The History of Blacksmithing

Have you ever given much thought to the skill of blacksmithing? Admittedly, I hadn’t. Not until I was asked to write a novella with a blacksmith hero. That’s when I started diving into research on the craft, and goodness, it was interesting to me.

Did you know that the term “blacksmith” is a catch-all phrase? Not all blacksmiths could do all types of smithing. For instance, a coppersmith was a blacksmith who worked with copper. A blacksmith who made bladed weapons (knives, swords, and the like), was a bladesmith. One who shaped metal into firearms was known as a gunsmith. If he made locks, he was a locksmith. The blacksmith who shaped horseshoes then applied them to the horse’s hooves was known as a farrier. If the blacksmith built wooden wagon wheels and applied the iron rims to them, he was a wheelwright. A town blacksmith in early America was most useful when he could do all of these things—and he was typically well-paid for his skills.

Blacksmiths, in one form or another, have been around for thousands of years, since someone somewhere got the bright idea to take the metal bits they found in nature and melt, then pound, those raw bits into something solid and useful. Sounds simple, right? Well, no…not really. 

Blacksmith's Anvil from Oak Alley Plantation
© Jennifer Uhlarik

First, the bits of iron ore had to be extracted from stone, then all the bits put into a charcoal fire and heated to more than 2800 degrees. The iron would flow from the ore to form “blooms”. Those blooms were then extracted from the fire with tongs, placed on an anvil, and hammered into a flat bar. Several times over, the bar would be folded and hammered to create an ingot of wrought iron, which could then become the basis of whatever else the blacksmith might need to make. Because of the low carbon content of wrought iron, it was very malleable (bendable), and as often as it was put in the fire, it could be shaped again into something new. (This is different than cast iron. In a foundry, rather than a smithy, cast iron is heated to a liquid form, then poured into a mold of the finished product. Because it has a much higher carbon content, the cast iron, once cooled, becomes too brittle to be reworked. Whatever form it is shaped into is how it will stay).

Civil War-era Traveling Forge drawing

Early explorers and seafarers brought blacksmiths on their voyages so they might fix any broken ship

parts along the way. In America’s Colonial days, the village blacksmith made most of the metal tools anyone could dream of. Plows, hoes, shovels, door hinges, wheel rims, knives and swords, metal chains, horseshoes, and everything in between. And if any of those implements broke, the blacksmith was the man to see to get them fixed. During the American Revolution and the Civil War, blacksmiths with traveling forges were sent out with the troops to handle re-shoeing horses, fixing broken wagons, and shoring up any damage to the heavy artillery of the day.

However, as time (and industry) marched on, the blacksmith’s job changed. As people found ways to mass-produce items once individually crafted by the blacksmith, bits of his job died out. And with the Industrial Revolution, whole aspects of the blacksmith’s job went away. For instance, no longer would he have to craft the horseshoes in order to shoe a horse. No, he would simply select an appropriately sized shoe from a barrel of hundreds of horseshoes bought from a factory back east, then nail the pre-made shoe to the horse’s hoof. As more and more items became readily available for purchase through stores or catalogs, the blacksmith’s usefulness waned.

New Orleans Scrollwork
© Jennifer Uhlarik

With the invention of the automobile, the once-lucrative job of town blacksmith became more of a specialty skill that few but the rich could afford. Most blacksmiths who managed to continue their businesses did so by making decorative gates and fences, wrought-iron staircase railings, and other accouterments for the well-to-do elements of society—or they found success in contracting to create the metal grills protecting old government building windows. Unfortunately, this new phase of the blacksmith’s life was short-lived. Once the Great Depression struck, no one had money for such luxuries, and the heyday of the blacksmith died out.

For the most part, the skill, craft, and artwork of the blacksmith is a thing of the past, though you can find working blacksmith shops in some places today. Sometimes they are part of historic sites or living history museums, meant to show what life was like in that given period of time. Others are meant to introduce today’s culture to the craft of blacksmithing through simple hands-on classes where you can make a simple project in a few hours. And, of course, there are those artisans who still employ the age-old methods in crafting decorative items for sale at craft shows, eBay, and Etsy. 

It’s your turn: What, if anything, did you learn about blacksmiths and their craft that you didn’t already know? If you could, would you take a class to learn some basic techniques in this ancient skill?

Jennifer Uhlarik discovered the western genre as a pre-teen when she swiped the only “horse” book she found on her older brother’s bookshelf. A new love was born. Across the next ten years, she devoured Louis L’Amour westerns and fell in love with the genre. In college at the University of Tampa, she began penning her own story of the Old West. Armed with a B.A. in writing, she has finaled and won in numerous writing competitions, and been on the ECPA best-seller list several times. In addition to writing, she has held jobs as a private business owner, a schoolteacher, a marketing director, and her favorite—a full-time homemaker. Jennifer is active in American Christian Fiction Writers, Women Writing the West, and is a lifetime member of the Florida Writers Association. She lives near Tampa, Florida, with her husband, college-aged son, and four fur children.

 

Available for Pre-Order

Blacksmith Brides: 4 Historical Stories

A Malleable Heart (California—1870) by Jennifer Uhlarik
A hard-hearted blacksmith finds acceptance with the town laundress. But when his past comes to call, will he resist love’s softening or allow God to hammer his ruined life into something of worth?

I’d Rather Be A Nipper Than A Flunky (Mining History)

The stereotypical image of historic miners is that of an unskilled laborer with a pick-ax and shovel. Think of the Seven Dwarfs. "We dig, dig, dig, . . ."

In reality, workers performed various jobs, and few of them looked like the dwarfs swinging pick-axes in vast, well-lit caverns.

In order to lengthen the tunnels, rock had to be blasted and removed. The miners would drill long, slender holes in the rock wall and place sticks of dynamite inside. 

Author photo from the Molly Kathleen mine tour in Cripple Creek, Colorado

Before the invention of hydraulic drills, two men would hand-drill. One would hold a drill-steel with a sharp bit on the end while the other hit the steel with a sledgehammer. After each hit, the one holding the steel would rotate it a quarter-turn. Imagine the trust those guys had in each other. I don’t think I would hold my hands in front of someone’s big hammer. But that would be the only way to get a rest from swinging the hammer.

Author photo from the Molly Kathleen mine tour in Cripple Creek, Colorado

After the holes had been drilled, someone placed a stick of dynamite in each one and ran a long fuse. (They look just like the ones in the cartoons.) Often this happened at the end of the shift. Everyone left the mine, and the explosives were detonated.

Author photos from the San Juan County Historical Society museum in Silverton, Colorado 

By the next shift, the air had cleared, and a pile of rubble remained. Workers had to shovel the rock into a car to be removed from the mine. This was called “mucking.”

Author photo from the Molly Kathleen mine tour in Cripple Creek, Colorado

With any luck, the rock that had been blasted out contained some ore (gold, silver, copper, and such) that could be processed and sold.

As difficult as these jobs sounded, they weren’t even the low-level positions. A young man (or boy) who aspired to be a miner started out as a “nipper.” Nippers served as runners for the miners. They fetched tools, like sharpened drill bits from the underground blacksmith shop.

And, yes, blacksmiths worked underground in shops complete with hot fires, giant billows, and anvils that would make a cartoon character proud. They repaired tools and sharpened drill bits. I have to imagine that they knew the nippers by name.

Author photos from the San Juan County Historical Society museum in Silverton, Colorado

Lest you believe that the nippers were the bottom of the ladder, above ground, in the boardinghouse kitchens, there were men with the title of “flunky.” Their job description seemed similar to that of nippers, but they were on the surface where it was safe . . . And boring. Few held that job for long.

Many of these jobs exist today. Miners continue to drill and muck out the rock with the aid of machines. Muscular men (and women) operate the equipment. Blacksmith shops were replaced with machine shops. Google “nipper,” and you’ll find job opportunities. I’m not sure anyone wanted the job title “flunky.” At least nippers enjoyed the exciting work of mining and had upward mobility.

*** 

Suzanne Norquist is the author of two novellas, “A Song for Rose” in A Bouquet of Brides Collection and “Mending Sarah’s Heart” in the Thimbles and Threads Collection. Everything fascinates her. She has worked as a chemist, professor, financial analyst, and even earned a doctorate in economics. Research feeds her curiosity, and she shares the adventure with her readers. She lives in New Mexico with her mining engineer husband and has two grown children. When not writing, she explores the mountains, hikes, and attends kickboxing class.

She authors a blog entitled, Ponderings of a BBQ Ph.D.

“Mending Sarah’s Heart” in the Thimbles and Threads Collection 

Four historical romances celebrating the arts of sewing and quilting.
Mending Sarah’s Heart by Suzanne Norquist
Rockledge, Colorado, 1884

Sarah seeks a quiet life as a seamstress. She doesn’t need anyone, especially her dead husband’s partner. If only the Emporium of Fashion would stop stealing her customers, and the local hoodlums would leave her sons alone. When she rejects her husband’s share of the mine, his partner Jack seeks to serve her through other means. But will his efforts only push her further away?

For a Free Preview, click here: http://a.co/1ZtSRkK

Harriet and Anson Rudd, "Father and Mother" of Canon City, Colorado

As an author of historical fiction, I create characters and stories based on actual events because truth is so incredibly interesting.

Take, for instance, a New Hampshire woman named Harriet, who, after a whirlwind courtship of eighteen years, married her blacksmith, poetry-writing, albeit in-no-hurry sweetheart, Anson Rudd, and struck out for California in 1859.

Harriet Spencer in 1849, ten years before she 

headed west from New Hampshire with her husband Anson.

Photo courtesy of Royal Gorge Regional Museum and History Center.

In those days, the West was indeed wild. No telephones, electricity, washing machines, or gas stoves. No running water. No bathrooms as we know them.

Not many women traveled across the country at the time, watching the undulating rumps of horses, oxen, or mules from the wagon seat. But Harriet had waited eighteen long years for her beloved to fish or cut bait, and she wasn’t letting him out of her sight.

After crossing endless plains, Harriet and her Anson reached the Rocky Mountains rising like a rampart before them. They camped at the mouth of a great canyon, next to the singing Arkansas River bordered by cottonwood trees and a meadow. Two cabins were already there. One was vacant, and they moved Harriet’s cook stove inside, right next door to the Middleton family who occupied the other cabin.

With that simple act, tiny tendrils of hope pushed into the soil of their dirt-floor cabin and took root, and Harriet may have said, “This is it, Anson. No more undulating animal rumps for me. We’re home.”

Three days later on Sunday, a Southern Methodist minister fixed up a few boards in another cabin, and five souls met with the preacher to thank God for their safe passage – the first church service held in what was to become Cañon City, Colorado.

An enterprising man by the name of Millet began publishing the Cañon City Times, a saw mill and several businesses went up, and the Mountain Ute tribe soon returned to their winter camp near the hot springs and mineral waters, where they found Harriet and her mouth-watering biscuits. They often came to her cabin and waited. Waited until she had time to stir up a batch of biscuits and pass them out to her native neighbors.

One hundred and sixty years later, here I am writing not only historical fiction, but Western romance about people like Harriet and her Anson. Some folks argue that there was nothing remotely romantic about those early days of the West, but I disagree.

Consider the smithy poet, Anson, who later had a cabin with a wooden floor built for his bride—the first cabin in Cañon City, it is said, to have a wooden floor. That doesn’t sound very romantic either, but consider the critters Harriet would have dealt with in those early, floor-less days: spiders, mice, scorpions, snakes, and other multi-legged creatures. Imagine keeping them out of one’s food, bed, and clothing.

Makes me shudder.

Actions have always spoken louder than words, and it sounds to me like Anson was a romantic man in love with his wife, and gladly went to the trouble of giving her a wooden floor.

Either that, or Anson knew, “If Mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy.”

Anson R. Rudd with son Anson S. Rudd, 1867. Photo courtesy of

Royal Gorge Regional Museum and History Center.

When the Rudd’s second child was born, Harriet gave the boy her maiden name as his middle name, a name I am particularly fond of—Spencer. Anson Spencer Rudd was reportedly the first Anglo child born in the area that survived.

Anson and Harriet entertained all comers in those early years, including Territorial Governor John Evans. But Ute Chief Ouray was a frequent visitor and he developed a deep friendship with Anson.

The Rudd's original square-log cabin, reassembled with a new roof 

on the property of the Royal Gorge Regional Museum and History Center.

Unlike many other villages in the territory, Cañon City was not a boom town springing up along a gold-scattered gully. There was no gold in Cañon City, but there was land in the area rich for farming crops and planting orchards. There was water and open grassland for herds of cattle and horses, and there were merchants ready and willing to load freight wagons that carried food and goods to the mountain mining camps.

Life wasn’t easy, but it was good, the future bright. To keep the rowdies under control, Cañon City’s local leaders appointed a magistrate. A People’s Court was established, convening conveniently in the room above Bill Murray’s saloon.

And Harriet had a few friends of her own. Out of a population of around 700, roughly 120 were women.

What started out as a rendezvous site for hunters, trappers, and Native Americans prior to 1859 was, by 1861, an almost civilized town.

But as sure as the promise of gold and prosperity lured miners to the gold camps and merchants to the great canyon gateway city, so the rumblings of civil war dragged them away, one man at a time.

By late 1861, not only the leaves were falling around the town, so was the population. Anson, Harriet, and their family remained – whether out of desire or duress is uncertain. Some historians argue that Anson didn’t have the wherewithal to load up and head back to civilization. Others say he chose to maintain the feeble thread that would hold the settlement together.

The deserted town stood eerily silent, with half-finished cabins and buildings, empty and lonely, until 1864 when a wagon train rolled into town with twenty or so families looking for a different kind of gold. Their names identify some of the city’s residential streets to this day.

Cañon City officially incorporated in 1872, and the re-named Territory of Colorado became the 38th state in the Union four years later.

The town had nearly died in its infancy – like Harriet and Anson’s first child – but it didn’t. Thanks to a couple who saw that Cañon City was worth fighting for.

The Rudd's stone house, built in 1881 with three original stories and four bedrooms,

relocated to the property of the Royal Gorge Regional Museum and History Center.

Although he was a blacksmith by trade, Anson served Cañon City as the first postmaster, though there was no post office, as provost marshal during the Civil War, warden of the Colorado Territorial Penitentiary, and later as the first sheriff of Fremont County. He also served two terms as county commissioner.

All in all, I’d say Anson Rudd was well-chosen for all these positions, considering he knew how to keep both his wife and the Ute Indian chief happy.

~

Davalynn Spencer is the award-winning author of eleven inspirational Western romance titles, both contemporary and historical. She is a former rodeo journalist, crime-beat reporter, and the wife and mother of professional rodeo bullfighters. When she’s not #lovingthecowboy, she’s wrangling Blue the Cowdog and mouse detectors Annie and Oakley. Contact her via her website at https://www.davalynnspencer.com. 

Blacksmithing: A Critical Part of Communities of the Past

by Pam Hillman

My hero in The Road to Magnolia Glen is a blacksmith. Quinn O’Shea learned the trade back home in Ireland, but then uses his skills once he arrives in the colonies in the Natchez District in 1792.

There’s one thing about authors. We have to know just a little bit about just about everything. And if we don’t know it, we get to research it. So I spent some time researching the tools of the trade of a blacksmith.

The blacksmith was an important part of any community for centuries.

The term blacksmith has been in use since 1250-1300 AD. The blacksmith forged everything from horseshoes to hoes, shovels, candleholders, iron rings, andirons (firedogs) for fireplaces. Typically a male in times past, the blacksmith might also be called a smith, smithy, farrier, plover, horseshoer, shoer.

The blacksmith’s workshop was called a smithy. The term forge might refer to the blacksmith’s workshop, or to the fireplace, hearth, furnace in which the metal is heated to make it pliable.

A critically important piece of a blacksmith’s arsenal was his anvil. Anvils are made of cast or wrought iron with a tool steel face welded on or of a single piece of cast or forged tool steel. On a quality anvil, the smith's hammer should rebound with almost as much energy as the smith puts into the downward stroke, ultimately making the smith's job easier and less physically strenuous. There were anvils specifically made for farriers, general smiths, cutlers, chain makers, armorers, saw tuners, coach makers, coopers, and many other types of metal workers.

In addition to an anvil, the blacksmith needed an arsenal of hammers, tongs, fullers, and specialized forming and cutting tools, called Hardy tools.

Depending on the location of the smithy, the forge might be inside or under a lean-to. Or in some cases, a successful smithy might have an indoor forge and an outdoor forge for use in the sweltering summer months. Or even large doors that could be opened to allow a draft of cooler air to flow through and cool the building.

The work was hard and hot and required precision and skill with hammer. The blacksmith had to know how hot to heat the forge, how long to heat the metal, exactly when to cool it in the “slack tub” in order end up with a strong piece of iron when he was done.

While modern mechanized production has made the need for one-off handmade pieces from blacksmiths not feasible for production purposes, the skill is still being practiced here and there, with tough, muscular men (and women) passing the techniques of forging steel from one generation to the other.

The Road to Magnolia Glen
by Pam Hillman

1792, Natchez Trace, MS

Bitter since his eldest brother abandoned their family in Ireland, Quinn O’Shea travels to Natchez, Mississippi, ready to shuck the weight of his duty and set off on an adventure of his own. It’s time Connor, as head of the family, took responsibility for their younger siblings. While aboard ship, a run-in with three Irish sisters lands Quinn in the role of reluctant savior. Though it may delay his plans, he cannot abandon the Young sisters, especially the tenacious yet kind Kiera.

Upon arriving in the colonies, Kiera Young prepares to meet her intended and begin her new life. But she soon discovers the marriage her brother-in-law arranged was never meant to be, and a far more sinister deal was negotiated for her and her sisters.

Quinn offers to escort his charges safely to Breeze Hill Plantation and his brother’s care, fully intending to seek his freedom elsewhere. But the longer he remains, the greater his feelings toward Kiera grow and the more he comes to realize true freedom might be found in sacrifice. (Coming June 5, 2018 - Available for Pre-order Now.)

Cocheco Massacre, 1689

Enter comment below to participate in book giveaway

In the early morning of June 28, 1689, the settlement of Cocheco, New Hampshire (now part of the city of Dover) was attacked by Indians. Five fortified garrison houses were targeted, including that of Richard Otis, the town’s blacksmith and one of its leading citizens—my ancestor.

Many events led up to that fateful morning. The Indians resented the white settlers, and they held a particular grudge against Major Richard Waldron, head of the settlement's militia. In June of 1689 they began to gather, ostensibly for trading, but they also took stock of the settlers’ defenses.

Several of the colonists had fortified their homes under orders from the governor during King Philip’s War. These homes were chosen for their location on hilltops or knolls, and were essentially large, sturdy log cabins with huge central chimneys. The upper story projected slightly over the lower, with holes or loose boards in the overhang, so that hot water or bullets could be rained down on attackers. Eight-foot palisades with watchtowers were built around the houses. In case of Indian threats, neighbors took shelter at these garrisons. There were about fifty of them across the colony.

On the evening of June 27, a few Indian women asked for shelter at four garrisons. This had become customary. The householders not only let them sleep inside their palisades when requested, they also showed them how to open the gates in case they wished to leave during the night. It seems no watch was kept at any of those garrisons that night, and all the settlers went unsuspecting to bed.

Here’s the “short version” of what happened at Waldron’s, Otis’s, Heard’s, Peter Coffin’s, and his son Tristram Coffin’s garrisons.

During the predawn hours of June 28, the women opened the gates and admitted several hundred Pennacooks into the undefended garrisons. Waldron, age 74, was captured, mutilated, and brutally murdered with his own sword and his house was burned. His family was killed or captured.

Woodcut depicting the attack on Major Waldron's home.
(Public domain)

At Richard Otis’s garrison, the 64-year-old blacksmith, his son Stephen, and daughter Hannah were killed. His third wife, Grizel, three-month-old daughter Margaret, three daughters from his first marriage, Judith, Rose, and Experience, and at least two grandchildren were taken captive. One adult son, Richard Jr., escaped. The garrison was burned. In 1911, construction workers rediscovered the site. Artifacts recovered include: bolts, nails, barrel hoops, clay pipes, spoons, a tomahawk, the bow of a pair of spectacles, an ox shoe, bricks believed to be from the chimney, blacksmith’s tools, and human and animal bones. The relics are now on display at the Woodman Institute in Dover.

At the Heard garrison, a different scene took place. Old Elder William Wentworth was staying at the house while the owner, widow Elizabeth Heard, was away. He was awakened in the night by the barking of a dog. He was able to close the gate the women had opened and hold it fast. One account says he lay on his back, with his feet propped against the gate, until the Indians gave up pushing on it and went elsewhere. This was the only garrison in Cocheco unscathed that night.

The owner, widow Elizabeth Heard, with her four adult children and their families, had sailed the previous day to Portsmouth. They were returning with the tide to Cochecho at dawn on June 28. Finding the docks and main street deserted, they headed cautiously for Waldron’s home, the nearest garrison, and soon smelled smoke and heard war cries. Alerted to the danger, the family agreed to flee to the Gerrish garrison at Back River.

Elizabeth, however, was terrified and elderly. She didn’t think she could make the journey and begged her family to hide her in the bushes and leave her, which they reluctantly did. She later reported that one of the Indians saw her, but he was one she had done a kindness for in the past. He did not harm her or reveal her location, and she survived. When the Indians had left, she walked to her own home, expecting to find it a pile of ashes. Instead, she found Elder Wentworth and her house intact.

Artist's depiction of Indians attacking a garrison
(public domain)

At Peter Coffin’s garrison, the house not burned because of Peter’s past friendship with some of the Indians. He and his family were taken captive, however, and marched to his son Tristram’s garrison.

It seems none of the Indian women had sought shelter at Tristram Coffin’s; however, that isn’t certain from the sources used. While Tristram’s home was so well fortified the Indians could not get in, they forced him to open the gate by threatening to kill one of their hostages. He let them in to save his family. The Indians plundered his home, but all of the family was spared and the house was left standing.

In all, about eight houses were burned that morning, as were the gristmills and sawmill at Cocheco Falls. Twenty-three people were killed, and twenty-nine taken captive, many from the Otis family. Colonists pursued the Indians, who split into smaller groups with their captives. The three older Otis girls were rescued near Conway, including Judith, from whom I am descended.

Most of the captives were taken to Canada. Richard Otis’s young wife, Grizel, and her baby went to Montreal and were treated kindly. Grizel’s name was changed to Madeline, and she later married a French Canadian farmer and had five children with him. She stayed in Canada, as did most of the captives when later given a choice. The baby, Marguerite, was raised by nuns in Montreal, and her name was changed to Christine. She lived in Canada until she was 45 years old, though she could have returned after a prisoner exchange in 1714. After returning to New Hampshire in 1735, she and her husband established a public house there.

For the next 60 years, Indian raids continued in coastal Maine and New Hampshire. By the middle of the 18th century, the advancing whites, famine, and disease had subdued the natives. By 1770, very few Indians were left in New Hampshire.

Pavilion housing the last New England colonial garrison house
(Photo by Jillian C. York)

The William Damme garrison is the only New Hampshire garrison house remaining intact today. It was moved in 1915 and has been preserved in a pavilion at the Woodman Institute in Dover and can be visited there. It contains many period relics, and artifacts from Richard Otis’s garrison that was burned in the 1689 massacre.

My White Mountain Brides series begins with the massacre and tells what happened to three girls who were captured. These are fictional characters; I did not try to tell the stories of real captives, but based my heroines on composites of real people. In the first book, Sarah stayed with the Indians until she was redeemed. Jane, the heroine of the

second book, had been an indentured servant in New Hampshire. In Canada, she was married off to a farmer. Christine, the heroine of the third book, was entrusted to a convent. These stories start with the young women’s return to Cocheco and follow them as they assimilate back into the English-American culture.

To enter the drawing for a copy of the anthology White Mountain Brides, leave a comment below, including your contact information. E-readers may substitute an e-book of any of the three individual books from this series.




Susan Page Davis is the author of more than forty published novels. A history major, www.susanpagedavis.com .
she’s always interested in the unusual happenings of the past. She’s a two-time winner of the Inspirational Readers’ Choice Award, and also a winner of the Carol Award and the Will Rogers Medallion, and a finalist in the WILLA Awards and the More Than Magic Contest. Visit her website at: