PENCIL-MAKING.
At the head of the beautiful valley of Borrowdale lies the little hamlet of Seathwaite. Near a clump of historic yews, six or eight whitewashed cottages nestle, a favourite haunt of artists, and the one solitary place in England where plumbago is to be found in absolute purity. Here the mountains converge on either side, until Glaramara at last fills the gap and closes in the vale. Travellers who wish to proceed farther, must go, either on horseback or on foot, over Sty Head Pass, and so into Wastdale, or past Scafell, into Langdale. Secluded little spot in Cumberland as this is, its hidden treasure was well known to our ancestors at least two hundred years ago; nor did any sentimental ideas of spoiling the lovely scenery deter them from mining into the mountain-side in search of that peculiar form of carbon commonly known as blacklead, plumbago, or graphite. The first and by far the most generally used of these names is a decided misnomer, for although there are many lead-mines in Cumberland, plumbago contains no trace of lead, but is one of the two crystallised forms in which carbon exists; the other being the diamond. Plumbago as found here lies in nests or pockets—or sops, as they are locally named. These sops are cavernous holes, varying in size from a few cubic inches to several cubic feet, and occur in the solid rock, resembling on a large scale what are known as air-holes in iron castings. The miners follow certain veins of granite as a guide to the sops, and come upon them suddenly in the heart of the mountain. It is in these that the plumbago—or wad, as the workmen call it—is found, in the form of black lumps, just like eggs in a nest. Some pieces are as small as peas, and others as large as big melons. How that plumbago came there, is a great puzzle to geologists. Odd pieces have been occasionally turned up by husbandmen whilst delving the ground; but it is probable that these were originally imbedded in the rocks, masses of which, having become detached by frost and rain, fell into the valley, and in their descent were broken up, and so laid bare the plumbago that was inside.
Owing to its power of standing great heat, our forefathers used plumbago for crucibles, a large portion being sent to the Mint for operations connected with coining. Pencils were also made of it; and people who have been accustomed to hear of Cumberland lead-pencils, may imagine that they are yet; but it is a mistake. A drawing-pencil made of this virgin graphite cannot be manufactured to cost less than a shilling; and who, except for some exceptional work, would give such a price? The scientific chemist has stepped in and supplied a cheaper article. Conté, a Frenchman, about the end of last century, was the first to suggest a substitute, or rather a partial one; and since then, his idea has been step by step worked out and perfected, until to-day we are able to produce a commercial pencil at the wholesale price of less than one farthing. Even crucibles are now rarely made from it; so that, what with one thing and another, the Borrowdale mine has been closed for the last five years. Many of the visitors suppose that the stoppage of the works is caused by the mine having been exhausted. This, however, is a mistake, as there is every reason to believe that there are yet very large quantities of plumbago in the rock; but the cost of production, and the discovery of cheaper substitutes, render further mining impracticable as a commercial undertaking.
To give an idea of the difference in value of plumbago—the last lot from this mine sold in London brought thirty shillings per pound; and it has been known to sell for one hundred and sixty shillings; whilst the price at present for best foreign is about forty shillings per hundredweight, or, say, fourpence per pound. Inferior qualities, such as are used for blackleading grates, &c., can be bought much cheaper. Foreign plumbago is chiefly imported from Ceylon and Bohemia, where it is found in veins in large quantities; but as this kind cannot be used for pencils in its crude state, it has to be ‘manufactured.’ This is done largely at Keswick; so that, after all, when a purchaser buys a ‘best Cumberland pencil,’ he is not altogether deceived; for although the blacklead does come from Ceylon and the cedar from Florida, were they not first introduced to each other by the Keswick workman, toiling at his bench in the water-turned mills on the banks of the Greta? The Borrowdale graphite varies much in degree of hardness; consequently, in the old days when it was made into pencils, each lump was tested and sorted according to the depth of colour it produced on a piece of paper. The classification was from H.H.H. or very hard, to B.B.B.B. or very soft and black. The graphite was then sawn by hand into strips, which were inserted into a slot or groove in the wood, and the whole glued together and turned in a lathe into a pencil. The method of to-day is quite different, and there being great competition in this trade, speed combined with good work is the principal end to be attained to bring the cost as low as possible.
The three mills at Keswick employ about a hundred workpeople, males and females. The men earn on an average about twenty-five shillings per week, and the women about twelve. The blacklead—we are now speaking of imported plumbago—is first crushed and then mixed with what is technically called a binding, the composition of which is a trade secret and varies at each mill. Its purpose is, as the term denotes, to give a glutinous consistency to the powdered plumbago and also to add to the blackness of its marking qualities. Lampblack, sulphuric acid, gum-arabic, resin, and several other substances are used in this binding. The whole is worked into a pulp between revolving stones. It is then partially dried and again crushed. Whilst in this half-dry state, it is forced through a mould under considerable pressure. These moulds are of various sizes, from a very big one a quarter-inch square, used for fancy walking-sticks—a mere catchpenny, and purchased only by tourists as mementoes—to the little round ones used for putting into pencil-cases and which are called ‘lead-points.’ The intermediate sizes are known as Carpenters, Drawing, Pocket-book, and Programme. A workman receives the thin strip of blacklead as it is slowly forced through the mould, and at intervals breaks it off, carefully placing it on a board between pieces of wood. By this means a large quantity can be kept without fear of damage. When sufficient is moulded to compose a baking, the oven is heated; and these long slips, which are exactly the size of the lead in a pencil, are cut into lengths of about four inches, and packed with care in cast-iron crucibles. These are then put into the oven, and allowed to remain at a red heat for two hours. When gently cooled, the leads are ready for pencils.
In another part of the manufactory, a different kind of work is going on—that of preparing, or rather working the wood, for it undergoes no change but that of shape. Cedar is universally used, except in very low qualities and carpenters’ pencils. Most of this wood comes from America; and Florida is one of the largest exporting States. The chief reasons for using cedar are—that it is easily worked, is soft, straight-grained, free from knots, and is sweet-scented. Am eminent firm of toilet-soap makers have taken note of this last quality, and purchase all the cedar sawdust that is made in these pencil-mills. A minimum of waste is one of the sure signs of an advanced civilisation. Many and various circular saws reduce the cedar logs into strips of two sizes—one, about thirty inches long, an inch and a quarter wide, and three-eighths of an inch thick; the other, of the same dimensions, but only half the thickness. These are examined; and any having defects, such as knots, cracks, &c., are laid aside, to be used in shorter lengths, the bad places having been cut out. The thicker or three-eighth-inch strips are then passed through the grooving-machine, which cuts out three perfect and clean grooves up the whole length. These are now ready to receive the strips of lead, which are first dipped in glue and placed by girls into the grooves, which they exactly fill. The wood has now the appearance of having three black lines running parallel along the whole length. This surface is then brushed over with hot glue and the thinner strip placed firmly on it. If any pencil is looked at closely, the joining of these two pieces will be easily noticed. The whole is placed, with many similar ones, in a frame, where they are pressed firmly together until the glue has quite set.
It will be understood that now each piece is composed of two strips of wood, firmly glued together, inside which, three grooves, filled with plumbago composition, run from one end to the other—about thirty inches, or sufficient to make four pencils to each groove—that is, twelve pencils in all. The length of a finished pencil is seven inches. These pieces are then taken to a very curious machine and passed twice through. The first time, the top surface is ploughed from end to end into what resembles three distinct semicircular ridges; the piece is then turned, and the other side treated in a similar manner. The result of this second ploughing is that three perfectly circular and entirely separate lengths are seen to emerge from the machine. On examining any one of these, it will be found to be a pencil thirty inches long, having the vein of blacklead exactly in the centre. This is an American invention, and has done much to reduce the cost of the modern pencil.
The pencils, however, have to pass through many hands before they can claim to be finished. Women rub them with fine sand-paper, other women varnish and polish them, and then they are cut by a circular saw into seven-inch lengths. For the first time, they could now be recognised by a child as pencils. A thin shaving is taken off each end, which gives them a finished appearance and causes the lead to shine, as the saw does not cut clean enough for a fastidious public. Lastly, the pencil is stamped, not necessarily always with the maker’s name, for nowadays he occasionally sinks his individuality for the purpose of selling his wares; and for an order of a gross, some makers will stamp any village stationer’s name on each pencil.