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george erwin comstock, company c Reminiscences of S. C. Beck in Prison Life George Erwin Comstock’s reminiscences of S. C. Beck were originally printed in 1903 in the Eighth Reunion of the Twelfth Iowa Veteran Vol. Infantry Dedication. We were schoolmates at college (Upper Iowa University)35 in 1861 when that fatal day the first gun fired on Ft. Sumter went like an electric shock all through the North, firing the hearts of all loyal men to spring to the call of Our Father Abraham for three hundred thousand men. S. C. Beck, of Waverly, Iowa, was one of that number. Here began the development of the possibilities of stalwart young manhood as varied as the tints of the rainbow. It was while passing through the crucible of war that some noble characters came forth from the quiet, unassuming walks of life and were made to shine forth as the noonday sun. Not all the deeds of valor of true, noble manhood will ever be written. God alone will know. ‘‘To the man that carried a gun’’ all praise be given, with all due respect to the ‘‘Line’’ from the least to the greatest. Yet, the work to be done, the victory must be won by the man who carried the gun. The virtues of my friend were many, the defects few. He counted not his life dear to himself; he placed it a sacrifice on the altar of his country. What he has suffered no one but God can know. The following shows his unselfishness: One of our comrades and one, too, of that same band of schoolmates that enlisted with us in Fayette, Iowa, was Hon. H. C. Curtis, now of LeMars. Dr. C. C. Parker, then surgeon of our regiment (12th Iowa Infantry ) and still living, bless his memory, notified Capt. Warner, of our company, that Curtis, of his company, was down with the smallpox, that he must make a detail and carry him to the pest hospital. No sooner had this news come to Beck than he said to Capt. Warner, ‘‘Let me take him and take care of him.’’ And this strong, brave, big-hearted man went to Curtis, took him in his arms and carried him to the hospital and there remained and nursed him through a long and severe sickness to health, and now Curtis says, ‘‘If it had not been for Beck’s constant and tender { 42 } care I would not have been alive today.’’ And so I enumerate many such instances which characterized, while in the army, as well as up to the last day of his life. One incident of my army life seemed to cement our friendship in such a bond of love as time only can efface and causes me to mourn today as for a brother. We were prisoners of war and had been for two months. We had suffered from exposure to all kinds of weather, without blankets or shelter, hungry and sick at heart, receiving the jeers and taunts of our enemy instead of blankets and bread. Many sickened and died. Beck was on the sick list in Montgomery, Ala., prison. The startling and joyous news came to us that we were to be exchanged and released from prison. Of course you can but imagine what emotions of joy filled all our hearts at the thought of once more being free. The cars couldn’t run fast enough; time seemed to drag, we were so anxious. Finally we found ourselves on a small island in the Tennessee river, some sixty miles from Chattanooga, some fifteen hundred in number, and from there we were sent down the river in small steamboats, the water being low. The boat could only take five hundred at a trip. It fell to our lot to be the last five hundred, after three days of waiting without a morsel of anything to eat save mulberries, and we lived in the trees. This was all borne without a murmur, because our hopes were high and our expectations so great we knew it would soon be over. Our time came to go and we boarded the boat in great glee. Even the sick counted not their sickness. We cut loose our boat and steamed down stream to what we supposed our liberty, friends and home. We arrived at the place of delivery ; we saw the flag of truce; we saw ‘‘Old Glory’’ — how glorious it did look to us...

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