Letter of Eneas inclosed in that of Rev. Mr. Wells:
Marse George: I am loss in er distric called Yellerhama, by a town name
o'Burningham. Ef you knows whar Burningham is, fer God's sake come ter
me fer I can't git ter you! Me an' Lady Chain is plum wore out.
Marse George, I been ter firs one an' den ernuther Thomasville, year in
an' year out, tell thar ain't no sense in hit. An' I ain't hit de right
one yit. Evy yuther place is name Thomasville er Macon er Washington er
Jefferson. Evybody knows whar I wanter go but me, an' shows me de road;
but all I kin do is ter keep er movin'. De firs Thomasville I got ter I
got back fo' times. Hit was harder ter lose it than hit was ter find it!
Marse George, I come ter one pond I couldn't see ercross an' de water
warn't no count. The last Thomasville was out most ter sundown an' I was
headin' fer ernuther when I struck er creek er mile wide an' Lady Chain
couldn't wade hit, so we turn back.
Marse George, Lady Chain's colt come, back in the secon' Jefferson, an'
he sholy is ole Lightnin's colt; long-legged, big-footed an' iron grey.
I been tryin' him out hyar an' thar an' thar ain't nothin' kin tech him.
Marse George, I got ernuther wife down in de third Washington an' am
bringin' her erlong. She weighs one hundred and sixty, an' picks fo'
hundred pounds er cotton er day. She b'longs ter you, same as me an'
Lady Chain an' de colt.
Marse George, er horse trader goin' by told me erbout some more Macons
an' Spartas an' Jeffersons an' Washingtons up de country fum hyar an' ef
I don't git word fum you by nex' month, I'm gointer move erlong.
Marse George, ef you knows whar I is fum dis hyar letter an' can't come
yo'self, sen' fer me. I'm sick o' de road an' wanter git home. Do somp'n
an' do it quick!
Yo' ole nigger,
Eneas.
* * * * *
Macon, Tenn., Oct. 30, 1872.
Maj. George E. Tommey, Louisville, Ga.
My Dear Sir: Eneas was here in 1869 or 1870 and remained about a year
preaching at Mt. Zion and other places in the county. I do not know when
I ever met a more original and entertaining talker. His description of
your colonial house with its forty rooms, white columns and splendid
parks has aroused in me a strong desire to visit the place if I am ever
able to come to Georgia. I know it must have suffered from the ravages
of the war, but doubtless enough remains to show its former
magnificence. I am especially anxious to see the great lake with its
flock of swans, and the twelve fountains on your lawn. My mother is a
Georgian and have often heard her describe the natural beauties of the
State. There is a feeling with us all that at last it is "home" and that
some day we shall all assemble in dear old Monroe county where grandpa
was born.
Eneas brought with him to this place a grey mare that was, he said, a
famous race horse, and that the father of her colt was the greatest
horse in the world. I had forgotten their names until I read your
letter. Eneas insisted that you lived at Thomasville next to Washington
and Jefferson Counties, and near a town named Louisville. There are
towns and counties of the same names in this State and he left to visit
them. He seemed to have plenty of money. I hope you will hear from him
yet, but I am afraid the trunk is gone. He had none when here.
Sincerely yours,
Mary Adkins.
* * * * *
Louisville, Tenn., Oct. 27, 1872.
Sir: Don't you worry about old Eneas. He came here in or about '70
with a grey mare, a long-legged race horse, a young wife and three
children, and give out that he was a minister of the Gospel. They stayed
on my place and there were four children when they left. He was a
preacher all right, cause I heard him time and again, but all the same
he was the biggest liar in Tennessee at that time, and that's a great
record for any man. Major, if half he said about you and your place is
true, you ought to be President. You must have owned all the niggers in
Georgia, and your home must be spread over all three of them counties he
has been looking for ever since freedom. About that Lightning colt--he
certainly looks it. Eneas slipped him into a free-for-all up here and
him and a strange white man about busted the county. I offered him $500
for the colt, but he said your price was $20,000. Considering you had
never seen him, I thought that a little high and him and me didn't
trade. Next day he was gone. Oh, you Eneas! Say, Major, if he ever gets
back, and he will, for you can't lose that kind of man for good, better
nail down everything movable--including them twelve fountains.
Yours,
Tom Johnson.
P. S.--I say; twelve fountains!
P. S. S.--Forty-four rooms! Gosh! is the Legion still with you?
* * * * *
Washington County, N. C., Oct. 20, 1872.
Maj. George E. Tommey, Louisville, Ga.
My Dear Major: Your old negro has been on my plantation for about a
year farming and preaching and romancing. He came straight through
Tennessee and North Carolina, touching Sparta, Louisville, Washington
and Jefferson Counties in the former, and the towns of Jefferson, Sparta
and Macon in this State before he found me. I am affectionately known
all over this section of the State as "Major Tommy," and as the old
negro was looking for "Major Tommey," somebody put him on my trail. He
soon had me treed, but was greatly disappointed when he saw me. However,
that did not keep him from paying me a year's visit. Eneas is a queer
character--wisdom of the serpent and simplicity of a child. His story,
probably growing with age like the stories of some of our veterans, has
beguiled many a lonely hour for me, but not until I read your letter in
the _Richmond Dispatch_ did I give him credit for many facts in it. The
young race horse is certainly a fine animal and should you decide to
sell him I trust you will give me the refusal. Eneas won several purses
up here in local races. It seems he has a new name for his horse
everywhere he goes. He says it keeps him from getting "too common." When
Eneas was not plowing or racing, his favorite occupation was preaching,
his subject usually being the wandering of the Hebrews in the desert. He
left here for Jefferson, S. C. I am sorry to say, I heard no mention of
your lost cup, and if he had any trunk I was not informed of it.
With regards for yourself and all good wishes for the young bride, I am,
Very sincerely yours,
Thomas Bailey,
(Late) Major 13th N. C. Volunteers, C.S.A.
* * * * *
Extract from _Columbia_ (S. C.) _Register_, October 27, 1872:
One of the surprises of yesterday's races came in the free-for-all
two-mile dash, which was won by "Chainlightning," entered by an old
negro man calling himself Eneas Tommey, who claims the horse was sired
by the celebrated stallion Lightning, and that the dam, which he drives
to a one-horse wagon on his way to Georgia, is "Lady Chain." She was
certainly a tired looking old lady. Eneas arrived late and at once
attracted attention by his unique appearance and his limitless faith in
Chainlightning. His story and the splendid horse interested some
stablemen and after a private demonstration they succeeded in getting
him entered and a rider engaged. In the get-off Chainlightning took the
lead and gave a marvelous exhibition of speed. He led the bunch by a
hundred yards at the end of the first mile and by nearly three hundred
at the end of the second. He was then going strong and the efforts of
the rider to stop him resulted in a runaway. When he came around the
third time the crowd blocked the track and brought him to a standstill,
but his rider was thrown. Eneas won $200. It is not known how his
backers fared, but it is supposed that they cleaned up a good pile on
the side. Eneas left on yesterday, going toward Augusta, Ga. It was
suggested afterwards that this may have been the man advertised for in
the _Atlanta Constitution_ by a Major Tommey, of Louisville, Ga., a few
weeks ago. The matter will be brought to his attention. One reason for
the sudden departure of the old negro, who had become quite a hero among
members of his race, is said to be a movement to elect him to the State
Senate.
* * * * *
Louisville, Ga.--(Correspondence _Macon Telegraph and Messenger_, Oct.
31, '72.)--Your correspondent on Thursday last was the favored guest of
Major George E. Tommey, the famous commander of the Tommey Legion, which
rendered conspicuous service to the Confederacy as part of
Johnston's--afterwards Hood's--army, in the Tennessee and North Georgia
campaigns. The Major lives about twelve miles from this place at
Tommeysville, as his plantation is called. His delightful residence is
one of the old-fashioned two-story houses with broad hall and verandahs
and two large wings, and is situated in a beautiful grove of oak and
hickory. The broad lawn in front abounds with roses and among them is a
tiny fountain with a spray. Beyond the house lie the barns and the negro
quarters and a small artificial lake where ducks abound. Sherman's
army missed the charming spot and the only suggestion of the late
unpleasantness is the Major's sword crossed with the colors of the
Legion over the broad fireplace at the end of the hall.
The occasion of your correspondent's visit was the marriage of the
Major's only daughter, Beauregarde Forrest, to Mirabeau Lamar Temple, of
Dallas, Texas. The bride, a petite brunette of great beauty, entered
life eighteen years ago, inheriting her mother's name, but by the act of
the Georgia Legislature this was changed in honor of the two heroes of
the Confederacy dear to the heart of her illustrious father. The groom
bears the name of two Georgia families long ago transplated to the Lone
Star State and is an attorney of great promise.
The wedding supper was charming in its simplicity and homeliness, using
the word in its original sense. The broad back porch between the two
wings was closed in with smilax and the feast was spread on a great
home-made table twenty feet in diameter. Seats were placed for forty.
Such a display of delicacies and substantials has not been seen in this
section since the good old days before the war. The low growing ferns
and cut-flowers of the decorations--there by the hundreds--did not hide
the guests' smiling faces. Wine, the famous scuppernong of the Major's
own vintage, was the only stimulant visible, for the Major and his good
lady are almost total abstainers. When the guests were seated a grace
was pronounced by the Rev. Mr. Thigpen, and fun and merriment broke
loose. Toast after toast was given and sentiment and the poets were
interspersed with songs from the family negroes assembled in the
backyard by a gigantic bonfire. Some of the songs were of exquisite
harmony and pathos. Freedom, so far, had brought but little of
brightness into the lives of these humble people.
A dramatic situation that will one day enter into a story, came during
the supper festivities. A sudden excitement among the negroes was
followed by cries, some of merriment and some of fear, and by a stampede
of the juniors. In the red light of the bonfire an old negro suddenly
appeared, reining up a splendid grey horse. The old man was seated in a
red-wheeled road cart, enveloped in a flopping linen duster, and wore a
silk hat. His "Whoa, Chainlightning!" resounded all over the place. Then
he stood up and began to shout about Moses and the Hebrew children being
led out of Egypt into the promised land. Major Tommey listened for a
brief instant and rushed out. The newcomer met him with an equal rush
and their loud greetings floated back to us clear as the notes of a
plantation bell: "Eneas, you black rascal, where have you been?"
"O! Lord, Marse George! Glory be ter God! Out o' de wilderness! De
projeckin' son am back ergin!"
"It's Eneas!" screamed the little bride, gathering up her skirts and
rushing out. In the strong light, as the wedding party hurriedly
followed, we could see the old negro hanging to his master as he filled
the night with his weird cries. Catching the excitement, the negroes
around began to moan and chant, taking their text from the old man's
words.
"Where have you been, sir?" The Major was trying to free himself and
choking with tears and laughter.
"All over de blessed worl', Marse George! But I'm home ergin!--You hyar
me, niggers?--home ergin!"
"Stop, sir!"--But suddenly the old man grew rigid in the grasp of a
momentous thought. His voice sank to a whisper audible to only a few of
us:
"Marse George, wha's Nancy?"
"Nancy is dead, Eneas," said the Major, sadly.
"Thank God!" said the old man fervently.
"Where is my trunk, Eneas?" The old negro was making a horn of his hands
and giving the plantation halloo. With his eyes set on the banking
shadows beyond the fire, he waited, an inscrutable smile on his wrinkled
face. Presently, into the circle of light came an old grey mare, drawing
a wagon in which sat a yellow woman, hovering a small colony of
children.
"I done brought you a whole bunch o' new Yellerhama, Burningham niggers,
Marse George! Some folks tell me dey is free, but I know dey b'long ter
Marse George Tommey des like Lady Chain and her colt! Marse George, you
oughter see dat horse--"
"Where is the trunk?" repeated the Major, laughing and wiping his eyes.
"Where did you leave it, Eneas?"
"I ain't left hit," said Eneas, indignantly. "Git out o' dat wagon,
niggers, fo' I bus somer you wide open!" The little colony fell over the
wheels like cooters from a log, and drawing aside the hay that had held
them, Eneas brought forth a time and weather defying hair trunk. He
heaved a mighty sigh of relief as he dropped it on the ground:
"Dar 'tis, Marse George, an' I sho is glad to git shut o' dat ol' bunch
o' hide an' hair!" The bride danced and clapped her tiny hands: "My cup!
My cup! Get it! Quick! O, please somebody open the trunk!"
Major Tommey picked up an axe and with one blow sliced off the ancient
lock. From its snug nest in cotton batting, the bride lifted a shining
cup, the cup, Mr. Editor, advertised in your columns a few weeks ago. A
bucket rattled down in the nearby well and the bride-groom came with a
great gourd to fill it. Then he read aloud the quaint inscription:
"Ye bryde whose lippes kysse myne
An taste ye water an no wyne
Shall happy live and hersel see
A happy grandchile on each knee."
The little woman accepted the challenge with the cup, and smiling up to
the face of her husband sipped of the crystal draught and handed him the
cup. He, too, drank, but the slight flush on the bride's face was as
nothing to the fiery scarlet of his own when a storm of applause greeted
the act.
Eneas had drawn the Major aside and produced an old strap pocketbook
stuffed with bills.
"Marse George," he began, "de bag o' yaller war money what dey gimme
warn't no good over yonner whar I been. Countin' de c'llections I tuck
up in the church an' what I winned on de track wid Chainlightnin' an'
ain't spent--"
"Keep it, Eneas," said the Major, almost exploding with laughter, and
patting the old man on the shoulder, "that bunch of Burningham
Yellerhama niggers more than squares us!"
Transcriber's Note: On page 21 there is a possible missing space after
"o'" in "o'Burningham". On page 33 there is a typo in the original of
"transplated" for "transplanted".