He advanced up, and pulling a piece of paper out of his pocket, handed it to me to read.

It was an order from General Leonidas Polk to allow the bearer to pass.

I read it, and looked up to hand it back to him, when I discovered that he had a pistol cocked and leveled in my face, and says he, "Drop that gun; you are my prisoner." I saw there was no use in fooling about it.

I knew if I resisted he would shoot me, and I thought then that he was about to perform that detestable operation.

I dropped the gun.
I did not wish to spend my winter in a Northern prison, and what was worse, I would be called a deserter from my post of duty.
The Yankee picket lines were not a half mile off.