Great Wall in 50 Objects Page 4

  ‘Just after the rain is the perfect time,’ they told me. ‘It saves us bringing in the water – that would be very troublesome, as our water source is so far away.’

  And that, I’m sure, is our answer. These large containers were originally used for storing water ‘imported’ as an essential material for building the rammed-earth Wall, which required wet earth. We may never know how far the water was carted – maybe a few hundred metres or a few kilometres from a well, or perhaps as far as 30 kilometres away, from the Yellow River. It’s almost certain too, that once building of this section of Wall had been completed, the containers continued to be used for water storage by the soldiers garrisoned at the Wall. I found some potsherds on the tops of watchtowers, also made of rammed earth, suggesting just such an ‘after use’ by soldiers.

  There they have lain since, broken by nature or smashed to prevent others from using them, until now. For, whether in a museum or the field, to most who see them, they are simply boring old potsherds to be walked past.

  6.

  Prefabrication

  An inscribed brick from the Ming Wall

  In my search for a single object that would convey most vividly the immense human effort that went into the construction of the Great Wall, I was on the lookout for the tools used to cut its rocks. Standing at the foot of a sheer face of the Ming Wall’s megalithic foundation blocks, I saw hundreds of chisel marks. As I ran my finger down one of these striations, I felt in contact with the quarryman who had cut the stone. I could almost hear the cacophony of chisels clashing with rock crystals.

  At the zenith of Wall building, in the 1570s, perhaps tens of thousands of stonemasons were at work. They’ve long since gone but their work still stands. And it bears hundreds of thousands of indelible signatures: their chisel marks. But where have all the chisels gone? There must have been thousands in use.

  I found one exhibited in Shanhaiguan’s Great Wall Museum, but the curator, Mr Pan Yue, expressed reservations about its provenance and age. That’s because chisels, being indestructible, would never have been retired from duty – they were just used and used. It was possible that the museum’s chisel had been used decades earlier; while it may have been used to cut rocks for the Great Wall nearby, nothing had been proved. Amazingly, these objects have, since their duties’ end, been inherited and reused, not put aside, collected and treasured as antiquities. Their absence from collections of relics is conspicuous, and that itself is a point to be learned.

  What, then, is my object representing labour and materials? It’s something almost as vivid as a chisel: a brick from the Wall. It is not a standard brick, which were produced by the million, but a much rarer example known as a ‘stamped brick’. Like a chisel, it carries a chain of individuals’ fingerprints, from kiln worker to porter to bricklayer. This object was made. Somebody stamped its moist clay with a relief-carved wooden chop bearing Chinese characters, and then put it into a kiln. After firing, it was removed, stacked and then transported – probably several kilometres at least, but maybe much more – to its place of use, the building site of a section of the Great Wall. There, it was placed in the battlement by a bricklayer, who used a trowel to ladle on mortar. Finally, he ‘pointed’ the mortar – spread it flatly and neatly – between the bricks. And there it stood for several centuries, until it was gouged out and gathered as a museum piece because it had an inscription.

  As a Great Wall building material, brick ranks as a latecomer. Bricks were only used on the Ming Great Wall, and not in any pre-Ming structures. (I am excluding adobe bricks, which are sunbaked, not kiln-fired.) Bricks allowed architects to incorporate design features to make the ramparts more ‘user-friendly’ for the guards posted along them. The standard size and weight of bricks made construction easier, too. Formatted sections of Wall became the norm, with loopholes and embrasures spaced out along the battlements in an organised way.

  The use of bricks increased from the 1570s. As more were produced, at a higher cost, efforts were made to ensure their quality, which could vary greatly depending on the materials and methods used. Many existing sections of the Wall were widened or heightened around the 1570s, with the makeover materials being bricks. This period could be called the ‘brick renovation’ of the Great Wall.

  Bricks can be found with a number of different types of inscription. This particular example weighs the standard 12.5 kilograms; bricks can weigh a few hundred grams less because of weathering or chips along their surfaces. That’s heavy – about the weight of a small bag of grocery shopping. The inscription on our brick is deep, and the eight characters, enclosed within an oblong cartouche, read: Wanli shiernian Luanzhou zuo. This translates as ‘Made in the twelfth year of the Wanli Emperor’s reign at Luanzhou [in Hebei]’ – that is, in 1584. Other stamped bricks recorded the army division that was building the section, or simply the kiln from which bricks were sourced. Some bear a chop reading cha shou jian, pronouncing them as having been inspected and approved for use.

  According to Tiangong Kaiwu, or ‘The Exploitation of the Works of Nature’, an early seventeenth-century manual of Chinese technological processes compiled by Song Yingxing, the best earth for bricks should be ‘sticky’ and dug from beneath cropland. It then underwent cold processing, exposing it to sun and rain for some days, to rid it of impurities through decomposition. Mounds would be dug over by workers, watered and left to dry, then churned by the treading of oxen, a process repeated for two to three weeks. Next, workers packed the damp, sticky earth into wooden brick moulds. The bricks were then dried (but not sun-dried) for between one and two months before being fired.

  The largest extant ‘brickworks’ at the Great Wall was discovered at Banchangyu, Funing County, Hebei Province, in 1999. There, some sixty-six kilns are estimated to have produced around 300 000 bricks per month – truly industrial-scale production. Hand in hand with such voluminous and higher-cost production came efforts to ensure the bricks’ quality, and to prevent profiteering and use of sub-standard materials.

  DESCRIPTION: A brick bearing a stamped inscription from the Ming Dynasty Great Wall, made in AD 1584

  SIGNIFICANCE: The most widely used ‘prefabricated’ building material in the Ming Great Wall

  ORIGIN: Luanzhou, near Tangshan, Hebei Province

  LOCATION: Shanhaiguan Great Wall Museum

  Firing was the most important stage of all. The temperature inside the kiln was maintained between 800 and 1000 degrees Celsius. The top of a kiln would be closed to reduce the amount of oxygen inside the firing chamber; through the chemical process that took place, brown dried bricks would become ‘baked’ bluish-grey. Each firing took several days. Bricks were then ready to begin their journey up to the Wall, along the Wall, and down through the ages.

  The use of bricks on the Ming Wall marks the structure’s modernisation by the use of standardised materials. Production-line manufacturing at an unprecedented scale was required. Quality checks and stamping, recording when the bricks were made, where, for whom and by whom, were carried out. These procedures signify the instigation of a system that ensured the Wall would stand fast against China’s enemies over many centuries. When we look at this brick, and at the millions of others like it, we can see that they have stood the test of time.

  7.

  Accelerated Warfare

  Bronze mirror showing cavalry

  If you asked someone from each continent to name their most loyal ally in war over the centuries, even millennia, the deepest thinkers would likely give the same unexpected answer: the horse.

  Dogs may be man’s best friend, but in conflict the horse has been pre-eminent for around 5000 years. Rameses II (or ‘the Great’) fought the Hittites at the Battle of Kadesh with his chariots in 1274 BC. The Duke of Wellington defeated Napoleon at the Battle of Waterloo in 1815, with his cavalry prominent. A century or so ago the British used an estimated 6 million horses in World War I. It was this cataclysmic clash, however, that spurred new battle innovations, and th
e tank was invented to break the deadlock of trench warfare.

  It’s an understatement to say that the horse has a major role in the Great Wall’s story. In brief, a Great Wall exists to stop horses. Without horses, the nomadic people of the north lacked any means of attacking the sedentary societies of the south. Later we’ll explore the horse’s transportation advantages, but at this point we will focus on an object that warns of a new style of warfare on China’s northern perimeter: archers on horseback. Their appearance forced the Chinese to change the way they fought and invent border defence walls. This violent cultural conflict precipitates the Great Wall story.

  DESCRIPTION: Bronze mirror with engravings of mounted horsemen

  SIGNIFICANCE: An early depiction of nomadic cavalry

  ORIGIN: Khuld Soum, Dungovi Province, Mongolia, between the ninth and eighth centuries BC

  LOCATION: Museum of the Great Hunnu Empire, Erdene, Ulaanbaatar; private collection of the late Mr Purevjav Erdenechuluun (access courtesy of Mrs Nemkhehbayer)

  Within the splendid bronze collection of the late Mr Purevjav Erdenechuluun in Ulaanbaatar there are many artefacts depicting horses. Our object, a bronze mirror, is the first to show the strong alliance between man and horse in warfare on the Mongolian Steppe. Its front was smooth and highly polished, creating a reflective surface, while a naive decorative scene showing two riders in collision was etched on its rougher reverse. One rider carries a bow and arrow, drawn and at the ready, while the other prepares to fend off the attack with his shield. It is one of the earliest known depictions of cavalry conflict not only in the region but worldwide.

  Man’s special relationship with the horse on the Mongolian steppe began in around 3000 BC. Wild horses were captured. As herders managed other domesticated animals, the horse assumed its upper-class role, becoming the most prized among the ‘six snouts’. Horses provided swift, personal transport, which allowed riders to overcome survival challenges and advantage themselves in the hunt for wild animals that were fleet of foot and, in time, against stationary and cumbersome human opponents. But that was still a few centuries away.

  In 2012 I watched a six-year-old boy riding a horse around his family’s ger, or felt tent, on Mongolia’s Eastern Steppe. Each child of every nomadic family learns to ride within a few years of learning to walk, and throughout their lives riding is an extension of their own mobility: vital to their very existence. Traditionally, a man’s wealth was measured in the number of horses he owned, and to go on foot signified poverty.

  Herding always involved a quest for greener pastures over the horizon, leading herders to new seek ground and hunting opportunities. This helped hone their archery skills. Hunting on horseback advantaged man against wild animals, in both speed and endurance. Expeditions frequently resulted in interactions with adjacent clans, and violent conflict often arose over access to the most desirable pastures, rivers, lakes and wells. Travel on horseback, hunting and fighting thus became commonplace, and the people of the steppe became good at it.

  At this time riders rode without the aid of stirrups, which would only be invented during the third century AD (see Object 10). Controversy therefore exists over how effectively ‘pre-stirrup’ nomadic cavalrymen could fight. As riders lacked stability on their mounts, it may have been that horses functioned primarily as transportation rather than as true ‘war horses’: men may have had to halt, or even dismount, in order to fire their bows. Whatever methods were used, the sedentary crop-growing people of China first encountered hostile nomadic cavalry in around the fifth century BC.

  Among the earliest recorded events were those occurring circa 300 BC, by which time, based on our object’s approximate date, the nomadic peoples of the steppe had already accrued several centuries’ cavalry experience. Archery from horseback had become a traditional and highly valued military skill. In the Great Wall theatre of war that was to be, these swift, manoeuvrable warriors notched up decisive victories against their opponents, who at the time were either on foot or in chariots. Infantry fighters were slow and low, while chariots were limited to flat ground.

  The use of cavalry created a new type of military engagement. An army could now strike by surprise, and was not restricted to flat, open ground. Horsemen could retreat as quickly as they attacked. Their Chinese opponents couldn’t beat them, so they tried at first to copy them. King Wuling of the Zhao State, circa 300 BC, trained his infantry in horse-riding and archery; he even advocated the redesign of warriors’ robes to make arrow handling, nocking (loading) and drawing the bow easier. Still, it remained amateurs against professionals. Months or years of practice was no match for a lifetime’s, and the nomads’ cavalry maintained their dominance. The challenge of excelling at both horsemanship and archery proved immensely difficult.

  We have reason to believe that the steppe nomads were perhaps the earliest and most excellent archers of all. Our bronze mirror’s engravings show both an attacker and a defender riding and fighting, whereas archaeological evidence from elsewhere, although almost the same time – Assyrian bas-reliefs dating from the ninth century BC – show the Arabian horse (which is much larger) carrying two riders, one for controlling the horse and the second in pillion for archery. The apprenticeship of life on the steppe appears to have given people there the skills to perform both tasks simultaneously.

  King Wuling (circa 325–299 BC) of the Zhao State was among the first Chinese monarchs ruling territory that fringed nomadic lands to adapt the time-honoured tactic of enclosing towns and cities in walls. For millennia walls had been signature defence structures across China, but Wuling adapted them to his own local needs, changing their shape, scale and location. He built high defences that ran across the countryside for an extraordinary length. Thus, the chang cheng, or ‘long wall’, appeared as a new-style defence in the increasingly regular conflicts between peoples of the north and the south.

  8.

  Decisive Advantage

  A nomadic composite bow

  As a child, I soon progressed from throwing stones and using a pole as a cudgel, spear or sword to making a bow. With sticks abounding in the woods, I searched for ones that were long, straight and of even thickness. Most importantly, they had to be flexible and springy. After making a notch at either end, I would knot a length of garden string in one. To complete the stringing, I would flex the stick to a concave form and then attach the string to the other end. My bowstring would ‘twang’ promisingly, like a harp, giving a hint of its potential. Short garden canes were readymade arrows: straight and light. All I needed to do was cut a notch at one end and sharpen the other.

  For me, the thrill of using a bow and arrow for the first time was a milestone of childhood, like learning to ride a bike or swim. Archery extends your capability: instead of being limited by the strength of your arm, you can suddenly reach much further, and faster. My arrows – especially the first clusters – flew with impressive speed, covering quite a distance. But there was a limit: my bows never lasted too long. They seemed to be ‘pre-loaded’ with a set number of shots, or several days’ use, and then they’d virtually self-destruct. When drawn, there would be a heart-wrenching snapping noise – technically known as an ‘exploding’ bow. The outside edge of the bow always tore apart from repeated use.

  This simple childhood experience linked me with the history of weapons development. As a Briton, naturally I came to know first of Robin Hood’s exploits, and of the showers of arrows discharged from the English longbow archers at Agincourt in 1415. But it was universally accepted that the world’s greatest archers were in fact the Mongols, who rode out of the steppe in the thirteenth century and conquered half the world with their bows.

  A specimen of what they used is displayed at the Museum of the Great Hunnu Empire, outside Ulaanbaatar. It’s a fragment of its former self. Rather like the chisels we’ve already met (see Object 6), these bows were once ubiquitous, but precious few remain. That’s because their four organic components are preserved only under fairl
y long-shot circumstances, both social and environmental. Compounding the problem is the fact that Mongol bows were laminated, and things joined together tend to fall apart along the joins.

  How, therefore, might we appreciate what the notoriously lethal Mongol bow and archer was actually capable of? In the National Museum of Mongolian History in Ulaanbaatar is a replica of the ‘Genghis Khan Stele’, a piece of granite about 1.5 metres “in height; the original is in the State Hermitage Museum in St. Petersburg, Russia. The five-line inscription in Uighur-Mongol script lets us appreciate what the bow, in a marksman’s hands, was capable of achieving. It reads: ‘After his conquest of Sartaul [the Khwarazm Empire, centred around today’s Uzbekistan], Genghis Khan convened an assembly of Mongolian dignitaries, at which Esungge hit a target from 335 alds [536 metres].’ The assembly, circa AD 1225, seems to have included a naddam, or celebration of the three manly sports, one of which was archery. Esungge’s ultra-distance crack shot was well worth commemoration – it was an incredibly long and accurate shot.

  The historian’s dream is, of course, to go back in time and see how things were actually done. I’m always on the lookout for what I call living continuities: examples of the same process or activities continuing unchanged, to this day. The naddam remains as an annual display of Mongolia’s martial and equestrian culture. Archery is a top sport. Archers don’t use modern carbon fibre bows, the kinds you see during an Olympic archery competition; they still use their culture’s traditional composite bows. Surely someone, somewhere in Mongolia, must still craft them, I speculated, and I set out to find them.