I think I hazard nothing in saying that for weeks at least one man a day was killed at this place.

The murders became monotonous; there was a dreadful sameness to them.

A gun would crack; looking up we would see, still smoking, the muzzle of the musket of one of the guards on either side of the creek.

At the same instant would rise a piercing shriek from the man struck, now floundering in the creek in his death agony.

Then thousands of throats would yell out curses and denunciations, and-- "O, give the Rebel -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- a furlough!" It was our belief that every guard who killed a Yankee was rewarded with a thirty-day furlough.