Fortune and Glory

by David McIntee

  After that point, the influence of mainland Chinese and Korean swords began to take effect, and the tsuba type of guard, and curved blades, became the dominant form. Around this time, quality steel became more widely available, and the best swords in Japan were imported from the Chinese kingdom of Eastern Wu, which the Japanese called Kure (no relation to the present day city of Kure, which is in Hiroshima Prefecture, and was founded in 1902). These were considered the most valuable swords of the period, both as weapons and as ceremonial status symbols.

  Circa AD 702, the sword Kogarasu Maru was made by the smith Amakuni, and this is pretty much the first true tachi, with a curved blade, signed on the tang. This would launch the reputation of the katana and tachi style blades as being of superior quality and artwork.

  This is also the era in which the 7th century Kojiki, one of the earliest Japanese texts, was written. Like the original Norse myths, or the British tales of King Arthur, or the Greek myths, this text is not particularly historical, hence the completely fantastical tale of the sword’s discovery, which the text sets somewhere probably around 100 BC. Kusanagi was famous even by this point, though it was said to have been stolen by a monk from either China or Korea, and the loss having killed off the tenth Emperor. This is mentioned in another early text, the Nihon Shoki, written in the early 8th century which, although it also includes fantastical elements such as Creation myths, soon gives way to reportage of 7th century events. In this text, Kusanagi was stolen in the 660s, and returned about 20 years later, at which point it was given into the care of the Atsuta Shrine.

  It’s next referred to in The Tale of the Heike, having been lost at sea in the 1185 Battle of Dan-no-ura. It’s also, however, in the 13th century that the first replica of it is confirmed to have been made, in 1210. That makes this the closest thing to an original Kusanagi, being the first definitely-existing physical version. From here on in, there is something that the Atsuta Shrine can actually have in storage. A monk in the Edo period was able to describe the sword as 33in long, well maintained and with a white metallic sheen to it.

  Now things get interesting: in the 19th century, a second (at least) replica was made for the emperor to have with him. This replica existed until at least 1945, owned by Hirohito. After the war, however, it disappeared; it probably would have been handed over to the occupying forces, or taken as a prize, but perhaps not. Either way, the focus on the occupying forces has always been about a different sword…

  The 14th century artisan Gorō Nyūdō Masamune experimented for years to find a way to make a blade that couldn’t be dinged, at least under normal circumstances. His work brought apprentices to his door from all over the empire, wanting to learn his secret. In the end, his ten apprentices all became famous masters of swordmaking in their own right, and the golden age of the ‘samurai sword’ was in full swing.

  Masamune’s process amounted to the ability to temper blades at a much higher temperature than anyone had before. Smiths who had reached such temperatures found that their blades would crack or warp when quenched. Masamune was able to acquire better quality materials for all parts of the forging process, not just the steel itself. He was then able to make his blades by a process called nijuba, which involves annealing and tempering the blade by heating and quenching it twice.

  Signed Masamune swords became rarer as his life went on, as apparently he went into a level of conceit in which he felt he didn’t need to sign blades, as he insisted that they were so superior that anyone seeing one would recognize it at once. This, of course, is another reason why the Honjo Masamune would be so valuable, as it is one he did sign on the tang, somewhere around 1326 (he died in 1343).

  There’s no truth to the story of his rivalry with Muramasa, whether as master and apprentice or otherwise, as Muramasa lived two hundred years after Masamune.

  After World War II, General Douglas MacArthur ordered a total disarmament of Japan, which was by then occupied by Allied forces. This disarmament was to include swords, partly because they were such a part of the warrior culture there, which meant they were thought to inspire resistance (and if you think that couldn’t happen in Western countries, the Union government did it with bagpipes after the Jacobite Rebellion, for the same reason!), and partly because mass-produced swords had been issued to the military during the war.

  There was a difference between the crude rolled-steel swords made in the 1930s and 1940s – which the Japanese didn’t consider true swords – and the historic hand-made antiques. To the Allies this meant modern cheap ones should be destroyed – and many were melted down or dumped in ocean reefs – and that the antiques were great souvenirs for officers.

  The fate of such weapons was the responsibility of the Foreign Liquidations Commission of the US Army Forces Western Pacific. They would collect swords from police stations and take them for appropriate analysis, storage and disposal. Naturally this process often actually ended up with soldiers of the unit weeding out the best blades to give as gifts and souvenirs to higher-ranking officers, who would bring them home to the US when their service finished.

  Tokugawa Iemasu had handed in the Honjo Masamune and 14 other swords in December 1945. In January, they were picked up by ‘Sgt Coldy Bimore’, who, as we know, never existed. The name is the product of a botched translation – either phonetic, when the Mejiro policeman tried to write it down, or in transliteration back from kanji, the Japanese pictographic script.

  If it’s a pronunciation issue, then it means the name could have been Cody someone, or Cole somebody, or even Colonel D somebody. If it’s a kanji transliteration issue, though, then actually it could have been something like Dickson or Dickerson as a surname, rather than Bimore. Some people have wondered if he simply could have been planning a scam, and asked ‘could I buy more?’ rather than giving a name.

  All that said, there is a name that’s at least phonetically similar, and whom records show was serving in the right place at the right time: Cole D. B. Moore, a Technician 4th Grade attached to the Foreign Liquidations Commission, service number 34681402. Score another match for ‘Coldy Bimore’, as, although Moore wasn’t a sergeant, the T/4 grade insignia was three chevrons over a T – which anyone would simply assume meant sergeant because of three chevrons. Moore was demobbed in April 1946, but why didn’t people link Bimore to him sooner? Probably because his service records were among millions destroyed in a fire at the National Personnel Records Center in 1973.

  The National Archives, however, says Moore was a farmer from Wilcox County, Georgia, in civilian life. Sadly, Moore died some years ago, and is buried at the Christian Home Cemetery in Pitts, Wilcox County. His widow died in 2012, but they also had five children and numerous grandchildren.

  WHERE IS IT NOW?

  The original Kusanagi most likely never existed as an actual pre-8th century sword, though there have been several replicas to that style of manufacture over the centuries. At least one replica was housed at Atsuta from the 13th century onwards, and another in the Imperial Palace until 1945. Since then, neither have been seen uncovered, and it’s possible that either or both were taken by the Allied occupation forces and either brought home as a war prize or destroyed.

  Clearly the fact that the Atsuta one has remained covered up ever since means there’s something iffy going on – at best, time is taking its toll on the 13th-century blade and nobody wants to show it off in that state. Perhaps, however, it’s actually the Victorian replica, or a new one, or simply an empty container with no sword remaining. The shrine was heavily bombed during World War II, and rebuilt afterwards. Although it contains thousands of historic artefacts, who knows how many were destroyed?

  If there was a Kusanagi prior to the one made in 1210, it was probably made somewhere in the late 7th century, in between the writing of the Kojiki and the Nihon Shoki. Lost at sea, it will have rusted away to nothing in the Shimonoseki Strait, under the Kanmonkyo suspension bridge in the city of Shimonoseki, as that is what’s now on the site of the Da
n-no-ura battle.

  The Honjo Masamune, on the other hand, definitely did exist, and suffered one of two fates. One possibility is that Cole Moore simply did his job, and delivered his consignment of swords to the furnace, to be melted down. If so, then it – along with the other 14 antique masterpieces – is gone forever.

  The other possibility is slightly more likely. The difference in quality and value between the mass-produced military katana of the 20th century, and centuries-old antique heirlooms, was obvious to anyone. It was standard unofficial policy for US soldiers to give their superior officers gifts of quality swords. It was also official policy that soldiers were allowed to keep one sword and one firearm as war trophies. This means it’s most likely that Moore would have kept one sword, and gifted the others to other officers.

  There is, however, no way to tell which sword went where. It’s unlikely that Moore kept the Honjo Masamune, as researchers have tried putting his descendants in touch with the Japanese authorities, and nothing has come of it. The Japanese made their own inquiries, and so Moore either wasn’t Coldy Bimore, or, far more likely, took home a far less important sword, and gifted the Honjo Masamune to someone else, probably in that three months before being demobbed.

  In short, then, the Honjo Masamune is almost certainly (unless it has been pawned or sold) somewhere in the home of a descendant of an unknown officer in the US Army Forces, Western Pacific, who probably never even knew how important a sword it is. Sadly this means there’s a very uncomfortable likelihood that this priceless medieval relic has been ruined by being played with by several generations of children. Whoever now has it most likely doesn’t know what they have – it’s just grandad’s or great-grandad’s dusty old relic, lying in the attic, or propped in a cluttered basement or garage corner.

  CONSERVATION AND CARE

  The conservation and care of antiques and antiquities is a very specialist matter – and every type of artefact has its own special requirements.

  These, however, are not really matters for the treasure hunter, as it’s your job to find the things, not to look after them. It will be the responsibility of the ultimate owner, whether that be a museum or private individual, to take care of the artefact. That said, it’s always worth being aware of the fact that there will be an issue.

  In the treasure hunter’s case the important thing will be to make sure that the treasure is recovered safely, which will be dependent on both its nature and the environment in which it is to be found. Organic material submerged in the right depth of water might well be preserved, due to the lack of oxygen available to rot causing bacteria. In such a case, bringing it to the surface will cause it to rot, and you don’t want that. For example, anyone who remembers the media coverage of the raising of the Tudor warship Mary Rose will remember that the wood of the ship had to be kept wet with salt water so that it would not dry out and rot and crumble.

  The biggest likely problem with treasure found on land will be fragility. Even gold jewellery can be fragile, and a piece will be worth far more intact than in fragments, so the utmost care must be taken when unearthing anything. Always be gentle. It also helps to follow the archaeological procedure of documenting your dig with pictures before you pick it up, so that if an object does break as you bring it out of its location, you have a record of how it should be put back together.

  Care and restoration of your discoveries, however, is really a matter for professionals, be they museum conservators or jewellers. Never be tempted to get scrubbing with a brillo pad. Also always be wary of exposing new finds to direct sunlight, especially if they are textiles or papers or parchments, as there is a risk of their fading.

  THE OPPOSITION IN YOUR WAY

  The big problem with either sword, if you find it outside Japan, is that it can only be properly and officially authenticated in Japan – at which point, being a national treasure, they’ll refuse to let it back out!

  The Atsuta Shrine is in Nagoya City – 1-1-1 Jingu, Atsuta Ward, Nagoya, Aichi Prefecture 456-8585 – and is open to the public. It’s a lovely place, 200km2 of paradise surrounded by a 16th-century wall. It’s also got excellent security, hordes of tourists, and the anonymous lump that may or may not be a Kusanagi isn’t among the goodies on display, unless there’s an imperial coronation when you visit.

  PEKING MAN

  WHAT IS IT?

  This treasure is a set of fossils found near Beijing in the 1920s and 1930s. They belong to a subset of human ancestor species Homo Erectus, and are classified as Homo Erectus Pekinensis.

  The main pieces are 15 pieces of cranial bone that make up the front half of the skull, plus 11 jawbones and a few limb bones. In total they seem to come from a total of 12 individuals, of different ages. A lot of teeth and stone tools were also found, and several of those teeth actually still exist, at the Palaeontological Museum in the university at Uppsala, Sweden.

  A number of prehistoric Homo Sapien skeletons were also found at the same site.

  HOW MUCH IS IT WORTH TO YOU?

  In monetary terms, not that much. A reward of $5,000 was offered in 1972, which would equate to about $29,000 today, and a new set of expeditions to search for new specimens has been running for several years.

  In terms of historical interest, especially for collectors, the pieces could sell for thousands each, if ever they turn up. As for their anthropological and palaeontological value, they’re priceless. They are, after all, the only known examples of Homo Erectus Pekinensis, which is considered to be one of the first – if not the first – tool-using ancestor of modern humanity, as well as being evidence towards the theory that all humans evolved from Africa and then migrated.

  THE STORY

  In 1921, Swedish geologist Johan Gunnar Andersson and American palaeontologist Walter Granger went to the area of Zhoukoudian, in China. They were looking for fossils, and were directed by workers at a local quarry to a site whose name translates as ‘Dragon Bone Hill’ – a sure clue to the presence of ancient bones and fossils.

  Andersson recognized that the site was an ancient quartz mine, and that there could be human, or at least hominid, remains in the vicinity, and perhaps their tools. The pair began excavating, but it was their assistant – an Austrian by the name of Otto Zdansky – who found a fossil tooth, which he believed to be human. More pieces were found in 1923 and 1924, and these were sent to Uppsala University, where it was discovered in 1926 that fossilized teeth of a new species of hominid were among the artefacts.

  The race was then on to dig up a whole skeleton, even though there were arguments over whether anyone could really have identified a new species from a tooth.

  Armed with funding from the Rockefeller Foundation, a 1928 expedition turned up a jawbone, as well as more teeth, and some bits of skull, which led to the foundation of the Cenozoic Research Laboratory at what was then called Peking Union Medical College. By now the digs were being supervised by a team of Chinese Palaeontologists – Yang Zhongjian, Pei Wenzhong and Jia Lanpo – and over the next decade they excavated a couple of hundred fossils, mostly teeth and pieces of skull and jaw – six almost complete. Studying them suggested that they came from at least 40 different individuals. This continued for a decade or so, until the Japanese invaded Manchuria in 1937, and started the Sino-Japanese War.

  As the Japanese progressed across China, the authorities became concerned about the safety of the fossils. In November 1941, just a couple of weeks before the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor, the Cenozoic Research Lab’s Hu Chengzi packed them up in two crates for transport to the US. The crates were then taken in a US Marine Corps truck to Camp Holcomb, a Marine base at Qinhuangdao, on the Gulf of Pechili. The intent was to sail the fossils out to Singapore, and then on to the US, eventually to be delivered to the American Museum Of Natural History in New York City.

  However, despite the presence of assorted trucks, ships and trains all at the port, and the presence of both Chinese military and US Marine escorts, the crates of fossils were simpl
y never seen again.

  PREVIOUS SEARCHES IN FACT AND FICTION

  The Chinese government – both the Nationalists prior to 1948, and the Communists since – have long sought to find the fossils, as they are a prime national treasure. Likewise, the Rockefeller Foundation and the American Natural History Museum have pored through thousands of documents and witness depositions over the years, to try to piece together what happened.

  In fiction, the story is probably the inspiration for elements of the plot of the highly entertaining B-movie, Horror Express, which involves a crated-up fossil ape-man found in a Chinese cave (but which turns out to be a zombie-creating alien brain parasite that can’t stand up to the powerful combo of Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee). It may also have been an influence on Quatermass and the Pit.

  A $5,000 dollar reward was offered in 1972 by Christopher Janus, a Chicago financier, and president of a charity called the Greek Heritage Foundation. At first the FBI contributed to searching for leads, as did the CIA (let’s face it, it’s a good cover story for nosing around in China). Janus actually got a response, from a woman claiming to have the bones, but who asked half a million dollars for them.

  A writer named Harry L. Shapiro also got involved with Janus’s search for the relics, and believed that the mystery woman who asked half a million for the fossils was the widow of a Marine interned at Tianjin, who knew where the crates were hidden. In fact she provided a picture of a box containing skull fragments, but the picture was unclear, and she soon disappeared. In fact she may never have existed, as Janus turned out to be two-faced. In 1981 he was convicted of fraud: a scam he based upon the idea of getting funds needed to make a movie about Peking Man. It’d be interesting to know if he also sought funds to pay the halfmillion to the person claiming to have the bones. Needless to say, he wasn’t actually doing anything about making a movie.