The man is very earnest; he has the medicine, and he appears very truthful. I am afraid you will think me quite cruel when I answer:
"I am sorry; but it's my duty to detain you. You cannot go."
The man sits down beside the gate, and the sergeant who has him in charge sits down with him, where, I fear, they do not enjoy themselves.
The owner of the house stepped out as soon as we arrived, and good-naturedly invited us in; finding that we wished to feed, he showed the way to the corn-cribs, and dealt out his corn with a free hand. But one object in our halt here is to arrest him. As he returns from the cribs, I tell him I wish to speak to him; and we walk to the house.
"Mr. Bennett," I say, "you are a soldier in the Southern army."
"No, sir. I was, but I've been discharged."
"Let me see your discharge."
His wife searches for it in a wardrobe, and in a few minutes brings it to me. It states that he was discharged from the service of the Confederate States on account of physical disability.
"You left, then, because you could not serve any longer."
"Yes, sir."