times are settled. Here is every encouragement. Land is purchased at 30 shillings, this currency per acre, that is 26 shillings sterling. It will produce any sort of grain, the average of wheat is about 12 bushels to the acre, but it is not half ploughed and manure of any sort is never used. Meadows may be made with little trouble, and the range for stock is unlimited. Horses sell amazingly high, and fat cattle of all sorts. When lean are bought very cheap. The Farmers here are little acquainted with breeding cattle, indeed they are too lazy. Public taxes are very trifling. Little Tobacco is made in the Counties of Frederick and Barley."

Along the Ohio River he had this to say in August of 1775. 

"At Captn. Stephenson's. Instructed his people to make a stack of wheat. Farming in a poor uncultivated state here."

It isn't until he gets to Pennsylvania (an Kobuck will be very happy about this, not that I wish to encourage him) that he begins to have a more positive outlook. I'll throw in the comment about the Duke of Cumberland Tavern as to knock Kobucks illusions about the colony of Pennsylvania down a notch. 

" Lodged at The Sign of the Duke of Cumberland, the Landlord is a Scotch-Irish Rebel Colonial and his house is dirty as a Hog's stye. Land good in general. Farmers rich and industrious. Irish and Dutch inhabitants."

I also want to point out in this next one the positive outlook on a Dutchman. 

"Dined at The Cross Keys. Lodged at The Spread Eagle, a clean Dutchman's house. Land broken and hilly, but the Farmers seem rich, good stock, and their land well cultivated. Passed 5 companies going to camp."

As he is lamenting leaving the Country and the Rebellion that has begun, he details what he could have done as a farmer here in America. 

"I am well convinced that I could have lived much better and made more money, as a Farmer in this country, with five hundred pound, than I can in England, with two thousand. Agriculture is in such an infant state and the value of land so low that anyone with the least spark of industry might make what money they please. As a proof of it I will here subjoin a plan I formed to myself in the Spring 1775, as times were then..."

 He then goes on to give a list of things he would have needed and their cost to get a large scale farming operation up and running. 

Cost. --- Vir. Currency.

 To the purchase of 500 acres of land @ 40s. per --- £1000

 To 30 Breeding Mares £30 --- £900

 To one Stallion imported --- £100

 To 20 Cows and 10 Oxen @ £4 --- £120

 To 20 two-year-old Cattle @ 30/— --- £30

 To 30 Ewes and 20 Wethers @ 12/6 --- £30

 To 5 Men Servants and 2 Women @ £20/— --- £140

 To 20 Hogs at 10s/— --- £10

 To Poultry --- £2

 To Clothing 5 Men & 2 Women @ 50/— ea. --- £17: 10 s: 0d

 To 1 Waggon --- £20

 To 2 Carts --- £20

 To 4 Ploughs @ 30/— --- £6

 To 2 Harrows @ 40/— --- £4

 To Gear for Waggons, Carts, Ploughs and) other necessary implements of husbandry.) --- £30

 Annual quit rent of 500 acres @ 2/6 per 100 acres. --- £12: 6s

 To 8 tithables @ 10s/— per tithable --- £4

 [Total] £2434: 2s: 6d 

    I hope this goes to show that the thing on his mind, despite his backcountry adventure and encounter with Indians and Buffalo and all, that his person once clad in leggings and hunting shirt, was thinking about the money that could be made farming. 

 As for me, I hope to start delving deeper into 18th century farming practices in future posts so stay tuned for that! 

Dark and Bloody Ground : Immersion Recap

 

I’m never exactly sure how to write these immersion recaps. Should I simply tell it as it happened? Should I write it as though it’s an 18th-century narrative, straight from the Draper Manuscripts? I never know. So I suppose I’ll do a little of both—maybe. We’ll see how it goes.

After traffic delays and some van battery issues, I finally arrived on site late Thursday evening. David and Dillon were already there and had gone into the woods. Elijah had arrived as well, and he and I quickly kitted out and went looking for our native counterparts. We spent the first night camped together, and by the next day the rest of our parties had arrived.

By mid-afternoon Friday, the hunting party was assembled and in the woods: five men total—myself, Elijah, Joshua, Ehrin, and Sayer. Elijah had brought some green deer hides, and he and Sayer set about making frames to stretch and hang them. While they worked, Joshua, Ehrin, and I began construction on the half-face shelter. We had one good felling axe, several belt axes, and a crosscut saw.

Work was going well when suddenly natives were spotted on the ridge above. Our camp was, admittedly, poorly placed. We sprang to our rifles and managed to drive them off. After that, we became more vigilant.

Later, I went to the spring for water and was ambushed by the native party. I managed to escape when the rest of my group came to my aid. We made a second attempt at dusk, but they had crept closer to camp and sprang an ambush. The fight that followed was intense and close-quarters—in the darkness, we could see them only by the flashes from their firelocks.

I passed a sleepless night, cold and uncomfortable. In the early hours, Elijah and I rose and built a small fire, keeping a watchful eye on the ridge. As the rest of the party stirred, we warmed salt pork over the fire and resumed our work through the morning.

While sitting on the back log of our half-face shelter, I spotted a native watching our camp from the underbrush. I slowly stood and walked to my rifle. Just then, fire erupted from the trees, accompanied by war cries. We sprang into action. Elijah crossed the dry creek and cut off any attempt at flanking. We formed an open line and began exchanging fire. I shouted, “Let’s show them what Virginians are made of!” and with that, we charged. They fell back a short distance and took up positions behind trees. At one point, I was just ten feet from one of them. It was close and intense, but we finally drove them off.

As we returned to camp, we saw one of the natives run down and grab our felling axe where Joshua had been cutting wood. With the axe gone, work on the shelter slowed considerably.

Later, while Joshua and Ehrin scouted up toward the spring, the natives realized our group was divided. They rushed our camp and quickly encircled us in their usual half-moon formation. We fought for our lives. After about ten minutes, Ehrin and Joshua broke through the native line and rejoined the fight. Elijah and I flanked to the left, and I pushed up to the ridge, expecting to find the enemy. To my surprise, I was alone.

Eventually, I stumbled upon the native camp—and there was our felling axe. I took it back, along with a tobacco pouch, and returned to camp with my prize.

   At this point, all the hides were on frames and scraped, and we’d made good progress on the half-face shelter. We were low on powder, so I decided to go parley with the natives. Upon arriving at their camp, it was decided I would be “captured” and taken above our camp to deliver a message: we were not welcome in Kentucky. And that’s how it ended.

It was a truly incredible weekend. So many vivid moments added to the realism—not just the skirmishes, but the quiet times in camp, the work on the hides, and the sounds of timber being chopped. From their perspective, hearing us in the woods deepened the experience.

One of the most special moments was having my dad come down and sit in camp for a while. It was a dream come true for him to see us doing this on his property, and I’m glad he could be part of it. We all camped together the last night with Eileen and Colleen joining us, went out for a group dinner and reminisced about our epic weekend and made plans for the future. 

I'm also glad that we had several relatively new guys, and they're more fired up about living history than ever.

This won’t be the last!  

The Versatility of Common Garments and Immersion on the Brain

     In just over a week, I will be in the woods of Kentucky with some like minded individuals portraying hunters in the backcountry. I've been thinking as I put my kit together and look at all my gear laying all over the back deck of the house about how a simple starting point can help you build all manner of impressions for the Backcountry, but I want to highlight two different looks that I think are important for our purposes here. I've also, in the lead up to the event, gotten several inquiries about attending. I had to give the usual speech about this not being your average 18th century event at Fort Harrod or Boonesborough. That the standards are a bit higher, and offered help in the direction of what could be done to improve. And so I thought that it would be good to maybe revisit some basics. 

    The base layer is very simple and with this layer, a person could come to an event, borrow a few things from his comrades, and boom, he's attended his first event and can now make more purchases or make some things. That base layer is two garments. A shirt and a pair of trousers. You can purchase both these things "off the rack" from South Union Mills. I've seen their trousers in person and they're really solid and the best option currently on the market. My wife made both the shirt and trousers pictured here. 

    With these as your base you can do a lot. I decided I'd show two looks that I think are the easiest to achieve with a little sewing or commissioning (or again, purchasing from South Union Mills). The first is what I'll call the Virginia Farmer Going to the Field. He's got some work to to do out in the area around his cabin and he's bringing his firelock, bag and horn along just in case of danger. He'll pick up his axe, saw or whatever tools he needs for the task at hand as he leaves the house or cabin and a jug of water to stay hydrated. He wears a small round hat cocked up on one side and a linen jacket that he'll shed once he starts to sweat. He's wearing buckle shoes, that depending on what he's doing he might kick off and enjoy the freedom of the backcountry. 

    Later that week he's been called up for service on an Indian Campaign. The Natives are on the move and he's been asked to defend the frontier. He's now wearing a hunting shirt, a pair of woolen leggings and moccasins, his firelock bag and horn are with him still and he's added a bedroll suspended from a tumpline. 

    All of this is the average amount of clothing and accoutrements I take to a public event. I usually throw most of it in my knapsack and then I have options depending on what's going on. Now, for an immersion like what is coming up, I'll be a lot more selective and limit myself to the outfit I feel best reflects the scenario and what the person I'm portraying in the past would've done in the same scenario. 

    One good thing about the backcountry is that you can do a lot with relatively little. One thing I want to stress is what Kobuck is always saying. These aren't "brands". "Hunter" isn't a brand. "Farmer" isn't a brand. These are occupations and the clothing doesn't necessarily indicate the occupation, although "Hunting shirt" would definitely be an exception. Jackets and trousers were universal garments worn by everyone. Laborers, farmers, sailors, hunters and every other occupation you could imagine. There's no such thing as a "Longhunter Kit" or a "Farmers Kit". There's just common clothes, and different tools and accoutrements for each job. A versatile backcountry kit is one that can be both farmer, hunter and soldier with a simple adding and subtracting of layers specific to the job at hand. 

    I hope this gives some of the folks who are wanting to get out with us at future immersion events something to chew on and to really put some thought into simplicity and versatility. Less is more and common is best. 

    Resources and Items for Purchase : 

http://thebuffalotrace1765.blogspot.com/2017/09/i-bet-if-you-tolld-henry-harmon-he-was.html

https://www.southunionmills.com/excelsior-line-18th-century-mens-linen-trousers/

https://www.southunionmills.com/completely-handsewn-18th-century-shirt-checked-linen/

Captain Titus Death March and How I Don't Like Change...

     Another Martin's Station has come and gone. It was great to see so many friends and familiar faces. My parents made the trip down for the first time in six years. It's the first time I've been to the same event as my folks in quite some time. The unfortunate downside was Eileen falling ill Friday night. She soldiered through the day on Saturday and then we made the decision to pack up and take off. I'm glad we did because she ended up with a fever and asthma attacks. 

    I was taken back this weekend to the many events of the past held in the shadow of that incredible mountain ridge. Those moments of time travel I've experienced so many times. There were many stories that came up over the weekend, many about the Raid. 

    The Raid at Martins Station came to an end a number of years ago and the feelings ranged from outrage to "it's about time". I'll leave the modern politics out of the discussion, there's been enough said about it and I'm just not interested in weighing in. But I will say this. I miss the Raid at Martins Station. As out of hand as it could be at times and yes, even a little cringey, the 11 year old kid in me still longs for it.

    Imagine, it's nearing dusk. The fort is suddenly a hub of activity. Natives have been spotted in the area around the Fort. Captain Titus barks orders, the men stand to attention. Other companies of men stream into the Fort. Women and children rush to find shelter within the walls. Then suddenly a war cry, the woods erupt with gunfire. The men on the walls of the fort return fire and we prepare to march out and engage the enemy. As we march out of the gate, to our right a small corn crib is set ablaze. We form our line and engage with the natives who are darting around the cabins and buildings outside the protection of the log palisade and blockhouses. Fire spits from the port holes as men discharge their rifles and are handed freshly loaded ones from the women. If this scene didn't stir your blood and set fire to your imagination, then you either weren't there, or I'm a poor writer. In some ways, words can't do it justice.     

    When I first came to Martins Station I was 11. Captain Titus, the man who so effortlessly led you back in time with his manner that just seemed so naturally suited to the 18th century, was larger than life to me and when he saw me lugging around my drum, I became his drummer. This lasted a few years until I was finally able to shoulder a gun, but it is a memory I will treasure. "Drummer, beat the drum" he'd say, I 'd stand on a stump in the middle of the station drumming away as the men assembled before us. Every year, he'd lead us on the now legendary "Death March", so named by the men who trudged along in buckle shoes until, I'm sure, blisters formed on heels. And there was Titus, always about 20 paces ahead of the column, gliding along with his easy gait, sword hanging by his side. He demanded and got respect, because with Titus, it wasn't just something we were doing for the public. Not some mere educational program that ended at 5 o'clock when the modern crowds left. This was LIVING history. This was as near to time travel as any us were ever going to get and by God, we were gonna get there if he had anything to say about it. And so we marched, not to our deaths, but into the past, down the trails our ancestors trod before us until we were alongside them shoulder to shoulder, experiencing their experiences as closely as we could muster for 3 days in the Powell Valley of Western Virginia. And I loved every second of it.     

    And now I'm 34. The world has changed a lot since I was 11. For the better, I'm not sure. But that's what those who get older always say, right? It was better "back in my day". I don't know if it was better, I just know what I experienced, and a lot of it is gone, as much history as the history we're trying to re-create. Anyone who knows me knows I don't like change. The Raid will always be something I long for, that I'll miss. I'm not unhappy about the new event. I love it. I just wish it was in addition to the raid. 

     We try to do a less lengthy version of the death march every year in memory of Titus. This year, we marched along with Titus's former colleague, Jason Gatliff, jug in hand for the occasion. We stopped under the shade of a tree and began the ration. We poured out the first cup for Titus and then drank to his memory. Jason shared a story, and we talked about him. Kyle Willyard then said that it's so important to cherish and savor those moments in this hobby that are special because once they're gone, they probably won't be experienced again. He's right. And I'm sad about it. They always say, don't be sad that it's over, be glad that it happened. Well, I am both. 

    As the hobby has progressed, I will admit that it feels like maybe we've lost something in all the stitches and thread counting, in all the perfect gear and exact copies of this and that, and that something is the spirit of this whole thing. That mythic frontier spirit that drove us all to get into this in the first place. That spirit that grabs you when you're 11 years old and makes you want to run off into the woods and be Daniel Boone. Yeah, I've criticized a lot on this blog, and stuff should be criticized. There's been a lot of goofiness that happens in this weird hobby. But in amongst the strange clothing choices and poorly thought out kits, there was a fire that I can't help but feel burns a little lower. Maybe I'm bored of folks pretending like they don't enjoy a good power burner, and that they'd pretentiously rather do living histories and interp. 

    Now, I'm not advocating that we ditch it all and stop caring about accuracy. I LOVE nailing an impression as much as the next guy. No need to regress. I don't really know what's to be done or if anything actually needs to be done or if there's even a problem at all other than I'm just feeling nostalgic and wanted to talk about it. To sit with my feelings as they say and let them have some room to breathe. To feel sad and happy at the same time. It's hard to strike a balance with all this stuff. Maybe the fire is burning brighter than ever for this hobby, and I'm just sulking. I certainly don't wanna ever become one of those guys that thinks the hobby is dying, cause it certainly is not. It's just changing, and mostly I'm okay with that. Mostly. In a lot of ways, I'm more fired up to just do my part to keep whatever version of the flame I value flickering brightly in my little corner of the hobby. So for now,  I'll likely just pop in my VHS copy of Last of the Mohicans and start preparing for the Immersion Event in Kentucky in a couple weeks time. All I ever really wanted was to be Hawkeye, running through the woods chasing Magua up a mountain and I think I'm still chasing him all these years later, trying to win back my stolen love. I guess the 11 year old me is still alive and well and I think for Captain Titus, so was his. 

    May we have many more memories together as we conjure up the spirts of the past.