It was the night before a re-enactment of the Battle of Brooklyn, but efforts to teleport to the past had already begun.<\/p>\n
Men shed their modern-day clothes and donned leather neck stocks, gaitered trousers and sleeved waistcoats with buff facings<\/a> dyed madder red. Some had tents, while others insisted on wool blankets laid on the ground \u2014 a nod, they said, to historical accuracy.<\/p>\n Even so, compromises were made. The campsite was not in Brooklyn, but at the Alpine Scout Camp in New Jersey. And when a bottle of contemporary cider was offered, its cap was painstakingly removed with a bayonet.<\/p>\n But the time for libations was short. Just after dawn, some 300 re-enactors \u2014 representing Continental, British and German regiments \u2014 would descend on Prospect Park to depict the Revolutionary War\u2019s largest battle<\/a>, and the first to occur after the signing of the Declaration of Independence.<\/p>\n The nation\u2019s 250th anniversary<\/a> has been an extended Super Bowl for re-enactors, a moment when their passions intersect with a broader interest in the drama of the country\u2019s founding. They relish educating curious onlookers about the war, its characters and a chapter in history that they feel is flattened in service of national identity.<\/p>\n But it\u2019s a quest for verisimilitude that most animates them.<\/p>\n They comb through old letters, search for paintings from the period and locate vintage uniforms to ensure the historical accuracy of their homemade attire. They spend thousands of dollars on materials for these uniforms, which they often fabricate themselves.<\/p>\n And they share battle scars from recreating famous 15-mile marches from the war. (Do lost toenails count?)<\/p>\n Their pursuit of accuracy seemed laudable, if curious. Then, a few weeks before the battle, Niels Hobbs, a leader and elder statesman for a group that portrays His Majesty\u2019s 40th Regiment of Foot, Second Battalion Light Infantry Company, reached out with a question. By text.<\/p>\n Might I be persuaded to join the 40th, dress in British garb and prepare to invade Brooklyn alongside his company?<\/p>\n A few days later, Mr. Hobbs, 50, who teaches marine biology at the University of Rhode Island, added what seemed like a critical proviso.<\/p>\n \u201cBeards were an extreme anomaly in the period \u2014 almost bizarrely,\u201d he said, citing my thick facial hair.<\/p>\n \u201cAre you willing to shave?\u201d<\/p>\n A Balancing Act<\/p>\n Ben Theis, 53, is one of the lead re-enactment organizers, and the prep work for 250th anniversary events like the Battle of Brooklyn began as long as six years ago.<\/p>\n Hiccups are inevitable: The Brooklyn battle was initially to be held at Old Bethpage Village Restoration on Long Island, but Mr. Theis and his fellow organizers were forced to pivot because a wedding at the venue took precedence.<\/p>\n The inconvenience proved fortuitous. They secured a portion of Prospect Park\u2019s largest green space, the Long Meadow, on Aug. 22. The timing and location were a bit of a holy grail for those dedicated to this \u201cliving history\u201d genre \u2014 on the actual site of the event just five days shy of the battle\u2019s 250th anniversary. <\/p>\n Months earlier, Mr. Theis toured the park on a frigid February day with other event organizers.<\/p>\n His mind raced as he surveyed the expanse and contemplated how the re-enactors would render the grandness of this battle, which originally involved about 30,000 combatants, in one contained corner of the park.<\/p>\n Every re-enactment involves a balance, Mr. Theis observed.<\/p>\n \u201cEighty percent of it is for the public, and 20 percent of it is for the re-enactors,\u201d he said. \u201cSo there are some things that are going to happen that the public may not even see. And that is OK. Think of it as building up the tension.\u201d<\/p>\n In a rowhouse in Philadelphia\u2019s Fishtown neighborhood, Dan Center, a 33-year-old high school history teacher, has his own way of adding to the drama. As a re-enactor for the British, Mr. Center helps tailor kits for his unit, which has roughly 30 active members.<\/p>\n He previously worked at museums, including the Museum of the American Revolution in Philadelphia, and recalled, about a decade ago, portraying a Continental soldier at the Battle of Princeton.<\/p>\n Just as Gen. George Washington\u2019s army had done in January 1777, Mr. Center marched about 14 miles in the cold<\/a> to Princeton carrying 60 to 80 pounds of gear. The water in his canteen froze, along with the sweat that pooled under his uniform.<\/p>\n Mr. Center was enraptured<\/a> despite the miserable conditions.<\/p>\n He recalled thinking: \u201cAm I dreaming? Am I actually in a living history event or am I in 1777?\u201d<\/p>\n Each uniform takes Mr. Center between 30 and 40 hours to complete, depending on the rank. The fabrics come from a mill in England that produces the material as it would have been made more than two centuries ago.<\/p>\n Mr. Center\u2019s grandfather served as a tailor in the U.S. Army during World War II, and his great-grandfather made uniforms in the Russian military.<\/p>\n \u201cI actually became a tailor through this hobby,\u201d he said, a musket resting against a nearby wall, a bayonet sitting on the counter beside his blender.<\/p>\n He rattled off other members of his unit who fill critical tasks: shoemakers, tinsmiths, blacksmiths who \u201cmake all of the metallurgy and the tools that we use.\u201d There was even \u201ca guy who brews beer the same way it was brewed back then.\u201d<\/p>\n Mr. Center, it turned out, had one more uniform to prepare. I gave him my measurements.<\/p>\n Ye Shall Be Judged<\/p>\n On the eve of battle, the campground in Alpine was filled with re-enactors from as far away as the Carolinas and Quebec portraying British, German and Continental soldiers. They set up tents and stoked fires to cook around.<\/p>\n There would be little of that for Mr. Center, his crew and me.<\/p>\n Light infantry units like the 40th rarely used tents, instead opting for wigwams if it rained or snowed. Mr. Center and Mr. Hobbs outfitted me with a wool blanket, which would be my mattress for the night, along with a uniform, a leather helmet, a musket, a bayonet and an ammo box.<\/p>\n As we prepared our site, another member of the 40th, Daniel Sieh, 32, looked askance at a group of Lexington Minutemen, who laughed as they drank beers and cooked steaks over an open fire.<\/p>\n \u201cMy biggest vendetta is against the camp kitchen,\u201d Mr. Sieh said. \u201cAll these pots and pans,\u201d he added. \u201cThey were not carrying this stuff.\u201d<\/p>\n Mr. Sieh had brought along homemade ship\u2019s biscuits, a rock-hard concoction of flour and water carried by Revolutionary War-era soldiers. He did not bring along his leftovers from dinner at a diner in nearby Northvale, N.J. (He ordered a Reuben sandwich and French fries; I had the Greek salad).<\/p>\n As the evening progressed, acquaintances from other units \u2014 both Continental and British \u2014 wandered over, to drink beer and cider and smoke clay pipes. They reminisced about past re-enactments and talking excitedly about future ones.<\/p>\n The camaraderie captured the essence of what makes these guys do this, over and over again. It\u2019s not for the money; most of these events, aside from those sponsored by a school or some other institution, involves no pay.<\/p>\n As our fire crackled, I listened as Mr. Hobbs and others noted how they no longer had to wear bellyboxes, cartridge holders worn across a soldier\u2019s stomach. It was a relief to now be portraying a stage in the war when their unit had dispensed with the cumbersome appendage.<\/p>\n \u201cI love the evolution of the British uniform,\u201d Mr. Sieh said. \u201cThere is still some pomp and circumstance. But it\u2019s just shaped into a perfect blend of style but also lethality.\u201d<\/p>\n The British Are Coming<\/p>\n After a fitful night of sleep, we packed up our gear: The Hudson was to be crossed, but by tour buses, with ads for a personal injury lawyer emblazoned on the side.<\/p>\n Upon arriving, we streamed out at Prospect Park West and Third Street in Brooklyn and fell into formation, blending in (but not really) with perplexed residents that included some wearing medals from a half marathon.<\/p>\n As we marched into the park, it became obvious that Mr. Theis\u2019s carefully laid plans might need alterations. Two cannons and a redoubt awaited us in a wooded area, but we couldn\u2019t reach them: Parks workers did not want regiments of redcoats crossing the half-marathon course.<\/p>\n Mr. Hobbs, Mr. Theis and others improvised. We paraded around the Long Meadow, our bayonets attached to our muskets. Thousands of spectators cheered, snapping photos and peppering us redcoats with playful barbs about how we may have won this battle but would (spoiler alert) lose the war.<\/p>\n Then the engagement began. In order to surround the Continental Army, our unit took position on the British right flank, navigating around several women setting up a volleyball net.<\/p>\n The exchange of gunfire began, drawing cheers from the crowd.<\/p>\n Crouched behind Mr. Center in the middle of the Long Meadow, I aimed my musket over his shoulder. Gunpowder stung my eyes. A leather neck stock chafed at my sweat-drenched skin. My feet, coddled from years of proper arch support, throbbed inside reproductions of 18th-century footwear.<\/p>\n Mr. Hobbs, kneeling several yards away, shouted at us to move to higher ground.<\/p>\n \u201cCome on, guards, push them,\u201d Mr. Hobbs yelled at another group of British re-enactors who were supposed to capture Continental regiments.<\/p>\n \u201cWe might have to just take them ourselves.\u201d<\/p>\n After the Continental Army\u2019s surrender, the event culminated with a march down Third Street, a route I normally jog. Now I was holding a musket, preening for cheering onlookers in Park Slope as military drummers and fifers played around me. For whatever ambivalence that might exist about this complicated history, the crowd seemed to be having a blast. I was, too.<\/p>\n