Chapter IX: A Change of Field (2)

'_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.