The following letter was written by Israel S. Geer (1822-1881) while serving as captain of Co. C, 3rd Regiment Michigan Infantry. Israel began his service in the 3rd Michigan on 13 May 1861 as a sergeant in Co. D, but was promoted to sergeant major and then captain of Co. C on 26 December 1861. He was residing in Hastings, Barry County, Michigan just prior to the war. Co. C was a challenging command. It was made up largely of German and Dutch immigrants, many of whom lived on the west side of the Grand River in Grand Rapids. This company was the descendant of the old Grand Rapids Rifles, also known as the “German Rifles,” a prewar local militia company composed solely of German immigrants.

On May 6, 1864 he was wounded (shot fracture of right leg with subsequent primary amputation of thigh in lower third) and taken prisoner at the Battle of the Wilderness, Orange County, Virginia; his surgeon being a Confederate doctor. He was paroled at Richmond, Virginia on September 12, 1864 and was mustered out on September 21, 1864 at the expriation of his term. He had fought in the battles of Bull Run, Yorktown, Williamsburg, Fair Oaks, Richmond, Charles City Crossroads, Malvern Hill, Manassas, Fredericksburg, Chancellorsville, Wilderness, Virginia and Gettysburg, Pennsylvania.

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Camp Lincoln
Near Richmond, Virginia
June 19, 1862

Dear Cousin Lucy,

I am seated on the ground, portfolio in lap, pen in hand to write my first letter to you. I am seated thus because I have nothing else to sit upon. We have been divested of everything calculated to make life—even the life of a soldier—anything like comfortable. In the first place, at Alexandria our baggage was reduced to a knapsack or carpet bag and that not to weigh over twelve pounds and consequently could carry but few clothes. I carried both knapsack and carpet sack to Fortress Monroe when I was obliged to send the latter home. we have only the clothes we wear except a change of under clothes and some have not even those. I have seen officers go without a shirt while their only one was being washed.

After we arrived here our baggage was sent back across the Chickahominy, tents and all, so since them we have been encumbered with nothing. I have not had my boots off in four weeks and you may depend that we are a very seedy looking set indeed. I will be glad when this war is over. If it was not for the looks of the thing and the disposition I have to carry through what I undertake, I would resign and go home.

It is one constant scene of excitement. Not one moment’s quiet rest from one week’s end to another. Nothing to be heard night or day but the roar of cannon or the crack of rifles. Nothing to be seen but warlike implements, the glittering of bayonets, and dead and wounded men. It was quiet when we were in front of the Rebel army on the Potomac to what it has been since we came to the Peninsula.

I have just been out to my company to give an order for the men to put on their accoutrements and lay with them on all night and be ready for an immediate attack. It is now eleven o’clock p.m. A general engagement which will decide the fate of Richmond may be expected to commence at any moment.

I should speak of the battles of Williamsburg and Fair Oaks but you have most likely read much more of them than I have time to write. Suffice it to say that the Michigan 3rd done their duty nobly as you may see by the New York Tribune of the 12th inst. Also the Herald of the same date. They give our Brigade of Michigan men the credit of saving the day as we most assuredly did at Fair Oaks. Our killed and wounded is very severe. We lost some of our best officers.

I think by the movements tonight that before this reaches you, the destiny of Richmond will have been sealed and with that, perhaps my own. But if I am spared, I anticipate a pleasant visit once more to Petworth Farm and no doubt a ride with Miss Lucy. Please give my love to your parents. Also to your sister and be sure to remember yourself. Now, Lute, write soon. Tell Eliza to write. It is the only comfort I have—reading letters from my friends. Don’t wait for me. I would gladly write you one every day if I could. All were well at home when last heard from. My health is quite good at present. Good night.

Your affectionate cousin, — I. S. Geer