Excerpt (from Murdered in Medina, July 2, 1863)

She returned to the house, cautiously opened the door, and entered the living room. Nothing out of order here. Shubal are you home? Silence, hot, dead, muggy, damp, empty silence. She went into the kitchen. Nothing. Should she go upstairs? Something urged her to do so. Now she was smelling something. Smoke! Was the house on fire? Quickly. In the back, in the back! The bedroom, the bedroom!

The sight she saw when she entered the room was one she never forgot. Blood was everywhere! Shubal, his wife, and little son lay in grotesque death. They had been cut and slashed. The room had been ransacked. The neighbor went screaming into the street.