The Conjure Woman | Page 8

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.

PO' SANDY
On the northeast corner of my vineyard in central North Carolina, and
fronting on the Lumberton plank-road, there stood a small frame house,
of the simplest construction. It was built of pine lumber, and contained
but one room, to which one window gave light and one door admission.
Its weatherbeaten sides revealed a virgin innocence of paint. Against
one end of the house, and occupying half its width, there stood a huge
brick chimney: the crumbling mortar had left large cracks between the
bricks; the bricks themselves had begun to scale off in large flakes,
leaving the chimney sprinkled with unsightly blotches. These evidences
of decay were but partially concealed by a creeping vine, which
extended its slender branches hither and thither in an ambitious but
futile attempt to cover the whole chimney. The wooden shutter, which
had once protected the unglazed window, had fallen from its hinges,
and lay rotting in the rank grass and jimson-weeds beneath. This
building, I learned when I bought the place, had been used as a
schoolhouse for several years prior to the breaking out of the war, since
which time it had remained unoccupied, save when some stray cow or
vagrant hog had sought shelter within its walls from the chill rains and
nipping winds of winter.
One day my wife requested me to build her a new kitchen. The house
erected by us, when we first came to live upon the vineyard, contained
a very conveniently arranged kitchen; but for some occult reason my
wife wanted a kitchen in the back yard, apart from the dwelling-house,
after the usual Southern fashion. Of course I had to build it.

To save expense, I decided to tear down the old schoolhouse, and use
the lumber, which was in a good state of preservation, in the
construction of the new kitchen. Before demolishing the old house,
however, I made an estimate of the amount of material contained in it,
and found that I would have to buy several hundred feet of lumber
additional, in order to build the new kitchen according to my wife's
plan.
One morning old Julius McAdoo, our colored coachman, harnessed the
gray mare to the rockaway, and drove my wife and me over to the
sawmill from which I meant to order the new lumber. We drove down
the long lane which led from our house to the plank-road; following the
plank-road for about a mile, we turned into a road running through the
forest and across the swamp to the sawmill beyond. Our carriage jolted
over the half-rotted corduroy road which traversed the swamp, and then
climbed the long hill leading to the sawmill. When we reached the mill,
the foreman had gone over to a neighboring farmhouse, probably to
smoke or gossip, and we were compelled to await his return before we
could transact our business. We remained seated in the carriage, a few
rods from the mill, and watched the leisurely movements of the
mill-hands. We had not waited long before a huge pine log was placed
in position, the machinery of the mill was set in motion, and the
circular saw began to eat its way through the log, with a loud whir
which resounded throughout the vicinity of the mill. The sound rose
and fell in a sort of rhythmic cadence, which, heard from where we sat,
was not unpleasing, and not loud enough to prevent conversation.
When the saw started on its second journey through the log, Julius
observed, in a lugubrious tone, and with a perceptible shudder:--
"Ugh! but dat des do cuddle my blood!"
"What's the