About ten 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 was engaged in grape-culture in northern Ohio, and decided to look for a locality suitable for carrying on the same business in some Southern State. I wrote to a cousin who had gone into the turpentine business in central North Carolina, and he assured me that no better place could be found in the South than the State and neighborhood in which he lived: climate and soil were all that could be asked for, and land could be bought for a mere song. A cordial invitation to visit him while I looked into the matter was accepted. We found the weather delightful at that season, the end of the summer, and were most hospitably entertained. Our host placed a horse and buggy at our disposal, and himself acted as guide until I got somewhat familiar with the country.
I went several times to look at a place which I thought might suit me. It had been at one time a thriving plantation, but 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 fallen into utter neglect. The vines—here partly supported by decayed and broken-down arbors, 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 scanty grapes which 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, mainly to rely upon, 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 between the decayed gate-posts—the gate itself had long since disappeared—and up the straight, sandy lane to the open space where a dwelling-house had once stood. But the house had fallen a victim to the fortunes of war, and nothing remained of it except the brick pillars upon which the sills had rested. We alighted, and walked about the place for a while; but on Annie's complaining of weariness I led the way back to the yard, where a pine log, lying under a spreading elm, formed 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 grape-skins near him indicated that the performance was no new thing. He respectfully rose as we approached, and was moving away, when I begged him to keep his seat.
“Don't let us disturb you,” I said. “There 's plenty of room for us all.”
He resumed his seat with somewhat of embarrassment.
"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 do Lumberton Plank-road.."
"Do you know anything about the time when this vineyard was cultivated:''
"Lawd bless yer, sur, I knows all about it. Dey ain na'er a man in dis settlement w’at won' tell yer ole Julius McAdoo 'uz bawn an' 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, sur, 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 would n' buy dis vimya'd."
Why not?" I asked.
"Well, I dunner whe'r you b'lieves in cunj'in er not, - some er de w'ite folks don't, or says dey don't, - but tie truf er de matter is dat dis yer ole vim-'d is goophered"
“Is what?" I asked, not grasping the meaning of this unfamiliar word.
"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 would n' spec' fer you ter b'lieve me 'less you know all 'bout de fac’s. But of you en young miss dere doan' min' lis'n'in' ter a ole nigger run on a minute or two w'ile you er restin', I kin 'splain to yer 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 be 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 bought dis place long many years befo' de wah, en I 'member well w'en he sot out all dis yet 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 watennillyums it's scuppernon's. Dey ain' nuffln dat kin stan' up side'n de scuppernon' fer sweetness; sugar ain't a suckumstance ter scuppernon'. W'en de season is nigh 'bout ober, en do grapes begin ter swivel up des a little wid de wrinkles er ole age. - w'en de skin git sof' en brown, - den do scuppernon' make you smack yo lip en roll yo' eye en wush fer mo'; so I reckon it ain' very 'stonishin' dat niggers lub scuppernon'.
"Dey wuz a sight er niggers in de naherhood er de vimya'd. Dere wuz ole Mars Henry Brayboy's niggers, en ole Mars Dunkin 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 in' so much so nowadays, but bofe' de wah, in slah'ry times, er nigger did n' mine goin' fi' er ten mile in a night, w’en dey was suntp'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 titan - got his leg shot full er cow-pews. But somehow er nudder day could n' nebber ketch none er de niggers. I dunner how it happen, but it happen des like I tell yes, en de grapes kep' on a-goin des de same.
“But bimeby ole Mars Dugal' fix' up a plan ter stop it. Dey 'uz a cunjuh ‘ooman livin' down mongs de free niggers on the Wim’l’ton Road, en all de darkies fum Rockfish ter Beaver Crick wuz feared uv her. She could wuk de mos powerfulles' kind er goopher -could make people hab fits er rheumatiz, or make 'em des dwinel away en die; en dey say she went out ridin' de niggers at night, for she wuz a witch 'sides bein' a cunjuh 'ooman. Mars Dugal' hearn 'bout Ann' Peggy's doin's, en begun ter 'flect whe'r er no he could n’ git her ter he’p hunt keep de niggers off’n de grapevimes. One day in the spring er de year, ole miss pack' up a basket er chick'n en poun’-cake, en a bottle as 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 Ann' Peggy come up ter de vimya'd. De niggers seed her slippin' 'roan', en they soon foun' out what she uz doin' dere. Mars Dugal' had hi'ed her ter goopher de grapevimes. She sa'ntered 'roan' mongs' the 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 en dirt fum dare, -- 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' the bottle wid scuppernon’ wine. W’en she got the goopher all ready en fix', she tuk ‘n went out in de woods en buried it under de root uv a red oak tred, en den come back en tole one en the niggurs 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' did a' hab no casion ter fine no mo' fault en de season wuz mos' gone, w'en a strange gemman stop at do plantation one night ter see Mars Dugal' on some business; en his coachman, seein' de scuppernon's growin' s nice en sweet, slip 'roan' behine de smoke-house, en et all de scuppernon's he could hole. Nobody did n’notice it at de time, but dat night, on de way home, de gemman's hoss runned away en kill' de coachman. Wen’ we hearn de noos, Aun' Lucy, de cook, she up 'a say she seed de strange nigger eat'n' er de scuppernon's behine the smokehouse; en den we knowed de gopher had b’en er wukkin. Den one er de nigger chilluns runned away fum the quarters one day, en got in de scuppernon's, en died the nex' week, W'ite folks say he die' er de fevuh, but de niggers knowed it was de goopher. So you k'n be sho de darkie' did n' hab much ter do wid dem scuppernon' vimes.
“Wen’ de scuppernon' season 'uz ober rer dat year, Mars Dugal' foun' he had made fifteen hund'ed gallon er wine; en one er de niggers hearst him laffin' wid de oberseah fit ter kill, en sayin' dens fifteen hund'ed gallon er wine was monst'us good intrus' on de ten dollars he laid out on de vimya'd. So I 'low ez he paid Ann' Peggy ten dollars for to goopher de grapevimes.
“De goopher did n' 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 lef' Mars Dugal' sho't er han's, he went off ter town for tar buy anudder. He fotch de noo nigger home wid 'im. He wuz er ole nigger, er de color or a gingy-cake, en ball ez a hossapple on de top er his head. He wuz a peart ole nigget', do', en could do a big day's wuk.
"Now it happen dat one er de niggers on de nex' plantation, one er ole Mars Henry Brayboy's niggers, had runned away de day befo', en tak 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 for ter he'p 'em hunt for de nigger; en de han's on our own plantation wuz all so fiusterated dat we fuhgot ter tell de noo han' 'bout de goopher on do 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 tot 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 do gopher on do grapevimes, he 'uz dat tarrified dat he turn pale, en look des like he gwine ter die right in his tracks. De obersoah come up en axed w'at 'uz dd matter; en w'en dey tole 'im Henry be’n eatin' er de scuppernon's, en got dd goopher on 'im, he gin Henry a big drink er w'iskey, en 'low dat de nex' rainy day he take ‘im ober for Aun' Peggy's, en see ef she would it' take de goopher off'n him, seein' ez he did n' know nuffin erbout it tel he done et de grapes.
"Sho nuff, it rain de nex' day, en de oberseah went ober ter Ann' Peggy's wid Henry. En Aun' Peggy say dat bein' ez Henry did n' know 'bout de goopher, en et de grapes in ign'ance er de quinsecones, 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 fer 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 do goopher off'n hint tel do spring; but w'en de sap begin ter rise in de grapevimes be ha' ter come en see her agin, en she toil him w'at e's ter do.
“Nex spring, w’en de sap commence' tar rise in do scuppernon' vime, Henry tuk a ham one night. Whar 'd he git de ham? I doan know; dey wa'nt no hams on do plantation 'cep'n' w'at 'uz in de smokehouse, 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 prume 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 would n' wuk agin 'im long or he done it. En bein' ez he fetch her do ham, she fix' it so be kin eat all de scuppernon' he want.
"So Henry 'nint his head wid de sap out'n do 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 cx a sweeten' 'tater, but des ez soon ez de young leaves begun ter come out on do grapevines do ha’r begun to grow out on Henry's head, en by de middle er de summer he had de bigges' head or ha'r on de plantation. Befo' dat, Henry had tol'able good ha'r 'roun' do aidges, but soon ez de young grapes begun ter come Henry's ha'r begun ter quirl all up in little balls, des 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 did n' do no good; he wuk at it ha’f de night wid or Jim Crow, en think he git it straighten' out, but in de mawnin' de grapes 'ud be dere des de same. So he gin it up, en tried ter keep de grapes down by havin' his ha'r cut sho't,
"But dat wa'nt de quares' thing 'bout do goopher. When Henry come ter dr plantation, he wuz gittin' a little ole an stiff in do 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 did n’ stop cuttin' up his didos in behave hisse'f. But de mos’ cur'ouses' thing happen’ in de fall, when de begin ter go down in de grapevime. Fus', when de grapes 'uz gethered, de knots begun ter straighten out'n Henry's har’; en w'en de leaves begin ter fall, Henry's ha'r begin ter drop out; en w’en de vimes 'uz b’ar. Henry's head was baller 'n it wuz in de spring, en he begin in git ole en stiff in de j'ints ag'in, on paid no me' tention icr do gals thitin' or do whole winter. En nex' spring, w'en he rub de sap on ag'in, he got young ag'in en so soop1 en libely dat none er de young niggers on de plantation could n' jump, ner dance, ner hoe es much cotton ez Henry. But in de fall er de year his grapes begun let straighten out, en his j'ints ter git stiff, en his ha’r drap off, en de rheumatiz begin ter wrastle wid 'im.
Now, ef you'd a knowel ole Mars Dugal' McAdoo, you'd a knowed dat it ha' ter be a mighty rainy day when de could n' line sump'n for his nigger ter do, en it ha' er be a mighty little hole he could n' crawl thoo, en ha' ter be a monst'us cloudy night w'en a dollar git by him in de dahkness; en w'en he see how Henry, git young in de spring en ole in do fall, he 'lowed ter hisse'f ez how he could make mo' money outen Henry dun by wukkin' him in do cotton feil. 'Long de nex' spring, atter de sap commence' ter rise, en Henry 'n'int 'is head en commence fre 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 did n’ know nuffin 'bout de goopher, en Mars Dugul' did a' see no casion fer ter tell 'im. Long to'ds de fall, w'en do sap went down, Henry begin ter git ole again same ex yuzhal, en his noo marster begin ter git skeered les'n he gwine ter lose his fifteen-hunder’-dollar nigger. He sent fer a mighty fine doctor, but de med'cine did n' 'pear ter do no good; de goopher had a good holt. Henry tole de doctor 'bout de goopher, but do 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 tot hab a seegyar; en atter dey run on awhile 'bout de craps en de weather, Mars Dugal' ax 'im, sorter keerless, like es 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 had bahgin when I bought dat nigger. Henry done good wuk all do 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 digger; 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 ha'd dis summer, or e'se de swamps down here don't agree wid de san'-hill. nigger. So you dest lemme know, en ef he gits any wusser I’ll be willin' ter gib yet 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 manter 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 did it' 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 or mo'. Henry nebbor say nuffin 'bout de goopher ter his noo marsters, 'care 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 Henry ter buy anudder plantation ober on Beaver Crick.
"But long 'bout de een' or 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 for ter learn de w'ite folks how to raise grapes en make wine. He promus Mars Dugal' lie cud make de grapevimes ba’r twice't er many grapes, en dat de noo wine-press he wuz a-sellin' would make mo' d'n twice't ez many gallons or wine. En ole Mars Dugal' des drunk it all in, des 'peared ter be bewitched wid dat Yankee. W’en do darkies see dat Yankee runnin' 'roan do vimya'd en diggin’ under de grapevimes, dey shuk dere heads, en 'lowed dat dey feared Mars Dagal' 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 roan' 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, 'e wuz libbin' off'n de fat er de lan', at de big house, en playin' kyards 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 runnin' do grapevimes.
"W’en de sap ris nex’ spring, ole Henry 'n'inted his head ez yuzhal, en his ha'r commence' ter grow des de same er it dune eve'y year. De scuppernon' vimes growed monst's fas', en de leaves win greener en thicker dan dey eber be'n dyowin my rememb'ance; en Henry's ha'r growed out thicker dan 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 groan', Mars Dugal' 'cluded he would n' sell Henry 'tel he git de crop in en do cotten chop'. So he kep' Henry on do plantation.
"But 'long 'bout time fur de grapes ter come on de scuppernon' vines, dey 'peared ter come a change ober dem; de leaves wivered 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' tuck 'n water de vimes en done all he could, but 't wan' no use; dat Yankee done bus' de watermillyum. One time de vimes picked up a bit, en Mars Dugal' thought dey wuz gwine ter come out ag'in; but dat Yankee done dug too close unde' de roots, en prune de branches too close ter de vime, en all dat lime en ashes done burn' de life outen de vines, en dey des kep' a with'in' en a swivelin'.
"All us time do goopher wuz a-wukkin'. Won de vimes commence' ter wither, Henry commence' ter complain er his rheumatiz, en w’en de leaves begin ter dry up his ha'r commence' ter dry out. W’en de vimes fresh up a bit Henry 'ud git peart agin, en when de vimes wittier agin Henry 'ud git ole agin, en dos kep' gittin' mo' en mo' fitten fer nuffin; he des pined away, en finely tuk ter his cabin en when de big vime whar he got eo sap ter 'n'int his head withered en turned yaller en died, Henry died too, - des went out sorter like a cannel. Dey did n't 'pear ter be nuffin de matter wid 'im, 'cep'n' de rheumatiz, but his strenk des dwinel' away 'tel he did n' hab ernuff lef' ter draw his bref. De goopher had got de under bolt, en th’owed Henry for good en all dat time.
"Mars Dugal' tuk on might'ly 'bout losin' his vimes en his nigger in de same year; en he swo' dat of he could git holt er dat Yankee he’d wear 'im ter a frazzle, en den cbaw 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 agin, but it wuz th’ee er fo’ year befo' do vimes got ter b'arin' any scuppernon's.
"W'en do 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 or dat grape-raisin' Yankee. En I 'spec' he would a done it, too, ef de Yankees had n' 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 woud n' 'vise yer to buy dis yer ole vimya'd, 'case de goopher 's on it yit, en dey ain' no tellin' w'en it gwine ter crap out."
"But I thought you said all the old vines died."
“Dey did 'pear ter die, but a few ov '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 might happen. I would n' '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 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 & 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 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 pay him for his services are more than an equivalent for anything he lost by the sale of the vineyard.