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A familiar figure in Savannah, Missouri is that of an aged, bent and withered Negro woman with a little patch of white whiskers on her chin, a cap on her head winter and summer; who is seen almost daily pulling a little red wagon along the streets.
"Aunt Sarah Waggoner", as she is called, lives alone in a small unpainted house, almost a hut, near the right-of-way of the Chicago Great Western Railroad; about three blocks southeast of the courthouse.
The yard as well as the house is cluttered with all kinds of junk, odds and ends which Aunt Sarah has picked up as she meanders through the town. She has been a fixture in Savannah for many years and has the friendship of the white people, who commend her faithfulness and religious fervor.
"How be you?" she asked pleasantly when answering my knock at her door. When it was explained that her recollections about slave life before the war were wanted, she beamed delightedly.
"Yes'm. Come on in an' set, an' soon's I fix the fire I'll tell you everything about slave times. Everything I kin remember."
She wiped off a chair for her visitor, then busied herself at the old wood and coal cook stove, where some vegetables were sincering in an antiquated iron kettle, and "fat meat" was frying in the skillet.
"I was a slave," she stated. "I was born in Kentucky. In grayson or Hardin County. I don't know which 'zactly, 'cause we lived in both counties; an' I never did think to ask ole Miss Howard who raised me; and I forgot to ask my mother if she knowed, and I don't think she knowed." Sarah paused for a moment then continued plaintively. "I wish I knowed for sure."
"Who was old Miss Howard?"
"She was white folks. I was raised by de Howards. Mr. and Mrs. Jim Howard. They owned me. We called him Pap, and her old Miss. My mother's name was Waggoner. She belonged to Mr. Howard too. My father he belonged to another man and lived on a farm near us. No mam, no'm, we was never sold. I'll tell you how 'twas. You see Mr. Howard's father - he came over from England. He called all his sons to his bedside at de last and gave each of them some of de colored people and told them to take good care of them and never to let them be sold. I had a cousin, June, who was sold here at de courthouse door in Savannah. Him and another boy was sold down South.
"The Howards brought me from Kentucky to Missouri. That was befo' de war. I've been here a long time. I'm 93 years old.
"Sure I know how old I is", she remonstrated.
"I's 93 years old right now. (1937) And I knows my birthday too. I knows it for sure. It come on February 17th. I'se sure about dat, for it comes so close to dat of Abe Lincoln. His birthday is February 12th."
Memories of the past surged through Aunt Sarah's mind and awakened emotions. She rose to her feet, and speaking with the enraptured ecstacy of her race when roused by religious fervor, testified.
"I knowed about Abe Lincoln, 'cause his cousin Cap Lincoln; Yes, Cap Lincoln, lived right nigh us in Kentucky. And he sure was a fine man!"
"I knowed about Abe Lincoln befo' he ever run for president. Long befo' he was 'sasinated. You see, I lived neighbor to some of his kin folks. Yes ma'am! Oh, yes, ma'am! Long befo' de war!"
"Yes, Oh Lord! Yes, ma'am!
"Abe Lincoln was jes' next to Jesus Christ.
"Yes, Oh Lord! Yes! Det he was!
"Jes' next to Jesus Christ!
"I remember when I was freed!
The exaltation of Aunt Sarah, dimmed and faded, and with a quavering subdued voice she whispered.
"I wish I knowed. I wish I knowed. Abe Lincoln was born in Hardin County;* in the same month I was; almost the the same day. I wish I knowed was I born in the same county he was, but I ain't never goin' to know. Yes ma'am, I was moved with the Howards from Kentucky," she continued, "right up to the Nodaway River, about ten miles from Savannah. It took us about six weeks to come with oxen. I saw the emigrant trains goin' through to Californy.
"That was befo' de war. I'se been here a long time. I'm 93 years old. I'se been here since de woods burned, and I'm goin' to be here a long time yet, 'cause my mother was a hundred and fifteen 'fore she died.
"My, but the Indians was thick when I fust come here. And there was buffalo; and there was deer; and there was quail jas' thick. I wasn't skeered none of de Indians, and I ain't skeered of nothin' now. No, ma'am. Cause why? Cause de white folks put de fust clothes on me, and fed me; and they been doin' it ever since.
"You want's to know what kind of clothes did we wear in them days? I'm gwine to tell yer. I jes' had two dresses. De best one was made out of plain, white muslin. I went out in de woods and got walnut bark to color it brown.
"I allus had to wash it on Saturday, 'cause we all had to go to church on Sunday. Yes'm, I went to de white folks church, and part of de time I was de only nigger gal there. Then I had another dress and a shirt. I made them jes' like old Miss taught me. Dat was my work dress. It was made with a cord 'round de bottom, a cord as big as my little finger, so's I couldn't tear it; cause I went over fences like a deer.
"De shirt was made like a long petticoat. In de winter old Miss made us stockings out of yarn, and we had brogan shoes. Didn't you never see any brogan shoes?" queried Aunt Sarah. "Don't you know what day looked like? Huh. Dey was neither lined or bound; and we used a peggin' awl to make holes for the laces. Some of 'am had copper toes."
"Didn't they hurt your feet?"
"Yes'm, but if dey did hurt; we had to wear 'em anyway. Dem old brogans; I'm sure glad they're gone.
"Durin' de war, old Miss keep tellin' me I had to help her put new cloth in de loom and when little Jane;
tha's her little girl, wanted me to play, her mother would say. "Sarey has to work fast now, 'cause she goin' to be free'."
"Oh Lord, Miss, Sarey will never be free. But I was freed. Now I am goin' to tell you about de home life.
"I worked in de house for old Miss, and we had plenty to do and plenty to eat. When de white folks was through eatin', I got a pan and got de grub, and set on de floor and et it. Oh Lordee, but I worked hard since I was twelve years old. But not in de fields. Old Miss she say dere was plenty for me to do in de house, and dere was, sure'nough.
"I washed and cooked for all of us. And ironed too. I het de irons, great big old irons, in de fireplace. I ironed on a quilt spread out on de floor, and I ironed jes' as nice as anybody. I lived right in de house with de white folks. In summer we slept, my brother Henry and me, in a trundle bad in the kitchen; and in de winter made a pallet beside de fireplace.
"Old Pap was good to us. He Kept up a fire all night when it was cold. I never saw a cookin' stove or a lace shoe until I was freed. We jas' had to burn our faces cookin'
over de fireplace. I milked eight cows and den put de milk away. Dat took a long time. They didn't have no horses then, much. They had a yoke of oxen. Sometimes some of us was hired out to work but we didn't get no money for dat ourselves. Dey drawed de wages.
"No ma'am, dey didn't have no beauty parlors den. Huh. Old Miss never had her hair curled, or anything like that. We didn't know nothin' about face powder and primpin' up in dem days. Huh. Old Miss never used anything on her face 'ceptin' soap and water.
"Yes indeed. We sure did have good times, tool. There was dances, and I liked to dance. Uh-huh. I was a regular king ruler at de dances. Many a time I danced till broad daylight, and den when I worked I was so sleepy I'd nod, and nod. Then old Pap he say! 'Go out dere and make Sarey go to bed'. Yes, indeedy, we had good times, too.
"Did I ever get whopped? I never was whopped--much. Old Miss never whopped me, cause Pap did all de whopping. He said if dere was any whopping to be done he'd do it. Anywhy dey never whopped me--very often, -'cause I done my work de bes' I could.
"I remember once, when Old Pap started off for St. Joseph, he rode back into de yard and said to Old Miss. 'Don't whop Sarey, or let anybody else whop her, or Ill cut the hide off their backs when I gets back.
"Yes'm, we allus called 'em Pap and Old Miss. Pap wouldn't let me take his name 'cause he was a Republican and believed dat de colored people ought to have their own laws and doctors and all. He was afraid folks would think he was a rebel and de soldiers might kill him. We didn't dare take his name so I took my father's name of Waggoner. He belonged to one of the neighbors in Kentucky and didn't come to Missouri when we did. Yes'm, I had two chilun during de war, a boy Bob and a girl Mary and later a girl Minnie. Married? No'm, I never married. I never was married.
"Well, no'm, I didn't have a very hard time after I was freed. Slaves wasn't hardly ever allowed to look in de door of de school house, so we couldn't learn to read and write.
When I was freed Pap tried to learn me evenin's to count my fingers. He made me sit by the fireplace and learn to count and learn about money so's de white folks couldn't cheat me after I was free. After I was free one of Mr. Howard's boys taught me my letters and helped me learn to read some.
"After I was freed I went to St. Joseph and did housework. Den I was a chambermaid. After while I came back to Savannah to work for de Price family. Dey was mighty rich and had a big home. Place is still here. I had a fine time there. I remember Mr. Ed. V. Price. He was just a boy when I went there to work, and he did plague me terrible some times. He'd run into the kitchen, grab a handful of cake dough and run outside laughin'.
"Then I got so I couldn't work no more, and he was a rich man, and he always helped me. And he left me in his will ten dollars every month for de res' of my life. Oh yes'm I'm to get my state pension every month. It's goin' to be twelve dollars. I ain't got it yet, but I will fore long. I ain't skeered. 'Cause de white folks put de fust clothes on me, and fed me; and dey been doin' it ever since."
With a weary, dimming of her eyes, old Sarah settled back in her chair, sighed and mummured!
"I been here a long time. I'm 93 years old."
