By Chris Smothers
In a poignant journey to the West Feliciana Parish Courthouse, I chanced upon a nondescript ledger book with no name, no spine. An inexplicable force guided me to open its pages, nestled discreetly among other forgotten notebooks.
As the ledger unveiled itself, it bore the weight of history—a "Taxable Property List Book" from 1857, laying bare the inventory of every slave owner in the parish. My heart raced as I turned the pages, and there, in the stark lines of Charles E. Percy's estate, stood the names of Richard, Eli, and Charles Smothers. A flood of emotion overwhelmed me. Cotton and Corn accounted for the investment of "free" labor. What is the value of labor lost?
Further, the haunting echoes of Benjamin F. Haile's estate revealed Edmund, Delphine, Charles, Allen, and Sarah Pate, all part of a tapestry woven by the hands of our ancestors on Idalia Plantation.
In the quiet of that courthouse, these pages weren't just records; they were the whispers of our captivity, the first confirmation that our direct ancestors bore the heavy chains of enslavement. Each name etched in that ledger carried not just age and value but the weight of a story untold, finally acknowledged.
The enigma of Eli and Charles Smothers' mother persists, shrouded in mystery. Ongoing research endeavors strive to unveil her name, and there's a hopeful whisper that her identity might lie within the folds of this very document.
Abraham Lincoln
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