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The Goophered Grapevine
by
“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 ez it done eve’y year. De scuppernon’ vimes growed monst’s fas’, en de leaves wuz 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 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 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 vimes, en dey des kep’ a with’in’ en a swivelin’.
“All dis time de goopher wuz a-wukkin’. W’en de vimes commence’ ter wither, Henry commence’ ter complain er his rheumatiz, en when de leaves begin ter dry up his ha’r commence’ ter drap out. When de vimes fresh up a bit Henry ‘ud git peart agin, en when de vimes wither agin Henry ‘ud git ole agin, en des kep’ gittin’ mo’ en mo’ fitten fer nuffin; he des 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 holt, en th’owed Henry fer 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 ef he could git hold 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 agin, 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 saw 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 yer 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.”