First Person Redefined

It's been a fantastic couple of weeks. Fort Dobbs is finally open and spectacular. The Museum of the American Revolution reprised their Occupation of Philadelphia event, so Elizabeth Weed and Thomas Nevel returned to amuse the public. Both places were an excellent chance to refine lower class and middle class 18th century characters. The servant at Dobbs was a Virginia man fleeing the frontier war who joined the Carolina Provincials and became an officer's valet. Thomas Nevel was a historic Philadelphian, one of the city's leading builders, stuck between the British, his cheapskate clients (Congress,) and his feelings for the Widow Weed.

  The most important part of first-person interpretation is realizing it's impossible to replicate the 18th century mindset. We have no idea how they thought. Forget about speech patterns as well. We can research their circumstances, read their writing, and place it in the greater context of history. No need to have smallpox or be filthy (a different discussion entirely.)  We can make some good guesses about how they felt through a modern lens and share that with the public. It's the easiest way to make them feel connected to the past.

If Hamilton taught us anything it's possible to make history engaging with a bit knowledge and some theatrics. Puffing on a clay pipe, Thomas Nevel walked around Philadelphia with a stylish cane. If an approaching group smiled and made eye contact it was easy enough to ask them: "have you seen my cow?" We know Nevel owned a cow, and that the British were tearing down fences a soon as they arrived. He might talk about working on Carpenters' Hall and his house at the same time. He could mention his desire to court the Window Weed at the end of her mourning period. It's possible to break down the fourth wall and talk about why Carpenters' Hall was built and what it was used for over the years--mix first and third person.

Since Nevel was vaguely Presbyterian, and filled the Delaware river with obstacles on behalf of the rebels, he might share a pipe with the American prisoners working outside. His dress is a mix of working sort and middle class: stained leather breeches, faded frock coat, white shirt with ruffle and white neck cloth. He tried to impress the Widow Weed (since we know they married after the British left,) but she scorned his unkempt appearance and lack of income.

The valet at Fort Dobbs is a much simpler character who works twice as hard. Polish the officer's shoes, brush his clothes and hat, help him dress. Try and anticipate his needs, as well as keep him hydrated and fed. Pass him drinks on a tray, and gently scold him when he gets dirty. Provincial soldiers were the dregs of society and a servant was one step up from that. His clothing is raggedy, with a regimental coat, and he is barefoot at every opportunity. Class is a huge part of both of these characters.

When first-person comes into it's own is when several of the characters interact. None of this can be scripted and it takes practice. When one of the American prisoners in Philadelphia suddenly turned his coat and took the King's shilling there was a uproar. Nevel told him he had abandoned God, and was quickly silenced by British guards. The prisoner explained his reasons (financial) and showed his Queens Rangers broadside. The crowd got to witness the historic process of soldiers changing sides without thought for the consequences (hanging.)

Muskets aren't for everyone, especially old folks. The recreated past is better with all sorts in it.

Assumptions

Progress. Being trapped in an airport in New England helps. Creating twenty-three button holes, only fourteen (at most) of which will ever be used seems silly. The Taylor's Complete Guide (1796) reminds us: "...we should recommend the making holes down both sides for the advantage of the wearer, lest any unforeseen accident should happen from dirt, and the wearer's day's pleasure be spoiled, by not having the opportunity of changing the other side of the breast."

Since the lapels can be turned out, the first three buttonholes have their knots towards the inside to match the gradual shift of the lining edge. With any luck this will be ready the first weekend in March. The Boston Massacre.

Night watchman Edward Langford saw a man killed that night. We know because his testimony helped convict a soldier. Recreating an actual person is strange. A quick image search produces the typical 18th-century English watchman. The hat, coat, staff, lantern and wooden ratchet (noise maker) appear over and over. Nice dog too. Many cities established similar patrols at the end of the 17th century. At first it was a civic duty, later a city job.

It's tempting to replicate this chap, except he is in London, not Boston. Time to dig deeper. The Massachusetts legislature rewrote the laws pertaining to Watches and Wards in 1796: "Be it further Enacted, that whenever a Watch shall be so appointed and agreed upon, different from a Constable's watch, the number and qualifications of the persons whereof it shall consist, shall also be agreed upon by the said Inhabitants of the Town, observing the rule prescribed in the first Section of this Act; and one sober, discreet, able-bodied householder shall be appointed officer of the watch, by said Justices, & Selectmen, or
Selectmen alone (as the case may be) to take the charge and command of such watch, who, as the badge of his office, shall carry a quarter-pike, with a spire on the top thereof; and every Watchman, as well in this as in the Constable's watch, shall carry a Staff with a Bill fastened thereon, as is usual. And the powers & duties of the said Officer & Watchmen shall be the same as are before prescribed in the second Section of this Act in the case of a Constable's Watch."

As is usual? The Bill is a Medieval weapon, muscular cousin of the fascine knife. No doubt, the Tower of London was glad to dispose of their surplus in the colonies. Boston's King Street watch house used one to grab a prisoner in their fight with some red coats in 1769. Perhaps the pole arms were for such emergencies. With help from J.L. Bell's spectacular blog we can look closer at Boston. Yankee thrift meant no ratchets or swords, but a staff and a lantern are indicated. The ratchet was cheap on eBay, too (damn it.) As Kitty would say "context is critical." Many thanks to her for help with this post. 

What IS that dog doing there?

 

Wrong Again

Remember these knuckleheads? Two Americans painted by a lieutenant in the Royal Deux-Ponts regiment at Yorktown. Jean-Baptiste Antoine de Verger might have captured the belted waistcoats that Lafayette wrote to President Laurens about:

 if we could get materials enough it would be possible to have a large belt out of the jacket, and independent of it, which could be tide upon the belly...

A 20th-century mind might interpret this as a full belt that ties in the back like a breeches waistband. One that buttons to the waistcoat or "jacket" at front. Mine did.  A fine guess, but wrong. Kitty Calash called these things a precursor to the cummerbund, a textile ammonite.  

Turns out Winterthur Museum bought the first surviving waistcoat belt without knowing it in 2014. Enter Matthew Skic. Hobbies can be useful at work. Printed linen seems weird. That it's a half belt slightly less so. This may be the best part about Progressive history recreation:  most objects didn't survive. Art and writing fill in some of the gaps. Learning the art of 18th century sewing tells you some of how they thought. When something new turns up, re-evaluate. Change is good.

The full belt worked fine this past weekend. Time to add a second buttonhole to the front of the belt, chop off about 24" and add four more buttonholes. Four more buttons on the back of the waistcoat will hide in the coat. Can't wait to see how it works.         

Yer Doing It Wrong

Living history folks live in a weird nether region between actual historians and cosplay/furry/costumers, mostly despised or ignored by both groups. The public couldn't care less about history. Most know nothing, so it makes wearing whatever easy. As a professional researcher for 12 years, and a mediocre tailor for nearly that long, I created this blog to fight that.

As wonderful as everything at right is, none of it is good research material. All is second-hand, someone's interpretation of the past. Word of mouth from old hand reenactors is nearly as bad.  Trust no one (including me.) Look it up. Question everything. Change is scary, but learning new things is good for your brain.

Start by looking around. Most average Americans wear blue jeans and t-shirts. Males have short to medium length hair, and some have moustaches or full beards. If you were recreating a 21st century middle class male, this and a pair of sneakers would be a safe bet. Another would be to take someone's picture and copy them exactly, but that only works if no one else does the same. Cloning creates a bias all it's own. So how do we know what 18th century people looked like?

Rich folks saved their clothes and had portraits painted, so that's easy. Go to a museum. Poor people tended to belong to someone in one way or another, so when they ran away, period newspapers become a gold mine. Each region of the colonies has it's own patterns. This is called primary source material. If it is written, made, or painted in the 18th century, we can trust it.  There are exceptions, caricatures (like Hogarth) use period symbolism to mock (men in smocks are rubes, bearded men are crazy,) so caution is required. Here is where the good historians can help. Make SURE They are using primary sources or have good notes. Otherwise, they may be repeating old lies. Read as much as possible. Look at as many prints and paintings as you can.  

Probably the hardest thing to do when starting out is abandoning personal bias. Love kilts? Do Scottish. Have a beard? Be a "German." Read enough runaway ads, and look at enough art and there is little evidence of either. Haversacks are not roomy man purses for everyday wear. They are military issue kit for food. Waistcoats without a coat hardly ever appear. On the other hand, men in coats without a waistcoat show up in paintings. There were no hunting shirts in the Seven Years War, and a hunting shirt is a specific kind of garment, not a smock. Once a few reenactors do something that is uncommon, the cloning bias starts to creep in again. Take baskets, for instance. Ladies, think about other ways to carry your stuff (unless you are selling food.) If you are not going to be specific, be average. Watch out for logical traps like "I'm a poor frontier farmer, who weaves his own cloth and makes his own clothes," when all the Natives around you are well dressed in European cloth. If you are poor, why do you have a $2500 rifle?

  The Bicentennial created some terrifying traditions that have hung around. Mob caps and bodices are not 18th century clothing (also, don't go out without your stays, ladies.) There is no evidence of large dining flys full of furniture and cast iron cooking sets for everyone on campaign. Space in wagons was limited (if there were any wagons.) Officer's might have some luxuries, but context is key.

 There is enough going on in this watercolor for a lifetime of research. Look closely. Ever think working poor men would put on all their clothes and not button them? When someone offers you advice on your kit thank them, then go look it up.

Ken Doll

When I started the silly, silly hobby of living history 15 years ago, I was hugely intimidated. It is expensive. Sewing was not something I had ever even considered. Time to learn new things. In the beginning, patience is crucial. Way too easy to go to Jo-Ann's Fabrics and buy whatever. It's a good way to learn how to sew, but a waste of money. Thank the FSM for mentors and the internet. Even though I remember life before computers, I'm not sure how anyone shared knowledge.

I remember thinking "I'll just make the one outfit." Eventually, the clothes rod in the guestroom closet collapses under the load of historic garments and scares the hell out of the cats. The key is finding the most common clothing for your place, period and gender. Forget what you think looks cool or what others are doing. If you are recreating a 21st-century American male tourist you would need jeans and a t-shirt, not a fez and a bow tie (fezes ARE cool.)

Access to paintings, letters, journals, and periodicals from most time periods is stupidly easy to come by. Research enough and you start to see patterns. Ignore those who cannot prove their assertions without evidence. Take constructive criticism gladly. Share what you find. Eventually, you can mix and match your outfits and need only make a couple things a year. Good luck stopping once you get started.

Courtesy of Wilson Friedman Historically Speaking

Fatigue Cap II

Remember this thing?

Nothing wrong with it per se. There is plenty of evidence for floppy elf caps. Eighteenth century soldiers wore these  to preserve their expensive cocked hats when it was time for manual labor. For instance, there are these hearty chaps toiling away on the defense of Boston in 1775:

Lieutenant General Archibald Robertson of the Royal Engineers depicted redcoats doing what they do second best: digging. They are barefoot in slops, shirts, and caps. In his series The Packet, Mark Tulley argues this is the most common cap, and I agree.

Were there other types of fatigue caps? Probably. Like enlisted men's coats, the caps tended not to survive. My friend Jason Melius, assembled some intriguing evidence for another kind. Take a look at some details in the works of Paul Sandby.

 About the only thing we can say for sure is there is no tail. One could argue that there are projecting ears of some kind. The front plate is large, in the coat facing color, and may have a number on it. It brings up some intriguing questions. What's with the ears? Fatigue hats in the 20th century have ear flaps and bill for when it gets cold. No reason there can't be such a thing as a practical 18th century cap.

Like this. The ear flaps fold up and tie behind the front plate. They stick out like mule ears. The regimental number is a reasonable ornament, and easy to make from scrap wool. It is ideal for work party wear, and protects our brave Fusilier from the harsh North American winter. Especially when combined with the new great coat.

Field Trip!

I spent a fantastic weekend with my pal and mentor Henry Cooke, helping at a workshop for 18th century regimental coats. Participants got a coat kit, cut to their size, and two days of expert help in sewing and fitting. This is how I learned to sew all those years ago, and I picked up some new tricks which  I will share in the months ahead.

Henry dressed three reconstructed figures of George Washington at various ages, that really have to be seen to be to be believed. He is one of the most skilled period tailors in the World. He also collects period clothing made by drunken and sober tailors alike. Needless to say, I worked for free.

Even my stuff looks better than this thing:

Made from horrific sandpaper-like broadcloth, this late 18th-century French jacket is unlined, and has sleeves similar to an early waistcoat. Henry thinks the neck shows signs of a military heritage. If so, it is a perfect example of recycling and reusing. The English definitely had their neighbors beat in the wool quality department.

The interfacing bits are random pieces of broadcloth (cut off pleats?) One of the pocket bags has adorable cross-stitch initials on it. A closer look reveals more curiosities:

There is only one working buttonhole in the front of this coat. Each pocket flap has THREE working buttonholes (bad neighborhood?) Francois must have had a nice waistcoat to go under this. Aside from the olive buttonhole thread, I love the fact that a poor guy has fake buttonholes on his work jacket.

ALSO: broadcloth covered buttons? Sounds like a huge pain in the ass, which means I'll have to experiment. Now if you were to leave my rum-soaked shop and go to the good part of town, you might see something like this:

This frock coat is made from Nankeen, produced in what is now Nanjing. The embroidery is likely Chinese, done before the coat was assembled. And yes, it is lined in hot pink silk. Yet ANOTHER example of how the Victorians ruined everything. The cotton textile is so narrow, the garment has multiple side seams. There are surviving 18th century embroidered "kits" for coats and waistcoats, that tailors could cut out and assemble.

Here is what the top of a pleat looks like on the inside. Water stains appear at the back vent. I can only image how pimptastic this coat looked when it was new. It has worked buttonholes and center back, reverse pleats like the linen coat I made (but much nicer.)

Nankeen was so popular, the natural warm color was widely copied by dyeing ordinary cotton in the 18th and 19th centuries. It's nice to see the real deal up close. I leave you with a few more pictures of this amazing coat.