Old Stone Fort

Earlier this month, as a friend of a friend, I was able to take part in a small invite-only event at the Old Stone Fort in Schoharie, New York. The event represented a gathering of New York militia, circa 1775, gathering to discuss some pre-war issues relating to the area, and to do a little training.

Old Stone Fort, Schoharie, New York

Since my usual Warner's Regiment gear is more tailored toward a 1777 frontier farmer who has been on campaign for a few years, I needed to borrow some more civilian tailored clothing. Fortunately, there was a lovely dark green coat and waistcoat that fit me perfectly.

Well, the coat fit. The waistcoat was like stuffing me into a sausage casing. Fortunately wool stretches.

Having some morning coffee.

This was a pretty low key event, but taking part in a reenactment in a different area from where I usually reenact was interesting. The history of upstate New York is much different than the history of Vermont, with it's own version of the immigrants who settled there, the native tribes they interacted with, and the politics of the area. Even the architecture was slightly different, which I was able to see in an original house that I was given a tour of.

Traveling blacksmith setup.

The site's beautiful bake oven.

For most of the event, my job was to look the part of an 18^th century civilian. I mainly did this by walking around and being introduced to people from other units who were taking part in the weekend. I also spent a decent amount of time ogling the site's bake oven, which was fired up Friday night, and the portable setup of a local blacksmith who was doing demonstrations.

Putting the oven to use.

 

 

Taking advantage of the forge.

For the militia portion of the event, there was a very small 10 minute or so drill, where we fired about three rounds as a display for the crowd. While my regular unit generally fights in open order at the knee as light infantry, we do train in how to fight in close order as regular infantry. As such, I didn't have much trouble with the drill. The main thing that threw me off was the count. While both Warner's and the amalgamated unit with which I was wit use the 1768 Manual of Arms, Warner's does it on a one count, making a move with every count of one. The amalgamated unit used a two count, where they would count out loud “One! Two!” then move. I found out later that this count was specified in an early New York militia manual. The small difference did throw me off though.

Militia formed for training.

Like most reenactments, I was very tired by the end of the weekend, but I'm glad that I attended. I was able to meet a number of people who had I heard of online, but never met in person, take part in something in a new area, and learn a bit of history that I didn't know before. Overall, a very pleasant trip.

Time Travel

 Reenacting season has started up again here in the northeast.  Back in the beginning of April, I wrote up a short bit on social media about those "time travel" moments that we all seem to have.  It's been suggested that it should be a blog post, so...

There's a phenomenon in the historical reenacting world where, sometimes, just for a split second, you get transported back in time, and you're *there.* Listening to the sleet hitting the window tonight, I started thinking about some of those moments.

The first was at my first reenactment at Bennington. I was new and had no idea what I was doing. While we were waiting to go on the field, we were staged in the woods, keeping an eye out for redcoats. One of the veterans whispered, "Don't look for the red. Look for the white trim on their hats. It shows up in the woods." I looked into the forest ahead of me, suddenly feeling the anticipation that something was about to start. I was there.

One time at Ticonderoga, we were again in the woods, spaced out amongst the trees, on lookout. There was no noise. We were all silent, intent on spotting any movement. Suddenly, directly in front of me, a bright white eyeball surrounded by red face paint slowly peered out from behind a tree. A shiver went down my spine. The natives had snuck up on us. I was there.

At Ethan Allen Homestead, during a winter gathering, I approached the house while a soft fluffy snow filtered down around me, clinging to my coat and hat. As I got closer, there was a warm glowing candle in the front window. I was there, a cold settler coming home.

Again at Ticonderoga, we were headed to the battlefield, taking a route through the woods. We were ordered to move quietly. As I came up over a small rise, I looked along the path down the hill ahead of me. 100 or so men were moving silently, in single file, without a word. I think we were all there.

Sturbridge, standing in formation with the rest of the Continentals on the street. A young girl came out of a house across the street to water the garden. She looked both curious and cautious, just as someone would when an army arrives and takes over their town. I was there.

And one I remembered the other day. At Bennington. We were spread out in an open line, preparing to go into battle. Our chaplain, Reverend Blakesly, said a short prayer, as he finished the words meant to give us strength and courage, I started seeing movement in the trees. Loyalist militia were approaching. I was there.