Nationalist troops in a trench, Dadaos at the ready. Photo was probably taken sometime in the 1930s.

Rediscovering the Dadao: A Forgotten Legacy of the Chinese Martial Arts.

Any review of the history of the Chinese martial arts in the 20^th century will quickly suggest that these civilian art forms have, at various points, been co-opted and used to advance the aims of the state.  Both the Nationalist (GMD) “Guoshu” program and the later Communist (CCP) “Wushu” movement sought to use the martial arts to strengthen the people, improve public health and build a sense of nationalism.  However, these movements have also had a darker side.  In times of conflict both national and local leaders have used them to militarize the population, supporting paramilitary organizations and guerrilla forces.  These activities were widespread during both Second Sino-Japanese War (WWII from an American perspective) and the long running Chinese Civil War.  Some martial arts schools, such as the Foshan Hung Sing Association (which was closely aligned with the CCP during the 1920s and 1930s) continue to promote and glorify these stories today.

Nowhere is the association between the martial arts and the militarization of the population more evident than in the creation of “Dadao Teams” between the 1920s and the 1940s.  Receiving a contract to train one of these organizations on behalf of a political party, or other organization, was a major source of pride and an important form of economic patronage for civilian martial artists.  In southern China (my own geographic area of expertise) leaders in the Hung Gar, Choy Li Fut and Pakmei styles (among others) were all actively engaged in training of citizen militias which were subsequently embroiled in a number of conflicts.

It goes without saying that a truly effective militia would have to be armed with modern rifles.  However, the weapon that most captured the public’s imagination, becoming the defacto symbol of the paramilitary organization during this period, was the Dadao.  This blade caught the mood of the country for many reasons.  It harkened back to a romanticized view of the past, and it advertised the “martial skill” and attainment of the one who could wield it.  It was a visually impressive weapon and had a long association with the less pleasant aspects of Chinese law enforcement.  In fact, the Dadao was often an implement of terror.

This is the critical aspect of this weapon that is so often overlooked by modern martial artists with romantic notions about the past.  Individuals often wonder why Chinese troops were issued a cumbersome bladed weapon as late as the 1930s.  Surely this would be ineffective against Japanese machine guns and artillery?

China’s military officers were often poorly equipped and stretched to the limit, but they were not stupid.  They realized that the Dadao would have limited value on the modern battlefield.  Yet much of China’s brutal civil war revolved around capturing, controlling and projecting authority into villages and urban areas.  The Dadao proved to be an effective means of producing terror, and therefore compliance, within the civilian population.

The weapon had another advantage as well.  It could be produced very cheaply in almost any small shop or forge in the country.  China was certainly capable of producing modern weapons (though admittedly their quality was variable).  But it was still cheaper to arm the home guards, militias and second line troops with traditional weapons such as the spear and the Dadao.  These troops often receive the rudimentary training they needed from local martial artists, and while they were not effective on the battlefield, they could be a useful resource when it came to the more mundane tasks of maintaining order and dealing with traitors.  It was these two factors, the cheapness of the Dadao as a second line weapon, and the terror that it inspired as a tool of public control, that ensured the weapon’s survival well into the mid-20^th century.

Currently the Dadao is enjoying something of a revival among students of the Chinese martial artis.  The growing sense of nationalism within mainland China, and increased curiosity about history in the West, are conspiring to bring the Dadao back into the training hall after a nearly half century absence.  The recent uptick in the popularity of “realistic” weapons training also seems to be accelerating this general trend.  Further, it was so popular in the 1920s and 1930s that there are many different styles of use just waiting to be “discovered” and reconstructed.

Both practical and historical students of the Chinese martial arts might benefit from a brief description of these weapons as they actually existed and were used from the closing years of the Qing dynasty through the end of WWII.  We are also fortunate in that this period is extensively documented.  This provides us with the sorts of photographs and accounts that students of earlier periods of martial history can only wish for.  All of this makes the sudden rise and fall of the Dadao a good case study for change and adaptation within the Chinese martial arts more generally.

One could easily write a book on the Dadao and what it reveals about the evolution of the Chinese martial arts and their ever evolving relationship with society.  Clearly such a project is beyond the scope of this article.  Instead I hope to use a number of historically important pictures to suggest the basic outline of this story.  A more comprehensive treatment will have to wait for a later date.

However, there are number of outstanding issues that must be addressed before we can undertake even a brief review.  First, there is little consensus as to how to best translate “Dadao” into English.  The character used for “Da” means “big” or “large.”  “Dao” translates to “single edged knife.”  Unfortunately “Dao” does not imply anything about the length of the knife in question or its intended purpose.  A paring knife or a cavalry saber can both be referred to with this same term in Chinese.

This causes confusion when students of the Chinese martial arts speak in English with non-specialists.  They are often adamant that a Chinese military saber should be called a “knife”, which is technically correct in Chinese, but is absurd in English.  A literal translation for Dadao would be “big knife.”  Yet when talking about a weapon that might be three feet long and requires two hands to wield, such a rendering seems calculated to cause confusion.

Some martial arts teachers refer to the Dadao as the “military machete.”  While this does not attempt to be an exact translation of anything it does provide the reader with a basic visual image of what is being discussed.  The broad blade of the Dadao does (to some degree) resemble the short broad blade of a jungle machete.  It is also the sort of tool that one might expect military troops to carry.

Still, there are problems with this translation.  It implies that the Dadao might be a tool with some sort of practical application.  I suspect that this is mistaken.  I have never run across an account that indicates that these weapons were useful “camp tools” in the same way that a kukri or a machete might be.  The Dadao is a purpose-built chopper.  The blade of the machete is thin and flat to cut vegetation without resistance.  Most Dadaos have a much heavier blade with a triangular profile.  They are really only good for hacking through flesh and bone. The heft of the weapon is distinctively ax-like.

For all of these reasons I favor translating Dadao as the “military big-saber.”  This should be enough to convey that we are dealing with a single edged weapon that differs from other, more conventional sabers.  It also has the added advantage of being a somewhat popular solution to our linguistic quandary.

Our second problem has to do with the photos below.  I gathered most of these off the internet and while I have spent a couple of hours trying to figure out where they were originally published, that has not always been possible.  The circular republication of vintage material with no attribution of its ultimate origin is a problem in a lot of the Chinese language literature on the martial arts.  If any reader has firm information about the origins of an unlabeled photo, please let me know in the comments.  I am currently trying to collect this information.

Origins of the Dadao

Our first puzzle has to do with the early development and adoption of the Dadao.  While 20^th century examples of these weapons are quite common, very few examples can be reliably dated to the early Qing dynasty.  This is odd as Qing military regulations dictated that a number of these swords should be issued to every unit, but evidently they did not survive in great numbers.  Occasionally weapons turn up on the antique market with very early dates or are even attributed to the “Ming era.”  Great caution is required as few swords from the Ming period have survived at all and I don’t think I have ever seen a Military Big-Saber that dates to this period.

Still, one school of thought basically holds that the modern 20th century Dadao is a resurrection, or a re-imagination, of a classic Ming era weapon.  While similar weapons seem to have become less fashionable during the early Qing (though regulations did exist for its use in the army), stories of the Ming dynasty and the exploits of its heroes became quite popular in the 19^th century.  When republished these stories were often illustrated with copies of Ming era illustrations, or with new images of heroes dressed in Ming style cloths with antique weapons.  Their swords often featured ring shaped pommels and clip point blades.  In fact, many of the same fashion styles were preserved in both Mandarin and Cantonese theater companies so people were fairly familiar with them.

A Ming era publication that shows images of Dadao like swords. Images of these swords were probably popular in period publications because of their dramatic blades.

The end result of all of this is that the image and the lore of the Dadao was easily available for anyone seeking to resurrect the glory days of China’s martial past.  It was occasionally seen in the official military, and it was often featured in stories and popular fiction.  Further, the simple blade and ring pommel design would have been fairly easy to produce compared to the more complex dao’s of the mid-Qing.  Such swords were often favored by the various “Big Sword” militia groups that became increasingly common from the end to the Taiping Rebellion onward.  The arms of these groups carried romantic associations with the past and often included the ringed pommels.  However, they featured a wide variety of blade types from long sabers to short heavy choppers.  While the idea of the “Big Sword” was a common symbol in 19th peasant militias, I haven’t seen much evidence to indicate that they standardized on any one weapon in particular.

A second theory is that the modern Dadao actually has little to do with its ancient predecessors or weapons used by the Imperial military.  There is at least some evidence to support the assertion that a Dadao is basically an enlarged and modified farm tool.  This would hardly be the first time that a farm implement found its way onto the battlefield.  The Nepalese kukri was an agricultural tool long before it was used by the British Gurkha’s in WWI.  It might also help to explain why Chinese smiths often made the blades of the Dadao shorter than one might expect for a weapon.  They may have had some other pattern in mind when doing their work.

If you look at antique farm implements, or even wander around a traditional food market in Hong Kong or Shanghai, you will see lots of chopping knives that look like scaled down versions of a Dadao.  Often these seem to be favored by vendors selling tough skinned fruits or vegetables.  Butchers simply use the traditional cleaver.  Still, while similar in shape and function, there is a world of difference between the Dadao and a “watermelon knife.”

A third suggestion that I have seen offered is that the Qing era civilian Dadao is really a modified pole weapon.  The Chinese military traditionally employed a number of pole-mounted choppers, and the blades of these weapons resemble the basic size and profile of a Dadao.  The type of riveted handle seen on many Dadaos is also very similar to the long riveted tang that is preferred in the construction of large heavy choppers.  The handles of normal sabers or “Daos” are peaned in place, rather than riveted.

This theory may have something to it.  In antique auctions I have personally seen Dadaos constructed from much older pole mounted choppers whose shafts had been lost or broken.  This sort of recycling was pretty common on the “Rivers and Lakes” of China.  Further, for reasons that we will explore below, there are no standard measurements for what a “regulation” Dadao must be.  This is not say that various self-appointed experts did not have opinions on the matter.  They certainly did.  Yet seems that few manufactures were actually listening all that closely.  For instance, some examples being made up through the mid 20^th century continued to have very long handles.  It is not always clear whether a given weapon should be classified as a Dadao (Military Big-Saber) or Pudao (Horse Cutting Knife).

At the moment I do not feel that there is enough evidence to speak decisively on the evolution of the Dadao and its subsequent adoption by civilian martial artists.  What we do know is that the coming of the Qing Imperial army privileged the conventional saber as it could be used from horseback whereas the two handed Dadao is strictly an infantry weapon.  While the heavy chopper seems to have faded from public consciousness it never totally disappeared and it’s popularity among civilian martial artists, bandits, guards and paramilitary organizations exploded during the final decades of the 19^th century.  This resurgence in popularity was further boosted in the 1920s and 1930s.

These groups were likely attracted to the Dadao for three reasons.  First it provided a visual connection to the romanticized Ming dynasty.  Second, it was a simple weapon that could be produced practically anywhere.  Lastly, being a double handed weapon individuals who had grown up using farm tools (and that was pretty much everyone in China) could master it relatively quickly.  What it lacked in range or sophistication it made up for with its immense slashing and chopping power.

The Dadao as an Instrument of Police Control in Late Imperial and Republican China.

Modern researchers and collectors are fortunate in that we have copies of the official regulations governing weapons bought by the Qing government for the imperial armies.

While the single handed saber was clearly the preferred weapon, enough period choppers survive to attest their use in the Qing army.  These weapons came in two official varieties.  The “kuanren dadao” is a very large weapon, more on the scale of a horse knife.  The Qing-era “chuanweidao” is smaller and shows more similarities to the modern Dadao.

Period photographs give us a good visual record of how these swords were actually being used by the end of the Qing dynasty.  Not many photos of Qing era troops armed with any sort of sword at all survive from the final decades of the dynasty.  From the end of the Taiping rebellion on, all main-line Qing troops had modern rifles.  By the time of the Boxer Uprising they also had modern machine guns and artillery.  Officers continued to carry swords, but increasingly even these followed European patterns.

The one place where the Dadao really seems to have survived was in law enforcement.  Specifically, public executions and beheadings were often carried out with the dadao or some sort of similar, often very short, chopping blade.

The picture below records two executioners displaying their weapons prior to the public beheading of the perpetrators of the 1895 “Kucheng Massacre.”  This is an important photo for a number of reasons.  To begin with it has a clear provenance and is linked to specific, date, place and historical incident.

Executioners of the perpetrators of the Kucheng Massacre, 1895. USC Digital Collections.

The weapons being displayed are also quite interesting.  The gentleman on the left has what appears to be a fine Japanese Tachi.  Note that the flash from the camera has illuminated a section of active hamon at the base of the blade.  One can only wonder how this sword ended up in the arsenal of the local yamen.  It is a good reminder that the Chinese have been very interested in Japanese swords since at least the Ming.

The other executioner carries a short, heavy bladed chopper.  It has a simple guard and the handle, almost as long as the blade, is wrapped in cotton cloth (probably colored red).  The blade looks too small for its intended task, yet execution swords were often not much longer than this.

An executioner displaying a pile of heads along with his weapon. Note that the sword is a short heavy “jian” (double edged sword) rather than a Dadao. It should be remembered that executions were carried out with a variety of tools. Very often these are shorter than one would expect, but apparently that did not impede their efficiency. This particular photo probably dates to the 1920s and was published on period ephemera. It can sometimes be found on vintage postcards and stereoscope slides.

The Dadao was also seen in urban police and law enforcement units.  Chinese governments worked hard to establish modern law enforcement in the major urban areas between 1900 and 1930.  Some of these reform efforts drew on western ideas of “scientific” criminology and law enforcement, others did not.  Very often 3-4 different types of law enforcement might be operating in a major city at one time.  For instance, there might be a model western style police force under the control of one office, a group of plain cloths detectives (who were expected to be close to, or even part of, the criminal underground) who answered to a different office and lastly there were usually patrols of military police to maintain “public order” in the street.  In cities such as Shanghai the situation could be even more complex.

A Qing era police patrol. Note the mix of both modern rifles and a Dadao, used for executions.  This photo was a popular subject for reproduction and can sometimes be found on vintage postcards.

For much of the early 20^th century it was the “military police” that one would most likely see in public spaces.  Under both the Qing and Republic governments these individuals were normally regular infantry soldiers who were assigned to the task.  Often soldiers from a different part of China were chosen to be law enforcement officers as it was thought (usually incorrectly) that linguistic difficulties and regional animosities would make them less susceptible to local corruption.

These police officers would generally travel in small groups of between 4-6 individuals.  They might include an officer or a Sargent who acted as the leader, 2-3 individuals who could apprehend criminals, and an executioner.  Individuals who were caught stealing or causing disorder in the market place would be apprehended, bound and usually beheaded in the middle of the street after a very brief “trial.”

It is important to realize that early 20^th century China was a highly volatile place.  The government, whether run by the Qing, the Republic or individual Warlords, attempted to keep the population in check through what amounted to a continuing campaign of public terror.  This is how the Dadao was first seen by most of China’s citizens.  It was the living embodiment of the state’s monopoly on legitimate violence.

Nationalist soldier executing a member of the Guangzhou Commune, 1927.

Dadaos in the Republic of China and Warlord armies of the 1920s-1930s.

One cannot underestimate how strong these symbols are or how deeply engrained they become in the public psyche.  The situation in China was complicated by the fact that large parts of the nation’s leadership and population did not agree on who held actual political authority and the rights to exercise public violence that went with it.  As a result Nationalist (GMD) revolutionaries were quick to adopt the Dadao as a tool of public law and order after they succeeded the Qing.  They too employed military police and the display of the Dadao left the public in no doubt as to who could claim rightful control of the state.

An early image of an unknown group of soldiers, all armed with very long handled Dadaos. Probably 1920s.

Nor were they the only group to realize the political utility in the Dadao.  Bandit gangs and armies in the central plains and western China had long valued the Dadao for its more practical attributes.  As these gangs were gathered into the various “Warlord Armies” they took the Dadao with them.  Even though they were now armed with rifles, handguns and grenades, the Dadao remained a powerful symbol of both the personal and corporate “will to power.”

Member of a northern Warlord Army displays his Mauser handgun and Dadao. This picture probably dates to the 1920s.

A commonly republished photo showing nationalist soldiers in ranks all carrying Dadaos. Date unknown, probably 1930s.

It is worth remembering that a variety of blades were carried by Chinese troops between 1920 and 1945. Not even all “Big Sword” units were issued Dadao. This photograph shows the 8th March Army displaying a different style of double handed saber in 1933.

It was the soldiers of these western armies that would bring the Dadao to the attention of the wider world through their desperate attempts to defend the Great Wall against Japanese advances in 1933, and then the “Marco Pillar Bridge Incident” where they defeated a superior Japanese force using a Dadao charge in 1937.  In their hands the Dadao became a dual symbol to the outside world.  It represented the fact that the Chinese people were willing to fight for their own freedom (something that was often doubted in the West), but it also encapsulated and reinforced nearly a century’s worth of fears and prejudices.  The personal nature of this weapon seemed to suggest that the Chinese reveled in violence and brutality, and were still “less than civilized.”  In China public executions and the Dadao acted as a twin symbolic code for “political authority” and “legitimacy.” Unfortunately these symbols did not translate well in the more liberal west.

An American trading card from the 1938 “Horrors of War” series. This image was labeled “Chinese ‘Big Sword’ Corps Resist the Japanese.” Author’s personal collection.

The domestic situation in China was different.  If anything the importance of the Dadao as both a practical and symbolic weapon increased as the 1920s turned to the 1930s.  After the rupture with the Nationalist Party (GMD), and the subsequent outbreak of violence with the Japanese, the CCP began to form larger militia units.  These groups were expected to both fight the GMD and the Japanese, as well as to pacify and hold segments of the country side.  Once again, the Dadao was a featured weapon in their arsenal.

Other paramilitary groups, such as railway police units, were also quick to adopt the Dadao during this period.  As a matter of fact, it is among these other troops that the Dadao is most commonly encountered.  I have looked through enough photos of military units during the Republic of China period to conclude that the Dadao was actually rarely encountered among front-line infantry troops.  While there certainly were “Big Sword Teams” within the main body of the Nationalist Army, they were an exception rather than the rule.  Most often such swords are seen in the hands of special forces troops, military police, local militia, paramilitary revolutionaries and railway guards.  All of these groups were more likely to deal with the domestic population than the Japanese.

One of the most famous images of a Chinese soldier with a Dadao. Originally published as a postcard, the individual in this image is actually a railway guard.

The Dadao as a Paramilitary and Militia Weapon

Selection bias is an issue that every military historian must confront.  There are a handful of photographs and historical accounts of the Dadao’s use by Republic of China (ROC) troops which have had a disproportionate impact on how we imagine the weapon in the west today.   In reality most troops in the various ROC armies were not organized into “Big Sword Teams” and we are still talking about the “Marco Polo Bridge Incident” because such events are so rare.  In fact, the story of this supposed triumph is really a very sad tale.  If the Chinese troops had been better armed, reinforced and had more ammunition they would not have been forced to close with the Japanese and engage them with swords and bayonets in the first place.  It is hard to imagine that there were really any commanders in the war hardened Chinese army of the 1930s or 1940s that actually wanted to engage the enemy with a sword charge.

Militia and paramilitary groups were in a different situation.  These were basically local support troops.  Their job was usually to secure rear areas and maintain order in the countryside.  They were not expected to act as front-line troops.  As we have already seen, the Dadao had a long and respected relationship with “law and order.”  While the modern collectors like to focus on the “Marco Polo Bridge Incident,” the actual truth is that these swords were much more likely to be used in the commission of “police actions” or (war crimes, depending on one’s perspective) than anything else.  For that purpose they proved quite effective.

They were also favored by militias for a number of other reasons.  While Mauser rifles were cheap enough that warlord armies and criminal gangs could buy them by the crate, the same could not be said of local militia.  These small groups were often comprised of struggling farmers just trying to get enough to eat and feed their families.  Modern rifles and large stocks of ammunition were often not an option for militia groups.

Members of a local militia outside of Guangzhou assembling in the summer of 1938. Note the mix of modern and traditional weapons.  The Dadao can be seen leaning against the tree. Photo by Robert Cappa.

As a result, both spears and Dadaos tended to be frequently seen in peasant groups and revolutionary societies.  These weapons could be quickly produced by any local smith, and they often helped to augment the few modern rifles that were laying around the village.  In this sort of landscape the Dadao was still a very effective weapon.  The Dadao also had a certain cache in peasant circles as it harkened back to the “Big-Sword” militias of the 19th century and the vast body of folklore that surrounds them.

A local militia armed with spears outside of Guangzhou, 1938.  Photo by Robert Cappa.

Swords were also favored by the martial arts teachers who often served as instructors of militia groups or other civilian paramilitary organizations.  Most Chinese martial arts had sword forms in their repertoire and these could be simplified to fit the Dadao.  Further, as a two handed chopping weapon it was not totally unfamiliar to the peasant troops who were asked to use it.

In southern China Cheung Lai Chuen, the founder of Pakmei (White Eyebrow) gained local fame by training a civilian “Big Sword Team” at the local Guoshu Institute in Guangdong during the 1930s.  Of course Cheung was closely allied with the GMD.  The leaders of the Foshan Hung Sing Association (formally closed by the Nationalists in 1927) returned to the area from Hong Kong in the late 1930s to train a Communist militia force.

If anything the Dadao was even more popular with martial artists in the north.  In 1933 Yin Yu Zhan (an important Bagua teacher, his name is also rendered Jin En-Zhong) published a manual titled Slashing Saber Practice (Shi yong Da Dao Shu).  This work is interesting because it not only discusses practical techniques for using the Dadao that may date to the late 19^th century, but because the author takes the time to briefly discuss the role of the Dadao in recent Chinese military history.  He notes a number of battles in the first Sino-Japanese war (1894-1895)  in which this weapon was used effectively, and claims that when properly understood it still had a place on China’s modern battlefield.

Yin Yu Zhan. Illustration from Slashing Saber Practice, 1933. Kennedy and Guo provide a detailed discussion of his publications in their volume, Chinese Martial Arts Training Manuals, 2005.  According to Yin Yu Zhan the ideal Dadao is 35 inches long and 3.5 pounds.

In the hands of teachers like Cheung Lai Chuen and Yin Yu Zhan the image of the Dadao was transformed once again.  More specifically, it was democratized.  What had once been a sign of state authority was devolved to the individual citizen who, through training and hard work, could now “defend the nation.”

For martial artists the Dadao and the bayonet became very visible symbols of the place of traditional hand combat in the modern world.  They were concrete reminders that could be pointed to every time the “May 4^th Reformers” began to complain about how there was no place for an activity as “backwards” and “superstitious” as boxing in modern China.  Not only could the martial arts still exist, they were desperately needed by both the state and local government as they attempted to raise militias and paramilitary groups.

William Acevedo was kind enough to send me a copy of this picture where the banner being held in the foreground is now legible. Thanks so much! “Guangdong Province Women Teachers sends the 29th Army relief goods.” Thanks goes to my brother Sam in HK for a quick translation.

Members of an all-female militia armed with Dadaos.  I am currently looking for any information about the date or origin of this photo.  Please contact me if you know where the original was published.

This democratization of violence extended beyond just weaponry.  During the 1920s women started to make great strides towards equality in modern Chinese life.  Nowhere was this more evident than in the Jingwu Society, a national martial arts organization from Shanghai that accepted female members on equal terms.  The later state sponsored Guoshu movement also promoted female martial artists, though more grudgingly.

In the 1930s all female militia groups and paramilitary auxiliaries were created.  These women often received some rudimentary training and were occasionally armed with the venerable Dadao.  It was not practical to arm them with rifles, and machine pistols were often too valuable.   For auxiliary organizations serving in rear areas, the Dadao once again proved to be the perfect weapon.

It is also interesting to note how seriously many of these women took their training and arms.  Many decades after the end of hostilities, civilian descendants of some of these original militia groups still practice with the Dadao in Taiwan.  This is a fascinating artifact of the weapon’s rich association with Chinese life in the mid-20^th century.

Women holding Dadaos.  William Acevedo has informed me that they may have raised the money to pay for a shipment of weapons are are posing with some of the swords in the above picture prior to their donation.  If anyone else has more information of this photo (or a better copy of it) I would like to hear from you.

Here are the same four women with officers from the 29th army. Note the soldier in the left side of the picture holding a Dadao at attention. Source: William Acevedo. This photo is part of the memorial at Xifengkou, ca. 1933.

Collecting Antique and Vintage Dadaos

The last section of this article addresses the Dadao as a physical object.  As a general rule antique Chinese swords are difficult to collect.  Authentic examples are rarely exported from China (which strictly controls the trade in antiques) and the few that are for sale in the west often sell for thousands of dollars.  Many of the swords that are for sale out of China are either partial or complete fakes.  While other countries may have a “cottage industry” in the production of doctored weaponry, the Chinese antique market mass produces fakes on an almost mind-boggling scale.  If you go to eBay and type in “antique Chinese sword” almost everything you see from China (maybe 98%) will be a fake.

As a result, most students of Chinese martial studies and the Chinese martial arts have never actually held a genuine example of the weapons that they write about or train to use.  This is a less than satisfactory situation.  I strongly believe that a familiarity with actual historic weapons is a needed antidote to many of the myths that are commonly circulated in both historic and practical circles.

Dadaos are interesting in this regard as they occasionally appear on the antique market at reasonable prices.  They are not antiques and can be exported from China.  Hundreds of thousands (if not millions) of these weapons were made during the 20^th century, making them quite a bit more common than Qing-era regulation sabers.

Fakes, often of poor quality, are still a problem.  This is ironic as occasionally one can buy an authentic Dadao for less than a fake copy.  If you are thinking about buying a Dadao do your research.  Visit electronic forums with a community of experienced collectors and familiarize yourself with vendors who sell legitimate artifacts.  And remember, everyone in the collecting world gets burned at least once.

Two mid-20th century Dadaos from the author’s personal collection. Photo Credit: Tara Judkins.

Pictured above are two examples of Military Big-Sabers from my own collection.  One of these swords was bought from an antique dealer in the US and the other from a trusted source in China.  It is evident from the degree of corrosion on the blades that both date back to at least the mid-20^th century, but it is impossible to say too much more.  So many different swords were made by so many different shops that it is nearly impossible to guess at the origin of a blade from its style.

While almost identical in length this pair of swords nicely illustrates the immense variability that one sees in the military Dadao.

Top

• Total Length:              79 cm
• Blade Length:             53 cm
• Handle:                       20 cm
• Blade Depth:               7 cm
• Width at Spine:           7 mm
• Weight:                       1210 grams
• Point of Balance:        20 cm ahead of the base of the blade.

Bottom

• Total Length:              79 cm
• Blade Length:             56 cm
• Handle:                       16 cm
• Blade Depth:               6 cm
• Width at Spine:           7 mm
• Weight:                       938 grams
• Point of Balance:        14 cm ahead of the base of the blade.

Both blades are identical in length, but the similarities end there.  The top Dadao is a heavy chopper.  The blade has a thick spine that does not taper as it approaches the tip.  The blade also has a simple straight ground v-shaped profile.  As a result the weapon feels heavy in the hands and it wants to fall forward when swung.  It takes two hands to wield this Dadao, which feels as much like an ax as anything else.

At one point in time the weapon probably had a simple sheet-metal guard which has since been damaged and removed.  Likewise it would have been issued with a wood handle held in place with two rivets.  The handle slabs have subsequently rotted away, which is common on vintage Dadaos (examples with good condition handles are rare and command a premium).  When new the hilt was likely wrapped with a cotton cord to improve the grip.

The bottom sword is a much more refined weapon.  While the same length it weighs less and is better balanced.  The blade is longer than the preceding example, but the width of the spine tapers dramatically after the first half of the blade.  This is a standard sword forging technique and it greatly improves the feel of the blade.  The blade is also slightly narrower and can easily be used with a single hand.  In fact, that is what any skilled swordsman would prefer to do.  However, the handle is still long enough to get a second hand on it for difficult cuts.

Some modern sources go to great lengths to disparage the quality of the Dadao.  The Nationalist Party did have trouble producing quality weapons, and the Communists gorillas forces were basically forced to use whatever they could get.  It would appear that this general reputation for shoddy construction has worn off on the Dadao as well.

Kennedy and Guo, in an otherwise good article on the Dadao in the Republic of China Army, characterize the physical construction of the Dadao as being too short, too light and too shoddy to strike fear into the heart of an enemy (“Bridges and Big Knives.” In Classical Fighting Arts Vol. 2 No. 14. pp. 55-60).  I have studied the Dadao for a number of years now and have handled dozens of examples, and I must say that I respectfully disagree with their overall assessment of this weapon.

“Chinese armies and railway men tore up their railways to prevent the Japanese from using them. Then the railway men carried away the steel rails and girders and welded them into big swords for soldiers and guerrillas to fight the enemy. This is a Chinese railway worker, member of a group of 60 railway workers who banded together to form a cooperative. They use blacksmith forges and bellows to melt and weld the steel rails, then hammer them into swords for use against the enemy.”
Late 1930s
Photographer: Agnes Smedley
Agnes Smedley Collection
Volume 38, MSS 122

While nowhere near the quality of a fine Katana, the average Dadao is very study.  Most of them appear to have been made to same standard as a robust piece of farming equipment.  That is not much of a surprise when you think about where most of these things were actually made or who used them.

Like any other tool, the Dadao was expected to be used in the field, day after day, and not break.  If that is your measure of “quality,” then the Dadao does quite well.  Especially when we remember that the Katana is a delicate weapon that requires a finely trained hand.  During WWII they did fail under battle field conditions, rather frequently.  While not elegant, the Dadao is clearly the more robust weapon.  When supplying a peasant army that toughness counts for a lot.

It is certainly true that some non heat-treated Dadaos, cut directly from thin sheet steel, exist.  Some have even ended up in museums (one of which was photographed by Kennedy and Guo).  In my experience these are the exception rather than the rule.  In fact, I suspect that many of these lighter weapons were actually produced for martial artists in the 1950s and 1960s when there was a general move towards more flexible, low quality blades.

The average Dadao from the 1920s-1940s had a heavy blade with a V-shaped profile that descends from a thick spine.  The body of the blade is usually mono-steel, though finely laminated examples do turn up.  I suspect that they are not more common only because no one bothers to polish and etch these swords.

Almost all period Dadaos that I have encountered have a high carbon steel edge inserted into the blade during the forging process and are differentially heat treated.   This may seem like an unexpected luxury on such a utilitarian object, but it was actually the standard way that all knives, and even scissors, were being produced in China by the 1930s.  That same very basic technology seems to have applied to the Dadao as well.

Clearly not everyone who produced Dadao’s was a trained blade-smith.  I rather suspect that most of these weapons were made by blacksmiths or in local machine shops.  As a result, some examples (like the one on top) lack details that you would expect to see on a sword blade.  Still, for a two handed chopper what they produced was more than sufficient.  If anything the top blade in the photo above is over-built.  It appears to embody the same construction ethos as an armored tank.  The weapon on the bottom is much more refined and it was probably made by someone who understood the art of sword construction.

Genuine Dadao’s are rarely elegant weapons.  Their proportions are never perfect, and many look as though they were carved from a block of steel with a dull chisel.  They came in many shapes and sizes.  Some had wood handles, others were bound only in cloth.  Most were issued without scabbards and were slung across the back with a length of cord.  A few others had nicely constructed leather coverings.  Many were issued in dull colors, but some sported eye-catching red handle wraps and flowing scarves.  All of this reflects the wide assortment of regular and paramilitary forces that employed these weapons for almost half a century.  This variety is one of the things that makes the Dadao such an interesting subject of study.

Modern martial artists may be more interested in the high quality reproductions of these weapons that are currently for sale.  Hanwei, Cold Steel and Kris Cutlery (among others) all offer their own versions of the Dadao that no doubt surpass the originals in terms of quality control and steel strength.  These blades, rather than vintage examples, should be the first choice for anyone interested in doing cutting or forms practice with a realistically weight weapon.  Obviously caution, common sense and formal training are the key to doing either activity safely.

Lastly, if you are interested in learning more about historical Dadao techniques, Yin Yu Zhan’s 1933 manual has been translated and republished by a group of historical fighting enthusiasts in Singapore.  You can find it here.

While only one example of the sorts of techniques that were popular in the 1930s, I think that this project serves as a model for future research.  Hopefully students of other styles will investigate and revive their own 20^thcentury Dadao fighting styles.  This weapon still has much to teach us about the modern history of the Chinese martial arts.

Undated photograph of a Chinese soldier and his Dadao.

Conclusion: The Dadao and the Creation of Citizen Soldiers in 20th Century China

The Dadao is one of the most iconic images to emerge from China during the first half of the 20th century.  It is strongly associated with the ideas of both “resistance” and “social order.”  It became a favorite weapon of martial artists, elite troops and local paramilitary organizations.  Far from being an anachronism, it actually seems to have embodied the spirit of the age.  Artists, poets and propagandists all found meaning in this simple weapon.

A public monument dedicated to Chinese soldiers who resisted the Japanese advance.

That meaning was not static.  It changed and evolved.  Civilian martial artists played a critical role in this process.  At the end of the Qing dynasty, the Dadao was a somewhat obscure infantry weapon in a rapidly modernizing army.  In the hands of law enforcement officers it became an instrument of “official terror” and a reminder of where authority and legitimacy in China’s rapidly changing landscape actually resided.  In this setting the Dadao represented the claims of centralized authority.  As a constantly displayed reminder of the vagaries of “official justice” it was feared as much as it was respected.
These claims did not go uncontested.  Warlord armies and bandit groups also made use of the Dadao.  However, it was the creation of numerous paramilitary groups and militias in the 1930s and 1940s that cemented the Dadao’s relationship with the modern Chinese martial arts and its place in the public imagination.

Martial arts instructors across China found that there was once again a practical demand for their services.  The Dadao could be produced locally and was easily adopted by a large number of different fighting styles.  In the hands of China’s martial artists this sword was transformed from an instrument of “official terror” to a symbol of community and personal empowerment.  The public image of this weapon was democratized in ways that are hard to imagine.  In fact, the images that these individuals created in the 1930s and the 1940s still effect how we think about the Chinese martial arts today.  While this has only been a brief introduction to the social history of the Dadao, I hope that it will inspire some of you to go out and research the subject more thoroughly.

Japanese soldiers carrying a trophy sword in Manchuria, 1932.

Ornately carved rosewood handles on a pair of 19th century hudiedao. This pair features both bat and floral motifs. The heavy brass handguards are shaped like bamboo and could easily be used as knuckle-dusters. Source: Authors personal collection.

Hudiedao, wu dip do, bat cham do, shuang dao, double short broadswords, butterfly swords……These weapons are known by literally dozens of different names in the various styles and lineages of the southern Chinese martial arts.  These schools can also be very particular about the exact knives that they favor.  Nevertheless, all of these weapons seem to follow the same basic guidelines.

The following article presents a brief investigation of the origin and use of these swords in the 19th century.  This research is far from the last word on the topic and is subject to future revision.  There is still a lot about the evolution of these weapons that we just do not understand, but hopefully this post will shed some light on the situation and suggest avenues for future research.  I would like to extend a special note of thanks to Swords and Antique Weapons for allowing me to use a number of wonderful photographs of hudiedao that have passed through their collection over the years.  It would have been very difficult to present anything approaching a complete survey of the subject without their assistance.

Introduction:  What do we really know about butterfly swords?

No weapon is more closely linked to the martial heritage of southern China than the hudiedao (Cantonese: wu dip do), commonly referred to in English as “butterfly swords.”  In the hands of Wing Chun practitioners such as Bruce Lee and Ip Man, these blades became both a symbol of martial attainment and a source of regional pride for a generation of young martial artists.

Nor are these blades restricted to a single style.  Choy Li Fut, Hung Gar, Lau Gar and White Crane (among numerous others) all have lineages that employ this weapon.  It is a widespread and distinctive cultural marker of the southern Chinese martial arts.

This is not to say that hudiedaos are not occasionally seen in other places.  They have been carried across China (and Asia) by the adventurous people of Guangdong and Fujian.  There are also a number of other fighting traditions which focus on paired swords, daggers or maces that are very reminiscent of the butterfly swords of southern China.  Still, there are distinctive elements of this regional tradition that make it both easily identifiable and interesting to study.

The following post offers a brief history of the hudiedao.  In attempting to reconstruct the origin and uses of this weapon I employ three types of data.  First, I rely on dated photographs and engravings with a clear provenance.  These images are important because they provide evidence as to what different weapons looked like and who carried them.

Secondly, I discuss a number of period (1820s-1880s) English language accounts to help socially situate these weapons.  These have been largely neglected by martial artists, yet they provide some of the earliest references that we have to the widespread use of butterfly swords or, as they are always called in the period literature, “double swords.”  While the authors of these accounts are sometimes hostile observers (e.g., British military officers), they often supply surprisingly detailed discussions of the swords, their methods of use and carry, and the wider social and military setting that they appeared in.  These first-hand accounts are gold mines of information for military historians.

Lastly, we will look at a number of surviving examples of hudiedao from modern private collections.  It is hard to really understand what these weapons were capable of (and hence the purpose of the various double sword fighting forms found in the southern Chinese martial arts) without handling them.  I think that modern martial artists expect both too much and too little from the hudiedao.  With a few exceptions, the modern reproductions of butterfly swords are either beautifully made a-historical “artifacts,” high tech simulacra of a type of weapon that never actually existed in 19^th century China, or cheaply made copies of practice gear that was never meant to be a “weapon” in the first place.  This second class of “weapon” sets the bar too low, yet it is nearly impossible for any flesh and blood sword to live up to the mythology and hype that surrounds modern butterfly swords, especially in Wing Chun circles.

Unfortunately period butterfly swords are hard to find and rather sought after by practicing martial artists and collectors around the world.  They are usually too expensive or difficult for most southern style kung fu students to actually study.  I hope that a detailed historical examination of these swords may help to fill in some of these gaps.  While there is no substitute for holding a weapon in one’s hands, a good historical overview should at least give us a much better idea of what sort of weapon we are attempting to emulate.  It will also teach us a little more about the milieu from which these blades emerged.

This last point is an important one.  Rarely do military historians or students of Chinese martial studies inquire about the social status or meaning of weapons.  This is a serious oversight.  As we have seen in our previous discussions of Republic era dadaos and military kukris, the social evolution of these weapons is often the most interesting and illuminating aspect of their story.  Who used the hudiedao?  How were they employed in combat? When were they first created, and what did they mean to the martial artists of southern China?

The short answer to these questions is that butterfly swords were popular with civilian martial artists in the 19^th century, and were never an official “regulation weapon” within the imperial Qing military.  Yet even that response obscures more about Chinese martial society than it reveals.  As Scott Phillips has argued, to be a “martial artist” in 19^th century China was to also be a member in one or more other overlapping social groups (2010, “Theater, Ritual and Exorcism in Chinese Martial Arts”).  For instance, many martial artists were one or more of the following: a professional soldier, a bandit or pirate, a member of a militia or clan defense society, a pharmacist or an entertainer.

As we review the historical accounts and pictures below, we will see butterfly swords employed by members of each of these categories.  That is precisely why this exercise is important.   Hudiedao are a basic technology that help to tie the southern martial arts together.  If we can demystify the development and spread of this one technology, we will make some progress toward understanding the background milieu that gave rise to the various schools of hand combat that we have today.

A set of mid. 19th century hudiedao. These swords are 63 cm long have strong blades with a thick triangular spine (14 mm at the forte). They were capable of cutting but clearly optimized for stabbing. The edge itself has a convex grind on one side, and a flat grind where it sits against the other sword when sheathed. The blades also feature steel D-guards and rosewood handles decorated with carved phoenixes. This images was provided courtesy of http://www.swordsantiqueweapons.com, a reliable source for authentic antique Chinese arms.

Hudiedao: Understanding the basic history of the butterfly sword.

The monks of the Shaolin Temple have left an indelible mark on the martial arts of Guangdong and Fujian.  This mark is none the less permanent given the fact that the majority of Chinese martial studies scholars have concluded that the “Southern Shaolin Temple” was a myth.  Still, myths reflect important social values.  Shaolin (as a symbol) has touched many aspects of the southern Chinese martial arts, including its weapons.

In Wing Chun Schools today, it is usually assumed that the art’s pole form came from Jee Shim (the former abbot of the destroyed Shaolin sanctuary), and that the swords must have came from the Red Boat Opera or possibly Ng Moy (a nun and another survivor of temple).  A rich body of lore linking the hudiedao to Shaolin has grown over the years.  These myths often start out by apologizing for the fact that these monks are carrying weapons at all, as this is a clear (and very serious) breach of monastic law.

It is frequently asserted that our monks needed protection on the road from highwaymen, especially when they were carrying payments of alms.  Some assert that butterfly swords were the only bladed weapons that the monks were allowed to carry because they were not as deadly as a regular dao.  The tips could be left blunt and the bottom half of the blade was often unsharpened.  Still, there are a number of problems with this story.

These blunt tips and unsharpened blades seem to actually be more of an apology for the low quality, oddly designed, practice swords that started to appear in the 1970s than an actual memory of any real weapons.

The first probable references to the hudiedao (or butterfly swords) that I have been able to find date to the 1820s.  Various internet discussions, some quite good and worth checking out, as well as Jeffery D. Modell’s article “History & Design of Butterfly Swords” (Kung Fu Tai Chi Magazine, April 2010, pp. 56-65) usually suggest a later date of popularization.  Modell concludes that the traditional butterfly sword is a product of the “late 19^th century” while other credible sources generally point to the 1850s or 1860s.  The general consensus seems to be that while a few examples may have existed earlier, this weapon did not really gain prominence until the middle or end of the 19^th century.

This opinion was formed mostly through the first hand examination of antique blades.  And it is correct so far as it goes.  Most of the existing antique blades do seem to date from the end of the 19^th century or even the first few decades of the 20^th.  Further, this would fit with our understanding of the late 19^th century being a time of martial innovations, when much of the foundation for the modern Chinese hand combat systems was being set in place.

Recently uncovered textual evidence would seem to indicate that we may need to roll these dates back by a generation or more.  As we will see below, already in the 1820s western merchants and British military officers in Guangzhou were observing these, or very similar weapons, in the local environment.  They were even buying examples that are brought back to Europe and America where they enter important early private collections.

The movement of both goods and people was highly restricted in the “Old China Trade” system.  Westerners were confined to one district of the Guangzhou and they could only enter the city for a few months of the year.  The fact that multiple individuals were independently collecting examples of hudiedao, even under such tight restrictions, would seem to indicate that these weapons (or something very similar to them) must have already been fairly common in the 1820s.

Accounts of these unique blades become more frequent and more detailed in the 1830s and 1840s.  Eventually engravings were published showing a wide variety of arms (often destined for the private collections or the “cabinets” or wealthy western individuals), and then from the 1850s onward a number of important photographs were produced.  The Hudiedao started to appear in images on both sides of the pacific, and it is clear that the weapon had a well-established place among gangsters and criminals in both San Francisco and New York.

But what exactly is a hudiedao?  What sorts of defining characteristics binds these weapons together and separate them from other various paired weapons that are seen in the Chinese martial arts from time to time?

Readers should be aware that not every “double sword” is a hudiedao. This is a pair of jians dating to the late 19th century. Notice that this style of swords is quite distinct on a number of levels. Rather than being fit into a simple leather scabbard with a single opening, these swords each rest in their own specially carved compartment. As a result the blades are not flat-ground on one side (as is the case with true hudiedao) and instead have the normal diamond shaped profile. These sorts of double swords are more common in the northern Chinese martial arts and also became popular in the late 19th and early 20th century. They are usually called Shuang Jain (or Shuang Dao for a single edged blade), literally “double swords.
Unfortunately, this is exactly the same term that many English language observers used when they encountered Hudiedao in Guangzhou and Hong Kong in the middle of the 19th century.  Further complicating the matter, some southern fighting forms call for the use of two normal sabers to be used simultaneously, one in each hand.  Interpreting 19th century accounts of “double swords” requires a certain amount of guess work.  Photos courtesy of http://www.swordsantiqueweapons.com.

Note the construction of the scabbard.  Period sources seem to imply that swords were classified in large part by their scabbard construction (how many openings the blades shared), and not just by the blades shape or function.  these images were provided courtesy of http://www.swordsantiqueweapons,com.

It is interesting to note that the term “hudiedao,” or “butterfly sword,” never appears in any of the 19^th century English language accounts that I have examined.  Invariably these records and illustrations refer instead to “double swords.”  A number of them go to lengths to point out that this is a weapon unique to China.  Its defining characteristic seems to be that the two blades are fitted together in such a way that they can be placed in a shared opening to one sheath.  Some accounts (but not all) go on to describe heavy D guards and the general profile of the blade.  I used these more detailed accounts (from the 1830s) and engravings and photos (from the 1840s and 1850s) to try and interpret some of the earlier and briefer descriptions (from the 1820s).

Some of these collectors, Dunn in particular, were quite interested in Chinese culture and had knowledgeable native agents helping them to acquire and catalog their collections.  It is thus very interesting that these European observers, almost without exception, referred to these weapons as “double swords” rather than “butterfly swords.”  Not to put too fine a point on it, but some western observers seemed to revel in pointing out the contradictory or ridiculous in Chinese culture, and if any of them had heard this name it would have recorded, if only for the ridicule and edification of future generations.

I looked at a couple of period dictionaries (relevant to southern China) that included military terms.  None of them mentioned the word “Hudiedao,” though they generally did include a word for double swords (雙股劍: “shwang koo keem,” or in modern Pinyin, “shuang goo gim.”  See Medhurst, English and Chinese Dictionary 1848; Morrison, Dictionary of the Chinese Language, 1819.)

Multiple important early Chinese novels, including the Romance of the Three Kingdoms and Water Margin (All Men are Brothers) include protagonists who use these weapons, so for that reason alone this would be a commonly understood term.  Even individuals who were not martial artists would have known about these literary characters and their weapons.  In fact, the literary legacy of those two novels could very well explain how these blades have managed to capture the imagination of so many martial artists up through the 21^st century.

In modern martial arts parlance, “double swords” (shuang jian or shuang dao) refer to two medium or full size jians (or daos) that are fitted into a single scabbard.  These weapons also became increasingly popular in the late 19^th century and are still used in a variety of styles.  It is possible that they are a different regional expression of the same basic impulse that led to the massive popularization of hudiedao in the south, but they are a fairly different weapon.

The real complicating factor here is that neither type of weapons (shuang dao vs. hudiedao) was ever adopted or issued by the Imperial military, so strictly speaking, neither of them have a proper or “official name.”  Instead we are left with a wide variety of, often poetic, ever evolving terms favored by different civil societies and martial arts styles.  Occasionally it is unclear whether these style names are actually meant to refer to the weapons themselves, or the routines that they are employed in.

The evolution of the popular names of these weapons seems almost calculated to cause confusion.  For our present purposes I will be referring to any medium length, single edged, pair of blades fitted into a shared scabbard, as “hudiedaos.”  Readers should be aware of the existence of a related class of weapon which resembles a longer, single, hudiedao.  These were meant to be used in conjunction with a rattan shield.  They are only included in my discussion only if they exhibit the heavy D-guard and quillion that is often seen on other butterfly swords.

Hudiedao were made by a large number of local smiths and they exhibit a great variability in form and intended function.  Some of these swords are fitted with heavy brass D-guards (very similar to a European hanger or cutlass), but in other cases the guard is made of steel.  On some examples the D-guard is replaced with the more common Chinese S-guard.   And in a small minority of cases no guard was used at all.

Another set of Hudiedao exhibiting different styling. An S-guard is used on these swords, which are more common on Chinese weapons. These knives are 45 cm long and are both shorter and lighter than some of the preceding examples. Photo courtesy of http://www.swordsantiqueweapons.com.

The sorts of blades seen on hudiedao from southern China can also vary immensely.  Two types are most commonly encountered on 19^th century weapons.  Some are long and narrow with a thick triangular cross section.  These blades superficially resemble shortened European rapiers and are clearly designed with stabbing in mind.  Other blades are wider and heavier, and exhibit a sturdy hatchet point.  While still capable of stabbing through heavy clothing or leather, these knives can also chop and slice.

Most hudiedao from the 19^th century seem to be medium sized weapons, ranging from 50-60 cm (20-24 inches) in length.  It is obvious that arms of this size were not meant to be carried in a concealed manner.  To the extent that these weapons were issued to mercenaries (or “braves”), local militia units or civilian guards, there would be no point in concealing them at all.  Instead, one would hope that they would be rather conspicuous, like the gun on the hip of a police officer.

These hudiedaos have thick brass grips, a wider blade better suited for chopping and a strong hatchet point. Their total length is just over 60 cm. This was the most commonly produced type of “butterfly sword” during the middle of the 19th century. Photo courtesy of http://www.swordsantiqueweapons.com.

While these two blade types are the most common (making up about 70% of the swords that I have encountered), other shapes are also seen.  Some hudiedao exhibit the “coffin” shaped blades of traditional southern Chinese fighting knives.  These specimens are very interesting and often lack any sort of hand guard at all, yet they are large enough that they could not easily be used like their smaller cousins.

One also encounters blades that are shaped like half-sized versions of the “ox-tail” dao.  This style of sword was very popular among civilian martial artists in the 19^th century.  Occasionally blades in this configuration also show elaborate decorations that are not often evident on other types of hudiedao.

This set of Butterfly Swords has a number of unusual features. Perhaps the most striking are its wood (rather than leather) scabbard and high degree on ornamentation. These were almost certainly collected in French Indo-China and likely date to 1900-1930. They are 49 cm in length and show a pronounced point. Photo courtesy of http://www.swordsantiqueweapons.com.

These unusual hudiedao feature handles and blades that are loosely based on traditional Chinese fighting knives. In this case the blade has been made both longer and wider. Fighting knives do not commonly have hand guards, which are also missing from this example. I have seen a couple of sets of knives in this configuration, though they seem to be quite rare. These knives are 49 cm long and 65 mm wide at the broadest point. Possibly early 20th century. Photo courtesy of http://www.swordsantiqueweapons.com.

These hudiedao are more reminiscent of the blades favored by modern Wing Chun students. They show considerable wear and date to either the middle or end of the 19th century. The tips of the blades are missing and may have been broken or rounded off through repeated sharpening. I suspect that when these swords were new they had a more hatchet shaped tip. Their total length is 49 cm. Photo courtesy of http://www.swordsantiqueweapons.com.

Lastly there are shorter, thicker blades, designed with cutting and hacking in mind.  These more closely resemble the type favored by Wushu performers and modern martial artists.  Some of  these weapons could be carried in a concealed manner, yet they are also better balanced and have a stronger stabbing point than most of the inexpensive replicas being made today.  It is also interesting to note that these shorter, more modern looking knives, can be quite uncommon compared to the other blade types listed above.

I am hesitant to assign names or labels to these different sorts of blades.  That may seem counter-intuitive, but the very existence of “labels” implies a degree of order and standardization that may not have actually existed when these swords were made.  19^th century western observers simply referred to everything that they saw as a “double sword” and chances are good that their Chinese agents did the same.  Given that most of these weapons were probably made in small shops and to the exact specifications of the individuals who commissioned them the idea of different “types” of hudiedao seems a little misleading.

What defined a “double sword” to both 19^th century Chinese and western observers in Guangdong, was actually how they were fitted and carried in the scabbard.  These scabbards were almost always leather, and they did not separate the blades into two different channels or compartments (something that is occasionally seen in northern double weapons).  Beyond that, a wide variety of blade configurations, hand guards and levels of ornamentation could be used.  I am still unclear when the term “hudiedao” came into common use, or how so many independent observers and careful collectors could have missed it.

This engraving, published in 1801, is typical of the challenges faced when using cross-cultural sources in an attempt to reconstruct Chinese martial history. The image is plate number 20 from Major George Henry Mason’s popular 1801 publication Punishments of China (St James: W. Bulmer and Co.). Mason was in Guangzou (recovering from an illness) in 1789-1790. Given his experience in China, and interests in day to day life, he should have been a keen social observer. So how reliable are his prints? Does this image really show a soldier holding an early form of hudiedao, or something like them?
It is actually quite hard to know what Mason actually saw or what to make of a print like this. Mason’s engravings were all based on watercolor paintings that he purchased from a Cantonese artist in Guangzhou named Pu Qua (Timothy Brook, Jérôme Bourgon, Gregory Blue. Death by a Thousand Cuts. Harvard University Press. 2008. P. 171). So what we really have here is an impressionistic engraving based off of a quickly sketched water color. While this image clearly suggests that some members of the local Yamen were using two medium sized swords, it is difficult to hazard a guess as to what the exact details of these weapons were. I attempt to avoid this type of problem by relying on first-hand accounts and more detailed (often photographic) images.

The First Written Accounts: Chinese “double swords” in Guangzhou in the 1820s-1830s.

The first English language written account of what is most likely a hudiedao that I have been able to find is a small note in the appendix of the Transactions of the Royal Asiatic Society for the year 1827.  Lieutenant Colonel Charles Joseph Doyle had evidently acquired an extensive collection of oriental arms that he wished to donate to the society.  In an era before public museums, building private collections, or “cabinets,” was a popular pastime for members of a certain social class.

The expansion of the British Empire into Asia vastly broadened the scope of what could be collected.  In fact, many critical artistic and philosophical ideas first entered Europe through the private collections of gentlemen like Charles Joseph Doyle.  Deep in the inventory list of his “cabinet of oriental arms” we find a single tantalizing reference to “A Chinese Double Sword.”

I have not been able to locate much information on Col. Doyle’s career so I cannot yet make a guess as to when he collected this example.  Still, if the donation was made in 1825, the swords cannot have been acquired any later than the early 1820s.  (Transactions of the Royal Asiatic Society of Great Britain and Ireland, Volume 1.  London: Royal Asiatic Society. 1827.  “A Chinese double Sword.  Donated on Nov. 5, 1825.” P. 636)

If Doyle’s entry in the records of the Royal Asiatic Society was terse, another prominent collector from the 1820 was more effusive.  Nathan Dunn is an important figure in America’s growing understanding of China.  He was involved in the “Old China Trade” and imported teas, silks and other goods from Guangdong to the US.  Eventually he became very wealthy and strove to create a more sympathetic understanding of China and its people in the west.

For a successful merchant, his story begins somewhat inauspiciously.  Historical records show that in 1816 Nathan Dunn was disowned (excommunicated) by the Philadelphia Monthly Meeting of the Religious Society of Friends (the Quakers) for bankruptcy.  While socially devastating, this bankruptcy may have been the best thing that ever happened to Dunn.  In 1818 he left for China on a risky trading mission in an attempt to rebuild his fortune.  He succeeded in that task many times over.

Unlike most western merchants Dunn found the Chinese to be very intelligent and worthy of close study and contemplation.  He objected strenuously to the selling of opium (an artifact of his prior Quaker faith) and made valuable friendships and alliances with individuals from all levels of Chinese society.  Appreciating his open outlook these individuals helped Dunn to amass the largest collection of Chinese artifacts in the hands of any one individual.  In fact, the Chinese helped Dunn to acquire a collection many times larger than the entire cabinets of both the British East India Company and the British Government, which had been trying to build a vast display of its own for years.

Dunn’s collection was also quite interesting for its genuine breadth.  It included both great works of art and everyday objects.  It paid attention to issues of business, culture, horticulture and philosophy.  Dunn made a point of studying the lives of individuals from different social and economic classes, and he paid attention to the lives and material artifacts of women.  Finally, like any good 19^th century gentleman living abroad, he collected arms.

Dunn’s collection went on display in Philadelphia in the 1838’s.  When it opened to the public he had an extensive catalog printed (poetically titled 10,000 Chinese Things), that included in-depth discussions of many of the displays.  This sort of contextual data is quite valuable.  It is interesting to not only see double swords mentioned multiple times in Dunn’s collection, but to look at the other weapons that were also employed in the 1820s when these swords were actually being bought in Guangdong.

“The warrior is armed with a rude matchlock, the only kind of fire-arms known among the Chinese.  There is hung up on the wall a shield, constructed of rattan turned spirally round a center, very similar in shape and appearance to our basket lids.  Besides the matchlock and shield, a variety of weapons offensive and defensive, are in use in China; such as helmets, bows and arrows, cross-bows, spears, javelins, pikes, halberds, double and single swords, daggers, maces, a species of quilted armour of cloth studded with metal buttons, &c.” pp. 32-33.

“Besides these large articles, there are, in the case we are describing, an air-gun wooden barrel; a duck-gun with matchlock; a curious double sword, capable of being used as one, and having but one sheath; specimens of Chinese Bullets, shot powder, powder –horns, and match ropes…..” p. 42

“444. Pair of Swords, to be used by both hands but having one sheath.  The object of which is to hamstring the enemy.” P. 51

“In addition to the spears upon the wall, there are two bows; one strung, and the other unstrung; two pair of double swords; one pair with a tortoise shell, and the other a leather sheath; besides several other swords and caps, and a jinjall, or a heavy gun on a pivot, which has three movable chambers, in which the powder and ball are put, and which serve to replace each other as often as the gun is discharged.” P. 93.

Enoch Cobb Wines.  A Peep at China in Mr. Dunn’s Chinese Collection.  Philadelphia: Printed for Nathan Dunn. 1839.

I found it interesting that Dunn would associate the double sword with “hamstringing” (the intentional cutting of the Achilles tendon) an opponent.  In his 1801 volume on crime and punishment George Henry Mason included an illustration of a prisoner being “hamstrung” with a short, straight bladed knife.  This was said to be a punishment for attempting to escape prison or exile.  He noted that there was some controversy as to whether this punishment was still in use or if legal reformers in China had succeeded in doing away with it.  It is possible that Dunn’s description (or more likely, that of his Chinese agent) on page 51 is a memory of the “judicial” use of the hudiedao by officers of the state against socially deviant aspects of society.

These are the earliest references to “double swords” in southern China that I have been able to locate.  Already by the 1820s these weapons were seen as something uniquely Chinese, hence it is not surprising that they would find their way into the collections and cabinets of early merchants and military officers.

Still, the 1820s was a time of relatively peaceful relations between China and the West.  Tensions built throughout the 1830s and boiled over into open conflict in the 1840s.  As one might expect, this deterioration in diplomatic relations led to increased interest in military matters on the part of many western observer.  Numerous detailed descriptions of “double swords” emerge out of this period.  It is also when the first engravings to actually depict these weapons in a detailed way were commissioned and executed.

Karl Friedrich A. Gutzlaff (English: Charles Gutzlaff; Chinese: Guō Shìlì) was a German protestant missionary in south-eastern China.  He was active in the area in the 1830s and 1840s and is notable for his work on multiple biblical translations.  He was the first protestant missionary to dress in Chinese style and was generally more in favor of enculturation than most of his brethren.  He was also a close observer of the Opium Wars and served as a member of a British diplomatic mission in 1840.

One of his many literary goals was to produce a reliable and up to date geography of China.  Volume II of this work spends some time talking about the Chinese military situation in Guangdong.  While discussing the leadership structure of the Imperial military we find the following note:

(In a discussion of the “Chamber for the superintendent of stores and the examination of military candidates.):

“Chinese bows are famous for carrying to a great distance; their match-locks are wretched fire-arms; and upon their cannon they have not yet improved, since they were taught by the Europeans.  Swords, spears, halberts, and partisans, are likewise in use in the army.  Two swords in one scabbard, which enable the warrior to fight with the left and right hands, are given to various divisions.  They carry rattan shields, made of wicker work, and in several detachments they receive armour to protect their whole body.  The officers, in the day of battle, are always thus accoutered.  Of their military engines we can say very little, they having, during a long peace, fallen into disuse.” P. 446.

Karl Friedrich A. Gützlaff. China opened; or, A display of the topography, history… etc. of the Chinese Empire. London: Smith, Elder and Co. 1838.

This is an interesting passage for a variety of reasons.  It seems to very strongly suggest that the Green Standard Army in Guangdong were using hudiedao (or some type of “double sword”) in the 1830s, or at least stockpiling them.  Occasionally I hear references to hudiedao being found that have official “reign marks” on them, or property marks of the Chinese military.  I have never seen one of these knives and cannot judge the veracity of the claim.

The conventional wisdom (as we will see below) is that “double swords” were never a “regulation” weapon and were instead issued only to civilian “braves” and gentry led militia units which were recruited by the governor of Guangdong in his various clashes with the British.  Still, this note falls right in the middle of an extensive discussion of the command structure of the Imperial military.  Who these various divisions were, and what relationship they had with militia troops, is an interesting question for further research.

This is an interesting example of a single “hudiedao.” It was never issued with a companion and has a fully round handle meaning that it cannot be slid into a scabbard besides another weapon. Short swords such as these were often issued to militia members who were armed with rattan shields. While not strictly the same as a hudiedao, its clear that this weapon is taking its styling cues from these other swords. The style of its leather scabbard, hilt and hand-guard are all identical to what was see on period “butterfly swords.” This example measures 60 cm in length and would have been a good general short-range weapon. Photo courtesy of http://www.swordsantiqueweapons.com.

More specific description of hudiedao and their use in the field started to pour in from reporters and government officers as the security situation along the Pearl River Delta disintegrated.  The May 1840 edition of the Asiatic Journal includes the following notice:

“Governor Lin has enlisted about 3,000 recruits, who are being drilled daily near Canton in the military exercise of the bow, the spear and the double sword.  The latter weapon is peculiar to China.  Each soldier is armed with two short and straight swords, one in each hand, which being knocked against each other, produce a clangour [sic], which, it is thought, will midate [sic] the enemy.” P. 327

The Asiatic Journal and Monthly Register for British and Foreign India, China and Australia.  May-August, 1840. London: Wm. H. Allen and Co.

Such new recruits would clearly have been both “Braves” and members of the gentry led militia system.  So this would seem to indicate that the hudiedao was a weapon favored by martial artists and citizen soldiers.  This is also the first reference I have seen to soldiers beating their hudiedao together to make a clamor before charging into battle.  While this tactic is usually noted with disdain by British observers, it is well worth noting that their own infantry often put on a similar display before commencing a bayonet charge.

Another set of hudiedao from the private collection of Gavin Nugent. These blades are some of the earliest seen in this post. They also show signs of significant period use. Note the complex profile of the blades and how the spine flattens out as it approaches the tip. This allows the weapon to have reach while not feeling “top heavy.” The owner notes that these are the most comfortable hudiedao that he has handled. The nicely executed brass tunkou (collar around the blade) are an interesting and rarely seen feature.  Source: http://www.swordsantiqueweapons.com.

Born in 1805 (1805-1878) J. Elliot Bingham served for 21 years in the Royal Navy.  In the late 1830s he had the rank of First Lieutenant (he later retired as a Commander) and was assigned to the H. M. S. Modeste.  Launched in 1837, this 18 Gun Sloop or corvette was crewed by 120 sailors and marines.  It saw repeated combat along the Guangdong coast and the Pearl River between 1839 and 1841.

As a military man Commander Bingham was a close observer of Chinese weapons and he leaves us with what must be considered the very best account of the use of hudiedao by militia troops in the late 1830s.

“March the 21^st, Lin was busy drilling 3,000 troops, a third portion of which was to consist of double-sworded men.  These twin swords, when in scabbard, appear as one thick clumsy weapon, about two feet in length; the guard for the hand continuing straight, rather beyond the “fort” of the sword turns toward the point, forming a hook about two inches long.  When in use, the thumb of each hand is passed under this hook, on which the sword hangs, until a twist of the wrist brings the grip within the grasp of the swordsman.  Clashing and beating them together and cutting the air in every direction, accompanying the action with abuse, noisy shouts and hideous grimaces, these dread heroes advance, increasing their gesticulations and distortions of visage as they approach the enemy, when they expect the foe to become alarmed and fly before them.  Lin had great faith in the power of these men.” P. 177-178.

J. Elliot Bingham.  Narrative of the Expedition to China, from the Commencement of the Present Period. Volume 1.  London: Henry Colburn Publisher.  1842.

Commander Bingham was not much impressed by the Chinese militia or their exotic weaponry.  In truth, Lin led his forces into a situation where they were badly outgunned, and more importantly “out generaled,” by the seasoned and well led British Navy.  Still, his brief account contains a treasure trove of information.  To begin with, it confirms that the earlier accounts of “double swords” used by the militia in and around Guangzhou in the 1830s were in fact references to hudiedao.

Fredric Wakeman, in his important study Stranger at the Gate: Social Disorder in Southern China 1839-1861, cites intelligence reports sent to the British Foreign Office which claim that Lin had in fact raised a 3,000 man force to repel a foreign attach on Guangzhou.  Apparently Lin distrusted the ability of the Green Standard Army to get the job done, and the Manchu Banner Army was so poorly disciplined and run that he actually considered it to be a greater threat to the peace and safety of the local countryside than the British.

He planned on defending the provincial capital with a two pronged strategy.  First, he attempted to strengthen and update his coastal batteries.  Secondly, he called up the gentry led militia (and a large number of mercenary braves) because these troops were considered more committed and reliable than the official army.  Bingham was correct, Lin did put a lot of confidence in the militia.

The Foreign Office reported that Lin ordered every member of the militia to be armed with a spear, a rattan helmet, and a set of “double swords” (Wakeman 95).  Other reports note that members of the militia were also drilled in archery and received a number of old heavy muskets from the government stores in Guangdong.  Bingham’s observations can leave no doubt that the “double swords” that the Foreign Office noted were in fact hudiedao.

Local members of the gentry worked cooperatively out of specially built (or appropriated) Confucian “schools” to raise money, procure arms and supplies for their units, to organize communications systems, and even to create insurance programs.  It seems likely that the hudiedao used by the militia would have been hurriedly produced in a number of small shops around the Pearl River Delta.

Much of this production likely happened in Foshan (the home of important parts of the Wing Chun, Choy Li Fut and Hung Gar movements).  Foshan was a critical center of regional handicraft production, and it held the Imperial iron and steel monopoly (He Yimin. “Thrive and Decline:The Comparison of the Fate of “The Four Famous Towns” in Modern Times.” Academic Monthly. December 2008.)  This made it a natural center for weapons production.

We know, for instance, that important cannon foundries were located in Foshan.  The battle for control of these weapon producing resources was actually a major element of the “Opera Rebellion,” or “Red Turban Revolt,” that would rip through the area 15 years later. (See Wakeman’s account in Stranger at the Gate for the most detailed reconstruction of the actual fighting in and around Foshan.)

Given that this is where most of the craftsmen capable of making butterfly swords would have been located, it seems reasonable to assume that this was where a lot of the militia weaponry was actually produced.  Further, the town’s centralized location on the nexus of multiple waterways, and its long history of involvement in regional trade, would have made it a natural place to distribute weapons from.

While all 3,000 troops may have been armed with hudiedao, it is very interesting that these weapons were the primary arms of about 1/3 of the militia.  Presumably the rest of their comrades were armed with spears, bows and a small number of matchlocks.

Bingham also gives us the first clear description of the unique hilts of these double swords.  He notes in an off-handed way that they have hand-guards.  More interesting is the quillion that terminates in a hook that extends parallel to blade for a few inches.  This description closely matches the historic weapons that we currently possess.

This style of guard, while not seen on every hudiedo, is fairly common.  It is also restricted to weapons from southern China.  Given that this is not a traditional Chinese construction method, various guesses have been given as to how these guards developed and why they were adopted.

There is at least a superficial resemblance between these guards and the hilts of some western hangers and naval cutlasses of the period.  It is possible that the D-guard was adopted and popularized as a result of increased contact with western arms in southern China.  If so, it would make sense that western collectors in Guangzhou in the 1820s would be the first observers to become aware of the new weapon.

The actual use of the hooked quillion is also open to debate.  Many modern martial artists claim that it is used to catch and trap an opponent’s blade.  In my next post I will review a martial arts training manual from the 1850s that shows local boxers attempting to do exactly this.  However, as the British translator of that manual points out (and I am in total agreement with him), this cannot possibly work against a longer blade or a skilled and determined opponent.  While this type of trapping is a commonly rehearsed “application” in Wing Chun circles, after years of fencing practice and full contact sparring, my own school has basically decided that it is too dangerous to attempt and rarely works in realistic situations.

Another theory that has been advanced is that the hook is basically symbolic.  It is highly reminiscent of the ears on a “Sai,” a simple weapon that is seen in the martial arts of China, Japan and South East Asia.  Arguments have been made that the sai got its unique shape by imitating tridents in Hindu and Buddhist art.  Perhaps we should not look quite so hard for a “practical” function for everything that we see in martial culture (Donn F. Draeger. The Weapons and Fighting Arts of Indonesia.  Tuttle Publishing.  2001. p. 33).

Bingham makes a different observation about the use of the quillion.  He notes that it can be used to manipulate the knife when switching between a “reverse grip” and a standard fencing or “brush grip.”  Of course the issue of “sword flipping” is tremendously controversial in some Wing Chun circles, so it is interesting to see a historical report of the practice in a military setting in the 1830s.

A very nice set of mid. 19th century hudiedao. These pointed stabbing blades are 63 cm long, 40 mm wide at the base, and the spine in 14 mm across, giving the entire weapon a strong triangular profile. Image courtesy of http://www.swordsantiqueweapons.com.

Early Images of the Hudiedao: Western Engravings of Chinese Arms.

It was rare to encounter collections of Chinese artifacts of any kind in the 1820s and 1830s.  However, the situation changed dramatically after the First and Second Opium Wars.  The expansion of trade that followed these conflicts, the opening of new treaty ports, and the creation and growth of Hong Kong all created new zones where Chinese citizens and westerners could meet to change goods and artifacts of material culture.  Unfortunately these meetings were not always peaceful and a large number of Chinese weapons started to be brought back to Europe as trophies.  Many of these arms subsequently found their way into works of art.  As a quintessentially mysterious Chinese weapon, “double swords” were featured in early engravings and photographs.

Our first example comes from an engraving of Chinese weapons captured by the Royal Navy and presented to Queen Victoria in 1844.   The London Illustrated News published an interesting description of what they found.  In addition to a somewhat archaic collection of firearms, the Navy recovered a large number of double handed choppers.  These most closely resemble weapon that most martial artists today refer to as a “horse knife” (pu dao).

Featured prominently in the front of the engraving is something that looks quite familiar.  The accompanying article describes this blade as having “two sharpened edges” and a “modern guard.”  I have encountered a number of hudiedao with a false edge, but I do not think that I have found one that was actually sharpened.  I suspect that the sword in this particular picture was of the single variety and originally intended for use with a wicker shield.

London Illustrated News, January 6th, 1844. P. 8.

Another useful engraving of “Chinese and Tartar Arms” can be found in Evariste R. Huc’s Travels in Tartary, Thibet and China (London, 1852).  Unlike some of the previous sources this one is not overly focused on military matters.  Still, the publishers include a fascinating engraving of Chinese arms.  The models for these were likely war trophies that were brought to the UK in the 1840s and 1850s.  They may have even been items from Nathan Dunn’s (now deceased) vast collection which was auctioned at Sotheby in 1844 following a brief tour of London.

Featured prominently in the middle of the picture is a set of hudiedao.  The engraving shows two swords with long narrow blades and D-guards resting in a single scabbard.  It is very hard to judge size in this print as the artist let scale slide to serve the interests of symmetry, but it appears that the “double swords” are only slightly shorter than the regulation Qing dao that hangs with them.

“Chinese and Tartar Arms.” Published in Evariste R. Huc. Travels in Tartary, Thibet and China, 1844-5-6. Volume 1. P. 237. Office of the National Illustrated Library. London: 1852.

While it would appear that hudiedao had been in use in southern China since the 1820s, they make their first documented appearance on the West coast of America in the 1850s.  The Bancroft Library at UC Berkley has an important collection of documents and images relating to the Chinese American experience.  Better yet, many of their holdings have been digitized and are available on-line to the public.

Most of the Chinese individuals who settled in California (to work in both the railroads and mining camps) were from Fujian and Guangdong.  They brought with them their local dialects, modes of social organization, tensions and propensity for community feuding and violence.  They also brought with them a wide variety of weapons.

Newspaper accounts and illustrations from this side of the pacific actually provide us with some of our best studies of what we now think of as “martial arts” weapons.  Of course, it is unlike that this is how they were actually viewed by immigrants in the 1850s.  In that environment they were simply “weapons.”

The coasts of both Guangdong and Fujian province were literally covered in pirates in the 1840s, and the interiors of both provinces were infested with banditry.  Many individuals have long suspected that the hudiedao were in fact associated with these less savory elements of China’s criminal underground.  Butterfly swords, either as a pair or a single weapon, are sometimes marketed as “river pirate knives.”

This may be correct, but I have not been able to locate any firm early accounts linking the two in China.  However, a careful study of these weapons on the western frontier reinforces the notion that they were favored by the Tongs, gangs and drifters who monopolized the political economy of violence within the Chinese-American community.

The Bancroft library provides the earliest evidence I have yet found for hudiedao-type weapons in an engraving produced by the “Wild West Office, San Francisco.”  This picture depicts a battle between two rival Tongs (communal organizations that were often implicated in violence) at Weaverville in October, 1854.  Earlier that year the two groups, Tuolomne County’s Sam Yap Company and the Calaveras County Yan Wo Company, had nearly come to blows.

Both groups closed ranks, began to order weapons (including helmets, swords and shields) from local craftsmen, and spent months drilling as militia units.  However, the two sides were far from evenly matched.  The Sam Yap Company ordered 150 bayonets and muskets in San Francisco and hired 15 white drill instructors.  The Yan Wo Company may also have had access to some firearms, but was generally more poorly provided.

Period accounts indicate that about 2,000 individuals (including the 15 western military advisers) clashed at a place called “5 Cent Gulch.”  The fighting between the two sides was brief.  After a number of volleys of musket fire the much more poorly armed Yan Wo Company broke ranks and retreated.  Casualty figures vary but seem to have been light.  Some reports indicate that seven individuals died in the initial clash and another 26 were seriously wounded.

The conflict between these two companies was a matter of some amusement to the local white community who watch events unfold like a spectator sport and put bets on the contending sides.  An engraving of the event was sold in San Francisco.  Under normal circumstances this might not be considered very reliable evidence of the presence of hudiedao or other traditional weapons.  However, both the Weaverville museum and the local Daoist Temple (now a California State Park and historic landmark) have preserved some of the actual weapons from this battle.  Crude, locally produced, Butterfly swords (complete with D-guards), tridents and daos are indeed in this collection.  These may be some of the earliest documented traditional Chinese weapons in the United States.

While a sad historical chapter, the 1854 Weaverville War is interesting to students of Chinese Martial Studies on a number of fronts.  It is a relatively well documented example of militia organization and communal violence in the southern Chinese diaspora.  The use of outside military instructors, reliance on elite networks and mixing of locally produced traditional weaponry with a small number of more advanced firearms are all typical of the sorts of military activity that we have already seen in Guangdong.   Of course these were not disciplined, community based, gentry led militias.  Instead this was inter-communal violence organized by Tongs and largely carried out by hired muscle.  This general pattern would remain common within immigrant Chinese communities through the 1930s.

Given that the first known Chinese martial arts schools did not open in California until the 1930s, the accounts of the militia training in Weaverville are also one of our earliest examples of the teaching of traditional Chinese fighting methods in the US.  The degree to which any of this is actually similar to the modern martial arts is an interesting philosophical question.  I plan to further explore these events, and their implications for our understanding of southern Chinese martial culture in an upcoming post.

“A Chinese Battle in California.” Depiction of rival tongs of Chinese miners at Weaverville in June 1854. Contributing Institution: California Historical Society. Bancroft Library, UC Berkley.

Volkerkunde by F.Ratzel.Printed in Germany,1890. This 19th century illustration shows a number of interesting Asian arms including hudiedao.  The print does a good job of conveying what a 19th century arms collection in a great house would have looked like.

The Hudiedao as a Marker of the “Exotic East” in Early Photography

While the origins of photography stretch back to the late 1820s, reliable and popular imaging systems did not come into general use until the 1850s.  This is the same decade in which the expansion of the treaty port system and the creation of Hong Kong increased contact between the Chinese and westerns.  Increasingly photography replaced private collections, travelogues and newspapers illustrations as the main means by which westerns attempted to imagine and understand life in China.

Various forms of double swords occasionally show up in photos taken in southern China.  One of the most interesting images shows a rural militia in the Pearl River Delta region near Guangzhou sometime in the late 1850s (Second Opium War).  The unit is comprised of seven individuals, all quite young.  Four of them are armed with shields, and they include a single gunner.  Everyone is wearing a wicker helmet (commonly issued to village militia members in this period).  The most interesting figure is the group’s standard bearer.  In addition to being armed with a spear he has what appears to be a set of hudiedao stuck in his belt.

The D-guards, quillions and leather sheath are all clearly visible.  Due to the construction of this type of weapon, it is actually impossible to tell when it is a single sword, or a double blade fitted in one sheath, when photographed from the side.  Nevertheless, given what we know about the official orders for arming the militia in this period, it seems likely that this is a set of “double swords.”

The next image in the series confirms that these are true hudiedao and also suggests that the blades are of the long narrow stabbing variety.  This style of sword is also evident in the third photograph behind the large rattan shield.  These images are an invaluable record of the variety of arms carried by village militias in Guangdong during the early and mid. 19th century.

Rural militia in Guangdong, Pearl River Delta, taken sometime during the Second Opium War (1856-1860). Source http://www.swordsantiqueweapons.com.

Another picture of the same young militia group. Luckily the hudiedao of the leader have become dislodged in their sheath. We can now confirm that these are double blades.  They are of the long narrow stabbing variety seen in some of the prior photographs. Source http://www.swordsantiqueweapons.com.

A third picture from the same series. Note the long thin blade being held behind the rattan shield by the kneeling soldier. The individual with the spear also appears to be armed with a matchlock handgun.  Source http://www.swordsantiqueweapons.com.

The next photograph from the same period presents us with the opposite challenge.  It gives us a wonderfully detailed view of the weapons, but any appropriate context for understanding their use or meaning is missing.  Given it’s physical size and technology of production, this undated photograph was probably taken in the 1860s.  It was likely taken in either San Francisco or Hong Kong, though it is impossible to rule out some other location.

On the verso we find an ink stamp for “G. Harrison Gray” (evidently the photographer).  Images like this might be produced either for sale to the subject (hence all of the civil war portraits that one sees in American antique circles), or they might have been reproduced for sale to the general public.  Given the colorful subject matter of this image I would guess that the latter is most likely the case, but again, it is impossible to be totally certain.

The young man in the photo (labeled “Chinese Soldier”) is shown in the ubiquitous wicker helmet and is armed only with a set of exceptionally long hudedao.  These swords feature a slashing and chopping blade that terminates in a hatchet point, commonly seen on existing examples.  The guards on these knives appear to be relatively thin and the quillion is not as long or wide as some examples.  I would hazard a guess that both are made of steel rather than brass.  Given the long blade and light handle, these weapons likely felt top heavy, though there are steps that a skilled swordsmith could take to lessen the effect.

1860s photograph of a “Chinese Soldier” with butterfly swords. Subject unknown, taken by G. Harrison Gray.

It is interesting to note that the subject of the photograph is holding the horizontal blade backwards.  It was a common practice for photographers of the time to acquire costumes, furniture and even weapons to be used as props in a photograph.  It is likely that these swords actually belonged to G. Harrison Gray or his studio and the subject has merely been dressed to look like a “soldier.”  In reality he may never have handled a set of hudiedao before.

The Hudiedo and the Gun

While guns came to dominate the world of violence in China during the late 19^th century, traditional weaponry never disappeared.  There are probably both economic and tactical reasons behind the continued presence of certain types of traditional arms.  In general, fighting knives and hudiedao seem to have remained popular throughout this period.

The same trend was also seen in America.  On Feb. 13th, 1886,  Harper’s Weekly published a richly illustrated article titled “Chinese Highbinders”  (p. 103).  This is an important document for students of the Chinese-American experience, especially when asking questions about how Asian-Americans were viewed by the rest of society.

Readers should carefully examine the banner of the engraving on page 100.  It contains a surprisingly detailed study of weapons confiscated from various criminals and enforcers.  As one would expect, handguns and knives play a leading role in this arsenal.  The stereotypical hatchet and cleaver are also present.

More interesting, from a martial arts perspective, is the presence of various types of maces (double iron rulers and a sai), as well as an armored shirt and wristlets.  The collection is finished off with a classic hudiedao, complete with D-guard and shared leather scabbard.  It seems that the hudiedao actually held a certain amount of mystic among gangsters in the mid 1880s.  The author notes that these weapons were imported directly from China.

This image was scanned by UC Berkeley, Bancroft Library.

“The weapons of the Highbinder are all brought from China, with the exception of the hatchet and the pistol. The illustration shows a collection of Chinese knives and swords taken from criminals, and now in the possession of the San Francisco police. The murderous weapon is what is called the double sword. Two swords, each about two feet long, are worn in a single scabbard. A Chinese draws these, one in each hand, and chops his way through a crowd of enemies. Only one side is sharpened, but the blade, like that of all the Chinese knives, is ground to a razor edge. An effective weapon at close quarters is the two-edged knife, usually worn in a leather sheath. The handle is of brass, generally richly ornamented, while the blade is of the finest steel. Most of the assassinations in Chinatown have been committed with this weapon, one blow being sufficient to ensure a mortal wound. The cleaver used by the Highbinders is smaller and lighter than the ordinary butcher’s cleaver. The iron club, about a foot and a half long, is enclosed in a sheath, and worn at the side like a sword. Another weapon is a curious sword with a large guard for the hand. The hatchet is usually of American make, but ground as sharp as a razor.

The coat of mail shown is the sketch, which was taken from a Chinese Highbinder, is of cloth, heavily padded with layers of rice paper that make it proof against a bullet, or even a rifle ball. This garment is worn by the most desperate men when they undertake a peculiarly dangerous bit of assassination. More common than this is the leather wristlet. This comes halfway up to the elbow, and pieces of iron inserted in the leather serve to ward off even a heavy stroke of a sword or hatchet.” (Feb 13, 1887.  Harper’s Weekly. P. 103).

These passages, based on interviews with law enforcement officers, provide one of the most interesting period discussions of the use of “double swords” among the criminal element that we currently possess.  These weapons were not uncommon, but they were feared.  They seem to have been especially useful when confronting crowds of unarmed opponents and were frequently employed in targeted killings.  It is also interesting to note that their strong hatchet-points and triangular profiles may have been a response to the expectation that at least some enemies would be wearing armor.

Desperate men and hired thugs were not the only inhabitants of San Francisco’s Chinatown to employ hudiedao in the 19^th century.  Both Cantonese Opera singers and street performers also used these swords.

During the early 1900s, a photographer named Arnold Genthe took a series of now historically important photographs of San Francisco’s Chinese residents.  These are mostly street scenes portraying the patterns of daily life, and are not overly sensational or concerned with martial culture.  One photo, however, stands out.  In it a martial artist is shown performing some type of fighting routine with two short, roughly made, hudiedao.

Behind him on the ground are two single-tailed wooden poles.  These were probably also used in his performance and may have helped to display a banner.  Period accounts from Guangzhou and other cities in southern China frequently note these sorts of transient street performers.  They would use their martial skills to attract a crowd and then either sell patent medicines, charms, or pass a hat at the end of the performance.  This is the only 19^th century photograph that I am aware of showing such a performer in California.

The lives of these wandering martial artists were not easy, and often involved violence and extortion at the hands of either the authorities or other denizens of the “Rivers and Lakes.”  Many of them were forced to use their skills for purposes other than performing.

Arnold Genthe collected information on his subjects, so we have some idea who posed for in around 1900.

 “The Mountainbank,” “The Peking Two Knife Man,” “The Sword dancer” – Genthe’s various titles for this portrait of Sung Chi Liang, well known for his martial arts skills. Nicknamed Daniu, or “Big Ox,” referring to his great strength, he also sold an herbal medicine rub after performing a martial art routine in the street. The medicine, tiedayanjiu (tit daa yeuk jau), was commonly used to help heal bruises sustained in fights or falls. This scene is in front of 32, 34, and 36 Waverly Place, on the east side of the street, between Clay and Washington Streets. Next to the two onlookers on the right is a wooden stand which, with a wash basin, would advertise a Chinese barbershop open for business. The adjacent basement stairwell leads to an inexpensive Chinese restaurant specializing in morning zhou (juk), or rice porridge.” (p. 29)

Arnold Genthe and Will Irwin. Genthe’s Photographs of San Francisco’s Old Chinatown. New York: Mitchell Kennerley. 1913. (First published in 1908). A high resolution scan of the original photograph can be found at the Bancroft Library, UC Berkley).

Dainu’s hudiedao are shorter and fatter than most of the earlier 19^th century models that have been described or shown above.  One wonders whether this style of shorter, more easily concealed, blade was becoming popular at the start of the 20^th century.  These knives seem to be more designed for chopping than stabbing and are reminiscent of the types of swords (bat cham dao) seen hanging on the walls of most Wing Chun schools today.

Lin expected his militia to fight the British with these weapons, and the swords shown in G. Harrison Gray’s photograph are clearly long enough to fence with.  In contrast, Dainu’s “swords” are basically the size of large 19^th century bowie knives.  They are probably too short for complex trapping of an enemy’s weapons and were likely intended to be used against an unarmed opponent, or one armed only with a hatchet or knife.

The next photograph was also taken in San Francisco around 1900.  It shows a Cantonese opera company putting on a “military” play.  The image may have originally been either a press or advertising picture.  I have not been able to discover who the original photographer was.

It is interesting to consider the assortment of weapons seen in this photograph.  A number of lower status soldiers are armed with a shield and single hudiedao shaped knife.  More important figures in heroic roles are armed with a pair of true hudiedaos.  Lastly the main protagonists are all armed with pole weapons (spears and tridents).

Cantonese Opera Performers in San Francisco, circa 1900. This picture came out of the same milieu as the one above it. Notice the wide but short blades used by these performers. Such weapons had a lot visual impact but were relatively safe to use on stage.

Cantonese opera troops paid close attention to martial arts and weapons in their acting.  While their goal was to entertain rather than provide pure realism, they knew that many members of the audience would have some experience with the martial arts.  This was a surprisingly sophisticated audience and people expected a certain degree of plausibility from a “military” play.

It was not uncommon for Opera troops to compete with one another by being the first to display a new fighting style or to bring an exotic weapon onstage.  Hence the association of different weapons with individuals of certain social classes in this photo may not be a total coincidence.  It is likely an idealized representation of one aspect of Cantonese martial culture.  Fighting effectively with a spear or halberd requires a degree of subtlety and expertise that is not necessary (or even possible) when wielding a short sword and a one meter wicker shield.

We also know that the government of Guangdong was issuing hudiedao to mercenary martial artists and village militias.  Higher status imperial soldiers were expected to have mastered the matchlock, the bow, the spear and the dao (a single edged saber).   While many surviving antique hudiedao do have finely carved handles and show laminated blades when polished and etched, I suspect that in historic terms these finely produced weapons there were probably the exception rather than the rule.

Conclusion: The Hudiedao as a Weapon, Symbol and Historical Argument.

Hudiedao’s remained in use as a weapon among various Triad members and Tong enforcers through the early 20^th century.  For instance, an evidence photo of confiscated weapons in California shows a variety of knives, a handgun and a pair of hudiedao.  This set has relatively thick chopping blades and is shorter than some of the earlier examples, but it retains powerful stabbing points.

Chinese Highbinder weapons collected by H. H. North, U. S. Commission of Immigration, forwarded to Bureau of Immigration, Washington D. C., about 1900. Note the coexistence of hudiedao (butterfly swords), guns and knives all in the same raid. This collection of weapons is identical to what might have been found in either China or America from the 1860s onward.
Courtesy the digital collection of the Bancroft Library, UC Berkley.

Chinese coat of mail used by Chinese highbinders in San Fransisco. Contributing Institution: UC Berkeley, Bancroft Library. The possibility of meeting a foe wearing armor (also noted in the Harper’s Weekly article) would certainly explain the popularity of strong stabbing points on some 19th century Hudiedao.

Still, “cold weapons” of all types saw less use in the second and third decades of the 20^th century as they were replaced with increasingly plentiful and inexpensive firearms.  We know that in Republican China almost all bandit gangs were armed with modern repeating rifles by the 1920s.  Gangsters and criminal enforcers in America were equally quick to take up firearms.

Still, the transition was not automatic.  Lau Bun, a Choy Li Fut master trained in the Hung Sing Association style, is often cited as the first individual in America to open a permanent semi-public martial arts school.  He also worked as an enforcer and guard for local Tong interests, and is sometimes said to have carried concealed butterfly swords on his person in the 1920s and 1930s.

On the opposite coast, a New York newspaper ran a now iconic photograph of the Tong leader Eddie Gong inspecting a pair of hudiedao in 1930.  These swords have broad blades which show little narrowing as you approach the tip.  The actual point of the sword is rounded and not well adapted to stabbing.  In fact, they seem to be built more along the lines of a performance weapon than anything else.  On the one hand they are too large for concealed carry, yet they also lack the reach and stabbing ability that one would want in an offensive weapon.

Still, Eddie Gong’s hudiedao compare favorably with many of the more cheaply produced copies available to martial artists today.  Many experienced fencers and sword collectors are utterly perplexed when they pick up their first set of “bat cham dao,” and openly express wonder that these short, rounded, and poorly balanced blades could actually function as a weapon.  Their disbelief is well founded, but it usually evaporates when you place a set of well-made mid-19^th century swords in their hands instead.

Hudiedao, like many other weapons, developed a certain mystique during the 19^th century.  They were used in the poorly executed defense of Guangdong against the British.  In the hand of the Triads they were a symbol of personal empowerment and government opposition.  They were widely used by groups as diverse as local law enforcement officials, traveling martial artists, opera singers and community militias.  Their iconic nature probably helped them to survive in the urban landscape well after most other forms of the sword had been abandoned (the dadao being the notable exception).  However, by the 1920s these weapons were finally being relegated to the training hall and the opera state.  In those environments length, cutting ability and a powerful tip were not only unnecessary, they were an unrewarded hazard.  The symbolic value of these weapons was no longer tied to their actual cutting ability.

Consider for instance the “bat cham dao” (the Wing Chun style name for butterfly swords) owned by Ip Man.  In a recent interview Ip Ching (his son),confirmed that his father never brought a set of functional hudiedao to Hong Kong when he left Foshan in 1949.  Instead, he actually brought a set of “swords” carved out of peach wood.  These were the “swords” that he used when establishing Wing Chun in Hong Kong in the 1950s and laying the foundations for its global expansion.

Obviously some wooden swords are more accurate than others, but none of them are exactly like the objects they represent.  It also makes a good deal of sense that Ip Man in 1949 would not really care that much about iron swords.  He was not a gangster or a Triad member.  He was not an opera performer.  As a police officer he had carried a gun and had a good sense of what real street violence was.

Ip Man had been (and aspired to once again become) a man of leisure.  He was relatively well educated, sophisticated and urbane.  More than anything else he saw himself as a Confucian gentleman, and as such he was more likely to display a work of art in his home than a cold-blooded weapon.

Swords carved of peach wood have an important significance in Chinese society that goes well beyond their safety and convince when practicing martial arts forms.  Peach wood swords are used in Daoist exorcisms and are thought to have demon slaying powers.  In the extended version of the story of the destruction of the Shaolin Temple favored by the Triads, Heaven sends a peach wood sword to the survivors of Shaolin that they use to slay thousands of their Qing pursuers.

Ip Man with his swords.  Hong Kong, late 1960s.

Hung in a home or studio, these swords are thought to convey good fortune and a certain type of energy.  In fact, it was not uncommon for Confucian scholars to display a prized antique blade or a peach wood sword in their studies.  Ip Man’s hudiedao appear to be a (uniquely southern) adaptation of this broader cultural tradition.  As carved wooden works of art, they were only meant to have a superficial resemblance to the militia weapons of the early 19^th century.

Ip Ching also relates that at a later date one of his students took these swords and had exact aluminum replicas of them created.  Later these were reworked again to have a flat stainless steel blade and aluminum (latter brass) handles.  Still, I think there is much to be said for the symbolism of the peach wood blade.

Butterfly swords remain one of the most iconic and easily recognizable artifacts of Southern China’s unique martial culture.  Their initial creation in the late 18^th or early 19^th century may have been aided by recent encounters with European cutlasses and military hangers.  This unique D-grip (seen in many, though not all cases) was then married to an older tradition of using double weapons housed in a single sheath.

By the 1820s, these swords were popular enough that American and British merchants in Guangdong were encountering them and adding them to their collections.  By the 1830’s, we have multiple accounts of these weapons being supplied to the gentry led militia troops and braves hired by Lin in his conflicts with the British.  Descriptions by Commander Bingham indicate the existence of a fully formed martial tradition in which thousands of troops were trained to fight in the open field with these swords, and even to flip them when switching between grips.  (Whether flipping them is really a good idea is another matter entirely).

Increased contact between Europeans and Chinese citizens in the 1840s and 1850s resulted in more accounts of “double swords” and clear photographs and engravings showing a variety of features that are shared with modern hudiedao.  The biggest difference is that most of these mid-century swords were longer and more pointed than modern swords.

Interestingly these weapons also start to appear on America’s shores as Chinese immigration from Guangdong and Fujian increased in the middle of the 19^th century.  Period accounts from the 1880s indicate that they were commonly employed by criminals and enforcers, and photographs from the turn of the century show that they were also used by both street performers and opera singers.

Still, these blades were in general shorter, wider and with less pronounced points, than their mid. 19^th century siblings.  While some individuals may have continued to carry these into the 1930s, hudiedao started to disappear from the streets as they were replaced by more modern and economical firearms.  By the middle of the 20^th century these items, if encountered at all, were no longer thought of as fearsome weapons of community defense or organized crime.  Instead they survived as the tools of the “traditional martial arts” and opera props.

While it has touched on a variety of points, I feel that this article has made two substantive contributions to our understanding of these weapons.  First, it pushed their probable date of creation back a generation or more.  Rather than being the product of the late 19^th century or the 1850s, we now have clear evidence of the widespread use of the hudiedao in Guangdong dating back to the 1830s, and a strong suggestion of their presence in the 1820s.

These weapons were indeed favored by civilian martial artists and various members of the “Rivers and Lakes” of southern China.  Yet we have also seen that they were employed by the thousands to arm militias, braves and guards in southern China.  Not only that we have accounts of thousands of individuals in the Pearl River Delta region receiving active daily instruction in their use in the late 1830s.

The popular view of hudiedao as exotic weapons of martial artists, rebels and eccentric pirates needs to be modified.  These blades also symbolized the forces of “law and order.”  They were produced by the thousands for government backed elite networks and paid for with public taxes.  This was a reasonable choice as many members of these local militias already had some boxing experience.  It would have been relatively easy to train them to hold and use these swords given what they already knew.  While butterfly swords may have appeared mysterious and quintessentially “Chinese” to western observers in the 1830s, Lin supported their large scale adoption as a practical solution to a pressing problem.

This may also change how we think about the martial arts that arose in this region.  For instance, the two weapons typically taught in the Wing Chun system are the “long pole” and the “bat cham do” (the style name for hudiedao).  The explanations for these weapons that one normally encounters are highly exotic and focus on the wandering Shaolin monks (who were famous for their pole fighting) or secret rebel groups intent on exterminating local government officials.  Often the “easily concealable” nature of the hudiedao are supposed to have made them ideal for this task (as opposed to handguns and high explosives, which are the weapons that were actually used for political assassinations during the late Qing).

Our new understanding of the historical record shows that what Wing Chun actually teaches are the two standard weapons taught to almost every militia member in the region.  One typically learns pole fighting as a prelude to more sophisticated spear fighting.  However, the Six and a Half Point pole form could easily work for either when training a peasant militia.  And we now know that the butterfly swords were the single most common side arm issued to peasant-soldiers during the mid. 19^th century in the Pearl River Delta region.

The first historically verifiable appearance of Wing Chun in Foshan was during the 1850s-1860s.  This important commercial town is located literally in the heartland of the southern gentry-led militia movement.  It had been the scene of intense fighting in 1854-1856 and more conflict was expected in the future.

We have no indication that Leung Jan was a secret revolutionary.  He was a well known and well liked successful local businessman.  Still, there are understandable reasons that the martial art which he developed would allow a highly educated and wealthy individual, to train a group of people in the use of the pole and the hudiedao.  Wing Chun contains within it all of the skills one needs to raise and train a gentry led militia unit.

The evolution of Wing Chun was likely influenced by this regions unique history of militia activity and widespread (government backed) military education.  I would not be at all surprised to see some of these same processes at work in other martial arts that were forming in the Pearl River Delta at the same time.

These swords embody elements of both the longer chopping and stabbing types that were popular in the 19th century. Both blades are finely made, well balanced and exhibit long false edges. Total length: 60 cm; Width at bade: 5 cm, width of spine: 10 mm. Source: Author’s personal collection.

19th century Chinese painting. This image is part of a larger set that shows scenes of a gentry led militia in training. Note the individual in the foreground with long pointed hudiedao. Special thanks to Gavin Nugent (www.swordsantiqueweapons.com) for sharing these images.

The Importance of the “Foreign Language Literature” in Chinese Martial Studies

It is very hard to pierce the veil of the mid-19^th century and to understand what exactly was happening in the development of the popular martial arts between about 1820 and 1880.  This is particularly true in areas that suffered a great deal of social disturbance during the 19^th century like Guangdong (and many other places as well).  The wall of silence is all the more disconcerting as it seems that lots of interesting stuff was happening.  If you go back as far as the late 18^th century only a few of the modern Chinese martial arts styles existed in a recognizable form.  Yet by the late 19^th century, exactly 100 years later, the groundwork was fully in place for the modern martial arts explosion that would happen in the 20^th century.  So what exactly happened in this critical 100 year period? We just don’t have all the answers.

Part of the problem is the Chinese historical record itself.  Social elites did not record a lot of information on boxing and pole fighting, and “everyone knows” that most martial artists of the period were illiterate and operated only within the confines of an oral culture (more on this historical assumption later in the post).  When you combine that with the massive purging of records, documents and histories that happened in the Opium Wars, the Taiping Rebellion, the 1911-1912 Revolution, the years of warlordism in the 1920s, the Japanese invasion during the late 1930s, the “Liberation” of 1949 and then again in the final fires of the Cultural Revolution…it is not hard to understand why a country with as much history as China seems to have so little of it left lying around.  The modern mania for ripping down historic neighborhoods to build ever widening rings of largely empty high-rise apartment buildings has not helped matters.

It is not all darkness; valuable sources have survived.  Yet scholars and amateur historians would like to see more.  One of the important but often overlooked resources that we do have at our disposal are foreign language resources.  In this case the foreign languages that we are interested in are English, Japanese, French and German.  Of course these are the tongues of the major colonial powers that were starting to encroach on China in the mid-19^th century.  Still, interesting accounts can be found in each of these literatures.

Merchants, soldiers, missionaries and the occasional adventurer traveled to China in great numbers during the late imperial period.  They left a number of reports, accounts, memos and memoirs in their wake, all of which are available in any well-stocked research library.  Better yet, lots of these works are being scanned and digitized en mass, making even the trip to the library unnecessary.

There are obvious problems with this information.  The authors, almost without exception, were not trained historians.  In some cases they weren’t even very good social observers.  The usefulness and accuracy of different accounts can vary tremendously, and many of these works are written with a clear agenda that is not favorable to the Chinese.  I actually find many of the accounts left by German Catholic missionaries so offensive as to be almost unreadable.

Still, there are gems in the rough, and they occur with enough frequency to justify familiarizing yourself with the sources.  For instance, a lot of the earliest and best writing on Qiu Jin, the female revolutionary martial artist and poet I discussed a few months ago, was written in Japanese.  My language background is actually primarily in Japanese so I and a Japanese graduate student spent a few hours a week over the course of a semester reading these sources to familiarize ourselves with her life.

These foreign language resources can be quite valuable, and in many cases they are the oldest first-hand accounts that exist in any language.  All authors have a certain bias in how they see the world, and these sources are far from unbiased.  Yet their preconceptions are different from elite-produced Chinese history, and hence they often provide a different perspective, or record different types of data, that modern historians find helpful.

To help familiarize readers with what is out there I am going to review two or three of them over the next couple of months.  Hopefully we will be able to introduce the source, discuss its value to scholars today and apply it to a current historical or cultural problem in the area of Chinese martial studies.

Wood block cuts illustrating unarmed Boxing form the “Nobel Art of Self Defense.” (circa 1870). Note that the individual on the left is striking a boney target (his opponent’s face) with an open hand, where as the “figure A” on the left is now attacking a soft target with a closed fist. This is generally good advice and it is still taught in the southern Chinese martial arts today.

The Noble Art of Self-Defense: A Manual of Boxing and the Hudiedao Printed in the 1870s.

The first foreign language source we review may be of general interest to everyone, and is of special interest to southern stylists, Wing Chun students and anyone who is concerned with the history of butterfly swords (hudiedao).  It is particularly important in light of my previous study of the development and use of the hudiedo in Guangdong during the early 19^th century.

The September 1874 issue of the China Review ran a brief piece titled “The Noble Art of Self-Defense in China.”  The article was published anonymously by an educated British gentleman who evidently had some interest in boxing and went by the initials L. C. P.  The copyright on this material has long since expired so I have up-loaded a PDF that anyone can access by clicking the following link [ Noble Art of Self-Defense ].  It only takes about five minutes to read and is well worth the effort.

“The Noble Art of Self-Defense” is also an extremely important text as it tells us quite a bit about an era of martial arts manuals and authorship that we have very little information on.  For instance, Brian Kennedy and Elizabeth Guo, in their book Chinese Martial Arts Training Manuals: A historical Survey (Blue Snake, 2005) lists five distinct eras of publishing on the martial arts in China.  The current work fits nowhere in their larger framework (in their view printed martial arts manuals are a product of the Republic of China period).  One could easily say that of course any typology will have a few exceptions, but that is not the case here.  Rather we have collectively forgotten about an entire era of active martial arts related publishing and commercial activity.

L. C. P. not only describes this booklet but he situates it within a surprisingly rich social context of marketplace vendors, soldiers, opera singers and public commercial martial arts instructors (something else that is often ascribed only to a much later period).  It is clear from his descriptions that already in the 1870s printed martial arts manuals were not horribly rare.  Instead they were a cheap and common good in large southern Chinese market places.  Yet we have been unaware of the existence of these works because literally not one example has survived to the present day (at least that I am aware of).

While surprising on the surface, this is just one more example of the odd “selection effects” that one often encounters in martial studies.  We currently have museums full of beautifully decorated medieval European armor and wonderfully preserved noble swords.  Yet with a few recent exceptions (mostly coming from the world of archeology) we do not have any English longbows.  Clearly the longbow was the much more common weapon; yet being “common” (in all senses of the word), no one thought to preserve them for posterity.  As a result, our finest collections are full of arms that were historically very rare and atypical, and nearly devoid of that which was actually used.  L.C.P.’s testimony is very important because he makes it clear that students of Chinese martial studies also face these same paradoxical historical “selection effects.”

The lasting value of “The Noble Art of Defense” is to document this aspect of the Chinese language literature and suggest that even marginally literate martial artists may have been buying and producing cheap “penny-books” during the late Qing dynasty.  Given the popularity of cheaply printed martial arts fiction during this same period the existence of mass produced training manuals probably should not surprise us, and yet it does. (For a discussion of early martial arts novels in southern China see John Christopher Hamm. Paper Swordsmen. University of Hawaii Press. 2006. Focus especially on his discussion of the “Old Guangdong” school of fiction).

L.C.P.’s tone towards the local Chinese population is not always positive, but overall he seems to be a sympathetic and interested observer.  He also felt that his own people (the British) were capable of doing some pretty stupid things in the name of cultural superiority (like wearing woolen suits in the tropics).  He clearly felt that some of their systematic misconception of what it meant to be Chinese (e.g., that the Chinese were by definition backwards) needed to be corrected.  In confronting these attitudes he notes that while the Chinese do things differently, many of the problems that they face are identical to those seen in Europe and their solutions are often uncannily similar.  To paraphrase the late anthropologist Ruth Benedict, the “arc of human potential” is not nearly as broad as we sometimes imagine, and a little sympathy can go a long way towards understanding something that on the surface may look very different.

Nevertheless, his observations of Chinese society are not without a certain bias.  L. C. P. passed harsh judgment on the Chinese military in Guangzhou (Canton).  He found their continuing fascination with boxing and “cold weapons” in the 1870s, well after they should have moved on “to something more useful and wholesome” like the Martini Henry Rifle, disturbing.  In all fairness a lot of Chinese intellectuals and local leaders at the time agreed with him.  Yet his observations in this area introduce us to our first point of discussion.

L.C.P. and his anonymous friend were interested enough in the “arts of self-defense” that they visited soldiers, martial artists, bought and translated popular publications, and had a fair understanding of how the lower classes of martial arts teachers and students actually worked.  Yet in L. C. P.’s mind “boxing” was a sporting endeavor and he appears at times genuinely confused that it was not pursued as such in China.

A very interesting painting from the previous series. Note that this one shows individuals with clearly rendered Hudiedao, Shuang Jian and Shuang Dao, suggesting the practical use of all three weapons. Special thanks to Gavin Nugent (www.swordsantiqueweapons.com) for agreeing to share this image.

Talking about the nature of the Chinese people he notes, unlike the British, they don’t seem to view street fights (as opposed to challenge matches on a raised stage) as a type of popular entertainment.  When someone is insulted at the docks, rather than a fight breaking out (which is really a form of cheap entertainment for the workers back in the UK) Chinese employees will just keep on working.  And if, after continued goading and abuse, a fight does break out, rather than the sort of orderly amateur boxing that he sees in Europe, the contestants are much more likely to pick up poles, bricks or other weapons in an attempt to actually kill one another.

I find this moment of culture shock very informative.  I think it reveals quite a bit about street culture in Guangzhou versus London.  Both could be dangerous places in the late 19^th century, and both certainly had a specter of violence hanging over them.  But that specter didn’t take the same form in each city.

A certain type of British street violence was more common, but also more socially regulated.  It was hemmed in by a number of universally understood norms precisely because it was tolerated and normalized at some level.  Violence in southern China was less common, and because it lay outside the realm of the accepted social order, it was subject to fewer specific norms and restraints.  The eruption of open public violence was pretty rare, and when it did come it took the form of private war, between individuals, brotherhoods and clans.

Right away we see a serious misunderstanding of what “self-defense” really implies.  One suspects that if a British gentleman from the more rough and tumble 16^th or 17^th centuries had been exposed to this material they may have found its aims less perplexing.

Another wood block print from the “Nobel Art of Self-Defense.” Notice the long, narrow, pointed hudiedao and clearly illustrated D-guards. Also note that the posture of this individual is identical to the figure in the first painting.

Hudiedao (Butterfly Swords) in the 1870s: Understanding the Southern Chinese Martial Arts of Leung Jan’s generation.

The main body of the article proceeds with a partial translation and commentary on a short publication, or pamphlet, on the southern Chinese martial arts.  A direct translation of its title reads “The Noble Art of Self-Defense” (unfortunately the author does not provide the original characters).  No author was listed.  The publication was printed in Canton and was exported to Hong Kong for sale, which is where the author encountered it.  We don’t know specifically when the book was printed or first written except that it must have been sometime before the summer of 1874.

For Wing Chun students the 1870s is a particularly important time.  Leung Jan was still alive and instructing Chan Wah Shun, who had not yet begun to teach.  While Wong Wah Bo and Leung Yee Tai had already moved on, it is probably in the 1860s and 1870s that the modern synthesis of southern boxing that we now think of as Wing Chun really comes together and gels as a distinct art.  An account describing the general martial milieu of places like Guangzhou and Hong Kong during this decade is very important.

In total the “book” translated by L. C. P. was only about ten pages long.  Each page of the pamphlet featured a woodblock print of two martial artists fighting in two different positions.  The text provided by the original Chinese author was extremely brief and described only the actions of the combatants and the names of postures.  The structure of the book is similar to the illustrated techniques found in what Patrick McCarthy (2008) has labeled the “fourth section” of the Bubishi.  This resemblance is important as the Bubishi itself was a more complex martial arts manual exported from southern China to Okinawa in the early 1800s.  While normally venerated by Karate students, it is an important point of comparison as it is the most sophisticated surviving southern Chinese martial arts training manual that has been published and made widely available.

The layout of this small book reflects the priorities and practices of martial artists along the Pearl River at that point in time.  Much to the disappointment of L. C. P., the Chinese “arts of defense” did not seem to center around boxing.  Only the first two leaves of the collection dealt directly with unarmed fighters.  The next three pages turned their attention to pole fighting.  Interestingly the English author immediately interpreted these “lessons” as being similar to the old English tradition of quarterstaff fighting and felt himself in known territory.

Illustrations of pole fighting, “The Noble Art of Self-Defense.” (Circa 1870)

The last seven pages of the manual focused instead on “cold weapons” including tridents, spears, long handled choppers and two different sorts of double sword combinations.  In fact, six of the remaining seven pages were dedicated to engagements between one opponent with double swords and another armed with a longer pole weapon.  Of course the spear and hudiedao were the main weapons issued to peasant-soldiers in this region from the 1830s-1860s.  We know that literally thousands (probably tens of thousands) of men received formal instruction in these weapons as they participated in gentry led militias.

Poles and butterfly swords are also the only weapons taught in Wing Chun.  Given the historical circumstances surrounding the arts development, we should not be too surprised by this.  Further, the “Noble Art of Self Defense” makes it clear that these same issues were still critical area martial artists in the 1870s.

The swords that are portrayed in the woodcuts differ from those that are used by martial artists today, but are quite similar to antique blades in private collections that were manufactured during the 19^th century.  Two types of double swords are seen in the text.  The first has a narrow blade that comes to a sharp point.  While slightly curved it is still an effective stabbing weapon.  The grip is enclosed in some type of hand-guard and the blade (if the proportions of the illustration are even close to accurate) is probably about 60 cm long.  These blades resemble a pair of naval cutlasses or small hangers.  In short, the illustration shows typical 19^th century hudiedao.

The second pair of swords are slightly different.  Their blades appear to be a bit straighter and shorter.  In terms of their size they seem similar to the short swords that were popular among criminals and gamblers in the coastal cities of China.  These were the weapons that the ‘Short Sword Revolt’ was named for (another uprising in which opera singers in full costume played a notable role).

The hilts raise some questions.  One appears to be a simple metal upward facing half-moon, of the type commonly seen on the sorts of weapons that village blacksmiths might produce.  The other cross-piece is more distinct and the fighter appears to be trying to trap a large chopping blade with it.   Once “bridged,” the opponent’s weapon will be safely encumbered, and the defender can then counter-attack with his reserve sword.

Note the attempt to trap the opponents Pu Dap (Horse Knife) with the quillion of the shuang dao.

Many Wing Chun weapons schools still show a perplexing enthusiasm for this exact movement.  I personally share L. C. P.’s extreme skepticism on the matter.  My own school has a fairly heavy emphasis on weapons training including full contact fencing and sparring.  We have looked at this problem extensively.  It is just not possible to trap a blade of any length, let alone a pole arm, safely in this way.  It really is suicidal.  The fact that these movements cannot be carried out successfully against a skilled and determined opponent have nothing to do with skill, it is a matter of geometry and the principal of leverage.

It has always been a puzzle to me that this particular technique has persisted in the lore of Wing Chun for so long.  I suppose it exists because in the modern era very few students are ever allowed to learn the swords, few schools actually approach them as a style of serious fencing, and fewer still take the time to work them against longer swords and pole arms in realistic combative situations.

These woodblock prints, and L.C.P.’s commentary on them, are interesting as they imply that the question of trapping an enemy’s weapon with a quillion did not emerge in a single specific style.  This is actually not an issue that is unique to Wing Chun.  It was a more general idea that was shared widely throughout the region.  Apparently it has also been puzzling martial arts students for quite some time.

While double swords were popular in Guangdong during the 19^th century, neither style of blades featured in this work resemble the “bat cham do” seen in modern Wing Chun schools.  In both cases the blades are longer, slimmer and more suited for stabbing.  A consensus is growing that the modern type of butterfly sword did not develop until the 20^th century, and so we should not be surprised to see longer, more serious swords, being employed in the 1870s.

Another image in the same series of paintings. Note the leader of this unit is dressed as a member of the gentry and carries a bow. Thanks again to Gavin Nugent (www.swordsantiqueweapons.com) for sharing this image.

Conclusion: Literacy and Reading Strategies in the 19^th century Southern Chinese Martial Arts.

The British printers did an admirable job of reproducing the wood cuts from the original manual.  Figure B in the first frame of Print I is about to respond to a low punch with a typical high-low guan.  It all looks very familiar, except for his stance which is much deeper than modern Wing Chun.  It may just be me, but the figure also seems to resemble one from General Qi Jiguang’s “32 Forms.”  His figure also holds his hands in this position, yet his stance is not quite so deep and is walking forward.

All of which brings up the question of authorship and literary dependency.  While L.C.P. notes that the “arts of self-defense” are taught primarily through oral means in both the UK and China, he does observe that Chinese books on these topics are more common than European ones and that they appear to be widely distributed.  The most popular ones are short manuals like his that can be bought for less than a penny at a stall in the local marketplace.  They tend to not impart much knowledge and their overall quality is not what one might hope for given their large readership.  Better, more comprehensive, books are available, but to get them you have to have money and you must visit a real bookshop.  They cannot be found as simply and easily.

This is a fascinating revelation.  We tend to think of the traditional martial arts in China as being a wholly oral realm, and yet we discover that not only is there an elite literature, but that there is a vast popular literature as well.  Sadly almost none of these popular publications survive today.  If not for the accounts of L.C.P. we probably wouldn’t know anything about them.

Given the abundant pictures and simple, direct commentary, a reader did not have to be fully literate to understand “The Nobel Art of Self Defense.”  And its price point would seem to indicate that this item was meant to be an impulse purchase.  This is interesting because the existence of such a market would indicate that ideas might spread a good deal farther and faster within the martial arts community than if it were relying on the spoken word and teacher-student relationships alone.  Such a market would also provide a way in which the insights of the more erudite literature might be disseminated, albeit in a simplified and watered-down form.

L.C.P. is acutely aware of the shortcomings of this sort of literature.  Set piece defenses only work against carefully scripted attack sequences, and if the opponent deviates from the script the technique is useless.  One could raise this same complaint about 70% of all of the articles ever published in Blackbelt Magazine and they would be just as valid.  It seems that some things in the martial arts never do change.

It is also notable that he links this sort of set-piece attack and defense to the sorts of martial arts seen in Cantonese Opera and being performed by martial arts masters in the market place.  There is probably a lot of truth to his observation that in the early 1870s Guangzhou and Hong Kong were full of martial arts teachers precisely because there were a lot of unemployed opera singers (due to the ban on the art following the Red Turban Revolt).  Once again, Wing Chun students won’t have too much trouble seeing where figures like Wong Wah Bo and Leung Yee Tai fit into the local landscape that L.C.P. describes.

Perhaps I am too quick to bestow the benefit of the doubt, but I wonder if we are missing something when we think about this training manual and those like it.  We know that workers from the countryside tended to be the most interested in the martial arts and to have had the most experience with them.  True, a penny was not a lot of money, but for working class individuals it was not trivial either.  Given their almost universal prior militia experience one would think that martial artists in the 1870s would be able to judge the value of a work like this.

Rather than portraying set piece defenses and sequences of movement, perhaps this book is really just a primer that lists a number of postures.  The individual martial artist is then left to fill in the correct sequence of movement and give them the correct energy.  The postures in the book and short inscriptions act as a mnemonic device.

After all, that’s basically what Qi Jiguang was doing with his “32 Forms.”  You had to be an experienced martial artist to read his book and get anything out of it.  Perhaps the “20 Forms” reviewed by the current author were the same thing, a useful aid to memory for those who already knew, and a useless puzzle to a curious British boxing fan.  If this is indeed the case than L. C. P. might be the first western martial seeker to discover that you can’t learn Kung Fu from a book.  The “arc of human potential” means that some things are just never going to change.

[For a brief summery of another printed martial arts manual purchased in Guangzhou in 1822 click here.]

A studio image of two Chinese soldiers (local braves) produced probably in Hong Kong during the 1850s. Note the hudiedao (butterfly swords) carried by both individuals.  The individual on the right seems to be carrying a single sword crafted in the style of a hudiedao, while the one on the left a true set of double swords. Unknown Photographer.

Introduction:  The Butterfly Swords and Southern Martial Arts Defend the Nation

I recently ran across two photographs that I think students of the southern Chinese martial arts may find very enlightening.  They speak to interesting tactical and cultural questions.  On the one hand they provide a record of how individuals fought and the specific weapons that they used.  But on a deeper level they reveal subtle cultural trends that were effecting the martial arts of Guangdong during the 1920s and 1930s, a key period in their evolution and development.

The martial arts have long been associated with military training and local defense.  These links, however, are more complex than they first appear.  From at least the time of the Song dynasty officials were able to make an increasingly clear distinction between the martial arts as a social practice (predominantly carried out by civilians) and actual military skills (as practiced by soldiers).  The two areas were seen as clearly distinct, if still related, fields of studies.  One might lead to a career in the other, or it could lead to a number of other things.

And that was the problem.  Many of the activities of martial artists tended to be less than savory.  During the Ming and Qing dynasty opera and other street performers were often associated with the martial arts.  These rootless individuals were looked down on by most elements of society.  Other martial artists got jobs as military escorts or guards for local businessmen or property owners.  The state was not always enthusiastic about the creation of independent pockets of military power controlled by these sorts of free agents.  Finally, a disproportionate number of martial artists seem to have run afoul of the law and ended up as bandits or pirates.

Surely some of the accounts of the associations between martial arts schools and criminal organizations are exaggerations, but there is a disturbing grain of truth behind many of these stories that needs to be acknowledged if one really wants to understand the place of the martial arts in Chinese society.  This reputation for links to the criminal underground was one of the main sources of tension between martial artists and mainstream society in Hong Kong during the 1970s and 1980s.  I have recently heard some disturbing reports that the same sort of reputation is starting to reemerge in the current era as more Chinese parents are actively discouraging their children from taking up the traditional arts.

Robert J. Anotony discusses one of the common strategies employed to deal with the problem of wayward tough kids (often with some training in boxing and weapons) in his monograph Like Froth Floating on the Sea: the World of Pirates and Seafarers in Late Imperial South China.  When the piracy or banditry problems flared up in Guangdong one of the first things that the local government often did was to start hiring “braves” (basically independent mercenaries) to stiffen the local regiments and to organizing village, clan and gentry led militia units.

This was not an entirely new strategy, though the south did tend to embrace it with a particular enthusiasm.  During the 1510 Rebellion a Confucian statesman named Yang Yiqing (1454-1530) proposed a strategy for containing the spread of the violence by actively absorbing into the state as many under-employed young men with military training as was financially possible.  He petitioned the throne to authorize the Minister of War to hire civilian volunteers for limited terms of service (most of the Ming army was hereditary at that point) and to institute a special set of military exams that would select civilians who possessed great strength, archery skills, the ability to ride, and martial artists who specialized in the pole, spear, sword, chain or unarmed boxing as well as those who had studied military texts.  These individuals were to be recruited on generous terms, payed and equipped well, and given low-level leadership posts, such as being named a “military trainer.”  The suggestion of Yang and others were accepted and this strategy became a common practice for dealing with security concerns during both the Ming and Qing (David Robinson, Bandits, Eunuchs and the Son of Heaven, pp. 84-85).

Both Robinson and Antony point out that there is one critical element of Yang’s plan at is often missed by modern readers.  Rather than just bolstering local defense, Yang was really attempting to engage in direct economic competition with local bandits chieftains, rebels leaders or invaders who might also wish to employ the services of these same young men.  Creating extensive militias in times of crisis not only gave the state a valuable source of reserve troops, but it also made the situation less volatile by controlling a large and unpredictable set of actors.

It is critical to understand this so that we can really grasp the full relationship between martial arts training and militia service in southern China during the Qing dynasty.  From at least the Ming period on both the state and society were making increasingly clear distinctions between the martial arts as a civilian social institution (which was sometimes implicated in low level violence) and the actual business of warfare (which involved rifles, cannons, fortifications and massed cavalry charges).

Yes knowing some boxing could be an asset to military training.  Knowing pole or spear fighting would be even better.  But martial artists were intentionally sought out for recruitment into militias in large part because of their social marginality.  This was a crowd that was overwhelming young, it worked cheap and local leaders were worried about what they might do if left to their own devices.  Putting them to work for the duration of the crisis seemed to be a good idea.

This brings us to our first picture.  This photograph probably dates from the 1850s.  The photographer or circumstances of its creation are unknown.  It was probably taken in Hong Kong some time after the First Opium War (and likely after the Red Turban Revolt), but prior to the Second Opium War.

The two “soldiers” in the photograph look to be teenagers.  I suspect a disproportionate percentage of local militia recruits during both the Ming and Qing were likely very young adults.  There certainly seems to be some demographic issues at play here that need to be more fully explored in a future post.

Obviously this photograph was taken in a staged studio setting.  Still, the uniforms, helmets and weapons are very real.  The models look to be quite real as well.  While a recreation, this is probably the most accurate and detailed representation of mid 19^th century Cantonese militia members that I have ever seen.

Both boys are wearing a rough uniform that includes a dark tunic, shoes, a helmet and a label which reads “zhuàng yǒng.”  Translated literally these characters mean “strong and courageous,” but a more colloquial reading might be “valiant” or “brave.”  The uniforms, standardized weapons and the labels suggest that these individuals are mercenary martial artists, usually referred to in the historical literature simply as “braves,” who were so common in this period.  Its interesting to note that both of these individuals have been issued hudiedao as part of their “official” gear.  One individual carries this weapon as a sidearm accompanying his rifle, while in the other case they are the primary arms.  This matches quite closely the written descriptions of civilian troops from the period which we previously reviewed here.

We can now compare this photograph with another image of a militia unit.  This image clearly shows a local village militia group somewhere outside of Guangzhou.  Maybe it would be better thought of as a martial arts class that has been dressed and used as a militia.  These “soldiers” appear to be shockingly young.

A local village militia group outside of Guangzhou, probably in the mid. 1850s. Source http:\\www.swordsantiqueweapons.com.

This village militia does not seem to have the same level of economic support as the “braves” hired in the major urban areas.  Most of the soldiers are without shoes, they have no semblance of uniforms, and their weapons vary greatly.  However, it is interesting to note that the leader of this group is clearly carrying a set of hudiedao (butterfly swords), and other photographs in this series suggest that the individuals with the shields are as well.

These two photographs represent two different elements of the late Qing militia strategy.  The first set of soldiers are likely youths from a city (sometimes referred to as “urban toughs” by local officials) who were likely involved in boxing and were recruited into military service directly by officers of the state.  The second photo shows a much more organic group.  These youths were likely part of a crop-watching society or martial arts class in a small village.  There is a very good chance that most of these kids are related to each other (either as siblings or cousins).  During a time of crisis a local landlord or degree holder would recruit multiple groups such as this, and organize them into a fighting unit.  This force would be supplied and coordinated through the gentry led militia system.  The standardized helmets and shields (as well as the presence of some rudimentary firearms and hudiedao) would seem to indicate that this organization had already happened, but there is no sign of the larger military or social structure that this unit is supposed to be embedded in.

Guangdong Militias of the 1930s and 1940s.

The martial arts continued to be associated with the formation of militias and the defense of local communities in the 1930s.  While hand combat was quickly disappearing from the battlefield, these skills remained an important part of the repertoire of local militia men.

In fact, there is a notable change on this front from the pattern that we just reviewed 100 years previously.  In that case the government was free to recruit martial artists in large numbers.  They did so both to bolster the number of fighting troops at their disposal, but also as a means of temporarily strengthening their control over local society at a potentially sensitive and volatile time.

During the 1930s and 1940s most residents of urban areas had no martial arts training.  It appears that many of these individuals were first introduced to the martial arts when they joined a local militia group, or “Big Sword” (Dadao) training class to help to defend the nation.  The Nationalist Party consciously used the martial arts (regulated though their Guoshu program) as a means of strengthening the people, both physically and psychologically.

In the countryside these steps were less necessary.  Farmers still had to form crop-watching societies, bandits still plagued the roads and the martial arts were a popular pastime in a number of agricultural communities.  In short, the situation for many of the province’s rural martial artists was not markedly different in 1940 than it had been in 1840.  The greatest difference between the time periods would be the sudden increase in urban middle class martial artists that started to be seen in the 1920s.  Yet most people still lived in the countryside, and there life went on pretty much the same as always.

As such you might guess that the sorts of militias, technologies and weapons used would be pretty similar.  This turns out to be only partially true.  It is still the case that most peasants could not afford to buy a rifle, but the rifles that were seen in the 1940s were overwhelmingly bolt action designs.  While their state of repair might be variable, they were actually broadly comparable to what the average Japanese infantryman might carry.

Those members of the militia and rebel groups that could not be armed with guns still carried traditional weapons.  The following two photographs are very instructive in this regard.  The first of these was part of a series of images of a rural militia group organizing outside of Guangzhou in 1938 taken by Robert Cappa.  Other images in the same series can be seen here.

Member of a local militia outside of Guangzhou, 1938. Source: Vintage war photography by Robert Capa.

I quite like this image for a variety of reasons.  First and foremost it is simply an excellent photo that humanizes its subject.  That is something that many early western photographers of China utterly failed to do.  It seems that they took their task to be the illustration of “difference” rather than an exploration of our shared humanity.

On a more mundane level this photograph also offers one of the most detailed studies of actual spears from the 1940s that one is likely to ever see.  The nature and construction of the spearhead is clearly visible.  Again, some individuals in this unit are armed with rifles, and the others carried spears.

For all of their actual practicality, spears are not the weapon that most people associate with the patriotic martial artists of WWII.  That honor would go to the “Dadao” or the “Military Big-Saber.”  These large two handed swords are the most iconic weapon to emerge from China during the early 20^th century.  I discussed the origins and social history of these blades here.

While a few regular units were issued this weapon and organized into “Big Sword Teams,” its important to remember that the vast majority of the regular KMT army was armed just like any other modern military of the time.  They were issued bolt action rifles, semi-automatic handguns, grenades and sub-machine guns.  I have spent quite a bit of time searching old books and photo archives for good images of soldiers with dadaos in the field (as opposed to in a photography studio or on a parade ground), and I can tell you that such images are rarer than one might think.  They certainly exist, but finding good shots is a challenge.

Most of the individuals who were issued these weapons were in fact second line troops such as militias, rural guerrilla groups, military police units and railway guards.  Issuing traditional arms to these groups freed up more advanced weapons for those soldiers actually fighting the Japanese.  Further, these groups actually spent the majority of their time securing villages, protecting fixed assets and dealing with Chinese civilians.  In those settings a dadao was both very intimidating and very effective.

Again, this is not to say that there were not a few important battlefield clashes where dadao were used, but those instances are remembered precisely because they were the exception rather than the rule.  For the regular army the dadao seems to have functioned as a moral boosting weapon.  Those individuals who actually used it in anger tended to be concentrated in guerrilla and militia units.

A Chinese guerrilla team armed with rifles and dadaos near Guangzhou in 1941. Source: Vintage War photograph, Everett Collection.

The preceding photograph was taken of a group of Chinese guerrillas who were actively resisting the Japanese outside of Guangzhou in 1941.  I have not been able to figure out who the original photographer was (though I have a couple of guesses).  The individuals in the image are dressed in the almost universal garb of insurgents in Asia and are armed with a variety of weapons including modern and older firearms, and dadaos.

A number of interesting features of these blades are visible.  To begin with both of the blades in the foreground have holes in the back of the spine near the tip of the blade.  On civilian swords these often contain a brass or metal ring.  In the current case I suspect the hole is meant to hold a cord or a sling so that the sword can be worn across the back.  Note that neither sword appears to have come with a scabbard.

The sword on the right also shows an intricately wrapped handle.  This contrasts markedly with the sword on the left.  While the blades appear to be absolutely identical, its handle has a plain cord wrap.  Given the humid wet conditions of southern China, period handle wraps in good condition are rare.  This photo yields some interesting evidence as to what these swords looked like and how they were used in the early 1940s.

On a deeper level it is interesting to ask why these troops are armed with dadaos at all.  At first glance this seems to be a very “traditional” weapon inherited from the ancient past.  Yet that is mostly an illusion.  While militia forces from the area traditionally did use a variety of different types of swords, the dadao was not one of them.  There are no accounts of troops using these sorts of swords against the British in Guangzhou in the 1840s.  At that time chopping weapons were common but they were always mounted on longer poles (pu dao) giving the wielder the advantage of leverage, speed and reach.

Instead the hudiedao seems to have been the favored sidearm of martial artists and militia members in the region for much of the 19^th century.  During the 1840s and 1850s the government purchased huge numbers of these arms and trained thousands of people in their use.  Double swords really were an “official” weapon of local government backed paramilitary groups.

That may seem odd from a modern perspective.  We tend to treat butterfly swords as a highly exotic “Kung Fu” weapon.  They are regarded with an aura of supernal mystery.  But the truth is that if you already know how to box, its not that hard to give someone the rudimentary training they might need to use this weapon effectively.  Additionally the hudiedao were small enough to be treated as a sidearm that would not get in the way of a bow, rifle or spear (the primary arms of most local troops).  Given that the militias of the 19^th century were actively recruiting martial artists and boxers, issuing hudiedao made a lot of sense.

By the 1930s this weapon had vanished from the battlefield.  Southern martial artists still practiced with it, and criminals occasionally employed it on the streets for their own nefarious reasons.  However I have never seen any indication that militia groups in Guangdong continued to use this familiar local weapon.  Instead most of them seem to have issued the dadao, a fundamentally different two handed saber from the north, as the predominant sidearm.

It would not be too difficult to teach most peasants to use a dadao as they all used two-handed tools in their daily lives.  Then again, many of these same peasants were already martial artists, swords were common, and very few individuals in southern China used double handed blades.  Introducing a totally new type of bladed weapon seems to be a needless complication.

Nor am I really convinced that the dadao was adopted simply because it could be made “cheaply and easily by anyone.”  Cheaply perhaps.  But given how heavy and clunky some of the dadao are that I have handled, their production must not have been all that “easy” for some facilities.  If the provincial government could produce somewhere between 3,000 and 10,000 hudiedao in the year 1838-1839, I am not sure why the much more efficient and industrial government of 1937 would not have been able to do the same thing.

Far from being a “traditional weapon,” the dadao is really better thought of as a new invention in the 1920s and 1930s.  While swords of this type had existed in the past they had never been issued on such a massive, near universal, scale.  Nor had they ever been asked to do so much.  The dadao succeeded not only because of its low price, but also because it reminded individuals of a mythic time in the past when the country was unified and strong.  Specifically, it reminded them of the Ming dynasty, when China had defeated the Japanese twice.

The dadao became a successful national icon only after it was imbued with these meanings.  It was adopted into the universalizing and modernizing vision of the Central Guoshu Institute and from there it was exported to southern China precisely because it spread these norms and identities.  Any sword could do what the dadao did in purely physical terms.  Many probably could have done it better.  Yet the image of the guerrilla savagely resisting the Japanese with his trusty dadao became a touchstone in the national discussion of resistance and identity.  And that is precisely what the martial arts were supposed to do under the guidance of the Central Guoshu Institute.  They were supposed to strengthen and unify the people.

Conclusion: A Complicating Twist

Can we then conclude that the dadao is an example of the export of a northern martial art and set of concepts into the southern hand combat marketplace?  Does its presence, popularity and wide scale adoption in Guangdong indicate a broader acceptance of, and standardization on, the northern martial arts in the 1930s?  Did this indicate that the traditional southern arts were seriously damaged by the various northern led reform movements that swept through the nation’s martial arts in the 1920s and 1930s?

Not necessarily.  It is true that the residents of southern China signed up for “Big Sword” classes with as much enthusiasm as anyone else.  But the entrepreneurial martial arts teachers of the south treated this new weapon as a way of drumming up interest in the martial arts more generally.  I have never seen anything to indicate that they viewed it as a threat or resisted its importation.  In fact, southern hand combat teachers were some of biggest material beneficiaries of the creation of Big Sword units and militias throughout the region.

Various police and military academies had to hire local martial arts instructors to teach dadao classes.  Very often these same schools had full time martial artists from the north, but these individuals were already quite busy teaching the “official” military, police or Guoshu curriculum.  The inclusion of additional material was thus an economic windfall for well connected local martial artists who competed for these side-jobs.  Not only did they come with a government backed paycheck, but they were an important way of networking and connecting with students from other parts of society.  One could even use these sorts of appointments to forge connections with various police and military officials, as was demonstrated by Cheung Lai Chuen, the creator of modern White Eyebrow, during his stint as a “Big Sword” instructor.

These teachers turned to their own stores of local knowledge to develop their own curriculum and style for “Big Sword” instruction.  Just as the physical details of these swords tend to differ from specimen to specimen, so to did the techniques and forms developed by different local matters.  For instance, in the south instructors from Choy Li Fut, Hung Gar and White Eyebrow all developed their own dadao techniques and trained their own students.  Presumably each of these styles drew on the martial insight of their respective styles.

The move from the hudiedao to the dadao in the Guangdong militia is interesting as it demonstrates the limits of what the Central Guoshu Institute could really accomplish in terms of promoting a modern universal standard of practice based on the northern martial arts.  Even in areas of the country where they were represented and could openly operate (mostly the coastal urban zone), their actual presence on the ground was pretty thin.  While they were able to craft a discourse and create the demand for certain types of knowledge and services, as often as not it was local martial artists who provided the actual training.  This was especially true when it came to the vital task of drilling militia and paramilitary groups.  On the surface it appears that the adoption of the dadao by China’s martial artists in the 1930s was a universal phenomenon.  But if you scratch beneath the surface it becomes apparent that even this trend was really reinforcing the local and the particular.

Militiamen with homemade weapons head to the front. Photograph by Sha Fei, 1938-1940.

Introduction

I recently came across a very interesting photograph.  It was taken by the important (if under-appreciated) combat photographer Sha Fei sometime between 1938 and 1940.  At that point in time he was documenting the progress of the 8^th Route Army in Northern China as it resisted the Japanese and attempted to consolidate its base of political power.

By the 1940s the Chinese military was armed with totally modern weapons and was led by officers who were educated solely in western military tactics.  This had actually been the case for a couple of generations.  Nevertheless, one of Sha Fei’s favorite subjects were the much more “rustic” civilian militia and guerilla fighters.

These forces mostly provided support to the more professional communist military forces in the region, and occasionally harassed the Japanese.  Obviously the propaganda value of Sha Fei’s photographs was immense.  Nothing motivates one to go out and support the war effort quite like seeing your country men marching to the front armed with 20 year old rifles and spears.  These images also succeeded in capturing the growing enthusiasm for military training and militia service among ordinary Chinese civilians.

Above we see a small detachment of nine soldiers all from a single village, probably heading out to meet with a larger militia detachment.  These individuals carry a variety of firearms, but also traditional weapons including ring handled swords (probably dadaos) and a spear.  Such groups usually trained together as village militias and they likely studied some form of boxing or martial arts.

Of course the thing that I find most interesting about this photograph is the guy with the cannon.  Yeah, he is actually carrying a 19^th century cannon over his shoulder.  And his friend is carrying a gun carriage.  Overall this image, with its mix of weapons, is fantastic.  It is very steam punk.  I feel like this photograph needs to be re-imagined in a movie or by a comic artist.  It has that slightly surreal feel.  Did WWII era militias actually have cannons?  Did village martial arts societies really have access to this sort of ancient artillery?

It would appear that these groups were pretty practical and simply made use of what was at hand.  As I thought about this photograph I recalled that this was not the first time I had come across accounts of village martial artists using artillery in anger.  But for a more detailed account we need to travel to the other side of the country, to the southern-most tip of Guangdong province.

Yingwu Tang Martial Arts Society in Xuwen County

Xuwen County is the most southerly point in mainland China.  It is one of the few areas in China that actually has a true tropical climate and is noted for a number of industries, including year-round fruit production, silk and the cultivation of pearls.  Traditionally the ports of Xuwen and Zhanjiang (the closest major city) were important markets on the busy trade routes that stretched from Vietnam to northern China, and then west to Okinawa and Malaysia.

The area had been a critical market for silk from the time of the Han dynasty, and the local economy’s dependence on both domestic commerce and international trade increased markedly in both Ming and Qing periods.  While the Confucian cultural elites of Northern China attempted to advance a theory of statecraft based on domestic production and parochialism, southern China was increasingly integrating itself into the global economy.

Of course there are some potential pitfalls that one must consider.  With a few brief exceptions (such as the campaigns against Koxinga at the start of the Qing dynasty) the Chinese government never really maintained a strong naval presence in the region.  This combination of a weak state coupled with rich trade encouraged the growth of rampant piracy throughout the coastal areas, just as it led to banditry in the hills and along the highways.

Contrary to the received folklore, it is not the case that all of the pirates that afflicted the coasts of China were Japanese.  In fact, the overwhelming majority of them were actually local Chinese merchants and fisherman who had “gone rouge” for one reason or another.  Endemic poverty pushed many seafarers into a life of crime.  Trade factions or corporations also engaged in privateering against their commercial rivals.

The political economy of violence in these coastal areas was in many respects similar to the basic patters of social organization that historians (Esherick, Robinson, Kuhn ect…) have previously documented in the realm of land based banditry.  Still, piracy in southern China had its own quirks that make it interesting.  Perhaps the best source on this topic is Robert Antony’s monograph, Like Froth Floating on the Sea: the World of Pirates and Seafarers in Late Imperial China (Institute for Asian Studies, Berkley, 2003).

I hope to address the issue of piracy in southern China in future posts.  It’s a rich area, and it is clear that the realms of piracy and the martial arts overlapped and interacted in important ways, just as boxing and banditry were interconnected with each other in Northern China.  If nothing else, the “armed escort services” that might have guarded camel caravans in the north spent quite a bit of time on boats in the south.

Yingwu Tang was a small but interesting martial arts group from Xuwen County that found itself caught up in the larger patterns of violence described above.  While ostensibly a community based (not a family based) martial arts society, created by a group of local seafaring merchants, it was often called upon to literally cross swords with pirates and bandits.  And yes, they also had cannons.

Hung Kuen boxing was very popular in the Zhanjiang region from the late 19^th century onward.  Zhou Tai, named by later newspaper writers as one of the “10 Tigers of Canton” taught in the Zhanjiang region and trained some students (including Chen Guiting) that went on to be influential.  Many of these local martial artists also become enmeshed in regional disputes.

For instance, in 1898, as tensions with foreign powers rose across China, Master Wu Bangze led a local “resistance” movement against foreign intrusion.  At the same time many coastal villages organized anti-foreign militias.  These movements not only found little support with the provincial government, but after the disastrous events of the Boxer Uprising in 1900, they were actively squashed.

Old cannons on display in the Forbidden City Courtyard. Source: Wikimedia.

Martial arts folklore generally claims that this shows the corrupt nature of the Qing government, which could not be depended on to defend the Han homeland against foreign avarice.  A more nuanced reading of the situation reveals a slightly more rational set of motivations.

Far from defending the coast against foreign navies, the provincial government was instead afraid that these martial arts societies and ersatz militias were simply going to attack foreign missionaries and tourists.  This had happened in the past, but in the tense diplomatic climate following the Boxer Uprising such copy-cat attacks would have been disastrous.  It could have given the British a justification to annex large parts of southern China.  Nor did the central government have the military strength to roll back such a process once it started.  Rather than the government seeing the martial arts societies and local militias as a source of strength, they had become an uncontrollable liability.

It has been asserted that the first public martial arts association in the region was the Qingwu Hall established by Wang Jinlong in Zhanjiang in the early 1920s.  This Hung Kuen group was regionally well known and by the late 1920s it is said to have had 3,000 members.  This certainly fits with developments in other parts of the country.  Boxing went into revival in the 1920s and a number of important groups (including the Jingwu Association) benefited from these trends.

Still, Xuwen had an older, and better established, tradition of public martial arts schools.  These were linked directly to the question of commercial and community defense.  They were also a conscious attempt to mitigate the risks of piracy in the region.  Further, at least one of these schools went on to spawn a local militia group during WWII.

To learn more about the region’s martial traditions I will now present a brief discussion from Zeng Zhaosheng’s 1989 volume, Guangdong Wushu Shi (A History of Guangdong’s Martial Arts).

Yingwu Tang in Xuwen County Defended the Business Travelers

Yingwu Tang was established in Qing Guangxu twelfth years (CE 1886). It was located in Shuijing Port, Hai’an District, Xuwen County.

During the late Qing, merchants in Xuwen mostly traveled by sea to do their business. Due to the great number of the pirates, seafarers had an urgent need to learn martial arts, strengthen their bodies, and defend the merchant ships. Therefore, they established the Yingwu Tang school.  It was located inside the Tin Hau Temple (Cantonese: “Heavenly Empress,” more commonly “Mazu” (pinyin): “Mother Ancestors.”). Over 300 people learned martial arts and were taught by teachers who were [hired] from various other places.

Yingwu Tang has a glorious revolutionary tradition. In the thirties, they used artillery, knives, poles, spears, tridents, and rattan shield to defeat bandits that were led by the “Leizhou Robber” Shi He San and Hai Qing and protect their homeland. In May 1944, members of Yingwu Tang navigated wooden boats and attacked Japanese gunboat in local waters.  The Japanese grew to bitterly hate the people from Haian.  During the war of liberating Hainan Island, over 30 people among the third and fourth generation of Yingwu Tang [students] were boatmen and helm workers. Some of whom were rated as “Seafaring Heroes”.

As of 1987, over 10 people among the third and fourth generation of Ying Wu Tang were still alive and in good health. They were very concerned about the younger generation’s martial arts learning. They often visited the young people to provide on-the-spot guidance. (pp. 73-74).

There are a number of things that are quite interesting about this account.  For instance, it is very suggestive that this group was established by a community of merchants, rather than a single family or lineage.  This type of social organization is generally structured around cooperation in economic markets and symbolically and ritually codified in group support of a village temple.

It may be significant that the group met at the grounds of the Tin Hua Temple, a popular local goddess who was seen as the patron saint of seafaring merchants and fishermen.  Robert Antony points out that there is a certain irony here.  Tin Hua was also the patron goddess of the local pirates looking for loot.  One wonders how the goddess negotiated this heavenly “conflict of interest.”  Of course this very fact strongly suggests that the dividing line between the “local merchants” and the “local pirates” may have been less sharply drawn than one might expect.

The historic Tin Hua (Mazu) Temple in Xuwen County, Guangdong.

In market based towns (as opposed to “single name” agricultural villages) such temples were often supported by a committee of leading local families and wealthy merchants.  Of course these are the very same groups that would have the most to gain, economically speaking, from establishing a local martial arts school and militia.

I find it interesting that knowing a little bit about the structure of the Yingwu Tang in the late 19^th century suggests some possibilities about the structure of the local community.  This is one of the things that the field of Chinese martial studies needs to be able to do.  We are most likely to grow as a field by showing that we can throw light on a variety of important historical and social questions beyond just martial history.

These passages also reveal a brief reference to the Yingwu Tang Association using cannons in their confrontation with an especially problematic group of local bandits.  It would be interesting to know more about the social dynamics and background of this particular incident.  It might reveal something about the political economy of the region.  Still, it is interesting to note that cannons (which were probably originally cast and distributed prior to the First Opium War) were still being used as a second-line weapon as late as the early 20^th century.  It would appear that the northern Chinese militia group in the opening picture was not alone in its choice of artillery.

Temple altar dedicated to Mazu and her two helper-deities.

Two individuals with dadao posing for a photograph in the 1940s. Source: Original image. Photographer Unknown. Author’s Private Collection.

Introduction

It is dangerous to make sweeping statements about the development of the traditional Chinese martial arts during the early 20^th century.  This was an important period for the hand combat community.  Between 1900 and 1949 the complex of behaviors and beliefs that we current think of as the “Chinese martial arts” were reshaped and repackaged in fundamental ways.

Much of this had to do with efforts to make the traditional fighting styles more attractive as a leisure activity for the growing urban middle class.  Period discussions and even government propaganda usually casts these efforts as an attempt to improve the physical and spiritual “health of the nation.”  These reforms are often seen as an attempt to recast the Chinese people in a mold similar to what the Japanese had created with Budo.

Still, one must be careful not to take this rhetoric too seriously.  Most of the major martial reform efforts (including both Jingwu and later Guoshu) were never even accessible to the vast majority of Chinese citizens living outside the key coastal cities.  There were other, much more basic, reasons behind this attempt to attract a new body of students.

Following the abolition of the old Imperial Military Service Exams in 1905 a very large percentage of the nation’s hand combat teachers found themselves unemployed.  These individuals had made a living preparing students to take this test.  At the same time the expansion of the railroads, which increased the ease and safety of overland travel, was a critical blow to the armed escort companies.  They had been one of the largest employers of traditional martial artists following the military.  Opera was also declining in popularity as new forms of entertainment became available.

Why did so many martial reformers turn to the rapidly growing middle class?  Because that was where the money was.  The transformation of China’s economy in the early 20th century created a systematic pattern of winners and losers.  Skilled workers and middle class professionals who could engage in trade or profit from modernization were the winners.  Hand combat instructors, as well as a wide variety of traditional craftsmen, peasants and unskilled workers, were among the losers.

It is no surprise that so many teachers decided that the key to their survival was to reposition the martial arts within society.  They needed to somehow move it from the old “unproductive” sector of the economy, and direct it towards the more prosperous economic frontiers. This necessitated some changes.

Most office workers were not worried about being hijacked on the way to work.  Simplifying the systems and presenting them to a new audience as a form of exercise and self-cultivation was an obvious strategy.  This potential had been in the traditional fighting styles all along, but now it was brought to the fore, and other concerns were allowed to recede into the shadows.

We have gone through different elements of this narrative in greater or lesser detail in a number of previous posts.  However, not every hand combat teacher agreed with this basic strategy.  While comparatively wealthy, the newly risen middle class was still a small fraction of China’s overall population.  And given China’s late industrial development and its various attempts at “rapid modernization,” it was never really clear that civil society and the economy would be allowed to develop on their own terms.

Rather than turning to the market, a large number of martial reformers looked back to the state, the former sponsor of so many hand combat instructors, and searched for way to reenter the government’s good graces.  Again, we probably should not be surprised by this.  Given the percentage of the national economy that the state dominated, it is only logical that martial artists would seek to break back into that sector.

These efforts proceeded along multiple lines.  Some institutions, such as the Jingwu Association, actively lobbied for the inclusion of traditional martial arts training in the physical education curriculum of all primary and secondary schools.  Other martial artists turned their attention to attempts to reform and modernize China’s many municipal law enforcement agencies.  The very nature of police work insured that these groups would be interested in close quarters hand combat training.  Lastly, other martial artists attempted to promote a return to martial arts training within China’s military.  An appointment teaching martial arts classes at a local police or military academy was a prestigious honor that could launch a career.

The end result is that the Chinese martial arts of the early 20^th century did not evolve along a single linear track.  Instead a complex patchworks emerged in which some themes are more dominant than others, but the entire situation is one of dynamic tension.  Some martial artists were adapting spear fighting forms to bayonet drills in an attempt to woo the military.  Meanwhile others were simplifying the same forms and focusing on “Qi” and “health cultivation.”  These seemingly very different trends were simply two economic strategies for survival in a vastly changed marketplace.

I have reviewed this material precisely because we have a tendency to only remember those aspects of martial arts history that are most successful today.  Wushu, Taijiquan and Qigong have been the most popular elements of the traditional Chinese martial arts to emerge in the post Cultural Revolution period.  Yet there were other historical pathways that could have been taken.

A number of Chinese martial artists believed that Japanese reforms to saber and bayonet training should be integrated into Chinese martial culture. This demonstration was photographed by the Jingwu Association in Shanghai.

A selected page from a mid 20th century Chinese language manual on Pici. This particular movement sought for greater realism as it adapted traditional fighting techniques to the needs of the modern military. Usually these drills focused on the Bayonet and saber, and they were promoted by the GMD’s Central Guoshu Institute. Source: Special thanks to Brian Kennedy for posting these images on-line. Originally from a reprint of a period manual sold by Lion Books in Taiwan.

In the remainder of this post we will examine a number of pictures of individuals posing with Dadaos (military big sabers) during the Second Sino-Japanese War (World War II) in an attempt to explore the recursive relationship between the Chinese military and the traditional martial arts.  After a period of aggressive westernization and modernization, the Chinese army of the 1930s once again began to appropriate elements from the traditional martial artists in an attempt to build esprit de corps and to find costs effective solutions to tactical problems.  At the same time many schools of hand combat started to undergo a subtle, or not so subtle, process of militarization through prolonged exposure to their new customer.  Some of these influences can still be felt in the Chinese martial arts to this day.

Two Soldiers and a Puzzle

The bulk of our discussion revolves around the first image, introduced at the top of this essay.  In it we see two individuals, apparently soldiers, in relatively new uniforms, standing in a doorway.  The most interesting thing about this pair is their arms.  Each carries a large (even by the standards of the weapon) shiny new Dadao.  We have discussed this saber in a few other places and this picture makes a nice addition to our catalog of historic images.  It is also interesting to note that the lintel of the doorway is both inscribed and labeled.

This is critical as it provides us one with two of our only clues for analyzing and dating this photograph.  The image itself is from a vintage photograph that I bought at an auction.  It is not a postcard.  Nor does it appear to be a commercial image reproduced for sale (the verso carries no advertisement or stamp for a photography studio, which is often a sign).  Instead this appears to be an actual snapshot taken by someone in the area for their own purposes.

It is always exciting to come across a new image of traditional weapons in their proper historical context.  I have never seen this photograph reproduced or published anywhere else, and it is both clear and detailed.  Still, the problem with artifacts like this is that we have no idea when, or under what circumstances, they were produced.

Luckily we have two clues to guide our guesses.  First, the back of this image was labeled “Peking” in faded pencil.  Secondly, after scanning and cleaning the image it became possible to read (most) of the inscriptions along the door.  The carved stone along the top is the less helpful of the two.  It indicates that the men are standing in the exterior entrance to a fire deity temple.  The vertical inscription is more interesting.  It reads something like: “”Nationalist revolution soldiers from the 34^th army group command post.”  I hasten to note that this is only an approximate translation as there was one character that was just too blurry to resolve.

Still, we now have enough information to start thinking critically about our new image.  And as soon as we do, we run into trouble.  There is a fire god temple in Beijing whose architecture vaguely matches the image in the photo, though I have not been able to local enough pictures of it to find the exact door that the soldiers are standing in (which presumes that the exterior wall still exists and has not been rebuilt).  Further, the large shiny Dadao seems typical of the type that became popular in the middle of the 1930s.  So possibly what we have is an image of two soldiers from the 34^th Army Group posing at a field HQ in Beijing in the late 1930s.

Unfortunately that is historically impossible.  The 34^th Army Group referenced in the image was not created until 1939 and it spent most of the war in the interior.  Beijing was overrun in 1937, so there is no way that this picture could have been taken in the capital prior to the outbreak of the Second Sino-Japanese War.  Of course there are many other fire god shrines in China and it is always possible that the photo was simply mislabeled by whoever initially collected it.  So that is one possibility.  We are looking at a couple of nationalist soldiers in the 1940s standing in front of an unknown 34^th Army Group headquarters.

Yet there are some other odd things about this photograph.  The uniforms are not quite right for the period.  The hats bear the Nationalist Military symbol but they are not regulation issue.  By the 1940s most nationalist soldiers were wearing a German style cloth hat with their summer uniforms (and something much warmer in the winter.)  The hats worn by these two soldiers seem to be an attempt to copy the crisp peaked cap of the 1920s.  However, that style had been replaced in most places by the start of WWII.

Of course it is pretty common to encounter images of Nationalist soldiers in mismatched uniforms.  What is much odder is that neither of these individuals wears any indication of rank on their uniforms, either on their collars or arms.  Further, the Nationalist army patch is missing from above their breast pockets.  And the style of tunic that they are wearing more closely resembles what was being issued in the 1920s, or possibly in a warlord army, than what most individuals in the army were wearing in the 1940s.

Lastly, if these individuals are soldier it is very odd that they are not carrying any modern weapons with them.  Most soldiers who were issued a Dadao were also a given a rifle and bayonet.  Even individuals in the so called “Big Sword Units” carried at least one handgun (often more) and a number of grenades.  These two even lack the basic belts and webbing that would be needed to carry any sort of real equipment.   They don’t even have canteens.  All they have is their Dadao.

A Chinese soldier in the Nationalist Army. Manchuria, 1937. Source: Photographer Unknown.

The previous image is also of a Nationalist soldier carrying a Dadao.  One suspects that he may even be on guard duty given how he is standing.  It is much more typical of what we would expect to see.  His hat not only carries the correct pin, but it is typical period issue.  You can tell by the strap over his shoulder that he is either wearing a pistol belt or carrying a sleeping roll.  Further, the has a patch identifying him as a Nationalist soldier over his left breast.

I am pretty confident that the gentleman at the guard post is actually a Nationalist soldier.  I am less sure about the two individuals in our main image.  Of course there are a number of other possibilities.  They may simply be posing in newly issued uniforms (that are 10 years out of date) before any rank or insignia has been added.

Alternatively, they may not be regular soldiers at all.  Given their second-line uniforms (and weapons), one suspects that they might be members of some sort of paramilitary force.  In fact, most of the individuals who actually used the dadao were members of local militias, railway guards, watchmen, military police or members of resistance groups.  Such individuals were often armed with dadao and equipped with obsolete uniforms and gear (if any at all) precisely because the state could afford to give them little else.

If these individuals were members of a paramilitary group they are suddenly of much more interest to us.  It was not uncommon for the military to hire local martial artists to train such individuals.  Indeed, both Cheung Lai Chuen and Li Pei Xian (who we have already studied in some depth) were responsible for doing exactly this kind of work.  Other well-known master, such as Yin Yu Zhan also taught paramilitary groups and even developed their own special Dadao routines and training programs.

It is not unusual in Chinese history to find martial artists leading local militias.  What is interesting is that this was still going on in the mid 20^th century.  As these individuals adapted their training routines to fit the dadao (a relatively modern weapon) and the current tactical situation, they were opening a door whereby certain strains of the traditional Chinese martial arts were coming to reflect modern military, rather than civilian, influences.

Troops from the Ma Clique train with Dadao, probably in north western China. Photographer unknown. Notice that most of the individuals in this formation are very young and also lack any form of rank or insignia on their uniforms. I suspect that these are raw recruits or members of a paramilitary group.  I am looking for information on this photograph, especially where and when it was first published.

Conclusion

There is one last thread of our mystery that needs to be teased out.  Perhaps the individual who labeled the photograph actually knew exactly what he was talking about.  Maybe the image was taken at a fire god shrine in Beijing.  That might be possible if the image was produced between 1945 and 1948.  I do not know where the various field headquarters of the 34th Army group were in the post-WWII period, but it should be remembered that martial artists continued to be involved in the training of paramilitary groups.  Increasingly they were used as a check against the Communist Party during the Chinese Civil war.

This is a long-shot, but I wonder if these two martial artists may have had another reason for posing in front of that particular door.  Geng Jishan (1860-1928) was one of the foremost Xingyi Quan teachers of his day, as well as a founding member of the Jingwu Association.  He was also one of the first individuals to open a public martial arts school in Beijing.

He named his group the Shiming Wushu Academy.  His school was inherited by his successor Deng Yunfeng.  Deng was very well connected and sociable.  Under him the school became renown as a sort of salon where other martial artists came to talk, relax and discuss the issues of the day.  His friends and acquaintances included such luminaries as Sun Lutang, Li Cunyi and Chen Tinghua.

Rose Li studied with Deng for a number of years before immigrating to the United States and then the United Kingdom, where she became an important teacher of the internal martial arts.  When discussing her training in the 1930s Li always specified that the Shiming Wushu Academy was located on the grounds of a fire god shrine in Beijing.  In fact, that is what she called the institution in English, the “Fire God Temple School.”

One wonders if by chance the 34^th Army Group temporarily made their headquarters at the same temple, and then began to host classes for local militias and paramilitary recruits. If so our two swordsmen might be standing on the threshold of some of China’s most interesting modern martial arts history.  In truth we may never know where and when the picture was taken, but I think the speculation is a fun and educational exercise.

“Local Militia Shandong.” The costuming of these martial artists includes religious cues and elements.  Perhaps it is meant to evoke the image of the late 19th century uprisings or the White Lotus rebellions.  Such images gained popularity with the public near the 1911 revolution. I also like this photograph as it displays a great collection of swords. Circa 1906-1911 by Fr. Michel de Maynard.

Introduction

The old adage states that a picture is worth a thousand words.  After having reviewed hundreds of potential images for this series of posts, and writing over a dozen entries, I can now state with some certainty that this is not always the case.  Some pictures can inspire a great deal of critical or creative thought, but many fall short.  An image may fail to spark that moment of interest if the subject matter is either too common or too esoteric.  In both cases the viewer is left with little to say.

A sense of movement is important; which is just another way of saying that an image must be well composed.  We know instinctively that human beings are mobile creatures, and photographs that do not imply that often feel like they lack a certain depth.  The ability to suggest something dynamic in a static frame is one of the hallmarks of a good photographer.

I recently came across a collection of vintage images by a French missionary named Michel de Maynard.  These were all taken in Northern China (mostly Shaanxi, but also in Shandong and Beijing) between 1906 and 1912.  It was immediately apparent that these pictures really could inspire a thousand words, or even more.  Brother Michel de Maynard was interested in daily life and he stopped to carefully observe the sorts of subjects that many individuals of his time simply walked by.  Many of his photographs featured groups of people, but he also stopped to document stretches of countryside, the ruins of old buildings and local religious scenes (both Buddhist and Daoist).  He also took some wonderful images that recorded China’s martial culture at an important moment of transition.

A small rural militia in Shaanxi Province.  Note that the men appear to be armed with cartridge rifles and at least a few revolvers. Source: Getty Research Institute Digital Collections.

Michel de Maynard and the Chinese Revolution of 1911-1912.

Fr. Michel de Maynard served as a Franciscan Missionary in China from about 1906 through the opening years of the Republic of China period.  He does not appear to be as well documented as some of his contemporaries, though I suspect that if I read French and had access to the Franciscan mission publications of the era we could glean quite a bit of biographical information on his life and career.  Today he is best known for his photography of life in early 20th century China.

The good brother appears in a number of his own photographs, as do detailed images of his travel documents.  These papers suggest that he was assigned to Shaanxi Province where he acted as a missionary and priest.  Like many of his contemporaries he adopted Chinese dress and certain cultural practices in an effort to promote his work and move more freely within the countryside.  Most of his pictures appear to be images of people and places in Shaanxi, but a number show other locations in Northern China.  For instance, he has a memorable series of images of the Great Wall of China, and another haunting photograph of the Forbidden City abandoned and overrun with weeds in the years following the revolution.

While adding some richness to his catalog, this geographic variety actually complicates the task of interpreting his images.  All of these photographs were captured on glass plates which were then individually labeled.  Unfortunately these labels are written in French and in an often careless and hurried hand.  It is sometimes difficult to read the descriptions that Fr. de Maynard left.  To make matters worse he often omitted any reference to the date or location when the image was made.  It seems likely that most of the images in his collection are from Shaanxi, but in some cases it is difficult to tell.

Brother de Maynard arrived in China just in time to witness a period of historic change.  By 1906 demands for social, technical and political reform were reaching a crescendo.  Military and economic leaders across China were clamoring for wide ranging modernization, education was entering an important period of reform and the national mood was turning decisively against the Qing dynasty.

The social history of revolutionary sentiment in China is a more nuanced subject than many martial artists realize.  Many of the traditional styles pass along stories (often written in the 1930s) which claim that the entire 19th century was one seething mass of resentment and hatred directed against the foreign Manchu led government.  Different arts clamor to be acknowledged as at the forefront of this nascent revolution.  The start of the anti-Qing revolution is sometimes read back in time all the way to the fall of the Ming dynasty (basically co-opting old Triad lore).

The reality is much more complicated.  In reality the Qing consolidated their power base relatively quickly and there was little elite opposition to their rule after a generation or two.  The first half of the new dynasty was a time of rapid economic and population growth.  Stresses started to appear in the late 18th and early 19th century.  In fact, a number of large uprisings did occur (mostly in Northern China) during the second half of the 19th century.  Yet even at this late date, the government was still relatively popular with most of the population (especially if they were seen as standing up to foreigners).

By the time that Michel de Maynard arrived the situation was different.  Popular hostility towards the Manchu regime was mounting.  They were simultaneously perceived as weak, alien, repressive and ineffectual.  Chinese society was also experiencing a rising tide of militarism.

This played itself out in many different ways.  There were various efforts to modernize the military (such as the dissolution of the exam system in 1905).  Young men joined paramilitary groups and local militias in record numbers, both to promote change and to protect their local villages in the face of social dissolution.  Many students went to Japan to study their model of national reform and rapid modernization.  Occasionally some of them, such as Qiu Jin, became radicalized and were transformed into violent revolutionaries.

It is not surprising that prominent displays of military culture are seen in so many of de Maynard’s photographs.  Many of his images show newly reformed military units, cavalry and infantry formations, revolutionary societies and even local militias.  Still, there was one branch of China’s martial culture that didn’t benefit from this upsurge in enthusiasm, at least not to the extent that one might suspect.  That was the traditional martial arts.

The reputation of these hand combat societies had been badly tarnished by the Boxer Uprising in 1900-1901.  In the following years many public intellectuals explicitly claimed that the martial arts were too backwards, too feudal and too superstitious to be allowed to continue into the modern era. They were not part of the new China that most reformers envisioned.

With the end of the Military Exam System martial artists had lost the state as a sponsor or employer.  Further, the creation of cheap and safe train travel eliminated the need for expensive armed escort companies (another major employer of martial artists).  These were years of crisis and soul searching for the traditional hand combat systems.  It was also when the seeds of far reaching reforms were sown.

I suspect that the Chinese martial arts came closer to extinction in the years between 1900-1911 than they ever have before or since.  The enthusiasm for “rebellion” that arose in the wake of the 1911 revolution helped to ameliorate the situation, but it was not until the 1920s and 1930s that these fighting systems were really able to establish a new public image that would carry them into the next century.

For this reason I find it fascinating that Fr. Michel de Maynard captured several images of China’s traditional martial culture, including at least two photographs of contemporary boxing societies, just before this transition took place.  I placed what I consider to be the best of these photographs at the top of this post.

The actual background of this image is a little unclear.  I have seen it floating around the internet, but it is not included in the Getty Research Institute Digital Collections along with the rest of his photographs from this period.  Nevertheless, it is clearly shot against the same backdrop that he used for many of his other posed images, and some of the individuals in this photo appear to be present in a later image known to have been taken by the same photographer.  So I think it is safe to assume that this image was indeed produced by Michel de Maynard.  Judging by the hairstyles and clothing it was probably taken right before the start of the revolution.

The image shows six young and vigorous martial artists.  It has been circulated with the title “Local Militia from Shandong, 1906-1912”, but I think that there are good reasons to doubt this attribution.  To begin with, even rural militias in 1911 had access to firearms.  See for instance the second image in this post for a visual reference of a real militia from the era.  Note that these individuals are armed with rifles, cartridge belts and at least some revolvers.

It is also clear that the martial artists in the top image are wearing costumes rather than uniforms.  For that matter, three members of the group are posing by standing on one leg.  These costumes seem to visually hint at a connection to stereotypical images of the various millennial groups that have been common in Northern China.

This opens two possibilities.  Either these individuals are members of an actual Kung Fu cult or, more likely, they are public performers trading on that image to draw a crowd in the increasingly anti-government atmosphere directly preceding the 1911 revolution.  Everything about this picture, from the poses to the costumes, suggest that it was an example of “public performance,” so I am going with the second interpretation.  In fact, public display was one of the few remaining ways that a martial artist could make a living during this period.  Teaching and private security pretty much rounded out the list.

“Manchu Nobleman with Bow.” by Michel De Maynard (probably pre-1911). Source: Getty Research Institute Digital Collections.

The ultimate salvation of the Chinese martial arts would come through transforming them from a set of employment skills (essentially one of a number of economic vocations), to a part-time exercise that was open to anyone with the money and an inclination to study them.  As they spread throughout China’s growing urban centers they became an ideal vehicle for promoting national identity and other sorts of ideas. The realization that this was the case led to the restoration of a certain amount of social and governmental support.

This transformation depended on an almost total reworking and re-imagination of the past, though one would really have to wait until the 1920s and 1930s to see the fruits of this labor.  Still, it is interesting to note that even in the opening years of the Republic era martial artists were actively co-opting and retell the story of China’s troubled 19th century in an attempt to promote their own commercial success.

Not all of the practices that de Maynard observed would survive and thrive to same extent as boxing.  Indeed it is somewhat ironic that it was hand combat that would be the element of Chinese martial culture to thrive in the modern world and spread itself the furthest in the current global system.  Archery was (and has remained) a popular past time in North America, Europe and Japan.  It was also the element of China’s martial heritage that seemed to most impress visitors in the 19th century.  Western observers were not bothered so much by the fact that social elites practiced archery in China.  Indeed many Europeans of the same period saw it as a good form of exercise and an enjoyable pastime.  Rather these individuals were shocked that it was still being used as a criteria in the selection and training of officers by the Qing military.

Archery as a practice survived the transition from battlefield to sporting skill quite nicely in both the west and Japan.  The same cannot be said of China.  While there were many schools of archery around the country in the late 19th century, almost all of these turned out to be wholly subsidized by the state Military Examination System.  Once the exams were eliminated there turned out to be surprisingly little interest in archery itself among the general public.

Stephen Selby has documented how Chinese archery entered a period of rapid decline and then complete collapse following the abolition of the Military Examination System.  The preceding picture of the young Manchu officer, with his characteristically long bow and and arrows, is interesting as it captures the twilight of the last generation of China’s once great military archery tradition.

“Three Soldiers from the old Imperial Army who have jointed the Revolutionary Army.” by Fr. Michel De Maynard. Source: Getty Research Institute Digital Collections.

Most of the images in the de Maynard collection focus on more contemporary scenes.  One of my favorites is of three soldiers in quilted uniforms posing with carbines and swords.  The image was probably taken some time in 1911.  The label indicates that the three individuals were former members of the Imperial military who had switched sides, and now fought with a revolutionary army.  It is hard to tell what sort of carbines they are carrying.  My best guess is that they are probably black powder rifles (either p53s or Sniders) that have been cut down.  Each of the soldiers also carries a serious looking sword.

“Lieou and his three sons….” by Michel De Maynard. Probably 1912. Source: Getty Research Institute Digital Collections.

Conclusion

I would like to conclude this discussion by comparing the first image with the one above.  I cannot make out the description scrawled beneath the photograph.  It seems to start “Lieou and his three sons…” but after that it loses me.  This image is dated to 1911-1912.

Notice that all of the martial artists have cut their queues and are starting to grow back their hair.  It is hard to tell, but I suspect that some of the individuals who were photographed in the first image are also present in the second.  If that is the case than it seems they were representatives of a larger martial arts school or society and “Lieou” is their teacher.

Once again oxtailed sabers and long choppers are popular, but there is no sense that these individuals are costumed or performing.  This is a more relaxed photograph.  Essentially it is a record of the social structure of “Lieou’s school.”  Without a better transcription of the label it may be hard to say much more about this martial arts society.  Still, it is interesting to see the traditional hand combat styles as they existed on both sides of the 1911 boundary.  Michel de Maynard has shown us a moment of profound social transformation whose effects are still being felt today.

Two individuals with dadao posing for a photograph in the 1940s. Source: Original image. Photographer Unknown. Author’s Private Collection.

***One of the questions that I have been attempting to tackle in my more recent writing is the degree to which we should be thinking about the “traditional” Chinese martial arts as a quintessentially modern activity.  From the perspective of the average practitioner that might not make a lot of sense.  Yet if you look at the question from a historian’s point of view is clear that the systems we practice today were greatly influenced by the events of the 1920s-1950s.  This was an era in which everything in Chinese society, including its physical culture, was under pressure to adapt and evolve.  There are a lot of stories that you can tell about this, but the current one looks at the role of the military in shaping the evolution of one small part of China’s modern martial arts.  This post inspired some conversation when I first put it up in June of last year.  If you are interested in seeing the original draft and its comments click here.***

Introduction

It is dangerous to make sweeping statements about the development of the traditional Chinese martial arts during the early 20^th century.  This was an important period for the hand combat community.  Between 1900 and 1949 the complex of behaviors and beliefs that we current think of as the “Chinese martial arts” were reshaped and repackaged in fundamental ways.

Much of this had to do with efforts to make the traditional fighting styles more attractive as a leisure activity for the growing urban middle class.  Period discussions and even government propaganda usually casts these efforts as an attempt to improve the physical and spiritual “health of the nation.”  These reforms are often seen as an attempt to recast the Chinese people in a mold similar to what the Japanese had created with Budo.

Still, one must be careful not to take this rhetoric too seriously.  Most of the major martial reform efforts (including both Jingwu and later Guoshu) were never even accessible to the vast majority of Chinese citizens living outside the key coastal cities.  There were other, much more basic, reasons behind this attempt to attract a new body of students.

Following the abolition of the old Imperial Military Service Exams in 1905 a very large percentage of the nation’s hand combat teachers found themselves unemployed.  These individuals had made a living preparing students to take this test.  At the same time the expansion of the railroads, which increased the ease and safety of overland travel, was a critical blow to the armed escort companies.  They had been one of the largest employers of traditional martial artists following the military.  Opera was also declining in popularity as new forms of entertainment became available.

Why did so many martial reformers turn to the rapidly growing middle class?  Because that was where the money was.  The transformation of China’s economy in the early 20th century created a systematic pattern of winners and losers.  Skilled workers and middle class professionals who could engage in trade or profit from modernization were the winners.  Hand combat instructors, as well as a wide variety of traditional craftsmen, peasants and unskilled workers, were among the losers.

It is no surprise that so many teachers decided that the key to their survival was to reposition the martial arts within society.  They needed to somehow move it from the old “unproductive” sector of the economy, and direct it towards the more prosperous economic frontiers. This necessitated some changes.

Most office workers were not worried about being hijacked on the way to work.  Simplifying the systems and presenting them to a new audience as a form of exercise and self-cultivation was an obvious strategy.  This potential had been in the traditional fighting styles all along, but now it was brought to the fore, and other concerns were allowed to recede into the shadows.

We have gone through different elements of this narrative in greater or lesser detail in a number of previous posts.  However, not every hand combat teacher agreed with this basic strategy.  While comparatively wealthy, the newly risen middle class was still a small fraction of China’s overall population.  And given China’s late industrial development and its various attempts at “rapid modernization,” it was never really clear that civil society and the economy would be allowed to develop on their own terms.

Rather than turning to the market, a large number of martial reformers looked back to the state, the former sponsor of so many hand combat instructors, and searched for way to reenter the government’s good graces.  Again, we probably should not be surprised by this.  Given the percentage of the national economy that the state dominated, it is only logical that martial artists would seek to break back into that sector.

These efforts proceeded along multiple lines.  Some institutions, such as the Jingwu Association, actively lobbied for the inclusion of traditional martial arts training in the physical education curriculum of all primary and secondary schools.  Other martial artists turned their attention to attempts to reform and modernize China’s many municipal law enforcement agencies.  The very nature of police work insured that these groups would be interested in close quarters hand combat training.  Lastly, other martial artists attempted to promote a return to martial arts training within China’s military.  An appointment teaching martial arts classes at a local police or military academy was a prestigious honor that could launch a career.

The end result is that the Chinese martial arts of the early 20^th century did not evolve along a single linear track.  Instead a complex patchworks emerged in which some themes are more dominant than others, but the entire situation is one of dynamic tension.  Some martial artists were adapting spear fighting forms to bayonet drills in an attempt to woo the military.  Meanwhile others were simplifying the same forms and focusing on “Qi” and “health cultivation.”  These seemingly very different trends were simply two economic strategies for survival in a vastly changed marketplace.

I have reviewed this material precisely because we have a tendency to only remember those aspects of martial arts history that are most successful today.  Wushu, Taijiquan and Qigong have been the most popular elements of the traditional Chinese martial arts to emerge in the post Cultural Revolution period.  Yet there were other historical pathways that could have been taken.

A number of Chinese martial artists believed that Japanese reforms to saber and bayonet training should be integrated into Chinese martial culture. This demonstration was photographed by the Jingwu Association in Shanghai.

A selected page from a mid 20th century Chinese language manual on Pici. This particular movement sought for greater realism as it adapted traditional fighting techniques to the needs of the modern military. Usually these drills focused on the Bayonet and saber, and they were promoted by the GMD’s Central Guoshu Institute.

A number of Chinese martial artists believed that Japanese reforms to saber and bayonet training should be integrated into Chinese martial culture. This demonstration was photographed by the Jingwu Association in Shanghai.

A selected page from a mid 20th century Chinese language manual on Pici. This particular movement sought for greater realism as it adapted traditional fighting techniques to the needs of the modern military. Usually these drills focused on the Bayonet and saber, and they were promoted by the GMD’s Central Guoshu Institute. Source: Thanks to Brian Kennedy for posting these images on line. Originally from a reprint of a period manual sold by Lion Books in Taiwan.

In the remainder of this post we will examine a number of pictures of individuals posing with Dadaos (military big sabers) during the Second Sino-Japanese War (World War II) in an attempt to explore the recursive relationship between the Chinese military and the traditional martial arts.  After a period of aggressive westernization and modernization, the Chinese army of the 1930s once again began to appropriate elements from the traditional martial artists in an attempt to build esprit de corps and to find costs effective solutions to tactical problems.  At the same time many schools of hand combat started to undergo a subtle, or not so subtle, process of militarization through prolonged exposure to their new customer.  Some of these influences can still be felt in the Chinese martial arts to this day.

Two Soldiers and a Puzzle

The bulk of our discussion revolves around the first image, introduced at the top of this essay.  In it we see two individuals, apparently soldiers, in relatively new uniforms, standing in a doorway.  The most interesting thing about this pair is their arms.  Each carries a large (even by the standards of the weapon) shiny new Dadao.  We have discussed this saber in a few other places and this picture makes a nice addition to our catalog of historic images.  It is also interesting to note that the lintel of the doorway is both inscribed and labeled.

This is critical as it provides us one with two of our only clues for analyzing and dating this photograph.  The image itself is from a vintage photograph that I bought at an auction.  It is not a postcard.  Nor does it appear to be a commercial image reproduced for sale (the verso carries no advertisement or stamp for a photography studio, which is often a sign).  Instead this appears to be an actual snapshot taken by someone in the area for their own purposes.

It is always exciting to come across a new image of traditional weapons in their proper historical context.  I have never seen this photograph reproduced or published anywhere else, and it is both clear and detailed.  Still, the problem with artifacts like this is that we have no idea when, or under what circumstances, they were produced.

Luckily we have two clues to guide our guesses.  First, the back of this image was labeled “Peking” in faded pencil.  Secondly, after scanning and cleaning the image it became possible to read (most) of the inscriptions along the door.  The carved stone along the top is the less helpful of the two.  It indicates that the men are standing in the exterior entrance to a fire deity temple.  The vertical inscription is more interesting.  It reads something like: “”Nationalist revolution soldiers from the 34^th army group command post.”  I hasten to note that this is only an approximate translation as there was one character that was just too blurry to resolve.

Still, we now have enough information to start thinking critically about our new image.  And as soon as we do, we run into trouble.  There is a fire god temple in Beijing whose architecture vaguely matches the image in the photo, though I have not been able to local enough pictures of it to find the exact door that the soldiers are standing in (which presumes that the exterior wall still exists and has not been rebuilt).  Further, the large shiny Dadao seems typical of the type that became popular in the middle of the 1930s.  So possibly what we have is an image of two soldiers from the 34^th Army Group posing at a field HQ in Beijing in the late 1930s.

Unfortunately that is historically impossible.  The 34^th Army Group referenced in the image was not created until 1939 and it spent most of the war in the interior.  Beijing was overrun in 1937, so there is no way that this picture could have been taken in the capital prior to the outbreak of the Second Sino-Japanese War.  Of course there are many other fire god shrines in China and it is always possible that the photo was simply mislabeled by whoever initially collected it.  So that is one possibility.  We are looking at a couple of nationalist soldiers in the 1940s standing in front of an unknown 34^th Army Group headquarters.

Yet there are some other odd things about this photograph.  The uniforms are not quite right for the period.  The hats bear the Nationalist Military symbol but they are not regulation issue.  By the 1940s most nationalist soldiers were wearing a German style cloth hat with their summer uniforms (and something much warmer in the winter.)  The hats worn by these two soldiers seem to be an attempt to copy the crisp peaked cap of the 1920s.  However, that style had been replaced in most places by the start of WWII.

Of course it is pretty common to encounter images of Nationalist soldiers in mismatched uniforms.  What is much odder is that neither of these individuals wears any indication of rank on their uniforms, either on their collars or arms.  Further, the Nationalist army patch is missing from above their breast pockets.  And the style of tunic that they are wearing more closely resembles what was being issued in the 1920s, or possibly in a warlord army, than what most individuals in the army were wearing in the 1940s.

Lastly, if these individuals are soldier it is very odd that they are not carrying any modern weapons with them.  Most soldiers who were issued a Dadao were also a given a rifle and bayonet.  Even individuals in the so called “Big Sword Units” carried at least one handgun (often more) and a number of grenades.  These two even lack the basic belts and webbing that would be needed to carry any sort of real equipment.   They don’t even have canteens.  All they have is their Dadao.

A Chinese soldier in the Nationalist Army. Manchuria, 1937. Source: Photographer Unknown.

The previous image is also of a Nationalist soldier carrying a Dadao.  One suspects that he may even be on guard duty given how he is standing.  It is much more typical of what we would expect to see.  His hat not only carries the correct pin, but it is typical period issue.  You can tell by the strap over his shoulder that he is either wearing a pistol belt or carrying a sleeping roll.  Further, the has a patch identifying him as a Nationalist soldier over his left breast.

I am pretty confident that the gentleman at the guard post is actually a Nationalist soldier.  I am less sure about the two individuals in our main image.  Of course there are a number of other possibilities.  They may simply be posing in newly issued uniforms (that are 10 years out of date) before any rank or insignia has been added.

Alternatively, they may not be regular soldiers at all.  Given their second-line uniforms (and weapons), one suspects that they might be members of some sort of paramilitary force.  In fact, most of the individuals who actually used the dadao were members of local militias, railway guards, watchmen, military police or members of resistance groups.  Such individuals were often armed with dadao and equipped with obsolete uniforms and gear (if any at all) precisely because the state could afford to give them little else.

If these individuals were members of a paramilitary group they are suddenly of much more interest to us.  It was not uncommon for the military to hire local martial artists to train such individuals.  Indeed, both Cheung Lai Chuen and Li Pei Xian (who we have already studied in some depth) were responsible for doing exactly this kind of work.  Other well-known master, such as Yin Yu Zhan also taught paramilitary groups and even developed their own special Dadao routines and training programs.

It is not unusual in Chinese history to find martial artists leading local militias.  What is interesting is that this was still going on in the mid 20^th century.  As these individuals adapted their training routines to fit the dadao (a relatively modern weapon) and the current tactical situation, they were opening a door whereby certain strains of the traditional Chinese martial arts were coming to reflect modern military, rather than civilian, influences.

Troops from the Ma Clique train with Dadao, probably in north western China. Photographer unknown. Notice that most of the individuals in this formation are very young and also lack any form of rank or insignia on their uniforms. I suspect that these are raw recruits or members of a paramilitary group.  I am looking for information on this photograph, especially where and when it was first published.

Conclusion

There is one last thread of our mystery that needs to be teased out.  Perhaps the individual who labeled the photograph actually knew exactly what he was talking about.  Maybe the image was taken at a fire god shrine in Beijing.  That might be possible if the image was produced between 1945 and 1948.  I do not know where the various field headquarters of the 34th Army group were in the post-WWII period, but it should be remembered that martial artists continued to be involved in the training of paramilitary groups.  Increasingly they were used as a check against the Communist Party during the Chinese Civil war.

This is a long-shot, but I wonder if these two martial artists may have had another reason for posing in front of that particular door.  Geng Jishan (1860-1928) was one of the foremost Xingyi Quan teachers of his day, as well as a founding member of the Jingwu Association.  He was also one of the first individuals to open a public martial arts school in Beijing.

He named his group the Shiming Wushu Academy.  His school was inherited by his successor Deng Yunfeng.  Deng was very well connected and sociable.  Under him the school became renown as a sort of salon where other martial artists came to talk, relax and discuss the issues of the day.  His friends and acquaintances included such luminaries as Sun Lutang, Li Cunyi and Chen Tinghua.

Rose Li studied with Deng for a number of years before immigrating to the United States and then the United Kingdom, where she became an important teacher of the internal martial arts.  When discussing her training in the 1930s Li always specified that the Shiming Wushu Academy was located on the grounds of a fire god shrine in Beijing.  In fact, that is what she called the institution in English, the “Fire God Temple School.”

One wonders if by chance the 34^th Army Group temporarily made their headquarters at the same temple, and then began to host classes for local militias and paramilitary recruits. If so our two swordsmen might be standing on the threshold of some of China’s most interesting modern martial arts history.  In truth we may never know where and when the picture was taken, but I think the speculation is a fun and educational exercise.

oOo

If you enjoyed this post you might also want to see: Through a Lens Darkly (7): Selling Swords and Printed Martial Arts Training Manuals in a 19th century Guangzhou Market.

oOo

A soldier during the 1930s, armed with both a Mauser handgun and dadao.

Introduction

This is the second entry in our ongoing study of the Red Spear movement in northern China during the first half of the twentieth century. For a brief overview of the origins of this movement and its relevance to discussions of martial arts history please see here.

In the previous post I noted that the Red Spear movement has come due for reevaluation. Periodic reconsideration of key subjects are an important part of any historical discussion. In this case it may be especially useful as much of the literature on these events dates back to the 1970s and early 1980s. While the quality of this historical research is generally good, it goes without saying that much has changed since then. Our understanding of Chinese popular and martial culture in the Republic era is much improved, and this may alter how we frame the discussion of the Red Spears in important ways.

The theoretical interests of historians, social scientists and cultural theorists have also continued to evolve. Much of the previous discussion was geared towards uncovering the origins of this movement as a way of understanding the idea of “popular rebellion” in rural China. This in turn was one aspect of a larger Cold War driven research program focused on understanding the origins of the Chinese communist revolution.

While these remain interesting questions, current scholarship tends to be less willing to accept the Red Spears as a unitary subject of study and is instead more interested in questions of regional variation, how this social movement evolved over time and the obvious discomfort that its existence has caused so many commentators on Chinese society.

Students of Chinese martial studies are well positioned to contribute to this discussion. While unique in some respects, there are certainly a number of striking similarities between northern Chinese martial arts societies and Red Spear chapters. These extend beyond the simple practice of Kung Fu (in truth there are only so many ways to wield a dao or spear) and includes cultural elements as well.

For instance, students of martial arts studies will immediately recognize the sorts of legends purporting to explain the origins of the Red Spear movement. Composed in the 1920s they bear more than a passing resemblance to the sorts of “creation myths” which were being composed and circulated by China’s many folk martial arts systems.

The pattern of social organization seen in the creation of Red Spear chapters, where a village notable might sponsor the creation of an altar and school in the local clan temple has been observed in many other times and places as well. Lastly, some of the Red Spear groups discussed by Perry (see especially the “Big” and “Small” Hong Boxing Schools) were actually preexisting martial arts groups that appear to have gotten caught up in the early 20th century rush to construct local militias. They managed to outlive these trends and continue to be part of the martial arts community today.

Of course this will not be a one sided exchange. Students of Chinese martial studies also have much to gain from a reexamination of the Red Spear movement. Given the numerous debates as to the role of religion or spirituality within the Chinese martial arts, this is potentially an interesting case. While elements of different esoteric spiritual practices (including invulnerability rituals, spirit possession and magical healing) have long been present in a minority of folk styles in Northern China, over the course of only a few years in the 1920s these practices exploded in popularity and were adopted by more people than had likely been the case the during the previous century. So many men were being forced to join Red Spear units (the entire male population of many small villages), and the training regimes of these groups were so demanding (often meeting every day for multiple hours), one suspects that other more conventional martial arts practices were probably pushed into the background.

While the rituals of the Red Spears were direct descendants of various local religious practices, we must consider the possibility that there was nothing “traditional” about the sudden eruption of these practices in the 1920s. As Esherick has pointed out in his study of “Big Sword Societies” in the same region in the 19th century, there were always some groups that shared these general beliefs. Yet they were a minority with the local landscape.

So why in the early 20th century did this set of minority practices suddenly become a mandatory regime for most adult males between the ages of 16 and 60 throughout much of Northern China’s countryside? This is not only a puzzling episode in the history of the martial arts, but it would appear to fly in the face of much of sociology’s “modernization hypothesis.” Likewise the widespread nature of the Red Spear movement may provide us with a wonderful opportunity to directly observe how martial culture interacted with various aspects of local, provincial and national society.

Those interested in the Red Spears will likely find the existing English language literature somewhat limited. While this topic has also been addressed by scholars in China and Japan, the two most commonly cited sources on the topic in the western literature are Elizabeth Perry’s chapter on the topic in her important monograph Rebels and Revolutionaries in North China, 1845-1945 (Stanford University Press, 1980) and Tai Hsuan-chih book, The Red Spears, 1916-1949, translated by Ronald Suleski (University of Michigan, 1985).

In our last post we took a detailed look at Elizabeth Perry’s thoughts on the origins of the Red Spear movement, and the reception of her work within the academic literature. In today’s post we will turn our attention to the prior efforts of Professor Tai to bring the Red Spears back into the center of academic discussions of Chinese history during the Republic period.

Prior to the initial Chinese language publication of Tai’s monograph in 1973 the Red Spears had received virtually no sustained scholarly attention. This is quite surprising as they successfully mobilized hundreds of thousands of civilians to resist local bandits, the warlords, the communists, the KMT and the Japanese in quick succession.

Given their importance to understanding the local landscape of northern China in the 1920s and 1930s, it all seems like an unlikely oversight. Tai notes that in the more political atmosphere of the 1950s and 1960s the mixed legacy of the Red Spears posed a problem for all sorts of historians. While scholars in mainland China were happy to see peasants resisting the Japanese and KMT tax collectors, they were bothered by the fact that these groups tended to be led by the local gentry. As such they were staunchly opposed to the communists. While scholars in Taiwan were less concerned with the conservative and reactionary nature of the Red Spears, they were less happy to discuss the sectarian basis of this movement’s social organization, or its systematic opposition to the national government throughout the late 1920s and early 1930s.

In short, scholars tended not to discuss the Red Spears because this multitude of intersecting groups, stubbornly local by nature, did not fit into the dominant narratives of Chinese history that defined the post war discussion. I think that we can go one step further than Tai in suggesting how the Red Spears could be on the one hand a hugely popular social movement, yet also a somewhat embarrassing subject.

In the end it may all come down to the nation building project. Historians in both the CCP and Taiwan (and many in the west) have sought to weave competing narratives of China’s emergence as a “modern nation” out of the tumultuous ashes of the 20th century. Yet the Red Spears do not conform to this nation-building narrative.

It is not so much that they opposed the idea of a nation as that they were doggedly dedicated to ensuring survival at the local level. Specifically, the Red Spears stood ready to oppose any agent of national or social reform who threatened their parochial way of life. Of course everyone’s plans for nation building (no matter their ultimate origin) were all predicated on the extraction of massive amounts of wealth from the countryside in an attempt to jump-start various modernization, education and reform programs. Ergo the Communists, Nationalists and Japanese all got off on the wrong foot with the Red Spears.

The Chinese martial arts themselves were traditionally a product of local popular culture. While some reformers (notably the Jingwu and Guoshu movements) attempted to reform and harness these practices as part of their nation building program, a certain tension always remained between local pride and national identity. Nowhere can this be seen more clearly than within the ranks of the Red Spear Uprisings of the 1920s and 1930s. This parochial loyalty, as much as anything else, probably accounts for the hostile or confused tone of so many later judgments. The Red Spears turned out to be incredibly effective social organizers, but they had thrown their weight behind the wrong types of communities.

A nationalist militia in the 1940s armed with spears. Many of these groups were composed of former Red Spear units that had been reorganized by the KMT. Source: http://www.historyextra.com/gallery/chinas-wars

Professor Tai’s great contribution was to refocus this discussion and argue that a better understanding of this social movement was necessary when coming to terms with broader patterns of rebellion and revolution across northern China. Still, it is interesting to consider his motivations for writing this book in the first place. Most of his prior research dealt with various secret societies in the late Qing including the White Lotus, Hung Men and the Heaven and Earth Society. His previous book was an in depth examination of the Boxer Rebellion seeking the origins of the uprising in northern China’s village militia tradition (Study of the Boxers, 1963).

As a youth Tai had lived in the countryside of Northern China where his father was a wealthy landlord and lineage elder. Due to their visible social status the family became frequent targets for kidnappers. Tai, his older brother and father were all kidnapped and held for ransom multiple times. After a relative was abducted and killed Tai’s father organized a branch of the Yellow Spears (one of the many groups that made up the larger “Red Spear” movement) which met to train daily in the family home (most likely in the clan temple). Tai vividly remembered watching groups of about sixty men gather daily to perform rituals and engage in kung fu training in the family home. Later this group of Yellow Spears would become involved on the losing end of a pitch battle with other elements of the local Red Spear movement, resulting in the deaths of many of Tai’s relatives.

Given Tai’s deep personal connection to the Red Spear movement, it is important to note what his book is not. It is not a personal account, nor does it focus on the family events that Tai directly witnessed. Unfortunately these are mentioned only in passing.

Instead Professor Tai pursued his research into the Red Spears with all of the professionalism that one might expect. He relied on official sources that were recorded at both the provincial and local level. He also drew heavily on local gazetteers, contemporary newspaper accounts and even popular folk songs and poetry. Direct field work and interviews did not play as much a role in this work, but given Tai’s location in Taiwan and Singapore this is understandable.

In future posts I will engage with the actual substance of Tai’s research in greater detail. However, in this more introductory post I would like to make a few observations about his work. This volume is not without limitations. To begin with, it is now quite dated. Matters are also complicated by the fact that what the University of Michigan actually published was an abridgment of Tai’s original (much longer) volume. To “aid the reader” many names of specific groups and details (as well as entire chapters that the translator felt were too repetitive) were simply omitted from the English language version. The end result is extremely readable, but might contain less historical detail than a student of the Red Spear movement might wish.

There are two additional points that need to be assessed with some care. To begin with, Tai attempts to use the Boxer Uprising (1899-1900) as a theoretical framework for understanding both the village militia movement in general and the Red Spears in particular. However his understanding of the Boxers is fundamentally flawed. Interested readers will want to carefully compare his work to that of Esherick and Cohen. This may have had the unintended consequence of leading Tai to emphasize certain accounts and behaviors in an attempt to remake the Red Spears in a “Boxer mold.” Yet in reality the mold that Tai was working with doesn’t even fit the Boxers, let alone the much later militia movement, with much precision.

A number of other critics have already noted that while Tai preserves and publishes some really important historical sources, his book does not deal with any of the more theoretical discussions of social movements or banditry. This is true, yet readers should also be aware that Tai is not simply reporting his sources as he found them. The Red Spears were an incredibly diverse movement which varied both geographically and over time. Even two chapters in the same region might have important differences.

Suleski’s translation of Tai’s work carries an introduction by Elizabeth Perry. In it she outlines some of the research that looks specifically at this sort of regional variation within the Red Spear movement. Readers should note however that Tai himself does not emphasize this critical fact. He actually obscures it. Following the pattern set in his prior work on secret societies, Tai often sees larger, more coherent and hierarchically organized social structures than most modern historians would be comfortable with. This tendency towards unification allowed Tai to lump the relatively few sources that existed together into a single “coherent” description of how a “typical” Red Spear unit functioned.

Yet if you carefully examine the footnotes it becomes apparent that what Tai presents is a radically composite view of how the Red Spears may have functioned in general, rather than an actual account of what any specific chapter was really like. This limits the utility of his narrative for those seeking to explore geographic or temporal variations. It is actually a shame that he did not focus more heavily on his own family’s involvement with the Yellow Spears as that would have provided us with at least one firm and detailed data point.

Still, it is not my aim to dissuade readers from reading Tai’s research. It is full of interesting historical observations. Readers will want to pay special attention to the volume’s front matter. The introductory essay by Elizabeth Perry makes a very nice addition to her previous work on the Red Spears and introduces a number of the theoretical discussions that critics noted were missing from her initial work. Ronald Suleski’s introduction provides additional details about Tai’s background and the original manuscript.

Lastly, Tai asked his friend and colleague T’ao Hsi-sheng to contribute a preface to the volume. T’ao’s childhood and background were similar to Tai’s. His preface goes a long way to providing the sorts of personal recollections that are missing from Tai’s more conventionally scholarly volume. Students of martial arts studies will find T’ao’s preface to be one of the most valuable aspects of the volume.

Leveraging his status as an “inside/outsider” in Henan’s countryside, T’ao provides us both with a compelling portrait of local society as well as the place of the martial arts within it. His brief notes about high-school martial arts displays, and the role that these played in local marriage patterns, are particularly interesting. These are descriptions that we just do not find in most discussions of the Republic period martial arts, yet they are critical for understanding their changing place in local society.

Unfortunately I suspect that many readers will not actually get a chance to look at this material. Tai’s book is long out of print and tends to be a bit expensive. Worse yet, it is of an age that many libraries are purging it from their collections. Needless to say this is not a book that you can get on a kindle.

Many of the most critical historical observations within Tai’s work have made their way into Perry’s subsequent publications. To be perfectly honest she actually does a better job of contextualizing this information. Still, there are interesting elements within his work that are worth discussing.

In an attempt to aid readers who might not feel compelled to search out a copy of this monograph I have included a couple of extended quotations below. The first of these is the preface written by T’ao Hsi-sheng. This material will be of interest to anyone looking for firsthand accounts of the martial arts community in Northern China in the late Qing and Republic period. After that I included a shorter excerpt from Suleski’s essay describing Tai’s family history with the “Yellow Spears.” Readers should note that given the date of publication this volume used the Wade-Giles system.

Together these brief excerpts help us to build a more detailed understanding of the local communities that created and sustained the Red Spear movement. They also leave little doubt as to the value of martial arts training in everyday life and local culture. All of these themes will emerge again in future posts on the Red Spear movement.

Member of a northern Warlord Army displays his Mauser handgun and Dadao. This picture probably dates to the 1920s.  The Red Spears often clashed with similar soldiers.

Preface by T’ao Hsi-sheng (pp. xxix-xxxii)

In this book T’ai Hsuan-chih explores the role of the Red Spear secret society in the complex period between the 1911 Revolution and the Northern Expedition of 1928, and the ways in which the Red Spears were involved in the social and political problems caused by the warlords and the constant warfare which plagued China at the time. This historical period is too often neglected.

In the early Republic period such self-defense organizations as the Red Spears were largest and most numerous in Honan province. Before the 1911 Revolution I travelled with my parents through Honan, including the cities of Lo-yang and K’ai-feng, where I lived as a middle-school student. After the 1911 Revolution, I often visited Hsin-yang. My travels gave me the opportunity to become well acquainted with the social and political conditions of northern China through personal observation. There are several stories I can recall about local self-defense groups such as the Red Spears.

The area where the provinces of Honan, Anhwei and Shantung meet, where as I boy I traveled with my father, is notorious for bandits who shot whistling arrows to announce their coming. Although the common people there armed themselves for self-protection, they did not lightly oppose these bandits. Usually the police could not capture the highwaymen because they lacked information about their movements. Even if they managed to capture a well-known bandit leader, the leader might make a confession, or deny everything, but would never involve other members of the band or implicate those who helped him.

Southwestern Honan is mountainous and at that time was another area filled with bandits. At the end of the Ch’ing dynasty the highwaymen had strict codes of conduct among themselves. In one case, when a girl was raped the leader sentenced the responsible band member to public execution and all the members took this as a warning. One year, when I was a middle-school student returning to K’ai-feng from a summer vacation, our carriage passed through as area where the bandits came and went freely and the common people had built fortifications and earthworks to protect themselves. This brought to mind stories of similar situations in China’s past. The memory is still fresh in my mind.

To the south of the Lo River in Lo-yang hsien a road once ran into the mountains. At the end of the Ch’ing dynasty this was an area where the bandits and common people often confronted one another. In nearby regions, at the end of the Ch’ing, one could still travel to visit the temples there, but by the beginning of the Republic even the beautiful Ch’ien-ch’i Temple was used as a bandit headquarters.

Most of the men who lived in the village on the plain practiced the martial arts. My middle school in Honan was one of the first in the province and so it was well known. Behind the school was a large athletic field where, in addition to gymnastics, the students practiced the martial arts. I remember the most skillful students, two brothers who came from Lin-hsien and an uncle and his nephew from Sui-p’ing. In Lin-hsien every March a large competition in the martial arts was held just outside the city in which most of the youth participated. The best participants would dress as well-known heroes from Chinese history such as Chang Fei, Kuan-kung, and others. In Sui-p’ing hsien, people often encouraged their sons to train in the martial arts. They even employed teachers to instruct them, which accounted for their expertise. Young girls would stand at the edge of the field watching the competition and if they found a boy they liked they would seek out the head of his house to see about a marriage. My classmates at the middle school were some of these skillful boys from Lin-hsien and Sui-p’ing hsien.

The above remarks give an impression of the lives of people in Honan at the end of the Ch’ing dynasty, but with the beginning of the Republic many political and social changes took place. During the late Ch’ing, the people of the plains encouraged their children to study the martial arts as an aid to protecting their villages. They did not believe in the use of magic practices like amulets and rituals as a means of protection. For example, when my father was working in Yeh-hsien there was a self-defense group which practiced a form of martial arts which they said could be mastered in eighteen days. My father would use his head as a weapon, hitting it against a brick without suffering any injury. He also claimed not to fear bullets, though he dared not face these “steel balls without smoke.” Later, when I was in Lo-yang, I saw secret society members who did magic charms to protect themselves. By the end of the Qing many villages had earthen walls and other means of defense, but after the beginning of the Republic these were no longer sufficient. With the coming of the warlords and the increase in banditry, society became ever more unstable and fighting so widespread the common people reverted to belief in magic, probably because they had no other protection.

At the end of the Ch’ing period the bandits usually practiced a code of honor among themselves. This was because the suppression of such rebellions as the T’ai-ping Heavenly Kingdom [1851-64] left provincial and county governors with plenary powers to impose sanctions upon bandits. At that time, provincial governors could deploy troops and local officials could even order executions. Long ago China did not have a police force because villagers organized for their own defense and local authorities supported the people by granting legal permission to carry out death sentences. If bandit groups became so strong that the people and the authorities could not subdue them, regular army forces were summoned. When this occurred, the local people sometimes suffered as much as the bandits at the hands of the government troops. Thus, villagers with martial skills assisted local authorities. But, if they could not overcome the bandits they often struck a bargain with them. In such cases the bandits would agree to cease operations in the immediate vicinity and in return the people would not organize against them.

In the early 1900s, I observed local officials who were appointed to posts in the countryside under orders to eliminate banditry. They considered themselves responsible only for chasing the bandits out of their hsien and sometimes they resorted to negotiations to accomplish this task. Knowing that their reputations would be enhanced if the bandits left the hsien, they would agree to refrain from punitive action if the gangs would abandon the area. In such a case they protected their own territory by moving the brigands into a neighboring jurisdiction.

With the beginning of the Republic conditions deteriorated greatly due to the imposition of special taxes, the spread of warlordism, and so on. Local officials did not protect the people and people could not protect themselves. Bandits were everywhere. They even invaded the towns and killed officials. Obviously these authorities could not protect themselves, let alone protect the people, and the army protected no one. The warlords had no morality and the bandits no code of conduct. Where was order to come from?

Once in the late Ch’ing a bandit known as White Wolf was captured, but the government released him with only a light punishment. In the early Republic this man became the leader of a bandit gang. Whenever the gang marched, White Wolf would lock himself in a covered sedan chair and give the keys to his followers to show that he had no intention of abandoning his comrades.

The roving bandit gangs were broad-based organizations but it is inappropriate to speak of them as heroes or romantic adventures. To protect themselves the common people formed their own broad-based organizations. These groups arose partly as a reaction to rampant warlordism and partly as a response to the depredation of the bandits. The Red Spears was this sort of popular self-defense group.

In this book Tai Hsuan-chih has provided an overview and analysis of the Red Spears and their organization. And the social and political environment which spawned them. The recollections from my youth are intended as an added, more personal glimpse of the Red Spears.

Militiamen with homemade weapons head to the front. Photograph by Sha Fei, 1938-1940. This photo also gives a fairly good impression of what a small group of bandits would probably have looked like.

Translator’s Introduction (pp. xxiv-xxv)

Tai Hsuan-chih was born in 1922 in Hsin-tsai hsien, Honan province, into a family which owned about four hundred mou of land near the Hsin-tsai county seat. His father was the clan elder who counseled clan members and every spring supervised the distribution of free food to members in financial trouble.

Tai experienced personally the conditions which led to the formation of secret societies and the way in which they were organized. Before Tai’s birth and during his childhood, bandits flourished in the vicinity of his family home. In 1912 and 1913 local warfare around Tai’s home became serious. Although the family employed armed body guards, Tai’s older brother, then four years old, was twice captured by bandits and had to be ransomed. When Tai was an infant, he and his mother were taken hostage by bandits and held for ten days. The most serious encounter occurred in August 1926 when bandits stormed the Hsin-tsai county seat and captured most of the males in the family, including the five year old Tai, his father and eleven year old brother. After about a week Tai’s brother was released and told to return to his family home to secure cash for the ransom of his father. Tai was also released by the bandits. After a month in captivity, Tai’s father managed to escape and rejoin his family.

In the spring of 1927, another Tai relative was captured and apparently killed by bandits who demanded money and opium. His body was never found. To avenge his murder Tai’s father organized the Yellow Spear Society [Huang-ch’iang-hui], which resembled the Red Spears. A large room in one wing of the family house, where Tai and his brothers and sisters used to study, was designated as the meeting room [hui-t’ang] of the society. A man known as Teacher Liang was invited to erect an altar in this room and prepare the written magic phrases. About sixty young men joined. Members gathered in the meeting room every evening after supper to practice with broadswords and perform many of the ritual training exercises described in Tai’s book. Tai, then a boy of six, would peer in the windows of the meeting room, observing the training of the society members.

Since his father was a graduate of a private academy in K’ai-feng, Tai has always felt that he did not personally believe in the power of magic incantations, but organized the Yellow Study Society so that clan members could protect themselves and their property from bandits. His father funded the society, but never took part in its rituals. It was formally disbanded in 1929 when the family left the countryside where they had been living since 1926 [sic?] and returned to the Hsin-tsai county seat.

Tai has had a distinguished career as a historian. He graduated from National His-pei [Northwestern] University in 1947, and taught at Taiwan National University from 1949-1969. He taught in the History Department of Nan-yang University in Singapore from 1969-1979, and has served as chairman of the department from 1975 to 1977. He has been a visiting professor at National Ching-chi University in Taiwan since 1979.

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If you enjoyed this discussion you might also want to read: The Book Club: Chinese Archery by Stephen Selby: A critical text for all students of Chinese martial studies.

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Chinese Officer and Soldier with Ring Hilted Sabers

Today’s post is an early Christmas gift.  When I first decided that it would be wise (for research purposes) to collect and catalog images of period martial artists, I was faced with a couple of dilemmas.  Perhaps the most pressing was to determine what constituted a photo of a “martial artist.”  The realm of hand combat instruction in China was filled with all sorts of figures, from opera singers to private security guards and even bandits, who depended on the martial arts to make a living.  Yet they do not all fit into a modern understanding of “proper” kung fu students and schools.

Soldiers also fall into this category.  For many individuals the martial arts were a very practical educational choice to prepare for a career in the military.  So under what circumstances is a photo of a late 19th century soldier also a potentially important image of a martial artist?

My answer to this question has shifted over the years.  At the moment I have decided that a soldier is also a martial artist if he is acting as such (for instance, practicing archery) or displaying either objects of values associated with Chinese martial culture (e.g., one occasionally finds photos of soldiers participating in lion or dragon dancing at festivals).  I will be the first to admit that this is more of a rule of thumb than a comprehensive typology for classifying images.  Unfortunately I had yet to work even this out when I first began collecting period postcards and photographs.

You can see a scan of one of the very first postcards that I puzzled over at the top of this article.  For reasons that I have not entirely worked out, some of the best photos of early Chinese martial artists appear on Russian postcards.  Soldier and martial artists were also plentiful in the British, American, Japanese, German and French spheres of influence.  And over the course of this series we have seen interesting images emerge from all of these geographic areas.  But for some reason, whether it was local culture or consumer demand back in Europe, martial images seem to have made up a larger percentage of the Russian catalog.

The image at the top, which probably dates to the very end of the 19th century or the early 20th, shows a Chinese military officer flanked with four soldier who appear to be armed as his personal guard (recall that regular troops in China in the early 20th century generally carried rifles). When I first saw this postcard I was fascinated by the image.  Not being able to read Russian I am not exactly sure where the photo was taken, but one can clearly see the crenelations of a fortress or city wall behind them.  These were quite common in northern and central China at the end of the Qing dynasty.  Even more interesting are the long, ring hilted, sabres carried by each of the soldiers.  The central officer is armed with what appears to be a European style blade.

Unfortunately I decided that these particular soldier were not a “priority” and I passed on the image.  I immediately regretted that decision and spent the next three years looking for another copy of this postcard.  Earlier this month two examples hit the market at exactly the same time.  Luckily I managed to snag one and am now sharing my good fortune with you.

One might assume that such a long search indicates that the image in question was very rare and had little impact on anyone’s perception of Chinese culture or the martial arts.  That is probably not the case.  I suspect that this image was actually quite popular.  Each of the three examples that I have come across in the last few years is slightly different from the others.  This indicates that each of these examples (see below) comes from a different printing of the card.  It must have been commercially successful to warrant this degree of sustained attention.  The scarcity of this image today is probably a better indicator of the incredibly low survival rates for all sorts of ephemera rather than its circulation figures at the time.

Taking a Closer Look at the “Tai Chi Saber”

From a martial arts perspective, the most interesting thing about this image is the swords (or more properly dao) carried by the soldiers.  Pay special attention to the “S” shaped guards, cord wrapped handles (probably over wood scales) and ring pommels seen on each weapon.  Occasionally one sees modern interpretations of this basic blade shape marketed as the “Tai Chi Saber.” The weapon even seems to have achieved a degree of popularity among practitioners of certain forms.  Needless to say this is not an “official” name for these sorts of swords.  Chinese martial artists, in general, seem to have employed the weapons that were at hand rather than commissioning specific designs for their local styles. Instead this was a style of dao that was popular in northern and central China from roughly the middle of the 19th century to the 1930s.  It was carried by a wide range of local militia members, bandit forces, security guards, martial artists and apparently even some more regular soldiers.

One of the reasons why this image has always fascinated me is that I have owned a couple of these swords over the years.  I would have loved to provide detailed photos of one of these blades as it is a pretty close match to the examples in the postcard.  Unfortunately that weapon is currently on loan to my Sifu on the other side of the country.  Instead I found a couple of examples that were posted over at Swords and Antique Weapons for study purposes that may help to shed some light on what these blades are like for anyone who has not had a chance to handle one.

http://www.swordsantiqueweapons.com/s205_full.html

http://www.swordsantiqueweapons.com/s205_full.html

The first of these is the sort of blade that may have been used as a presentation sword or carried by more elite guards whose employer was looking to make an ostentatious statement.  This particular sword is 111 cm long (about 44 inches).  Its blade is decorated with both piercings and fullers, and the spine has been incised with a bamboo pattern.  That last flourish actually seems to have been somewhat common on these swords and can even be seen on my own, much more plebeian, example.

In general these swords are lighter and faster in the hand than you might expect given their length and width.  This is possible as the profile of the blade is rather thin and flat coming to a sharp edge optimized for slicing rather than bashing armored targets.  As you move towards the tip this tendency becomes even more pronounced, much as you might expect with an ox-tailed dao of the same period.  Of course one has to be careful making generalizations about blades of this era as they have often been polished more than once and this can change both their weight and geometry.  If you see one of these swords with a oddly rounded tip and fullers that lack definition or depth, this is an indication that you are dealing with a “tired blade” that has seen too many polishings.  Given the lengths and weight of the handle, it seems that many of these swords could have been used with either one or two hands.

http://www.swordsantiqueweapons.com/s109_full.html

The second example of a blade of this type is more typical of what one might encounter today.  Because these swords appear to have been popular with civilian martial artists and militia members, they show up on the antique market with some frequency.  Unfortunately a lot of these swords are in “relic” or “dug” condition.  Still, it is possible to get a real sense of how they would have handled, and many of them are sturdy enough for forms practice.  Needless to say, all of the normal disclaimers about the proper inspection and careful use of antique weapons apply here.

This more typical sword is about 93 cm in length, 69 of which is blade.  Aside from that, the basic profile of the blade appears to be similar.  It was also a nicely decorated weapon in its day.

Over the years I have seen some discussion of these swords and whether they could be considered true “military” weapons or if they were the exclusive domain of civilian martial artists.  In a sense these sorts of questions are impossible to answer because of the ever shifting boundaries between the “official” military, sanctioned and unsanctioned local militias, bandit groups and warlord armies.  Soldiers and even important commanders moved back and forth across these lines and when they did they took their weapons with them.  Thus what one might encounter at any given garrison in the final years of the Qing dynasty might deviate substantially from the official regulations for the Green Standard Army. Still, the postcards discussed here provide a suggestion that at least some of these swords ended up in military hands.

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If you enjoyed this post you might also want to read:  Through a Lens Darkly (18): Chinese Martial Arts and Early 20th Century Cigarette Cards: Building the Global Image of Kung Fu.

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