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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.
