Author Unknown
I was a surgeon
in the United States Army during the Civil War. After the battle of
Gettysburg, there were hundreds of wounded soldiers in my hospital. Many
were wounded so severely that a leg or an arm, or sometimes both, needed to be
amputated.
One of these was
a boy who had been in the service for only 3 months. Since he was too
young to be a soldier, he had enlisted as a drummer. When my assistants
came to give him chloroform before the amputation, he turned his head and
refused it. When they told him that it was the doctor's orders, he said,
"Send the doctor to me."
I came to his
bedside and said, "Young man, why do you refuse the chloroform? When
I picked you up on the battlefield, you were so far gone that I almost didn't
bother to pick you up. But you opened those large blue eyes, it occurred
to me that you had a mother somewhere who might be thinking of you that very
moment. I didn't want you to die on the field, so I had you brought here.
But you've lost so much blood that you've just too weak to live through an
operation without chloroform. You'd better let me give you some."
He laid his hand
on mine, looked at me in the face and said, "Doctor, one Sunday afternoon,
when I was nine and a half years old, I gave my life to Christ. I learned
to trust Him then, I know I can trust Him now. He is my strength. He
will support me while you amputate my arm and leg."
I asked him if
he would at least let me give him a little brandy.
Again he looked
at me and said, "Doctor, when I was about 5 years old, my mother knelt by
my side with her arms around me and said, ‘Charlie, I am praying to Jesus that
you will never take even one drink of alcohol. Your father died a drunkard, and
I've asked God to use you to warn people against the dangers of drinking, and to
encourage them to love and serve the Lord.’ I am now 17 years old, and I have
never had anything stronger than tea or coffee. There is a very good chance that
I am about to die and go into the presence of my God. Would you send me there
with brandy on my breath?"
I will never
forget that look that boy gave me. 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 very end, something deeply touched my heart. I did
for that boy what I had never done for any other soldier – I asked him if he
wanted to see his chaplain.
The Chaplain
knew the boy well from having seen him often at the tent prayer meetings. Taking
his hand he said, "Charlie, I am sorry to see you like this."
"Oh, I am
all right, sir," answered Charlie. "The doctor offered me
chloroform, but I told him I didn't want any. Then he wanted to give me
brandy, which I didn't want either. So now, if my Saviour calls me I can
go to Him in my right mind."
"You must
not die, Charlie," said the chaplain, "but if the Lord does call you
home, is there anything I can do for you after you're gone?"
"Chaplain,
please reach under my pillow and take my little Bible. My mother's address
is inside. Please send it to her and write a letter for me. Tell her
that since I left home, I have never let a single day pass – no matter if we
were on the march, on the battlefield, or in the hospital – without reading a
portion of the God's word, and daily praying that He would bless her."
"Is there
anything else I can do for you, my lad?" asked the chaplain.
"Yes-
please write a letter to the Sunday School teacher of the Sands Street Church in
Brooklyn, New York. Tell him that I've never forgotten his encouragement,
good advice, and many prayers for me. They have helped me and comforted me
through all the dangers of battle. And now, in my dying hour, I thank the
Lord for my dear old teacher, and ask Him to bless and strengthen him.
That is all."
Then turning to
me, he said, "I'm ready, doctor. I promise I won't even groan while
you take off me arm and leg if you don't offer me chloroform."
I promised, but
I didn't have the courage to take knife in my hand without first going into the
next room and taking a little brandy myself.
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
I could hear him whisper was, "O Jesus, blessed Jesus! Stand by me
now." He kept his promise. He never groaned.
I couldn't sleep
that night. Whichever way I tossed and turned, I saw those soft blue eyes,
the words, "Blessed Jesus! Stand by me now.'' Kept ringing in
my ears. A little after midnight, I finally left my bed and visited the
hospital – something I had never done before unless there was an emergency.
I had such a strange and strong desire to see that boy.
When I got
there, an orderly told me that 16 of the badly wounded soldiers had died.
"Was Charlie Coulson, one of them?" I asked.
"No,
sir," he answered, "he's sleeping as sweet as a babe."
When I came to
his bed, one of the nurses said that at about 9 o'clock two members of the YMCA
came through the hospital to sing a hymn. The Chaplain was with them, he
knelt by Charlie's bed and offered a fervent and soul-stirring prayer.
Then, while still on their knees, they sang one of the sweetest of all hymns,
"Jesus, Lover Of My Soul." Charlie sang along with them, too.
I couldn't understand how that boy, who was in such horrible pain, could sing.
Five days after
I performed the operation, Charlie sent for me, and it was from him that I heard
my first Gospel sermon. "Doctor," he said, "my time has
come. I don't expect to see another sunrise. I want to thank you
with all my heart for your kindness to me. I know you are Jewish, and that
you do not believe in Jesus, but I want you to stay and see me die trusting me
Saviour to the last moment of me life." I tried to stay, but I just
couldn't – I didn't have the courage to stand by and see a Christian boy
die rejoicing in the love of that Jesus who I hated. So I hurriedly left
the room.
About 20 minutes
later an orderly came and found me sitting in my office with my hands covering
my face. He told me that Charlie wanted to see me. "I've just
seen him," I answered. "and I can't see him again."
"But,
doctor, he says he must see you once more before he dies.'
So I made up my
mind to go and see Charlie, say an endearing word and let him die.
However, I was determined that nothing he could say would influence me in the
least bit, 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've found in the world was a Jew." I asked him who
that was, and he answered, "Jesus Christ, and I want to introduce you to
Him before I die. Will you promise me, doctor that what I am about to say
to you, you will never forget?" I promised, and he said, "5 days
ago, while you amputated my arm and leg, I prayed to the Lord Jesus Christ and
asked Him to make His love known to you."
Those words went
deep in my heart. I couldn't understand how, when I was causing him the
most intense pain, he could forget about himself and think of nothing but the
Saviour and my unconverted soul Ail I could say to him was, "Well, my
dear boy, you will soon be all right." With these words I left him,
and 12 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, and that was Charlie Coulson. I rode 3 miles to see him buried.
I had him dressed in a new uniform, and placed in an officer's coffin, with a
United States flag over it.
That boy's dying
words made a deep impression on me. I was rich at that time so as far as
money was 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. Alas, I soon forgot all about my Christian soldier's little
sermon, but I could not forget the boy himself. Looking back, I now know I
was under deep conviction of sin at that time. But for nearly 10 years I
held back, until finally the dear boy's prayer was answered, and I surrendered
my life to the love of Jesus.
About a year and
a half after my conversion, I went to a prayer meeting one evening in Brooklyn.
It was one of those meetings where Christians testify about the loving kindness
of God. After several had spoken, an elderly lady stood up and said,
"Dear friends, this may be the last time I have a chance to publicly share
how good the Lord has been to me. My doctor told me yesterday that my
right lung is nearly gone, and my left lung is failing fast, so at the best I
only have a short time to be with you. But what is left of me belongs to
Jesus. It's a great joy to know that I shall soon meet my son with Jesus
in heaven.
"Charlie
was not only a soldier for his country, but also a soldier for Christ. He
was wounded at the battle of Gettysburg, and was cared for by a Jewish doctor,
who amputated his arm and leg. He died 5 days after the operation.
The chaplain of the regiment wrote me a letter and sent me my boy's Bible.
I was told that in his dying hour, my Charlie sent for that Jewish doctor and
said to him, "5 days ago, while you amputated my arm and leg, I prayed to
the Lord Jesus Christ for you."
As I heard this
lady speak, I just couldn't sit still! I left my seat, ran across the room and
took her hand and said, "God bless you, my dear sister. Your boy's
prayer has been heard and answered! I am the Jewish doctor that Charlie
prayed for, and his Saviour is now my Saviour! The love of Jesus has won
my soul!"