Civil War Woodworking, Vol. II

CIVIL WAR WOODWORKING Volume II More Authentic Projects

for Woodworkers and Reenactors A.J. Hamler

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Linden Publishing Fresno

Civil War Woodworking Vol. II

by A. J. Hamler All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher. Š2014 A. J. Hamler.

Cover design: James Goold Photography: A.J. Hamler, except where noted.

Art direction and layout: Maura J. Zimmer ISBN: 978-1-61035-196-6 135798642 Linden Publishing titles may be purchased in quantity at special discounts for educational, business, or promotional use. To inquire about discount pricing, please refer to the contact information below. For permission to use any portion of this book for academic purposes, please contact the Copyright Clearance Center at www.copyright.com Printed in China on acid-free paper.

Woodworking is inherently dangerous. Your safety is your responsibility. Neither Linden Publishing nor the author assume any responsibility for any injuries or accidents. Photographs in this book may depict the usage of woodworking machinery where the safety guards have been removed. The guards were removed for clarity. We urge you to utilize all available safety equipment and follow all recommended safety procedures when woodworking.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Hamler, A. J. (Anthony J.), 1951Civil War woodworking : 17 authentic projects for woodworkers and reenactors / by A.J. Hamler. p. cm.

ISBN 978-1-933502-28-1 (pbk. : alk. paper) 1. Woodwork--Amateurs' manuals. 2. Woodwork--United States--History--19th century. 3. United States--History--Civil War, 1861-1865--Equipment and supplies. 4. United States. Army--Military life-History--19th century. 5. Confederate States of America. Army--Military life--History--19th century. 6.

Historical reenactments--United States. I. Title.

TT185.H319 2009 684'.08--dc22 2009015288 Linden Publishing, Inc. 2006 S. Mary Fresno, CA 93721 www.lindenpub.com

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t Acknowledgements

I’ve been a woodworker for a long time, and although I’ve studied the Civil War for many years and have picked up a large volume of historical lore, my knowledge of the period still has gaps—many, many gaps. For that reason, this book would not have been possible without the expertise, information, suggestions and knowledge of several people, many of whom I’m fortunate to call friends. In no particular order, my thanks to the following: Joe Cress, of Logan Creek Designs, was extremely helpful with historical information on camp chests. He builds expertly crafted reproductions of Robert E. Lee’s camp chest as part of his line of Civil War field furniture and equipment. See his amazing work at www.logancreekdesigns.com It was my fellow woodworkers on the WoodCentral.com website who came up with the method for simulating rough-sawn wood described in Chapter 2. Thanks, guys!

I bumped into Jim Brown of Iron Mule Blacksmithing with his traveling forge at a reenactment, and started talking about the iron hasp I’d been unsuccessful finding for the Camp Chest project. He said that with a sketch and dimensions he could make what I needed. I sent him a photo of the original Gen. Taliaferro chest hasp along with some notes, and he made a perfect facsimile.

Bob Flexner, author of Understanding Wood Finishing, has been a woodworking friend and colleague for several years. His help and advice on 19th-century finishing details was invaluable.

Larry Bickett, Production Controller at the Tremont Nail Co., provided tons of background on the cut-nail industry in the 1800s. His company still makes cut nails of the same patterns (and on some of the same machines) from back then.

Will Dunniway, Collodion Photographer, produces incredible images of modern reenactors that look like they were taken during the war. He graciously allowed me to use several of his images for this book. See more of his work at www.collodion-artist.com Dana Martin Batory, author of Vintage Woodworking Machinery, is another woodworking buddy. I’ve picked his brain more times than I can think of on the subject of old woodworking equipment. He provided the 1856 catalog image of the industrial planer appearing in Chapter 2.

Photos of Union camps and soldiers are easy to find, but similar Confederate images are scarce. Historical-photography buff Robert Gray of Port Richey, Fla., helped me find several of the Confederate photos you’ll see in this volume.

And thanks to Susan Sutton of the Indiana Historical Society for providing the image of my great-great-grandfather James. R. Nation, which appears on Page 175.

A note on the period photographs

All of the original Civil War photos used in this book were created using a process called wet-plate collodion photography. Although invented in England only 10 years earlier by Frederick Scott Archer, by the time of the Civil War the process had swept the world.

Literally thousands of collodion images were made during the war, including those from the Library of Congress and National Archives that are featured throughout this book.

As the name implies, the photographic plates used in collodion work are wet, so the images must be developed and processed immediately after photos are taken.

Also featured in this book are modern photos of contemporary Civil War reenactors made by Will Dunniway. As with his 19th-century counterparts, Dunniway must carry what amounts to an entire photo studio with him, including all the necessary chemicals.

Dunniway, a 40-year professional photographer who has devoted more than two decades to collodion work, has published a collection of his work, Will Dunniway the Collodion Photographer. The 152-page book includes 140 images spanning historical subjects from the 19th century to the present. His Web site, www.collodion-artist.com, features numerous photos from his portfolio.

Above: Contemporary self-portrait by collodion photographer Will Dunniway.

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Part One—Getting Started Chapter 1: Re-Creating History: An Introduction to Reproducing Period Items. . . . . . . . . . 1

Welcome to the past . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1

The “Rules” of authenticity . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2

Defining authenticity: What is “period-correct?” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4

How authentic can your project really be?. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6

What to expect from these projects. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8 Chapter 2: Materials and Methods . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11

Woodworking in the 19th century. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11

Materials and stock considerations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13

Tools and techniques. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 16 Glue. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23

Construction variations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 24 Finishing . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 24

Part Two—The Projects Chapter 3: Shipping Crates . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 29 Perfect dressing for any living history scenario, these two crates also prove themselves practical for equipment storage and camp seating.

Chapter 4: Camp Chest. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 37 A roomy camp chest with construction details “borrowed” from the camp chests of Confederate Generals William Taliaferro and Robert E. Lee. Chapter 5: Spurtle. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 49 Scottish in origin, this centuries-old cooking implement lends a helping hand fixing meals in any era.

Chapter 6: Ballot Box. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 55 Whether choosing officers or holding mock elections for president, ballot boxes like this one, copied from an original, were common in many regiments.

Chapter 7: Tent Slips . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 69 These accurate copies of tent rope tensioners keep any tent solid and steady.

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Chapter 8: Thoughts on 19th Century Seating. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 77 A simple place to sit down is often more important today than it was during the war. Here’s how to do it authentically.

Chapter 9: Folding Camp Stool . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 91 One of the most common pieces of camp furniture used during the war, this oak stool is both comfortable and practical.

Chapter 10: Folding Camp Chair . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 101 Folding chairs like these were a staple of homes in the 19th century, and thousands went along with officers of both sides during the war.

Chapter 11: Button Polishing Board. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 113 A common tool for both military and civilians, a button board protected clothing while getting a shine on metal buttons.

Chapter 12: Folding Camp Table. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 117 Its unique locking system makes this solid-oak table easy to set up for use, and to fold flat for storage or transport.

Chapter 13: Field Cot . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 131 Based on an example in Capt. William Marcy’s 1859 The Prairie Traveler, this stow-away cot will have you sleeping like a baby.

Chapter 14: Battle Rattle . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 143 Used mainly by the U.S. Navy, these loud noisemakers were the tools of choice when you needed to sound the alarm on land or sea.

Chapter 15: Domino Box. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 155 Copied from an original, this box features strong joinery and a sliding lid.

Chapter 16: Shaving Box . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 163 A small walnut box with tilting mirror to store grooming items lends a touch of home to military or civilian camps.

Civil War Woodworking Resources. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 173

Additional reading

Source list for materials and hardware

Author biography

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t Š2014 will dunniway & Company

Reenactors portraying the 20th Conn. Infantry pose for collodion photographer Will Dunniway at Kelly Park, San Jose, Calif.

Part One

Getting Started

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Men of the 9th Mississippi, Co. B, in camp at the Warrington Navy Yard, Pensacola, Fla.

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Chapter 1:

Re-Creating History: An Introduction to Reproducing Period Items Welcome to the Past…

When I started planning the first volume of Civil War Woodworking that came out

in 2010, it was driven by both my love of history and of woodworking. Being an avid Civil War reenactor, it seemed only natural to combine those two avocations and make wooden items I could use in the field. But when I started looking for plans and instructions for making those items I discovered two things: The first was that virtually every other reenactor with woodworking skills was also looking for them.

It seemed hardly a reenacting season would go by without seeing numerous topics and requests on the various online reenacting forums from folks searching for a book or other source of plans for this item or that. Unfortunately, the second thing I discovered was that those plans and instructions simply didn’t exist.

The bottom line was that if there was ever going to be such a book, I was going to have to write it. Fortunately, writing about woodworking just happened to be my day job.

My goal for the first book (and this one, too, of course) was to offer instruction for making items that not only were the most commonly used and asked-for by reenactors, but to present these items as accurately as possible. A number of suppliers

Reenactors serving as extras film a Union retreat during the 1st Battle of Bull Run for the movie “Gods and Generals.”

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A busy carpentry shop at Army of the Potomac headquarters at Brandy Station, Va., in April 1864. of reenacting gear and accessories already offer wooden items along with the rest of their wares, but much of this is of extremely poor quality. Worse, the typical wooden item from the larger suppliers is woefully inauthentic in construction and materials.

True, some small suppliers (usually single guys making things more for the enjoyment of it than to make money) have some authentic wooden accessories, but these were few. For this reason, authentic reenactors with woodworking skills prefer to make their own whenever possible, but they still needed guidance for correct patterns, sizes, materials and the basic how-to of making them.

The key driving principle was that the projects had to be as authentic as possible to the period— you’ll hear the term “period-correct” used a lot in these pages—so when practical I examined actual historical items when designing and planning out the projects. For many of the projects in both the first book and this one, I was able to examine privately owned or museum relics. For others, I located and purchased original items and made exact copies by literally tracing their components.

In cases where an original item simply wasn’t available for hands-on examination, images from the archives of the Library Of Congress proved invaluable. Nearly all of these images are from very high-resolution scans of original photographs from the war that allowed me to zoom in close for extremely detailed views. Comparing these 2

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details to other known objects in the photos gave a sense of scale, while multiple photos of similar items shot from different angles provided an overall look. From this, it was a straightforward process to extrapolate dimensions.

To that end, I’m confident that the projects presented here are as authentic and period-correct as they can be. But in the context of re-creating these items, what exactly does “authentic” mean?

The “rules” of authenticity

No one knows exactly how many Civil War reenactors there are. The 135th anniversary Gettysburg event in 1997 is widely considered to be the largest single reenactment ever held.

Registration for large events is pretty strict, but by weekend’s end the number of registered participants and unregistered “walk-ons” was so large that organizers more or less gave up taking an accurate count. Attendance estimates have ranged from 15,000 reenactors taking part—both military and civilian—to more than 20,000. For the milestone 150th Gettysburg anniversary in 2013 there were two reenactments, sponsored by separate groups, held on consecutive weekends. The first of these, sponsored by the Blue Gray Alliance, had about 10,000 registered participants, while the Gettysburg Anniversary Committee’s event the following weekend attracted 11,000 reenactors.

Reenacting, obviously, is very popular, and not just for the Civil War. It may surprise you to learn that almost all major world conflicts have a reenactment following. The American Revolution, both World Wars, even Korea and Vietnam have their share of reenacting devotees. None, however, can match the numbers (and sheer enthusiasm) of those dedicated to the Civil War. The reasons so many enjoy it vary, but the most common denominator is a love of history and helping to bring history to life for others, hence the term Living History. For that reason, most reenactors work hard to present an accurate “impression” when it comes to their appearance and gear. Many do endless amounts of online and library research to learn as much as possible about the history of the mid-19th century, the soldier’s life, and every aspect

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t Although difficult to see through the smoke, there are more than 5,000 reenactors in the field taking part in a portion of the battle of Antietam. of an event, and don’t come out of character till the weekend is over. Their dedication to authenticity is incredible.

There are numerous other types of reenactors, of course. “Campaigner” and “Progressive” reenactors straddle the line between Mainstream and Hardcore with military impressions, for example. Civilian reenactors concentrate on accurate portrayals of the general public of the 1860s, or opt for impressions of other walks of life from the period, such as clergy, journalists or

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of his uniform and equipment. The vast majority has a high regard for authenticity, but within the ranks there’s a wide variation on authenticity levels.

On the low end are those who care more about having fun than accuracy. Known condescendingly as “Farbs” by the reenacting community, they’ll be the soldiers wearing hiking boots instead of 19thcentury brogans. Anachronisms like wristwatches, modern glasses and even sunglasses are common in their apparel, while brightly colored plastic coolers and cell phones are glaringly visible in camp.

The most common camp items seem to be empty beer cans.

“Mainstream” reenactors, the largest group, generally present a fairly accurate impression when in view of the public. Uniforms, equipment and camp settings are usually authentic in a visual sense, and many Mainstreamers go out of their way to incorporate additional period gear into their public impressions. Mainstream reenacting units are among the largest in the hobby, and those units with strong leadership encourage authenticity at all times when dealing with the public.

“Hardcore” reenactors take authenticity to the extreme, often going for full immersion. Most leave everything from the 21st century in their cars for the weekend, and subsist entirely on what they carry into the camps on their backs. Their uniforms and equipment are among the most expensive around, with every tiny detail enviably correct to the 1860s.

(Some Hardcores have earned the moniker “stitch counter” for literally counting the number of handsewn stitches in a buttonhole.) A large number of Hardcores adopt a period persona at the beginning

A member of the 31st Pa. Infantry, camped near Ft. Slocum in Washington D.C., appears ready to do some in-the-field woodworking.

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Defining authenticity: What is “period-correct?”

So, what exactly does “period-correct” mean in this context? The term simply means, first of all, that a modern reproduction item should be made using the same materials that would have been used in the 1860s. Uniforms must be made from all-natural fabrics: cotton, wool, linen and silk are fine; polyester, nylon, acrylic and spandex are not.

Construction methods should be as close to the original methods used at time. Using uniforms as an example once more, fabric and stitching should conform to 1860s standards. Machine sewing was common during the period, but for the most part only straight stitching is acceptable, with all modern stitching such as “zig-zag” and others strictly avoided.

Authentic reenactors also pay attention to regional specifics when it comes to their gear. Using clothing one last time as an example, a reenactor portraying a Union soldier from New York City may be period-correct wearing a machine-sewn shirt (even machined buttonholes, although not 4

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Although this reproduction 1861 Spring field is fairly accurate, that serial number and some other markings are pure 21st century and not period-correct. common, had appeared in larger industrial cities of the North during the war). The uniform of a Rebel soldier hailing from rural Alabama, however, may be period-correct only if entirely hand-sewn.

I’ve used clothing as an example up to this point because it’s the most obvious aspect of a reenactor’s appearance, but the same considerations extend to woodworking items used as part of a reenactor’s gear or “kit.” A wooden camp stool, field cot or even a discarded shipping crate must also be as periodcorrect as possible.

© 2014 will dunniway & company

photographers. As with other reenactors (except Farbs), all strive for authenticity in their appearance.

It may seem that when it comes to authenticity reenactors concentrate on their clothing, and because their “costume” encompasses the largest percentage of their visual impression, that’s mostly true. However, the goal of authenticity extends past clothing to all personal effects. For the soldier, it includes leather gear, accoutrements such as cartridge box and haversack, and weaponry. Although today’s reproduction muskets are fairly true Civilian reenactors portray a group of laundresses in this modern to the originals, many reenactors wet-plate image. take extra steps to make them more authentic, like grinding off modern manufacturers’ markings or stripping the wooden stocks and recoating them with a more periodcorrect finish.

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As with clothing, a large portion of achieving authenticity in constructing wooden items is to simply avoid modern materials and methods. For example, no wooden item from the 1860s should be made of plywood. Although sheet material made of individual wooden plies dates back to ancient Egypt, the modern method of creating plywood by laminating several layers of thin veneers didn’t arrive till the mid- to late 19th century. And not only was that plywood extremely rare in common use, it was vastly different from what is available today. (Plywood made today wouldn’t even be correct for early 20th-century reproductions either, for that matter.) Other materials to be avoided include Phillip’s-head screws, wire nails, polyurethane varnish and latex paint. Further, metal fasteners of the period were limited for the most part to iron, mild steel, copper and brass.

Aluminum nails or stainless steel screws simply didn’t exist.

There was mass production of furniture and other wooden items during the period, but a lot was still hand-made. Lumber frequently came from large facilities where some surprisingly modern equipment was already in use—large circular and vertical saws turned out dimensional lumber, although the surfaces of that lumber were not as smooth as what you’ll find at the local home center. (It also wasn’t the same size as what you buy today. A 2x4 during the Civil War measured 2" thick and 4" wide; today a 2x4 measures only 1 1/2" by 3 1/2".)

When those wooden items were made, they were assembled by hand, even in the large furniture factories. Portable circular saws, routers, pneumatic nailers, pad sanders and cordless drills were still more than half a century away. Instead, handsaws, hand planes, hammers, scrapers and bit-and-brace setups took their places, respectively. Often, our modern power tools leave different types of milling marks on wood surfaces that are not period-correct. A handsaw makes a very different-looking cut on the end of a board than a circular saw does, so anyone attempting to recreate period-correct wooden reproductions must take these into consideration, too.

I’ll cover all of these aspects in greater detail in the next chapter, as well as in the individual projects.

Workers in an ambulance shop, circa 1865.

Neither the galvanized finish nails nor the waterproof Phillips screws shown here are correct for authentic reproductions.

Straight off the rack, modern lumber always has a number of markings. The wood is fine to use, but any anachronistic markings should be removed.

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How authentic can your project really be?

Civil War reenactors are an opinionated bunch, and the merits of one method of authenticity versus another are frequently (and hotly) debated around the campfire, in periodicals and on the various online forums devoted to the hobby. My conclusions on the nature of the projects in these books have sparked discussions both pro and con, but none of my opinions have been as inflammatory as the one I repeat here: I don’t believe it’s possible to make a 100%authentic reproduction of any historical item.

There are many reasons for this. For one thing, materials produced today simply are not the same as those produced in the 1860s. Commonly available “over-the-counter” wood or metal materials are made far differently than they were then. Some may come close—or can be reworked to be closer—but they’re still different. A number of specialty suppliers have, for the last few decades, dedicated themselves to re-creating supplies for Living History customers that approximate as closely as possible the originals.

This is most easily done with fabrics, and there are numerous vendors who offer cloth woven to the same specifications, with the right fiber mix and on similar looms to those used back then.

Likewise, metal formulations are far different today. Even the steel used in otherwise periodcorrect cut steel nails is, of economic and practical necessity, a different formulation. The same thing holds true for screws, rivets and hinges.

You may be thinking at this point that this issue doesn’t apply to wood, but you’d be wrong. The basic pine board you bought last week at Home Depot is not an exact match for a pine board of identical dimensions milled in 1864. For one thing, almost all wood milled today is from new-growth forests; in fact, it’s most likely cut from trees grown in the last few decades specifically to produce that lumber.

That wasn’t the case 150 years ago, when the vast majority of lumber came from existing old-growth forests, and old-growth wood simply doesn’t match new-growth wood. It may be so close that only an experienced forester could tell the difference, but it’s still not the same.

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Modern wire nails, like this waffle-head style framing nail, have no place in authentic reproductions (unless located where they can never be seen).

It might be possible to salvage wood from, say, a 150-year-old barn as a material source. Then, using original antique hand tools, and some original nails salvaged from a 150-year-old house, and using only 19th-century construction techniques, you might just be able to put together a reproduction that would fool the casual eye…but not the eye of an expert.

And even at that, what you’d really be creating is a simulated 150-year-old antique, not an item that would be in “current use” in the sense of an accurate 19th-century impression.

That’s because, for the most part, soldiers and civilians of the period used new stuff, not old.

Weathered and used-looking is fine, of course, but ancient and dilapidated is not. I’m often offered old wood to use for furniture reproduction. And while I enjoy using this “historical wood” for my own pleasure, using old wood—or any old materials for that matter—doesn’t make an item more authentic as far as period-correct use is concerned. The best you’ll be able to achieve is a compromise, and the question then becomes how much compromise you’re willing to accept.

Fortunately, reenactors are accustomed to compromise. For safety reasons we remove bayonets from scabbards while on the field (some event organizers don’t even allow bayonets to be carried).

When in close quarters, even though we’re using blanks all rifles must be elevated for safety when fired; that is, we shoot over each other’s heads. Any of us taking prescription medications don’t skip them just because we pretend to be 19th-century soldiers. None of these compromises is period-correct, but by the same token none of them diminish the historical experience.

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out of the wagon as a pile of kindling. However, a surprising amount of nice-looking, well-cared-for furniture was also used, and the photographic record backs this up. In some cases, this was furniture an officer would have brought from his own home. More often than not, however, it was appropriated from a nearby abandoned (or not) home.

The real key to authenticity is to avoid anything modern in all construction. I’ll go into this all in more detail in the next chapter, but you can give your authenticity level a huge boost simply by not using any metal fasteners other than nails or screws, which should be round or flat head, and slotted only—no Phillips, square-drive, Robertson, hex-drive (Allen), star-drive or any of the dozens of other modern screw styles. Dowel joinery and fasteners are fine.

Avoid bent lamination (common in modern curved chair backs); it existed but wasn’t used for everyday furniture yet. Other common furniture construction techniques that are strictly modern include pocket screws and pocket-hole joinery, biscuit joinery and, of course, any plastics. Plywood was never used for furniture then. Ever.

As to wood, they were importing lumber then, but only for high-end furniture and inlay. A mahogany chair would be fine, for example, but not the huge variety of imported exotics we have today.

Other exotics like ebony and such were strictly used for detail, marquetry and inlay. Americanmade furniture would have been the basics—oak,

(above) In this 1863 image, a group of officers clowns around for the photographer amid a pile of discarded furniture and shipping crates. (left) The most common woodworking tool soldiers typical came into contact with was an axe when assigned to a firewood detail.

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Unfortunately, a lot of misconceptions have arisen regarding authenticity, mostly through constant, repeated use in the reenacting community. These “reenactorisms” cover a lot of ground. A good example is that Union canteens should always be covered in dark blue wool, while Confederate canteens are only correct if wrapped in gray wool. Not true at all. There were dark-blue and gray canteen covers, to be sure, but a gray-brown jean wool cover was actually more common for both sides.

Another reenactorism that applies to wooden items is that it has to be old or look old to be authentic. Nonsense. As I noted above, they used new things, often until they broke, and then discarded them; they didn’t use 150-year-old antiques.

There’s also the belief that unfinished furniture is more authentic, but lacking a finish doesn’t make it any more or any less authentic for the period. They used finished furniture and they used unfinished furniture. Nearly anything used as household furniture would have been finished (typically with shellac or a drying oil). Common utility furniture was often not finished, or had a single coat of paint. But it’s a reenactorism to equate "unfinished" with being more correct.

Likewise, it’s wrong to think that any furniture used in the field must look used and beat-up. Much of it was, of course, since carrying it around in supply wagons was rough on furniture. Many an officer was told upon setting up camp that his favorite chair came

maple, pine, cherry, birch, ash, walnut and other domestic species.

When it comes to furniture styles and types, technically speaking, as long as it’s not any modern style, and as long as the materials used in construction aren’t modern, you could grab one of your own kitchen chairs and use it just fine.

If you own some reproduction furniture or old furniture that doesn’t look old, or if you enjoy making furniture reproductions, styles that would be right at home in the 1860s include Gothic, Colonial, Early American, Queen Anne, Chippendale, Sheraton, Windsor, Federal, Biedermeier, Pennsylvania Dutch, Baroque, Rococo and Hepplewhite. Shaker style furniture would also be technically correct since it had been around for many years, but it wasn’t in common use in the general population yet; it increased in popularity after the war.

On the other hand, anachronistic styles to avoid include Retro, Victorian, so-called “Country” furniture, Mission, Prairie, Art Deco, Scandinavian, Southwestern, Contemporary, and anything that has been within a hundred miles of an IKEA store. The Cottage style and Arts & Crafts movement were just getting started in the decade before the war, so while they’d be technically correct in that they did exist, they wouldn’t have been that common yet.

That’s especially true of the Arts & Crafts style you mostly see today—those influences in Arts & Crafts furniture are all pretty much from the late 19th- and early 20th century.

What to expect from these projects

When doing the first book I thought that the main audience would be Civil War military reenactors, the guys portraying infantry, cavalry and artillery soldiers and officers. I learned, however, that civilian reenactors were also finding the book useful. To that end, this volume contains several items that should interest both civilian and military reenactors alike.

Then, too, were the many woodworkers—none of them reenactors—who have contacted me with enthusiasm for the projects in the first volume, and with more than a few requests for items to include should there be a second.

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For each project, I’ll guide you through the construction, pointing out the most correct way at each point. As to the step-by-step instructions, if there were two or more methods of doing something, while describing both I’ve usually opted for the simpler method to make the projects a bit easier.

In some cases, if I saw an opportunity to alter the project to make it more useful, sturdier, longer lasting (since you’ll be using these for years, as opposed to the “throw-away” nature of some originals), or even just a bit less complicated, as long as the alteration was still period-correct I went for it. In most cases I’ll point this out in the project itself to give you the choice of doing it the original way or the altered way.

A good example would be the Field Cot project in Chapter 13. The original used a triangular wedge fitted through a mortise at the ends of each rail to lock the bed in the upright position. This seemed unnecessarily complicated to me, and so I opted for simple dowels fitted through drilled holes in the rails instead. The end result works the same way and is just as effective, but is considerably easy to construct.

Carpenters of the day did the same thing all the time to adapt items to better suit their needs, talents and materials.

After the first book came out, I learned that a lot of readers weren’t making the projects for reenacting, but rather just for their own personal use in the home. In those cases, you should feel free to substitute modern materials as you wish, and on occasion I’ll also suggest some compromise steps, materials or techniques that, although perhaps not quite authentic, will still yield an authentic-looking reproduction. For example, I stress on all the projects the use of period finishes, but if that’s not all that important to you, by all means use modern polyurethane as a finish, and enjoy the benefits and high protection offered by this contemporary varnish.

Finally, there’s another important difference between the way many of these projects were built originally and how you’ll probably want to make them today. Back then, a lot of these items—hardtack crates, ammo boxes, camp benches and tables, etc.— were made for temporary use only. Shipping crates like the ones in Chapter 3, for example, were the Amazon.com boxes of their day: They were made for a single purpose, and once empty were intended to be discarded. A bench may have been made in camp, and then simply left behind when the army moved.

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The “Sutler Stool” I’ll discuss stools and other seating of the period in detail later in Chapter 8, but let’s take a look at a commonly used article of seating that’s everywhere in reenacting and living history. A key to authenticity when re-creating furniture and other items of the past is that they not only have to be authentically made, but also accurately portrayed. A case in point is the “Sutler Stool.”

Few things are more over-represented from the period than a particularly ubiquitous folding camp stool that every Sutler seems to sell, and that’s the one shown above. No matter where you go, the stool’s the same: It’s made of light-colored oak, with rectangular legs measuring 3/4" thick and 1" or 1 1/4" wide, and a light canvas seat. Whoever makes these for reenacting suppliers have made thousands, it seems, because they’re everywhere.

There’s nothing really incorrect about the design—it’s a basic, serviceable stool of the type made then—but there are just too many of this same exact stool today. Look at the photographic record and you’ll see one every once in a while, but far more often you’ll see stools with turned legs, curved legs, dark legs and tapestry seats. These stools simply didn’t occur during the Civil War in the same numbers that they do in reenacting and living history presentations.

Beyond the over-representation of these stools, I have yet to see even one that’s been made in a period-correct (or, frankly, competent) manner. Let’s look closely at one.

Figure 1. There’s nothing wrong with using modern power tools to make period-correct furniture, but if you do it’s important to remove the “evidence” of their use. The ends of the seat stretchers on this typical Sutler Stool show burn marks that wouldn’t have existed in the 1860s. These were created when the maker rounded the ends on a disk sander—do a sloppy job and you’ll burn the wood every time—and didn’t care enough to fix it.

Figure 2. Incorrect hardware abounds in typical Sutler furniture, like the rivets on this Sutler Stool. This rivet is not only made from metal not used during the Civil War, but this type of rivet didn’t even exist till the 20th century. To boot, period-correct rivets were always peened by hand, a process you’ll see in the next chapter. These were done with a modern riveting tool.

Figure 3. The rungs for this Sutler Stool were attached using woodworking staples that didn’t exist in the 19th century. Further, these staples were driven with a modern pneumatic staple gun.

And it almost goes without saying, but the workmanship on this key weight-bearing joint is pretty sloppy.

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Before going off to war, Private Edward Cary of the 44th Virginia Infantry posed for a formal portrait with his sister Emma.

Further, it cost only pennies to make most of those disposable wooden things.

Conversely, it will cost you more to make these projects (plus, the money comes out of your pocket and not the army’s), and you’ll want these things to last a while, especially if you plan to use them in the field. I understand this and have designed some of these projects accordingly to be a bit sturdier than their ancestors. Still, I’ll point out anything I’ve done to make them sturdier, giving you the option of doing it that way or not.

One last thought on the projects presented here, and it may be something that’s already occurred to you. If these projects are totally period-correct—and I take pride that they’re as accurate as possible— what’s to stop someone from making some of these things and “aging” them a bit with exposure to sun and weather or whatever and then passing them off, or even selling them, as original artifacts? Well, sadly, nothing at all. As long as there are venues to sell authentic goods, there will be those out there eager to defraud the unwary.

A true expert can always tell a reproduction from an original, no matter how well crafted, but a casual observer or buyer can easily be fooled by excellent craftsmanship. I can’t stop those who would attempt 10

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this—no one can—but I make certain that every exact reproduction I make has at least one modern marking or aspect. Sometimes it’s easiest just to sign and date something in a spot that will never be seen, as I did on the inside of the Ballot Box in Chapter 6.

However, it’s also very easy to use something nonperiod in an inconspicuous location, a trick I learned from Joe Cress (www.logancreekdesigns.com).

For example, although I’ve done everything as close to period authenticity for the purpose of every project presented here, when I make them for my own use I purposely stray from period accuracy. For example, I used solid sycamore for the bottom of the Domino Box in Chapter 15, but I’ve actually made several more boxes based on that original. And in every one of those I used a piece of 1/8" plywood for the box bottom, a small unobtrusive change that an expert could nonetheless spot immediately, and rule out the possibility that they’re originals. Phillips screws on the hinges for the Folding Table project in Chapter 12 would work the same way. When the table is set up no one ever looks on the underside of it, and when the table is folded the hinges aren’t visible—no one ever sees those screws.

And one final tip before we get started: Go easy on pencil markings. For photography purposes I’ve put all cutlines and guides on pretty thick and dark, but do yourself a favor and go light on the pencil to make it easier to remove later on.

So, are you ready? Grab your tools and let’s take a trip to the 19th century.

I did markings and guidelines nice and dark so they’d show up easily in photos, but make yours as light as possible.

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VIIIVIIIVII

Chapter 2:

Materials and Methods As with the first volume of Civil War Woodworking, this book is not intended to be

a tutorial on woodworking skills and techniques. For that I refer you to any of the many excellent titles available on the subject from Linden Publishing and others.

As I describe the steps of each project, I’ll assume a certain amount of experience with common woodworking tools and techniques.

Further, this is not a book about using antique tools. All the tools used for the projects—whether power tools or hand tools—are modern ones. However, I will vary the tools used for similar techniques to give you options on how to make the projects based on the tools you own. For example, to make a mortise-and-tenon joint, you can create the mortise in a single step with a benchtop mortiser. Or, lacking a dedicated mortiser, you can make a mortise in two steps with a drill press and hand chisel. I’ll describe both and let you decide which is best for you. Likewise, tongue-and-groove joints can be made on either the table saw or the router table, so I’ll mention both options as appropriate.

Mortises can be made very quickly and precisely with a mortiser (left). Lacking a mortiser, drill a series of holes and then square the edges with a chisel (right).

Woodworking in the 19th century

It may be helpful to start by discussing how woodworking was done 150 years ago, especially as it applies to the projects in this book. Woodworking and woodworkers back then, excepting the lack of powered equipment and the limitations of available materials, where not all that different from today. Most of the basic materials we have today (with notable exceptions) existed then. Take away the power, and most of the tools were similar. The joinery they used then, with the exception of joinery specific to modern tools such as biscuit joiners, was exactly the same.

Wood in large cities and industrial areas, in both the North and South, came from mills not unlike those we have today. Even lumber mills in less-populated areas often turned out lumber and building materials milled and cut in quantity using industrial belt-driven saws powered by water or, less often, by steam. The saws themselves were similar to modern ones. The circular saw was developed in England in 1777—it was dubbed a “saw bench” then—and was quickly adopted in the United States. The bandsaw came about in 1809 and was in wide use by mid-century. Huge “up-and-down” saws similar in action to This J.J. Squire a sewing machine, with a reciprocating resawing machine vertical blade, were used even earlier. was patented Up-and-down saws were essentially in 1854. larger, mechanized versions of pit saws, where two men—one on a sawing platform and the other below in a pit— used muscle power to cut planks. Some of these mechanized saws occupied two floors of a mill, using blades of 10' in length and more that extended to gearing below the floor.

Once cut, lumber was often surfaced and brought to final thickness with planers similar to those in use today.

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U.S. Patent and Trade Office

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A group of woodworkers in 1865 shows off the tools of their trade.

Records of planers go back to 1776, but the first one that operated like modern planers with cutters and stock feeders was developed by William Woodworth in Poughkeepsie, N.Y., in 1828.

The 1840s, ’50s and ’60s saw several patents for improvements in industrial wood planers.

Wood fasteners were typically limited to nails, screws and rivets made of iron, mild steel, brass and copper. Galvanizing of metal to resist the elements existed, but wasn’t common. Tinning iron for surface durability and protection also took place, but was not common for carpentry materials.

Molders existed in the 1860s, but were not common and were used primarily in only larger industrial areas of the North. Most moldings of the period were made by hand with a combination of hand planes using blades cut to the desired profiles.

Fine furniture of the period was made exactly as it is today: as perfectly as possible. Tables were smooth, joints fit tightly, legs were even and wellformed. Utility woodworking, on the other hand, varied widely. Boxes for shipping and storage were often made from very rough wood, and often with a minimum of joinery. Butt joints were commonplace, nails were the most common fastener, and nobody cared if you could see the nails in the finished item.

Likewise, utility items not intended as fine furniture were often far cruder than today’s standards. Stools used around the home and farm were generally plain, for example, and not always particularly smooth. If they had a finish coat of any kind, it was likely a simple drying oil such as boiled

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Materials and stock considerations

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officer, it would probably have been made with the white pine common in the North. Make the same chest for an officer from Florida, and it’s more likely to have been yellow pine.

Almost all simple furniture constructed in the field—meaning items made by the soldiers themselves— would be made from softwood in the SPF families. The same is true for civilian items made by farmers and local carpenters. It was available everywhere, easy to harvest, lightweight, of low density, easy to cut and very easy to work. Most field-made items were built A typical planer of the period might resemble this one offered in the for temporary use and often abandoned 1856 edition of the J.A. Fay & Co. catalog. when the army moved, so there was no need to make them particularly sturdy, linseed oil, shellac or paint. Just as often, simple long-lasting or even good looking. Raw edges furniture was left unfinished. Staining lighterand rough surfaces were common. Sometimes, colored woods to imitate more exotic species was soldiers would acquire wooden items from homes used for fine furniture, but wasn’t common for most and farms that were made there or by carpenters simple furniture and wooden items. in nearby towns or cities. SPF lumber was used in these items too, but now you would also begin to see more use of hardwoods like oak, hickory, maple, walnut, poplar and cherry. The construction details of these items would be a bit better as well. And, naturally, items intended as finer furniture would almost always be of hardwood, Wood and would incorporate more intricate joinery and For many of the reproduction projects in this book, finishing techniques. regular off-the-shelf lumber from your local home Of course, there were no rules so any item center will work fine as long as you keep a few could be made of any wood that was available things in mind. I’ll give specific details on this for locally back then. The amount of detail the each project, but here are some considerations. carpenter used in the joinery was limited only by The most common wood used for just about his talent, and the tools and time available to him.

As I suggested in the previous chapter, periodall utility items in the 19th-century was softwood correctness and authenticity for reproduction items that came from species in the spruce, pine and fir often depends less on what you use than what you families. Today we call this category SPF lumber, don’t use. If it didn’t exist then, don’t use it now if and it’s what most building materials are made you’re going for a high level of authenticity. This from; I’ll use the term frequently throughout the rules out the use of treated lumber (such a decking) projects. Lumber today is shipped everywhere, but and all forms of what’s commonly called engineered the most commonly available SPF lumber in your lumber. Plywood, particleboard, hardboard, area may vary depending on what grows locally. oriented-strand board (OSB), medium-density This was even truer then. In your reproductions, fiberboard (MDF) and, obviously, all plastics and keep in mind where the article’s intended use would synthetics should be avoided. Now, if you’re willing have been. For example, if you’re making the Camp to make some compromises, some of those materials Chest project on Page 37 for use by, say, a Northern

The home-center oak board in the foreground is 3/4" thick and has been planed very smooth. The oak board I bought from a local cabinet shop is slightly more than 1" thick, and although evenly planed has rough surfaces on all four sides.

might be useable in certain circumstances. I’ll address that in more detail shortly.

Keep in mind that lumber in the 1860s didn’t look quite the same as lumber you’ll buy today. For one thing, lumber was produced in sizes that were actually accurate back then. If you bought a piece of 1x10 pine, for example, it measured no less than 1" thick and 10" wide. A 1x10 from your local Lowes or Home Depot measures only 3/4" thick and 9 1/4" wide. What’s more, that board you get today will be perfectly smooth; boards back then were far rougher. Sure, a good craftsman could make a piece of furniture mirror-smooth, but many utility items like simple stools or shipping crates were made with lumber that was quite rough. For that reason, buy the roughest wood you can find and then avoid the temptation to sand everything to death. Although the lumber at your home center is usually very smooth, stock from private lumber suppliers is often rough-cut. If you have a supplier in your area, check out what they have. Another source of rough-cut lumber is a larger cabinet shop or millwork shop if you have one locally—they buy lumber in bulk, sometimes enormous quantities, and some are willing to sell small amounts directly to the public.

You can make smooth wood a little bit rougher by sanding it with the grain using extremely coarse sandpaper (60 grit or, even better, lower) followed by lightly wetting it. Do this with a sponge, wiping it across flat exposed surfaces (avoid end grain).

You want the wood surface to be thoroughly damp, 14

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but don’t use so much water that it’s dripping and running everywhere. A good wipe-down will do. When the water dries, you’ll find that it has raised the grain somewhat to give what once was a perfectly smooth surface a rougher texture. Once you get it this way, don’t sand it.

Another way to simulate rough-sawn wood that’s a bit more involved, but often gives excellent results, is to drag the workpiece backward across a moving bandsaw blade. You can see the process in the sidebar “Roughing It” on Page 25. This is a tricky process, so if you have any doubts about being able to do it safely, then don’t attempt it.

Finally, with regard to wood sizes you must realize that wood used in carpentry came in a wide range of thicknesses. Today, virtually all lumber for sale at home centers (with the exception of construction lumber) comes in a single thickness: 3/4", which is why almost all the camp furniture you see at reenactments or offered for sale by Sutlers—sellers of Civil War items for reenactors— is this thickness. As a result, 3/4" lumber is grossly over-represented in the hobby. (That’s a term you’ll hear me use throughout this book.) Now, it’s perfectly authentic to use 3/4"-thick lumber for these projects—and for the sake of practicality and uniformity in the material list measurements, I’ll use it for some of the projects included here—but considering how over-represented it is my advice is to use another thickness whenever possible. You won’t find thicker material at a home center other

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H ardware and fasteners

For authentic reproductions, use hardware and fasteners made only of iron, mild steel, brass and copper.

Iron was the most common material for screws, nails, locksets and hinges during the period and you should use those whenever possible. Unfortunately, most iron or steel screws, hinges and locks available today are coated with a material—usually a zinc alloy—that makes them shiny as a car bumper.

This is not period-correct. Brand new iron hinges or mild steel rivets of the 1860s would be naturally shiny when made, but would quickly turn to a dull finish in use (and, in fact, were usually already dull or even rusty by the time the carpenter acquired them). Modern steel hinges will stay chromeshiny forever. You can sometimes find regular steel hinges and screws in large hardware stores, online, or from specialty suppliers, but if you’re forced to use the shiny ones, consider removing the coating before use.

Fine sandpaper will take this coating off flat surfaces pretty easily, but there’s an easier way.

Simply soak the hardware in a diluted solution of muriatic acid and water. (You’ll find muriatic acid in the paint department or with pool chemicals at your home center.) Use the chemical in a well-ventilated area—outdoors is best—and a

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than construction lumber, but a larger lumber supplier should have an abundance of 1" boards in stock, and may also have a quantity of 2" and larger stock as well. These larger lumber sources probably list their lumber in “quarter” sizes where each size is named in 1/4" increments. In this measurement system a 3/4" board is described as 3/4 lumber (pronounced “three-four”), a 1" board is 4/4 (fourfour), a 2" board is 8/4 (eight-four), and so on.

You can also mill your own stock from standard 2-by construction lumber. For example, I recently made a hardtack crate that required 1" end pieces to match 1860s government specs, so I bought a piece of standard 2x12 construction lumber (which is really only 1 1/2" x 11 1/4") and machine-planed it down to exactly 1" thick. Of course, if the local home center is your only source of lumber, remember that the only 2-by stock they carry is SPF.

Soaking shiny zinc-coated steel hardware in white vinegar or diluted muriatic acid strips the periodincorrect coating. Shown here (from left), are some brand-new shiny zinc-coated bolts, freshly stripped bolts, and some stripped bolts I’ve had stored in my shop for a while. few minutes is usually all it takes to remove the coating, so keep an eye on it. If you don’t want to mess around with harsh chemicals, you can get the same result with plain white vinegar. Fill a jar with undiluted vinegar and drop in the hardware.

Vinegar doesn’t work as quickly as a muriatic acid solution, so plan to let the hardware soak overnight.

With either method, rinse the hardware and fully dry it before storage or you’ll find it covered with authentic rust very quickly.

You can also skip the steel hardware, and use brass hinges and screws. Brass was less commonly used than plain iron or steel back then, but it is still period-correct for any reproduction item in this book. Modern brass hardware is often coated with a lacquer finish to retard the tarnishing process; if this is the case, remove it by soaking the hinges in paint remover or fingernail-polish remover before use.

It should go without saying by this point that you should only use hardware and fasteners that were available at the time. For nails, that means cut iron or steel nails only—machinery to produce the wire nails we use today began to appear in the mid1800s, but nails of that type suitable for general carpentry were almost nonexistent during the Civil War. Cut tacks of steel, brass and copper were also commonly used. Likewise, the only screws that existed then were slotted, with either a round-head Chapter 2: Materials and Methods

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piece used in the Domino Box project on Page 155, so you could use a thin sheet of plywood for the bottom instead of the solid wood I used. Likewise, if a screw will be covered by another material or component of the project, no one but you will know if it’s a period-correct slotted steel screw or a modern stainless-steel Phillips screw. In both cases the modern choice would be stronger and easier to use, but would not be authentic to the period. The bottom line is deciding on how much compromise you’re willing to make.

Cut nails come in a variety of head and body styles, and in lengths up to 6". or flat-head design. Phillips, square-drive, stardrive or any other modern screws didn’t exist, so don’t use them. That goes double for those common black “drywall” screws.

Something else that should be noted is that the holes created by nails and screws weren’t filled then to hide the heads; no putty, no wood filler. On some occasions for finer furniture, screws may have been hidden with wooden plugs, but the practice was not yet common. It would have been far more likely, in the case of fine furniture, to use dovetails or other joinery methods that required no visible fasteners, or for fasteners to be hidden on the underside and backs of finished pieces.

One last type of fastener should be mentioned, and that’s wooden dowels. Dowels are used the same way as nails, but a pilot hole is first drilled into the wood before the dowel is driven in. Dowel fasteners were most often used to secure other forms of joinery; for example, the tenons in the Camp Table project on Page 117 are pegged solidly in place by drilling holes through the side of a mortise-and-tenon joint and driving dowels firmly into the holes.

In the previous section on wood I promised to elaborate on a compromise that might allow you to use modern materials or fasteners in an otherwise authentic-looking project. If a modern material or fastener will not be seen in normal use, you might opt to use it, but again it all depends on how much you’re willing to compromise regarding authenticity.

For example, no one sees the edges of the bottom 16

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Tools and techniques Wood markings

As I stated earlier, this book is not about using nothing but antique tools to make the reproduction projects in the following chapters. For that matter, it’s not even about using only hand tools. You’re welcome to do both, of course, but my personal compromise (and that of the majority of this book’s readership, I’m guessing) is to use the tools I have on hand in such a way as to create acceptably authentic and period-correct items.

However, it should be kept in mind that modern tools sometimes make different marks on wood than did the old tools. This is especially true of modern power equipment.

Few small carpentry shops in the 1860s had much, if any, woodworking machinery, especially in the South. Carpenters would buy lumber from a mill that had been machined, but they would then work on projects mostly or entirely with hand tools from that point forward. If a particular utility project like a bench used a component where the original edge is intact as it was cut at the mill, it might still bear milling marks from the machinery.

Therefore, circular saw or bandsaw marks would be appropriate. (Assuming, of course, that the carpenter did not use a hand plane, scraper or sandpaper to remove the marks.) These marks would exist only on the edges and surfaces of the larger boards, however, and not on smaller pieces the carpenter cut himself. Those pieces would almost exclusively show marks made by a common handsaw.

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•Circular saw—Circular saw marks are curved lines on board faces or edges. Although these would have been common on milled lumber of the period, the blades used in mills were huge, so the curved lines would have a very large radius making for a very gentle curve. The marks made by modern-shop circular saws have a much smaller radius, making for tight, very obvious curves. These marks are not period-correct and should be removed wherever they appear.

With the wood darkened with mineral spirits, you can see the series of fine planer marks on this piece of walnut.

Bandsaw marks are similar in appearance to those made by mechanized or foot-powered scrollsaws of the period.

• Bandsaw—Bandsaw marks are generally vertical lines on board edges, and nearly always perpendicular to the face. An electric jigsaw makes the same marks, although a bit more coarsely.

Although there’s a chance the lumber bought by a 1860s craftsman was milled on a bandsaw, he wouldn’t have had a bandsaw or jigsaw. However, he very well may have had a foot-powered scrollsaw that would make the same marks. A handheld coping saw, fretsaw or even a regular handsaw could also make the same vertical marks. Any markings of this type on your project would not be inauthentic to the period.

• Planer—As discussed above, the milling marks of modern planers are not period-correct and should be removed. Be especially aware that lumber fresh from the home center will likely have these marks.

• Router—Routers can make a distinguishable marking similar to that made by a planer, but on a much smaller area and almost always on board edges. These marks are not period correct and should be removed wherever visible. For most of the projects in this book, you might use a router only for making tenons, rabbets and grooves, so any marks made will be hidden inside joints. No need to remove them. Routed edge profiles, like those on the Camp Table on Page 117, may have these milling marks. If so, they should be removed by sanding.

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If boards had been surfaced with a mechanical planer at the mill, which was fairly common, they might bear the milling marks on the surface.

These are usually faint washboard-like marks that result from where the multiple knives of the planer cutterhead contacted the surface as the cutterhead rotated. Modern boards from your local home center, however, have a much finer pattern of milling marks than would have existed in the 1860s. Likewise, any milling marks made by a typical shop planer would also be smaller. For authenticity, these milling marks should be removed from all wood surfaces in your reproduction project. A cabinet scraper or sandpaper will work fine for this.

Let’s take a closer look at some of the markings you’re likely to make in your own shop.

unsightly and inauthentic to the period, they should be removed. When using a power sander always gradually move to the next finer grit of sandpaper, which will help remove the swirls. It’s a good idea to always follow up power sanding by lightly hand sanding in the direction of the grain to remove any swirls that may have been created.

R iveting Disk sanders can leave a distinctive series of curved lines on board edges.

Swirl marks from an electric sander, sometimes called “pigtails” because of their spiral nature, are never period-correct for 19th-century work.

• Sanders—Sandpaper was common in the 1860s (it was patented in the U.S. in 1834), but it was always used by hand and thus left no distinctive machine-like markings. Modern sanding machines can leave a couple types of distinct markings. Disk sanders, handy for smoothing flat and convex curved edges, can leave a very distinct and visible series of fine curved lines on a workpiece edge.

These are not period-correct and should be removed wherever visible.

Handheld power sanders are great for smoothing large, flat surfaces quickly, but they can also leave a unique marking of tiny swirls in the wood surface. These swirls are often invisible until a finish coating is applied to the wood, such as stain or an oil finish, at which point they pop out. Both 18

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I stated earlier that this book isn’t a tutorial.

However, there is one technique you’ll need to use that isn’t commonly covered in woodworking books. Rivets were frequently used in the 19th century for any type of item that required two pieces of wood to pivot against each other. Three projects in this book use rivets; so let’s take a look at what you need to know, as well as a few alternatives.

As with most fasteners of the period, rivets were made of iron, mild steel, brass and copper.

Specialized riveting tools are available today, but because the metal is fairly soft, riveting is easily accomplished with standard shop tools.

1) For each riveted joint, you’ll need a rivet and a pair of washers of the appropriate size. You’ll also need a ball-peen hammer (although a regular hammer will do in a pinch), a good pair of side cutters, and a solid surface on which to work. A steel anvil is best, but a concrete floor or block will do. For photography purposes, I did this rivet on the cast iron top of my tablesaw, but I wouldn’t recommend that for regular use.

2) Start by drilling a hole sized to match the rivet through both workpieces. Here, the hole is 1/4" to accept the size rivet used in the Camp Stool and Officer’s Folding Chair projects. Check that the rivet slides smoothly and snugly into the hole without having too much play. It’s wise to first drill a hole in a piece of scrap to perform this test before drilling the actual workpiece.

3) With the rivet inserted into the first workpiece, slip on a rivet washer. This will create small gap between the two workpieces, allowing them to pivot smoothly without rubbing against each other.

4) Slip the second workpiece over the rivet and top with another washer. Using the side cutters (or a powered grinder), trim the rivet so it stands about

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Step 2

Step 3

Step 4

Step 5

Step 6

half its diameter above the washer. For this 1/4" rivet, I cut it so 1/8" protrudes above the washer.

5) Strike the protruding tip of the rivet squarely once or twice with the flat side of the ball peen hammer. This will flatten the rivet a bit, and at this

point the tip of the rivet is slightly wider than the washer opening.

6) Still using the flat of the hammer, strike the rivet at a slight angle around all edges. As shown in the photo, the rivet will begin to take on a mushroom-like shape.

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Step 7 7) Switch to the rounded side of the hammer and continue striking the rivet around the edges, further expanding it. Work slowly and aim carefully, taking care not to hit the wood.

8) Continue the process until the tip of the rivet assumes a rounded shape that has expanded snugly against the washer.

9) If you’re willing to compromise a bit, there are two other types of rivets that, while not periodcorrect, are not obviously so. The first is a hollow rivet, sometimes called a hollow-core rivet. This type of rivet existed in the 19th century, but was uncommon except in larger industrial cities. They would never have been used on items made in the field and, for that matter, probably not by carpenters in smaller towns and cities. They also would not have been used on furniture, as hollow rivets of the period weren’t very strong. As the name implies, the tip of the rivet is not solid. To attach a hollow rivet, either a specialized crimping tool or a short metal rod with a cone-shaped tip is pressed into the hollow tip. Struck with a hammer, the hollow tip quickly begins to flower out. Once the hollow rim is sufficiently expanded, a few taps with a hammer will flatten it to the workpiece. This type of rivet can be used with or without a washer. While the hollow side of the rivet is easy to distinguish, the rivet head looks exactly like a standard rivet.

The other type of rivet is a two-piece arrangement, shown just below the hollow rivets in this photo. A hollow rivet is slipped into the hole in one workpiece, while a matching solid rivet is slipped through a hole in the other. A tap with a hammer snaps the two pieces together internally.

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Step 8

Step 9 This rivet did not exist in the 1860s, but since each side of a joined pair looks identical to the head of a standard flat-head rivet, it’s difficult to identify as an anachronism. The choice is yours.

One type of rivet to avoid is the modern pop rivet, sometimes called a blind rivet. Not only are pop rivets usually made of aluminum, their design is strictly 20th century and not period-correct in appearance from any angle. Split rivets are periodcorrect as long as they’re made of correct materials, but they aren’t very strong and I don’t recommend them for weight-bearing furniture.

Stenciling

Although not absolutely required, the Shipping Crate project in Chapter 3 can be greatly enhanced with stenciling. I figured you’d want to design your own stencils to match whatever use you’d put these crates to and so haven’t provided specific stencils.

You can design stencils in a program like Microsoft

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t Cutting stencils by hand is slow, careful work.

Dabbing with a nearly dry paintbrush is the best way to create crisp, attractive lettering with a stencil.

Word or Adobe Photoshop, or even make one by hand with individual stencil letter templates.

However you do it, save the end result as a digital image file.

If you live in a larger metropolitan area, you may have a local sign maker or print shop that offers laser-cut stencils. Likewise, there are a number of companies online who offer this service. While all of these firms make custom stencils, because the laser cutters are computerized most can also make a stencil quite easily from a digital file. All that’s needed is a high-resolution scanned digital image on disk, which they download to the cutter. They set the desired size for the finished stencil, then just hit a button and let the machine do its thing. A few minutes later, the stencil is done perfectly.

Most offer stencils in a Mylar or other plastic material that will last for years, or more traditional heavy manila-like paper. Costs for this service vary widely, but it’s usually in the range of $30 to $60 an hour. Some firms have a setup fee that may add to the cost. A simple stencil—say a two-line text stencil for the end of an ammo box—might take anywhere from 15 minutes to a half hour to produce depending on the complexity and material used.

A larger stencil (such as the one for the Hardtack Crate projects in Volume I) will take longer and, consequently, will cost more.

You can, of course, cut your own stencils, but be forewarned that it can be a slow and tedious process. Start by printing out your stencil design in the appropriate size. Any home printer should

be able to handle stencil designs in standard paper sizes. For larger stencils you can go to a local office supply store and have them printed out on one of their large-scale printers. Either way, print it out on heavy paper.

Once you have your printout, cover it with a peel-off clear plastic laminate. This will both strengthen the paper for cutting and make it last longer in use. Smooth the laminate down securely.

Slip a cutting mat (or thick cardboard or other sacrificial material) under the printout and carefully, slowly cut out each letter with a sharp utility knife.

As you work, replace the blade frequently so you always have the sharpest edge possible; my knife has break-off tips that make the process quick. Be especially careful when cutting the tiny connectors on the individual letters, as they can tear easily.

Also, be mindful of where you rest your hands, as it’s easy to tear out the connectors on letters you’ve already cut. If you should accidentally tear or break one of the letter connectors, cover the letter with Scotch tape, and recut it.

Attach the stencil to your project with masking tape around the edges, carefully pulling it taut.

Because your stencil is thin paper, it may tend to curl at points, especially at curves in letters, so use pins to hold the stencil flat to the surface where needed. A paintbrush with short, stiff bristles works best for painting stencils (it’s what they used back then, too), but a foam brush may offer you more control. Dip the brush into the paint but don’t thoroughly soak it. Then brush off most of the Chapter 2: Materials and Methods

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paint on a piece of scrap wood or paper; the idea is that you want the brush to be almost dry, but still have enough paint to coat the exposed surfaces in the cutouts. Use a brush with too much paint on it and you’ll have paint running underneath the stencil. That’s not inauthentic, however, and a lot of surviving stenciled boxes and crates have some rushed-looking paint jobs. A little leak-through around the edges is perfectly period-correct, but you don’t want to overdo it. Go over the entire stencil, applying the paint in a dabbing motion. Be sure the stencil doesn’t move during painting. Let it dry a bit—just enough that the paint is no longer liquid— then remove the tape and pins and peel back the stencil. Don’t let the paint dry completely, or the stencil may adhere to your project and you’ll have to tear it off in pieces.

Shallow slots cut into the ends of spindles ensure that they seat securely on the lathe.

Some thoughts on lathe use

The lathe is one of the most versatile of shop tools, and saw lots of use during the 19th century. Five of the projects in this book involve woodturning (although I’ll give lathe-free alternatives for some of them). For those of you just starting out on the lathe, a good book to look into is A Lesson Plan for Woodturning, by James Rodgers (Linden Publishing, 2014). But whether you’re new to the lathe or an old hand, I did want to pass on some tips.

The most important thing is safety. After all, we’re talking here about a rapidly spinning workpiece with your fingers closer than is typical for other shop procedures. To that end, always start out by making sure your workpiece is rocksolid secure in the lathe before powering it up.

For spindle turning—any work involving a long, narrow workpiece—draw lines from corner to corner on each to create a crosshatch, then cut slots into the lines to enhance how the piece seats on the lathe. You can cut these most easily using a handsaw, with the workpiece held in a bench vise, by sawing from corner to corner to a depth of about 1/8". This allows the spur center on the headstock (the motor) to seat deeply and firmly, while the center on the tailstock will ride solidly where the two slots cross in the center.

The shapes created when turning spindles— such as the profile of the legs on the Camp Stool 22

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Calipers are your best friends when turning critical dimensions. Work slowly, and stop to check your work often. project or the handle on the Ballot Box—aren’t always critical, so don’t worry too much about copying profiles exactly. However, any portion of a turned spindle that must fit inside a specifically sized hole, like the upper ends of those Camp Stool legs, must be precise or they won’t fit. Always remember the cardinal rule of woodturning (and woodworking in general, really) when machining these workpieces: You can always make it smaller or remove more material, but you can’t make it bigger or put material back. If you make those leg ends slightly too large, you can always use coarse sandpaper to bring them down to a good fit, but make them too small and the fix is far more

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Glue

Today’s woodworker has a huge variety of adhesives from which to choose, but during the mid-19th century hide glue was king. This glue was made from the collagen found in animal hides, which is where jokes about taking old, nag horses to the “glue factory” came from. Hide glue is readily available today and comes in packages that contain dry, amber-colored nuggets or granules that must be mixed with water and heated to around 140-150 degrees before use. There are specialized heaters available for this, but it can also be prepared in a home-made double boiler. Once properly prepared, hide glue is brushed onto a woodworking joint, which is then clamped tightly. The glue cools and hardens quickly, and makes for a strong joint.

The process of preparing and using hide glue can be a messy one, and the glue itself can be difficult to use since it must remain at the right temperature and consistency throughout the application process. It’s particularly problematic to apply to large areas as it begins to cure rapidly, often before you’ve even managed to get the glue on the entire workpiece. To put it bluntly, hide glue can be a pain to use. Fortunately, a liquid version is available today that has urea added to the formula to keep it in liquid form. Urea was not unknown in the 1860s (it was discovered in the late 1700s), but liquid hide glue simply wasn’t used during the period. The working properties are about the same as the traditional heated type, so it doesn’t greatly impact authenticity. Still, it can be finicky if you’re not used to using it.

For complete authenticity for your reproductions, only traditional hide glue should be used. However, this is one area where I am more

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problematic—you’ll probably end up having to make the whole part over again.

When turning these critical parts, always “sneak up” on the proper dimension. Remove only a little stock at a time, and stop frequently to check the sizing. If you don’t own calipers, get a set and use it to check your progress. The goal should always be to make these parts just slightly over-snug; final sanding will take them to a proper fit.

Hide glue comes in dry form, and is mixed with water and heated before use.

Although it has the same properties as traditionally prepared glue, liquid hide glue is far easier to use. than willing to make a compromise. For almost all projects in this book that require glue, I’ve used standard, modern shop glue and I’m comfortable with that compromise. You, of course, may choose otherwise.

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One of the most important things to keep in mind when making the reproductions in this book is that there were few standards regarding sizes and construction methods. For some items like the Tent Slips on Page 69 (or the Ammo Box and Hardtack Crate projects in Volume I), there were actual U.S. and C.S. Army specifications in place for their size and construction. Suppliers, however, often ignored the specs, especially later in the war.

For common items for which there were no official specs, there simply were no standards since mass production on a nationwide scale did not yet exist in the U.S. (or anywhere else). All the mass-produced stools that came from a furniture company on one side of Chicago often bore little resemblance to mass-produced stools from a company on the other side of town.

For that matter, even the Army-specified dimensions were vague. The regulations called for the exact size of an ammo box for musket cartridges, for example, but nowhere in the regulations is it mentioned what thickness or kind of wood to use. As a result, there was a huge variation in woodworking items even among those ordered by the military. For things made by smalltown carpenters, and especially by soldiers in the field, the variety of sizes and styles was even greater.

What this means is that you should feel free to alter the dimensions and construction details of the projects in this book. I’d try to stick closely to military specs on the one project that includes them—the Tent Slips—but alter all the others just about any way you wish in a period-appropriate manner. I’ll make suggestions in this regard where suitable for each of the projects.

Finishing

There is a huge variety of finish coatings available today, many of which can greatly protect furniture from the elements. Very few of these are periodcorrect, but those that are remain very close to what was used then.

For clear coating, there were three main choices: a drying oil, shellac and wax. That’s about 24

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Construction variations

Shellac, either as a commercially prepared liquid or in dry form as shown here, is one of the oldest protective clear-coat finishes for furniture. it. Oil-based varnishes existed, but were rarely used because fast-drying shellac did the same job far more easily and effectively. A drying oil such as boiled linseed oil could be rubbed to a moderate sheen, and repeated applications offered a small amount of protection. Rubbed oil finishes do not impart a lot of protection from water, however, so a rubbed oil finish was often topped with a coat of wax that was replenished regularly.

For greater protection and a higher-gloss appearance, shellac was the number one choice.

Easy to make and easy to apply, shellac is still readily available today in both dry and liquid form.

Making shellac from scratch (by adding denatured alcohol to the dry shellac granules or flakes) is more authentic to the period, as liquid shellac has a very short shelf life and was rarely kept on hand. The formulation of today’s liquid shellac isn’t quite the same as making it yourself as well. However, the finished results of either type are indistinguishable.

Shellac gave pretty good protection and a nice gloss to furniture of the day.

I favor boiled linseed oil—usually known to woodworkers simply as BLO—for projects made with hardwoods such as walnut, cherry, oak and maple. The oil darkens the wood nicely, and brings out the grain of woods like cherry. A few applications give as much protection as I need, and

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Roughing It If you can’t find a source for roughsawn wood, you can simulate the look on your bandsaw. The procedure works best using a blade with a low tooth count; the blade used here has a variable pitch of 3-4 teeth per inch.

This is pretty straightforward but it is on the tricky side, so work slowly and carefully. As with all woodworking procedures, don’t attempt it if you feel unsure about doing it.

1) A djust the bandsaw’s upper blade guide to slightly higher than your board’s width.

2) P lace the board near the blade at a very shallow angle. No need to start at the exact end of the board—allow several inches on the end to hang on to.

Dragging stock backward across a bandsaw’s blade can simulate the texture of rough-sawn wood.

3) T urn on the saw.

4) P ull the board backward slowly and ease it into the blade with only a slight pressure.

5) C ontinue pulling the board backward at a steady pace until you’ve dragged the end of the board across the blade.

6) N ow turn the board around and make another pass over the same face of the board—this will put the several inches that weren’t roughened on the first pass (the portion you were hanging onto) at the opposite end.

The left side of this board was roughened on the bandsaw; the right side has the original smooth surface from the home center.

7) Pull the board all the way across the blade.

8) Turn the board over and repeat the process with the other face.

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beautifies whatever it touches. Be aware that the BLO you’ll buy today isn’t the same formulation as what they used back then (the original had lead in it, for one thing), but the final results are identical.

It is possible to make your own, but the process involves a lot more than just pouring some raw oil in a pot and throwing it on the stove. In fact, the process can be quite dangerous and I do not recommend it. Making the compromise of using modern BLO is one I strongly suggest for Civil War reproductions; it’s more than authentic enough.

Paint was used then just as now, and for all the same reasons. Paints today are far different from those of the period, of course, but this is another area where a small compromise is a safer way to go.

Mixing up your own paint is possible (the ordnance manuals for both armies list the exact “recipes” for several paints in chapter seven of each manual), but I strongly recommend against it. Finding some of the listed ingredients—such as litharge, copperas, pulverized Spanish whiting and turkey umber— will be difficult at best, and potentially dangerous.

Litharge, for example, is lead oxide. Again, this is an area where compromising by using the modern equivalent is the sensible way to go.

When choosing paint, for authenticity avoid latex and stick with oil-based formulations. Paints of the period did not have as high a sheen as today’s high-gloss paints, so a semi-gloss paint is a better choice. (Generally speaking, the more pigment a period paint had, the less gloss it had.) In use, most oil-based paints of the period quickly dulled to a satin or even flat appearance.

Two other types of paints that are periodcorrect are milk paint and whitewash. Both were common throughout the 19th century. Neither is particularly durable, although whitewash does lend a bit of protection and beauty to exterior wooden structures. (It has an annoying tendency to rub

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Boiled linseed oil brings out the inner beauty in this piece of cherry. off onto skin and clothing when leaned against, however, so it’s not suitable for furniture.)

The final finishing method is not only easy, but it’s the only one that guarantees a 100% periodcorrect appearance: none at all. Carpenters of the time usually applied oil, shellac or paint only to furniture that was to be used indoors, and not always to that. Furniture and other items that were to be used outdoors would have been finished with paint only, or not coated in any way. Items made in the field by soldiers might have been painted or oilfinished, but more likely they were left raw.

However, indoor items that ultimately ended up used outdoors would typically be nicely finished.

This would include projects like the Camp Chair, Camp Stool and Folding table. Prior to 1861, no one knew these items would be “going to war;” they were, in fact, the period equivalent of modern card tables and chairs. When officers took them along (or appropriated them from local homes), they went along exactly as they were.

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The Projects

Š 2014 will dunniway & company

1

Members of the Union Brigade Staff gather during a 2005 reenactment at Ardenwood Farms, Freemont, Calif.

(Clockwise from top left) Metal handles, dovetailed joinery and reinforcing molding at the bottom make this a strong chest. A simple chest with cleated lid made by repurposing a castoff box, probably an ordnance crate. Hardtack crate converted to a camp chest. A large lidded wicker box and a traditional steamer trunk.

Camp Chest This camp chest is easily the most customizable project in the book. I was originally going to call this project a Confederate camp chest, but it’s really so typical that it could have been used by anyone on either side, in or out of the military. Plus, it’s really only a “camp” chest if you use it in a camp; chests of this type were exceedingly common in the 19th century, and used for everyday civilian storage of anything from the cleanest linens to the dirtiest tools. Although I changed my mind on the project title, this chest’s design is something I came up with by melding construction details from chests belonging to two Confederate generals.

From General Robert E. Lee’s camp chest I borrowed those iron reinforcing brackets on the corners and the rope handles (the handle blocks on Lee’s chest were a bit more narrow and vertical, however, I opted for handles that were wider and horizontal, which I think are easier to grasp and carry).

Although Lee’s chest had a forged iron hasp of similar appearance, the hasp for this project is directly patterned on the one from General William B. Taliaferro’s camp chest. I also borrowed the lid design from the Taliaferro chest, as well as the basic joinery.

Finally, to complete the project and make it a bit more useful, I added a lift-out inner tray that wasn’t a feature of either general’s chest.

Library of Congress

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Chapter 4:

Several chests can be seen in the camp of the 2nd N.Y. Artillery at Arlington, Va.

Cut List Camp Chest Overall Dimensions, Including Lid (Width/Length/Height): 16" x 31 3/4" x 14 3/4" Part Name A Side Panels B End Panels C Bottom Panel D Lid Panel E Handle Blocks F Lid End Pieces G Lid Front Piece H Tray Supports I Tray Sides J Tray Ends K Tray Bottom

Qty. 2 2 1 1 2 1 1 2 2 2 1

Wood Pine Pine Pine Pine Pine Pine Pine Pine Pine Pine Pine

Dimensions 3/4" x 14" x 30"(a) 3/4" x 14" x 13 1/2"(a) 3/4" x 13 1/2" x 28 1/2"(a) 3/4" x 15 1/8" x 30 1/4"(a) 1 3/8" x 2" x 5" 3/4" x 1 1/2" x 15 1/8" 3/4" x 1 1/2" x 31 3/4" 1/2" x 1/2" x 28 1/2" 1/2" x 2 1/2" x 13 3/8" 1/2" x 2 1/2" x 13 1/2" 1/8" x 12 7/8" x 13 1/2"(b)

Special hardware: Bar Stock, 1/8" x 3/4", cut into 7" lengths (8 needed) 2" Hinges w/screws (3 needed) Chest Hasp (1 needed) Chest Hasp Staples (2 needed) Notes: (a) Dimensions listed are finished size. Each of these pieces is made up of two narrower pieces that have been tongue-and-grooved together to form single panels of the dimensions noted. (b) Dimensions listed are finished size. The bottom is made up of two narrower pieces either glued together or mounted without glue.

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Chapter 4: Camp Chest

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The project chest is made of pine, the same wood used on Taliaferro’s chest. Camp chests of this size typically used wood of about 3/4"—anything thinner wouldn’t have been strong enough, and wouldn’t have allowed nails and other fasteners enough material to set into; anything much thicker starts to get really heavy. So, in this instance offthe-rack lumber from your local home center is a good match. Be sure to remove any modern planer markings from the lumber, however, before starting.

Create the panels

The sides, ends, top and bottom of this chest are too wide to be made from single pieces of wood, so the first step is creating panels wide enough for the chest. We’ll do this the same way it was done then, and make these panels from two narrower pieces mated with tongue-and-groove joinery, where a thin tongue or tab on one piece fits into a matching narrow groove or slot in the other. If you’re familiar with Volume I, you’ve seen this process used before on the Hardtack Crate and Ammo Box projects.

Select two pieces of pine of sufficient combined width for each of the side, end, top and bottom panels, allowing a bit of extra width to create the tongue on one piece in each pair. In fact, I like to make these panels slightly wider than what I need, and then cut them to the exact width at the same time when all four are done. That way you’ll get a perfectly consistent width for the finished panels.

When you’ve matched up your panel pairs, cut everything to length as noted on the Cut List on Page 38.

Tongue-and-groove joints can be cut with specialized hand planes, on a router table, or on the tablesaw, with the latter method being the easiest.

For all that follows, I’ll assume that your saw has a standard 1/8"-thick blade. If you use a thin-kerf blade, adjust accordingly.

For joints of this type (mortise-and-tenon joints are based on the same principle) it’s best to make the groove first, and then fine-tune whatever goes into it to the correct size. The general rule for sizing for these joints is to make the tongue or tenon about 1/3 the thickness of the workpiece, so for 3/4" stock you’d want a 1/4" groove and corresponding tongue.

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Figure 1

Figure 2 We’ll use a single 3/4"-thick board as a starting piece. Once the groove is right for that one, use the same setup for all the boards requiring grooves.

Set your tablesaw’s fence 1/4" from the blade.

Lock down the fence, and raise the blade to 1/4" high. Pass the board over the blade to make a groove in the board’s edge as in Fig. 1. Now, flip the board end-for-end so that the opposite face is against the fence and make the pass again on the same edge. This makes two side-by-side 1/8" cuts, each the exact same distance from the fence, creating a 1/4" groove that’s perfectly centered. If all looks good, repeat the cut on the edge of one of the boards in each panel pair.

You now have one board in each panel pair with a 1/4" groove. To create the matching tongues first move the tablesaw fence out of the way and clamp a sacrificial face to the fence; a long piece of smooth scrap is fine. Now, adjust the sacrificial fence so it just barely kisses the blade (the sacrificial fence

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Figure 3 prevents damage to your regular one). Run the edge of the first mating board over the blade on one side, then flip the board and do the other, as in Fig. 2.

Do a quick check that the tongue fits the matching grooved board as in Fig. 3, then make the same cuts in all the boards of your panel pairs. You now have tongues on all the boards requiring them, but they’re only about 1/8" long (the thickness of the blade); our grooves are 1/4" deep, so we need to make another series of cuts. Move the fence so that it’s exactly 1/8" away from the blade and lock it down.

Pass each of the boards over the blade as before.

You now have tongues that are 1/4" long.

Glue and clamp up the end, side and top panels—hold off on the chest bottom for the moment. When the end and side panels are dry, cut them to a consistent 14" width (equal to the height of the main box of the chest). Cut the lid panel to its final width of 15 1/8" and set it aside; we’ll come back to it later.

Trim the two bottom pieces to a combined width of 13 1/2" and assemble them, but I don’t generally recommend gluing these two boards for the bottom panel. Wood expands and contracts across its width in response to seasonal changes in humidity, and if solidly nailed into place as the bottom of this chest will be, a solid panel of 13 1/2" may move sufficiently that it could split as it shrinks in less-humid conditions. By not gluing the two pieces making up this panel, the individual 6 3/4" boards making up the bottom have room to move.

(You’ll probably notice that a gap at the tongueand-groove joint gets a bit wider in the winter, and closes up in the summer. This is normal.)

Assemble the main box and lid

Place the bottom panel on your bench or table and dry-assemble the ends and sides around it and check everything for size. The bottom should fit in place without gaps around the edges, while the ends and sides should all make solid contact with each other.

Nail the two end pieces to the bottom panel, using cut nails of at least 2" in length. With the ends attached, flip the chest on its sides and nail the side panels in place as in as in Fig. 5. Feel free to apply glue to the side panels before nailing for extra strength. Since the grain of the side panels is all in the same direction, and because the panels aren’t attached to anything at the top they’re free to expand and contract as they like with no danger of cracking. As we did with the shipping crates in Chapter 3, it’s a good idea to use a nail set to drive the nail heads just beneath the wood surface.

Between the glue and the excellent holding power of cut nails, this is quite a strong box. But it’s going to be carried and banged around a lot so lets make it even stronger with corner brackets similar to those on the Lee chest I mentioned earlier. You’ll find reinforcing brackets at your local home center and might be tempted to use them, but what they carry is both thinner and narrower than what would have typically been used then. They also come drilled—usually with countersunk holes—that might not be in the right places. So skip these and Chapter 4: Camp Chest

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The amount wood moves depends on a variety of factors including wood species, grain direction, thickness, ambient air humidity and geography. It’s quite possible your bottom panel may not expand/ contract enough to cause splitting if glued up—I’ve had no problems where I live, for example—but as the saying goes your mileage may vary. So feel free to give a glued bottom a try for a sturdier chest. Just don’t be surprised if a crack appears.

You shouldn’t have the same issue with the lid panel; because it won’t be nailed in place on the long edges, it will be able to expand and contract freely.

Figure 4

Figure 5

Figure 6

Figure 7

head over to the metal stock rack and pick up some 1/8" x 3/4" flat iron bar stock instead to make your own brackets that will be a lot more period-correct.

Cut eight 7" lengths of the bar stock, using a hacksaw or other cutter with a metal-cutting blade.

(Fig. 6) Lightly go over the edges of the cut ends with a sanding block or file to remove any sharp burrs, and then mark and drill two screw holes into the ends of each. Drill the first hole about 1/2" from each end, and the second at 1 3/4". Use a drill bit suitable for metal, and remove any burrs when done.

Finally, secure each strip in a metal vise and bend at a 90-degree angle in the center.

Attach a pair of angles to each corner of the chest, screwing them into place with #8 x 3/4" slotted round-head screws. In Fig. 7, you can see that I’ve located these angles about 3" from the top and bottom of the main box.

Camp chests used a variety of handles (or none at all), but I’ve decided on handle blocks with rope loops similar to those on Lee’s chest. Cut a pair

of blocks measuring 1 3/8" x 2" x 5" (a section of standard 2x4 works well for these), then drill 1/2" rope holes vertically all the way through the blocks 3/4" from each end.

Drill three pilot holes in a triangular pattern through the sides of the blocks, taking care to avoid the rope holes. Countersink the holes and attach the blocks to the ends of the chest about even with the top brackets, using 2" flat-head screws as in Fig. 8. Don’t countersink the mounting holes too deeply into the block, or your mounting screws may go all the way through to the interior of the chest.

Since the lid panel was glued up and cut to size earlier, assembling the lid is fairly quick and easy.

Attach the lid front piece to the front edge of the lid panel with glue and 2" cut nails. Now, attach the lid side pieces with nails only, no glue. (Fig. 9) This will allow the lid to expand and contract. Further, since the lid panel will be rigidly attached to the chest on one edge only (at the back, with hinges),

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t Figure 8

Figure 9

Figure 10

Figure 11

the glued up panel should have no problems with seasonal expansion/contraction.

Back home after the event I made some detailed sketches and measurements and emailed them to Jim, along with photos of the original Taliaferro chest hasp. In no time at all he re-created the hasp for me and that’s what you’ll see me using in the following photos. Now, because these hand-forged iron hasps are made one at a time, it’s likely that no two will be exactly alike. For that reason I’m not including any exact measurements for installing it, but rather will show you how to place, mark and mount it. Follow the same steps and a variance in size won’t matter.

Place the lid atop the chest and center the hasp on the front edge. With a pencil, outline the lower slot opening onto the front of the chest. (Fig. 10) Do the same thing to the hole opening at the top of the hasp onto the chest lid. What you’ll end up with is a circle on the lid and a long oval on the front, as in Fig. 11. Hasp staples are typically round on the curved portions visible on the outside of the chest, and hammered flat on the two “legs”

Install the hasp

Chest hasps consisted of a heavy angled bar with a slot on one end and a hole at the other. A large iron staple attached the hasp to the lid, while a second staple on the front of the chest fits through a corresponding slot, allowing a padlock to be slipped through and locked. I really wanted a hasp just like the one on the Taliaferro chest for this project, but wasn’t sure where I’d be able to obtain one.

As luck would have it, right about the time I was planning out this project I took part in a regional Civil War reenactment. While there, I bumped into Jim Brown, who had a working blacksmith’s setup going in the Sutler area. We got to chatting and I described the hasp I needed, and he thought reproducing one would be fairly straightforward.

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Figure 12

Figure 13

Figure 14

Figure 15

that extend through the wood. (Fig. 12) To mount the staples in the two marked locations you’ll want some flat holes, which we’ll create by drilling two or three small holes side-by-side.

Starting on the lid, draw a line perpendicular to the lid front that goes through the center of the outline for the circular hasp opening. Now, hold the tip of one leg of the staple in the center of the circle and the other on the line behind it, then trace around the tips with a pencil. Drill two or three holes using a bit slightly smaller than the diameter of your staple in this traced outline, as in Fig. 13.

Drill these holes as close together as you can. Use a cut nail to break out the connecting material between the holes—the rectangular cross section of a cut nail will nicely shape the flat holes, as in Fig. 14. Don’t make these flat holes too large; you want the staple to fit as snuggly as possible.

Repeat the process for the staple holes on the front of the chest. This time, however, the entire staple should be centered in the oval outline. With the holes completed, let’s go ahead and attach the staples, starting on the front of the chest.

Tap the staple into the holes from the outside of the chest until about 1" of the rounded portion of the staple is above the wood. This will stick through the slotted opening in the hasp for the lock. On the inside of the chest, bend the legs 90 degrees to lie flat against the inside. The iron is pretty soft, but use a hammer if you need to tap the bend flat. Drill holes through the tips of the staple legs (only through the legs, not into the wood) sized for a 3/4" slotted round-head screw. (My staples were wide enough to use a #8 screw, but check yours and use a smaller screw if necessary.) In Fig. 15, I’m using brass screws, but steel screws are also

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Attach the lid

Hold a hinge onto the back edge of the chest to mark locations with a pencil. You’ll want one hinge in the center, and the other two about 3" from each end.

The next step is to cut mortises for the hinges, which is something we’ll do a couple times in upcoming projects. Hold a freshly sharpened chisel vertically on the ends of your hinge mark and tap firmly to set the ends of your mortise. Now, gradually remove waste to the exact thickness of

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fine. Also in this image, the top end of the staple leg extends to not quite 2 1/2" from the top edge of the chest. It’s best not to have this top portion of the staple go any higher than that if you plan to include the lift-out tray. If it does, use a hacksaw or a good set of angled pliers to clip off the upper tip of the staple before drilling and screwing it into place.

Repeat the process with the lid staple. Before inserting it into the holes, however, hold the hasp in place then tap the staple in. The round portion of the staple should stand about 1" above the wood, which is enough to capture and attach the hasp but still let it swing freely.

With the hasp staples installed, now’s a good time to add the supports on the front and back of the chest for the lift-out tray we’ll construct later. (If you opt not to have a tray, you can skip this step.)

Cut two pieces of 1/2" x 1/2" stock to the inside length of the chest. For the tray described later, which is 2 1/2" high, attaching the supports 2 1/2" from the top of the chest will keep the tray flush with the top edge. Adjust the location of these supports as you wish to accommodate a tray of a different depth, or to have the tray sit a bit lower. Attach the supports with a bit of glue and 1" cut brads.

I noted above that the upper leg on the inside of the chest shouldn’t go higher than 2 1/2" from the top edge if you want to use the size tray described later. But if it does it may still interfere slightly where you want to attach the supports. No problem. Just cut a small notch into the back side of the front support so it will fit over the staple leg.

Figure 16

Figure 17 the hinge leaf as in Fig. 16. Check this frequently as you work by periodically placing a hinge in the mortise to see how much more material you need to remove. Take your time with this—remember my Chapter 2 warning: You can always remove more if it’s too small, but once it’s too big you can’t put it back. This is, by the way, a warning you’ll hear a couple more times throughout this book.

Set the hinges into the finished mortises and mark the screw holes, as in Fig. 17. Drill pilot holes, and screw the three hinges into place.

Although in later projects we’ll mortise both sides of the hinge, there’s no need to mortise the side of the hinge mounted to the lid. Tilt the chest onto its back, and place the lid so the hinge aligns with the back edge. Remember that you’ve got that hasp dangling from the lid, so try to position everything so the hasp side of the lid hangs over the edge of your assembly table or workbench. When

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Figure 18

Figure 19

positioned correctly, drill pilot holes and attach the hinges with slotted flat-head screws. (Fig. 18)

Lift-out tray

The interiors of camp chests were arranged in myriad ways to suit the users. Some had internal dividers, others trays, still others had both or neither. I’ve found that a lift-out tray is very useful for storing smaller items that would otherwise get lost down inside the larger chest. We already covered the tray supports earlier, so all that’s left is to make the tray itself. As far as sizing goes, a shallow tray works best. It must be no wider than the chest, of course, but the exact length is up to you. You may prefer a full-length tray (which was common), but I like a shorter one. This way, you don’t really need to remove it to access the deeper regions of the chest; just slide it to one side or the other.

Cut the tray sides and ends to size, and mark them in pencil to keep everything straight. The tray bottom will be “captured”—that is, the bottom will be sized slightly larger than the interior dimensions of the tray, and will fit into grooves cut around the bottom edges before assembly. When assembled, the bottom is held in place by the grooves on all four sides.

Raise the blade of your table saw to 1/4" inch and lock it down. Now, set the fence 2 1/4" from the blade. Run each of the four tray sides through the

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Figure 20 blade as in Fig. 19. This will create a 1/8" groove that’s 1/8" from the bottom edge on all four pieces.

We’ll use rabbet joints for the corners of the tray. This creates L-shaped ledges in the end pieces into which the sides fit. Increase the blade height to 5/16". (This extra 1/16" will eliminate the grooves from the ends of the sides, so no grooves will be visible on the outside of the tray.) Since the sides are 1/2" thick, use a miter gauge to cut rabbets into the last 1/2" of the inside surface of the two end pieces. This is something you could also do on a router table or with a dado blade on the table saw, and we’ll do that later in the book. But since we only need these four small rabbets, it’s fine to use your regular blade and just “nibble” the waste away.

Start the cut at exactly 1/2", and then work your way out, as in Fig. 20.

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Finishing up and Variations

Figure 21 Glue and clamp the two end pieces to one of the sides, keeping the grooves for the tray bottom aligned. When the glue has dried, slide the bottom into grooves as in Fig. 21, then glue and clamp the other side into place.

The bottom isn’t glued in, but “floats” in the grooves once the tray is completed. Speaking of the tray bottom, I used two narrow pieces to create it, gluing them together in the middle before cutting it to size. Since the bottom isn’t attached at the edges, there’s no issue of cracking with seasonal expansion and contraction. However, it’s perfectly authentic to slide the two narrower halves of the bottom into place separately. That was a common technique for drawer bottoms of the period.

By the way, if you plan to store heavy items in the tray you might consider using thicker wood for the bottom. I keep only light things in the tray so a 1/8" bottom works fine for me, but increase the bottom thickness and corresponding holding groove to 3/16" or even 1/4" if you need to.

Having a tray with a large capacity suits my needs, but these often had thin wooden dividers separating the tray into compartments sized to hold specific items. Use your imagination to customize your tray as fits your needs.

Thread a length of 1/2" rope through the tops of the handle blocks and tie each end into a tight knot to hold the rope in place.

You can leave the chest unfinished if you like— many were left raw. However, a coat of shellac would also be correct, as would paint. Once I got my chest out into the field I gave it several coats of linseed oil, which I renew periodically.

I noted at the beginning of this chapter that this is the most customizable project in the book, and you can change it any way you like. I sized this one for my needs, although the originals I patterned it after were larger—General Lee’s camp chest was about the same size as this one, but General Taliaferro’s was more than 42" long and nearly 20" wide—so make yours whatever size works best.

Some chests used a lid panel that didn’t use the edging for rigidity, but a pair of cleats across the top instead. (Lee’s chest uses these.) Instead of rope handles, you might consider metal or wooden ones, or skip them. Compartmentalizing the interior with dividers works well for lots of equipment or gear, while a longer tray holds more small items where they’re easier to get. Also, I’ve put no markings on my camp chest, but markings were common and typically listed the owner’s name, and sometimes regimental or hometown information.

We used simple joinery and corner irons for strength for the project chest, but there were numerous chests that featured dovetail joints. A camp chest is a good first project to hone your dovetailing skills. Speaking of joinery, that tray doesn’t have to use rabbet joints. A butt-jointed tray would work fine, as would one with dovetails or box joints.

Finally, if you’re having trouble locating a suitable hasp, don’t let that stop you from building the project.

Blacksmith Jim Brown, who made the Taliaferro hasp seen in the photos here, has offered to make them for readers of this book. If you’re interested, send me an email at CivilWarWoodworking@gmail.com for pricing and contact information.

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VIIIVIIIVII

Chapter 12:

Folding Camp Table As you’ve undoubtedly noticed by now, if there’s been any trend among the projects it’s that most of them are items from civilian life that had been “drafted’ into military use. This is especially true of good-looking professionally made and mass-produced camp furniture. The Camp Stool and Chair projects a bit earlier are good examples, but literally speaking they weren’t designed or manufactured specifically for camp use. They were the occasional furniture kept in the home for temporary use to accommodate guests or to take outdoors for picnics and other activities. Once the war broke out, though, the men were quick to learn that these folding, easy-to-stow and carry pieces of furniture were perfect for camp life.

That’s the case with this table. Not as crude or plain as the field-built camp table project in the first volume, this was an attractive hardwood table that was professionally crafted and finished. Consider it the high-end card table of its day, the one brought out when entertaining company or for extra guests who couldn’t fit at the holiday table.

As I’ve noted before with these furniture items, there was no standard. That’s especially true of stowaway tables, and they could be just about any size, any dimensions, any height and made of any species of wood. Although the legs were usually lathe-turned and on the ornate side, there were tables with plainer legs.

However, whether the legs were plain or turned, they were almost always square at the top (where the joinery was done) and rounded along their length.

The leg sets on these folding tables were configured one of two ways. The method featured in the project table used one leg set that extended the width from one edge of the frame under the table to the other, while a smaller leg set fit inside the larger one when folded. The other method used two leg sets of identical size, each slightly narrower than the width between the side frames. These two sets were then hinged to the tabletop in an offset manner—one to the left and the other to the right—and they folded inside each other when the table was stowed. In my observation of examples from the period, it seems these two methods were used about equally. Various methods of locking the legs were also used, but the one presented here involving a long, thin wooden “spring” on the underside of the table was the most common.

Lathe-turned legs were very popular on furniture during the period, and the type most often used for these tables. As to the pattern or profile of the turned portion of the legs, however, there was nothing common about them. It seems that each maker did the legs in whatever style pleased them.

When it comes to re-creating these items that’s a good thing, because that means there’s nothing specific that has to be carefully copied to be authentic. With that being the case, I’ve designed this project to be accessible to the greatest number of readers by adapting standard, readily available stairway balusters to use as legs. I’ve included a source for the balusters I used, but as long as you’re careful to avoid styles post-dating the war (Mission, Contemporary, Victorian, Art Deco, etc.), you can use just about any turned baluster.

Cut List Folding Camp Table Overall Dimensions (Width, Length, Height): 21 1/2" x 38" x 27" Part Name A Tabletop B End Frame/Brace C Side Frame D Legs E Inner Leg Apron F G H I

Outer Leg Apron Dowel Pins Lock Block Locking Spring

Qty. 1 2 2 4 2 2 4 1 1

Wood Oak Oak Oak Oak Oak Oak Oak Oak Oak

Dimensions 5/8" x 21 1/2" x 38" 3/4" x 1 1/2" x 20" 3/4" x 1 1/2" x 32" 1 1/2" x 26 3/8" (a) 3/4" x 2 1/2" x 10 3/4" (b)

3/4" x 2 1/2" x 13 7/8" (b) 1/4" or 3/8" diameter 3/4" x 2 1/2" x 4 1/2" 1/4" x 1 1/2" x 31 5/8"

Special Hardware 1 1/2"-wide Steel Table Hinges w/screws (4 needed) 1/8" x 1/2" x 1 1/2" Steel Retainers (2 needed) Note: Made from plain bar stock #8 x 3/4" Screws for keepers (4 needed) Notes: (a) Legs are purchased from supplier, and trimmed to working length of 26 3/8". (b) Length is shoulder-to-shoulder, does not include 1 1/8" tenon length on each end.

Source: 1 1/2" x 36" Fluted Biltmore Baluster in Red Oak, #5715F Stair Parts Only 8634 Station Street Mentor, Ohio. 44060 440-255-8855 www.stairpartsonly.com

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Table Edge Profile

First step—Ogee

Second step— Roundover

library of congress

Table Frame Profile

Folding tables came in a wide range of sizes and styles. This table with accordion-style folding legs easily seats several NCOs of the 93rd N.Y. Infantry at Bealton, Va., in 1863.

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Figure 2

Figure 3

Figure 4

Make the tabletop panel

The main panel for the tabletop here is formed of three pieces of 5/8" red oak. Begin by jointing the edges for a good gluing surface. Once jointed, take the three pieces to your assembly table and swap their order around a bit to find the most pleasing grain arrangement, and then mark them to keep the order straight. I like triangles penciled in over each joint as in Fig. 1, but any marks will do.

Apply glue to the joining edges as in Fig. 2, and then clamp up. Note in Fig. 3, that I’ve alternated the side the clamps are on along the length of the panel. This helps to distribute clamping pressure evenly on both sides—if you put all the clamps on one side of the panel the pressure tends to cause the panel to warp in one direction as the glue dries.

When the panel is dry, unclamp and check the joints. Scrape off any dried glue squeeze-out, and give the panel a thorough sanding on both sides.

I like to use both a powered sander and a sanding block, but I always finish by hand-sanding in the direction of the grain. When sanded and smooth, trim the panel to its final dimensions on the table saw.

The table has rounded corners, and rather than do anything complicated (like trying to find the compass I’d misplaced somewhere in the shop), I just grabbed the closest round object of about the right size and traced around it. Worked fine. (Fig. 4) Afterward, I did measure, and the corner curve has a radius of 2 1/2" if you want to match it. To cut the corner curves, a jigsaw is your best bet. Note in

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Figure 5

Figure 6

Fig. 5, that I’ve clamped the panel to my assembly table to keep it secure while cutting.

Tables of this type usually had a decorative edge profile, but not always. As such, this next step is optional. The profile I’ve used here was common for the period (and still is today, for that matter), and quite simple. You can see a cross section of it in the “Table Edge Profile” pattern on Page 119. The edge is formed in two steps, each done with a different router bit, and can be done with either a hand-held router or on a router table. The first step is to form an ogee profile on the top edge of the table, as I’m doing in Fig. 6. If you’re doing the ogee cut on a router table, you’ll do it with the top side of the table facing down; if with a hand-held router, the table should be oriented top-side up. Now, install a roundover bit and route the table edge on the bottom by your preferred method.

As I noted, this ogee/roundover profile is a common one for table edges, but you could also do a roundover on both top and bottom for a bullnose edge, an ogee by itself, a cove profile or just about anything you like. Again, you can just leave the table edge plain, as there were plenty of those as well.

served two very important purposes, the first of which was to act as a cleat or brace to keep the tabletop flat. Panels this size have a tendency to curve with the grain as the wood “relaxes” after milling, plus with the effects of temperature and humidity. These end frame pieces attach solidly to the underside of the table across the grain, and keep the tabletop nice and flat. These end pieces also act as stops for the two leg sets to prevent them from overstressing the hinges if the legs are opened too hard or should the table be pushed while in the upright position.

Cut the end frame pieces to size, creating the detail on each end per the “Table Frame Profile” pattern on Page 119, and drill five evenly spaced and countersunk holes for the attachment screws in each. We’ve discussed wood movement earlier in the book, but at 21" this is the widest single panel we’ve made yet—this wood will definitely expand and contract. For that reason, it can’t be glued to the table, but must be held on with screws only.

Further, it has to be done in such a way that they’re solidly attached, but will still allow some panel movement. To accomplish this, widen the portion of the pilot holes where it contacts the table. Flip the braces over so the attachment side faces upward, then insert the drill into the holes at an angle as in Fig. 7. Essentially, you want the hole to be slightly elongated where it contacts the table. By carefully working the spinning drill bit back and forth, you can “stretch” this hole a bit. The table won’t expand and contract a lot, just a few fractions of an inch, so

Table frame/brace

This type of table always had at least one set of frame pieces, located on the ends of the table. This wasn’t for appearance, though. The end frame 122

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t Figure 7 only a little bit of elongation is needed. No need to do this the full depth of the hole, either—just about halfway is fine. Also, you don’t have to elongate the center hole, as the panel won’t move in the center.

Before attaching the end braces, it’s extremely important to double-check your screw depth. I’ve used #10 x 2" plain-steel flat head screws, and they were the perfect length. However, depending on how deeply you countersink the pilot holes, the length could become an issue—too deep and your screws might come through the tabletop. Insert a screw into the holes and test the depth on the table edge, as in Fig. 8. Do this for all five holes in each piece, just to be on the safe side, and switch to a shorter screw if necessary.

Position the frame/braces 2 1/4" from each end and use the holes as a guide to drill pilot holes into the underside of the tabletop. Again, be extremely careful about drilling depth—use a collar stop on the drill bit or plain masking tape as a depth guide.

With the pilot holes drilled, attach both pieces.

Remember, no glue!

Many tables of this type didn’t have side frame pieces, so you can skip these if you’d like. However, having a frame all the way around protects the leg sets when the table is folded—they’re completely contained within the frame. Besides, not only did the original table I used as the pattern for this one have them, but I like the look of the side pieces and so I’ve included them here. Cut the side frame pieces to length, then drill and countersink three evenly spaced pilot holes through each. There are no

Figure 8

Figure 9 wood-movement issues for these pieces so there’s no need to elongate the holes, and it’s fine to use both glue and screws to secure them between the two end pieces and 1 1/2" from the table edges. (Fig. 9) As with the end frame pieces, insert screws and check them against the table edge for accurate depth to avoid having a screw come through the other side.

Create the leg sets

With the tabletop measuring 5/8", the legs should be 26 3/8" to achieve an overall table height of 27". The balusters we’re using for legs measure 36", but that length includes a lot of plain cylinder (just extended dowel, really) on what will be the bottom of the leg, and a bit more square block at the top (on a table Chapter 12: Folding Camp Table

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Figure 10

Figure 11

leg, this is called the “knee”). We want the entire detailed portion to remain on the leg, so first mark the leg beginning about 1 1/4" below where the detail ends at the bottom and squarely cut off the excess.

Now, measure 26 3/8" up into the knee and mark again. (Fig. 10) Again, squarely trim off the knee on your mark. This will nicely center the detail, and leave enough knee at the top to accommodate the aprons of the leg sets.

Mark the inner face of each knee for the 1/4" x 2" apron mortise, centering the mortise in the knee starting 1/4" down from the top. The general rule of thumb for tenons is that they should extend no less than 2/3 of the way through the mortised component, so for the 1 1/2" knees of these legs that would be 1". However, for a bit of extra strength we’ll install a peg through the center of the knee and into the finished mortise-and-tenon joint, so let’s make the tenon a bit longer at 1 1/8".

Notice in Fig. 11, that I’ve made a mortising support out of scrap wood to keep the leg steady while milling it; a thin shim attached to the end supports the leg tip so the knee rests flat beneath the mortising chisel. Adjust the mortiser’s depth stop to cut a mortise deep enough to accommodate a 1 1/8"-long tenon, and mill all four of the legs. (Fig. 12) (Note that because of the somewhat ragged bottom left by most mortising chisels, you may need to make the mortises just slightly deeper than 1 1/8".)

Cut the two aprons to length, adding an extra 1 1/8" on each end for the tenons. (Or, if you’re like me, allow an extra 1 1/4" and trim the tenons to exact

length later—remember, you can always take wood away if it’s too big, but you can’t add more if it’s too small.)

Install a dado set in your table saw, and set the blade height at exactly 1/4". The rule of thumb for tenons is that they should be 1/3 the thickness of the part being milled. For our 3/4"-thick aprons, removing 1/4" on each side leaves a 1/4" tenon, satisfying the rule. Mark the shoulder-to-shoulder length on all four sides of the workpiece, then place the workpiece against your miter gauge and line up your marks with the inner edge of the blade. Make the first cut on your mark, then shift the workpiece position and make a series of additional passes over the dado set to create the tenon faces or cheeks, as in Fig. 13. With the faces cut, stand the workpiece on edge against the miter gauge, and repeat the process to cut the tenon edges.

Do a dry assembly to test fit everything, making adjustments as needed to trim the tenon length if you made them slightly oversized. (Fig. 14) The tenons should fit snug but not overly tight into the mortises—a too-tight fit will scrape off nearly all the glue into the bottom of the joint.

Sand the faces and edges of the tenon to ease the fit slightly if you have difficulty inserting the tenon. Do this sanding a little at a time; you want a firm fit, not a loose one. When you’re satisfied with the fit, glue and clamp the leg sets together.

For maximum strength, we’ll make these joints pinned tenons. The joint is already very strong, but pinning it adds more mechanical strength. With the

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Figure 13

Figure 14

Figure 15

Figure 16

Figure 17

leg sets flat on your worksurface, drill a 1/4" or 3/8" hole in the center of the leg knee for a short length of dowel, centered through the tenon on the inside; this places the hole about 1 1/4" from the top of the leg to hit the center of that 2" tenon. You don’t want to drill all the way through—you’ll install a hinge

on the other side a bit later—so make the hole just 1/2" to 5/8" deep. (Fig. 15) Glue a 1/4" or 3/8" dowel into the hole, depending on what size you drilled. (Fig. 16) Wipe off any glue squeeze-out from around the dowel and trim it flush with the leg. (Fig. 17)

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Figure 18

Locking mechanism

We won’t install the locking mechanism till a bit later, but while the leg sets are drying is a good time to get the components ready, starting with the “lock block” to which the locking spring will mount. I have no earthly idea what this block of wood was actually called—in fact, it probably didn’t have a name—but I had to call it something and liked the sound of “lock block.” Cut the block to size (I beveled the outer long edges slightly, but that’s optional). Measure the underside of the table to find the exact center, and glue the block in place.

(Fig. 18) Clamping this may be difficult depending on what you have, but you can weight this down

Figure 19 to hold it firmly as the glue dries. No real need to strengthen this with fasteners; the face-to-face glueup will be plenty strong.

The spring lock was a common mechanism for locking folding furniture, and featured a thin wooden slat affixed to the underside of the table; in this case, to the block described above. The free ends of the slat fit into notches mortised into the inner bottom edge of the apron on each leg set. The locking action was automatic: Just unfold the legs into the upright position, and the slat snaps into that notch as soon as the leg set is fully vertical.

The leg sets should be dry at this point, so it will be easier to mortise in that notch now before attaching the leg sets to the table. Cutting this 3/8"

Balusters for table legs?

A first reaction to using stairway balusters as furniture legs is probably surprise, but there’s really nothing period-incorrect about doing so.

Lathe-turned table legs and stairway balusters are, except for length, nearly identical in most cases. A quick browse through any stairway supplier’s catalog makes this apparent.

But what about style? Well, as noted several times throughout this book, as long as you don’t use a style obviously created after the 1860s—like Mission or Contemporary—it isn’t an issue. The manufacturer calls the style of the balusters I chose for this project “Biltmore,”

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but after speaking with the company I learned the name has nothing to do with the famous Biltmore Estate in North Carolina (built in 1895), nor is the baluster a re-creation of anything from the estate. The name is just that: a distinctive name.

If these legs resemble any particular style at all, it’s probably most similar to Sheraton. But since the Sheraton style predates the war, it’s not inauthentic at all. The bottom line is that using balusters as table legs proves to be a viable shortcut, making this project accessible to the largest number of readers.

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x 3/8" notch is straightforward, and is done the same way as the other mortises we’ve already done in earlier projects. (Fig. 19) The locking spring is only 1 1/2" wide, but make this notch wider—an extra 1/4" on each side is good for a 2" notch. This makes the notch easier to engage should the spring slat ever warp, or possibly need to be replaced in the future.

We won’t attach it yet, but go ahead and cut the slat for the spring to width and rough length. Best to cut it a bit long, and then trim it to an exact fit once the legs sets are hinged into place.

Hinging the leg sets

At this point, everything’s ready for final assembly.

We’ve done hinge mortising a couple times already in earlier projects, so I won’t repeat all the steps. Cut the hinge mortise on the inner face of the leg set knees, using one of your hinges as a guide for the exact size and placement. With earlier projects, we only needed to cut the hinge mortises the depth of one hinge leaf. However, we want these leg sets to fold completely flat when the table is folded up, so make this hinge mortise the depth of two hinge leaves. Not only is this far easier than cutting matching mortises into the underside of the tabletop, but that typically wasn’t done on originals. For one thing, it was easier for them to do it without a hinge mortise on the tabletop, too, and it was also more practical. Should a leg set or just a broken hinge ever need to be replaced, there’s no existing mortise in the tabletop to work around should the new hinge not be an exact match. The mortise in the leg will be needed no matter what the new hinge is like.

Now, depending on the type of hinges you find, you may need to make allowance for the hinge barrel. (If your hinges fold out perfectly flat, move on to the next section.) On the leg this is just a matter of beveling the very end of the mortise to allow room for the hinge barrel to clear. For the hinge to rest flat on the underside of the tabletop, however, you’ll need to cut a relief into the wood in which the hinge barrel can rest, allowing the hinge to sit flat on the wood.

Hold the leg sets in position firmly against the end frame braces and mark the table underside where the hinge barrels touch the surface, and then use a

Figure 20

Figure 21 small gouge to chisel out the relief as in Fig. 20. An extra hinge to check your work as you progress is easier than juggling with the leg sets.

With all four reliefs cut, hold the leg sets in place once again and mark the hinge holes in the underside of the table. Drill pilot holes on your marks, making sure as before not to drill too deeply or you may accidently go all the way through the table. Install the hinge screws on all four corners. In Fig. 21, you can see how the hinge barrel rests nicely in the cut relief. I’ve mentioned several times about being careful not to drill or drive a screw all the way through the tabletop, but in this photo you can see what happens if you don’t drill a pilot hole deeply enough. Red oak is hard, tough stuff, and without a proper pilot hole you run the risk of snapping off a screw before it’s fully seated. Consider this an “oops” moment.

(Although, honestly, “oops” wasn’t what I said when this happened…)

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Figure 22

Lock it up

The table leg sets are held in the upright position by the locking action of that wooden spring slat.

However, you want that spring to hold the legs as firmly as possible against the frame/brace—if there’s any play at all where the locking spring snaps into the notches, then you’ll have play in the leg sets when set up, leading to a wobbly table. For that reason, we didn’t cut the spring to length earlier.

The spring is attached to the lock block with a pair of retainers. You could screw directly through the spring, but with use the spring will begin to split at the screws; plenty of originals bear this out. On the other hand, originals with metal retainers were much hardier—the retainers act as clamps, evenly distributing the holding power of the screws. Make a pair by cutting two 1 1/2" pieces from a standard 1/8" x 1/2" steel bar stock, and drill two countersunk screw holes in each.

Center the locking spring on the locking block with the ends centered over the leg set notches; because the spring is still slightly long, the ends won’t snap into place. Push the locking spring down against the block and hold the retainers in place on the spring, locating them on the spring 1" from the ends of the block, and mark the spring for pilot holes.

Still holding the spring in place, drill pilot holes through the spring and into the block beneath it.

Screw the retainers in place temporarily as in Fig. 22.

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Now, mark the spring ends where they will fit into the leg set notches. As always, err on the long side or you may have to cut a new spring. The idea here is that you’ll want the spring to fit snuggly into those notches so the spring forces the leg sets firmly against the end frame/braces. Remove the spring and trim to length, then remount the spring on the block and check the fit of the ends in the notches as in (Fig. 23) If it’s still too long for the ends to snap in place, trim again. However, if you trimmed carefully you may be able to use a sanding block to fine-tune the fit. Once you’re satisfied with the fit, fully tighten the screws in the spring retainers. Don’t use glue when attaching the spring to the lock block. If the spring ever breaks you’ll need to remove it easily for replacement.

To close the table, lift the spring out of the notches and fold the leg sets flat against the underside of the tabletop. (Fig. 24) The spring will naturally relax, but there should still be enough tension in the spring to hold the leg sets in place in the folded position for transportation.

Finishing up and variations

A dark stain top-coated with a shellac finish would have been typical for a table like this, and that’s what I’ve done for the project table. I know that

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Figure 24

some readers of Volume I made projects for their own everyday use and not for reenacting, and in those cases opted for a more modern finish for furniture like this. If that’s the case for you, a couple coats of polyurethane will give your table excellent protection in regular use.

I used three pieces of wood to make the top for the project table, which is about the most an original table would have had. Wider lumber was much easier to come by back then, and a table of this width might have been made with only two pieces.

(Some may have used even a single 21 1/2" wide piece!) For the sake of authenticity, I wouldn’t use more than three, but if you have wider lumber feel free to use only two.

This table’s dimensions and overall appearance are based on an original, but there’s no need at all to stick to those dimensions. Make your table any size you like. I made the project table the exact same height of 27" to match the original I examined.

However, if you plan to use this table with the Camp Chair from Chapter 10, you might find it just a bit high. If so, you may want to adjust the leg length for a slightly lower table.

I don’t recommend making the table much higher than 27", however; the higher you make it, the wobblier it will become. The same holds true for the tabletop; making it much larger will make the table top-heavy, increasing potential wobble. Many originals, in fact, had considerably smaller tabletops.

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About the Author

Originally a broadcast professional, A.J. Hamler has been a writer and editor for more than two decades, primarily in the areas of woodworking and home improvement. Hamler’s articles have appeared in most of the woodworking and home-handyman magazines in the field, including American Woodworker, Handy, Popular Woodworking, Wood Magazine, Woodshop News (of which he is the former editor), Woodwork Magazine and Woodworker’s Journal. His recent books include Easy Fixes to 15 Common Household Problems (101 Publishing, 2012), The Box Builder's Handbook (F&W, 2011), Easy-toBuild Birdhouses (F&W, 2010) and Civil War Woodworking (Linden, 2009). He also served as editor of The Collins Complete Woodworker (HarperCollins/Smithsonian, 2007), and wrote the shooting script for the DVD “Plumbing Projects 1-2-3” (Home Depot, 2008).

An active reenactor since 1994, A.J. is currently a member of the 1st W.Va. Infantry and Carlin’s Battery D of the 1st W.Va. Light Artillery, and occasionally falls in with his old unit, the 27th Conn. Infantry. Other connections to 19th-century Living History include performing as a first-person role-player at Mystic Seaport in Connecticut, and portraying both Union and Confederate soldiers in the 2003 movie “Gods and Generals.”

When not in his workshop or out firing artillery, A.J. enjoys gourmet cooking, science fiction, hiking, and performing as a stage and voice-over actor. A.J. and his wife, Sally, live in West Virginia on the banks of the Ohio River. Contact him at CivilWarWoodworking@gmail.com.

For updates and downloads for this book, visit www.AJHamler.com/Civil_War_Woodworking.

Among the author’s Civil War ancestors is his great-great grandfather, Major James R. Nation (1844–1908), of the 9th Indiana Cavalry, Co G. James was from a large family and went to war with three of his brothers (who would be the author’s great-great-great uncles)—Enoch, David and Seth Nation, all of whom where also officers in the 9th Indiana Cavalry.

INDIANA HISTORICAL SOCIETY

James, David and Seth came home fine from the war, but Enoch Nation was aboard the ill-fated steamship Sultana when it exploded and sank in April 1865.

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