1895 Union Parish Louisiana Moonshiners - Junction City Louisiana/Arkansas Submitted by: Shawn Martin Date of Submission: 12/2008 ************************************************ Copyright. All rights reserved. http://usgwarchives.net/copyright.htm http://usgwarchives.net/la/lafiles.htm ************************************************ ================================================================================== ================================================================================== 1895 Union Parish Louisiana Moonshiners - Junction City Louisiana/Arkansas From Omaha, Nebraska "World Herald", issue of 20 September 1895 ================================================================================== ================================================================================== NOTHING TO TAKE BACK. Deathbed Scene of a Moonshiner Who Had No Regrets. (Little Rock Letter to New York Sun.) John Mullins, illicit distiller, who died in outlawry near Junction City, Union County, Ark., the other day, was a type of his kind, on which account he may be worthy of special mention. The average moonshiner in this section is a clever fellow—suspicious, of course, because of his calling, but hospitable and kind hearted. It is bred in him that it is his right to transform grain into spirits without paying a tax to the government. He is by nature as honest and law-abiding as the average citizen. What evil deeds are his outside of unlawful distilling are but episodes of his career, which he really dislikes to commit and for which his conscience pricks him to the last. But Mullins was different. He committed only one murder, but his ending justifies the belief that he was born with a well-developed moral taint. He seemed to take pleasure in doing wrong and had no thought of principle in connection with the liquor question, taking to the illegal traffic simply because it came easiest to hand. His parents were honest farming people. Coming into the world with a deformed foot, it was often remarked that he sought to blame all mankind for this accident of his birth, as he would no illusion to it, however delicate. He had little or no education, but was a genius in his profession. He was never arrested. Detectives got after him, but he eluded them and fled the country. Proof against him was meager and he was allowed to return. It was an open secret that he kept up his old vocation, but he made a show of other business. Being a contractor in a small way, he hired a man named Jones to build a house for him in Magnolia, Ark. Mullins engaged cheap negro laborers to assist Jones, and Jones discharged them. The two men had a fight over the matter, and Mullins was worsted. They met next day in a store and while Jones and Mullins’ brother were at fisticuffs, Mullins shot Jones with a pistol, killing him. The murderer made his escape with little difficulty to his home in the country, a densely wooded region. Here he lived for two years unmolested although the law was supposed to be in quest of him. His habitation was a cave in a dense thicket which he had floored and ceiled and in which he made white corn whisky, which he sold to the farmers. It has a brick chimney and fireplace. On the wall there still hangs a much-worn pair of the tenant’s trousers. Within, in a corner, is a pair of his old shoes. On the inside there are also a gun rack and a coffeepot support. In the chimney two bricks have been left so they could be speedily removed, making a hole through which he could thrust his rifle and fire at all assailants. He vacated the place several months since and appeared near Junction City, Union County, a town on a new railway which town also embraces a part of Union Parish, La. Mullins here openly defied the officers. They seemed loath to catch him. He was a small man, of low stature, spare build, with swarthy complexion and light-brown eyes, and walked with a slouching gait. Such a personal appearance, while not prepossessing, need not inspire fear in a determined officer; but the outlaw was known as a dangerous man, quick and ready with his pistol, which he always carried in a little gripsack in his hand. So he went his way, and made wildcat whiskey until a messenger came to town one afternoon for a doctor. The doctor, following the guide, went to a cabin far from the roadside, down a hog path that led through a forest. Here he found a man lying on a dirty bed. The patient’s eyes were glassy and his breath came hard and at long intervals. “Too late,” the physician said, and in the same moment the man was dead—of pneumonia, consequent of long exposure and neglect. “I had seen him a few times before,” said the doctor, afterward, “but might not have recognized him, so changed he was in death. But I knew his foot—there is not another like it hereabouts. Besides he left this, clinched in his right hand.” What the doctor showed was this note: “I’ve got nothing’ to take back. I ain’t sorry for nothing; I ever done. So don’t tell a lie and say I died beggin’ any man’s pardon. JOHN MULLINS.” ############################################################# File at: http://files.usgwarchives.net/la/union/newspapers/articles/1895moonshiners.txt