The Goophered Grapevine by Charles Waddell Chesnutt
SOME years ago my wife was in poor health, and our family doctor, in
whose skill and honesty I had implicit confidence, advised a change of
climate. I shared, from an unprofessional standpoint, his opinion that
the raw winds, the chill rains, and the violent changes of temperature
that characterized the winters in the region of the Great Lakes tended
to aggravate my wife's difficulty, and would undoubtedly shorten her
life if she remained exposed to them. The doctor's advice was that we
seek, not a temporary place of sojourn, but a permanent residence, in a
warmer and more equable climate. I was engaged at the time in
grape-culture in northern Ohio, and, as I liked the business and had
given it much study, I decided to look for some other locality suitable
for carrying it on. I thought of sunny France, of sleepy Spain, of
Southern California, but there were objections to them all. It occurred
to me that I might find what I wanted in some one of our own Southern
States. It was a sufficient time after the war for conditions in the
South to have become somewhat settled; and I was enough of a pioneer to
start a new industry, if I could not find a place where grape-culture
had been tried. I wrote to a cousin who had gone into the turpentine
business in central North Carolina. He assured me, in response to my
inquiries, that no better place could be found in the South than the
State and neighborhood where he lived; the climate was perfect for
health, land, in conjunction with the soil, ideal for grape-culture;
labor was cheap, and land could be bought for a mere song. He gave us a
cordial invitation to come and visit him while we looked into the
matter. We accepted the invitation, and after several days of leisurely
travel, the last hundred miles of which were up a river on a sidewheel
steamer, we reached our destination, a quaint old town, which I shall
call Patesville, because, for one reason, that is not its name. There
was a red brick market-house in the public square, with a tall tower,
which held a four-faced clock that struck the hours, and from which
there pealed out a curfew at nine o'clock. There were two or three
hotels, a court-house, a jail, stores, offices, and all the
appurtenances of a county seat and a commercial emporium; for while
Patesville numbered only four or five thousand inhabitants, of all
shades of complexion, it was one of the principal towns in North
Carolina, and had a considerable trade in cotton and naval stores. This
business activity was not immediately apparent to my unaccustomed eyes.
Indeed, when I first saw the town, there brooded over it a calm that
seemed almost sabbatic in its restfulness, though I learned later on
that underneath its somnolent exterior the deeper currents of life—
love and hatred, joy and despair, ambition and avarice, faith and
friendship—flowed not less steadily than in livelier latitudes.
We found the weather delightful at that season, the end of summer,
and were hospitably entertained. Our host was a man of means and
evidently regarded our visit as a pleasure, and we were therefore
correspondingly at our ease, and in a position to act with the coolness
of judgment desirable in making so radical a change in our lives. My
cousin placed a horse and buggy at our disposal, and himself acted as
our guide until I became somewhat familiar with the country.
I found that grape-culture, while it had never been carried on to
any great extent, was not entirely unknown in the neighborhood. Several
planters thereabouts had attempted it on a commercial scale, in former
years, with greater or less success; but like most Southern industries,
it had felt the blight of war and had fallen into desuetude.
I went several times to look at a place that I thought might suit
me. It was a plantation of considerable extent, that had formerly
belonged to a wealthy man by the name of McAdoo. The estate had been
for years involved in litigation between disputing heirs, during which
period shiftless cultivation had well-nigh exhausted the soil. There
had been a vineyard of some extent on the place, but it had not been
attended to since the war, and had lapsed into utter neglect. The vines
—here partly supported by decayed and broken-down trellises, there
twining themselves among the branches of the slender saplings which had
sprung up among them—grew in wild and unpruned luxuriance, and the
few scattered grapes they bore were the undisputed prey of the first
comer. The site was admirably adapted to grape- raising; the soil, with
a little attention, could not have been better; and with the native
grape, the luscious scuppernong, as my main reliance in the beginning,
I felt sure that I could introduce and cultivate successfully a number
of other varieties.
One day I went over with my wife to show her the place. We drove out
of the town over a long wooden bridge that spanned a spreading
mill-pond, passed the long whitewashed fence surrounding the county
fair-ground, and struck into a road so sandy that the horse's feet
sank to the fetlocks. Our route lay partly up hill and partly down,
for we were in the sand-hill county; we drove past cultivated farms,
and then by abandoned fields grown up in scrub-oak and short-leaved
pine, and once or twice through the solemn aisles of the virgin forest,
where the tall pines, well-nigh meeting over the narrow road, shut out
the sun, and wrapped us in cloistral solitude. Once, at a cross-roads,
I was in doubt as to the turn to take, and we sat there waiting ten
minutes—we had already caught some of the native infection of
restfulness—for some human being to come along, who could direct us
on our way. At length a little negro girl appeared, walking straight as
an arrow, with a piggin full of water on her head. After a little
patient investigation, necessary to overcome the child's shyness, we
learned what we wished to know, and at the end of about five miles from
the town reached our destination.
We drove between a pair of decayed gateposts—the gate itself had
long since disappeared—and up a straight sandy lane, between two
lines of rotting rail fence, partly concealed by jimson- weeds and
briers, to the open space where a dwelling-house had once stood,
evidently a spacious mansion, if we might judge from the ruined
chimneys that were still standing, and the brick pillars on which the
sills rested. The house itself, we had been informed, had fallen a
victim to the fortunes of war.
We alighted from the buggy, walked about the yard for a while, and
then wandered off into the adjoining vineyard. Upon Annie's complaining
of weariness I led the way back to the yard, where a pine log, lying
under a spreading elm, afforded a shady though somewhat hard seat. One
end of the log was already occupied by a venerable looking colored man.
He held on his
knees a hat full of grapes, over which he was smacking his lips with
great gusto, and a pile of grapeskins near him indicate that the
performance was no new thing. We approached him at an angle from the
rear, and were close to him before he perceived us. He respectfully
rose as we drew near, and was moving away, when I begged him to keep
“Don't let us disturb you,” I said. “There is plenty of room for us
He resumed his seat with somewhat of embarrassment. While he had
been standing, I had observed that he was a tall man, and, though
slightly bowed by the weight of years, apparently quite vigorous. He
was not entirely black, and this fact, together with the quality of his
hair, which was about six inches long and very bushy, except on the top
of his head, where he was quite bald, suggested a slight strain of
other than negro blood. There was a shrewdness in his eyes, too, which
was not altogether African, and which, as we afterwards learned from
experience was indicative of a corresponding shrewdness in his
character. He went on eating the grapes, but did not seem to enjoy
himself quite so well as he had apparently done before he became aware
of our presence.
“Do you live around here?” I asked, anxious to put him at his ease.
“Yas, suh. I lives des ober yander, behine de nex' san'-hill, on de
“Do you know anything about the time when this vineyard was
“Lawd bless you, suh, I knows all about it. Dey ain' na'er a man in
dis settlement w'at won' tell you ole Julius McAdoo 'uz bawn en raise'
on dis yer same plantation. Is you de Norv'n gemman w'at's gwine ter
buy de ole vimya'd?”
“I am looking at it,” I replied; “but I don't know that I shall care
to buy unless I can be reasonably sure of making something out of it.”
“Well, suh, you is a stranger ter me, en I is a stranger ter you, en
we is bofe strangers ter one anudder, but 'f I 'uz in yo' place, I
wouldn' buy dis vim ya'd.”
“Why not?” I asked.
“Well, I dunno whe'r you believes in cunj'in'er not,—some er de
w'ite folks don't, er says dey don't,—but de truf er de matter is dat
dis yer ole vimya'd is goophered.”
“Is what?” I asked, not grasping the meaning of this unfamiliar
“Is goophered,—cunju'd, bewitch'.”
He imparted this information with such solemn earnestness, and with
such an air of confidential mystery, that I felt somewhat interested,
while Annie was evidently much impressed, and drew closer to me.
“How do you know it is bewitched?” I asked.
“I wouldn' spec' fer you ter b'lieve me 'less you know all 'bout de
fac's. But ef you en young miss dere doan' min' lis'nin' ter a ole
nigger run on a minute er two w'ile you er restin', I kin 'splain to
you how it all happen'.”
We assured him that we would be glad to hear how it all happened,
and he began to tell us. At first the current of his memory—or
imagination—seemed somewhat sluggish; but as his embarrassment wore
off, his language flowed more freely, and the story acquired
perspective and coherence. As he became more and more absorbed in the
narrative, his eyes assumed a dreamy expression, and he seemed to lose
sight of his auditors, and to be living over again in monologue his
life on the old plantation.
“Ole Mars Dugal' McAdoo,” he began, “bought dis place long many year
befo' de wah, en I 'member well w'en he sot out all dis yer part er de
plantation in scuppernon's. De vimes growed monst'us fas', en Mars
Dugal' made a thousan' gallon er scuppernon' wine eve'y year.
“Now, ef dey's an'thing a nigger lub, nex' ter 'possum, en chick'n,
en watermillyums, it's scuppernon's. Dey ain' nuffin dat kin stan' up
side'n de scuppernon' for sweetness; sugar ain't a suckumstance ter
scuppernon'. W'en de season is nigh 'bout ober, en de grapes begin ter
swivel up des a little wid de wrinkles er ole age,—w'en de skin git
sot' en brown,—den de scuppernon' make you smack yo' lip en roll yo'
eye en wush fer mo'; so I reckon it ain' very 'stonishin' dat niggers
“Dey wuz a sight er niggers in de naberhood er de vimya'd. Dere wuz
ole Mars Henry Brayboy's niggers, en ol Mars Jeems McLean's niggers, en
Mars Dugal's own niggers; den dey wuz a settlement er free niggers en
po' buckrahs down by de Wim'l'ton Road, en Mars Dugal' had de only
vimya'd in de naberhood. I reckon it ain' so much so nowadays, but
befo' de wah, in slab'ry times, a nigger didn' mine goin' fi' er ten
mile in a night, w'en dey wuz sump'n good ter eat at de yuther een'.
“So atter a w'ile Mars Dugal' begin ter miss his scuppernon's. Co'se
he 'cuse' de niggers er it, but dey all 'nied it ter de las'. Mars
Dugal' sot spring guns en steel traps, en he en de oberseah sot up
nights once't er twice't, tel one night Mars Dugal'—he 'uz a monst'us
keerless man—got his leg shot full er cow-peas. But somehow er nudder
dey couldn' nebber ketch none er de niggers. I dunner how it happen,
but it happen des like I tell you, en de grapes kep' on a-goin' des de
“But bimeby ole Mars Dugal' fix' up a plan ter stop it. Dey wuz a
cunjuh 'oman livin' down 'mongs' de free niggers on de Wim'l'ton Road,
en all de darkies fum Rockfish ter Beaver Crick wuz feared er her. She
could wuk de mos' powerfulles' kin' er goopher,—could make people hab
fits, er rheumatiz, er make 'em des dwinel away en die; en dey say she
went out ridin' de niggers at night, fer she wuz a witch 'sides bein' a
cunjuh 'oman. Mars Dugal' hearn 'bout Aun' Peggy's doin's, en begun ter
'flect whe'r er no he couldn' git her ter he'p him keep de niggers
off'n de grapevimes. One day in de spring er de year, ole miss pack' up
a basket er chick'n en poun'-cake, en a bottle er scuppernon' wine, en
Mars Dugal' tuk it in his buggy en driv ober ter Aun' Peggy's cabin. He
tuk de basket in, en had a long talk wid Aun' Peggy.
“De nex' day Aun' Peggy come up ter de vimya'd. De niggers seed her
slippin' 'roun', en dey soon foun' out what she 'uz doin' dere. Mars
Dugal' had hi'ed her ter goopher de grape vimes, She sa'ntered 'roun'
'mongs' de vimes, en tuk a leaf fum dis one, en a grape-hull fum dat
one, en a grape-seed fum anudder one; en den a little twig fum here, en
a little pinch er dirt fum dere,—en put it all in a big black bottle,
wid a snake's toof en a speckle' hen's gall en some ha'rs fum a black
cat's tail, en den fill' de bottle wid scuppernon' wine. W'en she got
de goopher all ready en fix', she tuk'n went out in de woods en buried
it under de root uv a red oak tree, en den come back en tole one er de
niggers she done goopher de grapevimes, en a'er a nigger w'at eat dem
grapes 'ud be sho ter die inside'n twel' mont's.
“Atter dat de niggers let de scuppernon's 'lone, en Mars Dugal'
didn' hab no 'casion ter fine no mo' fault; en de season wuz mos' gone,
w'en a strange gemman stop at de plantation one night ter see Mars
Dugal' on some business; en his coachman, seein' de scuppernon's
growin' so nice en sweet, slip 'roun' behine de smoke-house, en et all
de scuppernon's he could hole. Nobody didn' notice it at de time, but
dat night, on de way home, de gemman's hoss runned away en kill' de
coachman. W'en we hearn de noos, Aun' Lucy, de cook, she up'n say she
seed de strange nigger eat'n' er de scuppernon's behine de smoke-house;
en den we knowed de goopher had b'en er wukkin'. Den one er de nigger
chilluns runned away fum de quarters one day, en got in de
scuppernon's, en died de nex' week. W'ite folks say he die' er de
fevuh, but de niggers knowed it wuz de goopher. So you k'n be sho de
darkies didn' hab much ter do wid dem scuppernon' vimes.
“W'en de scuppernon' season uz ober fer dat year, Mars Dugal' foun'
he had made fifteen hund'ed gallon er wine; en one er de niggers hearn
him laffin wid de oberseah fit ter kill, en sayin dem fifteen hund'ed
gallon er wine wuz monst'us good intrus' on de ten dollars he laid out
on de vimya'd. So I 'low ez he paid Aun' Peggy ten dollars fer to
goopher de grapevimes.
“De goopher didn' wuk no mo' tel de nex' summer, w'en 'long to'ds de
middle er de season one er de fiel' han's died; en ez dat let' Mars
Dugal' sho't er han's, he went off ter town fer ter buy anudder. He
fotch de noo nigger home wid 'im. He wuz er ole nigger, er de color er
a gingy-cake, en ball ez a hoss-apple on de top er his head. He wuz a
peart ole nigger, do', en could do a big day's wuk.
“Now it happen dat one er de niggers on de nex' plantation, one er
old Mars Henry Brayboy's niggers, had runned away de day befo', en tuk
ter de swamp, en ole Mars Dugal' en some er de yuther nabor w'ite folks
had gone out wid dere guns en dere dogs fer ter he'p 'em hunt fer de
nigger; en de han's on our own plantation wuz all so flusterated dat we
fuhgot ter tell de noo han' 'bout de goopher on de scuppernon' vimes.
Co'se he smell de grapes en see de vimes, an atter dahk de fus' thing
he done wuz ter slip off ter de grapevimes 'dout sayin' nuffin ter
nobody. Nex' mawnin' he tole some er de niggers 'bout de fine bait er
scuppernon' he et de night befo'.
“W'en dey tole 'im 'bout de goopher on de grapevimes, he 'uz dat
tarrified dat he turn pale, en look des like he gwine ter die right in
his tracks. De oberseah come up en axed w'at 'uz de matter; en w'en dey
tole 'im Henry be'n eatin' er de scuppernon's, en got de goopher on
'im, he gin Henry a big drink er w'iskey, en 'low dat de nex' rainy day
he take 'im ober ter Aun' Peggy's, en see ef she wouldn' take de
goopher off'n him, seein' ez he didn' know nuffin erbout it tel he done
et de grapes.
“Sho nuff, it rain de nex' day, en de oberseah went ober ter Aun'
Peggy's wid Henry. En Aun' Peggy say dat bein' ez Henry didn' know
'bout de goopher, en et de grapes in ign'ance er de conseq'ences, she
reckon she mought be able fer ter take de goopher off'n him. So she
fotch out er bottle wid some cunjuh medicine in it, en po'd some out in
a go'd for Henry ter drink. He manage ter git it down; he say it tas'e
like whiskey wid sump'n bitter in it. She 'lowed dat 'ud keep de
goopher off'n him tel de spring: but w'en de sap begin ter rise in de
grapevimes he ha' ter come en see her ag'in, en she tell him w'at e's
“Nex' spring, w'en de sap commence' ter rise in de scuppernon' vime,
Henry tuk a ham one night. Whar'd he git de ham? I doan know;
dey wa'n't no hams on de plantation 'cep'n' w'at 'uz in de smoke-house,
but I never see Henry 'bout de smoke-house. But ez I wuz
a-sayin', he tuk de ham ober ter Aun' Peggy's; en Aun' Peggy tole 'im
dat w'en Mars Dugal' begin ter prune de grapevimes, he mus' go en take
'n scrape off de sap whar it ooze out'n de cut een's er de vimes, en
'n'int his ball head wid it; en ef he do dat once't a year de goopher
wouldn' wuk agin 'im long ez he done it. En bein' ez he fotch her de
ham, she fix' it so he kin eat all de scuppernon' he want.
“So Henry 'n'int his head wid de sap out'n de big grapevime des ha'f
way 'twix' de quarters en de big house, en de goopher nebber wuk agin
him dat summer. But de beatenes' thing you eber see happen ter Henry.
Up ter dat time he wuz ez ball ez a sweeten' 'tater, but des ez soon ez
de young leaves begun ter come out on de grapevimes, de ha'r begun ter
grow out on Henry's head, en by de middle er de summer he had de
bigges' head er ha'r on de plantation. Befo' dat, Henry had tol'able
good ha'r 'roun' de aidges, but soon ez de young grapes begun ter come,
Henry's ha'r begun to quirl all up in little balls, de like dis yer
reg'lar grapy ha'r, en by de time de grapes got ripe his head look des
like a bunch er grapes. Combin' it didn' do no good; he wuk at it ha'f
de night wid er Jim Crow, 1 en think he
git it straighten' out, but in de mawnin'
1. A small card, resembling a
currycomb in construction, and used by negroes in the rural districts
instead of a comb.
de grapes 'ud be dere des de same. So he gin it up, en tried ter
keep de grapes down by havin' his hair cut sho't.
“But dat wa'n't de quares' thing 'bout de goopher. When Henry come
ter de plantation, he wuz gittin' a little ole an stiff in de j'ints.
But dat summer he got des ez spry en libely ez any young nigger on de
plantation; fac', he got so biggity dat Mars Jackson, de oberseah, ha'
ter th'eaten ter whip 'im, ef he didn' stop cuttin' up his didos en
behave hisse'f. But de mos' cur'ouses' thing happen' in de fall, when
de sap begin ter go down in de grapevimes. Fus', when de grapes 'uz
gethered, de knots begun ter straighten out'n Henry's ha'r; en w'en de
leaves begin ter fall, Henry's ha'r 'mence' ter drap out; en when de
vimes 'uz bar', Henry's head wuz baller'n it wuz in de spring, en he
begin ter git ole en stiff in de j'ints ag'in, en paid no mo' 'tention
ter de gals dyoin' er de whole winter. En nex' spring, w'en he rub de
sap on ag'in, he got young ag'in, en so soopl en libely dat none er de
young niggers on de plantation couldn' jump, ner dance, ner hoe ez much
cotton ez Henry. But in de fall er de year his grapes 'mence' ter
straighten out, en his j'ints ter git stiff, en his ha'r drap off, en
de rheumatic begin ter wrestle wid 'im.
“Now, ef you'd 'a' knowed ole Mars Dugal' McAdoo, you'd 'a' knowed
dat it ha' ter be a mighty rainy day when he couldn' fine sump'n fer
his niggers ter do, en it ha' ter be a mighty little hole he could n'
crawl thoo, en ha' ter be a monst'us cloudy night when a dollar git by
him in de dahkness; en w'en he see how Henry git young in de spring en
ole in de fall, he 'lowed ter hisse'f ez how he could make mo' money
out'n Henry dan by wukkin' him in de cotton- fiel'. 'Long de nex'
spring, atter de sap 'mence' ter rise, en Henry 'n'int 'is head en
sta'ted fer ter git young en soopl, Mars Dugal' up 'n tuk Henry ter
town, en sole 'im fer fifteen hunder' dollars. Co'se de man w'at bought
Henry didn' know nuffin 'bout de goopher, en Mars Dugal' didn' see no
'casion fer ter tell 'im. Long to'ds de fall, w'en de sap went down,
Henry begin ter git ole akin same ez yuzhal, en his noo marster begin
ter git sheered les'n he gwine ter lose his fifteen-hunder'-dollar
nigger. He sent fer a mighty fine doctor, but de med'cine didn' 'pear
ter do no good; de goopher had a good holt. Henry tole de doctor 'bout
de goopher, but de doctor des laff at 'im.
“One day in de winter Mars Dugal' went ter town, en wuz santerin'
'long de Main Street, when who should he meet but Henry's noo marster.
Dey said 'Hoddy,' en Mars Dugal' ax 'im ter hab a seegyar; en atter dey
run on awhile 'bout de craps en de weather, Mars Dugal' ax 'im, sorter
keerless, like ez ef he des thought of it,—
“ 'How you like de nigger I sole you las' spring?'
“Henry's marster shuck his head en knock de ashes off'n his seegyar.
“ 'Spec' I made a bad bahgin when I bought dat nigger. Henry done
good wuk all de summer, but sence de fall set in he 'pears ter be
sorter pinin' away. Dey ain' nuffin pertickler de matter wid 'im—
leastways de doctor say so—'cep'n' a tech er de rheumatiz; but his
ha'r is all fell out, en ef he don't pick up his strenk mighty soon, I
spec' I'm gwine ter lose 'im.'
“Dey smoked on awhile, en bimeby ole mars say, 'Well, a bahgin's a
bahgin, but you en me is good fren's, en I doan wan' ter see you lose
all de money you paid fer dat nigger; en ef w'at you say is so, en I
ain't 'sputin' it, he ain't wuf much now. I 'spec's you wukked him too
he'd dis summer, er e'se de swamps down here don't agree wid de
san'-hill nigger. So you des lemme know, en ef he gits any wusser I'll
be willin' ter gib yer five hund'ed dollars fer 'im, en take my chances
on his livin'.'
“Sho 'nuff, when Henry begun ter draw up wid de rheumatiz en it look
like he gwine ter die fer sho, his noo marster sen' fer Mars Dugal', en
Mars Dugal' gin him what he promus, en brung Henry home ag'in. He tuk
good keer uv 'im dyoin' er de winter,—give 'im w'iskey ter rub his
rheumatiz, en terbacker ter smoke, en all he want ter eat,—'caze a
nigger w'at he could make a thousan' dollars a year off'n didn' grow on
eve'y huckleberry bush.
“Nex' spring, w'en de sap ris en Henry's ha'r commence' ter sprout,
Mars Dugal' sole 'im ag'in, down in Robeson County dis time; en he kep'
dat sellin' business up fer five year er mo'. Henry nebber say nuffin
'bout de goopher ter his noo marsters, 'caze he know he gwine ter be
tuk good keer uv de nex' winter, w'en Mars Dugal' buy him back. En Mars
Dugal' made 'nuff money off'n Henry ter buy anudder plantation ober on
“But 'long 'bout de een' er dat five year dey come a stranger ter
stop at de plantation. De fus' day he 'uz dere he went out wid Mars
Dugal' en spent all de mawnin' lookin' ober de vimya'd, en atter dinner
dey spent all de evenin' playin' kya'ds. De niggers soon 'skiver' dat
he wuz a Yankee, en dat he come down ter Norf C'lina fer ter l'arn de
w'ite folks how to raise grapes en make wine. He promus Mars Dugal' he
c'd make de grapevimes b'ar twice't ez many grapes, en dat de noo
winepress he wuz a-sellin' would make mo' d'n twice't ez many gallons
er wine. En ole Mars Dugal' des drunk it all in, des 'peared ter be
bewitch' wid dat Yankee. W'en de darkies see dat Yankee runnin' 'roun'
de vimya'd en diggin' under de grapevimes, dey shuk dere heads, en
'lowed dat dey feared Mars Dugal' losin' his min'. Mars Dugal' had all
de dirt dug away fum under de roots er all de scuppernon' vimes, an'
let 'em stan' dat away fer a week er mo'. Den dat Yankee made de
niggers fix up a mixtry er lime en ashes en manyo, en po' it 'roun' de
roots er de grapevimes. Den he 'vise Mars Dugal' fer ter trim de vimes
close't, en Mars Dugal' tuck 'n done eve'ything de Yankee tole him ter
do. Dyoin' all er dis time, mind yer, dis yer Yankee wuz libbin' off'n
de fat er de lan', at de big house, en playin' kya'ds wid Mars Dugal'
eve'y night; en dey say Mars Dugal'los' mo'n a thousan' dollars dyoin'
er de week dat Yankee wuz a-ruinin' de grapevimes.
“W'en de sap ris nex' spring, ole Henry 'n'inted his head ez yuzhal,
en his ha'r 'mence' ter grow des de same ez it done eve'y year. De
scuppernon' vimes growed monst's fas', en de leaves wuz greener en
thicker den dey eber be'n dyoin' my rememb'ance; en Henry's ha'r growed
out thicker den eber, en he 'peared ter git younger 'n younger, en
soopler 'n soopler; en seein' ez he wuz sho't er han's dat spring,
havin' tuk in consid'able noo groun', Mars Dugal' 'cluded he wouldn'
sell Henry 'tel he git de crap in en de cotton chop'. So he kep' Henry
on de plantation.
“But 'long 'bout time fer de grapes ter come on de scuppernon'
vimes, dey 'peared ter come a change ober 'em; de leaves withered en
swivel' up, en de young grapes turn' yaller, en bimeby eve'ybody on de
plantation could see dat de whole vimya'd wuz dyin'. Mars Dugal' tuk'n
water de vimes en done all he could, but 't wa'n' no use: dat Yankee
had done bus' de watermillyum. One time de vimes picked up a bit, en
Mars Dugal' 'lowed dey wuz gwine ter come out ag'in; but dat Yankee
done dug too close under de roots, en prune de branches too close ter
de vime, en all dat lime en ashes done burn' de life out'n de vimes, en
dey des kep' a-with'in' en a-swivelin'.
“All dis time de goopher wuz a-wukkin'. When de vimes sta'ted ter
wither, Henry 'mence' ter complain er his rheumatiz; en when de leaves
begin ter dry up, his ha'r'mence' ter drap out. When de vimes fresh' up
a bit, Henry'd git peart ag'in, en when de vimes wither' ag'in, Henry'd
git ole ag'in, en des kep' gittin' mo' en mo' fitten fer nufffin; he
des pined away, en pined away, en fine'ly tuk ter his cabin; en when de
big vime whar he got de sap ter 'n'int his head withered en turned
yaller en died, Henry died too,—des went out
sorter like a cannel. Dey didn't 'pear ter be nuffin de matter wid
'im, 'cep'n' de rheumatiz, but his strenk des dwinel' away 'tel he
didn' hab ernuff lef' ter draw his bref. De goopher had got de under
bolt, en th'owed Henry dat time fer good en all.
“Mars Dugal' tuk on might'ly 'bout losin' his vimes en his nigger in
de same year; en he swo' dat ef he could git holt er dat Yankee he'd
wear 'im ter a frazzle, en den chaw up de frazzle; en he'd done it,
too, for Mars Dugal' 'uz a monst'us brash man w'en he once git started.
He sot de vimya'd out ober ag'in, but it wuz th'ee er fo' year befo' de
vimes got ter b'arin' any scuppernon's.
“W'en de wah broke out, Mars Dugal' raise' a comp'ny, en went off
ter fight de Yankees. He say he wuz mighty glad dat wah come, en he des
want ter kill a Yankee fer eve'y dollar he los' 'long er dat
grape-raisin' Yankee. En I 'spec' he would 'a' done it, too, ef de
Yankees hadn' s'picioned sump'n en killed him fus'. Atter de s'render
ole miss move' ter town, de niggers all scattered 'way fum de
plantation, en de vimya'd ain' be'n cultervated sence.”
“Is that story true?” asked Annie doubtfully, but seriously, as the
old man concluded his narrative.
“It's des ez true ez I'm a-settin' here, miss. Dey's a easy way ter
prove it: I kin lead de way right ter Henry's grave ober yander in de
plantation buryin'- groun'. En I tell yer w'at, marster, I wouldn'
'vise you to buy dis yer ole vimya'd, 'caze de goopher's on it yit, en
dey ain' no tellin' w'en it's gwine ter crap out.”
“But I thought you said all the old; vines died.”
“Dey did 'pear ter die, but a few un 'em come out ag'in, en is mixed
in 'mongs' de yuthers. I ain' skeered ter eat de grapes, 'caze I knows
de old vimes fum de noo ones; but wid strangers dey ain' no tellin'
w'at mought happen. I wouldn' 'vise yer ter buy dis vimya'd.”
I bought the vineyard, nevertheless, and it has been for a long time
in a thriving condition, and is often referred to by the local press as
a striking illustration of the opportunities open to Northern capital
in the development of Southern industries. The luscious scuppernong
holds first rank among our grapes, though we cultivate a great many
other varieties, and our income from grapes packed and shipped to the
Northern markets is quite considerable. I have not noticed any
developments of the goopher in the vineyard, although I have a mild
suspicion that our colored assistants do not suffer from want of grapes
during the season.
I found, when I bought the vineyard, that Uncle Julius had occupied
a cabin on the place for many years, and derived a respectable revenue
from the product of the neglected grapevines. This, doubtless,
accounted for his advice to me not to buy the vineyard, though whether
it inspired the goopher story I am unable to state. I believe, however,
that the wages I paid him for his services as coachman, for I gave him
employment in that capacity, were more than an equivalent for anything
he lost by the sale of the vineyard.