William J. Kennedy was a working-class Irish soldier who served as a private in the 55th Illinois Infantry. His letters begin in the late summer of 1861, when Kennedy, his brother James, brother-in-law John Mellan, and their friend Michael Humphrey arrive at Camp Douglas in Chicago. From the outset, there was much talk about conflicts with officers, especially with Captain Joseph Clay—a twisted tale that unfolds through much of the correspondence. Kennedy sourly remarked how officers seemed determined to “degrade men” (23), and his independent streak may explain why he remained a private for the duration.
The letters suggest that Kennedy’s wife, Jane, had opposed his enlistment, and he had to keep explaining both his sense of duty and why he could not come home. Like many soldier husbands, Kennedy offered his wife advice but also trusted her judgment about home affairs. He greatly appreciated her letters, though at times, he seemed weary of home news and was certainly no romantic: “I don’t ask you and you need not tell me how much you love me. I think of something higher than this childish love” (206). Likewise, he did not praise their son in his letters home because that was a mother’s job. He made only cryptic reference to her pregnancy, and when she lost the child, he cooly commented that it might have all been for the best, since it “has gone to a better world where they can have no wars” (59). Unlike most soldiers, he did not seem that interested in wangling a furlough. Unfortunately, we have only hints about how Jane reacted to all this because Kennedy burned her letters lest they fall into enemy hands.
The regiment’s early service was largely uneventful, but then the men faced the horrors of Shiloh. Kennedy sent home a fine description of fighting in confusing terrain and then noted that though his company had suffered relatively few casualties, many men were sick right after the battle. Like many soldiers he worried about lagging support for the war at home and even accused Jane of writing a “secesh letter” (74) and talking like a Democrat. Kennedy declared that he was not fighting for emancipation, admitted that he did not care for Black people, but “would not try to deprive one man black or white of rights that all are entitled to” (75). He had no doubt that the war had come about because of slavery.
Kennedy admitted that he fared reasonably well in the army, especially once he took on quartermaster duties. A rare soldier indeed, he even claimed to enjoy being on the picket line. He often discussed pay (or lack thereof) and the letters offer many details about sending money home. In one letter, he castigated fellow soldiers who deprived their families by paying outrageous sutler prices for rotgut liquor. By July 1862, Kennedy was on occupation duty in Memphis and noted the greatly improved food and clothing. He now hoped Democrats and abolitionists would be drafted, and his letters showed how soldier attitudes about the war and emancipation were evolving. The boys were no longer interested in guarding rebel property and welcomed Blacks willing to work in the camps. Slave owners and southern traitors were getting exactly what they deserved, and Kennedy would be satisfied if at the end of the war all the slaves were free. He welcomed Lincoln’s preliminary Emancipation Proclamation. As a Catholic, Kennedy described Black religious meetings as unusually lively and amusing; then too the regiment’s chaplain was a shouting preacher, and the camp “had music enough to scare a small rebel army” (122). He later claimed that he and his comrades found chaplains to be “the most gigantic nuisance in the army” (228).
Kennedy viewed Republican losses in the 1862 elections as an ominous sign and feared that Democrats in Congress might agree to a “dirty compromise” (192). As Union policy turned towards “hard war,” Kennedy decided that the Confederates must be beaten into submission. At one point, he prevented some soldiers from burning a house whose owner had kindly allowed him to stay for a few days, but otherwise he appeared indifferent to property destruction—especially given guerrilla activity in Tennessee. During the Vicksburg Campaign, the regiment saw some action at Chickasaw Bayou and Arkansas Post, though its most serious losses after Shiloh came from disease. Kennedy often mentioned health conditions, including a smallpox outbreak; in February 1863, he declared it pointless to spare the country the truth about the ravages of disease in the camps: “It is impossible to get lumber to make coffins for all that die. Many are wrapped up in a blanket and tumbled into a hole like a dead horse or any other brute” (213).
In April, Kennedy ruefully suggested he might reenlist because he had become like “all soldiers quite lazy—and getting fat” (241). Shortly after offering that dubious generalization, he reported “feasting and rejoicing” (249) when the regiment received five tons of supplies from home. The men could stuff themselves, fall asleep, and dream of home. But not for long. A few weeks later, the regiment took part in the May 22 assault on the Vicksburg defenses, and Kennedy’s received a severe elbow wound. Transported to a field hospital, then to a hospital boat, and finally to the Gayoso Hospital in Memphis, at first, he seemed to be on the mend, but then gangrene set in which, combined with severe diarrhea, led to his death on June 22, 1863.
The editors offer detailed and useful introductions that establish the context for each chapter of letters. Most of the annotations are brief. An epilogue provides additional information on Jane and the three men who had enlisted with William Kennedy. The index mostly covers people and places.
For once, the book’s blurbs do not exaggerate: This is one of the best collections of soldier letters that has been published in recent years. For anyone interested in Union operations and soldier life in the western theater, this volume merits an enthusiastic recommendation. Kennedy is an unfailingly interesting correspondent, and his letters hold a number of surprises even for veteran consumers of such anthologies. For students of the war exploring the connections between home and camp, there is much good material here. For general readers, Kennedy’s story is both absorbing and poignant.
George C. Rable is Professor of History, Emeritus, at the University of Alabama. His most recent book is Conflict of Command: George McClellan, Abraham Lincoln, and the Politics of War, which won the Barondess/Lincoln Award and the Daniel M. and Marilyn W. Laney Prize.
