In that unknown war...
At the time Muravyov-Amursky signed the Amur River border treaties between Russia and China, there were no Chinese in Primorye and Amur Krai. But immediately after the treaties were signed, they appeared! How so? Well, to understand the process, it's worth remembering two Chinese words that entered the Russian language: "manzi" and "honghuzi."
Manzas at work... There were probably some like that, but for the most part they hunted and gathered wild plants.
"Manza" literally means "lonely" in Chinese, but the word "bachelor" is closer in meaning. The fact is that Manchu officials began exiling offenders to administrative supervision in the counties bordering Russia (they exiled them without their families, hence the nickname "manza"). These were usually minor offenses (anyone who committed anything more serious than jaywalking was simply beheaded in China at the time). Consequently, administrative supervision was also lax. And since even the most liberal supervision is significantly worse than without it, and the border is right there, then...
Nikolai Przhevalsky, at the time of the events described - staff captain
In short, by the second half of the 60s, thousands of Chinese had already found themselves on Russian soil. And they were exclusively male: when Nikolai Przhevalsky found a pair of Chinese women in a Chinese fanza in Primorye, he was quite surprised! The Manzi were engaged in gathering wild plants and ginseng, gold prospecting, hunting, and foraging for deer antlers and seaweed. Some even practiced agriculture: mostly gardening, but Arsenyev, in his expeditions to the Far East, regularly encountered poppy plantations, which, as is well known, are rarely used in Chinese cuisine.
Again, manzas, but in color...
In general, the people were hardworking, and there wouldn't have been any problems, but... The Chinese are inclined to self-organization. And no matter where, be it in the Ussuri taiga or San Francisco, their communities elect elders (da-ye) every three years, who have complete power over the life and death of local Chinese, wielding full legislative, judicial, and executive authority. The "chief elder"—"zong da-ye"—is elected from among the elders and is appointed a "tong-zong-li" (chief elder), who oversees the implementation of community laws, two deputy "ban da-ye" (deputies), four assistants (se-ban da-ye)... The Russian authorities were most concerned about the zong da-ye's right to raise an armed militia. But the fact is, without it, survival in those parts was quite difficult, since the Honghuzi were active in the taiga.
The Unlucky Honghuzi
"Honghuzi" means "red-bearded." The origin of the term is unclear: red beards were uncommon among the Chinese before the advent of anime and hair dye, but there are several possible origins. The most likely is that Russian Cossack pioneers (like the bands of Yerofey Khabarov and Onufriy Stepanov) so impressed the locals with their reckless courage that their characteristic red beard became a symbol of valiant bravery. It was also adopted as a self-designation by Chinese bandits. At the very least, this word is used only in areas where Russians and Chinese have had contact and is completely unknown in southern China. Furthermore, this word is purely colloquial and is not used in Chinese documents.
The Honghuzi. These were Korean, but the Chinese were only slightly different from them...
The Honghuzi appeared in Manchuria as the Chinese settled there. They were first recorded in Liaoning Province, then, in the 18th century, in Jilin Province, and even later in Heilongjiang. This is not China, but Manchuria, so the Chinese there remained an unregistered population for a long time, left to their own devices (see above on the topic of Chinese self-organization!). As a result, English travelers in the late 19th century compared these regions to Australia's Botany Bay, populated by convicts. However, there were no Manchus among the Honghuzi—they were a purely Chinese phenomenon. Moreover, local officials considered the main contingent of "redbeards" to be people from Shandong and Zhili Provinces, while those from Shanxi, on the contrary, were not prone to banditry.
But, oddly enough, Russians, especially those from the Caucasus, thrived in the Honghuzi gangs! Many deserters from the government army joined the gangs—the Honghuzi even recruited soldiers, using them as military instructors. Another source of recruitment for the "brotherhood" were prospectors: private gold mining was prohibited in China, meaning prospectors needed guards. At first, they hired Honghuzi for this purpose, but gradually began to combine the two. Chinese hunters also indulged in banditry: as Arsenyev noted, "from a Chinese hunter and sable hunter to a Honghuzi is only one step!"
So that's why the Chinese needed scythes!
The Honghuzi set out on their hunt in March and concluded their "campaign" in November. They often enjoyed the support of the Chinese population: sometimes voluntarily—the Chinese disliked the Manchus, and the enemy of my enemy... But often, it was under threat of death. Gang sizes ranged from 3-5 people to several hundred; individuals were almost never encountered—the business was too dangerous. There are claims that the typical size was 20-25 people—hunting alone wouldn't support more than that in the taiga—but if necessary, these groups operating in the same area would unite into a larger detachment. Most of the Honghuzi operated in Manchuria—in Russia, both the population was well armed, and the military was much more active in combating the bandits.
This is roughly what the Honghuzi ataman might have looked like. But it's not certain!
The chieftain of the Honghuzi was called "zhanggui" (master of the cash register) or "dalanba" (large holder). If the leader was elected, he was called "danjia di" (head of the house), and if he had several gangs under his command, he was called "dajia di" (head of a large house).
At the beginning of the 20th century, the Honghuzi leader Wan Laodao operated on the Korean border: he had over 600 men under his direct command, and in total, he controlled an army of 10,000 bandits! Here's how the Russian traveler V.N. Rudokopov described one of the atamans:
Tongyang was tall, lean, sinewy, no longer young, with silver threads gleaming in his thick braid. His face was swarthy, sallow, slightly pockmarked, irregular, and unattractive. His red eyelids were slightly inflamed, and his large black eyes were sad, thoughtful, and deep. A certain calm, immense composure, and strength emanated from Tongyang's entire figure. He stood out sharply and was completely unlike his companions. Something powerful, commanding, was palpable about him. One sensed that he was truly a leader, one who would attract thousands; one sensed that he was not a cruel, bloodthirsty bandit, but one with a strong mind and a strong will. It is the leader who, through the strength of his spirit, can hold his army in iron discipline. They will follow him through fire and water, and he, Tongyang, will always be at the head of this army, will not retreat at anything, will not flinch in the face of death. He is for everyone, and everyone is for him...
Besides the leader, the detachment had "officers." "Danjia di"—"half of the head of the house," the deputy chieftain. "Paotou"—"cannon head," the commander of the vanguard. "Cuicui di"—"driver," the head of the rearguard. "Liliangtai"—"internal quartermaster," who distributed provisions among the detachment members and was the quartermaster. "Wailiangtai"—"external quartermaster," who procured provisions from outside. If the leader and his assistants were illiterate, the detachment might have a "zijianwu"—a scribe and clerk.
Chinese workers are a legitimate target for Honghuzi recruiters.
All members of the gang were considered brothers, but, as always in Chinese communities, hazing was rife—for a long time, newcomers were given nothing but chores. Upon joining the troop, each member swore an oath: to help each other in everything and to obey the chieftain like a father. Ordinary Honghuzi usually addressed the chieftain as "daye"—"honorable sir"—or "lao daye"—"honorable old sir."
The "brotherhood" often followed the "laws" developed by the famous Honghuzi Zhang Baima—13 points that spelled out the dos and don'ts. Robbing lone travelers, women, the elderly, and children was prohibited. Any offense against a woman was punishable by death. Officials, however, were considered fair game, though there was a difference: an honest official would lose only half his property, while a bribe-taker would lose everything. Any candidate for Honghuzi membership had to submit recommendations from 20 brothers, and astrologers and fortune-tellers were not accepted into the community on principle—the Honghuzi were known for their lack of superstition.
In old China, beheading was as common as a reprimand recorded in a Komsomol registration card.
All captured loot was divided into nine parts. Two went to the band's treasury, one was designated for those who helped organize the expedition, four were divided equally among all the Honghuzi, one became a reward for those who distinguished themselves, and the last went to help the wounded and the relatives of the dead. Sometimes the loot was divided into shares, with the ataman and his officers receiving several. Bringing women into the camp was considered a serious offense, as it could cause a quarrel. Grave offenses were punishable by death, with the execution entrusted to a friend of the condemned. Interestingly, for quite a long time, the laws prohibited attacks on foreigners, as this could lead to a lengthy pursuit involving heavy losses. But in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, foreigners became legitimate game.
You wouldn't wish being captured by the Chinese on your worst enemy...
Falling into the hands of the Honghuzi meant being subjected to excruciating torture, and often death. But there were nuances: a captive could be released for ransom or because of threats. There were also stories Even more drastic: when a young Japanese man fell into the hands of bandits, he demanded to be killed quickly, as there was no ransom money anyway. This self-control pleased the "brothers" so much that they immediately accepted the captive into the gang.
The Honghuzi armed themselves with whatever they could get their hands on. They also had traditional Chinese bladed weapons: swords, axes, and long-handled battle-axes, but they placed great emphasis on acquiring firearms. Matchlock guns remained in use for a long time—they didn't require scarce cartridges or spare parts, and the Honghuzi managed to make their own gunpowder. But they also actively acquired more modern firearms. In the Ussuri region, they were armed with older infantry rifles, which the authorities distributed to peasants to fight the Honghuzi. Thrifty villagers readily sold them, believing they could always come to an agreement with the bandits. Vladivostok merchants also followed suit, importing weapons from the United States to sell to the bandits. More often, the Honghuzi simply stole rifles from military barracks—there weren't enough soldiers to adequately secure the territory.
Hunting with such traps was also a Chinese business in Primorye at the end of the last century...
The Honghuzi's main sources of income, besides robbery, were racketeering, smuggling, and opium cultivation and trade. Counterfeiting was somewhat less common—the Chinese would mint Russian five-ruble coins from illegally mined gold. Distinguishing such coins from genuine ones was extremely difficult—the gold used was high-quality, and the stamping was masterfully executed. The Honghuzi were also regularly hired as security agencies, mostly protecting their clients from themselves. In war, they preferred to use ambushes, feints, and other Chinese strategems, but generally avoided combat with army units. It was the Honghuzi that the Russian authorities encountered during the "Manzo War"—a forgotten conflict that took place in 1868.
How many Chinese were in Primorye on the eve of the war? It's a difficult question. The governor of Primorsky Oblast, Rear Admiral I. V. Furuhjelm, counted 7–10, while the explorer N. M. Przhevalsky estimated their number at 4–5. These people had no connection to the Qing Empire and were often labeled criminals in their homeland. Nevertheless, they launched a vigorous economic activity in the region! The kelp harvesting business near Vladivostok alone generated a turnover of 600 rubles in 1866. The emergence of power in these regions (whether Russian or Chinese) clearly did not please these "entrepreneurs."
"Psychic attacks" began in 1866: Russian outpost commanders received reports of Chinese troops marching on Vladivostok, and the garrison rose to arms, but the alarms repeatedly proved false. Armed provocations also occurred: district commanders needed to distinguish themselves, and tugging at the ears of the Russian bear seemed perfectly justified from a career standpoint.
Civilization on the march!
Meanwhile, Russia was strengthening its position in the Far East: in 1867, a telegraph line was laid between the Novgorod outpost and Khabarovsk. Simultaneously, construction began on the Ussuri-Novgorod Highway, the first road in Primorye. The restoration of order was accompanied by the consolidation of Chinese economic activity, including a ban on gold mining.
Gold mines on Askold. Russian gold mines, the Chinese used nothing more complex than goat skin...
There's plenty of gold in the Far East! In 1867, it was discovered on Askold Island, attracting hordes of Chinese prospectors. Russians were few and far between in Primorye, so the authorities only discovered the illegal gold mining by accident. The propeller-driven schooner "Aleut" was en route from St. Olga Bay to Vladivostok, and en route, its commander, Lieutenant A. A. Etolin, decided to call at the island.
On September 3, the schooner approached the island, and the sailors were met with the sight of hundreds of manzas panning for gold. The commander and 15 sailors landed on the island and confiscated five pounds of the yellow metal from the Chinese, after which he ordered them to cease work and flee as far as possible. The manzas stopped working, but they were in no hurry to leave the island, so the lieutenant realized that as soon as his ship was out of sight, mining would resume. So, he set off for Vladivostok, where he requested an armed guard for the island.
Askold these days...
Having received 18 soldiers and 6 artillerymen, Etolin again set off for Askold. On September 5, the island was cleared of prospectors, but Governor Furuhelm decided not to stop there, but to establish another outpost (Streletsky) opposite the island in Strelok Bay - 25 men led by Lieutenant artillery N. N. Kablukov. Then, in Vladivostok, one of the sailors from the schooner was attacked by Chinese, and the lieutenant took it as revenge for Askold.
On April 19, the Aleut returned to the island, where Etolin confirmed that the number of Chinese gold panners had not diminished. Having landed with 20 sailors, the Aleut's commander was attacked by hundreds of armed Chinese. The first shot killed one of the sailors, and the lieutenant, revolver in hand, led his men to break through to the lifeboats. Two more sailors were killed along the way. Upon reaching the schooner, Etolin fired several shots toward the shore, where the Chinese were demonstratively chopping up the sailors' corpses. The Manzi won the initial confrontation: three of the crew were killed and eight wounded, and the Chinese took the spoils—five rifles and eight pistols.
Chinese junks in Vladivostok
It became clear that the Manzi had called on the Honghuzi for help and had decided to resist. Etolin sailed to Vladivostok, where he disembarked the wounded and replenished his coal supplies, but on April 20th he was back at Askold. Here, together with Lieutenant Koblukov, he decided to confiscate the Manzi's boats and take them to the neighboring Putyatin Island. The schooner cruised between the island and Vladivostok, carrying reinforcements, but on April 26th, the Streletsky outpost was attacked. Over a thousand Chinese participated in the attack, defended by 26 sailors with 10 rifles, who fled after firing one volley. In the brief melee, a sentry was killed and one of the sailors was captured. Etolin approached the burned outpost, where he took on board all the survivors, including the sailor who had escaped from captivity. As a warning, the lieutenant hanged three Honghuzi captured on Putyatin and burned the junks so that the Manzi could not escape to the mainland, after which he went to Vladivostok for reinforcements.
The end of a dangerous business...
However, the schooner's commander received no reinforcements: the city's commandant, Major Goryainov, panicked and refused to provide a single soldier. While the sailor was arguing with the land authorities, the Chinese tied together rafts and crossed from the island to the mainland. When the Aleut returned with the Russian-American Company's barque Nakhimov, Askold had been deserted for two days.
Russian settlers in Primorye. Those who survived...
Meanwhile, on the mainland, a drama was unfolding: a thousand armed Chinese were burning villages, slaughtering two peasant families who hadn't managed to escape into the taiga. The village of Nikolskaya, the future city of Ussuriysk, was also burned. Command mobilized all available forces: Cossacks from the Amur Cossack Host and a rifle half-battalion.
The clash occurred on May 29, 1868, near Dubinsky's camp. The Honghuzi were unable to withstand direct combat with the Russian forces and fled. However, the commander of the Russian detachment, Lieutenant Colonel N. F. Markov, also remained restrained, and 300 Honghuzi managed to escape to China with 10 cartloads of loot. The remnants of the Manzo army were hunted throughout the region until mid-July. Following the "Manzo War," Lieutenant Etolin received a golden weapon, the Order of St. Vladimir, and a promotion to the next rank. Well deserved!
Monument to Mikhail Yankovsky
But nothing had changed on Askold. In 1873, the corvette Vityaz called at the island and discovered the same scene: thousands of Mansi diligently mining for gold. At the sight of a Russian warship, the entire crowd quickly boarded junks and fled to the mainland. The question "What to do?" loomed large, but a solution was found: the gold mines were handed over to the Siberian merchant I. I. Kuster for development. Siberian merchants were a serious bunch—no match for the humanist military.
Kuster found an effective manager for his new business—the exiled Pole Mikhail Jankowski. This participant in the Polish uprising of 1863 turned out to be a real find! Primorsky historians fondly recount how he brought a herd of sika deer to the island, established a mine, and generally engaged in scientific research. But in photographs from that period, for some reason, he usually poses with a Winchester rifle. And for some reason, the Chinese never returned to Askold. They lost their taste for gold...
P.S. And the artist Oleg Yankovsky is Mikhail Yankovsky's great-grandson...
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