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 a surgeon in the United States Army, and after the battle of Gettysburg there were many hundred wounded soldiers in my hospital, amongst whom were twenty-eight who 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 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 worthwhile 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 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 gave my heart to Christ. 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 stimulant; 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 Jesus that you may never know the taste of strong drink; your papa died a drunkard and went down to a drunkard’s grave, and I promised God, if it was His will that you should grow up, that yon would 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 with brandy on my stomach?”
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 Saviour, 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 Saviour calls me, I 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 it 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 on the march, on the battlefield, or in the hospital.”
“Is there anything else I can do for you, my lad?” asked the chaplain.
“Yes, please write a letter to the superintendent of the Sands Street Sunday School, Brooklyn, N. Y., and tell him that the kind words, many prayers, and good advice he gave me I have never forgotten; they have followed me through all the dangers of battle, and now, it my dying hour, I ask my dear Saviour 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 into 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 I closed mine, 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 steward that sixteen of the hopeless cases had died, and 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 Y. M. C. A. 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.
ML 11/09/1902