But into this eager, undaunted struggle for an education came the trumpet call to arms.  With the memory of John Brown like a living coal in his heart, with the pictures of the cowering, runaway slaves ever before his eyes, he flung away his books and was one of the first to enlist.  But his father interfered.  Russell was only eighteen.  Martin Conwell went to the recruiting officer and had his name taken from the rolls.  It was a bitter disappointment.  But since he might not help with his hands, he spoke with his tongue.  All his pent-up enthusiasm flowed out in impassioned speeches that brought men by the hundreds to the recruiting offices.  His fame spread up and down the Connecticut valley and wherever troops were to be raised, “the boy” was in demand.

“His youthful oratory,” says the author of “Scaling the Eagle’s Nest,” “was a wonderful thing which drew crowds of excited listeners wherever he went.  Towns sent for him to help raise their quotas of soldiers, and ranks speedily filled before his inspiring and patriotic speeches.  In 1862 I remember a scene at Whitman Hall in Westfield, Massachusetts, which none who were there can forget.  Russell had delivered two addresses there before.  On that night there were two addresses before his by prominent lawyers, but there was evident impatience to hear ‘The boy.’  When he came forward there was the most deafening applause.  He really seemed inspired by miraculous powers.  Every auditor was fascinated and held closely bound.  There was for a time breathless suspense, and then at some telling sentence the whole building shook with wild applause.  At its close a shower of bouquets from hundreds of ladies carpeted the stage in a moment, and men from all parts of the hall rushed forward to enlist.”

The adulation and flattery showered upon him were enough to turn any other’s head.  But it made no impression upon him.  Heart, mind and soul he was wrapped up in the cause.  He was burning with zeal to help the oppressed and suffering.  His words poured from a heart overflowing with pity, love, and indignation.  Never once did he think of himself, only of those in bonds crying, “Come over and help us.”

When Lincoln made his great address in Cooper Institute in 1860, Russell was there.  It was a longer journey from New England to New York in those days than it is now, and longer yet for a boy who had so little money, but he let no obstacle keep him away.

He utilized his visit also to hear Beecher, the man who had taken so powerful a hold of his childish fancy.  Ever since those boyish days when his mother read Beecher’s sermons to him, and standing on the big gray rock he had imagined himself another Beecher, he had longed to hear this great man.  It was only this childish desire holding fast to him through the year that took him now, for church-going itself had no attraction for him.