A Christian Hero of the American War-with a brief sketch of the author 's conversion, or "From the Synagogue to the Cross”
Two or three times in my life, God in His mercy touched my heart; and twice before my conversion I was under deep conviction.
During the American War, I was surgeon in the United States Army, and after the Battle of Gettysburg there were many hundreds of wounded soldiers in the hospital, twenty-eight of whom had been wounded so severely that they required my services at once; some whose legs had to be amputated, some their arms, and others both their arm and leg. One of the latter was a boy who had been but three months in the service, and being too young for a soldier had enlisted as a drummer. When my assistant surgeon and one of my stewards wished to administer chloroform previous to the amputation, he turned his head aside and positively refused to receive it. When the steward told him that it was the doctor's orders, he said, "Send the doctor to me.”
When I came up to his bedside, I said: "Young man, why do you refuse chloroform? When I found you on the battlefield, you were so far gone that I thought it hardly worth while to pick you up; but when you opened those large blue eyes I thought you had a mother somewhere who might at that moment be thinking of her boy. I did not want you to die on the field, so I ordered you to be brought here; but you have now lost so much blood that you are too weak to endure an operation without chloroform. Therefore you had better let me give you some.”
He laid his hand on mine, and looking me in the face said, "Doctor, one Sunday afternoon in the Sunday school, when I was nine-and-a-half years old, I accepted the Lord Jesus Christ as my Savior. I learned to trust Him then. I have been trusting Him ever since, and I know I can trust Him now. He is my strength and my stay; He will support me while you amputate my arm and leg.”
I then asked him if he would allow me to give him a little brandy. Again he looked me in the face saying, "Doctor, when I was about five years old my mother knelt by my side with her arm around my neck and said, 'Charlie, I am now praying to the Lord Jesus that you may never know the taste of strong drink. Your dear father died a drunkard, went down to the drunkard's grave; and I promised God, if it was His will that you should grow up, that you should warn young men against the bitter cup.' I am now seventeen years old, but I have never tasted anything stronger than tea and coffee; and as I am, in all probability, about to go into the presence of my God, would you send me there smelling with brandy?”
The look that boy gave me I shall never forget. At that time I hated Jesus, but I respected that boy's loyalty to his Savior, and when I saw how he loved and trusted Him to the last, there was something that touched my heart, and I did for that boy what I had never done for any other soldier-I asked him if he wished to see his chaplain. "Oh yes sir!" was the answer.
When Chaplain R- came, he at once knew the boy from having often met him at the tent prayer meetings, and taking his hand, said, "Well, Charlie, I am sorry to see you in this sad condition.”
“Oh, I am all right, sir," he answered. "The doctor offered me chloroform, but I declined it, then he wished to give me brandy, which I also declined; and now, if my Savior calls me, I am ready, and can go to Him in my right mind.”
“You may not die, Charlie," said the chaplain; "but if the Lord should call you away, is there anything I can do for you after you are gone?”
“Chaplain, please put your hand under my pillow and take my little Bible, in which you will find my mother's address. Please send it to her, and write a letter, and tell her that since the day I left home I have never let a day pass without reading a portion of God's Word, and daily praying that God would bless my dear mother, no matter whether I was on the march, on the battlefield, or in the hospital.”
“Is there anything else that I can do for you, my lad?" said the chaplain.
“Yes, please write a letter to the superintendent of the Sands Street Sunday School, Brooklyn, New York, and tell him the kind words, many prayers, and good advise he gave me, I have never forgotten; they have followed me through all the dangers of battle, and now, in my dying hour, I ask my Savior. to bless my dear old superintendent; that is all.”
Turning towards me he said, "Now, Doctor, I am ready, and I promise you that I will not even groan while you take off my arm and leg if you will not offer me chloroform.”
I promised, but I had not the courage to take the knife in my hand to perform the operation without first going to the next room and taking a little stimulant to nerve myself to perform my duty. While cutting through the flesh, Charlie Coulson never groaned; but when I took the saw to separate the bone, the lad took the corner of his pillow in his mouth, and all that I could hear him utter was, "O Jesus, blessed Jesus, stand by me now!" He kept his promise, and never groaned.
That night I could not sleep, for whichever way I turned I saw those soft blue eyes, and when mine closed, the words, "Blessed Jesus, stand by me now," kept ringing in my ears. Between twelve and one o'clock, I left my bed and visited the hospital, a thing I had never done before unless specially called, but such was my desire to see that boy. Upon my arrival there, I was informed by the night stewards that sixteen of the hopeless cases had died, and had been carried down to the dead-house.
“How is Charlie Coulson? Is he among the dead?" I asked. "No, sir," answered the steward, "he is sleeping as sweetly as a babe.”
When I came up to the bed where he lay one of the nurses informed me that about nine o'clock two members of the Young Men's Christian Association came through the hospital to read and sing a hymn. They were accompanied by Chaplain R-, who knelt by Charlie Coulson's bed, and offered up a fervent and soul-stirring prayer, after which they sang, while still upon their knees, the sweetest of all hymns, "Jesus Lover of my Soul," in which Charlie joined. I could not understand how that boy, who had undergone such excruciating pain, could sing.
Five days after I had amputated that dear boy's arm and leg, he sent for me; and it was from him that I heard the first Gospel sermon. "Doctor," he said, "my time has come. I do not expect to see another sun rise, but, thank God, I am ready to go, and before I die I desire to thank you with all my heart for your kindness to me. Doctor, you are a Jew, you do not believe in Jesus; will you please stand here and see me die, trusting my Savior to the last moment of my life?”
I tried to stay, but I could not, for I had not the courage to stand by and see a Christian boy die rejoicing in the love of that Jesus Whom I had been taught to hate, so I hurriedly left the room. About twenty minutes later a steward, who found me sitting in my private office covering my face with my hand, said, "Doctor, Charlie Coulson wishes to see you.”
“I have just seen him," I answered, "and 1 cannot see him again.”
“But, Doctor, he says he must see you once more before he dies." I made up my mind to see him, say an endearing word, and let him die; but I was determined that no word of his should influence me in the least so far as his Jesus was concerned. When I entered the hospital, I saw he was sinking fast, so I sat down by his bed. Asking me to take his hand, he said, "Doctor, I love you because you are a Jew; the best Friend I have found in this world was a Jew.”
I asked, "Who was that?" He answered, "Jesus Christ, to Whom I want to introduce you before I die, and will you promise me, Doctor, that what I am about to say to you, you will never forget?”
I promised, and he said, "Five days ago, while you amputated my arm and leg, I prayed to the Lord Jesus Christ to save your soul.”
These words went deep into my heart. I could not understand how, when I was causing him the most intense pain, he could forget all about himself, and think of nothing but this Savior and my unconverted state. All I could say to him was, "Well, my dear boy, you will soon be all right." With these words I left him, and twelve minutes later he fell asleep, "Safe in the arms of Jesus.”
Hundreds of soldiers died in my hospital during the war, but I only followed one to the grave-that one was Charlie Coulson, the drummer boy, and I rode three miles to see him buried. I had him dressed in a new uniform, and placed in an officer's coffin with a new United States flag over it.
That dear boy's dying words made a deep impression upon me. I was rich at that time, so far as money is concerned; but I would have given every penny I possessed if I could have felt towards Christ as Charlie did; but that feeling cannot be bought with money. For several months after Charlie Coulson's death, I could not get rid of the words of that dear boy. They kept ringing in my ears, but being in the company of worldly officers, I gradually forgot the sermon Charlie preached in his dying hour, but I never could forget his wonderful patience under acute suffering and his simple trust in that Jesus whose Name to me at that time was a by-word and a reproach.
For ten long years, I fought against Christ with all the hatred of an orthodox Jew until God in His mercy brought me in contact with a Christian barber, who proved himself a second instrument in my conversion to God.
At the close of the American War, I was detailed as Inspecting Surgeon to take charge of the military hospital in Galveston, Texas. Returning one day from an inspecting tour on my way to Washington, I stopped to rest a few hours at New York. After dinner I stepped downstairs to the barber's shop (which is attached to every hotel of note in the United States). On entering the room, I was surprised to see hung round the room sixteen beautifully framed Scripture texts in different colors. Sitting down in one of the barber's chairs, I saw directly opposite to me, hanging up in a frame on the wall, this notice: “PLEASE DO NOT SWEAR IN THIS ROOM.”
No sooner had the barber put the brush to my face than he began also to talk to me about Jesus. He spoke in such an attractive and loving manner that my prejudices were disarmed, and I listened with growing attention to what he said. All the while, he was talking, "Charlie Coulson, the drummer boy," came swelling up in my mind, although he had been dead ten years. I was so well pleased with the words and deportment of the barber, that no sooner had he done shaving me, I told him next to cut my hair, although when I entered the room I had no such thought or intention. All the while he was cutting my hair, he kept steadily on preaching Christ to me, and telling me that although not a Jew himself, he was at one time as far away from Christ as I was then.
I listened attentively, my interest increasing with every word he said, to such an extent that when he had finished cutting my hair I said, "Barber, you may now give me a shampoo"; in fact I allowed him to do all that one in his profession could do for a gentleman at one sitting. There is, however, an end to all things; and my time being short, I prepared to leave. I paid my bill, thanked the barber for his remarks, and said, "I must catch the next train." He, however, was not yet satisfied. It was a bitter cold February day, and the ice on the ground made it somewhat dangerous to walk on the streets. It was only two minutes' walk to the station from the hotel, and the kind barber at once offered to walk to the station with me. I accepted his offer gladly, and no sooner had we reached the street than he put his arm in mine to keep me from falling. He said but little as we were walking along the street until we arrived at our destination, but when we got to the station he broke the silence by saying: "Stranger, perhaps you do not understand why I choose to talk to you upon a subject so dear to me. When you entered my shop, I saw by your face that you were a Jew.”
He still continued to talk to me about his "dear Savior," and said he felt it his duty, whenever he came in contact with a Jew, to try and introduce him to One Whom he felt was his best Friend, both for this world and for the world to come. On looking a second time into his face, I saw tears trickling down his cheeks; and he was evidently under deep emotion. I could not understand how it was that this man, a total stranger to me, should take such a deep interest in my welfare, and also shed tears while talking to me.
I reached out my hand to bid him good-bye. He took it in both of his and gently pressed it, the tears still continuing to run down his face, and said: "Stranger, if it is any satisfaction for you to know it, if you will give me your card or name, I promise you, on the honor of a Christian man, that during the next three months I will not retire to rest at night without making mention of you by name in my prayers. And now may my Savior follow you, trouble you, and give you no rest until you find Him what I have found Him to be, a precious Savior, and the Messiah you are looking for.”
I thanked him for his attention and his consideration, and after handing him my card, said, I fear rather sneeringly, "There is not much danger of my ever becoming a Christian." He then handed me his card, saying as he did so, "Will you please drop me a note or a letter if God should answer my prayers on your behalf?" I smiled incredulously, and said, "Certainly I will"-never dreaming that within the next forty-eight hours God in His mercy would answer that barber's prayer. I shook his hand heartily and said, "Good-bye"; but in spite of outward appearance of unconcern, I felt he had made a deep impression on my mind, which indeed he had as the sequel will show.
As is well known, the American railway carriage is much longer than the ordinary English railway carriage. It has also only one compartment, which will seat from sixty to eighty persons. As the weather was bitterly cold, the passengers were not numerous by this train, the carriage I had entered not being more than half filled; and, without being conscious of the fact, in less than ten or fifteen minutes, I had occupied every empty seat in the compartment.
The passengers began to look upon me with suspicion as they saw me change my seat so frequently in so short a time without any apparent object. For my part, I did not think at the time that the wrong was in my heart, although I could not account for my erratic movements. Finally, I went to an empty seat in the corner of the carriage, with the firm intention of going to sleep. The moment I closed my eyes, however, I felt myself between two fires. On the one side there was the Christian barber of New York, and on the other there was the drummer boy of Gettysburg, both talking to me about that Jesus, Whose very Name I hated. I felt it impossible either to go to sleep or to shake off the impression made upon my mind by those two faithful Christians, one of whom had bid me good-bye only an hour previously, whilst the other had been dead nearly ten years, and so continued to be troubled and perplexed all the while I was in the train.
On my arrival at Washington, I purchased a morning newspaper, and one of the first things that caught my attention was the announcement of a Revival service in Dr. Rankin's church, the largest church in Washington. No sooner had I seen that announcement than an inner monitor seemed to say to me, "Go to that church." I had never been inside of a Christian church during divine service, and at another time, I should have scouted such a thought as from the devil. It was my father's intention when I was a boy that I should become a rabbi, and so I promised him that I would never enter a place where "Jesus, the Imposter" was worshipped as God; and that I would never attempt to read a book containing that Name, and I had faithfully kept my word up to that moment.
In connection with the Revival meetings just referred to, it was stated that there would be a united choir from the various churches in the city, who would sing at each of the services. Being a passionate lover of music, this attracted my attention, and I made it my excuse for seeking to visit the church during the Revival service that night. When I entered the building, which was filled with worshippers, one of the ushers, attracted doubtless by my gold epaulettes (for I had not changed my uniform), led me up to the front seat, right in front of the preacher, an evangelist well known both in England and America. I was charmed with the beautiful singing, but the evangelist had not been speaking five minutes before I came to the conclusion that some one must have been informing him who I was, for I thought he pointed his finger at me. He kept watching me, and every now and then appeared to be shaking his fist at me. In spite of all this, however, I felt deeply interested in what he said. But this was not all, for still ringing in my ears were the words of the two former preachers-the Christian barber of New York and the drummer boy of Gettysburg-emphasizing the utterances of the evangelist, and in my mind I could plainly see those two dear friends also repeating their messages. Growing more and more interested in the words of the preacher, I felt tears trickling down my face. This startled me, and I began to feel ashamed that I, an orthodox Jew, should be childish enough to shed tears in a Christian church, the first I had ever shed in such a place.
I omitted to say that during the service, and whilst the preacher was watching me, the thought occurred to me that possibly he might be pointing his finger at some person behind me; and I turned round in my seat to discover who the individual was, when to my astonishment a congregation of more than 2000 persons of all grades of society seemed to be looking at me. I at once came to the conclusion that I was the only Jew in the place, and heartily wished myself out of the building, for I felt I had got into bad company. Being well known in Washington, both by Jew and Gentile, the thought flashed across my mind, how will it read in a Washington paper that "Dr. Rossvally, a Jew, was present at the Revival services, not five minutes' walk from the synagogue he usually attends, and was seen to shed tears during the sermon"? Not wishing to make myself conspicuous (for there were faces there I recognized), I made up my mind not to take out my handkerchief to wipe off the tears-they must dry up themselves; but blessed be God, I could not keep them back, for they came flowing faster and faster.
After a while the preacher finished his address, and I was surprised to hear him announce an after-meeting, and invite all who could do so to remain. I did not accept the invitation, being only too glad of the opportunity to leave the church. With that intention, I got up from my seat and had reached the door, when I felt that some one held me by the skirt of my coat. Turning round, I saw an elderly-looking lady, who proved to be Mrs. Young, of Washington, a well-known Christian worker.
Addressing me, she said: "Pardon me, stranger: I see you are an officer in the army. I have been watching you all this evening, and I beg of you not to leave this house, for I think you are under conviction of sin. I believe you came here to seek the Savior, and you have not found Him yet. Do come back; I would like to talk to you, and, if you will permit me, I will pray for you.”
“Madam," I answered, "I am a Jew." She replied, "I do not care if you are a Jew; Jesus Christ died for Jew as well as Gentile." The persuasive manner in which she said these words was not without its effect. I followed her back to the very spot whence I had just left so abruptly, and when we came up to the front, she said: "If you will kneel I will pray for you.”
“Madame, that is something I have never done, and never will do," for orthodox Jews never kneel in prayer except twice a year-on the Feast of Trumpets and Day of Atonement, and then it is not kneeling as Christians do; it is a prostration of the ground.
Mrs. Young looked me calmly in the face and said, "Dear stranger, I have found such a dear, loving, and forgiving Savior in the Lord Jesus that I firmly believe in my heart He can convert a Jew standing on his feet, and I will go on my knees and pray for that." She suited the action to the word, fell on her knees, and began to pray, talking to her Savior in such a simple, childlike manner that completely unnerved me. I felt so ashamed of myself to see that dear old lady kneeling near me while I was standing, and praying so fervently on my behalf. My whole past life floated so vividly before my mind that I heartily wished the floor would open, and that I might sink out of sight. When she arose from her knees, she extended her hand and with a motherly sympathy said: "Will you pray to Jesus before you sleep tonight?”
“Madam," I replied, "I will pray to my God, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, but not Jesus." "Bless you!" she said, "Your God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob is my Christ and your Messiah.”
“Goodnight, Madam, and thank you for your kindness," I said as I left the church.
On my way home, reflecting on my recent strange experience, I began to reason with myself: Why is it that these Christians take such an interest in Jew or Gentile, perfect strangers to them? Is it possible that all these millions of men and women who during the last 1800 years have lived and died trusting in Christ, are mistaken, and a little handful of Jews, scattered all over the world, are right? Why should that dying drummer boy think only of what he was pleased to call my unsaved soul? And why, also, should that Christian barber of New York manifest such a deep interest in me? Why should the preacher to-night single me out and point his finger at me, or that dear woman follow me to the door and hold me back? It must be all of the love they bear to their Jesus, whom I despise so much.
The more I thought of this the worse I felt. On the other hand, I argued: Is it possible that my father and mother, who loved me so dearly, should teach me anything that is wrong? In my childhood, they taught me to hate Jesus; that there was but one God, and that He had no son. I now felt a desire springing up in my heart to become acquainted with that Jesus whom the Christians so much loved and worshipped. I started to walk faster, fully determined that if there was a reality in the religion of Jesus Christ, I would know something of it before I slept.”
When I arrived at home, my wife (who was a very strict orthodox Jewess) thought I looked rather excited and asked where I had been. The truth I dare not tell her, and a falsehood I would not, and so I said: "Wife, please do not ask me any questions. I have some very important business to attend to. I wish to go to my private study, where I can be alone.”
I went at once to my study, locked the door, and began to pray, standing with my face towards the east, as I always had done. The more I prayed the worse I felt. I could not account for the feeling that had come over me. I was in great perplexity as to the meaning of many prophecies in the Old Testament which deeply interested me. My prayer gave me no satisfaction, and then it occurred to me that Christians kneel when they pray. Was there anything in that? Having been brought up as a strict orthodox Jew, and taught never to kneel in prayer, a fear came over me that if I should kneel I might be deceived in thus bowing my knee to that Jesus whom I had been taught in childhood to believe to be an imposter.
Although the night was bitterly cold, and there was no fire in my study (it was not thought that I should use the room that night), yet I never perspired so much in my life as I did that night. My phylacteries were hanging in my study on the wall, and I caught sight of them. Never since I was thirteen years of age had I missed a day in wearing them, except on Jewish Sabbaths and feasts. I loved them dearly. I took them in my hand, and while looking at them, Gen. 49:1010The sceptre shall not depart from Judah, nor a lawgiver from between his feet, until Shiloh come; and unto him shall the gathering of the people be. (Genesis 49:10) came flashing across my mind: "The scepter shall not depart from Judah, nor a lawgiver from between his feet, until Shiloh come; and unto him shall the gathering of the people be.”
Two other passages also which I had often read and pondered over, presented themselves vividly to my mind, the first of these being from Mic. 5:22But thou, Bethlehem Ephratah, though thou be little among the thousands of Judah, yet out of thee shall he come forth unto me that is to be ruler in Israel; whose goings forth have been from of old, from everlasting. (Micah 5:2): "But thou, Bethlehem Ephratah, though thou be little among the thousands of Judah, yet out of thee shall he come forth unto me that is to be ruler in Israel; whose goings forth have been from of old, from everlasting." The other passage is the well-known prediction in Isa. 7:1414Therefore the Lord himself shall give you a sign; Behold, a virgin shall conceive, and bear a son, and shall call his name Immanuel. (Isaiah 7:14): "Therefore the Lord himself shall give you a sign; Behold, a virgin shall conceive, and bear a son, and shall call his name Immanuel.”
These three passages impressed themselves so forcibly on my mind that I cried out: "O Lord God of Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob, Thou knowest I am sincere in this thing. If Jesus Christ is the Son of God, reveal Him to me this night, and I will accept Him as my Messiah." No sooner had I said this than almost unconsciously I flung my phylacteries into a corner of the room, and in less time than I can tell it, I was on my knees praying in the same corner where my phylacteries were lying on the floor by my side. To throw the phylacteries on the floor as I had done was for a Jew an act of blasphemy. I was now on my knees praying for the first time in my life, and my mind was much agitated and in doubt as to the wisdom of my proceedings.
My feelings at that time are best expressed in the first hymn I ever composed after my conversion, and dedicated to the preacher who had so powerfully impressed me.