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Bastrop County, TX |
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Nancy Thomas, 78,
was born a slave on August 1, 1859, on the Meek Smith cotton plantation, near Bastrop, Bastrop County. Her
father was John Coleman, who died before she was born. Her mother was Mary
Coleman, who was a cook on the Smith plantation. She was the mother
of eleven children, two boys and nine girls, of whom only two girls still are living. Nancy was a house girl
during slavery, and she considered herself very sassy, because she
had heard that her father was sassy, which, in his case, was the cause of his being shot to death. In 1879, at the
age of nineteen, she married Jerry Thomas. They had three girls, of whom none is living.
Jerry fought in the Union Army during the Civil War, and Nancy receives a monthly pension
of forty dollars from the Federal Government. She owns her own
home at 1208 East 10th Street, Austin. Nancy says that the negroes of East Austin consider her a sort of bank. Whenever any
one needs a dime or a quarter, he or she thinks, "Nancy has the
money." As we were talking, two shy negro boys entered and said, "Mama said will you lend
her a quarter?" "Yo' sho' dat
she sent yo'?" "She did." Nancy gave
them the quarter. Her forty dollar check arrived as we talked. Nancy is known
for her temper, so she says. It must be admitted she was
very sassy and independent and refused to comment further than what is written in this story. She began balking,
when the inquiry was, "and your married life?" Two trips failed to
get additional material for this story. Then she demanded, "I want money fo' tellin' yo' all dis." "My mammy's
name was Mary Smith. Dere was a big Mary and a
little Mary on de cotton plantation. Mammy was Meek Smith's slave and she
cooked fo' him. 'Cause
she was a big woman, and 'cause
she worked in de kitchen at de big house, she was called big Mary. De other Mary was little and she was called
little Mary. "Mammy was
brought f'om Bowie County, Tennessee, to Texas, by
Meek Smith. "Befo' she died about ten years ago, she told us, 'Someday
somebody'll want to know to know where your mammy come f'om. Yo' all tell 'em dat I come f'om Bowie County, Tennessee.' "Mammy had eleben chillun, two boys and
nine girls: Maria, Mettie, Catherine, Nancy (dat's me), Matt, Lou, Sallie, and de others died
while dey was young. Me and Lou is de only ones livin'.
She lives out somewheres in Arizona. "Pappy's name
was John Coleman, and he belonged to a Mawster
Coleman. He died befo' I was bawn, dat is, he was shot to
death 'cause he was so sassy and inderpendent. I take my sassiness f'om
him. "When I was a
little girl I used to wonder how is it dat de
people say dat I wasn't bawn
yit when pappy died. How was I bawn, when I didn't have no
pappy? Dat sure used to worry me a lot. Chillun in dem days jes' wasn't wise. Yo' could tell 'em anything. "Folks would
tell me, 'Why Nannie, yo' all is a lucky little
girl.' "'Why?' I
asked. "'Cause Nannie, a child dat is bawn after her pappy's death kin cure people.' "'Kin cure
people, how?' "'Jes' by blowin' her breath into
de babies' mouths.' "Well yo' know dat I didn't believe
in dat at dat time. I sho didn't. But I believe it now. I'll tell yo' why. A
woman friend had a very sick baby girl. She had rashes on her lips, and in her mouth. I got to thinkin'
about whut folks used to tell me. I told dis woman
to bring her child over to my house, and I'd cure her. "She brought de
child to my house. Den fo' nine days I blowed my breath into dat
baby's mouth. I blowed
my breath into her mouth every mawnin' befo' I said good mawnin' to anybody. I had to do dat
de first thing in de mawnin'. Do yo' know dat dat girl got all right. Befo' yo' kin do
dat, yo' have to believe
in whut yo're doin' and den yo' have to
believe in yo' self. "Nancy Thomas
is my name. I was bawn on a big cotton plantation
near Bastrop. Meek Smith was our mawster. Mawster Smith had
about one hunnert slaves. In dem
days de more slaves yo'
had, de bigger man yo' was. "Dat's a long time ago. I was bawn
on August 1, 1859. Some folks tell me dat I'm
older. But I go by whut my white folks tell me. "I was bawn a slave but I wasn't a plantation nigger. I was a
worker in Mistress Harriet's big house, on de hill. I think dat mammy told me dat all of de
slaves belonged to Mistress Harriet. Nobody
could touch a slave unless she said so. She was putty good to us. When some of us got a switchin',
it wasn't very bad. I never did see any of us slaves git
tied down and beat very bad. "Mawster Smith had two overseers, one white and one
nigger. Dey wasn't allowed to beat de slaves. "Harvey Wheeler
was de nigger oversser. He was a big nigger, not in
looks, but 'cause he took orders only f'om
Mawster Smith. So we looked up to him lak he was a big man. Harvey had a putty
good education, and he was a preachah. He would
always preach to us on Sunday afternoons. He was allowed to
do dat, but we wasn't
allowed to read no books. "Mawster Smith would allow us to go places widout a pass, but we sure had to watch out fo' dem patrols. If dey
caught us widout a pass, dey
sho' would run us back to our plantation. "Lots of slaves
on other plantations would git a pass, and go to de
Colorado River nearby, and start swimmin'
to de other side, and nobody would hear f'om 'em agin. A lot of 'em would hide out in de
woods and bottom lands fo' awhile, and den go back
to dere mawsters. If dey run away f'om
dere mawsters, dey didn't have no place to go. "I was de
special little girl fo' Mistress Harriett's
daughter. Her name was Palonia. We called her Palony.
Even durin' dem days I
would sew and knit. I had a little three-legged stool and I'd set it between Palony's legs, while she was settin'
down. Den she'd watch me when I knitted. If I done somethin' wrong, she'd pinch my ear a little and say,
"Yo' dropped a stitch, Nannie." "Den I always
had to help Mistress Harriet light her corn-cob pipe. I would take de filled pipe, go to de fireplace, and light it wid a coal. Mistress Harriet allowed me to draw and puff on dat
pipe. "'Here comes dat Nannie,' she'd laugh, 'a drawin'
and a puffin' on dat pipe.' "Us niggers was set free on June 19, 1865. We was told dat we was goin' to git sixty acres and a mule. We never did git nothin' lak
dat. "'But,' de
slaves asked de mawster, 'whut're
we goin' to do? We ain't
got no place to go to.' "'Stay on here
and help me gather my crops. You'll get paid fo'
it.' "Dey helped him gather his crops. He give mammy four dollahs a month fo' cookin'. He also fed her chillun.
Yo' see mammy had married agin.
My step pappy's name was Willis Brice. "Den we done a
lot of fahmin'. I'd work out in de fields lak a man. I plowed wid oxen. Den dere was de plantin' to do. It took three people
to plant. Somebody had to plow a furrow, somebody had to
throw de seeds in, and den somebody had to hurry along and cover the rows, or else dem black birds sure would git
all of dem seeds befo' we
could of made a round. "I got married
on June 19, 1879, to Jerry Thomas. I was about nineteen years old. We had three girls: Pearl, Ettie,
and Bennie Eva. Not one of dem girls is livin' today. I'm livin' alone here now. My husband left fo' California when dey had a
big boom out dere. Jerry had been a soldier durin' de Civil War and he was gittin'
a pension of forty dollahs a month. When he died some women in
California tried to claim dat she was his wife. But
I had de papers to prove dat I was his wife. Now I'm gittin'
de pension. "When I was
about thutty-two years old, I started cookin' fo' Governor J. S. Hogg
and his fambly. I had my own little room up in de governor's mansion. De Hoggs sho' was a fine fambly. Everybody loved 'em. "Dey had three chillun: Ima,
Will and Tom. Folks used to say dat Governor H.gg
had two other chillun, Ura, and Heeza. But de only chillun dat he had was de ones
I told yo' about. |
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