A SOLDIER OF THE CROSS
Under Arrest for Absence Without Leave. Order of Court Reversed by
President. Certificate from State Legislature of Massachusetts for
Patriotic Services. Appointed by President Lincoln Lieutenant-Colonel
on General McPherson's Staff. Wounded at Kenesaw Mountain. Conversion.
Public Profession of Faith.
The tragic death of John Ring was the final crushing news that came to
Captain Conwell at Newberne. Combined with the nervous strain he had
been under in trying to get back to his men, the condemnation from his
superior officers for his absence, it threw him into a brain fever.
Long days and nights he rolled and tossed, fighting over again the
attack on the fort, making heroic efforts to rescue John Ring from his
fiery death, urging his horse through tangled forests and dark rivers
that seemed never to have another shore. For weeks the fever racked
and wasted him, and finally when feeble and weak, he was once more
able to walk, he found himself under arrest for absence without leave
during a time of danger.
It had been reported to General Palmer that the defeat of the Federal
troops might have been avoided had the officers been on duty. An
investigation was ordered and Captain Conwell was asked for his permit
to be absent. He had simply his pass through the lines, a vastly
different thing he found from an authorized permit of absence. The
investigation dragged its slow course along, as all such things,
encumbered by red tape, do. Disgusted and humiliated by being kept a
prisoner for months when the country needed every arm in its defense,
by having such a mountain made of the veriest molehill built of a kind
act and boyish inexperience, he refused to put in a defense at the
investigation and let it go as it would. Setting the Court of Inquiry
more against him, a former Commander, General Foster, espoused his
cause too hotly and wrote to General McPherson for an appointment for
a "boy who is as brave as an old man." The Court of Inquiry, made up
of local officers, most of them jealous of his popularity, resented
this outside interference and the verdict was against him. But others
higher in authority took up the matter and Captain Conwell was ordered
to Washington. The President reversed the order of the Court. He
was appointed Lieutenant-Colonel, detailed for service on General
McPherson's staff and ordered West. General Butler, under whose
command Captain Conwell served, afterward made a generous
acknowledgment of the injustice of the findings and expressed in warm
words his admiration of Captain Conwell, and the State Legislature
of Massachusetts gave him a certificate for faithful and patriotic
services in that campaign.
Nevertheless, it was an experience that sorely embittered his soul.
Intentionally he had done nothing wrong, yet he had been humiliated
and made to eat the bitter fruits of the envy and jealousy of others.
It saddened but did not defeat him. His heart was too big, his nature
too generous. He could forgive them freely, could do them a kindness
the very first opportunity, but that did not take away the pain at his
heart. One may forgive a person who burns him, even if intentionally,
but that does not stop the burn from smarting.
Saddened, and with the futility of ambition keenly brought home
to him, he joined General McPherson, and in the battle of Kenesaw
Mountain he received a serious wound. He had stationed a lookout
to watch the Confederate fire while he directed the work of two
batteries. It was the duty of the lookout to keep Colonel Conwell and
his gunners posted as to whether the enemy fired shot or shell, easily
to be told by watching the little trail of smoke that followed the
discharge. If a shot were sent, they paid no attention to it for it
did little damage, but if it were a shell it was deemed necessary to
seek protection.
Colonel Conwell was leaning on the wheel of one of the cannon when
there was a discharge from the guns of the enemy. The lookout yelled,
"Shot." But it was a fatal shell that came careening and screaming
toward them, and before Conwell or his men could leap into the
bomb-proof embankment, it struck the hub of the very wheel against
which he leaned, and burst.
When he came to himself, the stars were shining, the field was silent
save for the feeble moans of the wounded, the voices and footsteps
of parties searching for the injured. He was in a quivering agony of
sharp, burning pain, but he could neither move nor speak. At last, he
heard the searchers coming. Nearer, nearer drew the voices, then for
a moment they paused at his side. He heard a man with a lantern say,
"Poor fellow! We can do nothing for him." Then they passed on, leaving
him for dead, among the dead.
All that June night he lay there, looking up at the stars that studded
the infinity of space. About him were dark, silent forms, rigid in the
sleep of death. Those were solemn hours, hours when he looked death in
the face, and then backward over the years he had lived. Useless years
they seemed to him now, years filled with petty ambitions that had to
do solely with self. All the spiritual ideals of life, the things that
give lasting joy and happiness because they are of the spirit and
not of the flesh, he had scoffingly cast aside and rejected. He had
narrowed life down to self and the things of the world. He had no such
faith as made his mother's hard-working life happy and serene because
it transformed its sordid care into glorious service of her Heavenly
King. He had no such faith as carried John Ring triumphant and
undismayed through the gates of fiery death in performance of a loving
service. Suddenly a longing swept over him for this priceless faith,
for a personal, sure belief in the love of a Savior. One by one the
teachings of his mother came back to him, those beautiful immortal
truths she had read him from that Book which is never too old to touch
the hearts of men with healing. Looking up at the worlds swinging
through space to unknown laws, with the immensities of life, death and
infinity all about him, his disbelief, his atheism dropped away. Into
his heart came the premonitions of the peace of God, which passeth
understanding. Life broadened, it took on new meaning and duty, for a
life into which the spirit of God has come can never again narrow down
to the boundaries of self. He determined henceforth to live more for
others, less for himself; to make the world better, somebody happier
whenever he could; to make his life, each day of it, worthy of that
great sacrifice of John Ring.
He being an officer, they came back for his body, and found a living
man instead of the dead. He was taken to the field hospital. One arm
was broken in two places, his shoulder badly shattered, and because
there was no hope of his living, they did not at once amputate his
arm, which would have been done had he been less seriously injured.
Long days he lay in the hospital with life going out all about him,
the moan of the suffering in his ears, thinking, thinking, of the
mystery of life and death, as the shadows flitted and swayed through
the dimly lighted wards at night, the sunshine poured down during the
day. His love of humanity burned purer. His desire to help it grew
stronger. Long were the talks he had with the chaplain, a Baptist
preacher, and when he recovered and left the hospital, his mind was
fully made up. Like his father, his actions never lagged behind his
speech, and he made at once an open profession of the faith on which
he now leaned with such happy confidence.
The fearless, unselfish love of humanity, the desire to help the
oppressed that burned in the bosom of John Brown had sent the
impetuous boy into the war.
The fearless, unselfish act of John Ring sent Colonel Conwell out of
the war a God-fearing man, determined to spend his life for the good
of humanity.
Providence uses strange instruments. Thousands in this country to-day
have been inspired, helped, made different men and women through
knowing Russell Conwell. What may not some of them do to benefit
their country and their generation! Yet back of him stand this old
gray-haired man and a young, fearless boy, whose influence turned the
current of his life to brighten and bless countless thousands.