CHAPTER IX

A CHANGE OF FIELD

During 1885 James Gilmour gradually reached the conclusion that a change

of field was desirable. He was aware that friends and colleagues more or

less qualified to form an opinion had urged upon him the advisability of

labouring in Eastern Mongolia among the agricultural Mongols. No one

knew so well as himself the advantages and the disadvantages of this

plan. The reasons that finally led him to a decision were noble and

characteristic. It was a hard field, and no one else could or would go.

The Mongols of the Plain were to some extent benefited by the American

Mission at Kalgan; those dwelling in Eastern Mongolia were without a

helper. Considerations like these, as he tells us, decided his new

course of action.

'In these circumstances my mind has turned away north-east from

Peking, where people are not so scarce, and where the Mongols live

as farmers. I have been to that region twice. I knew some people

who came from that region. As soon as Mr. Rees returns from Chi

Chou I hope to go again. A doctor might be induced to settle

somewhere there, and though it would be hard a bit, a family might

live there too, which I don't think would be possible on the plain

beyond Kalgan.

'I am fully aware of the difficulties. They are:--

'1. I have no proper Chinaman to take with me. More than half the

population is Chinese, and I could not do well without a Chinaman.

'2. It is a new district and will take time to work up.

'3. It is not easily reached from Peking or anywhere else, and will

be a very isolated part.

'4. It is rather a rough and unsafe district.

'I know all these, but feel, in reliance on God, like facing the

thing as the best and proper thing to do. There are inns all about,

and though for some time a private location may not be secured, we

can still go about among the people. My main hope, though, is in

settling down somewhere as a head centre, in close contact with the

people, so that I earnestly desire that the doctor should come. If

he is unmarried I would be glad to see him to-morrow. Could you not

get a doctor who would be willing to remain single till a location

could be secured? After a location has been secured let him marry

if he likes.

'I think that the region I have in my mind would make a good centre

for a doctor, and that he would have plenty of practice among

Mongols and Chinese, especially if he could start a hospital for

in-patients.

'I am very glad that the Mongolian region around Kalgan has shown

signs of bearing fruit. It has strengthened my faith much. I am

also glad that God has acknowledged in some degree my work here in

Peking, and I feel more hopeful than ever I did. God, too, has cut

me adrift from all my fixings, so that I feel quite ready to go

anywhere if only He goes with me.'

Mr. Gilmour entered upon this new departure on the understanding that a

medical colleague should be sent to him at the earliest possible moment.

This responsibility the London Board assumed and endeavoured to

discharge. The result was a severe trial to the faith, not only of the

solitary worker but to all interested--and they were many--in the fate

of the new mission. As we shall see later on, when a congenial and

competent medical colleague reached him, and was entering with vigour

and hope upon the work, Dr. Mackenzie of Tientsin suddenly died, and

before the immediate and urgent claims of Tientsin the claims of

Mongolia had to give way. But in estimating the success of both

missions, that on the Plain, and that in Eastern Mongolia, it must never

be forgotten that what Gilmour considered _essential_, the presence and

help of a medical colleague, was never in the Providence of God granted

to him for any length of time. In the account he gives of his first

visit to the region as its missionary--he had been twice before on

visits of inspection--he dwells upon this necessity.

'I left Peking December 14, 1885, and re-entered Peking February

16, 1886, so that my absence from here was just two months. The

part of Mongolia I went to is situated 800 li, or say 270 English

miles, north-east by east of Peking, and, at the usual rate of 90

li (or 30 miles) a day, is nine days distant. This is not the part

of Mongolia near Kalgan. Kalgan is north-north-west of Peking, five

days' journey.

[Illustration: MAP ILLUSTRATING JAMES GILMOUR'S LABOURS IN EASTERN

MONGOLIA]

'Whilst I was considering my plans a Mongol appeared in Peking who

was willing to take me to his home, and I went with him, hoping

thus to get introduced to a district of country, an introduction

being both necessary and helpful. Ta ChÍng Tz[)u] is the name of

the place where, through his introduction, I was located from

December 23, 1885 to February 9, 1886. I had a room in an inn. I

spent some days at the home of my Mongol friend and made two

journeys to other places, but Ta ChÍng Tz[)u] was my headquarters.

It is a small market town, with a daily fair. The surrounding

neighbourhood is peopled with Mongols and Chinese in about equal

proportions. The Mongols are mostly lords of the soil, and style

the Chinese slaves, that is in the country. The real trade of the

whole locality is in the hands of the Chinese. The Mongols all

speak Chinese, and the town resident Mongols have, many of them,

forgotten Mongolian, and laugh at themselves as not being able to

speak their own language.

'The country is like Wales in this respect, that, though Mongolian

is the native language, the coming language and the language that

is affected and sought after, is Chinese. Well-to-do Mongols have

Chinese teachers for their children, and read Chinese well. During

my stay there I sold more Chinese than Mongolian books, and talked

more Chinese than Mongolian, though my intercourse was largely with

Mongols.

'Opium is largely grown there, so is tobacco, and large quantities

of whisky are manufactured and consumed. It was partly a famine

year. At a little distance from Ta ChÍng Tz[)u] the harvest had

failed, and I think the line of preaching that seemed to impress

the hearers most was one that reasoned with them about the growth,

manufacture, and use of these three, being so contrary to Heaven's

design in giving land and rain to grow food, that it was not to be

wondered at if, seeing how the land and rain were perverted, God

should send short rations. Evil speaking, vile language, made a

fourth subject which naturally came in for notice, and on all these

four subjects I scarcely ever spoke without gaining the nearly

universal concurrence of my little audiences.

'The great theme, however, was Christ, and I think that most men in

that little market town, and a great many of those who used to

come to the fair, both heard and understood the great gospel truth

of salvation in Jesus.

'Eager to see some more of the country, and in the hope that I

might be able to talk to him on the way, I hired a Mongol to carry

my bedding and books, and made a descent on a village thirty miles

away. The general cold of the winter was aggravated by a snowstorm

which overtook us at the little market town, and I have no words to

tell you how the cold felt that day as I paraded that one street. I

sold a fair number of books, though my hands were too much benumbed

almost to be able to hand the books out. I made some attempts at

preaching, but the muscles were also benumbed--that day _was_ a

_cold_ day.

'I was turned out of two respectable inns at Bull Town because I

was a foot traveller, had no cart or animal, that is, and had to

put up in a tramps' tavern because I came as a tramp!

'Next journey I made I hired a man and a _donkey_. The donkey was

my passport to respectability, and I was more comfortable too,

being able to take more bedding with me. I was warned against going

to Ch'ao Yang, sixty miles, the roads being represented as unsafe;

but I went and found no trouble, though there was a severe famine

in the district. I spent a day each at two market towns on the way,

and two days in Ch'ao Yang itself.

'The journey home I made on foot, a donkey driven by a Mongol

carrying my bedding and books. I adopted this plan mainly to bring

myself into close contact with the Mongol. He proved himself a

capital fellow to travel with, but as yet has shown no signs of

belief in Christ. As we did long marches my feet suffered badly.'

In a private letter written at this time he enters a little more fully

into what he had to endure.

'I had a good time in Mongolia, but oh! so cold. Some of the days I

spent in the markets were so very cold that my muscles seemed

benumbed, and speech even was difficult. I met with some spiritual

response, though, and with that I can stand cold. Eh! man, I have

got thin. I am feeding up at present. I left my medicines, books,

&c., there, and walked home here, a donkey carrying my baggage, a

distance of about three hundred miles, in seven and a half days, or

about forty miles a day, and my feet were really very bad.

'At night I used to draw a woollen thread through the blisters. In

the morning I "hirpled" a little, but it was soon all right. I

walked, not because I had not money to ride, but to get at the

Mongol who was with me.'

These graphic pictures enable us to realise how Mr. Gilmour began the

last great missionary enterprise of his life. He returned to Peking, and

then had to pass through that severe trial which comes to almost all

missionaries in the foreign field, which is often one of their heaviest

crosses. His two eldest boys were sent home for education. They sailed

from Tientsin March 23, 1886, the diary for that day containing the

brief but significant reference: 'At 6.45 A.M. came all the friends once

more, at 7.30 cast off, and the vessel slowly fell out into the middle

of the river. Oh! the parting!' But at 8.30 on the same morning the

sorrowful father had started on his solitary return journey to Peking.

Bereft now of both wife, and boys he was to pass the rest of his career

in China, except for the brief intervals of residence in Peking, in the

cheerless, noisy, uncongenial quarters of an ordinary Chinese inn. The

return of the Rev. S. E. Meech in April 1886 set him entirely free from

mission work in the capital. He had already acquired the needful

experience of his new field of labour, and on April 22, 1886, he started

anew for Eastern Mongolia. It is neither necessary nor desirable to

enter into any very detailed description of the next three years. In

many respects day after day was occupied with the round of ever

recurring and similar duties, but it is desirable to enter, if we can,

with some minuteness into his inner life, and to lay bare the spiritual

sources and springs of his outward actions. It is in these, in our

judgment, that the true beauty, the abiding lesson, and the great

success of his life consist. And this he has enabled us to do. In a

private, not an official, letter to the Rev. R. Wardlaw Thompson, the

Foreign Secretary of the London Missionary Society, he indicates his

actions and the motives that were impelling him so to act, during the

summer of 1886. Differences of opinion arose with his fellow

missionaries as to the wisdom of his methods and the soundness of his

judgment. Those who differed most strongly from him knew little or

nothing by personal observation and experience of the conditions of work

either on the Plain or at Ch'ao Yang. But no question ever did or ever

could arise as to the absolute consecration of his heart and life to the

work of winning souls. The truth of the words in one of his official

reports was manifest to all: 'Man, the fire of God is upon me to go and

preach.'

'The past four and a half months has been a time of no small trial

and spiritual tension. Since April 22 I have had no tidings of the

outer world. An agent of the Bible Society, who was selling books

in the district, was with me for a month, but he had gone out

before me, so that when we met he had no news for me, but wanted

news from me.

'Some men, who gave promise of believing in Jesus, have fallen

away, and I have a haunting suspicion that it was one such man who,

on the morning of Sunday, June 6, stole my beautiful copy of the

revised Bible, leaving me till now with only a New Testament in

English. I had much difficulty in procuring that Bible, and wasn't

it heartless of a Chinaman to steal it for the leather binding, for

which even he could have hardly any use? I said not a single word

to anyone in the town about it, as I feared that making trouble

over it would hinder me in future, by making innkeepers afraid to

receive me, lest they should be held responsible for such losses. I

can hardly say though, that, at first at least, I took joyfully the

spoiling of my goods. Secret tears testified to my sense of the

loss, but falling back on the faith that all things work together

for my good, I was comforted, and gave the more earnest heed to the

New Testament.

'Then the Chinese would ask, "How many people have believed and

entered the religion since you left Peking?" and such questions

kept before my mind painfully how slowly things move, and drew out

my soul in more painful longing for God's blessing in the

conversion of men.

'In the beginning of July I must have got a touch of the sun.

Nearly all that month I was ill, but just then was the great annual

fair at Ch'ao Yang, so, ill and all, I had the tent put up daily

and dispensed medicines. My assistant, however, had to do most of

the preaching; I had not much strength for that. The first three

weeks in August I had diarrh[oe]a and dysentery. I was at Ta ChÍng

Tz[)u]. There was no fair, and but poor market gatherings, but,

weather permitting, we put up our tent daily and did good work.

Paul says (Gal. iv. 19), "My little children, of whom I am again in

travail until Christ be formed in you," and he is right. It is a

carrying of men in prayer until the image of Christ is formed in

them; and how many of them prove abortions.

'One of the converts at Ta ChÍng Tz[)u] caused me no little

anxiety. I knew that he professed to be impressed last winter. He

said he wanted to call on me in my inn and tell me his

difficulties. I was eager to get home, but as he said he would have

no leisure before a certain date, I waited till then, nearly a

week, for almost no other purpose than to see him. He never came,

and I trudged back to Peking downcast about him.

'This year when we came to Ta ChÍng Tz[)u] on our way to Ch'ao

Yang, on going to his place for breakfast (he is one of two

brothers who own and manage a restaurant, and both of them, and a

third brother, are members of a sect which forbids opium, whisky,

and tobacco), we were shown into the more private part, and he and

his brother and the cook set upon us to inquire more fully about

Christianity, how to enter it, etc, etc. This took me by surprise,

and made me so glad that my breakfast for the most part remained

uneaten, though we had travelled eight hours that morning. In the

evening I did not go for a meal, and my assistant on going was met

at the door by the inquirers, and so engaged in conversation about

Christianity that darkness set in, the cooking range was closed,

and the establishment shut for the day before they were finished.

My man had no dinner. Next day we went on towards Ch'ao Yang

thankful and happy. These restaurant people had a few days before

been visited by the Bible Society's agent, and had derived much

Christian benefit from his Chinese assistant.

'Our interview with the restaurant men was on Monday. In Ch'ao Yang

next Sunday, just six days after being, so to speak, on the mount

of transfiguration with these Chinamen, on dismissing the few

hangers-on that remained at the close of the afternoon preaching,

and stepping down from the little vantage-ground from which I had

been speaking, one of the audience said he would go home with me to

my inn, as he had come with a letter to me from Ta ChÍng Tz[)u]

from the Bible agent. I went to the inn, read the letter, and found

that he and his Chinese helper had differed, and he had come to Ta

ChÍng Tz[)u] seeking me. He needed and asked my help, so next day I

started for Ta ChÍng Tz[)u], and on arriving there found that the

little place was full of the news of the quarrel between the

Christian foreigner and the Christian native. That was bad, but,

worse still, on going to the restaurant I found the earnestness of

the inquirers gone, and one of them said openly, "If this is the

sort of fruit that Christianity bears, what better is it than any

other religion?"

'In a later visit paid in May they seemed colder still, and the

place where I had hoped to gather fruit seemed barren and hopeless.

'In August we again visited Ta ChÍng Tz[)u]. I was blue. The fever

of July, the defection of the Mongol donkey man, who failed to come

for us, the diarrh[oe]a, which on the journey changed to dysentery,

being baffled in attempting to find suitable quarters in Ta ChÍng

Tz[)u], and the chilled hearts of the restaurant men, made our

entrance not cheerful. On the way my assistant and I had talked

over matters, and resolved by prayer and endeavour to see what

could be done for the restaurant men. Just ten days after our

arrival the eldest brother called on me in my inn and said,

"To-night I dismiss my gods, henceforth I am a Christian. I am

ready to be baptized any day you may be pleased to name."

'I cannot say what a relief these words brought me. There still

remained anxieties in his case, but in a day or two things came out

all right, and day by day in public in the restaurant he might be

seen studying his catechism when unemployed, and speaking for

Christianity to all who asked what book that was.

'He is a leading spirit, though a poor scholar, and was the deacon

or head of the branch of the sect in Ta ChÍng Tz[)u], called Tsai

li ti. There are some twelve or sixteen members. Most of them

joined the sect through his endeavours, and he is eager to rear up

Christianity in the same way. You will partly understand now how

anxious I am about him. If he goes on all right, we may soon have a

little company of believers there. If he falls away--well, all

things work together for my good.

'One thing that moved these restaurant men towards Christianity was

an incident which happened in their establishment last winter. A

half-drunk Chinaman reviled me badly one evening at dinner. He laid

to my charge many bad and grievous things. Though they were utterly

false as regards me, they might be quite true of some other

foreigner whom he may have met. It was useless to reason with a

drunken man over a case of mistaken identity, so I said nothing,

ate my dinner, paid my bill, and went to my inn. The restaurant men

were very wroth with the man, they told me afterwards, and felt

like "going for" him themselves, and never forgot what they were

pleased to call my patience. In God's providence this little

incident seems to have been an important factor in impressing them

with favourable ideas of Christianity.

'Another thing which seems to have impressed them was their seeing

me this August, day by day at my post in my tent, carrying on the

work, when they knew I was ill, and, according to their ideas,

should have been in bed. I was not really so ill as all that, but

that was their idea. I would be very glad to have another reviling

and another attack of dysentery if the same results would follow.

'The profession of the other adherent at Ta ChÍng Tz[)u], and the

moving of the hearts, seemingly at least, of other two men who

live at a distance, and had to leave for home suddenly before

receiving full instruction, but of whom I try to have hope, have

all moved my heart and seem answers to a great longing I had been

crying to God about, namely, that He would give me power to move

these heathen. Oh that He would do it!

'I have felt it my duty to become a vegetarian on trial. I don't

know whether I can carry it out. The Chinese look up so much to

this supposed asceticism that I am eager to acquire the influence a

successful vegetarianism would give me, and I am trying it in true

Chinese style, which forbids eggs, leeks and carrots, &c. As far as

I have gone all is well. I am a little afraid that the great

appetite it gives may drive me to eat till I become fat. We'll see.

'The mothers bringing their babies moves me much. It reminds me of

scenes in Peking when another and more skilful hand ministered to

their diseases; then the picture of the family surroundings fills

itself up, and I have to seek a place where to weep.

'Altogether it is a sowing in tears. The district is not an easy

one, the life which the work entails is a hard one. There is no

hardship or self-denial I am not ready to "go in for," but I want

you to understand me and let me have your sympathy.'

This long extract, not too long we venture to think, as enabling us to

see into the heart of the man, raises several points of great moment.

Nothing could illustrate better his eagerness to get into close touch

and perfect sympathy with the people. He had long before adopted the

native dress of an ordinary shopkeeper or respectable workman. He now

adapted himself, as far as possible, to the native food. He lived on

such as the poor eat. Often he would take his bowl of porridge, native

fashion, in the street, sitting down upon a low stool by the boiler of

the itinerant restaurant keeper. The vegetarianism referred to was, as

he indicates, very thoroughgoing and in accord with Chinese ideas.

The great poverty of the people also pressed upon his attention the

enormous waste induced by whisky drinking, and by the smoking of tobacco

and opium. The sect Tsai li ti referred to was a small organisation

among the Chinese for endeavouring to secure entire abstinence from all

three. It did not seem tolerable to him that the level of Christian

morality and practice with regard to these things should be lower than

that of the heathen. Famine often visited those parts, and he came to

hold the view that men could hardly pray, 'Give us this day our daily

bread,' with any hope of a favourable answer, or even reasonably expect

God's blessing upon their tillage of the soil, while they continued to

use a large part of the grain produced in the manufacture of strong

drink, and while they continued to set apart large districts for the

cultivation of tobacco and opium. Hence, at first, he made entire

abstinence from all three an indispensable requisite for admission into

the Christian Church.

It was hardly to be expected, perhaps, that his colleagues in the North

China Mission would be able to see eye to eye with him on these points.

With regard to opium the opinion as to abstinence is unanimous. With

regard to the other two, the prevailing opinion was that, however

desirable entire abstinence may be, it is not authoritatively commanded,

and ought not to be made an indispensable qualification for baptism.

It seemed to some of them that there was danger of the heathen

confusing Christianity with their own Tsai li ti. In reply to such a

suggestion Gilmour wrote: 'My hearers not know the difference between

Tsai li ti and Christianity! Thanks be to God, this whole town and

neighbourhood has rung with the truths of Christianity. Children, men,

shop-boys, and, of all people in the world, a lad gathering grain stumps

in the fields a long way off--it has been my lot to hear them repeat

sayings of mine, when they saw me, and did not think I could hear them.'

Into this controversy as a mere discussion we have no desire to enter.

But to enable the reader to know Mr. Gilmour exactly as he was it

deserves more than a passing reference. The following may be taken as an

example of many letters that passed on this subject.

'I start perhaps on Tuesday. Pardon me for expressing myself on one

matter--the Chinese teetotal business. You and some of my

colleagues seem to me as if I could not move you on this question.

It is a great grief to me. I think you are not right in your ideas

about this. I suppose you can beat me in argument. I am still more

than ever convinced that teetotalism is _right_ and _needful_ for

the success of native Christian life in China. We have some painful

instances here of that among the natives--specially two--one of the

two hailing from Tientsin.

'I don't know your Tientsin Church history, but if it is anything

like ours here you would find men standing nowhere almost as to

Christian character, who but for drink and its concomitants might,

humanly speaking, have shone. And yet these are men to get whom out

of sin Christ died--brethren, for whom Christ died.

'Pardon me again when I take a short cut to what I want to say: "_I

believe were Christ here now as a missionary amongst us He would

be an enthusiastic teetotaller and a non-smoker._"

'Tobacco is comparatively a harmless matter, but it is not so

unimportant as it seems to us foreigners. Whisky should go, and I

feel that the Chinese would be quite ready, if led, to turn both

whisky and tobacco out together. They are born brothers in China,

_useless_, and _acknowledged_ to be such; harmful as far as they

are anything, and comparatively expensive.

'I would like to see you start in your church an anti-tobacco and

whisky society; voluntary, of course, in a church established as

yours on the old lines. Though I stand alone, I believe the flowing

tide is with me.

'Wishing you many souls in 1887, and eager that no minor difference

of opinion should hinder our prayers.

'Yours I-hardly-know-how-to-say-what,

'JAMES GILMOUR.'

In the _Chinese Recorder_, for which he had been in the habit of writing

for many years, he published a paper in which he set forth with great

clearness and fulness his views on this important matter. It deserves a

place in the story of his life because in it he has sketched, as no one

else could, himself, and some of his later methods of evangelistic

address.

'In December, 1885, in a district of North China new to me, I found

myself preaching to a small crowd of Chinese and Mongols in a small

market town. I was in a lane leading on to the main street. At my

back was a mud wall, in front and at both sides was the audience,

within hearing was the main street, above, a bright sun made the

place warm and cheerful. After listening a while the audience

wanted to know how good seasons could be secured. To the truths I

had been preaching they had listened with respect and fair

attention, but at the first opportunity for speaking they wanted to

know how to get a good harvest.

'At first I paid little attention to this question, but after a

little while it was asked again, and that by several men in

succession, and I soon found that the people of the place had

little room for anything else in their thoughts. There was good

reason for it too. Their last harvest had been a poor one.

Three-tenths was about the yield. They too with their three-tenths

were comparatively well off. Some distance from them the yield had

not been more than two-tenths, and a little beyond that again,

there were fields which had been sown, but never reaped. There had

been nothing to reap. Nothing had grown. I passed some of these

fields afterwards and saw them. Was it wonderful then that the main

thought in their minds should be the harvest failure, and that they

should be mainly anxious to know how to secure a good season next

year? Looking at my audience I saw that nine-tenths of them were

poorly clad. Nearly one-half of them were quite insufficiently

clothed, and many were in garments suited to summer weather only. I

was in a sheepskin coat and felt shoes, and even thus was not too

warm, and could not help thinking how cold they must be, in their

torn clothes and ordinary shoes. In addition to this they seemed

hungry. I dare say perhaps one-half of them were in actual

suffering from deficiency of food.

'Taking these things into consideration, I did not regard their

great and often-repeated question, "How about the harvest?" as

impertinent, and set myself to answer it. When the question was

again asked I replied by asking another, namely, "_Do you think you

deserve good harvests?_" This question usually made them stare and

ask, "Why should not we deserve good harvests?" and I would reply,

"In the first place, because of that _tobacco pipe in your mouth_."

A laugh of incredulity would usually pass round the audience, but

when done laughing, and asked to consider the folly of spending

money buying a pipe and tobacco when the smoker was shivering in

his rags, and hungry, and especially when asked what was the good

of smoking, they laughed no more. When pressed to say where the

tobacco came from, they would admit that the cultivation of tobacco

took up no small proportion of their better-class land, and when

pressed to say how much land was given up to tobacco cultivation,

they would admit, what did not seem to have occurred to them

before, that the amount of land given up to tobacco cultivation was

very large. How large it was I had no conception till the following

summer, when, walking round the suburbs, I would look over the low

mud walls of their gardens, and be amazed at the expanse of land

covered with the great, broad green leaf of the flourishing tobacco

plant.

'Putting these things before my audience, they would admit that the

cultivation of tobacco was a misuse of a large portion of their

better land, that in cultivating and using tobacco they were doing

what was wrong, and hindering heaven from feeding them. Heaven had

given them good land and good rains for the purpose of growing

food. The growth of tobacco was defeating heaven's purpose, and as

long as they did so, what face had they to ask for good seasons? To

take good land and plant it with tobacco, with what face could they

ask heaven to send rain, seeing that if rain came, what grew would

not be grain but tobacco, a thing which they themselves to a man

admitted was no use at all? And so my audience would admit that as

preliminary to getting or even expecting a good harvest was the

discontinuance of the use and growth of tobacco.

'In the course of a year and a half of outdoor preaching in streets

and at fairs, and private conversation with individuals, I never

met an audience that defended tobacco as useful, and do not think I

met more than three individuals who had anything to say in its

defence. Almost everyone, smokers included, admitted its

uselessness. Many do not seem to have thought the cultivation and

use of it any harm, or having any bearing on the question of food

supply and good harvests; they usually regarded it as simply a

piece of extravagance on their own part, which had no bearing on

anything or anybody beyond themselves. But when pointed out to them

they readily admit that tobacco cultivation lessens the production

of grain, and as readily admit that the wrongdoing in this misuse

of land is likely to further harm the harvest by offending heaven

into being unwilling to send rain. I myself never used to look on

smoking as any great evil, till led into this district, and thus

forced to study the subject. In England I had never seen tobacco

grown. A smoker there spends a few coppers, and smokes; what harm

does he do? Does not he increase trade and help the revenue? His

smoking seems to harm no one but himself. Such were my thoughts.

But in this district I see the cultivation of tobacco limiting the

supply of grain, thus raising the price of food, and consequently

making men go hungry. In addition I see men, women, and sometimes

children, in rags and hungry even, with pipes and tobacco, and when

they complain of heaven not supplying them with enough food to eat,

it would be less than honest not to point out to them that the

fault lies not with heaven, but with themselves, and that part at

least of the scarcity of grain they experience is due to the

cultivation and use of tobacco, which throughout that whole region

is very excessive.

'I have dwelt thus at length on the tobacco question, not because

it is the most important of the three things here spoken of, but

because many good brethren have not been able to see with me on

this point. They feel, as I used to do before I went to that

region, that tobacco smoking is a small affair, not worth raising

into prominence or the region of conscience or Christian duty at

all. These brethren have not _seen_ how things work. I feel sure

that almost any missionary placed as I was would have done exactly

what I have done, taken a stand against this excessive growth and

more excessive use of tobacco, for, not content with what they

grow, they actually import quantities of it. Tobacco is not the

greatest cause of poverty and hunger in the district, but it is a

much greater factor in poverty than would at first be supposed. But

for its use in that district a large number of men, women, and

children, who are deficiently clothed and fed, would be warm and

sleek. Christ taught men to pray, "Give us this day our daily

bread." It must be wrong to make hundreds of men, women, and

children go half clad and half fed, simply that eighty or ninety

per cent. of the adults of that district may indulge in tobacco, a

thing, according to their own admission, utterly without use, and

for the continuance of which they can give no reason, further than

that they have acquired the habit and find it difficult to give it

up.

'A more serious question, however, is the whisky. In going into

that region I was amazed at the quantity of whisky used. I used to

lodge in an inn and take my meals in an eating-house. There, twice

a day, I had an opportunity of studying the drinking habits of the

country. Almost every man who entered the eating-house first called

for a whisky warmer. Supplied with that, he would go out and buy

his whisky, coming back he would set it in the charcoal fire to

warm, and then slowly drink it from the tiny wine cups common in

China, inviting me to join him, and wondering at a man who could

evidently afford it, not treating himself to two ounces of whisky,

and wondering still more when he learned that I did not use

tobacco. It would be an exaggeration, but not a great

exaggeration, to say that every man who entered the eating-house

began his meal by drinking whisky. In replying to the question put

by my street audiences as to how they were to get good harvests, I

would ask them, after finishing the tobacco question, "How about

your whisky drinking?" Frequently they would anticipate me in this,

and say, "If tobacco is wrong, how about whisky?" To convince them

of the wrong of whisky was never difficult. To ask good harvests

from heaven, then take grain given by heaven for food, and turn it

into whisky, they did not need me to tell them this was wrong. And

there in that district it is a very crying wrong. The quantity used

is immense. Not only does it seem so to me, but natives from other

parts of China are struck by the excessive use of it.

'The first time I travelled in the district, I was struck by the

manner in which they described the size and amount of trade of

towns about which I made inquiries. Such and such a place had or

had not a distillery and pawnshop. Such and such a town had so many

distilleries, and so many pawnshops. One travelling about the

country soon notes that nearly every imposing trading establishment

with grand premises seen from afar is either a distillery or a

pawnshop, or both combined. The bank notes current among the people

are issued, at but a small percentage, by distilleries and

pawnshops. The first crop to ripen in the district is barley, and

that, the natives will tell you, all goes to the distillery. On the

road you will meet large carts drawn by six or seven mules. The

load is grain, and of these carts a large number are owned by

distilleries, and go round the country collecting grain, from which

to brew whisky. One of the first things to be heard in the morning

after daylight, in a quiet market town, is a peculiar beating of a

wooden drum. Ask what it means, and you will be told it is such

and such a distillery calling its hands to breakfast. Ask how many

hands they have, and you may find that one establishment has some

sixty or seventy men who eat their food! The whisky trade is simply

enormous. It is out of all proportion to every other trade. The

women as a rule do not drink, the men do all the drinking--the

males I should say, for not a few boys acquire the habit of taking

whisky to their meals long before they can be called men. A very

few men do not use whisky at all. The poorer agricultural labourers

drink it only when they can get it, and just as much or as little

as they can get. Many men take regularly two ounces--Chinese

ounces--to each meal. Many take more. Many well-to-do people drink

half a catty per day. Others drink a whole catty.[7] Some drink a

catty and a half a day. A small proportion of the male population

find drinking a greater necessity than eating. These are usually

elderly men, but as I write I can think of two men, both young, and

both Mongols, one a priest, the other a layman, who have arrived at

this advanced stage of whisky drinking.

[7] A Chinese weight equal to one pound and a third.

'This excessive use of whisky has impoverished many families, and

has demoralised many men. It has caused many quarrels, and given

rise to many lawsuits. The evil caused by whisky is apparent to

all, but custom requires that friends should be honoured by being

offered whisky, business should be transacted over whisky, and the

general saying is that without whisky nothing can be done. A

farmer, for example, adding a few rooms to his buildings must

supply his masons and joiners with whisky. Thus in universal use,

the quantity consumed is immense. The quantity of grain used in the

distilleries is almost beyond computation, and I don't remember

ever meeting a Chinaman who did not admit that to distil whisky was

to do evil. They ask me how to get good harvests. I tell them;

"Give up abusing the grain you have got, before you ask for more.

If heaven sees you taking a large part of your superior land for

raising the useless tobacco, and taking a very large proportion of

the grain sent you as food, and using it not to eat, nor to feed

animals, but distilling it into the hurtful whisky, do you think

heaven, seeing all this waste going on, is likely to hear your

petitions and increase the supply of what you now waste so large a

proportion? If you bought food for your child, and he ate only half

and threw the other half to the pig, would you be likely to buy him

more just then, even though he might say he was hungry?" This

reasoning seems quite satisfactory and convincing to them, and

never fails to secure their expressed assent.

'As to opium I never find it necessary to say much. All admit it to

be only and wholly bad. Yet the quantity grown in the district is

immense. In the early spring the very first movement of cultivation

is the irrigation and working of the opium land, and at the season

nearly all the best land blazes with bloom of the poppy. It is a

sight to see the country people going to the markets with the

"_milk_" in bowls and basins, and the buyers and sellers of it

riding along, each with a weighing-balance stuck in his belt.

Government restriction there is none, the duty imposed is not very

heavy, and public opinion raises no voice against it. It was

originally grown, say the natives, so as to keep money from going

out of the district in buying imported opium, but the more it was

grown the more it was used, and now the quantity raised and smoked

is immense. There is a small proportion of farmers who have good

land, suitable for growing opium, but who do not grow it. But these

men are few, and as a general rule the very best pieces of land are

set apart for the cultivation of opium. The common conscience of

the people tells them this is a wrong thing. When therefore they

ask how to get a good harvest, they themselves acknowledge that

the reply is just, which says, "First leave off the waste of

heaven's grace involved in the growth and manufacture of opium,

whisky, and tobacco, and then, and not till then, will it be

reasonable for you to ask heaven for more bountiful harvests."

'In connection with all this, there is another fact that must not

be forgotten. Drinkers of whisky, and smokers, especially of opium,

the better the year is, the more they indulge. In a poor year they

use less whisky and opium; the better the year, and the cheaper

tobacco, whisky, and opium are, the more they use, so that in place

of making a proper return to heaven for a good year, they only take

the opportunity afforded them of running deeper into waste and

wrong-doing. Is this the way to get better harvests? Considering

the excessive growth and consumption of tobacco and opium, and the

excessive manufacture and use of whisky, what could any honest,

straightforward man say to the people, when they earnestly asked

how they were to get good harvests, but "_Repent, and cease this

great waste_"? And thus from no deliberate plan of mine, but from

the plain leading of circumstances, it came to pass that I felt

compelled to call upon the inhabitants of the district to lay aside

the use of not only opium but also of whisky and tobacco, as one of

the first steps toward worshipping the true God. Many friends have

demurred to my making teetotalism an essential of Christianity, and

many more have still more strongly demurred to my taking such a

pronounced stand against the use of tobacco. The position of my

friends is exactly the position I held myself before going into

that region, but after going to that region and seeing just how

things were, no other course seemed open to me, but to demand in

all who wanted to do right the abandonment of the whole three; and

I am convinced that almost any other missionary placed in the same

circumstances would have taken the same stand.

'This position too commends itself to the native mind, and the

native mind, quite apart from me, and before my going into the

district, had already risen up in protest against these abuses,

and, in some parts of the country there, the Tsai li ti sect boasts

not a few members. The main practical doctrine of this sect is,

_Yen chiu pu tung_--abstinence from tobacco, whisky, and opium. The

very existence of this sect, and its flourishing condition there,

is a plain indication of what serious-minded natives felt about the

excessive use of these three things. Friends say that I am putting

this self-righteousness in place of faith in Christ and the

practice of higher duties. I do nothing of the sort. Beginning with

the Chinaman where I find him, and answering the questions which he

insists on asking first, I appeal to him to give up what he admits

to be wrongdoing, sin (_tsao nieh_), as the first step in ceasing

to do evil learning to do well, and coming into right relationship

with God through Christ. Some friends are much alarmed lest this

should lead to self-righteousness. There is no danger of that. The

danger lies all the other way. To leave Christians drinking whisky

and smoking tobacco in that region, would be to preach forgiveness

of sin through Christ to men who were still going on in the

practice of what their conscience told them was sin, and all must

admit that this would never do. The condition of things in that

region is such that I have no hesitation in saying that a man, to

be honest in obeying God by refraining from what is wrong, must

throw up his connexion with these three things, tobacco, whisky,

opium.

'In _that region_. It will be noticed that I have carefully

confined my remarks to the state of things in _that region_. _That

region_ is peculiar in producing within its own bounds almost all

that is necessary for life and luxury even. It is peculiar too in

having just exactly as many inhabitants as it can support, no more,

no less. When the population increases too much it overflows into

Manchuria. When the population is less than the full complement, it

is instantly replenished by fresh arrivals from the South. The

production of tobacco, whisky, and opium, not only reduces a large

proportion of the inhabitants from comfort to misery, but also

reduces sensibly the number of inhabitants. But for these three

things many more men could find a living within the bounds of the

district Is not that little district an epitome of the world? Is

what is true of that district not true of the whole world? Opium is

a bad thing anywhere and everywhere. About that there need be no

debate. Whisky and tobacco reduce the comforts and the number of

the population there--is their effect not the same on the world in

general? Is it not true that but for tobacco and whisky there would

be food and clothes for a much larger population? And if so, do not

tobacco and whisky take the bread out of men's mouths and the

clothes off their backs? And if so, has not every smoker and

drinker a part in this sin? Christians pray, "_Give us this day our

daily bread._" Does not consistency require them to desist from

defeating this prayer by smoking and drinking, and thus reducing

the amount of the total production of the necessaries of life?

'Tobacco seems harmless. It is less harmful than opium and whisky

by a long way. But its production sensibly reduces the supply of

grain and cotton, and thus hinders the feeding of the hungry and

the clothing the naked. Good earnest Christian men smoke and drink.

Evangelists and pastors owned of God in the salvation of souls

smoke and see no harm in it. The reason is they have never seen how

the thing works, and don't know the harm it does. I feel sure that

if they could see with their own eyes men, women, and children,

hungry and in rags, when but for tobacco and whisky they might be

well fed and well clothed, these same good brethren, whose example

is quoted against my position, would be the first and most earnest

to say, "I will neither smoke tobacco nor drink whisky while the

world stands."'

At a later date, not from any change in his views, but in deference to

the views of others, with whom he was always anxious to work in harmony,

he modified his plans so far as not to make the use of whisky and

tobacco absolute bars to admission into the Christian Church.

His brethren also were opposed to the ascetic mode of life he adopted,

and the extreme of hardship which he so often and so willingly

encountered in his work. But he himself often said, and there are many

references in his diary to the same effect, that the kind of life he was

living in the interior was quite as healthy, and quite as conducive to

longevity, as the ordinary and certainly much more comfortable life of a

missionary at Peking. While it may be true that the exposure and

sufferings of twenty years had so weakened him as to leave him powerless

when seized by the last illness, yet the labours of twenty such years

spent in the service of God and the service of man are surely the seeds

from which there shall yet spring a rich harvest to the glory of God and

to the blessing of the dark and degraded Mongols and Chinese.

By the close of 1886 three main centres of work had been selected in the

new district--Ta ChÍng Tz[)u], T· Ss[)u] Kou, and Ch'ao Yang--all three

being towns of some importance. Mr. Gilmour used to spend a month or so

in each town, visiting also the neighbourhood, especially those places

where fairs were held, and where consequently the people came together

in large numbers. He had a tent which he used to put up in a main

thoroughfare, and there he stood from early morn until night healing the

sick, selling Christian books, talking with inquirers, preaching at

every opportunity the full and free Gospel of salvation. His constant

and consistent life of Christlike self-denial in the effort to bless

them told even more upon the beholders than all these other things

combined. His correspondence is full of sharp and clear pictures of his

daily toil, and of his spiritual experiences.

'_Ch'ao Yang, May 14, 1886._--The people are very poor here. Last

year the crops were not good. When the leaves come out on the

trees, the poor people break off branches and eat the seeds of the

elm-trees. I saw one woman up a high tree, taking down the seeds.

She took off half the door, laid it up against the tree, went on

the cross-bars like a ladder, and so got up. She threw down the

little branches and twigs, and her three children below gathered

them up. The elm seeds are just ripe now. They are the size of

large fish-scales; when the wind blows they come down like snow.

'I met three lamas going to a far-off place to worship. Every two

or three steps they lay down flat on the ground, then got up other

two or three steps, then prostrated themselves again. They did not

know about Jesus saving people, and thought they would save

themselves in that way. Poor people! yet they don't like to hear

about Jesus saving people. They want the credit of thus saving

themselves.

'_September 3._--At Ta ChÍng Tz[)u] we had seven days and seven

nights' rain. It was a great flood. The river rose and washed away

about a hundred acres of land and forty or fifty houses. For two

days the river floated down house-roof timbers, beams, &c. One poor

man pulled down his house to save his timbers, and the house fell

on him and killed him. It was pitiful to see the river washing away

good land, two square yards falling into the roaring flood at a

time. The Chinamen did nothing: only stood and looked at it. Lots

of walls and many houses fell down. One house in the court next our

own fell down one morning after the rain was all over. The people

had just time to jump out at the window. No one was hurt. Our room

did not leak much, but the outside of the wall towards the street

fell down. The inside of the wall still stood, so our room was

whole. Chinese walls are all built in two skins. The one may fall

and the other stand.

'_October 25._--God has given the hunger and thirst for souls: will

He leave me unsatisfied? No, verily. I am reading at night, before

going to bed, the Psalms in a small-print copy of the Revised

Bible, holding it at arm's length almost, close up to a Chinese

candle, to suit my eyes; for I cannot see small print well now, and

I find much strength and courage in the old warrior's words.

Verily, the Psalms are inspired. No doubt about that. None that

wait on Him will be put to shame. He is here with me.

'_November 17._--We start about the fifth watch (6 A.M.), get to

the fair early, spend the day on the street; it is late before we

get quiet, and I fear it is now well on towards the third watch. I

am in first-class health, though my feet and socks are in a

decidedly bad way. The country is not at all safe, but we have as

yet been preserved. Some days ago, two men who slept on the same

kang with us, and started a little earlier than we did, were

robbed. We overtook the travellers arranging themselves after the

interview. I was annoyed at not getting away as soon as they left.

God so arranged it, you see.

'I have got a step nearer to God lately. It is this: I do not now

strive to get near Him; I simply ask Christ to _take me nearer

Him_. Why shouldn't I? Does not Christ save men from distance from

God and bring us near? _Peace, Blessing, and Power_, by Haslam,

sent me by an old college mate in Scotland, was the means used.

This chum tried my soul much when I was at home last. I think I was

of use to him, and now he has been of much use to me. Let us sow

beside all waters.

'My attitude now here is that of Psalm cxxiii. 2-4. I feel that God

can _perform_ for, by, or rather use me as His instrument in

performing, if He has a mind to; so I am looking for His hand,

gazing about among the people that come to my stand to see the ones

God has sent. I feel as helpless as a Chinese farmer in a drought;

but when God opens the heavens, down it will come. Amen.'

Mr. Gilmour returned to Peking on December 13, having been away nearly

eight months. The tabulated results of this missionary campaign were:

Patients seen (about) 5,717

Hearers preached to 23,755

Books sold 3,067

Tracts distributed 4,500

Miles travelled 1,860

Money spent 120.92 taels = (about) 30_l._ to 40_l._

He adds, 'And out of all this there are only two men who have openly

confessed Christ. In one sense it is a small result; in another sense

there is much to be grateful for. I have to part with my assistant, and

am uncertain about whom to take in his place. My travelling arrangements

have broken down, and I am perplexed in more ways than I have patience

to write about; but

Where He may lead I'll follow,

In Him my trust repose,

And every hour in perfect peace

I'll sing, "He knows, He knows."

After a visit to Tientsin and a brief rest in Peking, largely occupied

with preparations for his next sojourn in Mongolia, he started on

January 25, 1887. At Ta ChÍng Tz[)u] he secured a kind of home, so as

not to be exposed to all the discomforts and drawbacks of inn life,

hoping also that a fixed centre might forward the preaching of the

Gospel. Two rooms were taken for a year. They were situated at the inner

end of a little trading court, around which were a tin-shop, a

rope-spinner's room, and a stable. In one corner there was a pigsty.

'When first I saw it I almost refused to occupy it; but really there is

no help for it, and finally we took it for a year.' It is always

difficult to secure premises in a Chinese town, and exceptionally so

under the limitation of money and of suspicion and dislike to which

Christian missionaries are always exposed. 'It is only a lodging for

me,' Mr. Gilmour continues, 'convenient for seeing converts or

inquirers. The court is much too small, and the place not sanitary. But

don't be in the least uneasy. My health is quite as safe there as in the

best premises in Peking. I intend to occupy them for a month at the

beginning of the Chinese year, and ten or fifteen days in the fourth,

seventh, and tenth months. I hope also to come to some arrangement for a

lodging in Ch'ao Yang. In T· Ss[)u] Kou I am simply in an inn, and pay

at the usual rate for the nights I am there.'

A letter to his boys, dated March 24, 1887, depicts the kind of scene he

so often witnessed, and the routine of work which would have proved so

irksome but for the love and peace with which the Saviour filled his

soul.

'Mai Li Ying Tz[)u] is a very wicked place. There were no less than

fourteen large tents set up for gambling, and, in addition, some

thirty or forty mat-tents for gambling. I was there three days. The

first day people were shy. The second day they were not much

afraid. The third day I had quite a lot of patients. We sold a good

few books, preached a good deal, and doctored a number of patients.

From there we went to Bo-or-Chih, starting in the dark and

travelling seventeen English miles before breakfast. After we had

travelled ten miles we came to a little town just as people were

opening their doors. A seller of _chieh jao_, that sticky stuff,

had just set out his wheelbarrow with his pudding. We each bought a

great piece, wrapped it in a _chien ping_ (a thin scone), and

travelled on, eating it. That was our breakfast. Arrived at

Bo-or-Chih, we set up our table at once, and, after preaching for a

short time, patients came round us in crowds, and kept us busy till

late in the afternoon.

'The inn in which I am staying now is owned by two men, brothers,

both of whom are opium smokers. The inn has a good trade, but it is

all no use: it all goes to opium, and no good comes of it. There

are two barbers connected with the place, and they both drink and

gamble, so that they are in rags and poverty, though they have a

fairly good business. It is so painful to see men degraded thus

when, but for drink and gambling, they might be well off.

'_April 28, 1887._--For the last week I have been very busy at a

great temple gathering, which lasted six days. Such crowds of

people came, though it was only a country district. It was the

great religious event of the year for the neighbourhood, and how do

you think they do? They hire a theatrical company to come and act

six days in a great mat stage, put up for the occasion in front of

the temple. Theatrical exhibitions are the religion of China. These

shows are supposed to be in honour of the idols in the temple. The

people think the gods will thus be pleased, and give them good

seasons, health, etc.

'What a crowd of women came to worship at the temple on the great

day of the festival! Till noon that day women only were allowed to

enter: no men. How the women were dressed--in all the colours of

the rainbow, red trousers being especially prominent! How they

moved along on their little feet! Walk you along on your heels--as

I have seen you do--and that is just how they move.

'No end of gamblers came too. There were twenty-six, or so, large

tents put up to gamble in, and about as many straw-mat booths, and

they all had plenty of trade. Eh, man, it is sad to see the utter

worldliness of these Chinese. They soon found me out. I had my tent

put up in a quiet place away from the bustle.[8] In front is the

great flying sign, "The Jesus Religion Gospel Hall." At the one

end, "God the Heavenly Father;" at the other, "Jesus the Saviour."

They found me out, not because they wanted to hear me preach, but

to get medicine. Oh, the numbers of suffering people I saw and

attended to! I used to go out early in the morning, and be there

all day, most of the time so busy that there was no time to eat. To

get food I had to steal away because everyone would want me just to

attend to him or her before I went. When I had attended to that one

there was another, and so on. I was able to cure a number of them,

and got preaching a good deal too. I sold a number of books. It was

the first time that a missionary had ever been there, and it was

difficult to make them understand.'

[8] See the illustration on p. 245.

It is, as a rule, by direct dealing with individuals that the best

results of Christian work in China are obtained, and to this Mr. Gilmour

was always ready to make everything give way. In season and out of

season, at any hour of the day or night, he was at the service of

inquirers. The sight of a seeking face could banish his most exhausting

feeling of fatigue, and nothing so swiftly dispelled the depression,

from which he so often and so severely suffered, as the sight of a

heathen coming to be more perfectly instructed about 'the doctrine.'

Here are one or two such scenes:--

'In the eighth month we had great pleasure in finding Mr. Sun much

advanced in knowledge, and confessing his Christianity with great

boldness. Before we left he was baptized, and one or two others

were coming forward as inquirers--notably one man, who is a member

of a sect, was making earnest inquiries. These men seem to be

following after righteousness in their own half-instructed fashion.

These sects are strong in numbers in some parts of the district,

and, if God should give us some of these men as converts, we might

hope for rapid progress among their companions. The last that I

heard of this man, he was coming to Mr. Sun, asking many questions.

He lodged with us one night, and I invited him to breakfast with me

in the morning. He was declining on the plea that he was a

vegetarian. It was with much satisfaction that I was able to say in

reply, "So am I."

'The Tsai li ti are strong in Ch'ao Yang. I have been praying and

working to gain them for a year and more. One evening a deputation

of two men called upon me in my inn, and said they had come

representing many who wanted to know about Christianity. They, the

Tsai li ti, had been watching me ever since I had come to Ch'ao

Yang. They had listened much and often to our preaching, and now

they had come to make formal inquiries. I gave them such

information as I thought they needed, and we got on well enough

till they asked me to refute a slander. The slander was to the

effect that in a chapel in Peking, the preacher would, when he

finished preaching, get down off the platform and have a smoke! I

had to admit that this was no slander, but a true statement. I had

a good deal to say in explanation of it; but, alas! the men came no

more.'

To form any just estimate of Mr. Gilmour's work in Eastern Mongolia, it

is needful constantly to bear in mind that it was practically a new

departure. So far as we know, he is the only missionary in China

connected with the London Missionary Society who adopted _in toto_ not

only the native dress, but practically the native food, and, so far as a

Christian man could, native habits of life. His average expense for food

during his residence in his district was _threepence a day_. This rate

of expenditure was, of course, possible only because he adopted

vegetarianism. His practice acted and reacted upon his thought, and he

came at this time to hold the view, for and against which a great deal

may be said, that it was a mistake for Chinese missionaries to live as

foreigners--that is, to wear foreign dress, arrange their houses and

furniture as nearly as possible in European style, and eat European

food. Both on its economical side and also as impressing the mind and

heart of the Chinese, he believed that his was the more excellent way.

Most of his co-workers at Peking and Tientsin did not agree with him. As

agreement would have involved, perhaps, following his example, under

conditions that differed widely from those of Ta ChÍng Tz[)u] and Ch'ao

Yang, this difference of opinion was only what was to be expected. It is

referred to here only as a well-known fact, and no story of Mr.

Gilmour's life could be trustworthy which did not represent the decided

way in which, when he felt that loyalty to his work and loyalty to his

Master constrained him, he could and did act in direct opposition to the

wishes and views of brethren whom he fervently loved.

It became needful from time to time for him to justify his actions to

the home authorities. Not that this was in any way needful from any

doubt or lack of support on their part. But with regard to methods upon

which there was marked divergence of view in the missionary committees

abroad it was needful that a man like Gilmour should put his motives and

reasons clearly before the governing powers. It is doing him bare

justice to say that from this task he never shrank. The following

extracts are from letters to the home officials of the London Missionary

Society and they enable us to appreciate accurately the standpoint of

the man whose thought they express. Writing in the light of the

suggestion that perhaps he was putting a more severe strain upon his

health than the efficient discharge of his difficult duty demanded, he

says:--

'I feel called to go through all this sort of thing, and feel

perfectly secure in God's hands. It is no choosing of mine, but

His; and, following His lead, I have as much right to expect

special provision to be made for me as the Israelites of old had in

the matters of the Red Sea, the manna and water in the desert, the

crossing Jordan, and the fall of Jericho.

'One thing I am sure of. The thousands here need salvation; God is

most anxious to give it to them: where, then, is the hindrance? In

them? I hardly think so. In God? No. In me, then! The thing I am

praying away at now is that He would remove that hindrance by

whatever process necessary. I shall not be astonished if He puts me

through some fires or severe operations, nor shall I be sorry if

they only end by leaving me a channel through which His saving

grace can flow unhindered to these needy people. I dare not tell

you how much I pray for.

'It is the foreign element in our lives that runs away with the

money. The foreign houses, foreign clothes, foreign food, are

ruinous. In selecting missionaries, physique able to stand native

houses, clothes, and food, should be as much a _sine qu‚ non_ as

health to bear the native climate. Native clothes are, I believe,

more safe for health than foreign clothes; they are more suited to

the climate, more comfortable than foreign clothes, and so dressed,

a Chinese house is quite comfortable. In past days I have suffered

extreme discomfort by attempting to live in foreign dress in native

houses.'

And yet James Gilmour had nothing of the fanatic or bigot about him. At

the period of his life with which we are now dealing, his severest trial

was the loneliness due to his having no colleague. Whenever his brethren

ventured to address remonstrances to him, they were due largely to the

conviction that entire isolation, such as he had to endure throughout

his Mongolian career, must tell adversely upon his temperament. But in

judging the character of the man it only heightens our love and respect

for him that he did not allow the utter and successive failures of all

efforts to secure him a colleague to hinder the work. No man more

readily and more constantly acted upon the principle of doing the next

best thing. His idea of satisfactory conditions for the work was never

reached; but this never led him for one day to relax his own efforts or

to loosen the strong hand of his self-discipline.

To any reader who has carefully followed the previous pages it must have

become abundantly evident that Mr Gilmour believed in God's present and

immediate influence in the passing events of daily life, and that the

right attitude of life is one of absolute dependence upon, and

submission to, the will of God. His diaries abound with proofs of this.

He is delayed one morning in starting from his inn, and is annoyed. An

hour or so later he overtakes the travellers who started earlier, and

finds them just recovering from the assault of a band of robbers. The

delay was God's providential care protecting him from robbery. And yet

no man was ever less under the spell of religious fatalism. All that

active effort and promptitude of mind and body could effect in the

service of life he freely and constantly expended in his work. And

indeed there lies before us a long letter written at T· Ss[)u] Kou on

March 15, 1888, asking for an official proclamation from the Chinese

authorities at Peking affirming 'that Christian worship is an allowed

thing, and that native Christians are not required to contribute, or are

exempted from contributing, to idol and heathen ceremonies, such as

theatricals, or the building and repair of temples.' The proper official

document was applied for at Peking, and in due time obtained.

On March 24, 1888, James Gilmour was rejoiced by the seeming fulfilment

of his heart's most eager desire--the arrival at T· Ss[)u] Kou of a

fully qualified medical colleague, Dr. Roberts. We have seen how

repeated had been his entreaties, how earnest his yearnings after this

essential factor in the success of his mission. For a month he enjoyed

to the full the uplifting of congenial fellowship and of skilled help.

Then came a blow, harder almost to endure than the previous solitude.

'Two days ago,' he writes under date of April 21, 1888, 'a man

pushed himself in among the crowd round my table as I was

dispensing medicines in the market-place here, and announced

himself as a courier from Tientsin. When asked what his news was,

he was silent, so I led him away towards my inn. Oh the way I again

asked what his news was. He groaned. I began to get alarmed, and

noticed that he carried with him a sword, covered merely with a

cloth scabbard. This looked warlike, and I wondered if there could

have been another massacre at Tientsin. Coming to a quiet place in

the street I _demanded_ his news, when he replied, "_Dr. Mackenzie

is dead, after a week's illness._" At the inn we got out our

letters from the bundle, and found the news true. In a little Dr.

Roberts looked up from a letter he was reading and said he was

appointed to the vacancy. _Then_ the full extent of my loss flashed

upon me. Mackenzie dead--Roberts to go to Tientsin! One of my

closest friends dead--my colleague removed!

'Forty-eight hours have elapsed, and I am just coming right again.

I have been like a ship suddenly struck in mid-ocean by a mountain

sea breaking over it. You know in that case a ship staggers a bit,

and takes some time to shake clear and right herself.

'As to Mackenzie. His friendship I very keenly appreciated. The

week of prayer in January 1887 we spent together in Peking. The

week of prayer in January 1888 we spent together in Tientsin. These

were seasons of great enjoyment. On parting we spoke of having a

week together again in April 1889. That is not to be. The full

extent of the loss will take some time to realise.

'The prospect of Dr. Roberts settling permanently here in the

autumn gave light and brightness to the outlook. My faith is not

gone, but it would be untrue to say that I am not walking in the

dark. I shall do my best to hold on here single-handed; but I

earnestly hope that I am not to be alone much longer. Something

must be done. There is a limit to all human endurance.

'Amid many storms we are holding on our way, and making progress

among the Chinese. Of the Mongols I have nothing cheering to

report. They come around and daily hear the Gospel; but, as yet at

least, there it ends. I look into their faces to see whom the Lord

is going to call, but have not seen him yet apparently. Meantime, I

am getting deeper and deeper into Chinese work and connections, and

sometimes the thought crosses my mind that my knowledge of

Mongolian is not employed to its best advantage here. On the other

hand, I see more Mongols here than I could see anywhere on the

Plain.'

God's ways of dealing with His work and the workers are often very dim

and obscure to finite understanding. Humanly speaking, no man in China

could less easily be spared than Dr. Mackenzie; no man in all that vast

empire more needed the joy of fellowship than he to whom it had just

been granted. But the indomitable spirit shines clearly through the

words of Gilmour: 'It would be untrue to say that I am not walking in

the dark. I shall do my best to hold on here single-handed.' Seeing

God's hand, as he did, in these sorrowful events, and believing that Dr.

Roberts also was following the path of God's will, he turned again to

his lonely tasks. But it was at a heavy cost. His health was giving way

faster than he realised. The views of his brethren at Peking, that he

would break down under the strain of the isolation, were to some extent

justified. The home authorities did what they could, but nearly a year

elapsed before Dr. Smith, who was appointed to succeed Dr. Roberts,

reached Mongolia, and when he did so his first duty he felt was to order

Mr. Gilmour to visit England for rest and change. But meanwhile he went

bravely on. Like his Master, 'he endured the contradiction of sinners

against himself,' and when 'he was reviled, he reviled not again.'

'We left Ch'ao Yang,' he writes under date of September 3, 1888,

'August 10, attended markets, got much rained in, and reached Ta

ChÍng Tz[)u] August 20. There I found that one of the Christians

had possessed himself of my bank book and drawn about fifteen taels

of my money which I had banked at the grocer's. The delinquent

turned up next day, walked in, and hung up his whip as if nothing

had happened. At the moment I was dining, and he sat down beside

me. I asked him quietly why he had treated me so. He said I might

be easy in mind; he had money and cattle he would pay me. "Go,

then, and bring me the money; till you do so, don't come to me

again." Off he went. Days passed and nothing was done to repair the

mischief. Meantime, the scandal was the talk of the small town, and

the scornful things said were so keen that Liu, my assistant, got

quite wild. He was indignant that I did not go to law with the man,

who all the while was swelling about on a donkey bought with the

money he stole from me, and using the most defiant and abusive

language towards me (not to my face, happily). The roughs of the

place began to be insolent, and a drunken man came and made a scene

in our quarters. Liu redoubled his attack on me, and even

threatened to go home to Shantung if I would do nothing but pray--a

course of action on my part which irritated him much. Li San, the

head Christian there, joined him in saying I ought to make a show

of power. I asked the two to read at their leisure Matt. v. 6, 7.

Liu warned me that I was in personal danger. The man was

panic-struck and highly nervous. I arranged an expedition to a

place some 90 li away, but got rained in and could not go. Finally,

the offender sent an embassy desiring peace, and, the day before we

left, a respectable deputation of mutual friends, Christian and

heathen, found its way one by one to my room, coming thus not to

attract attention, and last of all came the thief. According to

pre-arrangement I asked him, as he entered, what he had come for.

He walked up to the wall, knelt down, and confessed his sin in

prayer to God. The end of the matter is, he gives me one donkey and

the promise of another, is suspended as to membership for twelve

months, and is forbidden the chapel for three months.

'I am not bright about Ta ChÍng Tz[)u], as you may suppose. Worse

than the stealing case is that of the head man, Li San, who says

that he was promised employment before he became a Christian! The

ten days we passed there we were the song of the drunkard and the

jest of the abjects; but the peace of God _passes all

understanding_, and that kept my heart and mind. We put a calm

front on; put out our stand daily, and carried ourselves as if

nothing had happened.

'The great thought in my mind these days, and the great object of

my life, is to be like Christ. As He was in the world, so are we to

be. He was in the world to manifest God; we are in the world to

manifest Christ. Is that not so? Iniquities, I must confess,

prevail against me; but as contamination of sin flows to us from

Adam, does not regenerating power flow into us from Christ? Is it

not so?'

Meanwhile work was going steadily forward and some impression was being

made. He made a flying visit to Tientsin and Peking in the autumn, but

was soon back at his post. In his report of work for the year he is able

to point to progress.

'1888 has been a tumultuous year. In December, at Ch'ao Yang, there

was a sudden irruption of men and boys to learn the doctrine.

Evening after evening we had from twenty to fifty people in our

rooms to evening worship. We hardly knew how to account for it, but

did all we could to teach as many as we could. The cold weather

finally did much to stop the overcrowding, but there was good

interest kept up among many till the end of the year.

'The baptisms for the year were, at Ta ChÍng Tz[)u], two; T· Ss[)u]

Kou, two; Ch'ao Yang, eight; total, twelve adults, all Chinese.

'One man has been put out, so that the numbers stand as follows: Ta

ChÍng Tz[)u], four; T· Ss[)u] Kou, three; Ch'ao Yang, nine; total,

sixteen, all Chinese.

'Three adults, Chinese, were baptized ten days ago, and I hope to

baptize two children next Sunday; but we have almost no promising

adherents here at present. There are three entire families

Christian, with Christian emblems on their door-posts; another

family is Christian, but cannot fly the colours on the door-posts

because the grandfather who has half the building is a heathen.

'In still another family, where only the husband is Christian, they

have the Christian colours, but the family is heathen.

'My heart is set on reinforcements. Can they not be had? I had

hoped Dr. Smith would have spent the winter with me, but he did

not. All the grace needed has been given me abundantly, but I don't

think there should be any more solitary work. I don't think it

pays in any sense.

'In addition, it is almost time I had a change. My eyes are bad.

Doctors hesitate over my heart, say it is weak, and that its

condition would affect seriously an application for life assurance.

This winter I have gone in for a cough, which is not a good thing

at all, and it would be well for the continuity of the work that

there should be a young man on the field.

'Don't be alarmed, though, and don't alarm my friends. The above is

for your own private information and guidance. I still regard

myself as in first-rate health.

'I am not satisfied that we seem drifting away from the Mongols. At

present, though lots of Mongols are around, our work is all but

entirely Chinese. I am still of opinion that our best way to reach

them is from a Chinese basis. This may involve a matter of years

ahead, and therefore it is that I am eager to see the future of the

work provided for by being joined by a younger man or men.

'Meantime I am trying to follow very fully and very faithfully the

leadings and indications of God. I have had times of sore spiritual

conflict and times of much spiritual rest, and my prayer is that

you and the Board may in all your arrangements and plans for

Mongolia be fully guided by Him. Oh that His full blessing would

descend richly on this district!'

Dr. Smith reached Mongolia in March 1889, and for the first time met his

colleague. He has placed on record for use in this biography his account

of that first meeting. On reaching Ch'ao Yang, Dr. Smith found that Mr.

Gilmour was not there. 'I followed the innkeeper,' he writes, 'to see

the spot where my devoted colleague had spent so many lonely hours. We

came to a little outhouse, with a kind of little court in front of it,

not many yards wide. The outer door was locked by means of a padlock;

but the innkeeper soon found an entrance by simply lifting the door off

its wooden hinges, and then we were in the anteroom or rather kitchen.

In it was a built-in cooking-pan, an earthenware bowl, and a wooden

stick resembling a Scotch porridge-stick; and some brushwood which had

been brought in to be in readiness when he next arrived at that inn. One

of the two rooms, which lay on each side of this ante-room, was locked,

and we could not open it, but through the chinks of the door I could see

abundant traces of Gilmour. It was specially refreshing to see some

genuine English on one of the boxes; it was "Ferris, Bourne, & Co.,

Bristol," the people from whom he used to order his drugs. My servant

and I decided to take up our quarters in the next room, which was

evidently the servant's room. We soon managed to make ourselves very

comfortable, and there was an unspeakable relief in at last being in a

place which belonged to the London Mission, rented of course. We had to

spend the Sunday there. Mr. Sun, the box-maker, soon came round, and

seemed genuinely glad to see me, and offered to make all arrangements

for the further stage of our journey. We then discharged our carts, and

I sent with them my letters for home.

'After spending the Sunday in company with the Christians there, we set

out on the Monday morning with a local carter for Ta ChÍng Tz[)u], a

distance of about twenty-three miles. We crossed a hilly and sparsely

populated district, reminding me of some of the bleaker scenery in

Scotland. On reaching the town we at once drove to the new private

mission premises. It was a little house surrounded by a straw fence.

Quite a crowd of rough-looking people followed us in. One of the doors

had been stolen, and altogether it looked so unprotected that I decided

to take up my quarters in a little Mongol inn, where Mr. Gilmour

formerly lived. Next day I expected to meet Gilmour, and the two

Christians there were fully expecting him. In the evening we had quite a

levee; Li San and the other Christian, whom Gilmour used to call "Long

Legs," sat drinking tea in my room for some time, and were very

friendly; they were evidently trying to ingratiate themselves with me; I

did not then know how disgracefully they had behaved to Gilmour, nor did

I know the anxious business which was bringing Gilmour there at that

time.

'Next day or the following, I forget exactly which, I was sitting in my

room, when a young man arrived, my servant being out at the time. I

could not make him out at first, not being able to understand what he

said; but he had such an evident air about him that he had some kind of

business with me that it at last dawned upon me that he must be Mr.

Gilmour's servant, and this was at once confirmed on the arrival of Lin

Seng, my servant. He had been sent on ahead to announce Gilmour's

arrival. It had been blowing a dust-storm all day, and on that account I

hardly expected Gilmour, but now there was no doubt.

'About four o'clock that afternoon Gilmour arrived, and I shall never

forget that first meeting. I had pictured quite a different-looking man

to myself. I saw a thin man of medium height, with a clean shaven face,

got up in Chinese dress, much the same as the respectable shop-keepers

in that part of the country wear. On his head was a cap lined with cat's

fur. I was struck by the kindly but determined look on his face. He

greeted me most cordially, and I remember he said, "I am glad to see

you." He looked worn out and ill. I at once gave him his letters.

'After arranging his things and seeing his men comfortably settled and

getting over his first interview with the Christians there, he came up

to my room in order to spend the night with me. We sat to all hours of

the morning, chatting about things at home, and about his boys, whom I

had seen before leaving Scotland.

'For the next day he arranged the dreaded interview with Li San down at

the mission premises. Gilmour warned me that it would be a long-winded

affair, and wished me not to expect his return for a good number of

hours. After waiting a long time I went down to see how the interview

was progressing. Li San and Gilmour were sitting on the kang, in tailor

fashion on each side of a low table, and Li San was singing hymns; but

there was a strange look upon his face, as if he did not altogether feel

like singing. Gilmour said to me in English that they had not come to

business yet, and Gilmour was determined that Li San was to say the

first word, so Gilmour invited him to sing hymn after hymn, and then I

left. The whole idea seemed to be to get money out of Gilmour, and when

he found that impossible he threatened to come down to Tientsin to

accuse Gilmour to his missionary colleagues, of having broken his

promise to give him employment. Gilmour had no recollection of having

done so; he said to me that possibly one of his previous assistants may

have on his own responsibility led Li San to form that idea.

'Long Legs was also dogging Gilmour for money, and altogether they

worried him; but he settled up everything. The premises were resold, and

as Gilmour put it, "it was the funeral of that little church." They were

threatening to prevent our leaving the town, as there seemed some doubt

in Gilmour's mind as to whether we would be able to get a cart; these

fears were disappointed; Li San got a cart for us.'

Before Dr. Smith had passed many days in the society of Mr. Gilmour it

became clear to the practised eye of the medical man that his colleague

had been overstraining his health and strength. Notwithstanding his

buoyancy and occasional high spirits all through his long years of work,

James Gilmour had been subject to spells of severe depression. There are

a very large number of brief entries in his diary to that effect. 'Felt

blue to-day' is a frequent phrase, followed soon in the great majority

of instances by words indicating a speedy recovery. Special events, that

from time to time had a direct adverse influence upon his work,

developed this state of mind rapidly and profoundly. The inevitable

recall of Dr. Roberts, already described, is a case in point, and the

diary at that season contains entries like these:

'_April 26, 1888._--These last days have been full of blessing and

peace in my own soul. I have been able to leave things at Ta ChÍng

Tz[)u];, and my colleagues all in God's hands.'

'_May 7._--Downcast day. No one to prayer.'

'_May 9._--In terrible darkness and tears for two days. Light broke

over me at my stand to-day in the thought that Jesus was tempted

forty days of the devil after His baptism, and that He felt

forsaken on the cross.'

'_May 27, Sunday._--Service, Romans xii. Present, four Christians.

Great depression.'

The most constant force acting in the direction of mental depression was

what appeared to him like the want of immediate success. He longed with

an eager and almost painful intensity for signs that Gospel light had

broken in upon the mental darkness of the men with whom he was in daily

contact. He yearned for evidence that the love of Christ was winning the

love of Chinese and Mongol hearts, as a mother yearns over her children.

Hope deferred as to his medical colleague, ever recurring difficulties

defeating all his efforts to secure suitable premises for his work,

failure on the part of natives whom he had begun to trust, and all these

things over and above the ceaseless strain of his daily toil, are more

than sufficient to account for the state in which Dr. Smith found him.

To those who knew him best, and who could appraise at their true value

the toils and trials and disappointments of his daily lot, the wonder

was not that he broke down; it was rather that physical collapse had not

overtaken him sooner. There are many kinds of heroism, but it may be

doubted whether any touches a higher level than that exhibited by this

patient sower of the seed of life on the sterile field of Mongolia,

bravely continuing to do so until imperatively urged to cease for a

season, not by his consciousness of failing power, but by the alarm and

influence of his medical co-worker.

When the decision was once taken, it was acted upon promptly. March 26,

1889, was the day, and Peking the place. On April 4 he left Peking, and

on the 20th he sailed from Shanghai. He arrived in London on May 25.

This visit to England in 1889 was a great refreshment bodily, mental,

and spiritual, to the overwrought labourer. The voyage itself, enforcing

rest from all ordinary avocations, by removing Mr. Gilmour from the

depressing surroundings amid which he had spent so much of the last

three years, began the restorative process. He was beginning to feel in

himself great benefit from the change even by the time he reached

London. But the six years which had passed since he last walked the

London streets had left their mark upon him. He had drawn to the utmost

upon his physical and spiritual strength in the service of those for

whose conversion he lived and toiled. He had been through the deep

waters of personal affliction when his wife passed into the sinless

life. The many toils and hardships of the passing years had drawn deep

furrows upon the cheery face, and the eyes showed evidence of the mental

and spiritual strain.

So sudden was the resolution to return, and so prompt his action upon

it, that few knew even of the probability until he was actually here. On

May 27, 1889, the writer was sitting in his room, overlooking the

pleasant garden that brightens up the north-eastern corner of St Paul's

Churchyard, in conversation with a gentleman, when a knock came at the

door and a head appeared. Not seeing it very clearly, and at the same

time asking for a minute's delay while the business in hand was

completed, the head disappeared. As soon as the first visitor departed a

man entered and stood near the door. I looked at him with the

conviction that I knew him, and yet could not recall the true mental

association, when the old smile broke over his face, and he burst into a

laugh, saying, 'Why, man, you don't know me' 'Yes, I do,' I replied,

'you're Gilmour; but I thought that at this moment you were in

Mongolia.' But when I was able to scrutinise him closely I was shocked

to see how very evident were the signs of stress and strain. It was not

wholly inexcusable, even in an old friend, to fail to instantly

recognise in the worn and apparently broken man, thought to be hard at

work many thousands of miles away, the strong and cheery Gilmour of

1883.

Carrying him off home, we talked far into the night, not because his

host thought it a good thing for the invalid, but because he was so full

of his work and its difficulties and its pressing needs, and what he

hoped to do on behalf of Mongolia by his visit home, that there seemed

no possible alternative but to let him talk himself weary. And how

splendidly he talked! He pictured his life at a Mongol inn. He ranged

over the whole opium and whisky and tobacco controversy. He gave, with

all the dramatic effect of which he was so great a master, the story of

how he forced home upon the Chinese and Mongols, until even _they_

admitted the force of the reasoning, how natural it was that famine

should visit them when they gave up their land to opium, and their grain

to the manufacture of whisky. He gave in rapid dialogue his own

questions, the native rejoinders, and he so vividly pictured the scene

that his hearer could fancy himself standing under the tent, surrounded

by Chinese and Mongols, and assenting, as they did, to the earnest and

far-reaching conclusions of the speaker.