The Atlanta constitution. [volume] (Atlanta, Ga.) 1885-19??, 1892-02-23
Written for The Constitution.

Written Tor The CONSTITUTION.
cit looks bright and warm outside, like the
coming O. springtime. I'd lax to be back
home, now. It amt SO bad here as it's
| winter
! The speaker was rough, rugged moon
| sinner, and as he spoke his face was pressed
| hard against the high plank wall that encoscs
| the Fulton county jail. He was straining his
| eyes, through crack made by the joining of
| two planlzs, trying to catch glimpse Of the
! outer world. Looking to the northward he
| hoped 70 catch a view of a blue mountain rest
| ing on tho horizon in the distance, clurnp of
| wood q red hill, a farmhouse nesting among
| tie trees-somothing to remind him Of his
| noun tain home, but from the Atlanta jailyard
! The range OF vision is, indeed, limited.
| He turned from the fence with sigh, and
| walked few steps away. He thrust his bands
| deep into the pockets Of his jeans trousoi1 and
! gazcd for long time At the big jail building,
but saw nothinG--he was dreaming Of home.
| One by one the thrce-scoro, or about, of
! moonshinors who were standing inside the
wall, like SO many cattle, took their place at
! tic small opening in the fence and gazed out
| 1T is interesting to watch them as they pass
| the hours. Sometimes as many as one hundred
! are confined in tic Jail at one time, and they
! manage 10 pass the dull hours in quiet CONVEX
liz
| thought uppermost in their minds is the
| thought OF home
| Separation from home hurts moonshiner
| more than any other class Of humanity, be-
| cause he has never been away from home any
! length of time. His world is a little one. lie
| does not see far. Ho cannot comprehend the
| vastness and extent of the country III which
| lie lives
Tie moonshiner has been painted as q des-
! perado, with Winchester, and blood IN his
| cyc-bpt he is not.
| He has freside, wife, children, tradition,
| and even religion just like other people.
He believes that it is the inalienable right OF
Americans to make whisky of their corn and
sell it to whom they choose. lie believes 1t
Just as firmly, just as lmmovaby as the Chris
tan church believes III the cruciiiXior.
Lock him up eleven month out of every
year, and yon viii not change his belief.
Some of them are bad, vicious and murder
Gus men, but they ara the exception not the
rule. AS ruIe the moonshiner is rough i'll
manner and dress crude III speech, but tender
at heart
Who that read the story of Jim Wesson and
his baby, did not feel that there was something
almost sublime in the Tenderness and devotion
of The rough fellow, who scaled the prison
walls and, through rain and mud travelled 100
miles 10 see his baby die.
lie told me his story in an unsteady tone OF
voice, and there was suspicion OF tears III his
honest eyes.
"You seo," said he, II got a telegram from
home on Tuesday sayin' at tho baby warn't
expected to live long. 1t had been ailin for
some time, and sudden turn for the worse
had sot ill., 7 ies' couldn't stand 70 think o
the baby a-dyiT' and me not SEEM its face.
An it was orful to think of Mollie, all alone
a-watchn' of it night and Gay, until the little
fel!oc died, and then she a-haVin' to follow IL
TO the buryin' ground AL alone. You Sec
and his voice grew steady. and lie brushed his
sleeve across lis eyes, ''she could bear it bet
ter, and wouldn't feel half 50 lonely if [ was
thar TO speak @ word to her. 1t was bad
enough anyway, but to bear 1t all by herself
was orful on her. Went to the laller and
showed him the telegram, bat it warn't no
use. He lad his duty to do. He had the pa
pers to bold me and he couldn't let me so
without orders. L went back and sot down to
think. ! jes' couldn't bear it must see
Molly and the baby"
Feeling that way, as he described it to me
afterward he laid down his couch that
night hut not to sleep. The little baby lace
the laughing eyes, now grown dull, the niue
dimpled hand-his baby, dying fioated before
his eyes, and crowded sleep away. And then,
the form Of the anxious mother bending over
baby---it was terrible because he could not go
to her. lie paced the floor Of the moonshlners'
quarters until q crimson streak along the cast
EN- horizon heralded another day.
He may have told some one-that part OF
the story will never be told to tie world.
Some one with strong shoulders and tender
heart might have listened to his story. lie
may have hoisted himself on these shoulders
early that morning. and with one spring
bounded over the wall into the street-but that
is feature of the story that will remain I'M
told God must have made q special provls-
ion for his escape Sure 1t is that the
working people in south Atlanta. might have
seem astiey went to their work that morning,
a rough man, with haggard eyes, hurrying
along the streets.
Through a labyrinth Of turns, picking out the
least frequented streets, Jim Wesson passed
through the southern portion of the city, and
i'll az almost incredible space OF time, AFTER
leaving the Jail, he stood painting and tired at
Bellwood crossing waiting for the Georgia
Pacific train. Presently a laboring man came
along and told him that the train had passed
half an hour ago.
"The only train to'ds Birmingham" the
laborng man continued, sis at o'clock this
aft'noon.'
Great God A tempest seemed raging in
his brain. Before that time baby might be
dead. Mechanically he walked along the rail-
road track to Birmingham, and walked. and
walked until the train overlook him at halt
past o'clock.
Through the darkness and the rain the train
dashed rapidly, but not fast enough for the
fleeing moonsLiner who was going home to
see his baby die.
When the train reached the station nearest
his homo, another providentlal interference
prevented his progress.
Tie heavy rains during the day had swollen
the stream that lay between him and his home,
the bridge was gone, he could not reach home
until morning.
Another s!oepless night, another early start.
The home of Jim Wesson looked very quiet,
indeed, in the gray morning mist, as he APP
preached it with tired, but eager footsteps:
But his journey was all III vain. Tearfully
the wife told him the sad story.
1--WE laid baby in the church-yard yesterday
afternoon. We waited for you as long as we
could" she said
T,p-o DAYS later Tim Wesson knocked timldly
on the door of the Atlanta Jail.
"I'm come back" he told Mr.. Miller "You
always treated me we'll. and I'm come back.
The baby is dead"
1t was one of the tragedies of life.