The China Marines: The Post That Time Forgot

Before the first Higgins boat hit Tarawa’s reef, before Semper Fi echoed through Khe Sanh or Helmand, there were U.S. Marines posted behind the ancient walls of China, forgotten by most, remembered by few, but standing tall just the same.

They were called the China Marines, and their legacy stretches from the ashes of the Boxer Rebellion to the eve of World War Two. They wore spit shined dress blues in cities unraveling at the seams. They stood their posts not with air cover, drone feeds, or quick reaction forces, but with Springfield rifles, fixed bayonets, and one another.

From 1900 to 1941, Marines were stationed in China to protect American diplomats, businessmen, missionaries, and legations, especially in Peking (modern Beijing) and Shanghai. While some saw it as soft duty, a gentleman’s war post, that was only surface polish. Beneath the jazz bands and boxing matches was a volatile mix of global powers, local warlords, Communist insurgents, Nationalist factions, and Japanese imperialists all vying for blood and ground.

These Marines walked a tightrope, armed to the teeth but ordered to tread lightly. They faced rioting mobs, espionage, and sudden ambushes, often with no backup, no close air support, and no reliable communications. Telegraph lines were cut regularly. Radios were primitive. When trouble brewed outside the legation walls, the Marines were often on their own, a handful of riflemen guarding an entire embassy compound, hoping Washington would notice before it was too late.

Many Marines who became legends later wore the China Service Medal early on. Chesty Puller, five Navy Crosses deep, served in China and studied its language and people with intensity. Smedley Butler, double Medal of Honor recipient, had tangled with Chinese warlords during the Boxer aftermath. Private Dan Daly, who would go on to earn two Medals of Honor, received his first for single handedly defending his position on the Tartar Wall during the Boxer Rebellion. Armed with his rifle and reportedly an M1895 Colt Browning “potato digger” machine gun, he repelled waves of Boxer attackers through the night. By dawn, nearly 200 enemy lay dead. His second Medal of Honor would come later, at Belleau Wood, charging German machine gun nests with pure fury.

Merritt “Red Mike” Edson, who would later earn the Medal of Honor on Guadalcanal, honed his small unit command instincts in the back alleys of Shanghai. And Gregory “Pappy” Boyington, long before he led the Black Sheep Squadron in the South Pacific, flew over Chinese skies as a Marine pilot with the American Volunteer Group, the famed Flying Tigers. Between late 1941 and early 1942, he escorted convoys, strafed enemy positions, and engaged Japanese fighters in defense of China and the Burma Road. He may not have worn dress blues on legation duty, but he bled in the same dirt and flew under the same cause.

These weren’t boot camp myths. These were real men, patrolling real danger, often without a plan or promise of help.

In the 1930s, the situation spiraled. Japan invaded Manchuria, then Beijing, then Nanking, rolling south with cold precision. Marines at the Peking Legation Guard and the 4th Marine Regiment in Shanghai suddenly found themselves staring down Imperial Japanese troops just outside their sandbags, unable to shoot unless fired upon, holding the line in a war that hadn’t officially started.

When the smoke from Pearl Harbor hit the horizon on December 7, 1941 (December 8 in China), the China Marines became the first American POWs of World War Two. Nearly 200 Marines from the Legation Guard and the 4th Marines were captured by Japanese forces within hours. No reinforcements. No evacuation plan. Just overrun.

They were marched, beaten, starved, and imprisoned for over three years in brutal Japanese camps, Woosung, Kiangwan, Fengtai, with nothing but their Corps identity to cling to. Men like 1stSgt Charles “Pops” Jernigan, known for keeping morale alive behind the wire. Others never made it out. Their bones lie silent in Chinese soil or unnamed beneath a POW marker.

When the survivors returned home, they didn’t get parades. The Pacific war had raged on without them. But in the hushed corners of Marine reunions, when the beers went down and the room got quiet, the China Marines were always remembered.

What kind of support did they have? Almost none.

Supplies came by ship. Once a month if lucky. Ammunition was often in short supply. They drilled with empty rifles and trained with sand filled grenades. Medical care? Whatever the Navy could scrounge from a passing hospital ship. Communications were mostly Morse, and often jammed or intercepted. Reinforcements were weeks away by ocean. And every Marine knew, if things went sideways, no one was coming fast.

So they leaned on each other. Old school. Fire team loyalty. Watch your six. They built trust the way Marines always have, one muddy patrol at a time.

The China Marines don’t get monuments or movies. But they wrote a chapter of Marine Corps history in sweat and silence. They were diplomats with bayonets, warriors on a tightrope, stationed in a foreign land at the edge of empire.

And when the first fires of World War Two ignited, they didn’t run. They stood their post. Outnumbered, outgunned, and soon, forgotten.

So if you’re reading this, raise a glass tonight for the men of the 4th Marines, the Peking Legation Guard, and the Corpsmen who patched them up with borrowed gauze and spit.

Before Guadalcanal
Before Iwo
Before Inchon

There was China

Semper Fi!