Reginald Cavenaugh was one of the privileged few in Bath, North Carolina. His daddy owned the largest plantation and the most slaves in Beaufort County in the year of 1830.
Religion has always played an important part of social life in the south. Church going wasn't restricted to just Sunday. There were the regular Wednesday night meetings and usually the ladies would get together at least once a week for a quilting bee or maybe a canning day, where they all canned vegetables and sweets for the coming winter. The men had occasions to get together also. Barn raising, water well digging and the like. There were many times when all would get together. Occasions like corn husking, picking cotton, bringing in the tobacco, or just having a good ole 'hoe down'. BUT everything revolved around the church. Reginald's group was a part of the 'new fast crowd'. They didn't go to church at all and would say new modern words like 'zounds', and 'corn licker' was a major part of all their get togethers.
One Sunday morning, as you would hear the hymns drifting over the swamps, Reginald Cavenaugh and his group of rowdies had decided to have a horse race. They lined up at the front of the church and were to race from that point, out past the cemetery and back to the church. A quick count and the roar of a pistol shot signaled the beginning of the race. Reginald yelled, loud enough to be heard over the preacher, Titus Creek "TAKE ME A WINNER OR TAKE ME TO HELL!". And spurred the big black stallion he was riding, until flicks of blood and foam were spraying from the stallion. With eyes walled an nostrils flared, the big black made the turn by the cemetery, well ahead of the other horse - thundering towards the home stretch as the final horse in the pack was just making the turn.
No one knows exactly what happened on that final stretch for the finish line. Maybe it was the vicious spurring and beating with Reginald's crop that threw his steed off his stride. Or it could have been his drunken sawing of the reins. In any case the big black hit a patch of sand and fell forward. Reginald Cavenaugh flew over the horse and hit a huge oak tree head first. He is presently buried in the same cemetery he had raced around.
Today that patch of sand where Reginald Cavenaugh met his death still has horse hoof tracks in it. No matter how you try to rake the tracks out, or how you cover them with more sand, or leaves or trash, the next morning they are clean again and as stark as the day they were made.
This is the original story as told for over a hundred and fifty years. You can go to eastern North Carolina today and see those marks in the sand.
- Bob Gurkin
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