Chapter III: Mongolian Apprenticeship

The name Mongolia denotes a vast and almost unknown territory situated between China Proper and Siberia, constituting the largest dependency of the Chinese Empire. It stretches from the Sea of Japan on the east to Turkestan on the west, a distance of nearly 3,000 miles; and from the southern boundary of Asiatic Russia to the Great Wall of China, a distance of about 900 miles. It consists of high tablelands, lifted up considerably above the level of Northern China, and is approached only through rugged mountain passes. The central portion of this enormous area is called the Desert of Gobi.

A kind of highway for the considerable commercial traffic between China and Russia runs through the eastern central part of Mongolia, leaving China at the frontier town of Kalgan, and touching Russia at the frontier town of Kiachta. Along this route during all but the winter months, caravans of camel-carts and ox-carts attended by companies of Mongols and Chinese are constantly passing. The staple export from China is tea; the chief imports are salt, soda, hides, and timber.

The west and the centre of Mongolia is occupied by nomad Mongols. They have clusters of huts and tents in fixed locations which form their winter dwellings. But in summer they journey over the great plains in search of the best pasturage for their flocks and herds. They are consequently exceedingly difficult to reach by any other method than that of sharing their roving tent life. In the southeastern district of Mongolia there are large numbers of agricultural Mongols who speak both Chinese and Mongolian. The towns in this part are almost wholly inhabited by Chinese.

The winter in Mongolia is both long and severe; in the summer the heat is often very oppressive, and the great Plain is subject to severe storms of dust, rain and wind.

Buddhism is all-powerful, and the larger half of the male population are lamas or Buddhist priests. 'Meet a Mongol on the road, and the probability is that he is saying his prayers and counting his beads as he rides along. Ask him where he is going, and on what errand, as the custom is, and likely he will tell you he is going to some shrine to worship. Follow him to the temple, and there you will find him one of a company with dust-marked forehead, moving lips, and the never absent beads, going the rounds of the sacred place, prostrating himself at every shrine, bowing before every idol, and striking pious attitudes at every new object of reverence that meets his eye. Go to Mongolia itself, and probably one of the first great sights that meet your eye will be a temple of imposing grandeur, resplendent from afar in colours and gold.'

'The Mongol's religion marks out for him certain seemingly indifferent actions as good or bad, meritorious or sinful. There is scarcely one single step in life, however insignificant, which he can take without first consulting his religion through his priest. Not only does his religion insist on moulding his soul, and colouring his whole spiritual existence, but it determines for him the colour and cut of his coat. It would be difficult to find another instance in which any religion has grasped a country so universally and completely as Buddhism has Mongolia.'[1]

[1] _Among the Mongols_, p. 211.

It was to the herculean task of attempting single-handed to evangelise a region and a people like this that James Gilmour addressed himself. His early journeys are fully set forth in _Among the Mongols_, and we do not propose to repeat them here. Our object rather is to depict, so far as possible, the inner life of James Gilmour, and the real nature of the work he accomplished. He left Peking on August 5, and reached Kalgan four days later. On August 27 he started for his first trip across the great plain of Mongolia to Kiachta. A Russian postmaster was to be his companion, but, to avoid travelling on Sunday, Gilmour started a day ahead, and then waited for the Russian to come up. Here is his first view of scenes he was so often in later life to visit.

'_Sabbath, August 28._--Awoke about 5 A.M. just as it was drawing
towards light, and saw that we were right out into the Plain.

'I am writing up my diary, with a lot of people looking into my
cart. I have just given them a Mongol Catechism, and I hope it may
do them good. God, do Thou bless it to them! Would I could speak to
them, but I cannot. I am glad to be saved the trouble of travelling
to-day. My mind feels at rest for the present. I am looking about
me, and having my first look at the life I am likely to lead.
There are several more Mongol dwellings within sight, plenty of
camels, horses, and oxen. The Mongols have a tent of their own, and
the "commandant's" tent has also been put up. A Mongol has just
come up and changed his dress, his cloak serving him as a tent
meantime. I am hesitating whether to try to read in my cart or go
off a little way with my plaid and umbrella.

'Had not a very intellectual or spiritual day after all. Went in
the afternoon away to the east. Had a good view and a time of
devotion at a cairn from which an eagle rose as I approached.
Returned to the camp and bought milk and some cheese. Intended to
make porridge, but the fire was not good on account of the blowing,
so I drank off my milk, ate some bread, and went to sleep.'

The journey across the desert, including a visit to Urga, occupied a month. It was full of intense interest for the traveller, and many of the most abiding impressions of his life and work were then received. His diary reveals the deep yearnings of his heart for the salvation of the Mongols. Under the date September 11, 1870, he writes:--

'Astir by daybreak. Camels watering; made porridge and tea. This is
the Lord's day; help me, O Lord, to be in the spirit, and to be
glad and rejoice in the day which Thou hast made! Several huts in
sight. When shall I be able to speak to the people? O Lord, suggest
by the Spirit how I should come among them, and guide me in gaining
the language, and in preparing myself to teach the life and love of
Christ Jesus! Oh, let me live for Christ, and feel day by day the
blessedness of a will given up to God, and the happiness of a life
which has its every circumstance working for my good!'

His constant rule was to rest from all journeying, so far as
possible, on the Sabbath. After another week's experience, on
September 18 he thus records his impressions:--

'Encamped just over the plain we saw at sunset last night. We are
some distance from the real exit, but not far. This is the Lord's
day; God help me to be in the spirit notwithstanding all
distractions. Oh that God would give me more of His Spirit, more of
His felt Presence, more of the spirit and power of prayer, that I
may bring down blessings on this poor people of Mongolia! As I look
at them and their huts I ask again and again how am I to go among
them; in comfort and in a waggon, with all my things about me; or
in poverty, reducing myself to their level? If I go among them
rich, they will be continually begging, and perhaps regard me more
as a source of gifts than anything else. If I go with nothing but
the Gospel, there will be nothing to distract their attention from
the unspeakable gift.

'8.15 A.M.-3.15 P.M. Good long walk. Met camels and came upon a
cart encampment, estimated at one hundred and seventy. Know where I
am on the map. There is a camel encampment where we are. Two huts
from which comes fuel. Read to-day in II Chronicles xvi. God never
failed those who trusted in Him and appealed to Him. God was
displeased with the King of Judah because, after the deliverance
from the Lubims, Ethiopians, &c., he trusted to the arm of flesh to
deliver him from the Syrians. Do we not in our day rest too much on
the arm of flesh? Cannot the same wonders be done now as of old? Do
not the eyes of the Lord run to and fro throughout the whole earth,
still to show Himself strong on behalf of those who put their trust
in Him? Oh that God would give me more practical faith in Him!
Where is now the Lord God of Elijah? He is waiting for Elijah to
call on Him. God give me some of Elijah's spirit, and let my power
be of God, and my hope from Him for the conversion of this people.

'It is nothing to the Lord to save by many or by them that have no
power. Help me, O God, for I rest on Thee, and in Thy name I go
against this multitude!'

Kiachta, on the southern frontier of Siberia, was reached September 28, 1870, and there Gilmour was at once plunged into a series of troubles. The Russian and Chinese authorities would not recognise his passport, and he had to wait months before another could be obtained from Peking. He found absolutely no sympathy in his work. He knew next to nothing of the Mongol language. Yet with robust faith, with whole-hearted courage, with a resolution that nothing could daunt, he set to work. A Scotch trader, named Grant, was kind to him, and found accommodation for him at his house. At first he tried the orthodox plan of getting a Mongol teacher to visit and instruct him. Before he secured one he used to visit such Mongols as he found in the neighbourhood, trying to acquire a vocabulary from them, asking the names of the articles they were using, their actions, and all such other matters as he could make them understand. But his loneliness, his ignorance of the language, the inaction to which he was condemned, partly by his difficulty in getting a suitable teacher, and partly by the uncertainty as to whether the authorities would allow him to remain, told upon his eager spirit as week after week passed by, and he became subject to fits of severe depression. Here is a picture of one of these early days. He had been trying to talk with a Buriat carpenter, in a place called Kudara, not far from Kiachta:--

'After getting my quota of words I walked through the town. The
main object in it is the church, a large whitewashed structure
built by Mr. Grant's father-in-law when he was a rich man. He was
made poor, comparatively speaking, in one night by a great fire
which burnt up all before it. In addition to the church are some
streets of Cossack houses, desolate enough looking, the streets
desolate enough at best, but rendered much more so this morning by
the snow melting in the sun, which is still high, and manages to
thaw away all the snow that falls in places where it shines, though
it was frost all day in the shade. Passing the town I made for the
river, which rolled on quiet and cold. Passed through large
orchards of apple(?) trees; doubled about, went to the extreme
west, got on a hill, and came round home again in time for dinner
at 4 P.M. I felt very lonely, and not having a teacher I am thrown
idle, as it were, a great part of the day after I get my words. It
is true I am taking notice of all I see, but it always occurs to me
that this is not furthering the Mongolian Mission in any direct
way. I often think of what Dr. Alexander said in his charge at my
ordination: "_You do not go to discover new countries._" Would I
had a teacher, that the language might go on full swing! To-day I
felt a good deal like Elijah in the wilderness, when the reaction
came on after his slaughter of the priests of Baal. He prayed that
he might die. I wonder if I am telling the truth when I say that I
felt drawn towards suicide. I take this opportunity of declaring
strongly that on all occasions two missionaries should go together.
I was not of this opinion a few weeks ago, but I had no idea how
weak an individual I am. My eyes have filled with tears frequently
these last few days in spite of myself, and I do not wonder in the
least that Grant's brother shot himself. _Oh! the intense
loneliness of Christ's life_, not a single one understood Him! He
bore it. O Jesus, let me follow in Thy steps, and have in me the
same Spirit that Thou hadst!

'Read papers in the evening (Oct 5). So Jones of Singrauli is dead!
I heard him in Exeter Hall, May, a year or two ago, and heard a
good deal of him through Dr. Evans, of Chestnut College. I am
persuaded he was a missionary among a thousand. When he returned to
his station he found that during his absence matters had got out of
order a good deal, and he set about putting them right. Now he is
dead! How prodigal God seems of His workers--Hartley, Jones, both A
1, both gone. God's ways are not ours. We would have preserved
these two at all risk and expense, but God _takes_ them away, and
it seems to us as if He were hurting His own cause. God knows best,
but to _us_ it is a great mystery.'

Two days later he received a letter telling him of the death of a brilliant young Glasgow student, and he enters in his diary comments which received only too complete an illustration in his own subsequent career:--

'Another splendid student going from college to the grave. This is
a thing of common occurrence with reference to Glasgow College,
and, if I am not mistaken, I have seen it somewhere publicly
commented on. Men, poor it may be, strive through college with a
mind and determination beyond their circumstances and bodily
strength, fight a great battle with poverty and more clever
students, resolute to take the first place if possible, and just as
the college is finished with them, and sending them forth to the
field of life decorated with all the honours it can bestow, the
fond Alma Mater has to keep on mourning and drop her tear over an
early grave.

'Are the young men to blame? Who can be restrained by the
cold-blooded calculation of preserving health? "There is my
opponent, I'll thrash him if I can; better to toil out my
life-blood drop by drop than let it mount to my cheek as a mantle
of shame when I find myself defeated when I might have been
victorious." Then they conscientiously work themselves to death. If
they did not work as hard as they do, and refrain from recreation
as they do, they would have in their breasts the uneasy feeling
that they have not done as much as they might have done; and what
noble nature can be content to live under that accusation written
against them by the supreme court in their own breasts?

'Several times I have resolved to refrain for health's sake, but in
a short time found such an uneasy feeling about not doing as much
as I might, that I had to give it up and go at it. I _never_ feel
that I have done as much as I might, and when I am doing most I
feel best.'

Very dissatisfied with his progress, and stung one day by a remark of Grant's to the effect that he did not seem to speak Mongolian readily, Gilmour changed his plans. He resolved to go out upon the Plain, and persuade some Mongol to allow him to share his tent. On December 13, 1870, he left Kiachta and journeyed out into Mongolia to the first cluster of tents, named Olau Bourgass. There he found a friendly Mongol. 'Grant's contractor. Found him at his prayers. He motioned me to sit down, and when his devotions were finished he gave me a warm welcome. He lives alone in his tent, having nothing to care for but the horses for the courier service, and a couple of lamas[2] to attend to his wants, one of whom goes with the letters when they come. We talked, and I learned a great deal, when at last I broke my mind to him, and was glad to find that he received it favourably. I settled to remain there during the night. Nothing very remarkable happened except that we were invaded by a great blustering lama, intoxicated. He came ramping into the tent as if he would have knocked everything down. After a time he went away and lodged in the next hut. I went to bed about ten and slept well, though my feet were cold towards morning.'

[2] A lama is a priest of the lama section of Buddists. More than half the population of Mongolia are lamas.

The next three months were passed mainly in this tent. Gilmour used, whenever possible, to return to Kiachta to spend the Sunday at Grant's house; but by enduring the hardships and suffering all the inconveniences of ordinary Mongol life he rapidly acquired the colloquial, and he also made an indelible impression upon the minds and hearts of the natives, who ever afterwards spoke of him as 'Our Gilmour.' He saw Mongol life as it was, free from all the illusion and romance sometimes thrown around it. He became intimately acquainted with the various Mongol types, and he began to enter into the native habits of thought. His diary contains many a scene like the following:--

'I gave the lama a book on Saturday, and when I came back on
Tuesday I found he had read it through twice. He set upon me with
questions, getting me to admit premises, and then reasoned from
them. Christ being at the right hand of God was a great point with
him. If God has no form, how can anyone be at His right hand? Then,
again, if God is everywhere, Christ is everywhere right and left of
God, and how can that be?

'The omnipresence was a staggerer. Was God in that pot, in the
tent, in his boot? Did he tread upon God? Then was God inside the
kettle? Did the hot tea not scald Him? Again, if God was inside the
kettle, the kettle was living! And so he held it up to the laughing
circle as a new species of animal. I asked him if a fly were inside
the kettle, would the kettle be alive? "No," he said; "but a fly
does not fill the space as God must do." "Well, then," said I, "is
my coat alive because I fill it?" This settled the question.'

In March 1871 he visited Selenginsk and Onagen Dome, the scene of the labours of Stallybrass and Swan from 1817 to 1841, and then he took a run into Siberia, crossing Lake Baikal and visiting Irkutsk. At the latter place he reviews the past few months:--

'Another week has passed over my head with many hopes and fears.
This day, a week ago, I was nearing Ana in doubt as to many things;
now I am in Irkutsk, having my path marked with mercies. In many
points of my journey I expected difficulties which might have
stopped me short in my path, but all these have disappeared, and I
am here, having succeeded beyond expectations. One thing is not
right: my readiness to forget the ways in which God has helped me.
Sometimes for weeks and months I look forward to some crisis which
is coming; it comes off well, and in two days I am as if I had
forgotten that to which I had looked forward with so much
apprehension. In this manner I am not only guilty of ingratitude,
but lose much joy and strength of faith and hope. What should make
me more happy than the thought of the helps and deliverances that
God has vouchsafed me; and in troubles present and to come, what
can give me more faith and courage than to remember that out of
such troubles I was delivered before?

'One thing I sometimes think of. I left Britain with no intention
of travelling; I expected to settle down quietly and confine myself
to a circle I could impress. This plan has been completely changed
and overruled. Two months have I been in Peking; two weeks have I
been in Kalgan; a month have I been in the desert; a month have I
been in Kudara, a small Russian frontier military post; a month and
a half have I been in Kiachta; two months have I been in Mongolia;
and now two weeks have I been travelling in Russia. A year and a
month have elapsed since I left home, and during that time I have
been walking to and fro on the face of the earth, and going up and
down in it. In this way I have not found my life at all dull, but
very stirring. Indeed, many people would have left home to travel
as I have done. I sought it not; it came, and I took it. So as yet
I have no hardships to complain of. To see the places and things I
have seen--Liverpool, Wales, Rock of Lisbon, Gibraltar, Malta,
Egypt, Port Said, Canal, Suez, Red Sea, Cape Gardafui, Indian
Ocean, Penang, Straits of Malacca, Singapore, Hong Kong, Shanghai,
Tientsin, Peking, Kalgan, Desert, Urga, Kiachta, Russia, Baikal,
Irkutsk--only even to see these, men will make long journeys. I
have seen them all without seeking them, with the exception of
Baikal and Irkutsk. These are all by the way, and I dwell upon them
as proofs that God, in sending His servants from home and kindred,
often gives them pleasure and worldly enjoyment on the way, which
He does not promise, and which they have no right to expect.'

After another but briefer sojourn at Olau Bourgass he set out on his return journey, visited Urga, then crossed the great plain on horseback in the course of fourteen days, and reached Kalgan on June 11. After a rest there he made two excursions into Mongolia, visiting Lama Miao, one of the great Mongol religious centres, in the first; and occupying some weeks with a further spell of Mongol tent life during the second.

His diary, under date of September 22, 1871, while he was resting at Kalgan, thus sums up his experiences:--

'I desire to-day to look back on the way by which the Lord has led
me for the last year. In September 1870 I was looking out eagerly,
anxiously for someone who was going to Russia, that I might go with
him. I could find no one. I made it a subject of prayer, and at
last, when I was on my knees, in came McCoy to tell me of a Russian
who was going up without delay. I saw the Russian, and arranged to
go, and started. "While they are speaking I will answer them."

'On the journey between Peking and Kalgan I was alone, I may say,
and could speak little Chinese, yet I got on very well; and though
my money was in a box on the back of a donkey, yet it came in all
safe, none lost. In Kalgan I had difficulty at first about finding
camels, but at length the Russian postmaster turned out to be going
home. The time when was uncertain, quite; his departure depended on
the coming of his successor. I prayed about this, and one day was
informed that the successor had arrived much sooner than was
expected, and that we were to start in a day or two. We did start,
and after a prosperous journey arrived safely at Kiachta.

'There I found Grant and Hegemann, two Englishmen. I went to live
in Grant's country house at Kudara. A difficulty arose about a
teacher. I prayed about this, and strolling along came upon a tent
in which was a man who was out of employment, and he being
educated, I engaged him to be my teacher. In Kiachta, after some
delay, I got a teacher, but not to my satisfaction. After I had
been with him a time Grant remarked one day that I did not seem to
be making much progress in the language. This stung me to the
quick, and made me go down into Mongolia. Here I was directed to
the tent of Grant's contractor, and with him I made arrangements to
live. I thank God for not permitting me to get a good teacher in
Kiachta. Had I got a good teacher there, I would simply have
remained there, and I am sure would not have learned half as much
of the language as I did in the tent at Mongolia, would have got
none of the insight I gained into the style of Mongolian life, and
would not have got the introduction I had there to numerous
Mongols. At the time I was immensely chagrined that I could not get
a proper teacher, but now, after the lapse of only a few months, I
can see good reason for thanking God for leading me by that way.
This should teach me to trust God more than I do when things seem
to thwart my purpose.

'Again, I was under a great disappointment about the delay that
occurred in the sending of my passport from Peking. In consequence
of its not coming I was unable to go to Urga with Lobsung and
Sherrub in February. I felt it much at the time, but some months
after (in June) I learned that these men with whom I wanted to go
suffered excessively on the road; so much so that, had I gone with
them, I might have got my feet frozen and died with the cold. Here
again I have to praise God for not giving me my own way.

"Thy way, not mine, O Lord;
However dark it be."

'Then, again, I had long desired to visit the scene of the former
Siberian Mission, and through the mercy of Providence I was
permitted to do this. My journey back through the desert also was
marked by mercies. Truly I may stand and say,

"When all Thy mercies, O my God,
My rising soul surveys,
Transported with the view, I'm lost
In wonder, love, and praise."'

After his wanderings even Kalgan was a haven of rest, and he had secured there a base of operations. 'Now,' he writes, 'that I have got my study window pasted up, and a nice little stove set going, it seems so comfortable that it would be snug to stay where I am. But comfort is not the missionary's rule. My object in going into Mongolia at this time is to have an opportunity of reviewing and extending my knowledge of the colloquial, which has become a little rusty consequent upon its disuse to a great extent while here, trying to get up the written.'

All who are even superficially acquainted with Chinese matters know how difficult it is to acquire the colloquial, and still more the written language. Mongolian is not nearly so difficult, but it presents a task needing vigour of intellect and strength of will. Both of these Gilmour possessed in a measure far above the average.

'In the written,' he states on October 7, 1871, 'I am still far from at home. Most of the Bible I can read slowly and at sight. Many words I can write. I think I could write a bad letter myself alone. The other day I did so. My teacher said it was well written, and said also he rejoiced in the progress of his scholar; but I put this down to mere politeness.'

During this visit he stayed in the tent of a Mongol named Mahabul, who lived there with his wife and an only son, a lama. They were all much addicted to the use of whisky.

'_October 14, '71._--To-day rose before the sun, read words, wrote
at the account of my journey from Urga, went to the mountain for
devotion, revisited the silver worker, who is making the bride's
ornaments, dined, visited the Norying's lama son, who fell from a
horse and broke his leg, had tea, and went to visit tents a mile or
two to the south. There found, as master of the tent, a blackman (a
layman) I had seen before, and as visitor a lama I had left in
Mahabul's tent when I went out. From one thing to another we got to
speak of God and His book. At last they asked me to read them a
portion. I read in English a few verses, and then gave them the
parable of the Prodigal Son in Mongol colloquial. I also gave them
a specimen of a sermon, and explained shortly the nature of God,
when they all seemed pleased. The lama finished up the thing by
saying, "Your outward appearance differs from us, but inwardly you
agree with us." Coming home I felt amply repaid for all the
uncomfort and solitude, and leading a Mongol life, by the
comparative ease with which I can converse with them, and the
manner in which they wonder at my proficiency in the colloquial.'

In his official report he rapidly summarises the achievements of the last nine months:--

'By the middle of February I had a limited knowledge of the
colloquial, picked up from listening to and joining in the
conversation going on among the inmates of the tent at Olau
Bourgass, and those with the numerous visitors who took occasion to
call on my lama, who was rather a famous man. At the end of
February the lama returned south to Urga, and I went back into
Russia, and got a Buriat teacher. This individual, however, turned
out so incredibly lazy, and I felt so dull alone in my large
comfortable rooms, after the friendly bustle and crowd of the
little tent, with its cheery fire, that I could not stand it. So I
got my teacher and myself into a tarantass, and went off to visit
the scenes of the former mission in Siberia. My teacher proved very
useful. He spoke Russian very well, I spoke Mongolian to him, and
thus we travelled, the doubtful wonder of all Russians, who could
not understand how a man not born a Buriat could get acquainted
with that language, and yet know no Russian. After visiting the
converts, partly for the sake of diverting the curious eyes of the
Russians from the great aim of my journey and partly in the
traveller's spirit, I turned westward and crossed the Baikal on the
ice, and remained a few days in the capital of Siberia, Irkutsk. On
returning to Kiachta I found another teacher, and went out for
another month into Mongolia and tent life. All the while that I was
in Mongolia I used to return to Kiachta once a week, usually on
Saturday, and abide in the land of habitations till Monday.

'Early in May I started for the south. I had intended to remain
over the summer in Urga, but unexpected difficulties turned up, and
led me to decide on going down to Kalgan at once. From Urga to
Kalgan (600 miles) was done on horseback, accompanied by a single
Mongol; and as we carried no luggage, we had to depend on the
hospitality of the Mongols for lodging and cooking, or, as they
call the latter, "pot and ladle."

'In this way I saw a very great deal of tent life during the twelve
or thirteen days the ride lasted. I got into Kalgan just two days
before the rainy season came on (June 15), and having, after
difficulty, secured a teacher, passed the summer in Kalgan studying
the book language and practising writing. In October I went up
again to the grassland and spent some weeks revising my knowledge
of the colloquial and observing the difference between the northern
and southern manner of speaking. I finally left Mongolia in a
furious storm on the morning of November 1, and re-entered Peking
November 9.'

Gilmour on his return was naturally an object of great interest to all the missionary and to some of the official community. He soon settled down to the study of Chinese, and to such mission work as he could usefully engage in during the winter at Peking. A letter to the writer, under date of January 21, 1872, enables us to realise somewhat the life of this period:--

'My dear Lovett,--Though I acknowledged receipt of your last
welcome epistle, I am aware I owe you a return, and here it is ...
I have thought that perhaps an account of how a Sabbath goes in
Peking might not be uninteresting, and I'll just confine myself to
to-day. Well, this morning, on getting up, I found my stove was
out. This is a very unusual thing, but it just happens once, say,
in three weeks. The thermometer was about 5∞. The first thing after
getting dressed was not to call my servant, as you might suppose,
but to go in quest of letters. A mail had come in the night before,
but I had returned home too late last night to see it. So I went
over to Dr. Dudgeon's house before he was up, prowled about till I
found the mail, but there was nothing for me. I returned to my cold
room, and was there till the breakfast-bell rang. I board with
Edkins, and to go there is a pleasant break in the monotony.

'On coming back to my quarters I found the room full of smoke,
doors and windows open, my boy on his knees fussing about the
stove, and saying, _Moo too poo shing_--"the wood won't do." I saw
at once that that would not do for me, so I buttoned up my coat and
went out on to the great street for a walk. The street on which we
live, the Ha Ta Mun (great street), runs north and south, and a
cold wind was blowing down the road, carrying clouds of dust with
it. Through the dust, however, were visible the paraphernalia of
two funerals, one going north, the other going south. They met just
opposite our place. That going south was much the grander of the
two, and had a long procession of people carrying emblematical
devices, honorific umbrellas, drums, gongs, and musical
instruments. Ever and anon a man took quantities of paper discs
with square holes cut in the centre and scattered them to the north
wind. The papers are supposed to represent cash, and were scrambled
for eagerly by the urchins, though they could be valuable only as
waste paper. In the procession also was carried the chair in which
the deceased used to ride, his mule cart also figured conspicuous,
and then came the mourners.

'As you know, mourning garb in China is _white_, and I noticed that
some of the mourners had adopted a neat device. All Chinamen who
can afford to be warm in winter wear robes lined inside with fur. A
rich robe is lined with fine material, but the common thing is
white lambskin. Well, these fellows simply become turn-coats for
the time, and put on their fur robes inside out, and thus were in
the fashion. The coffin itself was laid in a magnificent bier
towering high, surmounted by a gilt top piece, hung with silks, and
borne by forty-eight bearers.

'Of course everything has to make way for the funeral. The Peking
streets are very wide, and at the same time very narrow. In the
centre and high up is a cart road with an up and a down line, along
the sides of this are ditches and holes, beyond these ditches and
holes is another way more or less passable, and beyond that again
the shops. The funeral procession took the crown of the road, crept
along at its snail's pace, while the traffic took to the side
roads.

'After a good long walk among stalls and wheelbarrows I got back to
my abode, found a good fire, and that it was high time to go to the
Chinese service. I don't understand all I hear, but I understand
some, and make a point of hearing one and sometimes two Chinese
sermons on the Sabbath. An old Chinaman was preaching, and I could
see from the manner of the congregation that he was securing the
fixed attention of his hearers. Before the sermon was ended there
was a bustle at the door, and in came three Mongols with my Chinese
card. They were asked to wait till the service was concluded, then
I took them to my quarters and had some conversation with them. One
of them had come for the doctor, and wished to get cured of so
prosaic a disease as the itch.

'Before I was finished with them, my servant came to say that
another Mongol had called for me and was waiting for me in
Edkins's. When I went over I found an old Mongol, a blackman,
fifty-eight years of age. This layman was named Am‰sa, and has been
in the habit of paying Mr. Edkins visits every winter when he comes
down to Peking. Last year he did not come, and we were concluding
that he had died. Of course we were glad to see him. I got him into
my room and we had quite an afternoon of it. The old man knew a
good deal about Christianity, and I gave him what additional
instruction I could. Of all the Mongols I have seen he is, perhaps,
the most ready to receive instruction.

'It was quite late in the afternoon before he left, and I had just
time to take a walk at sunset and be back in time for dinner.
Immediately after that the people began to assemble for evening
service. This is held every Sabbath evening in Mr. Edkins's
parlour. Upwards of twenty usually compose the congregation. The
missionaries take the service in turn. After service the mass of
the congregation separated, but one man came with me to my room,
and there we sat talking till midnight, when my visitor rose to
depart.

'There, you see, I have given you the history of one Sabbath in
Peking. It is a pretty fair sample of what goes on here very
frequently. However, when I find myself free on the afternoon I
accompany Mr. Edkins to some one of the two chapels, which are in
distant parts of the city. I do not go so much to hear him preach
as to have his conversation on the way there and back, and, as you
may suppose, we sometimes stumble upon an argument, and this makes
it quite lively.'

The self-denying and arduous labours of his first sojourn in Mongolia had given to James Gilmour a knowledge of the language and an acquaintance with the nomadic Mongols of the Plain far in excess of that possessed by any other European. But even then, as also at a later date, the question was raised whether more fruitful work might not be done among the agricultural Mongols inhabiting the country to the north-east of Peking. Hence, on April 16, 1872, he started on his first journey through the district in which in later years the closing labours of his life were to be accomplished. He spent thirty-seven days in this preliminary tour, and travelled about 1,000 miles.

Gilmour's first estimate of this region as a field of missionary enterprise, expressed on April 25, 1872, remained true to the end, even though in later years the exceptional difficulties of work among the nomads induced him at last, as we shall see, to settle among the agricultural Mongols:--

'Though I saw a good many Mongol houses, yet I must say, I do not
feel much drawn to them in preference to the nomad Mongols. The
only possible recommendation I can think of is that, coming among
them, I might go and put up for some days at a time in a Chinese
inn. This would save me from great trouble in getting
introductions, and it might be less expensive. The great objection
I have to them is that, though a mission were established among
them, it would be more a mission in China than anywhere else. The
Mongols in these agricultural villages speak Chinese to a man, and
I cannot help feeling that, since there are so many missionaries in
Peking speaking the Chinese language, these Mongols fall to them,
and not to me.'

Soon after his return from this trip into Eastern Mongolia, Mr. Gilmour sent home an elaborate report upon the conditions and prospects of the Mongol Mission. He deals with the whole question of the work, showing why, in his opinion, the _agricultural_ Mongols should be evangelised by Chinese missionaries. Mr. Edkins and others thought that Gilmour should undertake that labour, but after having seen more than any missionary of both regions and classes of Mongols, on the ground that he was the man 'who had to go and begin,' he decided for the Plain.

Even at this early date Mr. Gilmour urged repeatedly and strenuously upon the Directors the pressing need he felt for a colleague. And thus early began the long series of seeming fatalities that prevented him from ever receiving this joy and strength. Partly from the needs of the Peking Mission, and partly from respect to a notion which the American Board of Foreign Missions had that their occupancy of Kalgan, on the extreme southern limit, constituted _all_ Mongolia into one of their fields of work, the Rev. S. E. Meech, Mr. Gilmour's old college friend, who had been designated as his first colleague, was stationed at Peking. With reference to this, in closing the report above referred to, Gilmour wrote:--

'Mr. Meech's perversion from Mongolia to China is much to be
deplored. I think it would be wrong in me not to inform you of the
true state of matters, and to remind you that it is little short of
nonsense to speak of reopening the Mongolian Mission so long as
there is only one man in the field. I am fully aware of the
difficulty of finding suitable men, and most fully sympathise with
you, but don't let us delude ourselves with the idea of Mongol
Mission work progressing till another man or two come and put their
shoulder to the wheel. All that I can do I am quite willing to do,
but my own progress is most seriously hampered because I am alone.'

His whole subsequent life is evidence of the splendid way in which Gilmour justified these words, yet perhaps no legitimate blame can be laid at the door of the Directors of the London Missionary Society. Both the friends and the critics of missions are sometimes more ready to tabulate converts than to ponder and estimate aright the difficulties and drawbacks of the work. But in any estimate of the comparative success and failure of the Mongol Mission it should be borne in mind that Gilmour never really had a colleague. He never even had a companion for his work on the Plain, except his heroic and devoted wife. And in later years circumstances over which the Directors could exercise little or no control successively deprived him of the fellowship, after a very brief experience, of Dr. Roberts and Dr. Smith.

In the summer of this year, in the company of Mr. Edkins, he visited the sacred city of Woo T'ai Shan, a famous place of Mongol pilgrimage.

An amusing illustration of his well-known love of argument occurred on this trip. In Mr. Edkins he found a foeman in all respects worthy of his dialectic steel. Chinese mules will only travel in single file, even where the roads are wide enough to allow of their travelling abreast, and as Gilmour's went in front of that ridden by Mr. Edkins, he used to ride with his face to the tail of his beast, and thus the more readily and continuously conduct the argument then engaging their attention.

In November he tried the experiment of living at the Yellow Temple in Peking during the winter, in order that he might meet and converse with the numerous Mongols who visit the capital every year. Here he not only made new friends, but he also frequently renewed acquaintance with those he had met on the Plain. These visited him in his compound, and were occasionally a weariness and vexation to him, inasmuch as they very frequently severely tried his patience, without affording him the comfort of knowing that the good tidings of the 'Jesus book' were finding an entrance into their dark minds and hard hearts.

In a letter to an intimate college friend, the Rev. T. T. Matthews of Madagascar, which he wrote, November 21, 1872, he vividly describes this part of his work, giving some of his typical experiences:--

'I am writing in the Yellow Temple, about a mile and a half from
Peking, and three or four miles from our mission premises. I have
rented a room, brought my Chinaman servant, and live as a Chinaman,
all but the clothes and the paganism. The reason of all this is
that near here, and in this temple, numerous Mongols put up when
they come from Mongolia to Peking. Our premises being three or four
miles away, and in a busy part of the town, the Mongols can't
easily find our place; so if they can't come to me I just go to
them. I came here yesterday, and can't tell yet how I may get on.
Mongols are shy in Peking, and even out here a little difficult of
access; but I must do what I can, and have patience.

'Just now a company of eight or ten have arrived and put up, three
or four of them in the same court with me, the others in a place
close by. These are likely enough to come to see me; of course I'll
go and see them. You in Madagascar, I suppose, can't realise what
it is to be a missionary to a people whom you can't approach
without difficulty. Here the difficulty does not end; those I can
catch don't care one straw for Christianity. They have a system
which quite satisfies them, and what more do they want? Such is
their feeling, so you see I have got quite plenty to do; a hard
enough task, even the human part of it. But don't mistake, I am not
bewailing my lot, for that I have neither time nor inclination; I
am only telling you about my state.

'I don't believe much in people talking about what they mean to do
in the future, but perhaps you will permit me to say that I would
like to start for Mongolia again in February or March. I have got a
sheepskin coat, so need not fear the cold. I perhaps may take with
me a stock of made-up medicines for specific diseases which are
common, and this may make an introduction in some cases at least.
Dr. Dudgeon has on our premises in Peking a hospital well attended
by Chinamen, and I go there sometimes and see how he doses them.

'Now let me tell you a little about the inner life of Mongols.
People travelling through Mongolia wake up in the morning as their
camel-cart passes some rural encampment; they rub their eyes and
say, "How pleasant it would be to live in Mongolia like these
Mongols, free from care and the anxiety of busy life. They have
only their sheep, &c., to look after." This reflection is
accompanied with a sigh when they reflect on their own hard lot.
Now the fact of the matter is, these travellers know nothing about
it. They may print as much as they like about the pastoral felicity
of the simplicity of Mongol life; it is all humbug. Last night, two
Mongols whom I know well, a petty chief named "Myriad Joy" and his
scribe named "Mahabul" (I can't translate this last), came into my
room, and we had a tea-spree there and then. The two have been for
fifteen days in Peking on Government duty, and last night their
business was finished, and they were to mount their camels and head
north this morning. The chief gets from Peking about 30_l._ a year,
the scribe about 4_l._; and when they come thus on duty their
allowances, though small, enable them to make a little over and
above their salaries. The chief can stand no small amount of
Chinese whisky. I suspect he is deep in debt, and am sure that he
could pay his debt two or three times over if he only had the money
it took to paint his nose. The scribe was one of my teachers in
Mongolia. I lived in his house some time, and know only too well
about his affairs. He is hopelessly in debt. He had a large family
once, but now they are all dead except one married daughter and one
lama son about seventeen years of age, and good for nothing. His
"old woman," as the Mongol idiom has it, is still alive, and fond
of whisky, like her husband. If they had only been teetotalers they
might have now been comfortable; such, at least, is my impression.
I shall say nothing about what I saw in his tent, and confine
myself to last night and this morning.

'Drinking my tea last night, Mahabul (the scribe) says to me: "My
chief here won't lend me nine shillings to buy a sheepskin coat for
my old woman, therefore she must be frozen to death in the winter;
my chief won't lend _me_ anything, other people he lends." The
chief said nothing for a while; but the scribe went on harping on
this string, till at last the chief launched out right and left on
his scribe, shouting loud enough for all the compound to hear. The
scribe took it coolly, and stopped him, saying: "Enough, enough; it
is past, it is past; my old woman can die, all die; no matter."
This did not soothe the irate chief at all, and a minute or two
later a furious quarrel broke out between them about something
else. The storm raged a long time, and in my room too, while they
were my guests! After some time the scribe left the room to attend
to the camels, when the chief confided to me his opinion of his
scribe. Later the chief left the room, and the scribe confided to
me his opinion of his chief; and I must say that the two seemed
well matched, with very little to choose between. The freedom with
which they spoke of each other was partly to be accounted for by
the fact that both were more or less drunk.

'The chief squared up his accounts with the people about here, and
showed me in the scribe's absence a small parcel of silver which he
had reserved for use on the road. He showed it me under strict
injunctions not to tell the scribe. The scribe had more difficulty
in squaring up _his_ account. The last item that stuck in his
throat was a little bill his son had left. This son had started a
day or two before, and of course the father was responsible for the
debt. How he was to pay it he did not know, as he had not a single
cash about him. The Chinaman of the place threatened to detain him,
and the scribe laughed a bitter laugh at the idea. After a great
row they went off to sleep.

'This morning early the scribe was at me before I was dressed. It
was the small debt again. The Chinaman knew better than to seize
the man; that would not have paid; he seized his coat, and actually
was detaining that as ransom for a sum equal to fourpence English!
He made a direct appeal to me to pay it, and of course I did it;
though I was a little disgusted with the man's meanness, as I had
given him a present of money amounting to about 1_l._ a few days
before. This son of his is a great eyesore to me. He is a young
lama, about as wicked a boy as I know. His brothers died of
consumption, and this fact enables him to do anything he likes with
his parents. If they refuse anything, he has only to feign
sickness, and they are in a huge state over him. He is a thoroughly
bad lad. Will not work, will not study, will do nothing but make
trouble and expense for his parents. Just fancy! His father and
mother are poor as church mice; and when his father was coming to
Peking the boy must beg to come too, and the father like a fool
must take him, and be at great expense for travelling, &c. One
thing made me furious. Out of the money I gave him he spent about
4_s._ or more buying his good-for-nothing son an elegant
snuff-bottle. In short, the man's folly makes it utterly useless to
help him. I once before relieved him from threatened detention for
debt for the amount of twopence-halfpenny, just after I had made
him a present, and I expect perhaps to have to do so again. What
astonishes me is that the Mongols _can_ get into debt so far. I
don't believe my Mongol can pass a single man he knows without
being in danger of being dunned for some hopeless debt or other.
And yet his debt does not seem to distress him. He is most
distressed because people will not lend him more money.

'The last of the chiefs was rather rich. He is (he says) to have a
profitable piece of Government work in hand in spring, and on the
strength of that wanted me to lend him now a shoe of silver, about
15_l._, to be repaid to me in spring. Of course I did not. He then,
though my guest, kept on saying, "Heart small, heart small," which
pretty much amounts to saying, "Coward, coward." He finally took
revenge by offering to lend _me_ a shoe of silver in spring, but
of course I declined. A pretty pair they are! If what they say be
true, in spring they may make a good thing of it; but this has
happened to the scribe before, and in two months after he was as
poor as ever. In short, they are foolish and thriftless.

'While I have been writing this letter I have overheard my Chinese
servant saying, in reply to a question from a Chinaman, "There is
such a thing as a preaching letter: you can preach by a letter." So
I am going now to preach. Don't get weary; stick to it. Don't be
lazy, but don't be in a hurry. Slow but sure; stick to it. We have
no great effort to make, but rather to stick to it patiently. "_No
good work is lost_," Sir William Thomson used to say in his
philosophy class, and it is eminently true in our case. (I wish
these Chinamen would hold their tongue.) All our good work will be
found, there is no doubt about that. All I am afraid of is that our
good work will amount to little when it is found. (These Chinamen
are a bore.) I sometimes think that if all we say be true, as it
is, that men at last shall stand before God--and we shall see them
after they know that all we say is true--and they will pitch into
us for not pitching into them more savagely; for not, in fact,
taking them by the "cuff" of the neck and dragging them into the
kingdom of God. I speak now of our countrymen and foreigners. As
regards heathen, they too shall stand revealed; and their mud gods
also, and rotten superstitions, shall stand revealed: how then
shall we feel when they shall look at us and blame us for not
waking them up more vigorously? An infidel has said that if he
could believe that men's future state depended at all upon what was
done in this life, he would let nothing hinder him from being up
and at men. He would be content to be counted a madman--anything,
if only he could do anything to make men's state better in the
world to come. (I wish these Chinamen would shut up; I came here to
meet Mongols, and I am like to be flooded out by Chinamen whose
language I only half understand.)

'Now, _we believe_: how much do we do? Are there not some men whom
we might stir up who now escape? Could we do more? Are not souls
valuable enough for us to face anything if only we can save some?
Let us look to the end, or rather let us look at the present. In
the room in which I now write (the Chinamen have gone) is Jesus,
where you read this is Jesus: He stands and looks to us. He has
given up the clean heaven, and walked here and lived among dirt and
poverty, in solitude, misunderstood, without one intelligent
friend; He has borne the scorn of men, He has been put to the
horrible and shameful death of the cross, _all to save us_ and
others. We trust Him, He saves us; and all He asks is that we
should tell men about what He has done; and is there one man we
meet to whom we shall not speak? shall Christ look to us in vain to
declare simply what He has done? Perish the thought! Whatever may
be between us and speaking to men, let us go through it. If it be a
foreign language, remember Christ lived thirty years in
preparation. If it be hardship, cold, poor food, scorn, slight,
deaf ears--never mind, go ahead. Christ looks to us to go ahead, or
_come_ ahead, for He has gone through it all. Trouble, hardship,
trial, suffering,--all will soon pass and be done. And is there a
trouble or hardship we have yet surmounted for Christ's sake that
does not seem sweet to look back on? Then, come what likes, let us
face it; or, if we be overwhelmed, let us be overwhelmed with
undaunted faces looking in the right direction. By the mercy of God
may we be saved; and if saved how splendid it will be--no trouble,
no trial, no indigestible beef and brick-tea: everything _better
than_ we could wish it, and complete joy.

'All this is not imagination or rhetoric, but _really before_ us;
so, by the strength which Christ gives, let us go on to it. Pray
for me. I pray for you; and if we don't meet on earth, you know
the trysting-place, "_the right-hand side_."'

It can readily be seen that, under conditions of the kind sketched in this letter, time was not likely to hang heavily on his hands. Interviews like the following were held from time to time, and were not only encouraging and hopeful but reacted strongly upon his own heart and brain:--

'This afternoon (Sabbath, November 24), I met Toobshing Baier in
the dispensary of the London Mission Hospital. At first I could not
remember the man. The face I knew. After a time his name came out
without, I flatter myself, his perceiving that I was fishing for
it. He was most anxious to see the doctor's medical instruments and
appliances. After he had seen quite a number of these, he came to
my room, and we sat down for a talk which lasted nearly from 5 to 7
o'clock. He began by reading a part of the rough draft of the new
translation of St. Matthew in Mongolian, which happened to be lying
on my table. He suggested that in place of "prophet," a word which
has been transferred bodily, we should use _juoug beelikty_. He
also remarked that our translation of "the foal of an ass" was not
the thing, and gave the word he thought was right. He was
accompanied by a young lama, who agreed with him in this
suggestion. The lama seemed well up, read Mongolian as easily as
Toobshing himself, and when Toobshing gave the Thibetan word for
_juoug beelikty_, the lama looked over his shoulder, spied a book
on a shelf, took it, found the place at once, and showed me the
Thibetan and Mongolian side by side.

'Shortly after this Toobshing set himself up and proposed questions
and cases such as:

'"Is hell eternal?

'"Are all the heathen who have not heard the Gospel damned?

'"If a man lives without sin, is he damned?

'"If a man disregards Christ, but worships a supreme God in an
indefinite way, is he saved or not?

'"How can Christ save a man?

'"If a man prays to Christ to save him morn and even, but goes on
sinning meantime, how about him?

'"If a man prays for a thing, does he get it?

'"Do your unbelieving countrymen in England all go to hell?

'"Are there prophets now?

'"Is a new-born child a sinner?

'"Is one man then punished for another's fault?

'"Has anybody died, gone to heaven or hell, and come back to
report? [A Mongol has!]

'"Did Buddha live?" and so forth.

'[Answer, He lived, but did not do what is now said of him.]

'"If so, how do you know that the account of Christ is not made up
in the same way? Could not the disciples conspire to make the
Gospels?

'To these and all other questions I endeavoured to give proper
answers; and this, our most delightful and profitable talk, lasted
till there was just time for me to snatch a hasty meal before the
usual service at 7.30 P.M.'

Discussions of this nature were calculated to deepen thought and to promote heart-searching on the part of the Christian worker. They also illustrate some of the special difficulties which missionaries in China and India have to meet. With an elaborate religious ritual and literature, both Buddhist and Hindu can often, and do often, object against Christianity many of those, sometimes obvious, sometimes subtle, difficulties which the Gospel of Jesus Christ alone can remove, and which it removes by sanctifying and dominating the heart.

In February 1873 Gilmour visited Tientsin for the first time since he passed through it on his arrival in China. Here he took part in several readings, temperance meetings, and religious services. At one of the readings:--

'One joke happened. I was asked to give a recitation at a penny
reading for sailors. The piece was "The Execution of Montrose." I
got up in tragic style, said,

"Come hither, Evan Cameron,"

with the appropriate beckoning action, when a sailor in the middle
of the audience responded to the call, pressed his way out of the
passage, and was making for the platform. I could not stand this,
so I uttered a yell, and rushed off to hide myself, and it was some
time before the audience and speaker could compose themselves for a
fresh start Next day we were told that the unfortunate sailor was
beckoned to come hither from all parts of the ship.'