Escape from Atlanta: The Huntington Memoir

ESCAPE FROM ATLANTA: The Huntington Memoir Edited by Ben Kremenak We are well acquainted with the narratives of many Civil War participants . As actors in the struggle, these writers were aware of the historic importance of the events to which they contributed and they had fairly clear ideas of their roles in the great conflict They were formally committed to one side or the other, as soldiers, statesmen, or patriots, and their activities had significance in the ways in which their role definitions were fulfilled. But such is not the case for many who became involved in this historic event. Some had conflicting interests, or in some cases actual disinterest, in the movements of their times. And so instead of seeing themselves as actors, they found themselves being acted upon by history. It is easy to forget that these people ever existed—partly because their actions seem random and disjointed and do not fit neatly into history's broad contours, and partly because they were less prone to write about themselves and the events which overtook them. One such person who did write was Mrs. Henry Huntington, a native of Vermont and, along with her husband, a "Northerner by birth and sympathy." They moved to Georgia in 1851 and were so well settled by the time war loomed that they decided to stay in the South and remain unobtrusive. This they were able to do for awhile, but in the end they became caught up in the conflict despite themselves . Mrs. Huntington's account, which follows, is a reminder of this often overlooked personal dimension in war. The manuscript was in the hands of a granddaughter, Mrs. Helen Perrin of Berkeley, California, until 1963, when it was donated to the library of the University of Iowa. It has been shortened slightly for publication. The editor has been unable to determine the exact date of writing. The last page (not reproduced here) describes an occurrence ten years after the war involving Mrs. Huntington's son. Although she lived until 1910, the handwriting as well as the accuracy of most of the verifiable facts support the supposition that the writing 160 did not long follow the events, probably dating from the late 1870"s or early 188Cs.« « « I was married to a young physician whose health failed in a few years from overwork, and in the fall of 1851 we went to Georgia to spend a few months taking with us our little son Henry, then a year old. What a change from the town we left in October so dreary and dismal, to Macon where trees were in luxurient foliage, and the monthly roses were in full bloom, in an atmosphere as soft and lovely as that of May. What a source of interest were the quiet ways of the people and the funny ways of the darkeys. But a few weeks passed and the novelty wore off the ways and the faces became wearisome and strange oft times seeming cool and distant. One evening a jovial Southerner noticed my dispondent looks, laughingly prophesied that in ten years all the dogs in Georgia would fail to drive me away. Vexed as I was with him then, I found it even so. I grew to love the South and its people and was contented and happy. My husband had intended to remain only a few months, but gaining his health by slow degrees, and being successful in his business, instead of months, years glided by.1 We flitted back and forth during the summer. Sometimes from choice, sometimes from necessity. When we went north in the fall of 1860, we found much excitement among our friends who urged us not to return. One said in laughing bravado, if you go back we will go down there and destroy you, burn your houses, demolish your gardens, and drive you back in fear and trembling. "You cannot do it," I returned. "You do not know the southern people." "Oh yes," he answered, "I know they are pluckey, but we are too many for them." How often afterward I thought of that prophecy made in jest and fullfilled in earnest. With anxious hearts we bade...