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Updated: June 10, 2025
There was still a difficulty with the American Board, and there was still in London some inability to grasp the exact bearing and the full needs of the situation. The first extract is given here simply because it illustrates the noble unselfishness of Gilmour's character, and the way in which he persistently refused to be stopped by hindrances that would have barred the road against most men.
This break in active work affords a convenient occasion for exhibiting in a still stronger light, by means of selections from his correspondence, some important sides of James Gilmour's character. He was a good correspondent and wrote freely to his relatives and friends.
"I'm very sorry I spoke, sure," pleaded she in extenuation of her offence, "I didn't mean any harm!" "Well, well, let it pass," replied the Captain, dismissing the painful point in dispute with a wave of his arm and continuing his description of the tragic end of the conqueror of Trafalgar, which Mrs Gilmour's interruption had somewhat confused in his mind. "We were just where he was shot, eh?"
"Well, yes, I think so," said she, smiling. "Good enough as far as such children can be, I suppose! I suppose I must not tell tales out of school, sure, about what a little girl said the other day when somebody, whom I won't name, went away?" "What, what?" inquired the old sailor, looking from one to the other. "Tell me what she said!" Nellie put her hand over Mrs Gilmour's mouth.
"Humph!" ejaculated the Captain, taking no notice of Mrs Gilmour's allusions to his original impression of the stout personage with whom Rover had, so to speak, entangled them into an acquaintance. "Perhaps some of that old port wine of mine would do the girl good, eh, ma'am?" "Not a doubt of it, she looks so pale and delicate," replied Mrs Gilmour.
But if some hungry Chinaman, standing by as I hold out the bread of life to his Mongol brother, seeks to eat of it, he shall have it, and be as welcome as the other. The letter to the children referred to in Mr. Parker's report is a fitting description of James Gilmour's life, and he himself would have desired no other panegyric.
"No, never, ma'am," cried he, emphasising the assertion with a thump of his malacca cane that almost made a hole in Mrs Gilmour's best drawing- room carpet. "Not since I first joined the service at Portsmouth here, forty years ago, or more!"
A Chinese table was placed in the centre of Mr. Gilmour's room, and three wooden forms were placed round the table for the accommodation of the preacher and the Christians. Mr. Gilmour and I used to sit on chairs at the vacant side of the table. On the table stood two Chinese candlesticks, each surmounted by a Chinese candle.
The letters of this period have a very tender and sacred association for all who received them, since they reached England after the telegraphic tidings of James Gilmour's death had brought sorrow to his many friends.
Stiff march. Shatto at 11.35. Terrible march to Ching Ho at 3 P.M. Terrible march to Tê Sheng Mên. Home at 6.10. Prayer Meeting. Thanks be unto God for all His mercies. Early in 1885 Mr. Gilmour's heart was rejoiced by the tidings of the baptism of Boyinto, the Mongol to whom reference has been repeatedly made above.
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