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Lizzie, the white slave-mother, of whom we have already spoken, created as much of a sensation by the fairness of her complexion and the alabaster whiteness of her child, when being conveyed on shore at New Orleans, as she had done when brought on board at Grand Gulf. Every one that saw her felt that slavery in the Southern States was not confined to the negro.
As we looked at the monument we thought of this poem which, in its majestic sweep of thought, is as stately as the Potomac: John Brown of Ossawatomie spoke on his dying day: "I will not have to shrive my soul a priest in Slavery's pay, But let some poor slave-mother whom I have striven to free, With her children, from the gallows stair put up a prayer for me."
The close-fisted stinginess that fed the poor slave on coarse corn-meal and tainted meat; that clothed him in crashy tow-linen, and hurried him to toil through the field, in all weathers, with wind and rain beating through his tattered garments; that scarcely gave even the young slave-mother time to nurse her hungry infant in the fence corner; wholly vanishes on approaching the sacred precincts of the great house, the home of the Lloyds.
Who and what this Alexander was has always been one of the puzzles of history. He was, tradition says, very swarthy, and was generally believed to be the son of a Moorish slave-mother. He was certainly illegitimate; and the question, Who was his father? was always a doubtful one, though he has generally been called the son of Lorenzo.
It was a greater luxury than slavery could afford, to allow a black slave-mother a horse or a mule, upon which to travel twenty-four miles, when she could walk the distance. Besides, it is deemed a foolish whim for a slave-mother to manifest concern to see her children, and, in one point of view, the case is made out she can do nothing for them.
In April of 630 she bore a son to her master, who could hardly believe that such a gift had been granted him. Never before had his arms held a man-child of his own begetting, and the honours lavished upon the slave-mother showed his boundless gratitude to Allah. A son meant much to him, for by that was ensured his hope for a continuance of power when his earthly sojourn was over.
"Servants, be obedient to your masters," is the salutation of the most merciful God to the slave-mother bending over her infant's grave. "Servants, be obedient to your masters," is the salutation to a man endeavoring to escape pursuit, followed by savage blood-hounds, and with his eye fixed upon the northern star. This book ought to be read in the schools, so that our children will love liberty.
Nothing pleases them more than to provide things useful and pretty for their little ones. Even this slave-mother, with her scanty means, felt this same longing. It did her heart good to be doing something for her child; and so she was constantly planning and preparing for these visits, that she might never be without something new and gratifying to give her.
That mother had sold eleven children of an old slave-mother, her servant. That servant went to her and said, "Missis, we even now. You sold all my children. God took all yourn. Not one to bury either of us. Now, I forgive you." In another battle fell the only son of another widow.
"Surely," was Mary's comment, "they all felt the vast difference between their burials with all their drink and madness, and ours so full of quiet hope and expectant faith." The slave-mother had often come to visit her, and had actually got to love the child, and when it died she was heartbroken. "Ma," she said, "don't cry. I have done this. God hates me.
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