Nov. io, 1906.] 
FOREST AND STREAM 
729 
MOONSHINE MILL—WHEEL AND CHUTE. 
This “tub wheel” is chiseled out of a cut from a solid log. tf The gate at upper 
end of chute consists merely of two rough pieces of bark laid slantwise against a 
cross-stick. When one piece is removed, there is enough power for very slow grind¬ 
ing; when both are cast aside, “she goes full tilt”; and together they cut off enough 
water to stop the mill. 
MOONSHINE MILL—THE HOPPER. 
A segment of the circular box (chiseled out of a hollow log) has been pushed 
aside to show the buhr stones, which were fashioned on the spot. The hopper is 
made of boards riven with a free—in fact, there is not one sawed board in the 
mill. A half bushel of corn is put in the hopper at night; the owner returns in the 
morning to find his meal ground and ready for sifting. Often an incautious chip¬ 
munk or “boomer” (red squirrel) here falls a victim to his appetite. 
the 5th Virginia district, in part of West Virginia, 
in the 6th North Carolina district, in part of 
South Carolina, and in the 2d and 5th districts 
of Tennessee, I apprehend further serious diffi¬ 
culties. * * * It is very desirable, in order to 
prevent bloodshed, that the internal revenue 
forces sent into these infected regions to make 
seizures and arrests shall be so strong as to deter 
armed resistance.” 
Study of the revenue reports leads one to agree 
with the comm'on opinion of the mountaineers, 
that the worst region for moonshining has been, 
and still is, the “Dark Corner” where western 
North Carolina joins South Carolina and Geor¬ 
gia; the roughness of the country, and the con¬ 
tiguity of three states, offering exceptional facil¬ 
ities both for concealment and for flight. 
In January, 1880, a combined movement by 
armed bodies of internal revenue officers was 
made from West Virginia southwestward through 
the mountains and foothills infested with illicit 
distillers. “The effect of this movement was to 
convince violators of the law that it was the de¬ 
termination of the government to put an end 
to frauds and resistance of authority, and since 
that time it has been manifest to all well-mean¬ 
ing men in those regions of country that the day 
of the illicit distiller is past.” In his report for 
1881-82 the Commissioner declared that “The 
sunrernacy of the laws * * * has been estab¬ 
lished in all parts of the country.” 
As a matter of fact, the number of arrests per 
annum, which hitherto had ranged from 1.000 to 
3,000, now dropped off considerably, and the 
casualties in the service became few and far be¬ 
tween. But, in 1894, Congress increased the tax 
on spirits from the old 90 cents figure to $1.10 
a gallon. The effect was almost instantaneous. 
We have no means of learning how many new 
moonshine stills were set up, but we do know 
that the number of seizures doubled and trebled, 
and that bloodshed proportionally increased. 
Again the complaint went out that “justice was 
frequently defeated,” even in cases of conviction, 
by failure to visit adequate punishment upon the 
offenders. It is, to-day, a notorious fact that our 
blockaders dread their own state courts far more 
than they do the federal courts, because the 
punishment for selling liquor in the mountain 
counties (most of which are “no-license” com¬ 
munities) is surer to follow conviction than is 
the penalty for violating federal laws. The latter 
is severe enough, if it were enforced; for defraud¬ 
ing, or attempting to defraud, the United States 
of the tax on spirits, the law prescribes forfeiture 
of the distillery and apparatus, and of all spirits 
and raw materials, besides a fine of not less than 
$500 nor more than $5,000, and imprisonment for 
not less than six months nor longer than three 
years. I am not able to say about what per¬ 
centage of arrests are followed by conviction, nor 
how many convicted persons suffer the full penalty 
of the law. I only know that public opinion in 
the mountains does not consider an arrest, or 
even a conviction, by the federal authorities, as 
a very serious matter. 
“They used to shoot; nowadays they run.” Is, 
then, the revenue officer’s job an extra-hazardous 
calling? The newspapers would have us think 
so. They like to produce sensations. I call to 
mind a lurid account, published by the mountain 
press within the past year, of a seizure effected 
in our own county, in which it was reported 
that desperate resistance was made by the armed 
blockaders, and that the capture was made only 
after most heroic efforts on the part of the 
officers. It is not likely that this bit of space¬ 
writing suffered much curtailment in the metro¬ 
politan press. The simple fact is that there was 
no resistance at all. 
Here are some figures culled from the annual 
reports of the Commissioner of Internal Revenue 
for the years 1877 to 1904, inclusive (I have seen 
none later) ; 
3 years. 25 years. 
1877-79. 1880-1904. 
Stills seized .2,941 27,667 
Officers and employes killed. 26 23 
Officers and employes wounded. 47 52 
So we may say, in round numbers, that in the 
last quarter century here reporied, the casualties 
in the revenue service have been about one killed 
and two wounded to every thousand illicit stills 
captured. 
I close this narrative of the moonshining busi¬ 
ness in the same spirit in which I began it; with 
good will toward both parties engaged in the 
struggle. Here and there a reader may elevate 
his eyebrows and inquire, “Good will toward the 
criminals ?” 
Yes. 
Moonshining is not a crime in itself; it is made 
such for purposes of revenue only. Nine tenths 
of the men engaged in it are good citizens in all 
other respects. They are very ignorant; they 
are very poor. They work hard, and suffer much 
Let me give you a picture in a few words. 
Here in the laurel-thicketed forest, five miles 
from any wagon road, is a little still, without so 
much as a roof over it. Scarce a day passes, in 
this climate, without rain or snow. Hard by is 
a little mill. There is not a sawed board in that 
mill—even the hopper is made of shakes riven on 
the spot. Three or four haggard men pick up 
each his two-bushel “suggin.”* 
They strike out into the forest, through driv¬ 
ing rain. Within five minutes they are drenched 
to the skin. They climb, climb, climb. There is 
no trail for a long way; then they strike a faint 
one that winds and climbs, climbs. Hour after 
hour the men climb. Then they begin to descend. 
*Suggin means a sack. The “u” is sounded like “oo” 
in look. 
