'IN JOURNEYINGS OFTEN, IN PERILS OF RIVERS'
The year following the marriage, owing to the absence of Dr. Dudgeon on
furlough, was spent almost entirely in Peking. In his absence Mr.
Gilmour took charge of what may be called the unprofessional work of the
hospital, the purely medical superintendence being in the hands of Dr.
Bushell of the British Legation. He varied this work and the routine of
ordinary mission duties by an occasional trip to other centres where
fairs were being held, in the company of Mr. Murray, of the National
Bible Society of Scotland, for the purpose of selling Christian books.
There was often a very keen friendly rivalry as to which could sell the
most, and not unfrequently very large quantities of tracts and booklets
were thus put into circulation.
Early in 1875, with the object of enabling his colleagues and his
friends among the other missions which have centres in Peking the better
to realise what life in Mongolia was like, he set up his Mongol tent in
the compound, and invited them in companies of five or seven to partake
of a Mongol dinner, cooked in Mongol fashion, and served as on the
Plain. His diary records that five such entertainments were necessary,
the utmost limit of the tent accommodation being reached on each
occasion.
'The guests came,' we are told, 'at the appointed time, and the fire of
wood was lighted in the middle of the tent. While the guests sat around
on felt spread upon the ground, Gilmour proceeded to cook the millet and
the mutton which furnished the feast. When all was ready a blessing was
asked and the meal was eaten. On one occasion a reverend gentleman was
called on to ask the blessing, but declined, feeling apparently that
what he was expected to eat was not of such a quality that he could ask
a blessing on it. Gilmour used often to refer to this with much
amusement, though at the time he felt some chagrin.'
In 1876 the Mongolian trips were resumed. No colleague had yet been
secured for him, and, with a bravery and consecration beyond all praise,
Mrs. Gilmour accompanied him. This she did not once simply. For the
first journey the novelty of the experience and the conviction that she
could at any rate help to preserve her husband from the feeling of utter
loneliness, which had been so hard to bear in past years, were powerful
reasons. But she went a second and a third time. She went after the
novelty had worn off, after she had learned by very stern experience how
hard and rough the life was, after previous exposure had told but too
severely upon her physical strength. And thus she deserves the eulogy
passed upon her by her husband: 'She is a better missionary than I.'
Comparisons of this kind are obviously out of the question. But it would
be hard to find a more beautiful illustration of true wifely affection
than the love for her husband that made her willing to share his Mongol
tent as readily as the Peking compound. And if James Gilmour
manifested a Christlike love for the ignorant and stolid Mongols, so
also did the delicately nurtured and refined lady who, in order to do
her part in winning them to the Saviour, endured privations, faced
perils, and bore a daily and hourly series of trials so irksome and so
repugnant that no motive short of all-absorbing love to Jesus Christ is
strong enough to account for her endurance.
Here are some pictures of what this life meant to Mrs. Gilmour. The
first journey which they took together lasted from April 4 until
September 23, 1876, one hundred and thirty-six days being passed in
Mongolia itself.
'On the evening of April 25 we came upon our servants' tent,
already pitched beside some Mongol tents near a stream. Our things
were unloaded from the Chinese cart, which soon drove off and left
us fairly launched out on the Plain. We had two tents--one for
ourselves and one for our servants. They were both alike, made of
common blue Chinese cloth outside, and of commoner white Chinese
cloth inside. It was originally intended that our tent should be
private for our retirement and for Mrs. Gilmour's use; but we soon
found that this idea could not be carried out. The Mongols are so
much in the habit of going freely into everybody's tent in Mongolia
that we found we could not retain our tent to ourselves without
running risk of offending them by our seeming haughtiness. That
they should think us uncongenial and distant would have been an
obstacle to our success among them. So we made a virtue of
necessity, and kept open house in the literal sense of the word. At
our meals, our devotions, our ablutions, there they were--much
amused and interested, of course. It was sometimes annoying to have
them so much and so constantly about, but there was no help for it,
and soon we began to care little for them, and took their
presence not only as a matter of course, but without being
disturbed by it.
'One advantage of this sort of public life was that Mrs. Gilmour,
being almost constantly in the presence of the spoken language,
picked it up very accurately and very rapidly. It is hardly
possible to conceive a better plan of becoming easily and well
acquainted with any language than that of thus living where it is
impossible not to hear it in almost constant use.
'Another advantage of this sort of public life was that one gained
the friendship of the people. This perfect freedom of intercourse
pleased them much, and even conciliated those not very friendly
inclined. It was quite common to hear visitors remark that, while
other foreigners in Mongolia are distant and harsh, these people
were gentle and accessible, and that such friendly people did a
great deal to remove the unfavourable impressions made by other
less considerate travellers.
'Our sojourn extended to the end of August, giving us a little over
four months at a stretch of tent life. In that time we had
experience of many kinds of weather. At first it was cold. Even in
May ice was to be seen in the mornings. Then came heat, premature
and burning, and all the more trying for ourselves and cattle on
account of the lack of rain. Then we had a furious tempest, which
raged for about thirty-six hours, overturning our covered cart and
threatening to sweep ourselves and our tents away. We had to load
down our tent ropes with bags of earth, stones, sod, the bodies of
our carts, wheels, boxes, and anything we could find, and even then
we had but a precarious existence. Every now and then, by day and
by night, there would arise a shout from the one tent or the other,
and amid the roar of the wind we heard cries for the hammer and the
spare tent pins. We managed to fix ourselves without being blown
away, and when the storm was over we patched our riven tents,
and were thankful we had weathered it so well. Then came the summer
rains--late in season, it is true, but great in strength--pouring
and lashing and roaring, the great drops bursting through our rent
cloth, broken up into spray and looking like pepper shaken from a
box. We had waterproof sheets, but it was next to impossible to
keep anything dry. While the rain lasted we sat huddled in our rain
cloaks, or, spade in hand, cut new channels for suddenly
extemporised streams and pools that grew larger and continued to
come closer to our bedding and boxes. As soon as the sun returned,
there was a general drying of garments, mattresses, and sheepskin
robes. The heat was perhaps the most trying of our meteorological
experiences; but even that passed away at last, and before we had
left the plains night frost had reappeared, covering the pools
about well mouths with thin sheets of ice.
[Illustration: A MONGOL ENCAMPMENT]
'Later in the season, one afternoon, the loungers in the tent
looked out and remarked, "The Mandarin has come," and gave place to
a richly dressed, corpulent Mongol, who entered the tent, followed
by one of his servants. Salutations over, he soon showed his
colours and unmasked his batteries. He had come to fight, and we
both went at it tooth and nail. He had read a good deal, and had
come evidently prepared and primed, not in any spirit of
unfriendliness, but under the evident conviction that a better case
could be made out for Buddhism than for Christianity. The tent was
crammed with eager listeners, and we reasoned together from the
Creation to the finish, including all manner of side issues and
important questions. It was a long time before he could be
convinced that our Jesus was not spoken of and made known in the
Buddhist classics. When he was at length satisfied (on that point),
he wanted to know about the Trinity; how men could get good; how it
was right that men should escape punishment due to their misdeeds
by praying to Jesus; why God allowed animals, such as starving
dogs, to lead a life of suffering; why God did not keep sin from
entering the world; how could Jesus come, when it is said He is
always with us; and how about the souls who died before Jesus came.
'At last the sun got low, and the Mandarin, with many words of
friendship, rode away, promising to come another day. But he never
came.'
In a later journey they had a very narrow escape from one of the
frequent perils of this tent life:--
'In Mongolia we had one rather serious adventure. The south edge of
the Plain is famed for storms, and the night we camped there, just
after dark, began one of the fiercest thunderstorms I can remember
having seen. The wind roared, the rain dashed, the tent quivered;
the thunder rattled with a metallic ring, like shafts of iron
dashing against each other, as it darted along a sheet-iron sky;
the water rose in the tent till part of our bed was afloat. It was
hardly possible to hear each other speak; but amid and above all
the din of the tempest rose one sound not to be mistaken, the roar
of rushing water. There was a river to right of us, but the sound
came more from the left. Venturing out, I found there was a great
swift-flowing river on both sides of us; that we could not move
from the little piece of elevated land plain on which we had our
tent; and that a few inches more water, or an obstacle getting into
the path of the upper river, would send the full force of the
current down on our tents. Flocks, herds, men are said to be swept
away now and again in Mongolia, and for an hour our case seemed
doubtful; but about 11 P.M. the storm ceased and the danger was
over, and, though we had hardly anything left, we went to sleep,
thanking God for His preserving mercy.'
Courageous, undoubtedly, Mrs. Gilmour was; her example of self-sacrifice
in the Master's cause was lofty in itself, and is stimulating to every
Christian mind. Yet it is to be greatly feared that the first of these
journeys aggravated, if it did not actually develope, the disease from
which she ultimately died. She found the ceaseless round of millet and
mutton so unpalatable as at the last to be able hardly to eat at all;
and experience of tent life was needful before she could realise how
absolutely devoid it was of almost everything that a European lady looks
upon as essential to daily existence, and thus make adequate preparation
for the life. Yet, in 1878, she not only accompanied her husband again,
better equipped by reason of previous experience, but she also took with
her their infant boy.
The winter of 1876 in Peking was devoted to work more or less directly
bearing upon the Christian conquest of the nomad tribes.
'Since returning from Mongolia I have had here a teacher whom I had
come from the plains. I read some Buddhist classics with him, then
had him write to my dictation some of the more striking incidents
narrated in the Book of Daniel; then finally had him write for me
an explanation of the way of salvation through Jesus. The extracts
from Daniel were written mostly with the idea of accustoming him to
my dictation; but the explanation of Christianity was a tract that
I had long wanted to write, in which I sought to make it as plain
as possible, not only that Jesus does save, but also that there is
no salvation through any other name. The Religious Tract Society
has consented to print for me both the extract from Daniel and the
explanation of Christianity.'
During 1877 the ever-recurring question, inevitable, perhaps, and yet
very paralysing to any steady progress, as to whether it was really
worth while to continue labour in such a sterile field, came up once
more for discussion. In an elaborate report, designed rather to elicit
the views of the home authorities than to express his own, dated August
18, 1877, Mr. Gilmour depicts rapidly and clearly his relations, on the
one hand, to the workers in the station of the American Board at Kalgan,
and, on the other, to his colleagues of the North China Committee of the
London Society. The American Board had sent out another missionary, and
Mr. Gilmour was at first inclined to the view that, although working
independently, they might yet act practically as colleagues.
'In addition, the new man, Rev. W. P. Sprague, and I one day
undertook to climb a mountain together, and, by the time we got
half-way up, we discovered that our ideas about working together
quite agreed, and that there was a fair and good prospect of our
making good harmonious colleagues in one work, though we belonged
to different societies and hailed from different nations. Here,
then, the thing seemed to be accomplished; here was a colleague
ready to my hand, or I to his.'
But Mrs. Gulick, a most energetic and enthusiastic missionary to the
Mongols, died, her husband was invalided to Japan, and Mr. Sprague found
himself with the whole mission on his shoulders.
'If things are to remain as they are, it amounts pretty much to
this, that in the warmer months of the year I can travel through
parts of Mongolia teaching the Gospel and dispensing medicines; the
rest of the year I can turn my attention to Chinese work in
Peking. This is a pleasant enough arrangement for me, but it is not
a very vigorous prosecution of the work of the Mongol mission. On
the other hand, such is the fewness of people to be reached in
Mongolia that it is only by alternating these periods of
deprivation with seasons of activity among the Chinese that a man
can keep his spirit alive.
'As regards the opinion of other members of the Committee here, I
have never called for any formal expression of it, nor have they
(the members of Committee) ever been invited to discuss the
question of the Mongol mission in committee, but I know their
individual opinions in an informal way. Messrs. Meech and Barradale
don't say much; Mr. Owen thinks we will never do much in Mongolia
working upon so distant a base as Peking; Mr. Lees thinks it a pity
to take up such a seemingly unproductive field while so many more
promising fields call for attention; he moreover thinks that the
only way to do much for Mongolia is through China; Dr. Edkins
thinks I spend too much time and labour over the Mongols, his idea
being seemingly a combination of Mongol and Chinese work, with a
preponderating tendency towards Chinese; Dr. Dudgeon has always
regarded the Mongol mission as hardly practicable.
'On the principle, however, of _Sow beside all waters_, and _Thou
knowest not which shall prosper, this or that_, perhaps it is well
that the Gospel should be exhibited to the Mongols also, and if
anyone is to go to Mongolia, perhaps many people would have more
disqualifications than myself.'
In 1877 there was what seemed to be a very hopeful development of
Christian work in Shantung, and Mr. Gilmour and Mr. Owen visited that
district and baptized a large number of converts. Still later, Dr.
Edkins and Mr. Owen, on another visit, baptized some two hundred
people. With reference to this latter ingathering Mr. Gilmour wrote, 'I
much regret that we have not some definite system of putting men on a
period of probation.... About these two hundred I have nothing to say,
but of the hundred odd Mr. Owen and I baptized in November I have to
admit that, making all allowances, some of them cause me more anxiety
than satisfaction.' There was, unfortunately, only too much ground for
this fear. Ultimately the movement dwindled almost as rapidly as it had
developed, and with little permanent benefit to the missionary cause.
Shantung had been devastated by famine, locusts, and cholera.
Missionaries brought relief to the stricken people, giving both money
and food. Large numbers were drawn towards the new religion by this
example of its deeds, and most of the converts had professed
Christianity in the hope of getting something by its means. But this
incident brought to a head a divergence of view as to the whole conduct
of affairs in the Peking mission between the two older missionaries, Dr.
Edkins and Dr. Dudgeon, and their three younger colleagues, Mr. Gilmour,
Mr. Owen, and Mr. Meech. Into this strenuous and protracted controversy
we do not propose to enter. Both parties were actuated by high and
honourable motives; both were able to express their views pointedly, and
with all appropriate force. In the end the view advocated by Mr. Gilmour
triumphed. This was that, so far as possible, no pecuniary inducement
whatever, either by way of payment for services, or even employment in
connection with the mission, should be allowed to influence a Chinaman's
judgment in the acceptance of Christianity. Gilmour could take an active
part in the discussions only during his winter residence in Peking. But
the reader who has followed its history so far will be quite prepared to
learn that he made up for the infrequency of his participation in the
controversy by the energy which he displayed when he did so. And in
depicting Gilmour as he was, it is essential that he should be seen when
opposing no less than, as he much preferred to be in all matters
affecting the welfare of the mission, in the heartiest concord with his
colleagues. And yet his keenest opponents would cordially assent to the
following statement by one who took an active part in all the
discussions. It is mainly for the purpose of emphasising this testimony
that the matter is referred to here.
'When in Peking Gilmour took his full share in the debates which were
constantly arising. Although he could and did argue to the extremest
point, and very hot and sharp words might be spoken during the
discussion, he harboured no bitterness of feeling against his opponents.
After excited argument he would get up and say, "Nevertheless I love
you." Nor were these empty words. He was kind, and willing to help all,
and was doing acts of service continually for those who opposed him
most.'
Towards the close of 1878 the Rev. J. S. Barradale, of the Tientsin
Mission, died, leaving the Rev. J. Lees alone without a Chinese-speaking
helper. Mr. Gilmour sympathised deeply with him in his loss, and wrote
to say that, so long as Mr. Lees was thus left alone, he would be glad
to make two trips annually to his country stations, either _with_ him or
_for_ him. Mr. Gilmour's journal of this work is not only a record of
the willingness with which he added gladly to his own heavy labours in
order to assist a colleague; but it also gives some most realistic
pictures of what ordinary life in China is like, and under what
conditions evangelistic itineration there is carried on. Some of the
districts visited had just been devastated by a severe famine.
'From Tientsin to Hsiao Chang is five days' journey. Three hours
out from Tientsin we came upon some dogs feasting on a corpse lying
at a cross-road. The dogs belonged to cottagers near, but no
attempt was made by the owners to keep them away; no one took the
trouble to bury the body or cover it up even. Later on we passed
through one famine-devastated district. Half the houses in the
villages were unroofed; large tracts of land were untilled; the
landscape was almost entirely destitute of animal life; travellers
were nowhere to be seen; round the villages the little stacks of
straw and fuel were not to be seen; the lanes were silent; no dogs,
no cocks and hens, no pigs; no groups of children playing or
running after the foreigner as he passed by; and the words of
Scripture came to my mind, "the land desolate without inhabitant."
We continued to pass these desolations for about sixty English
miles. We stopped a night in one of these ruined villages, and Mr.
Lees took me round the place to see the nature and extent of the
destruction. Closer inspection revealed even more ruin than a mere
traveller's passing look would detect; for, evidently, some care
had been taken to leave house walls and boundary walls on the
street standing, so as to hide some part of the destruction, and
thus make things look better than they really were.
'Natives of the place gave us numbers, which showed the population
was then estimated at not much, if any, more than half the former
population. It was expressly stated, however, that the missing half
were not regarded as all dead; very many were dead, had died in the
place, but many had gone elsewhere--in most cases no one knew
where. Of these some few would doubtless return; but it is to be
feared that the mortality in a hard year among famine refugees is
very large, and of those who left their homes and native places,
the few that may eventually return will be very few, I fear.
'Doesn't the Bible say that it is a harder fate to die of famine
than to die by the sword--to die stricken through for want of the
fruits of the earth? But of all those who died in the famine in
North China there is one class whose case is perhaps more
distressing than ordinary. A large number of people seem to have
died just as the harvest--a plentiful one--ripened. Through all
these hard dreary months, when, day after day, month after month,
they looked for and longed for rain, those I now speak of struggled
through, kept up hope, fared hard, hoped eagerly, and at last saw
the rain come, saw the crops flourishing, saw them beginning to
ripen, congratulated themselves and others on the prospect of
abundant food and better days. But they were to see it with their
eyes, but not to eat thereof. As far as could be gathered from the
natives themselves, the case would seem to be thus.
'The great mass of the population was much reduced in bodily
strength by the long period of half-starvation they went through;
summer and early autumn came with the rains and the attendant ague,
which last--the ague--still more reduced the strength of their
already emaciated frames. You can imagine them, with lean faces and
hungry eyes, tottering about the fields, and counting the days that
must yet elapse before the grain would ripen. The rage of hunger
was no longer to be borne; they anticipated by a few days the
ripening; took the grain, still a little green--perhaps sometimes
very green--and put it into the pot. But here again was another
difficulty. The fuel used is grain stalks, and the famine deprived
them at once of food and fuel. Green grain they might cook, but
green-grain stalks would not burn. Fuel was thus deficient; and
was it wonderful if, as they stood round the pot, and the fuel was
deficient, their patience should fail them and they should fall
upon the food half cooked? That was bad enough; but that is not
all. The Chinese have nearly as little self-control as children;
and is it to be wondered at if, when at last, after long months of
the slow torture of unappeased hunger, they found a full meal
before them, they should have eaten to the full? When a man
emaciated from having gone through a famine, and further enfeebled
after repeated prostrations by ague, at length rises up and gorges
himself with farinaceous food, half ripe and half cooked, the
consequences are not difficult to divine. Diarrh[oe]a and dysentery
set in, and became fearfully prevalent--not only prevalent, but
peculiarly fatal. To make matters worse, medicines in that part of
the country are dear; the people were too poor to get medical help,
and great numbers who had lived to see the famine end and
prosperity return lived only to see the prosperity, and to die when
it touched them. The famine fever in summer seems to have been
fearfully prevalent. It is said that in a single courtyard two or
three people would be lying about the gate, two or three under the
shadow of some house, two or three more inside the house--all
stricken down with fever. The air of some villages is said to have
been loaded with the effluvia to such an extent that one riding
along the street perceptibly discerned the taint in the atmosphere.
The fever was deadly too, but evidently not so deadly in proportion
as the autumn dysentery. Frequently, when talking to a boy, we
would hear he was an orphan, and, on inquiry, he told that his
father had died in autumn; frequently, in talking to a woman, we
would hear that she was a widow, and, on asking when her husband
died, the reply was, "Autumn."
'We reached Hsiao Chang in a snowstorm on Saturday afternoon. A few
of the people, doubtless, heard of our arrival; but those of the
other villages probably did not know we had come; so that our being
there, perhaps, did not materially increase the number of the
congregation that assembled next day (Sunday). Sunday was a dull,
uncomfortable day; the ground covered with snow; the sky still
covered with clouds; no sunshine; yet there was a congregation of
about one hundred and thirty, of whom eighty (about) would be
women, and fifty (about) be men. The next Sabbath, January 26, was
still dull; the congregation numbered about two hundred and
eighty--men, say, one hundred and thirty; women, say, one hundred
and fifty. Mr. Lees took the women into the chapel. I took the men
outside in another court, and preached to them from a terrace which
gave me a commanding view of my congregation. Mr. Lees had too
little ventilation, I had too much of it; but both of our
congregations listened well, though there was no sun, though the
cold was intense, and though stray flakes of snow wandered slowly
down among us as we worshipped. The next Sabbath, February 2, was
fine. All except adherents were excluded, and the congregation
numbered about eighty men, and one hundred and twenty women. Twelve
men and seven women were baptized.
'The most novel feature of the work I noticed was the eagerness
displayed to learn and sing hymns. Sometimes poor old women, from
whom we could not extract much Catechism information about the
unity in trinity and other theological mysteries, brightened up
their old wrinkled faces when asked if they could sing, and when
asked to give us a specimen of their singing, would raise their
cracked and quavering voices and go through "There is a happy
land," or "The Great Physician," or "Safe in the arms of Jesus," a
good deal out of tune here and there, it is true, but on the whole
creditably as regards music, and with an apparent earnestness and
feeling that was hard to witness with dry eyes. And if the old
women sang thus, what of the young people? They seemed to revel in
hymns. The old, big, orthodox hymn-book used in our chapels got a
good deal of patronage and attention; but their great favourites
were those in a small collection of the Sankey revival hymns
translated (with a few exceptions) and published by Mr. Lees. These
hymns contain good gospel, seem to be easily learned, and are set
to tunes which the Chinese seem never to sing themselves tired of.
The preachers have mastered a goodly number of them, and teach them
to all comers; but, Mr. Lees being a singer, of course, when he
arrived, there were high singing festivals, and the practice at
evening prayers was sometimes so vigorous and prolonged that the
tympanum of one of my ears began to show symptoms of defeat. These
hymns I regard as a most powerful auxiliary to the other Gospel
agencies at work, and I hope a great deal of good from them.
'Every Chinaman wants looking after. Even the best and most
trustworthy men are all the better for being well and carefully
superintended. In fact, the better a man is, the better he pays for
being well looked after. The present state of country mission work
in North China calls for careful supervision in an especial degree.
Unforeseen circumstances arise that need prompt action where a
wrong course of action may be disastrous; something or other
happens that dismays the whole of the little Christian community;
something or other happens that lifts them up into pride; the
Christians are like little islands of Christianity isolated in a
vast ocean of heathenism, and the waves seem to threaten to swallow
them up. The missionary, simply by going and putting in an
appearance, or by giving a little simple advice, or by speaking a
few words of encouragement, or by devising a few simple methods, or
making a few simple arrangements, can often keep the Church out of
moral danger, infuse new hope and courage to the members and
preachers, and, under God, put fresh life and vigour into the whole
concern. As iron sharpeneth iron, so doth a man the face of his
friend; and this is true in an especial degree of a missionary and
his preachers and converts.'
In the course of a subsequent tour in the same district, in 1880, he
gives in his diary a sketch of a sermon preached by Liu, his Chinese
helper, one which may be taken as a specimen of the best class of
address given by a converted Chinaman to his fellow-countrymen.
'Liu's subject was from Revelation, "Whosoever will, let him take
of the water of life freely." He went into an elaborate detail
about the use of water, washing, laying the dust in a room being
swept out, (‡ la Bunyan) making a sinking sand hard and good for a
cart and man to travel on. Finally, he got to a couple of good
stories about a man who got drunk and had his face blackened, so
that when he came home his own father did not know him and would
not let him in, and when he saw himself accidentally in a mirror he
did not know himself. His drunkenness had completely changed his
appearance and voice even.
'So God made us in His own image, but sin has terribly changed us.
Purified by the Holy Ghost we may again be like ourselves and God.
'The service lasted about two hours and ten minutes. The story
parts of the sermon were very effective.'
A later entry in the diary runs: 'Had service. Preached "Jesus saves,"
the sermon for the heathen of that name.' One who often heard him preach
in China gives the following estimate of his power and method in
delivering his message:--
'As a preacher Gilmour was most unconventional. His sermons were
direct talks, without any attempt at rhetoric. They were
plentifully illustrated, largely from events in his own experience.
Laughable allusions or quaint ways of putting things were
frequently used. While there was not much attractive in the manner
of the preacher, the directness of his remark and his evident
earnestness always made his sermons appreciated and enjoyed. The
Chinese were always glad to hear him, and words he used to speak
are often referred to.'
Writing on one occasion to a friend in England being educated for the
Christian ministry, who had just taken one of the higher degrees at the
London University, he said:--
'I don't think our work is so much unlike, after all. You witness
for Christ, so do I; and though you are in a Christian country and
I in a heathen land, human nature is human nature, and not so
different as might be supposed. You may, pray you may, see more
fruit of your work than I do, but your trials, and difficulties,
and temptations will be, no doubt are, pretty much the same as
mine. May the Lord help you and bless you now and for ever! I hope
He will help you to have ever a heart ready to preach simply the
simple Gospel to your hearers, half of whom, perhaps, know almost
nothing of salvation, though they have been listening to sermons
about it all their lives, and would not know in the least to which
hand to turn if they were aroused and became anxious to be saved.
I'll give you a text, which I think peculiarly suitable for you,
now a graduate. Isaiah 1. 4--"The Lord God hath given me the tongue
of the learned, that I should know how to speak a word in season to
him that is weary." I like to dwell on this text. Learning should
not make deep sermons, hard to be understood; on the contrary, it
should be all employed to make the road simple and clear. Forgive
me for exhorting you so, but I can't refrain from it when I think
of the many learned men I know at home and here who employ their
learning in giving learned sermons, _not_ in making the way simple
and plain.'
The sermon referred to in the extract quoted above from the diary is
based on Matt. i. 21. It was never written out; but the notes of it lie
before us, and we quote them as an illustration of his way of addressing
both Chinese and English audiences. It may interest the reader to
endeavour to make out from it the line of thought, and any who may have
heard him preach or speak will find it easy to recall _how_ he preached
it.
'Matt. i. 21. 'He shall save people from their sins.'
'Talk to a man, he admits he is sinner; by-and-by he will break off
and become good.
'He does not really know what sin is. Egypt!
'It is a _disease_; if you get it can you leave it off? Your blood
is tainted.
'It is a _fire_; once light it, you can't quench it, it smoulders
and breaks out afresh.
'It is an _evil root_, evil weed, can easy sow, not extirpate.
'Sin is like the current above Niagara.
'It becomes a _habit_. Indulgence makes habit grow.
'It is like a _spider_; one thread after another binds up a fly.
'Such is sin--murder, robbery, theft, adultery, uncleanness, lying,
covetousness, hatred, anger, malice, want of love to God or man.
'Many of these sins you not accused of, but you have sin: sin is
fatal, can you free yourself? _Jesus is to do it._
'Disease, fire, root, current, habit, fly. _The man cannot free
himself: Jesus must set him free._
'Not only from _Hell_, but from sin.
'Suppose you were freed only from Hell, and transported to Heaven,
could you be happy? Who would be your companions?
'Ignorant (wicked) man in company of learned (holy).
'_A Tientsin vagrant_ became chair-bearer; had clothes, etc., but
only for a day; he was soon naked again.
'Christ does not transport to Heaven only.
'_Disease._--Not die from it; He cures it.
'_Fire._--Not consumed by it; He quenches it.
'_Root_ of evil; He clears from the ground.
'_Niagara._--He lifts you out of the current on to an island.
'_Habit._--He sets you free from it.
'_Spider's fly._--He not only takes from the spider; but He sets it
free from the toils.
'_Jesus gives_ second nature; you are born again.
'But upon one _condition_, your consent. The _disease_ is severe:
you must obey doctor; if you do not submit to operation; not take
bitter drugs; then he does not heal.
'_Lead_ a man to Peking: not come, not follow: leave him: lead to
heaven, paths of holiness not follow, not reach.
'Has Christ saved you? If yes, visible to self and others. He is
not only an object of respect, admiration: He is the doctor into
whose hands you put your soul for treatment.
'_Two brothers_, Kite, Loe, Pet Dog.
'_John of Hankow's Liu_, see Chronicle; dead _v._ alive; sick (of
fever) _v._ whole. Is it last time? Mongols feel queer.
'_Missionaries._ Mongol doctor who had not courage to treat
himself.
'_S. S. Teacher_: Paul: be a castaway,
'Christ Matt. i. 21-23.
'Any religion good enough. No: no religion breaks bondage of sin:
go down to death in sin's slavery. Only Jesus can save from sin.
_Ask, and He'll do it._'
During the winters in Peking he still used every effort to get at the
Mongols frequenting the capital.
'The Mongols who visit Peking connect themselves with two great
centres. "The Outside Lodging," which is about a mile or more north
of the north wall of Peking, and is also called the "Halha
Lodging," because it is the great resort of the Northern Mongols,
and the "Inside Lodging," which is near the inside of the south
wall of the Manchu City of Peking, is situated close behind the
English Legation, and is also called the "Cold Lodging;" this name
being probably due to the fact that in the open space in this
"Inside Lodging" a good many Mongols camp out in their tents, in
place of hiring courts and rooms from the Chinese. These are the
two great _centres_ for Mongols in Peking. Many of them lodge in
the immediate neighbourhood, and even those who lodge in other
parts of the city frequent these two centres; so that, if any one
wants to know whether or not any individual Mongol has come to
Peking, he seeks him at one or other of these marts.
'In the winter of 1879-80 I set up a book-stall, with a Chinaman to
care for it, at the Outside Lodging, going myself, as a rule, every
second day. This winter I followed the example of the pedlars, and,
hanging two bags of books from my shoulders, hunted the Mongols
out, going not only to the trading places, but in and out among the
lanes where they lodged, visiting the Outside Lodging first and the
Inside Lodging later in the day. The number of Mongols outside the
city became latterly so small that it was not visited very often;
but during the Chinese eleventh and the first part of the twelfth
month, the number of Mongols to be met with at the Inside Lodging
was fair, and the number of books disposed of altogether, both
outside and inside the city, amounted to seven hundred and
fourteen.
'In many cases the Mongols, before buying, and not unfrequently
after buying, would insist on having the book read, supposing that
they got more for their money when they not only had the book, but
had me let them hear its contents. Of course I was only too glad to
have the opportunity of reading, which readily changed to
opportunity for talking; and in this way, from time to time, little
groups of Mongols would gather round and listen to short addresses
on the main doctrines of Christianity. Several men whom I accosted
seemed familiar with the name of Jesus, and had some knowledge of
Christianity. Some bought the books eagerly; some not only did not
buy themselves, but exhorted others not to buy; some openly spoke
against Christianity; but a great many of those who listened to an
address or took part in a conversation evinced interest in the
subjects spoken of, and remarked that salvation by another bearing
our sin was a reasonable doctrine. As the purchasers of these books
hailed from all parts of Mongolia, the tracts thus put into their
hands will reach to even remote localities in the west, north, and
east, and my prayer is that the reading of them may be the
beginning of what shall lead to a saving knowledge of the truth in
some minds. Hoping for some good result, I had my address stamped
on many of the books, to enable such as might wish to learn more to
know where to come.
'In some cases, Mongols wishing to buy books had no money, but were
willing to give goods instead; and thus it happened that I
sometimes made my way home at night with a miscellaneous collection
of cheese, sour-curd, butter and millet cake and sheep's fat,
representing the produce of part of the day's sales.'
A short time before he returned to England on his first furlough he drew
up a report, in which he places on record some of the results of his ten
years' experience of Mongol life and habits.
'On one occasion I was living some weeks in a Mongol's tent. It was
late in the year. Lights were put out soon after dark. The nights
were long in reality, and, in such unsatisfactory surroundings as
the discomforts of a poor tent and doubtful companions, the nights
seemed longer than they were. At sunrise I was only too glad to
escape from smoke and everything else to the retirement of the
crest of a low ridge of hills near the tent. This, perhaps the most
natural thing in the world for a foreigner, was utterly
inexplicable to the Mongols. The idea that any man should get out
of his bed at sunrise and climb a hill for nothing! He must be up
to mischief! He must be secretly taking away the luck of the land!
This went on for some time, the Mongols all alive with suspicion,
and the unsuspecting foreigner retiring regularly morning after
morning, till at length a drunken man blurted out the whole thing,
and openly stated the conviction that the inhabitants had arrived
at, namely, that this extraordinary morning walk of the foreigner
on the hill crest boded no good to the country. To remain among the
people I had to give up my morning retirement.
'The Mongols are very suspicious of seeing a foreigner writing.
What _can_ he be up to? they say among themselves. Is he taking
notes of the capabilities of the country? Is he marking out a road
map, so that he can return guiding an army? Is he, as a wizard,
carrying off the good luck of the country in his note-book? These,
and a great many others, are the questions that they ask among
themselves and put to the foreigner when they see him writing; and
if he desires to conciliate the good-will of the people, and to win
their confidence, the missionary must abstain from walking and
writing while he is among them.
'On another point, too, a missionary must be careful. He must not
go about shooting. Killing beasts or birds the Mongols regard as
peculiarly sinful, and anyone who wished to teach them religious
truth would make the attempt under great disadvantage if he carried
and used a gun. This, however, is a prejudice that it is not so
difficult to refrain from offending.
'The diseases presented for treatment are legion, but the most
common cases are skin diseases and diseases of the eye and teeth.
Perhaps rheumatism is _the_ disease of Mongolia; but the manner of
life and customs of the Mongols are such that it is useless to
attempt to cure it. Cure it to-day, it is contracted again
to-morrow. Skin diseases present a fair field for a medical
missionary. They are so common, and the Mongolian treatment of them
is so far removed from common-sense, that anyone with a few
medicines and a little intelligence has ample opportunity of
benefiting many sufferers. The same may be said of the eye. The
glare of the sun on the Plain at all seasons, except when the grass
is fresh and green in summer, the blinding sheen from the snowy
expanse in winter, and the continual smoke that hangs like a cloud
two or three feet above the floor of the tent, all combine to
attack the eye. Eye diseases are therefore very common. The lama
medicines seem to be able to do nothing for such cases, and a few
remedies in a foreigner's hands work cures that seem wonderful to
the Mongols.
'In many cases, when a Mongol applies to his doctor, he simply
extends his hand, and expects that the doctor, by simply feeling
his pulse, will be able to tell, not only the disease, but what
will cure it. As soon as the doctor has felt the pulse of one
hand, the patient at once extends the other hand that the pulse may
be felt there also, and great surprise is manifested when a
foreigner begins his diagnosis of a case by declining the proffered
wrist and asking questions.
'The question of "How did you get this disease?" often elicits some
curiously superstitious replies. One man lays the blame on the
stars and constellations. Another confesses that when he was a lad
he was mischievous, and dug holes in the ground or cut shrubs on
the hill, and it is not difficult to see how he regards disease as
a punishment for digging, since by digging worms are killed; but
what cutting wood on a hill can have to do with sin it is harder to
see, except it be regarded as stealing the possessions of the
spiritual lord of the locality. In consulting a doctor, too, a
Mongol seems to lay a deal of stress on the belief that it is his
_fate_ to be cured by the medical man in question, and, if he finds
relief, often says that his meeting this particular doctor and
being cured is the result of prayers made at some previous time.
'One difficulty in curing Mongols is that they frequently, when
supplied with medicines, depart entirely from the doctor's
instructions when they apply them; and a not unfrequent case is
that of the patient who, after applying to the foreigner for
medicine and getting it, is frightened by his success, or scared by
some lying report of his neighbours, or staggered at the fact that
the foreigner would not feel his pulse, or feel it at one wrist
only, lays aside the medicine carefully and does not use it at all.
'In Mongolia, too, a foreigner is often asked to perform absurd,
laughable, or impossible cures. One man wants to be made clever,
another to be made fat, another to be cured of insanity, another of
tobacco, another of whisky, another of hunger, another of tea;
another wants to be made strong, so as to conquer in gymnastic
exercises; most men want medicine to make their beards grow; while
almost every man, woman, and child wants to have his or her skin
made as white as that of the foreigner.
'When a Mongol is convinced that his case is hopeless he takes it
very calmly, and bows to his fate, whether it be death or chronic
disease; and Mongol doctors, and Mongol patients too, after a
succession of failures, regard the affliction as a thing fated, to
be unable to overcome which implies no lack of medical ability on
the doctor's part.
'Of all the healing appliances in the hands of a foreigner none
strikes the fancy of a Mongol so much as the galvanic battery, and
it is rather curious that almost every Mongol who sees it and tries
its effect exclaims what a capital thing it would be for examining
accused persons. It would far surpass whipping, beating, or
suspending. Under its torture a guilty man could not but "confess."
Some one in England has advocated the use of the galvanic battery
in place of the cat in punishing criminals, and it is rather
curious to note the coincidence of the English and Mongol mind.
'The Mongol doctors are not, it would seem, quite unacquainted with
the properties of galvanism. It is said that they are in the habit
of prescribing the loadstone ore, reduced to powder, as efficacious
when applied to sores, and one man hard of hearing had been
recommended by a lama to put a piece of loadstone into each ear and
chew a piece of iron in his mouth!
'Divination is another point on which Mongols are troublesome. It
never for a moment enters their head that a man so intelligent and
well fitted out with appliances as a foreigner seems to them to be
cannot divine. Accordingly they come to him to divine for them
where they should camp to be lucky and get rich, when a man who has
gone on a journey will return, why no news has been received from a
son or husband who is serving in the army, where they should dig a
well so as to get plenty of good water near the surface, whether it
would be fortunate for them to venture on some trading speculation,
whether they should go on some projected journey, in what direction
they should search for lost cattle, or, more frequently than any of
the above, they come, men and women, old and young, to have the
general luck of their lives examined into. Great is their amazement
when the foreigner confesses his ignorance of such art, and greater
still is their incredulity.
'The great obstacles to success in doctoring the Mongols are
two:--First: most of the afflicted Mongols suffer from chronic
diseases for which almost nothing can be done. Second: in many
cases, where alleviation or cures are effected, they are only of
short duration, as no amount of explanation or exhortation seems
sufficient to make them aware of the importance of guarding against
causes of disease. But, notwithstanding all this, many cures can be
effected on favourable subjects, and the fact that the missionary
carries medicines with him and attempts to heal, and that without
money and without price, aids the missionary cause by bringing him
into friendly communication with many who would doubtless hold
themselves aloof from any one who approached them in no other
character but that of a teacher of Christianity.'