tep in the advancement of the
human race has a paradox of some kind as a basis. In the case of Sis
Poteet, it was whisky.

Teague got his still together and planted it in a nice cool place,
where it could be reached only by a narrow footpath. He had set up a
still immediately after the war, but it had been promptly broken up by
the revenue officers. Upon this occasion, therefore, he made elaborate
preparations to guard against surprise and detection, and these
preparations bore considerable fruit in the way of illicit whisky; the
ultimate result of which was that Sis went to school in Gullettsville,
and became the belle of the town.

The breath of the mountain was heavily charged with whisky, and the
Government got a whiff of it. Word went to Washington, and there was
much writing and consulting by mail, and some telegraphing. The
officials--marshal, deputy-marshals, and collector--were mostly men
from a distance, brought hither on the tide of war, who had no personal
interest in judging the situation. Naturally enough, the power with
which they were invested was neither discreetly nor sympathetically
exercised. They represented the Government, which, they were taught to
believe by the small men above them, was still at war with every
condition and belief in Georgia.

Down in the valley they domineered with impunity, and one fine morning
a posse, armed with carbines, rode up the mountain, laughing, talking,
and rattling their gear as gaily as a detachment of cuirassiers
parading under the protection of friendly guns. The mountain was
inhospitable, for when they rode down again, a few hours afterward,
three saddles were empty, and the survivors had a terrible story to
tell of an attack from an unseen foe.

By the time the story of this fight with the illicit distillers reached
Washington, the details were considerably enlarged. The commissioner
was informed by the marshal that a detail of deputy-marshals had
attempted to seize a still, and were driven back by an overpowering
force. The correspondents at the Capital still further enlarged the
details, and the affair finally went into history as "A New Phase of
the Rebellion." This was the natural outgrowth of the confusion of that
period; for how should the careless deputy-marshals, thinking only of
the sectionalism that lit up the smouldering ruins of war, know that
the Moonshiners were Union men and Republicans?

While the Government was endeavouring to invent som