A Month in Yorkshire

by Walter White

My first impression of the file-works, combined stacks of Swedish iron in bars; ranges of steel bars of various shape, square, flat, three-cornered, round, and half-round; heaps of broken steel, the fresh edges glittering in the sun; heaps of broken crucibles, and the roar of furnaces, noise of bellows, hammer-strokes innumerable, and dust and smoke, and other things, that to a stranger had very much the appearance of rubbish and confusion.

However, there is no confusion; every man is diligent at his task; so if you please, reader, we will try and get a notion of the way in which those bars of Swedish iron are converted into excellent files. Swedish iron is chosen because it is the best; no iron hitherto discovered equals it for purity and strength, and of this the most esteemed is known as ‘Hoop L,’ from its brand being an L within a hoop. “If you want good steel to come out of the furnace,” say the knowing ones, “you must put good iron in;” and some of them hold that, “when the devil is put into the crucible, nothing but the devil will come out:” hence we may believe their moral code to be sufficient for its purpose. The bars, at a guess, are about eight feet long, three inches broad, and one inch thick. To begin the process, they are piled in a furnace between alternate layers of charcoal, the surfaces kept carefully from contact, and are there subjected to fire for eight or nine days. To enable the workmen to watch the process, small trial pieces are so placed that they can be drawn out for examination through a small hole in the front of the furnace. In large furnaces, twelve tons of iron are converted at once. The long-continued heat, which is kept below the melting-point, drives off the impurities; the bars, from contact with the charcoal, become carbonized and hardened; and when the fiery ordeal is over, they appear thickly bossed with bubbles or blisters, in which condition they are described as ‘blistered steel.’

Now come the operations which convert these blistered bars into the finished bars of steel above-mentioned, smooth and uniform of surface, and well-nigh hard as diamond. The blistered bars are taken from the furnace and broken up into small pieces; the fresh edges show innumerable crystals of different dimensions, according to the quality of the iron, and have much the appearance of frosted silver. The pieces are carefully assorted and weighed. The weighers judge of the quality at a glance, and mix the sorts in due proportion in the scales in readiness for the melters, who put each parcel into its proper crucible, and drop the crucibles through holes in a floor into a glowing furnace, where they are left for about half a day.

The making of the crucibles is a much more important part of the operation than would be imagined. They must be of uniform dimensions and quality, or the steel is deteriorated, and they fail in the fire. They are made on the premises, for every melting requires new crucibles. In an underground chamber I saw men at work, treading a large flat heap of fire-clay into proper consistency, weighing it into lumps of a given weight; placing these lumps one after the other in a circular mould, and driving in upon them, with a ponderous mallet, a circular block of the same form and height as the mould, but smaller. As the block sinks under the heavy blows, the clay is forced against the sides of the mould; and when the block can descend no further, there appears all round it a dense ring of clay, and the mould is full. Now, with a dexterous turn, the block is drawn out; the crucible is separated from the mould, and shows itself as a smooth vase, nearly two feet in height. The mouth is carefully finished, and a lid of the same clay fitted, and the crucible is ready for its further treatment. When placed in the furnace, the lids are sealed on with soft clay. The man who treads the clay needs a good stock of patience, for lumps, however small, are fatal to the crucibles.

When the moment arrived, I was summoned to witness the casting. The men had tied round their shins pieces of old sacking, as protection from the heat; they opened the holes in the floor, knocked off the lid of the crucible, and two of them, each with tongs, lifted the crucible from the intensely heated furnace. How it quivered, and glowed, and threw off sparks, and diffused around a scorching temperature! It amazed me that the men could bear it. When two crucibles are lifted out, they are emptied at the same time into the mould; not hap-hazard, but with care that the streams shall unite, and not touch the sides of the mould as they fall. Neglect of this precaution injures the quality. Another precaution is to shut out cold draughts of air during the casting. To judge by the ear, you would fancy the men were pouring out gallons of cream.

The contents of two crucibles form an ingot, short, thick, and heavy. I saw a number of such ingots in the yard. The next process is to heat them, and to pass them while hot between the rollers which convert them into bars of any required form. I was content to forego a visit to the rolling-mill—somewhere in the suburbs—being already familiar with the operation of rolling iron.

We have now the steel in a form ready for the file-makers. Two forgers, one of whom wields a heavy two-handed hammer, cut the bars into lengths, and after a few minutes of fire and anvil, the future file is formed, one end at a time, from tang to point, and stamped. For the half-round files, a suitable depression is made at one side of the anvil. Then comes a softening process to prepare the files for the men who grind or file them to a true form, and for toothing. To cut the teeth, the man or boy lays the file on a proper bed, takes a short, hard chisel between the thumb and finger of his left hand, holds it leaning from him at the required angle, and strikes a blow with the hammer. The blow produces a nick with a slight ridge by its side; against this ridge the chisel is placed for the next stroke, and so on to the next, until, by multiplied blows, the file is fully toothed. The process takes long to describe, but is, in reality, expeditious, as testified by the rapid clatter. Some of the largest files require two men—one to hold the chisel, the other to strike. For the teeth of rasps, a pyramidal punch is used. The different kinds of files are described as roughs, bastard cut, second cut, smooth, and dead smooth; besides an extraordinary heavy sort, known as rubbers. According to the cut, so is the weight of the hammer employed. Many attempts have been made to cut files by machinery; but they have all failed. There is something in the varying touch of human fingers imparting a keenness to the bite of the file, which the machine with its precise movements cannot produce—even as thistle spines excel all metallic contrivances for the dressing of cloth. And very fortunate it is that machinery can’t do everything.

After the toothing, follows the hardening. The hardener lays a few files in a fire of cinders; blows the bellows till a cherry-red heat is produced; then he thrusts the file into a stratum of charcoal, and from that plunges it into a large bath of cold water, the cleaner and colder the better. The plunge is not made anyhow, but in a given direction, and with a varying movement from side to side, according to the shape of the file. The metal, as it enters the water, and for some seconds afterwards, frets and moans piteously; and I expected to see it fly to pieces with the sudden shock. But good steel is true; the man draws the file out, squints along its edge, and if he sees it too much warped, gives it a strain upon a fulcrum, sprinkling it at the same time with cold water. He then lays it aside, takes another from the fire, and treats it in a similar way.

The hardened files are next scrubbed with sand, are dried, the tangs are dipped into molten lead to deprive them of their brittleness; the files are rubbed over with oil, and scratched with a harder piece of metal to test their quality—that is, an attempt is made to scratch them. If the files be good, it ought to fail. They are then taken between the thumb and finger, and rung to test their soundness; and if no treacherous crack betray its presence, they are tied up in parcels for sale.

I shall not soon forget the obliging kindness with which explanations were given and all my questions answered by a member of the firm, who conducted me over the works. When we came to the end, and I had witnessed the care bestowed on the several operations, I no longer wondered that a Bohemian Mechaniker in the heart of the Continent, or artisans in any part of the world, should find reason to glory in English files. Some people are charitable enough to believe that English files are no unapt examples of English character.