James Gilmour, of Mongolia, the son of James Gilmour
and Elizabeth Pettigrew his wife, was born at Cathkin on
Monday, June 12, 1843. He was the third in a family
of six sons, all but one of whom grew up to manhood.
His father was in very comfortable circumstances, and
consequently James Gilmour never had the struggle with
poverty through which so many of his great countrymen
have had to pass. Cathkin, an estate of half a dozen
farms in the parish of Carmunnock, is only five miles from
Glasgow, and was owned by Humphrey Ewing Maclae,
a retired India merchant, who resided in the substantial
mansion-house on the estate. There were also the houses
of a few residents, and a smithy and wright's workshops,
for the convenience of the surrounding district. James
Gilmour's father was the occupant of the wright's shop, as
his father had been before him.
His brother John, one of three who have survived him,
has furnished the following interesting sketch of the family
life in which James Gilmour was trained, and to which he
owed so much of the charm and power which he manifested
in later years:—
'Our grandfather, Matthew Gilmour, combined the
trades of mason and wright, working himself at both as
occasion required; and our father, James Gilmour, continued
the combination in his time in a modified degree,
gradually discarding the mason trade and developing the
wright's. Grandmother (father's mother) was a woman
of authority, skill, and practical usefulness among the little
community in which she resided. In cases requiring
medical treatment, she was always in request; and in
order to obtain the lymph pure for the vaccination of
children she would take it herself direct from the cow.
She was also a neat and skilful needlewoman.
'Matthew Gilmour and his wife were people of strict
integrity and Christian living. They walked regularly
every Sunday the five miles to the Congregational Church
in Glasgow, though there were several places of worship
within two miles of their residence. I have often heard
the old residents of the steep and rough country road they
used to take for a short cut when nearing home tell how
impressed they have been by the sight of the worthy couple
and their family wending their way along in the dark
winter Sabbath evenings by the light of a hand-lantern.
Our parents continued the connection with the same body
of worshippers in Glasgow as long as they resided in Cathkin,
being members of Dr. Ralph Wardlaw's church. It
was under his earnest eloquence, and by his wise pastoral
care, we were trained.
'The distance of our home from the place of worship
did not admit of our attending as children any other than
the regular Sabbath services; but we were not neglected
in this respect at home, so far as it lay in our parents' ability
to help us. We regularly gathered around our mother's
knee, reading the impressive little stories found in such
illustrated booklets as the Teacher's Offering, the Child's
Companion, the Children's Missionary Record (Church of
Scotland), the Tract Magazine, and Watts' Divine Songs
for Children. These readings were always accompanied
with touching serious comments on them by mother,
which tended very considerably to impress the lessons
contained in them on our young hearts. I remember how
she used to add: "Wouldn't it be fine if some of you, when
you grow up, should be able to write such nice little stories
as these for children, and do some good in the world in
that way!" I have always had an idea that James' love of
contributing short articles from China and Mongolia to the
children's missionary magazines at home was due to these
early impressions instilled into his mind by his mother.
Father, too, on Sabbath evenings, generally placed the
"big" Bible (Scott and Henry's) on the table, and read
aloud the comments therein upon some portion of Scripture
for our edification and entertainment. During the winter
week-nights some part of the evening was often spent in
reading aloud popular books then current, such as Uncle
Tom's Cabin.
'Family worship, morning and evening, was also a most
regular and sacred observance in our house, and consisted
of first, asking a blessing; second, singing twelve lines
of a psalm or paraphrase, or a hymn from Wardlaw's
Hymn-book; third, reading a chapter from the Old Testament
in the mornings, and from the New in the evenings;
and fourth, prayer. The chapters read were taken day by
day in succession, and at the evening worship we read two
verses each all round. This proved rather a trying ordeal
for some of the apprentices, one or more of whom we
usually had boarding with us, or to a new servant-girl, as
their education in many cases had not been of too liberal
a description. But they soon got more proficient, and if it
led them to nothing higher, it was a good educational help.
These devotional exercises were not common in the district
in the mornings, and were apt to be broken in upon
by callers at the wright's shop; but that was never entertained
as an excuse for curtailing them. I suppose people
in the district got to know of the custom, and avoided
making their calls at a time when they would have to
wait some little while for attention. Our parents, however,
never allowed this practice or their religious inclinations to
obtrude on their neighbours; all was done most unassumingly
and humbly, as a matter of everyday course.
'Our maternal grandfather, John Pettigrew by name,
was a farmer and meal-miller on the estate of Cathkin,
and was considered a man of sterling worth and integrity.
Having had occasion to send his minister, the parson of
Carmunnock parish, some bags of oatmeal from his mill,
the minister suspected from some cause or other that he had
got short weight or measure. The worthy miller was rather
nettled at being thus impeached by his spiritual overseer,
and that same night proceeded to the manse with the
necessary articles required for determining the accuracy of
the minister's suspicions. When this was done, it was found
there remained something to the good, instead of a deficiency;
this the miller swung over his shoulder in a bag
and took back with him to the mill, as a lesson to the
crestfallen divine to be more careful in future about challenging
the integrity of his humble parishioner's transactions.
'While James was quite a child the family removed
to Glasgow, where our father entered into partnership
with his brother Alexander as timber merchants. During
this stay in Glasgow mother's health proved very unsatisfactory,
and latterly both she and father having been
prostrated and brought to death's door by a malignant
fever, it was decided to relinquish the partnership and
return to their former place in the country. James was
five years old at that time. When he was between seven
and eight he was sent with his older brothers to the new
Subscription School in Bushyhill, Cambuslang, a distance
of two miles. Here he remained till he was about twelve,
when he and I were sent to Gorbals Youths' School in
Greenside Street, Glasgow. We had thus five miles to go
morning and evening, but we had season-tickets for the
railway part of the distance, viz. between Rutherglen and
Glasgow. Thomas Neil was master of this school. We
were in the private room, rather a privileged place, compared
with the rest of the school, seeing we received the
personal attentions of Mr. Neil, and were almost free from
corporal punishment, which was not by any means the
case in the public rooms of the school—Mr. Neil being, I
was going to say, a terror to evildoers, but he was in fact a
terror to all kinds of doers, from the excitability of his
temper and general sternness.
'Here James usually kept the first or second place in
the class, which was a large one; and if he happened to be
turned to the bottom (an event which occurred pretty often
to all the members of the class with Mr. Neil), he would
determinedly endeavour to stifle a tearful little "cry," thus
demonstrating the state of his feelings at being so abased.
But he never remained long at the bottom; like a cork
sunk in water, he would rise at the first opportunity to his
natural level at the top of the class. It was because of his
diligence and success in his classes while at this school, I
suppose, more than from any definite idea of what career
he might follow in the future, that after leaving he was
allowed to prosecute his studies at the Glasgow High
School, where he gained many prizes, and fully justified
his parents' decision of allowing him to go on with his
studies instead of taking him away to a trade. At home
he prosecuted his studies very untiringly both during session
and vacation.
'After entering the classes of the Glasgow University
he studied in an attic room, the window of which overlooked
an extensive and beautiful stretch of the Vale of Clyde. I
remember feeling compassion for him sometimes as he sat
at this window, knowing what an act of self-denial it must
have been to one so boisterous and full of fun as he was to
see us, after our work was over of an evening, having a
jolly game at rounders, or something of that sort, while he
had to sit poring over his books.
'James was not a serious, melancholy student; he was
indeed the very opposite of that when his little intervals of
recreation occurred. During the day he would be out about
the workshop and saw-mill, giving each in turn a poking
and joking at times very tormenting to the recipients.
If we had any little infirmity or weakness, he was sure to
enlarge upon it and make us try to amend it, assuming
the rôle and aspect of a drill-sergeant for the time being.
He used to have the mid-finger of the right hand extended
in such a way that he could nip and slap you with it
very painfully. He used this finger constantly to pound
and drill his comrades, all being done of course in the height
of glee, frolic, and good-humour. This finger, no doubt by
the unlawful use to which he put it, at one time developed
a painful tumour, to the delight of those who were in the
habit of receiving punishment from it. James pulled a
long face, and acknowledged that it was a punishment
sent him for using the finger in so mischievous a manner.
'There was a pond or dam in connection with the sawmill.
In this James was wont to practise the art of
swimming. I remember he devised a plan of increasing
his power of stroke in the water. He made four oval pieces
of wood rather larger than his hands and feet, tacking straps
on one side, so that his hands and feet would slip tightly
into them. But my recollection is that they were soon discarded
as an unsuitable addition to his natural resources.
He was fond of hunting after geological specimens, getting
the local blacksmith to make him a pocket hammer to take
with him on his rambles for that purpose. He seldom cared
for company in these wanderings among the mountains,
glens, and woods of his native place and country. He
would start early in the morning, and accomplish feats of
walking and climbing during the course of a day. Indeed,
none of his brothers ever thought of asking James to go
with them in their little holiday trips, knowing that anything
not the conception of his own fancy was but very
rarely acceptable to him; and he was never one who would
pander to your gratification merely to please you.
'James was fond of boating. Once he hired a small
skiff near the suspension-bridge at Glasgow Green, and proceeded
with it up the river. Having gone a good way up,
the idea appears to have taken him to endeavour to get the
whole way to Hamilton, where, father having retired from
business in 1866, our parents were now residing. This
proved to be a very arduous task, as in a great many
places on that part of the Clyde there is not depth of
water to carry a boat. He managed, however, to accomplish
the task by divesting himself of jacket, stockings,
and shoes, and pulling the boat over all such shallow
and rocky places (including the weir at Blantyre Mills,
where the renowned African missionary and explorer, Dr.
Livingstone, worked in his boyhood), until he reached the
bridge on the river between Hamilton and Motherwell, a
distance of eleven miles or more from Glasgow in a straight
line, and much more following the numerous bends of the
river. Here he made the boat secure and proceeded home,
a distance of a mile, very tired and ravenously hungry. The
great drawback to his satisfaction in this feat was his fear
of the displeasure the boat-owner might feel at his not
having returned the same night, and the rough usage to
which he had subjected the boat in hauling it over the
rocky places. He was much delighted, when he arrived
with the boat down the river during the day, to find that
the man was rather pleased than otherwise at his plucky
exploit, telling him that he only remembered it being
attempted once before.
'During part of the time James attended college at
Glasgow University, the classes were at so early an hour
that he could not take advantage of the railway, and so had
to walk in the whole way. This was an anxious time for
his mother, who was ever most particular in seeing to the
household duties herself, and always careful that her children
should have a substantial breakfast when they went from
home. I remember some of those winter mornings. Amidst
the bustle of making and partaking of an early breakfast so
as to be on the road in time, mother would press him to
partake more liberally of something she had thoughtfully
prepared for him; he would ejaculate: "Can't take it—no
time!" and if she still insisted he would add in a solemn
manner: "Mother, what if the door should be shut when I
get there?" which, being understood by her as a scriptural
quotation, was sufficient to quench her solicitations.
'To avoid the worry of getting up so early, it was decided
after a time that he should take advantage of an unlet
three or four apartment house in a tenement which belonged
to father in Cumberland Street, Glasgow. So a couple
of chairs, table, bed, and some cooking-utensils were got
together, and James entered into possession, cooking his
own breakfast, and getting his other meals there or outside
as his fancy or inclination prompted. Here I think he
enjoyed himself very much. He had plenty of quiet time for
study, and he could roam about the city and suburbs for
experience, recreation, and instruction, visiting mills and
other large manufacturing industries as he was inclined.
'After our parents had removed to Hamilton, James took
lodgings in George Street, a regular students' resort when
the old college was in the High Street. It is now removed
to the magnificent pile of buildings at Gilmorehill, in the
western district of the city. The site of the old one in the
High Street which James attended is now occupied by the
North British and Glasgow and South-Western Railway
Companies.'
James Gilmour left England to begin his Mongolian life-work
in February 1870, and then commenced keeping a
diary, from which we shall often quote, and which he carefully
continued amid, oftentimes, circumstances of the
greatest difficulty until his death. He gives the following
reasons for this practice at the time when he was living in
a Mongol tent learning the language, hundreds of miles
away from his nearest fellow-worker:—
'I think it a special duty to my friends, specially my
mother, to keep this diary, and to be particular in adding
my state of mind in addition to my mere outward circumstances.
In my present isolated position, which may be
more isolated soon, any accident might happen at any
moment, after which I could not send home a letter, and I
think that by keeping my diary punctually and fully my
friends might have the melancholy satisfaction of following
me to the grave, as it were, through my writing.'
In the record of his first outward voyage he included
a sketch of his early life, which we briefly reproduce here,
as the correlative and complement of the picture outlined
by his brother:—
'The earliest that I can remember of my life is the
portion that was spent in Glasgow, before I came with my
parents out to the country. Of this time I have only a
vague recollection. Then followed a number of years not
very eventful beyond the general lot of the years of childhood.
One circumstance of these years often comes up
to my mind. One Sabbath all were at church except the
servant, Aggie Leitch, and myself. She took down an old
copy of Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress, with rude plates, and
by the help of the pictures was explaining the whole book
to me. I had not heard any of it before, and was deeply
interested. We had just got as far as the terrible doings
of Giant Despair and the horrors of Doubting Castle, when
all at once, without warning, there came a terrible knock
at our front door. I really thought the giant was upon
us. It was some wayfaring man asking the way or something,
but the terror I felt has made an indelible impression
on me.
'When of the approved age I went to school, wondering
whether I should ever be able to learn and do as others
did. I was very nervous and much afraid, and wrought so
hard and was so ably superintended by my mother that I
made rapid progress, and was put from one class to another
with delightful rapidity. I was dreadfully jealous of any
one who was a good scholar like myself, and to have any
one above me in class annoyed me to such a degree that I
could not play cheerfully with him.
'The date of my going to college was, I think, the
November of the year 1862, so that my first session at
Glasgow University was 1862-63. The classes I took
were junior Latin and junior Greek. In Latin I got about
the twelfth prize, and in Greek I think the third. The
summer I spent partly in study, partly in helping my father
in his trade of a wright and joiner.
'During 1863 and 1864 I lived in Glasgow, and worked
very hard, taking the first prize in middle Greek and a
prize in senior Latin, as well as a prize for private work
in Greek, and another for the same kind of work in Latin.
This last I was specially proud of, as in it I beat the two
best fellows in the Latin class. Next session (1864-65) I
took a prize in senior Greek. I got nothing in the logic,
but in moral philosophy in 1865 I was one of those who
took an active part in the rebellion against Dr. Fleming,
who, though he was entitled to the full retiring pension,
preferred to remain on as professor, taking the fees and
appointing a student to do the work. We made a stand
against this, and were able to bring him out to his work;
but it was too much for him, and he died in harness, as he
had wished.
'In English literature I made no appearance in the
pieces noted by the students, but came out second in the
competitive examination, which of course astonished a
good deal some of the noisy men who had answered so
much in the class and yet knew so little. I was really
proud of this prize, as I was sure it was honestly won, and
as I also felt that from my position in class I failed to get
credit for anything like what I knew. This session I went
in for the classical and philosophy parts of the degree, and
got them. I enjoyed a happy week after it was known
that I had passed; and the next thing I had to look forward
to was going to the Theological Hall of the Congregational
Church of Scotland, which met in Edinburgh
in the beginning of May. The session at Edinburgh I
enjoyed very much. I had not too much work, and used
at odd times to take long walks and go long excursions.
I was often on the heights, and about Leith and Portobello.'
The Rev. John Paterson of Airdrie, N.B., Gilmour's
most intimate college friend at Glasgow, thus records his
recollections of what he was in those days:—
'I first made James Gilmour's acquaintance in the
winter session of 1864-5 at Glasgow University. He came
to college with the reputation of being a good linguist.
This reputation was soon confirmed by distinction in his
classes, especially in Latin and Greek. Though his advantages
had been superior to most of us, and his mental
calibre was of a high order, he was always humble, utterly
devoid of pride or vanity. No doubt he was firm as a rock
on any question of conviction, but he was tender in the
extreme, and full of sympathy with the struggling. He
was such a strong man all round that he could afford to
give every one justice, and such a gentleman that he could
not but be considerate. One day a country student through
sheer nervousness missed a class question in the Junior
Humanity, though the answer was on his tongue: the
answering of such a question would have brought any man
to the front, and with a sad heart he told his experience to
Gilmour, whose look of sympathy is remembered to this
day. He always seemed anxious to be useful, and he succeeded.
During our second session, a brother of mine
married a cousin of his, and this union led to a closer
intimacy between us, and in future sessions we lodged
together.
'Throughout his college career Gilmour was a very
hard-working student; his patience, perseverance, and
powers of application were marvellous; and yet, as a rule,
he was bright and cheerful, able in a twinkling to throw off
the cares of work, and enter with zest into the topics of the
day. He had a keen appreciation of the humorous side of
things, and his merry laugh did one good. Altogether he
was a delightful companion, and was held in universal
esteem. One of Gilmour's leading thoughts was unquestionably
the unspeakable value of time, and this intensified
with years. There was not a shred of indolence in his
nature; it may be truthfully said that he never wilfully
lost an hour. Even when the college work was uncongenial,
he never scamped it, but mastered the subject.
He could not brook the idea of skimming a subject merely
to pass an examination, and there were few men of his
time with such wide and accurate knowledge.
'Unlike many of his fellows, he did not relax his
energies in summer. During the recess he might have
been seen wending his way from the old home at Cathkin
to the college library, and returning laden with books.
His superior scholarship secured for him excellent certificates
and many prizes, both for summer and winter work,
and it was noticeable that he shone most in written examinations.
On one occasion, in the Moral Philosophy class,
which then suffered from the failing health of the professor,
the teacher pro tem. appended, as a criticism of an
essay of Gilmour's on Utilitarianism, the words, "Wants
thoroughness." This was a problem to the diligent student,
who tackled his critic at the end of the hour, and apparently
had the best of the argument; for he told me afterwards
that he had puzzled the judge to explain his own verdict.
There was a strong vein of combativeness in him; he liked
to try his strength, both mentally and physically, with
others; and it was no child's play to wrestle with him in
either sense, though he never harboured ill-feeling. He had
the advantage of being in easy circumstances, but was
severely economical, wasting nothing. He had quite a horror
of intoxicating drinks. On one occasion, perhaps for reasons
of hospitality, some beer had found its way into our room:
he quietly lifted the window and poured the dangerous
liquid on the street, saying, "Better on God's earth than in
His image."
'As the close of his career in Glasgow drew near, some
of us could see that all through he had been preparing for
some great work on which the whole ambition of his life
was set. He always shrank from speaking about himself,
and in those days was not in the habit of obtruding sacred
things on his fellow-students. His views on personal dealing
then were changing, and became very decided in after
years. Earnest, honest, faithful to his convictions, as a
student he endeavoured to influence others for good more
by the silent eloquence of a holy life than by definite
exhortations, and I feel sure his power over some of us was
all the greater on that account. When it became known
that Gilmour intended to be a foreign missionary, there
was not a little surprise expressed, especially among rival
fellow-students—men who had competed with him to
their cost. The moral effect of such a distinguished scholar
giving his life for Christ among the heathen was very
great indeed. To me his resolve to go abroad, though it
induced a painful separation, proved an unspeakable blessing.
The reserve which had so long prevailed between
us on sacred things began to give way, and much of our
correspondence during his residence at Cheshunt College
was of a religious turn, though still more theological than
practical.
'The last evening we spent together before he left for
China can never be forgotten. We parted on Bothwell
Bridge. We had walked from the village without speaking a
word, burdened with the sorrow of separation. As we shook
hands, he said with intense earnestness, "Paterson, let us
keep close to Christ." He knew Him and loved Him much
better than I did then; but about nine years ago, after
hearing good news from me, he wrote to say that for
twelve years he had prayed for me every day, and now
praised God for the answer.'
In the diary from which we have already quoted Gilmour
thus concludes the sketch of his education:—
'Near the close of the session of 1867 I opened negotiations
with the London Missionary Society, the consequence
of which was that I was removed to Cheshunt College in
September of that same year. Here (1867-1868) a new
experience awaited me—resident college life. At Glasgow
we dined out, presented ourselves at classes only, and did
with ourselves whatever we liked in the interval. At
Cheshunt it was different. All the students live in the
buildings of the college, which can accommodate forty.
Of course I felt a little strange at first, and even long after
had serious doubts as to the settlement of the question,
Which is better, life in or out of college? The lectures, as
a rule, were all in the forenoon.
'The summer vacation I spent in studying for the Soper
scholarship, value twenty pounds, which was to be bestowed
after examination.
'I commenced the 1868 and 1869 session at Cheshunt,
very busily, and in addition to the class work and the Soper
work, read some books which gave almost a new turn to my
mind and my ideas of pastoral or missionary life. These
books were James's Earnest Ministry, Baxter's Reformed
Pastor, and some of Bunyan's works, which, through God's
blessing, affected me very much for good.
'The Soper examination should have come off before
Christmas, but it did not, so that I remained over Christmas
at Cheshunt, grinding away as hard as I could. I was
longing eagerly for the time when the examination would
be over, that I might the more earnestly devote myself to
the work of preaching and evangelising. Well, the
examination came and passed off satisfactorily, and I got
the twenty pounds.
'Now was the decisive point. Now had I come to
another period, when there was an opportunity of going on
a new tack; but I found myself tempted to seek after
another honour, the first prize in Cheshunt College. In my
first session I had got the second only, and now I had an
opportunity of trying for the first. It was a temptation
indeed, but God triumphed. I looked back on my life,
and saw how often I had been tempted on from one thing
to another, after I had resolved that I would leave my time
more free and at my disposal for God, but always was I
tempted on. So now I made a stand, threw ambition to
the winds, and set to reading my Bible in good earnest.
I made it my chief study during the last three months of
my residence at Cheshunt, and I look back upon that
period of my stay there as the most profitable I had.
'In September, 1869, I entered the missionary seminary
at Highgate, and also studied Chinese in London with
Professor Summers. I went home again at Christmas, and
on returning to London learned that I could go to China as
soon as I liked. I said I would go as soon as the necessary
arrangements could be made, and February 22, 1870,
was fixed upon as the date of my departure.'
In this brief and rapid manner James Gilmour sketched,
with not a few most characteristic touches, the first twenty-six
years of his life. He enables us to see the quick, merry,
receptive lad, developing, after a brilliant collegiate course
and a careful training in theology and in practical Christian
life, into the strong, resolute missionary. No one who
knew him during this time failed to perceive the force of
his character and the charm of his personality. The
writer first came under his influence during his second
session at Cheshunt. He was then in the prime of his early
manhood, in the full possession of physical and intellectual
vigour, and his soul was aflame with love to the Saviour
and to the perishing heathen.
He retained, moreover, the love of fun, the high spirits,
the keen enjoyment of a good joke, and the constant readiness
for an argument upon any subject under the sun,
which had endeared him to his comrades in Glasgow.
Every Cheshunt man of that day readily recalls, and rejoices
as he does so, the memory of his good-natured practical
joking, of his racy and pointed speeches upon all
momentous 'house questions,' of his power as a reciter, and
of his glowing personal piety. To know him even slightly
was to respect him; and to enter at all into sympathy
with him was to love him as long as life lasted.
There are many reminiscences of those Cheshunt days,
from which we can cull only a sufficient number to enable
the reader to understand what manner of man he then was.
These are drawn from the letters of his fellow-students,
and from their recollections of his sayings and doings.
'How well,' writes one, 'I remember his coming to Cheshunt!
I was acting-senior at the opening of that session,
and, according to custom with the new men, went to his
room to shake hands with him. He said, "Who are you?"
I told him. "What do you want?" I told him I had
come according to custom to welcome him, and held out
my hand, whereupon he put his hands behind him and
said, "Time eno' to shake hands when we've quarrelled.
But where do you live?" "Immediately over your head."
"Then look here," said he, "don't make a row;" and so we
parted. Dear old fellow! his memory makes life richer.'
Another writes: 'He was a good elocutionist. He was
also a keen debater, and so fond of argument that he would
not hesitate to take opposite ground to his own cherished
convictions and beliefs, simply for the sake of provoking
discussion. So earnestly and logically (for he was a good
dialectician) would he carry on the discussion that it was
difficult to believe that he did not really hold the opinions
for which he so pertinaciously contended. Sometimes
this habit of mind reacted very amusingly upon himself, as
the following will show. The subject fixed one Friday
evening for debate in the discussion class was, "Have
animals souls?" Though fully accepting the common
belief that they have not, Gilmour, purely for the sake of
argument, took the affirmative, and with such enthusiasm
pleaded his cause that he brought himself to believe, as he
told me afterwards, that animals have souls.'
'At no time during his residence at Cheshunt could
there have been any doubt as to Gilmour's piety or consecration
to the great work of his future life; but during the
second year it must have been manifest to all who knew
him intimately that there was a deepening and broadening
of his spiritual life. As I look back over the interval of
years I can see that it was then he began to reach the
high-water mark in Christian life and devotion which was
so steadily maintained throughout his career in China and
Mongolia. An apostolic passion for the salvation of his
fellow-men took hold upon him. He would go out in the
evening, mostly alone, and conduct short open-air services
at Flamstead End, among the cottagers near Cheshunt
railway station; seize opportunities of speaking to labourers
working by the roadside or in the field through which
he might be passing. He became very solicitous for the
conversion of friends in Scotland, and would come to
my study and ask me to kneel and pray with him that
God's grace might be manifested to them, and that His
blessing might rest upon letters which he had written and
was sending to them. The ordinary style of preaching
towards which students usually aspire lost its attractions
for him, and his sermons assumed more and more the
character of earnest exhortations, and addresses to the
unconverted. When he knew what was to be his field of
labour after his college course was over, how solicitous he
was to go out fully prepared and fitted in spiritual equipment!
The needs of the perishing heathen were very real
and weighed heavily upon his heart, and he was very
anxious to win volunteers among his college friends for this
all-important work. How he longed and prayed for China's
perishing millions only his most intimate friends know.'
The Rev. H. R. Reynolds, D.D., for the past thirty years
the honoured President of Cheshunt College, has recalled
some of his early recollections of James Gilmour.
'Though brusque and outspoken in manner, he was in
many respects reserved and shy, and very slow to show or
accept confidence. We all felt, however, that underneath
a canny demeanour there was burning a very intense
enthusiasm, and that a character of marked features was
already formed, and would only develop along certain
lines, settled, but not as yet fully disclosed to others.
There was not a particle of make-believe in his composition.
He shrank from praise, and was obviously
anxious not to appear more reverential or wise or devoted
than he knew himself to be. He even used, because it was
natural to him, a rugged style of expression when speaking
of things or persons or institutions which for the most part
uplift our diction and generally induce us to adorn or make
careful selection of our vocabulary. He rapped out expressions
which might have suggested carelessness or irreverence
or suppressed doubt, but I soon found that there was
an intense fire of evangelistic zeal and an almost stormy
enthusiasm for the conversion of souls to Christ.
'Some special services were held at Cheshunt Street
Chapel, in which Gilmour took part, and the part was at
least as demonstrative, perhaps more so, except the music,
as that of the modern Salvation Army ensign or commissioner.
He started from the chapel entrance, on the
Sunday evening, when considerable numbers were as usual
parading the country street, and bare-headed approached
every passer-by with some piquant, vigorous inquiry, or
message or warning. In the main, his bold summons was,
"Do you believe on the Lord Jesus Christ?" The entire
population in the thoroughfare was stirred, and uncomplimentary
jeers mingled with some awe-struck impressions
that were then produced.
'During the year 1869 he had those interviews with the
late Mrs. Swan, of Edinburgh, which led to his choice by
the London Missionary Society, at her instance, to reopen
the long-suspended mission in Mongolia. For a while he
remained in Peking preparing himself by familiarity with
the people, their ideas, their language, and religion, for
those almost historic bursts into the great desert and across
the caravan routes to the huge fairs, and the renowned
temples, to the living lamas and famous shrines of the
nomadic Mongols, incessantly acting the part of travelling
Hakim, itinerant book vendor, and fiery preacher of the
Gospel of Christ.'
In the year 1869 the policy of the London Missionary
Society in the education of its students was very different
from that which now obtains. After a course at a theological
college of two, three, or four years, according to the
literary attainments of the man at the time of his acceptance
by the Directors, he was sent to the institution at Highgate
designed to give training suitable for the special requirements
of the embryo missionaries. In theory this institution
was admirable; in practice Gilmour and others, much
as they esteemed the principal, the Rev. J. Wardlaw, found
it—or thought they found it—very largely a waste of time.
The year 1869 saw the beginning of an investigation
which ended in closing the missionary college at Highgate,
and in the steps that led to the enquiry Gilmour took a
leading part. One of his contemporaries at Highgate has
thus described his influence upon both his fellow-students
and the institution to which they belonged.
'I first met Gilmour at Farquhar House, Highgate, the
London Missionary Society's Institution, where in those
days missionary students spent their last six months before
going to the field. Some spent the time in studying the
elements of the language of the land to which they were
going; others attended University College Hospital, for the
purpose of getting a little medical knowledge; while all tried
to make themselves acquainted with the history of the people
among whom they were to labour. Courses of special
missionary lectures, which were highly valued by the men,
were delivered by the Rev. J., afterwards Dr., Wardlaw.
'Some of us were at Highgate a day or two before
Gilmour came up from Scotland; and as his fame, or
rather reports about him, had reached us from Cheshunt
College, we were all very anxious to meet with him.
When he did arrive we were, I think, all more or less disappointed,
and yet I doubt if any of us could have told why,
except that he was not the man we had pictured from the
reports we had heard. When he walked quietly into the
library I, for one, could hardly believe that the almost boyish-looking,
open-faced, bright-eyed young man was really
Gilmour. His dress made him appear even more youthful
than he was, while there was an aspect of good humour about
his face and a glance of his eye revealing any amount of fun
and frolic. A great writer has said: "Nature has written a
letter of credit on some men's faces, which is honoured almost
wherever presented." James Gilmour's was a face on which
Nature had written no ordinary letter of credit; for there
was a sense in which one might very truly have said that
his "face was his fortune." Honesty, good nature, and true
manliness were so stamped upon every feature and line of
it, that you had only to see him to feel that he was one of
God's noblest works, and to be drawn to the man as by a
magnetic influence.
'Gilmour was a puzzle to most of our fellow-students,
and they could not quite make him out. By some he was:
regarded as very eccentric, which is another way of saying
that he preserved a very marked individuality, and always
had the courage of his convictions. They did not seem
to understand how so much playfulness and piety, fervour
and frolicsomeness could dwell in the same person. Long
before we parted, however, in January, 1870, I feel certain
that all had come to have not only a profound respect, but
also a real heart-love for "dear old Gillie"!
'The night before Gilmour left Highgate for the Christmas
vacation we were all in his study, when someone, remarking
on the risk he was running in going home to Scotland
by sea, instead of by train, said in a jocular way: "Suppose
the steamer is wrecked and you get drowned, to whom do
you leave your books, Gilmour?" "Yes," he said at once,
"that is well thought of. Come along, you fellows, and
pick out the books you would like to keep in memory of
me, if I never return." Of course we only laughed and
said it was all a joke; but he said, "It is no joke with me,
I mean what I say;" and so he did. He was in dead earnest,
and nothing would satisfy him but that each should pick
out the book or books he would like to have if he never
returned. He then turned to me and said: "Now, I
leave the rest to your care, and if I never return I want
all on this shelf sent to my father and mother, and you
can do anything you like with the rest." Had anyone else
acted in that way, we should have certainly suspected that
he had gone "queer"; but it was Gilmour, and we all
understood the straight, matter-of-fact way in which he
went about everything he did.
'Through a misunderstanding, as we afterwards discovered,
the students at Highgate came into collision with
the Directors of the Society over the studies to be prosecuted.
Additional classes were arranged, and these some
of us declined to attend. This act of rebellion, as it was
regarded at the Mission House, had to be put down with
a firm hand, and a special meeting of the Board of
Directors was called to deal with us.
'The night before we were to meet the Board we met
in Gilmour's study, to settle what we were to say to the
Directors when we met them. One only of our number,
when he saw that there was likely to be a rather serious
interchange of ideas between us and the Directors, caved
in completely, and would have nothing further to do with
our resistance.
'When we met the Board Gilmour made his defence in
his frank, straightforward way, and, I am afraid, upset some
of the Directors very much by his plain speaking. They
did not know the man, and regarded him as one of the
ringleaders in rebellion, and, of course, were not in the
humour to do him justice. But when we met the subcommittee
appointed to deal with us the misunderstanding
came to an end, and they admitted that we had been in the
right in objecting to the extra classes thus imposed.'
During these last months in England James Gilmour
paid much earnest heed to the culture of his soul. Just
before he sailed for China, he set forth his inner experience
and his keen sense of the difficulties of the course upon
which he was embarking in the following letter to a Cheshunt
friend:—
'Companions I can scarcely hope to meet, and the feeling
of being alone comes over me till I think of Christ and
His blessed promise, "Lo, I am with you alway, even to the
end of the world." No one who does not go away, leaving all
and going alone, can feel the force of this promise; and
when I begin to feel my heart threatening to go down, I
betake myself to this companionship, and, thank God, I
have felt the blessedness of this promise rushing over me
repeatedly when I knelt down and spoke to Jesus as a
present companion, from whom I am sure to find sympathy.
I have felt a tingle of delight thrilling over me as I felt His
presence, and thought that wherever I may go He is still
with me. I have once or twice lately felt a melting sweetness
in the name of Jesus as I spoke to Him and told Him
my trouble. Yes, and the trouble went away, and I arose
all right. Is it not blessed of Christ to care so much for us
poor feeble men, so sinful and so careless about honouring
Him? the moment we come to Him He is ready with His
consolations for us!
'I have been thinking lately over some of the inducements
we have to live for Christ, and to confess Him
and preach Him before men, not conferring with flesh and
blood. Why should we be trammelled by the opinions
and customs of men? Why should we care what men say
of us? Salvation and damnation are realities, Christ is a
reality, Eternity is a reality, and we shall soon be there in
reality, and time shall soon be finished; and from our stand
in eternity we shall look back on what we did in time, and
what shall we think of it? Shall we be able to understand
why we were afraid to speak to this man or that woman
about salvation? Shall we be able to understand how we
were ashamed to do what we knew was a Christian duty
before one whom we knew to be a mocker at religion?
Our cowardice shall seem small to us then. Let us now
measure our actions by the standard of that scene, let us
now look upon the things of time in the light of eternity,
and we shall see them better as they are, and live more as
we shall wish then we had done. It is not too late. We
can secure yet what remains of our life. The present still
is ours. Let us use it. It may be that we can't be great,
let us be good; if we can't shine as great lights, let us
make our light shine as God has made it to shine. Let us
live lives as in the presence of Christ, anxious for His
approval, and glad to take the condemnation of the world,
and of Christ's professed servants even, if we get the commendation
of angels and our Master. The "well done!" is
to the faithful servant—to the faithful, not the great. Let
us watch and pray that we may be faithful. It is a little
hard to be this, and to care little for man.
'Yesterday afternoon I preached here at home, and took
the most earnest sermon I had, "Behold, I stand at the door
and knock." Well, in doing so, I thought I was acting quite
independently of man; and even after I had preached it,
thought I would not care for man. But one man praised it,
and I felt pleased, and, as might then be expected, felt a little
hurt when a friend called this morning and told me that
what I gave them yesterday was no sermon at all. Now, if
I had been regarding Christ alone, I would not have been
moved by either the one or the other of these criticisms;
and I wish that I could get above this sort of thing, and
get beyond the attempt at pleasing men at all. Why
should we confer with men?'
James Gilmour was ordained as a missionary to Mongolia
in Augustine Chapel, Edinburgh, on February 10,
1870, and, in accordance with Nonconformist custom, he
made a statement about the development of his religious
life from which we take the following extract:—
'My conversion took place after I had begun to attend
the Arts course in the University of Glasgow. I had gone
to college with no definite aim as to preparing for a profession;
an opportunity was offered me of attending classes,
and I embraced it gladly, confident that whatever training
or knowledge I might there acquire would prove serviceable
to me afterwards in some way or other.
'After I became satisfied that I had found the "way of
life," I decided to tell others of that way, and felt that I lay
under responsibility to do what I could to extend Christ's
kingdom. Among other plans of usefulness that suggested
themselves to me was that of entering the ministry. But,
in my opinion, there were two things that everyone who
sought the office of the ministry should have, viz., an
experimental knowledge of the truth which it is the work
of the minister to preach, and a good education to help
him to do it; the former I believed I had, the latter I hoped
to obtain. So I quietly pursued the college course till I
entered on the last session, when, after prayerful consideration
and mature deliberation, I thought it my duty to offer
myself as a candidate for the ministry.
'Having decided as to the capacity in which I should
labour in Christ's kingdom, the next thing which occupied
my serious attention was the locality where I should labour.
Occasionally before I had thought of the relative claims
of the home and foreign fields, but during the summer,
session in Edinburgh I thought the matter out, and decided
for the mission field; even on the low ground of common
sense I seemed to be called to be a missionary. Is the
kingdom a harvest field? Then I thought it reasonable
that I should seek to work where the work was most abundant
and the workers fewest. Labourers say they are overtaxed
at home; what then must be the case abroad, where
there are wide stretching plains already white to harvest,
with scarcely here and there a solitary reaper? To me the
soul of an Indian seemed as precious as the soul of an
Englishman, and the Gospel as much for the Chinese as
for the European; and as the band of missionaries was few
compared with the company of home ministers, it seemed
to me clearly to be my duty to go abroad.
'But I go out as a missionary not that I may follow the
dictates of common sense, but that I may obey that command
of Christ, "Go into all the world and preach." He
who said "preach," said also, "Go ye into and preach," and
what Christ hath joined together let not man put asunder.
'This command seems to me to be strictly a missionary
injunction, and, as far as I can see, those to whom it was first
delivered regarded it in that light, so that, apart altogether
from choice and other lower reasons, my going forth is a
matter of obedience to a plain command; and in place of
seeking to assign a reason for going abroad, I would prefer
to say that I have failed to discover any reason why I
should stay at home.'
On February 22, 1870, James Gilmour embarked at
Liverpool upon the steamship Diomed, and thus fairly
started on the work of his life. Among his extant correspondence
is a long letter which describes the voyage
to China, and the way in which he utilised the opportunities
it afforded for trying to do his Master's will.
'We sailed from Liverpool, and my father saw me off.
The passengers were few—nine or ten. We had a cabin
each. There was a Wesleyan medical missionary named
Hardey going out to Hankow. We soon drew together.
The doctor of the ship was a young fellow from Greenock,
and had been at Glasgow College when I was there last.
Among the 1,200 we had not stumbled upon each other.
The married man was something or other in the Consular
service. A young lady passenger was the daughter of a
judge in China. A young man was going out to try his
fortune in China: his qualifications were some knowledge
of tea and a love of drink. Another decent young fellow
was going out to China as a tea-taster. Another young
fellow was going out to Australia viâ Singapore. Thus,
you see, I was the only parson on board; and as the ship's
company was High Church, and I a Dissenter, it may be
seen that we did not fit each other exactly. Some of the
passengers were so High Church that one of them told
me he thought we Dissenters were sunk more deeply in
error than the Papists.
'The captain was a sensible kind of rough seaman, and
I at once volunteered my services as chaplain, and was
accepted, though with some caution. He evidently thought
me too young to be trusted with a sermon; the Church of
England prayers I might read, and he put into my hands
a book with a sermon for any Sunday and holy-day
in the year. I took the book and said I would look
through it. The Bay of Biscay was calm when we crossed
it, but on Sunday morning we were tumbling about off the
Rock of Lisbon. As I could hardly keep my legs, I did
not think we should have had service; but we crowded into
the smoking-saloon (we were afraid to venture below, for
sickness), and I read prayers. Next Sunday I read a
sermon from the book. All the Sundays after that I gave
them my own, and, as I was under the impression that
they had not heard much plain preaching, did my best to
let them hear the gospel pure and simple. I half suspected
they did not quite like it. It was hinted to me that they
complained of my preaching. The next Sunday came,
and, under the impression it might be the last time I would
have the opportunity, I made the most earnest and direct
appeal to them I possibly could. I was not a little
thankful and astonished when, soon after, in place of being
asked to shut up, I was thanked for it, and assured it was
the best I had given them, and told that it was a waste
of, &c., &c., for me to go out as a missionary—I should have
stopped at home. After that I had no trouble with the
passengers, and we got on well together.
'As for the men, from captain to cabin-boy there were
about sixty. Among these was one earnest Christian
man, a German and a Baptist. He was a quarter-master.
He was a little peculiar in appearance, and spoke English
not quite smoothly. On one occasion, when some of the
passengers were laughing at something he had done and
said, the captain happened to pass, and, seeing what was
up, remarked that the man was a first-rate fellow—he never
caught him idle. If you except this man, the captain,
and the boy, the whole ship's company swore like troopers.
So universal was the vice that the men, I almost think,
were hardly aware that they did swear. I was puzzled.
Sometimes when I went out in the morning I would hear
a volley of oaths coming from the mouth of a man who
had been talking quite seriously with me over-night.
Few of the men came to the service, and as they would
not come to us we went to them. Hardey and I, usually
in the evenings, conducted short little services in the forecastle
as often as we thought desirable. We were always
well received and listened to respectfully. I think I may
say safely that all on board had repeated opportunities of
hearing the gospel as plainly as I could put it, and a good
many had something more than mere opportunities. After
it was dark I used to go out and get the men one by one,
as they sat in corners during their watch in the night. All
they had to do was to be within call when wanted, and
many a good long talk I have had with a good many of
them. Of course, my object in accosting them was religious
conversation, and this I usually succeeded in having;
but on many occasions, that we might be quite on a footing
of equality, I had in return to listen to their yarns. The
man on the look-out was a frequent victim. I was always
sure to find a man there, generally alone, and never asleep.
The man, also, was changed at regular intervals, so that I
knew exactly when I would find a fresh man. When I
talked to the look-out man, I used to keep a sharp lookout
myself, lest by distracting his attention I should get
him into trouble. Many a good hour have I stood at the
prow as we passed through the warm Indian Ocean, till
my clothes were wet with the dew of night; and then I
would find my way down to my cabin about midnight,
with my head so full of the ghost-stories I had just heard
that I was really afraid I might meet a real ghost coming
out of my cabin.'
