Cassie

It was her song that drew me like a magnet, across the acreage of the old Bratton Plantation.
Three long days into the conference in Charlotte, NC I’d needed this break from the business appointments, the networking and the morbid cable television programs playing in my hotel room. When conference attendees were given a choice of eight different sightseeing tours, I jumped at the chance to sign up for the one promising some southern history immersion. I knew it would be off-the-beaten path. I knew there would be big trees and historic tales. But I didn’t know how close I would come to the past.

Once we arrived, I wandered off on my own through the big white house and grounds of this 778-acre Revolutionary War Living History site—the filming location of the Mel Gibson movie, The Patriot. Despite the frigid temperatures and ice back home in Ohio, the sunshine and cool breeze made this part of South Carolina feel more like fall on this particular Friday afternoon. I snapped some up-close-and-personal shots of the heirloom breed sheep, horses and chickens; wandered through period buildings; sipped a cup of hot cider from a local orchard; listened to an old tune performed by a fiddler; and sat in a rocking chair on the front porch of the gift shop—watching the resident cat lounging on the welcome mat while visitors stepped over him. It was while I was walking along the split rail fence that I heard her.

There was no mistaking her mournful spiritual. Her a capella song was loud and proud; passionate with traces of hope. Across the fields I walked toward this re-enactor, her voice pulling me closer. Her back was to me—but I caught just the last line of her song … ‘comin for to carry me home.” “Where is home?” she asked the crowd gathered around her. “Heaven. That’s right,” she said. She went on to explain about the life of a slave on this plantation, her voice ebbing and flowing with expression. I marveled at the faces of her audience—completely captivated. All eyes were on her. With her.

“What’s your story?” She challenged us. “It doesn’t matter whether you are black or white, young or old. You have a story. Tell your story. Write it down. Tell your children. Don’t let your story die.” Silence. We were all moved. I looked again at the faces ... this time there were tears streaming down many of them. Our re-enactor thanked her audience. The crowd began to break up. Some strangers hugged each other. Many thanked our storyteller. I stood paralyzed, not wanting to leave. I craved more of her stories. More of her passion.

But it was time to go. I wandered over to the information center to ask about this unique individual. “She goes by the name ‘Cassie’ here,” said the volunteer. She explained that it was ‘Cassie’s’ daughter that first volunteered at the site, later drafting her mother. Within a few short years, Cassie’s reputation grew and she was hired as a full-time employee at Historic Brattonsville—bringing history to life for visitors, school groups, bus groups. Her fabulous characterizations are so real and so powerful that she is often “commissioned” by other Historic sites along the east coast to make appearances.

I’m already planning our summer family vacation and guess which Historic site will be included on our itinerary? I want my boys to meet Cassie and follow her on a journey into the past.