The River Ends Here

Early Morning April 4, 1865

APPOMATTOX RIVER

Following the same trail as General Richard Ewell’s Richmond Corps, Captains McCabe and Bradshaw traveled up-river to find the Richmond & Danville Railroad Bridge. There it appeared General Ewell had planked the rails and then tossed the lumber into the river, leaving the bridge useless.

James said, “So much for being on time.”

“Well, the condition of the bridge doesn’t allow us to take our horses across. Want to go into the water and ride across?” questioned Cal.

“Looks like our only alternative. I’ll try it over here; it looks like there might be some sand built up underneath,” James said.

Going across, Two Feathers did a good job of swimming to the other bank. Cal turned as he rode up an embankment. It was at that moment he saw his friend being swept off his horse into the churning waters. James’s horse managed to return to the opposite bank but James was pulled under by the swirling torrent.

“James!” Cal shouted out. When James didn’t come to the surface right away, Cal moved down the west bank, anticipating seeing his friend momentarily, but all he could see was the continuous churning of the mud-colored water.

After frantically searching for any sign of Captain James Bradshaw, Cal brought Two Feathers to a halt. The morning had turned into afternoon but nothing was left of James. He had disappeared without a trace. Cal dismounted and sat down upon the riverbank in complete shock, huddled Indian fashion like a defeated warrior all he could do was stare at the swirling river. Cal fell asleep from exhaustion. As clouds parted, the sun woke him from a brief nap. The shock of losing Captain Bradshaw in the Appomattox River had not yet fully registered as he began to think what he’d do next. Suddenly, Captain Caleb McCabe went absent without leave from his army. He abandoned all responsibility to report for duty. His head felt light, and his eyes were at the same time unfocused but clear. He was lost but unconcerned as he gave way to feelings of remorse and deep-seated pain. It was not a sharp pain, but more a sense that air was rushing into his lungs while he had all the air he needed — yet still felt short of breath.

As he questioned who and where he was, he heard the sound of metal on metal. Looking up, he saw that Two Feathers was standing above him, shaking his head as if signaling some sort of rebuke to his owner. Caleb saw the swollen river, the very one that had taken his close friend. It was the same river that had delayed the army; it was a river of death and now it was a river that was hideously hiding James Bradshaw’s body and possibly establishing for him his final resting place. Like the unambiguous undertaker whose empty hearse follows behind an army going into battle, the Appomattox River angrily raced toward its final destination without a word of apology or explanation.

The immediate grief over the loss of Captain Bradshaw added to the litany of losses he’d experienced. It seemed beyond comprehension that so many friends and family were gone. To his left a hundred yards distant, flashes of light caught his eye. There, off the swollen Appomattox River, was a newly formed lake. On the top of the water appeared to be traces of hundreds of small, very active silver fish. As he continued to stare with numbed awareness, he concentrated his focus on the reflections. Abruptly, his daydream ended as Two Feathers impatiently pounded his right front hoof. Caleb snapped to realizing the need to take action. He felt down deep a long and abiding urgency to restore his own character — as a tribute to his friend, and to all those who were lost in this war, this struggle. He now felt stronger than ever that he would discover his true worth in this world, ending his life in a proper fashion by proving his human value — something that would honor his father and especially something that he could be proud to know about himself.

He also began considering his need to end the suffering in his life . . . to resolve any question about his own personal courage by facing death. As the thought ran through his mind, he discovered what appeared to be a solution: he would let death find him . . . possibly in some heroic action that could not be criticized for lack of courage or personal sacrifice.

COPING

Each of the last four years felt like a lifetime. In agonizing pain, like the sounds of a woman screaming during hard labor, he pictured a universal woman who was trying desperately to deliver a child without opium, during a difficult childbirth, a delivery that continued without resolve — continuous labor without end.

Next, his mind drifted to happier days, ones that delivered the delight of pure freedom from responsibility, from expectation, from obligation, before his father died, the man who, before his departure, was the most important man in his life — before his father’s expectations took root, before he felt alone with himself and all the bad choices he’d made — and all the right choices he’d avoided and before he discovered his lack of common courage, the courage demonstrated by the everyday rank and file infantry private whose bravery included making the ultimate sacrifice, most without hesitation.

His spirit was truly breaking. That he knew. He felt beaten down and pounded upon like the anvil-formed saber that dangled from his waist. He felt flattened like a griddle-cake, flipped over multiple times and burned to a crisp. And now he desperately searched for a solution, the pull to join all those who’d gone on before him. Escape, but how?

As the biblical scholar discovers a new means of salvation, it became crystal clear what needed to be done.