'1888 has been a tumultuous year. In December, at Ch'ao Yang, there was a sudden irruption of men and boys to learn the doctrine. Evening after evening we had from twenty to fifty people in our rooms to evening worship. We hardly knew how to account for it, but did all we could to teach as many as we could. The cold weather finally did much to stop the overcrowding, but there was good interest kept up among many till the end of the year.
'The baptisms for the year were, at Ta Chêng Tzŭ, two; Tá Ssŭ Kou, two; Ch'ao Yang, eight; total, twelve adults, all Chinese.
'One man has been put out, so that the numbers stand as follows: Ta Chêng Tzŭ, four; Tá Ssŭ Kou, three; Ch'ao Yang, nine; total, sixteen, all Chinese.
'Three adults, Chinese, were baptized ten days ago, and I hope to baptize two children next Sunday; but we have almost no promising adherents here at present. There are three entire families Christian, with Christian emblems on their door-posts; another family is Christian, but cannot fly the colours on the door-posts because the grandfather who has half the building is a heathen.
'In still another family, where only the husband is Christian, they have the Christian colours, but the family is heathen.
'My heart is set on reinforcements. Can they not be had? I had hoped Dr. Smith would have spent the winter with me, but he did not. All the grace needed has been given me abundantly, but I don't think there should be any more solitary work. I don't think it pays in any sense.
'In addition, it is almost time I had a change. My eyes are bad. Doctors hesitate over my heart, say it is weak, and that its condition would affect seriously an application for life assurance. This winter I have gone in for a cough, which is not a good thing at all, and it would be well for the continuity of the work that there should be a young man on the field.
'Don't be alarmed, though, and don't alarm my friends. The above is for your own private information and guidance. I still regard myself as in first-rate health.
'I am not satisfied that we seem drifting away from the Mongols. At present, though lots of Mongols are around, our work is all but entirely Chinese. I am still of opinion that our best way to reach them is from a Chinese basis. This may involve a matter of years ahead, and therefore it is that I am eager to see the future of the work provided for by being joined by a younger man or men.
'Meantime I am trying to follow very fully and very faithfully the leadings and indications of God. I have had times of sore spiritual conflict and times of much spiritual rest, and my prayer is that you and the Board may in all your arrangements and plans for Mongolia be fully guided by Him. Oh that His full blessing would descend richly on this district!'
Dr. Smith reached Mongolia in March 1889, and for the first time met his colleague. He has placed on record for use in this biography his account of that first meeting. On reaching Ch'ao Yang, Dr. Smith found that Mr. Gilmour was not there. 'I followed the innkeeper,' he writes, 'to see the spot where my devoted colleague had spent so many lonely hours. We came to a little outhouse, with a kind of little court in front of it, not many yards wide. The outer door was locked by means of a padlock; but the innkeeper soon found an entrance by simply lifting the door off its wooden hinges, and then we were in the anteroom or rather kitchen. In it was a built-in cooking-pan, an earthenware bowl, and a wooden stick resembling a Scotch porridge-stick; and some brushwood which had been brought in to be in readiness when he next arrived at that inn. One of the two rooms, which lay on each side of this ante-room, was locked, and we could not open it, but through the chinks of the door I could see abundant traces of Gilmour. It was specially refreshing to see some genuine English on one of the boxes; it was "Ferris, Bourne, & Co., Bristol," the people from whom he used to order his drugs. My servant and I decided to take up our quarters in the next room, which was evidently the servant's room. We soon managed to make ourselves very comfortable, and there was an unspeakable relief in at last being in a place which belonged to the London Mission, rented of course. We had to spend the Sunday there. Mr. Sun, the box-maker, soon came round, and seemed genuinely glad to see me, and offered to make all arrangements for the further stage of our journey. We then discharged our carts, and I sent with them my letters for home.
'After spending the Sunday in company with the Christians there, we set out on the Monday morning with a local carter for Ta Chêng Tzŭ, a distance of about twenty-three miles. We crossed a hilly and sparsely populated district, reminding me of some of the bleaker scenery in Scotland. On reaching the town we at once drove to the new private mission premises. It was a little house surrounded by a straw fence. Quite a crowd of rough-looking people followed us in. One of the doors had been stolen, and altogether it looked so unprotected that I decided to take up my quarters in a little Mongol inn, where Mr. Gilmour formerly lived. Next day I expected to meet Gilmour, and the two Christians there were fully expecting him. In the evening we had quite a levee; Li San and the other Christian, whom Gilmour used to call "Long Legs," sat drinking tea in my room for some time, and were very friendly; they were evidently trying to ingratiate themselves with me; I did not then know how disgracefully they had behaved to Gilmour, nor did I know the anxious business which was bringing Gilmour there at that time.
'Next day or the following, I forget exactly which, I was sitting in my room, when a young man arrived, my servant being out at the time. I could not make him out at first, not being able to understand what he said; but he had such an evident air about him that he had some kind of business with me that it at last dawned upon me that he must be Mr. Gilmour's servant, and this was at once confirmed on the arrival of Lin Seng, my servant. He had been sent on ahead to announce Gilmour's arrival. It had been blowing a dust-storm all day, and on that account I hardly expected Gilmour, but now there was no doubt.
'About four o'clock that afternoon Gilmour arrived, and I shall never forget that first meeting. I had pictured quite a different-looking man to myself. I saw a thin man of medium height, with a clean shaven face, got up in Chinese dress, much the same as the respectable shop-keepers in that part of the country wear. On his head was a cap lined with cat's fur. I was struck by the kindly but determined look on his face. He greeted me most cordially, and I remember he said, "I am glad to see you." He looked worn out and ill. I at once gave him his letters.
'After arranging his things and seeing his men comfortably settled and getting over his first interview with the Christians there, he came up to my room in order to spend the night with me. We sat to all hours of the morning, chatting about things at home, and about his boys, whom I had seen before leaving Scotland.
'For the next day he arranged the dreaded interview with Li San down at the mission premises. Gilmour warned me that it would be a long-winded affair, and wished me not to expect his return for a good number of hours. After waiting a long time I went down to see how the interview was progressing. Li San and Gilmour were sitting on the kang, in tailor fashion on each side of a low table, and Li San was singing hymns; but there was a strange look upon his face, as if he did not altogether feel like singing. Gilmour said to me in English that they had not come to business yet, and Gilmour was determined that Li San was to say the first word, so Gilmour invited him to sing hymn after hymn, and then I left. The whole idea seemed to be to get money out of Gilmour, and when he found that impossible he threatened to come down to Tientsin to accuse Gilmour to his missionary colleagues, of having broken his promise to give him employment. Gilmour had no recollection of having done so; he said to me that possibly one of his previous assistants may have on his own responsibility led Li San to form that idea.
'Long Legs was also dogging Gilmour for money, and altogether they worried him; but he settled up everything. The premises were resold, and as Gilmour put it, "it was the funeral of that little church." They were threatening to prevent our leaving the town, as there seemed some doubt in Gilmour's mind as to whether we would be able to get a cart; these fears were disappointed; Li San got a cart for us.'
Before Dr. Smith had passed many days in the society of Mr. Gilmour it became clear to the practised eye of the medical man that his colleague had been overstraining his health and strength. Notwithstanding his buoyancy and occasional high spirits all through his long years of work, James Gilmour had been subject to spells of severe depression. There are a very large number of brief entries in his diary to that effect. 'Felt blue to-day' is a frequent phrase, followed soon in the great majority of instances by words indicating a speedy recovery. Special events, that from time to time had a direct adverse influence upon his work, developed this state of mind rapidly and profoundly. The inevitable recall of Dr. Roberts, already described, is a case in point, and the diary at that season contains entries like these:
'April 26, 1888.—These last days have been full of blessing and peace in my own soul. I have been able to leave things at Ta Chêng Tzŭ;, and my colleagues all in God's hands.'
'May 7.—Downcast day. No one to prayer.'
'May 9.—In terrible darkness and tears for two days. Light broke over me at my stand to-day in the thought that Jesus was tempted forty days of the devil after His baptism, and that He felt forsaken on the cross.'
'May 27, Sunday.—Service, Romans xii. Present, four Christians. Great depression.'