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XX.—HOW TO PHOTOGRAPH.

NEARLY ten years ago I took lessons in landscape photography, and since then have made hundreds of photographs of places rarely visited, of strange people and wonderful vegetation, which have delighted the eyes of many friends. Assuming that many members of the Reading Union will wish to retain more permanent pictures of vacation scenes this summer than can be carried in memory alone, I propose to show how they can do this with little trouble and expense.

First, I must congratulate you upon your good fortune in being able to enter upon the study of photography in the year 1882, rather than twenty, or even ten, years earlier. In no other department of science, except perhaps in electricity, has such an advance been made. It was only in 1839 that Daguerre published his success in obtaining an image on a silver plate, and in 1851 that the collodion process—that most in use at the present day—was given to the world. But within the past few years improvements have been made, by means of which the art is not confined to professional workmen, but can be enjoyed by all the young folks in the land.

I well remember the disadvantages attending outdoor photography, even no longer ago than when I made my first attempts. By the collodion or wet process it was absolutely necessary to carry a large trunk full of chemicals and bulky apparatus. Among other things there was the “dark tent;” in its most compact form it was a box, about two feet and a half square, with curtains and aprons arranged so as to exclude all actinic or chemical light. After setting your camera in position and focusing the picture, you had to retire into the dark tent, arrange the curtains about you to exclude all outside light, and consequently air, and then you coated the glass plate with collodion and dipped it into the “silver bath” to make it sensitive to light. This operation required several minutes, and if the day was hot and sultry, the operator in the dark box was nearly suffocated before he emerged with the prepared plate ready for the camera. After exposing this he was obliged to hide himself again in that hot box full of chemical fumes, and there “develop” the picture supposed to be upon the glass.

With the discovery that plates could be prepared ready for use at any time, and that would remain sensitive to the action of light for months, a new field was opened, in which any one could wander who had the inclination. By this discovery all the bottles of chemicals, with the dark tent and the clumsy apparatus, were done away with. Materials for a hundred photographs can now be carried in a small valise or in an ordinary trunk amongst clothes and books.

Though an amateur, and having no greater interest in photography than arose from a desire to secure pictures of the spots I visited, I hailed the appearance of the “dry plates” and their simpler mode of use, for I was heartily tired of the old way. My fingers were always black with silver stains, and my clothes streaked and stained with salts of iron and soda. My accidents, from the tipping over of chemicals, and in struggling over mountain roads and the beds of mountain torrents, were more than I could count on my fingers. In Florida, whenever I crawled into the dark tent—pitched, perhaps, on the border of a swamp or in the deep woods—the mosquitoes and sand-flies would make furious attacks upon my legs and nearly drive me wild, and I would be haunted by fear of the snakes and alligators that might attack me in that defenseless position—with my head in a sack and my hands employed. One day an enormous old billy-goat, taking offence at the outlandish appearance of my tent, as I was at work in it, half concealed from his view, charged on it with such force as to knock us all in a heap. When I had crawled out from the ruins, expecting to learn that an earthquake had passed by, I saw that billy-goat standing calmly by, chewing his cud, and shaking his head sidewise, as much as to say, “Get into that box again, and I’ll knock you over a second time!” In the West Indies it was always necessary to hire two negroes to carry my trunk, and as they invariably bore their burdens on their heads, the silver solution would sometimes leave a black streak down their faces, even darker than their ebony countenances!

The new discovery did away with all this trouble. I was quick to see this, and in one of my trips to the tropics carried a camera and a stock of “dry plates.” Alas! I had too hastily adopted a crude invention. I climbed mountains, descended into craters of volcanoes, threaded tangled thickets, and penetrated to secluded valleys to photograph new scenes with my new instrument. Having perfect faith in the new invention, I did not test my plates with chemicals on the spot, but kept them till I returned, and then gave them to the photographer to manipulate. My carelessness was well rewarded, for of the nearly one hundred plates, not one contained a perfect picture. I was in a condition then to sympathize with the great Audubon, who had a trunk full of drawings, the result of a year’s labor, destroyed by mice.

Unlike him, I had not a sufficiently powerful incentive to repeat my travels, and the anticipated pictures were gone forever. Nothing daunted, I next year procured another machine and tried again, this time in Mexico. In that year the inventor had not been idle, and I informed myself upon the merits of his invention so that my results at the end of the journey were such as greatly pleased me and my friends; for from the plates of glass exposed to light in the camera flashed out fac-similes of strange idols of stone, grand old ruins, snow-capped volcanoes, valleys almost hid in dense vegetation, palms, tropical plants, and the picturesque features of that strange country.

But, without further preface, let me tell you how you may take pictures this summer without any of the hindrances that I had to encounter in my first attempts.

The first thing needed is a camera, which in its simplest form is a darkened box, with a lens in front, through which the scene is focused upon a plate in its back—a plate of glass prepared with chemicals so that its surface is sensitive to the light admitted through the lens.

A few seconds of time is generally sufficient for the transmission of an impression to this plate, and before and after that “exposure” it must be kept away from all light until the “latent image”—the picture we cannot yet see—has been brought out and “fixed” by means of chemicals. This forms the “negative,” which is to the finished photograph what an engraved block is to the engraving on paper. To obtain this negative is your first object; having got this, you may produce from it as many prints as you like, at very little cost, either by taking it to a photographer, or by continuing the process and printing them yourself.

While there are several instruments in the market with which the negative can be taken, most of them are so costly as to be beyond the reach of a boy or a girl with a limited supply of pocket money for a vacation trip; hence I shall choose one that is not only very cheap, but which I know by experiment will perform the work for which it is intended. It is the invention of a young man who has a practical knowledge of photography, and is called the “tourograph.”

At first sight it is a small mahogany box, eight by ten inches broad, with a strap by which one can carry it. But by pulling out a slide in front a lens is revealed; and by drawing out another slide on the top an inner box is shown full of negative plates. This smaller box is fitted in position on top of the larger one, so that the plates, one at a time, can be dropped into a carrying-rack turned by a screw, in the dark chamber below. This plate having been placed in focus, the lens is uncapped for a few seconds, then recapped, and the glass is returned to the box above, where it is kept till evening, or until a favorable time for development. In this way all the plates—eight or ten—in the box may be exposed, and their places filled with fresh ones later on.

The camera is supported upon a tripod, or three-legged stick, which can be closed up until not much larger than an alpenstock.

This is the outline of the mechanical operation necessary to secure the negative. The plates, being ready prepared and packed in little boxes of a dozen each, are transferred to the camera at night, or in a dark room by day, by the aid of a red light. This is obtained by placing a roll of red or orange-colored paper—made expressly for this purpose—around a lamp or candle, as the light that shines through a medium of this color is non-actinic, or without the power to produce chemical change in the very sensitive plates. You now have a plate with a latent image of the picture you desire to retain; this plate must pass through a chemical operation before that image will appear.

Imagine yourself in a darkened room illuminated only by the red light, with a plate in your hand on which you fondly hope there is a duplicate of the scene before which you had set up the instrument. To all appearances it is a plate of plain glass, one side covered with a film of gelatine, and if you hold it to the light nothing appears to indicate the change that has taken place in that film since it was exposed to the light. The question is, how to bring that picture out from its hiding-place. First, you must have a shallow pan at hand, and place yourself near a good supply of water. Into the pan you pour the chemicals previously mixed, necessary for the development or bringing out of the hidden image. These chemicals are, oxalate of potash and protosulphate of iron. To simplify matters, the inventor of the tourograph puts up these chemicals in papers, so that you only have to put into four ounces, or a gill, of water[D] one paper of the potash and another of iron; mix well, and the solution is ready for the plate. This must be placed in the tray with the film side up, and the solution flowed over it. When completely covered, let it remain, and carefully watch the development.

This is the period of greatest anxiety for the young operator, for it is the critical stage of the proceedings. A few seconds will determine whether you have a picture before you, or merely a square of plain glass. Gradually the details unfold themselves: the “high lights” or white portions first, then the “half tones” or grades of shadow, then the deeper shades of foliage or objects feebly lighted. When the view has come out distinct, seems to progress no farther and to gradually fade away to a deep brown, you have got out all it is possible to obtain from that exposure, and the plate must be removed from the solution, and chemical action arrested by washing in clear water.

Now you have before you tangible evidence of success, but your picture is not complete; it is dull, perhaps obscure, and if exposed to the light of day would quickly vanish. It must now fixed in another solution and in another dish. The “fixing solution” is made by dissolving half an ounce of hyposulphite of soda in five or six ounces of water. Into this place the developed plate, and allow it to remain until all the whitish film is dissolved away. If both operations are faithfully performed you will have, on taking the plate from the solution and holding it to the light, a brilliant picture on glass—the negative—with all the lights and shadows reversed, the white portions quite opaque, and the dark parts almost transparent.

Now wash very thoroughly in clear water, beneath a tap if possible, or by pouring a gentle stream over the glass for a few minutes, in order to remove every trace of superfluous chemical substance that might work injury. As a precaution against the possible peeling of the film, it is well to dip the negative in a strong solution of alum and water, then wash again, and set up to dry in a slanting position, with the film side next the wall. When perfectly dry a coat of photographic varnish, furnished with the chemicals, is flowed over the coated side of the glass, and the impression is securely fixed, ready for use in printing. Having secured the negative, your object is virtually attained: the possession of a souvenir of a vacation ramble, a favorite view, or of a picturesque camping-place. If it were my negative, I should take it to some good photographer, and let him prepare from it the prints I wanted, as that expense is small, and involves a good deal of labor for the amateur. But I suppose my readers will wish—as I did years ago—to see the whole process, and to make their own prints or paper pictures.

PRINTING FROM THE NEGATIVE.

White paper coated with albumen is made sensitive to light by being floated upon a solution of chloride of silver in water; and this, when dry, is placed against the negative and exposed to the sun. In this way, by pressing the silvered surface of the paper against the film side of the negative, a duplicate impression of the picture on the glass is transferred to the paper. This may be repeated with other pieces of paper any number of times, until hundreds are obtained from the same negative. Instead of attempting to prepare the paper yourself, it would be better to purchase it already sensitized, which you can do of any dealer in photographic goods. A printing-frame, or grooved block with a spring back, is used in printing. After having placed it with the negative and paper in the sun, watch carefully. By removing the frame and retiring to a dark corner, you can examine the paper by unspringing one-half the back at a time, and thus print to the degree desired. It is best to print a little darker than it is designed to have the print when finished, as it will bleach a little in the subsequent process of toning. This toning operation, as well as the cutting up of the paper, the placing of it on the negative and removing it, should be performed in a darkened room. When a sufficient number of prints are done, trim them the size they are to be when finished, wash in two or three changes of water, and then place in the “toning bath,” made as follows: Chloride of gold one grain, water ten ounces, saturated solution of bread soda three or four drops. This will change them to a deep bluish or purple color, and gives them that lovely tint we admire in fine photographs.

The chloride of gold is sent in solution, as well as the soda, so that you have but to follow the printed directions accompanying them, putting a certain quantity of each in the water, and your toning bath is at once prepared.

After toning for a few minutes, remove the prints, and place in another dish containing an ounce of hyposulphite of soda dissolved in a pint of water; allow them to remain ten minutes, and then remove and wash an hour or more in water—running water if possible—constantly changing the water and moving the prints about. Then dry your prints and the completed picture is before you, ready for mounting on a card, or pasting in an album.[E] If you wish to obtain merely a “proof,” or a fair print, without the delicacy of shading and tone of the silver print, you can do this with “blue paper,” by simply exposing this prepared paper beneath the negative, and washing and drying without any further toning or fixing.

These, in brief, are the various processes necessary for procuring a photographic print; but, as I have already remarked, the negative being your main object, it would be much better to rest content with securing that, and depend upon some photographer to give you the paper impressions.

To recapitulate: For a short trip, fully equipped for taking photographs, we shall need the following:—

In round numbers, for $20.00 you can be fully prepared to set up for yourself as an amateur photographer, and after many trials, with diligence and perseverance, can hope to secure photographs of scenery, interiors, and even portraits, that will compare favorably with the work of professional artists. The above is such an outfit—except that I had a larger camera and larger stock of plates—as I have carried to the West Indies and to Mexico.

Since my return, however, I find that my friend, the inventor, has produced yet another instrument, which he calls his “pocket camera,” which folds up into a small package but one inch and a half in thickness, and weighs but twenty-four ounces. This is so constructed that double plate-holders, each containing two dry plates, form the top, sides and back of the camera, and the entire outfit for the taking of eight negatives, sold for ten dollars.

It is only fair to state that other apparatus and outfits can be purchased at rates almost equally low, notably those of the Scovill Manufacturing Company, of New York, who furnish complete equipments from ten dollars up. While I recognize the excellence of these articles, I have selected the “tourograph,” as being something with which I have experimented, and likely, from its simplicity, to meet the wants of beginners.

Since the expense is reduced to so reasonable a sum, and the road is made so easy that any one can travel it, what boy or girl will be deterred from entering this fascinating domain of photography?

If you can secure some old room in the garret, or in some unused corner, cover the window with yellow or orange paper, excluding all other light, and take to it such simple chemicals and apparatus as I have indicated, then what a delightful world for experiment and research is opened to you!

The mysteries of photography; how the subtle changes are wrought by the potent salts and acids, under the influence of the sun, I cannot explain now. But following the outline I have sketched, the rest will appear as you get interested, and you will gain an insight into wonders hitherto unrevealed, and enjoy sensations to which the boys and girls of past generations have been strangers.