The inhabitants did not greet us very cordially, though some of them professed Union sentiments.
In this town of Huntsville, the best friend of the Union was the keeper of a whisky-shop.

This man desired to look at some of our money, but declined to take it.

An officer procured a canteen of whisky and tendered a Treasury note in payment.

The note was refused, with a request for either gold or Rebel paper.
The officer then exhibited a large sheet of "promises to pay," which he had procured in Fayetteville a few days before, and asked how they would answer.
"That is just what I want," said the whisky vender.
The officer called his attention to the fact that the notes had no signatures.
"That don't make any difference," was the reply; "nobody will know whether they are signed or not, and they are just as good, anyhow." I was a listener to the conversation, and at this juncture proffered a pair of scissors to assist in dividing the notes.

It took but a short time to cut off enough "money" to pay for twenty canteens of the worst whisky I ever saw.
At Huntsville we made a few prisoners, who said they were on their way from Price's army to Forsyth, Missouri.