Mastering Iron: The Struggle to Modernize an American Industry, 1800-1868

Anne Kelly Knowles is a historical geographer who teaches at Middlebury College, where she has been a member of the Department of Geography since 2002. She is the author of Calvinists Incorporated: Welsh Immigrants on Ohio’s Industrial Frontier, also published by the University of Chicago Press, and the editor of Placing History: How Maps, Spatial Data, and GIS Are Changing Historical Scholarship.

The University of Chicago Press, Chicago 60637

The University of Chicago Press, Ltd., London

© 2013 by The University of Chicago

All rights reserved. Published 2013.

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ISBN-13: 978-0-226-44859-6 (cloth)

ISBN-10: 0-226-44859-2 (cloth)

ISBN-13: 978-0-226-44861-9 (e-book)

ISBN-10: 0-226-44861-4 (e-book)

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Knowles, Anne Kelly.

Mastering iron: the struggle to modernize an American industry, 1800–1868 / Anne Kelly Knowles; cartography by Chester Harvey.

pages; cm.

ISBN 978-0-226-44859-6 (cloth: alk. paper)—ISBN 0-226-44859-2 (cloth: alk. paper)—ISBN 978-0-226-44861-9 (e-book)—ISBN 0-226-44861-4 (e-book) 1. Iron industry and trade—United States—History. I. Title.

HD9515.K56 2013

338.4′76691097309034—dc23                                2012006826

This paper meets the requirements of ANSI/NISO Z39.48-1992 (Permanence of Paper).

MASTERING IRON

The Struggle to Modernize an American Industry, 1800–1868

ANNE KELLY KNOWLES

Cartography by Chester Harvey

The University of Chicago Press

Chicago and London

In memory of my father,

Richard Hughes Morris (1919–2008)

CONTENTS

Introduction: Iron in America

1. Mapping the Iron Industry

2. The Worlds of Ironworkers

3. High Hopes and Failure

4. The Elements of Success

5. Iron for the Civil War

Conclusion: American Iron

Acknowledgments

Appendix: A Note on Historical GIS

Notes

Glossary

Bibliography

Map Sources

Index

INTRODUCTION

Iron in America

Iron is the most plentiful element on earth. Harder and more durable than copper and much less costly than bronze, iron was for thousands of years the primary metal of agriculture, conquest, and industry throughout the world.¹ It is remarkably adaptable and useful: molten iron can be cast into almost any form, and well-made iron tools last for generations. The volcanic heat required to smelt iron from ore, and the craft skills required to shape hot iron into wares and weapons, historically bequeathed special status to ironworkers. In many societies, iron has been a potent symbol of individual and national strength, power, and prestige.²

In modern times, the apogee of iron’s importance came in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. The rise of factory production and the construction of railroads in Europe and North America required an enormous increase in iron production. Historians have acknowledged the central significance of the iron industry to Great Britain’s economy during this period. By 1800 Britain had become the world’s dominant low-cost, high-volume producer of iron, a position it retained until nearly the end of the nineteenth century.³ In British historical scholarship, the iron industry is the classic case that demonstrates the tremendous productivity gains achieved in the Industrial Revolution by substituting mineral fuel (coal) for organic fuel (wood and charcoal).⁴ In United States historiography, however, the iron industry plays only a minor role, when it is mentioned at all, in accounts of America’s dramatic change from a nation of farmers at the beginning of the nineteenth century to an industrial powerhouse by the end of the Civil War. We know far less about this crucial period of the industry’s expansion and change than we do about the rise of the corporate steel industry in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.

The scholarly literature on antebellum iron falls mainly into two types of studies. Histories of individual ironworks give a good sense of how iron companies operated and the nature of labor, particularly at small, family-owned works.⁵ Economic studies focus on the significance of resource endowments for iron-making and how price competition influenced the uneven regional and international development of the industry before the Civil War. Economic and labor histories have tended to treat the antebellum iron industry as the prelude to steel rather than as significant in its own right. In most cases they consider a single region, typically Pennsylvania, Virginia, or the Mid-Atlantic region, areas that also draw the most attention in works of national scope.⁶ While these regions did account for most of the iron produced during the antebellum period, taking them as the main story has given us a rather skewed, incomplete understanding of the industry. No one has compared development across all the country’s iron regions, nor has any study taken a comprehensive approach to the many factors that influenced the industry’s development—namely, technological change, labor, management, capital, transportation, and the physical and social contexts in which this heaviest of heavy industries was embedded.

Why hasn’t the iron industry been a central part of the narrative of early nineteenth-century American industrialization? That narrative has for some decades mainly told the stories of factory-based industries, particularly those producing textiles, railroads, machine tools, and small arms.⁷ Each has come to represent powerful themes in the historiography of antebellum America. Textile mills are the prime example of the substitution of machines for labor, a step in industrialization that was particularly important in the United States because of the relatively high cost of American labor. Textile company owners exemplify the shift of mercantile wealth to domestic manufactures. The many improvements that American mechanics made to British-designed mill machinery fit the image of antebellum America as a nation of mechanics and inventors. Labor also plays a prominent role in the history of the textile industry, whether as a newly feminized workforce in corporate New England factories or as the more mixed labor working for Philadelphia proprietors. Railroads have long fascinated historians because of their heavy capital requirements, the immense wealth some railroad companies generated, and their political clout. They transformed transportation, commerce, and settlement and symbolized the exuberant potential for unifying a vast nation. The machine tool and small arms industries, while less prominent, stand out as examples of American ingenuity and mechanical acumen, of solving practical problems to increase industrial efficiency.

The iron industry differed in many ways from these well-known industries. Iron was the last major industry to be mechanized; by 1870 the process had scarcely begun. Technological innovations that increased productivity did not replace labor—quite the contrary; they created new divisions of labor that increased the number of skilled positions and required more workers. In contrast to the workforce at many textile mills, all ironworkers were male. The demand for skill in the iron industry put a premium on experienced immigrant labor, while the nature of ironmaking technologies created bottlenecks that gave men in certain skilled occupations exceptional control over production. These circumstances contributed to the late development of unions in the American iron industry; the first ironworkers’ union was organized in 1858. In relation to other heavy industries, the greatest difference in ironmaking was its sensitivity to the quality of resources, particularly the chemical content of coal and iron ore, and the cost of transporting raw materials and finished goods. Geography and geology influenced the American iron industry’s development in fundamental ways, from where ironworks were located to what they produced, how long they survived, what technology they employed, and the size and characteristics of their workforces.

Recognizing the differences between iron and other leading American industries makes the story of industrialization more complicated. There was no one dominant American model of ironmaking before or during the Civil War, just as there was no one model for textile manufacturing, as Philip Scranton showed in his study of textile firms in greater Philadelphia.⁸ Between 1800 and 1868, US iron companies used a remarkable array of methods for smelting and refining iron; yet to a greater degree than in perhaps any other major industry, most of those methods were developed outside the United States. Until well after the Civil War, British iron companies and British engineers and artisans developed most of the major improvements in productivity and efficiency for large-scale iron production. When American firms tried to replicate British methods for making iron on a large scale—the main focus of this book—they encountered daunting problems that were, at bottom, geographical or geological—problems that British producers generally did not face because in Britain metallurgical coal, rich iron ore, and limestone deposits were close to one another and relatively near to navigable rivers, coasts, and centers of population. In every European country that tried to compete with Britain, developing a modern iron industry was a prolonged undertaking that produced many more hybrids than replicas, and sometimes as many failures as successes.⁹ The same was true in most iron regions of the United States.

Another obstacle preventing iron’s inclusion in our national narrative of industrialization may be the industry’s great variety of forms, for its multifarious objects and landscapes resist symbolization. In America as Second Creation, historian David E. Nye observed, For those who arrived after Columbus, neither ancient sacred places nor local stories of origin were possible. Instead, the new Americans constructed stories of self-creation in which mastery of particular technologies played a central role. Nye goes on to explain that these stories fixed on iconic objects—the ax, water-powered mills, canals, and railroads—each of which was associated with a characteristic landscape and phase of American economic development. The ax, for example, was the main tool for clearing forests and building log cabins for self-sufficient agriculture on the frontier. Mills anchored villages and towns that housed the country’s first industrial working class and created the fortunes of its first industrial capitalist elite.¹⁰

In each of the objects Nye discusses, iron was the common ingredient, hiding in plain sight. Tench Coxe, an early proponent of American manufacturing, declared in an 1814 report to the US Senate, Not a building for man, for cattle, nor for the safe keeping of produce or merchandise—not a plough, a mill, a loom, a wheel, a spindle, a carding machine, a fire arm, a sword, a wagon, or a ship, can be provided, without the manufactures of the iron branch.¹¹ Steel-edged iron axes and scythes chopped firewood and harvested the grain grown on prairies opened to agriculture by the force of hardened iron plowshares. Stirrups, bits, and horseshoes were made of iron, as were the metal rims of wagon wheels. All manner of hand tools for digging in the ground had iron heads, from the spades and hoes that slaves used to ditch and tend rice fields in South Carolina to the picks and shovels Irish laborers wielded to build the Erie Canal. Most hard-wearing parts in antebellum machines were made of iron or steel—from the wire teeth in Eli Whitney’s cotton gin and the gears, spindles, and fastenings on power looms to the firing mechanisms of rifles and pistols—as were the precision tools and files used to fit the interchangeable parts together.¹² Iron was essential to the devices that revolutionized American transportation and warfare in the nineteenth century, including steam engines, suspension bridges hung from wire cables, heavy cannons, and the iron cladding on Civil War battleships.¹³ A plethora of domestic wares were made of iron, from cast-iron pots, pans, and cookstoves to the nails that held balloon frame houses together. Iron was part of the consumer revolution as well, as a material that permitted low-cost, large-scale production of consumer goods. In 1825, for example, Boston piano maker Alpheus Babcock patented a cast-iron piano frame that was rugged enough to survive long-distance shipment to parlors across the country. In Worcester, Massachusetts, wire manufacturer Ichabod Washburn produced finely drawn piano wire to string American-made instruments, as well as tempered steel wire for hoop skirts, a cheap alternative to whalebone.¹⁴

In short, iron was ubiquitous in American life from about 1800 through the Civil War, an era that could be called America’s iron age. As the list above suggests, however, iron was present in too many things for its symbolic importance to cohere in one cultural talisman. It was also made in too many kinds of places for the industry to lodge in a single iconic landscape. Ironworks ranged from single-hearth bloomeries about the size of a blacksmith’s shop to complex industrial sites that covered acres of ground. By the turn of the twentieth century, steel plants in Pittsburgh, Bethlehem, Johnstown, and South Chicago had become icons of heavy industry. Their tall, cylindrical blast furnaces, vast rolling mills, and palls of smoke symbolized the nation’s economic muscle as well as the working class and class conflict. No such places encapsulated the meanings of the previous era of iron production. In this regard, the antebellum iron industry confirms Walter Licht’s interpretation that the nineteenth century was characterized more by the great diversity of its industrial processes, products, communities, and social relations than by any single kind of production system.¹⁵

Mastering Iron focuses on the sectors of the iron industry that formed the foundation of iron production and heavy manufacturing: smelting at blast furnaces and the large-scale refining done at rolling mills, forges, and foundries, many of which produced both finished products (such as sheet iron, rails, and nails) and bar iron, rods, and other semifinished goods. This sectoral focus emerged from my initial research question: Why did it take most of the nineteenth century for the United States to match the British iron industry’s scale of production? Knowing that coal-fired furnaces and the combined refining methods of puddling and rolling had catapulted the British industry’s dramatic growth at the end of the eighteenth century, I set out to discover how those technologies were transferred to the United States. My hope of tracing that transfer through the lives of individual immigrant ironworkers fizzled because I found little record of workers’ movements. As other scholars have noted, iron artisans were among the most peripatetic of skilled industrial workers.¹⁶ In the meantime, however, in J. Peter Lesley’s directory of the American iron industry, The Iron Manufacturer’s Guide (1859), I found a source that held the keys to understanding the industry’s technological change and geographical expansion. The changes Lesley documented convinced me that the period he covered well, from 1800 to 1858, merited close examination. Case studies of individual iron companies led me to extend the period of study to 1868, in order to include the role of the iron industry in the Civil War, the creation of the first American ironworkers’ unions, and the arrival of the Bessemer converter, another imported technology that signaled a fundamental restructuring and rescaling of iron and steel production in the United States.

One purpose of this book is to fill a significant gap in our understanding of American industrialization. Another is to explain why some US iron companies swiftly implemented British technologies while others struggled or failed in the attempt, or never ventured to try large-scale production. I discovered the range of technologies employed at antebellum ironworks by mapping the data in Lesley’s Guide, using the methods of historical geographic information systems (HGIS) (see the appendix). I could not have determined the regional patterns of technology and production, or the temporal dynamics of the iron industry, without the exploratory mapping that GIS makes possible. Visual evidence and visual argument are also important parts of my method. The maps, fine art, and historical photographs I have included are not illustrations; they are sources of evidence and modes of representation that are essential for many of my arguments. Taken together, my use of GIS and visual analysis make this book a significant contribution to the emerging fields of historical GIS, spatial history, and the digital humanities.¹⁷ At the same time, this book is deeply anchored in archival research, which was necessary to understand the ideas, individuals, and historical circumstances that propelled and inhibited modernization.

While piecing together the course of technology transfer is a central concern of my research, I take a rather different approach than have most historians of technology. The transfer of technology always involves displacement, as people, ideas, machines, and ways of working are moved from their places of origin to new places. As a geographer, I am particularly interested in the places that anchor each end of the transfer. How different were those places? How well did the individuals who were attempting to effect the transfer of a given technology understand those differences? To what extent could the physical and social conditions in the new location be changed to fit the requirements of the technology’s original context? If conditions could not be altered much, could the technology be changed without losing its efficacy?

These questions give a new twist to Bruno Latour’s elegant formulation of scientific change as a process of accumulating information from remote places in centers of calculation.¹⁸ In the case of Americans’ efforts to modernize the domestic iron industry, the information they desired was lodged in British ironworks. The classic relationship for the scientific accumulation of knowledge was reversed, since Americans wanted to extract information from existing centers of accumulated knowledge, experience, and practice. What Latour calls immutable and combinable mobiles—the pieces of information that cumulatively lead to new knowledge and even more valuable generalizations and abstractions—were in this case only partially available to American entrepreneurs and the workers laboring at their behest. Unless they spent considerable time in the original places of production they wished to replicate, Americans could accumulate only partial knowledge. As events would demonstrate, the shortcut of hiring experienced British ironworkers was inadequate, because the techniques used to smelt iron with coal and refine it through puddling and rolling also required physical conditions and social relations that were much more difficult to replicate than the machines, buildings, supply chains, and visible skills that those techniques most obviously required. My case studies bear out Latour’s insight that, wherever a new scientific approach (here, industrial technology) fails, some part of its supporting network has been punctured. What I hope to add to this observation is the crucial significance of place, in all its geographical dimensions, to the efficacy of networks in the service of industrial production.

As this declaration suggests, my approach to the iron industry is predominantly empirical, not theoretical. I strive to reconstruct and then understand the concrete places where iron was made, from the very specific landscapes of production created by individual firms, their workers and managers, to the industrial valleys, transportation systems, and regions where particular modes of production took hold. Latour’s explication of network analysis has influenced my interpretation chiefly because his theoretical framework is grounded in a materialist view of history. Similarly, David Harvey’s materialist view of industrial capitalism inspired my interest in the shifting balance of power in labor relations and the tension between capital’s contradictory requirements for labor mobility and resident labor supply. David Meyer’s notion of networked machinists also helped me conceptualize the very uneven results of technology transfer in the iron industry.¹⁹ Implementing British technologies on American soil was as much a social process actualized through networks of variously allied actors as it was a matter of grappling with new physical circumstances. Both the social and physical aspects of modernization involved struggle—hence the subtitle of this book. Company owners, managers, and skilled workers struggled to various extents to implement technologies that had been developed in very different geographical contexts in Britain. They also struggled to create and maintain viable work practices in the face of conflicting cultural expectations, labor scarcity, and differing degrees and kinds of technical understanding.

One last thing that needs explaining is the prominence of Welsh immigrant ironworkers and Welsh iron companies in this book. I knew from previous research that Welsh artisans were an important minority of immigrants at American ironworks.²⁰ As I researched company records for this book, Welsh puddlers and rollers cropped up at almost every rolling mill. Although the Welsh did not outnumber English iron artisans in the United States, they brought a distinctive ethnic-occupational identity that proved both troublesome and advantageous for their American employers. The presence of Welsh immigrants at so many American ironworks also reflects the prominence of leading Welsh iron companies in the imagination of American entrepreneurs. Time and again in manuscript correspondence and printed reports, I found references to Dowlais and Cyfarthfa, two of the largest iron companies in South Wales. Those firms epitomized modern ironmaking to contemporaries because they were among Britain’s first fully integrated ore-to-rail operations. Understanding the geographical circumstances of these prototypical firms is a key part of my analysis of failure and success in the American industry.

Reflecting these various threads and methods, the book is a hybrid of history and geography, thematic exposition and chronological narrative. Chapter 1 explains the iron industry’s evolution by retracing the footsteps of J. Peter Lesley and two young men who helped him assess the state of the industry in 1855–58. Lesley published the results of their survey as The Iron Manufacturer’s Guide, a massive compendium that captured the industry’s striking variation and major trends from the end of the eighteenth century to the eve of the Civil War. The company-level information that Lesley and his assistants collected provides the basis for mapping the development of the American industry in unprecedented detail, with particular insights into the spatial and temporal patterns of construction, production, the abandonment of facilities, and technological change. The chapter concludes with a comprehensive description of the country’s major ironmaking districts and regions. The analysis is enriched by frank commentary contained in letters the three men exchanged during their survey. This chapter provides crucial geographical and historical context for everything that follows.

Chapter 2 explores the social aspects of the iron industry. Historians have long known that skilled ironworkers were essential to the industry, but we have lacked a comprehensive understanding of workplace environments and the culture of ironmaking. The chapter begins with the perception of ironworks as extreme places, as portrayed by outside observers and by workers themselves. I then pull back to look at ironmaking communities more broadly. Ironmaking in large industrial towns most nearly matched the hellish images of the industry in literature and art, but there were also iron villages and hamlets, frontier iron towns, and iron plantations. Each type of community developed around particular technologies, scales of production, and social relations. Understanding how these interrelated factors formed distinctive industrial places helps explain, among other things, why some kinds of ironmaking communities were more likely than others to experience labor conflict. The chapter closes with a consideration of the wide range of incentives and punishment that managers used to discipline labor at American ironworks.

Chapters 3 and 4 present case studies of four United States companies that variously failed or succeeded in replicating British smelting technologies and large rolling mill operations. Chapter 3 begins with Farrandsville Furnace, one of the first attempts to make iron with coke in direct imitation of the British model. This disastrous foray into modern ironmaking in central Pennsylvania illustrates problems that beset many pioneering iron ventures on the industrial frontier, including managers’ ignorance of imported techniques and machinery, the poor quality of local resources, cultural and personal conflicts between managers and workers, the unreliability of waterpower and transport, the distance to markets, and the impact of national economic swings, boredom, drunkenness, and bad luck. The somewhat better outcome at Lonaconing Furnace in western Maryland points up the importance of resource quality, reliable transportation, and more equitable labor relations. Chapter 4 looks at two examples of very successful companies in the Mid-Atlantic region, where the British model was most swiftly and fully replicated. The Lehigh Crane Iron Company was the first American firm to prove the viability of making iron with anthracite, and for years it was one of the largest producers in the United States. The managers of the Trenton Iron Company, one of the country’s first integrated operations, showed exceptional entrepreneurial drive. In both cases, collegial labor-management relations, locations along established transportation lines, relative proximity to both excellent raw materials and urban markets, and managers’ creative response to economic crisis all contributed to long-term success.

The patterns of regional development in the antebellum iron industry set the stage for chapter 5, which examines the role of iron in the Civil War. The volume of production in the North gave the Union an enormous initial advantage in manufacturing war materiel, and Northern companies were quick to exploit government contracts to accelerate their growth. Confederate chief of ordnance Josiah Gorgas recognized the South’s perilous position and moved quickly to expand manufacturing capacity. He was less successful in halting the loss of skilled workers. Wartime experiences at Alabama’s Shelby Iron Works illustrate the South’s difficulties and show how important it was for Southern companies to retain a skilled workforce. Labor scarcity in both the South and the North inflated wages and gave artisans more leverage with management. The drive to increase output while achieving the precision demanded by the military, however, created strong incentives for firms to wrest control of production from workers’ hands. This sparked labor disputes at Northern ironworks that presaged more frequent and violent conflicts after the war.

The conclusion reflects on the iron industry’s development from 1800 to 1868. While this period saw tremendous geographical expansion and the adoption of technological innovations that greatly increased production, those changes by no means eradicated older forms of production. The hybridity that characterized American ironmaking in the 1830s and 1840s intensified with time, culminating in wartime industries that used virtually every known kind of ironmaking technology. Ironmaster Abram Hewitt, who led the American delegation to the Paris Universal Exhibition in 1867, was frustrated to see that the US iron industry still could not match the impressive achievements of larger, more advanced European works. The Krupp works in Germany and Le Creusôt in France joined the great British ironworks as the envy of American entrepreneurs. Fundamental changes were afoot, however, that would shift the balance of global production to the United States, give managers the upper hand over labor, and create new processes and landscapes of production that riveted world attention in the age of mass-produced steel.

1

Mapping the Iron Industry

’Tis astonishing how little the owners & managers of these one-horse affairs know about their business.

JOSEPH LESLEY, May 27, 1857

In the middle of the nineteenth century, the British iron industry experienced a series of booms and crises. Industrialists greatly expanded ironworks’ capacity in the 1830s and early 1840s in response to domestic demand for rails and manufactured goods, then companies suffered economic arrest when overproduction glutted the British market. When depression hit after the British railway boom of 1846–47, iron companies cut skilled workers’ wages by up to one-third. In search of other markets, British companies shipped boatloads of Welsh rails and Scottish pig iron to the United States. Shocked to see the American market inundated with cheap British iron, ironmasters held a summit meeting in Philadelphia in December 1849. They launched a lobbying effort to raise tariffs and gathered information from ironworks across the Northeast to document the damage that cheap imports did to domestic producers. Their report helped persuade Congress to raise tariffs, as it had done in 1842, to shield the country’s struggling iron companies from foreign competition.

The tariffs stimulated domestic iron production, but by late 1854 supply was exceeding demand. American railroad construction flagged as one project after another encountered cost overruns or simply ran out of money. Continuing overcapacity in Britain once again resulted in large shipments of cheap British rails and pig iron, which further depressed the American market. In late 1855 and early 1856, blast furnaces in many states ceased production, and some of the country’s biggest rolling mills ground to a halt. More ironworks closed the following year, as the nation’s growing economic malaise turned into a run on banks that became known as the Panic of 1857.¹

In the early days of this developing crisis, owners of leading East Coast ironworks formed the American Iron Association. They intended to lobby Congress again to increase tariffs, but they also had a broader agenda. They wanted to cure the chronic problems that generally made American iron more expensive than British iron and of poorer quality than Swedish, Norwegian, and Russian iron. The founding members of the association believed that American companies should emulate their British competitors by promoting modern methods of mass production and greater cooperation among ironmasters. In addition to urging association members to embrace these priorities, the preamble to the organization’s constitution encouraged ironmasters to recognize the need for more thorough geological surveys and for schools to train young men in the profession:

WHEREAS, The manufacture of iron, in its various branches, has acquired an importance in this country second only to the great agricultural interest; and whereas, its more rapid and economical development has been retarded by want of unity of action and free intercommunication of opinions and experiences among those interested; and whereas, we believe great advantages are best obtained by united action, we therefore deem it important to form an association in this city, to be called the American Iron Association.

The general objects of this Association shall be to procure regularly the statistics of the trade, both at home and abroad. To provide for the mutual interchange of information and experience, both scientific and practical. To collect and preserve all works relating to iron, and to form a complete cabinet of ores, limestones, and coals. To encourage the formation of such schools as are designed to give the young ironmaster a proper and thorough scientific training, preparatory to engaging in practical operations. And, generally, to take all proper measures for advancing the interests of the trade in all its branches.²

The want of unity of action and free intercommunication referred in part to the gulf between East Coast iron men, whose large ironworks competed most directly with foreign imports, and the much greater number of ironmasters who ran small operations. Owners such as Henry Burden of the Troy Iron Works and Cyrus Alger of the South Boston Iron Works had vigorously lobbied Congress for tariff protection against European imports in 1842 and again in 1849–50, and protested the downward adjustment of tariffs in 1846. They resented the lack of support for their position from the industry as a whole. As users of the latest iron-making technology, they had a low opinion of the majority of ironmasters who persisted in using old-fashioned methods. It was high time for American iron to become a modern industry.

These ideas also reflected the convictions of the man who wrote the association’s constitution, who happened to be one of the few members who was not an ironmaster. J. Peter Lesley (1819–1903), the first secretary of the American Iron Association, was a topographical geologist who made his living chiefly by locating and mapping mineral deposits, knowledge that he summarized in 1856 in his Manual of Coal and Its Topography. Lesley was editor and virtually the sole author of the Bulletin of the American Iron Association from its inception in 1856 through 1859. He had learned geology and surveying in 1837–41 while working as a young field assistant with the First Geological Survey of Pennsylvania under the direction of Henry Darwin Rogers. Lesley left the Survey to attend Princeton Theological Seminary, thinking he would become a Presbyterian minister, but within a few years he returned to work with Rogers as a cartographer. Lesley believed that modern industry required scientific knowledge that only a thorough understanding of mineral geology could provide. In articulating the goals and purpose of the American Iron Association, it was Lesley who called for scientific exchange, who saw the value of amassing a library of works related to iron and storing collections of mineral samples and fossils that would form the basis for scientific classification and the development of geological theory. It was also he who recommended industrial education, several years before he was appointed as the first professor of mining at the University of Pennsylvania.³

Peter, as he was known to family and friends, was a tall, thin man with tremendous nervous energy. He was often ill and suffered several collapses over the course of his life, each one brought on by intense exertion, usually on several fronts at once.⁴ His enthusiasm and his highly systematic mind worked together to conceive of almost every project on a grand scale. His approach to mapping is typical. While working for Rogers in 1851–52, Peter made two very large maps of areas he surveyed in the anthracite coal region. One great map was of the Shamokin, Pennsylvania, coal beds. The second was a topographical map measuring twenty feet by thirty feet showing anthracite deposits and underground mines at Pottsville, Pennsylvania.⁵ Giant maps became something of a specialty for Lesley. In 1853–54, he made a huge map of the holdings of the Pennsylvania Railroad as part of his survey of the company’s route across the Alleghenies to Pittsburgh. Eight years later he produced a map measuring fifteen feet square for T. E. Blackwell, managing director of Canada’s Grand Trunk Railway, which showed all US ironworks on a base map of Appalachian topography.⁶ In later years, at the height of his career, Lesley became state geologist and directed the Second Geological Survey of Pennsylvania from 1875 to 1889. The published reports of the Second Survey ran to 120 volumes of text and atlases. This staggering compilation of geological knowledge eclipsed all other nineteenth-century state geological surveys in scope, content, and cartographic achievement.⁷

When Lesley accepted the position of secretary of the American Iron Association in September 1856, he told his wife, Susan, that the job would oblige him to travel round a little, but that it would leave him plenty of time to continue his remunerative survey work.⁸ He would travel for the association to drum up members and gather statistics on ironworks, which he had begun doing in January 1856.⁹ Statistics had been part of government and trade association accounts of industry since the late eighteenth century. A report prepared by secretary of the treasury Louis McLane in 1832 included local and statewide summaries of manufacturing as well as detailed tables of industrial production, capital invested, labor, and wages. McLane’s report covered only eleven states in the Northeast and Mid-Atlantic region, however, and like Tench Coxe’s 1814 report on manufactures, the amount and kind of information on individual works varied by state and by the willingness of individual ironmasters to answer the survey’s questions.¹⁰ The 1850 US manufacturing census captured more information and was more systematic. It recorded the amount of capital invested in ironworks, the amount and cost of materials, labor, and machinery, and the value of products produced. But the census omitted many firms, and published census volumes provided only aggregate statistics at the county or state level. Books and pamphlets published in Europe and the United States offered descriptive accounts that combined histories of the iron trade with travelogue-style commentary and snippets of statistics from the records of individual ironworks, trade publications, and census reports. They typically discussed only the most modern production methods and the largest works, such as Cyfarthfa and Dowlais in Wales and Fourchambault in France. Their main subject was the trade, whose pulse was recorded in the volume of imports and exports, profits relative to input costs, and most important, the fluctuating price of iron.¹¹

Lesley’s notion of trade statistics differed from his predecessors’ approach in character and scope. He saw the iron industry as a collection of types to be cataloged, much like the fossils and ore samples he collected on geological expeditions. As a man of science, Lesley wanted to count everything that could be counted. If he was going to collect data, as he put it in his journal in 1857, the collection should be as complete as possible.¹² It should also be put to instructive use, offering models of best practice to the many ironmasters who had not yet adopted modern techniques. To comprehend its present difficulties, the industry needed to know which ironworks had failed or were struggling and why. Entrepreneurs needed to know whom to contact for advice on implementing new methods. Potential investors could benefit from learning what kind and quality of products firms produced, their current capital investment, and whether a company was a steady or a fitful producer.

With all these goals in mind, Lesley set out to document the entire industry, from Maine to Alabama, including the most progressive ironworks and the most backward, those currently in operation and those that had gone out of business. To further the association’s aim to promote better communication between ironmasters, Lesley would include the names of owners, managers, and superintendents and provide each company’s mailing address. The latter is the most unusual piece of information included in the survey. Lesley specified each ironworks’ location as precisely as he could—county and state for obscure, long-abandoned works; nearest post office or distance along a river, stream, or turnpike for rural companies; street address for works in major cities. In addition to wanting to encourage communication within the industry, Lesley planned from the outset to map his data. Geographical location was essential to his vision for the project.

In sum, Lesley saw the survey as an instrument for hastening the adoption of modern production methods throughout the industry. He planned to publish installments on each iron-producing region in the Bulletin of the American Iron Association. The information thus circulated to association members would advance scientific knowledge, facilitate communication, and promote the trade.

The first difficulty Lesley encountered in carrying out his grand plan was the geographical extent of the area he intended to canvass. The country’s approximately two thousand blast furnaces, rolling mills, forges, and bloomeries, not to mention the innumerable foundries, machine shops, tool manufacturers, and smithies, lay scattered over an immense territory. Lesley knew some parts of the East very well. He could have mapped much of Pennsylvania from memory, having surveyed large swaths of the state and visited its back valleys on horseback as a colporteur delivering Presbyterian religious tracts in the 1840s. He had surveyed parts of Appalachian Kentucky and Tennessee and had probably traveled in northern Virginia and western Maryland. He spent much of his life in the Greater Philadelphia region, and he knew Massachusetts from frequent visits to relatives in Boston and Northampton and his years as a minister in Milton.¹³ In each of those areas, he had at least passing familiarity with ironmasters he could depend on to provide information. But Lesley was acutely aware of the gaps in his mental map of the iron industry and was determined to fill them.¹⁴ He originally hoped to gather most of the information he required by sending out circulars (paper survey forms), but he soon discovered the problems inherent in that method of data collection. Some companies never answered his written requests. One respondent sourly replied, Go to Hell. As the Panic of 1857 took hold, Lesley noted, the tone of the replies to his circulars was almost without exception angry and desponding.¹⁵

He decided to visit as many ironworks as possible in person. With so much country to cover, Peter called on two assistants to help him in the field. Benjamin Smith Lyman (1835–1920) was his nephew by marriage. Peter was very fond of Ben and rejoiced at every meeting with the young man. The two shared many interests, from geology to the transcendentalist philosophy of Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry David Thoreau, whom both had met. Well before Ben joined his uncle on the iron survey, Peter had become a committed Unitarian, a transition that disturbed his Scottish Presbyterian family but cemented his intellectual kinship with Ben and other members of his wife’s family.¹⁶ When Ben set off to survey southern ironworks for his uncle, he was just twenty-one, a bright fellow with a classical education from Phillips Exeter Academy and Harvard University. He had shown promise as a common hand working with Peter during the summer of 1856 on a survey of coal lands around Broad Top City in Huntingdon County, Pennsylvania. Ben Lyman delights me, Peter wrote in July of that year; . . . he is remarkably quick in mind.¹⁷ The iron survey would be Ben’s apprenticeship in economic geology. He later went to Europe for advanced study in geology as Peter had done, after which his uncle helped him get work on a series of US surveys. Ben’s greatest achievement as a geologist was leading the first geological surveys in Japan in 1872–79. In 1887 he rejoined Peter in Philadelphia as assistant geologist of Pennsylvania, serving once again as his uncle’s right-hand man for the Second Geological Survey.¹⁸

Lesley’s other assistant was his youngest brother, Joseph Lesley Jr. (1831–89), named after their uncle Joseph, a mining engineer and ardent abolitionist. Eleven years Peter’s junior, Joseph was a studious, shy young man. He was very attached to his older brother, for Peter had taken him under his wing after their mother died when Joe was a baby.¹⁹ The two brothers shared many talents and affinities, including their graphic abilities. All the Lesley children had been triply schooled—at fine Philadelphia institutions, by private tutors, and at the family table, where Peter Lesley Sr., a carpenter by trade,

taught them at an early age to draw from objects. If nothing better offered, he would cut the loaf of bread into shapes, and make them copy that. Then, if they went anywhere, they were expected to tell in detail about what they saw, and he corrected and explained. He taught them the rudiments of architecture, making them observe and draw any architectural detail which he or they thought worthy. He was himself an excellent draughtsman, and usually