Here it is April, the month of blustery weather and Paul Revere. Much fifing, much drumming, and many reminders that The British Are Coming.

But of course the British are already here. They are here in their red coats and bearskins, accoutered cap-a-pie like their predecessors of ’75, and you can see them starting on page 45 of this issue. The occasion is a re-enactment of the Battle of White Plains, and we have placed it right after an account of the real battle. The participants were hundreds of enthusiastic hobbyists drawn from almost every walk of life. Their organizations are based on many famous American, British, and even Hessian regiments, whose uniforms, insignia, and weapons have been painstakingly copied; there are ceremonial relationships between the “regiments” and their surviving real-life counterparts here and overseas. The members carry real muskets, drag a few real cannon, and conduct their exercises on historic battlegrounds. There is a great zeal for drill, punctilio, and authenticity, except perhaps for those who have been detailed to play dead on rainy days. No one seems to mind being on the eventually losing side—the British—since they have so much more brilliant dress and, in the long view, such a great tradition.

As the bicentennial of the Revolution draws ever nearer, more and more such events will take place, just as many Civil War battles were re-enacted by eager pseudosoldiery during the recent centennial ofthat monumental conflict. There was a great rattle of musketry and roar of cannon from 1961 to 1965, too, even though the rules—for instance, that battles come out as they did originally—required a few rather reluctant retreats. And as for mere numbers, there were 2,500 men, Yanks and Rebels, at the restaged Antietam.

This is pasteurized war, to be sure, with nearly all the harmful ingredients taken out, like getting killed or wounded, and some of the fun, like looting and censoring mail, but it is a compelling phenomenon just the same. Is there some serious historical purpose hidden behind all the smoke puffs and cries of “Charge!” and “Forward, the Black Watch!” ? Is it merely a chance to indulge Walter Mitty-ish heroic fantasies and frustrated histrionic ambitions? Is it just the fun of playing soldier? Is the boy forever locked in the man?

The popularity of war seems a strange thing in a time when, as every organ of news and opinion tells us, there is a great yearning for peace. It is preached from every pulpit and promised by every politician. Not one of our readers can have failed to see at least one recent peace demonstration—or peace march, or peace rock-throwing-at-the-cops. Although their terms may be a little different, college students, flower children, military men, and all the rulers of the world profess alike their love of peace. The peacemaker has replaced the conqueror in the world’s pantheon, giving us a mixed bag of heroes like Hammarskj’jöld, Gandhi, and Henry