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Updated: May 11, 2025
Martha, the faithful companion of his busy life, sat at the table with her face buried in her hands, the tears rolling uninterruptedly down her cheeks, while her two daughters were trying their best to comfort her. Old Engelmann opened the window and listened. "Nothing to be heard yet; but they'll have to pass here to get to the waterworks," he said.
Then he sat down and began to eat his soup in haste. "They're coming?" asked old Engelmann in a serious tone of voice, "then I fear it is too late." The old man got up from the table and going over to the window looked out into the street. Not a living thing was to be seen far and wide except a little white poodle gnawing a bone in the middle of the street.
Near the timberline we emerged into a little grassy glade beside a rushing stream. Far above and deep below us grew a dense forest of Engelmann spruce. In the glade stood a detached grove of perhaps a dozen trees, dead and stripped almost bare of limbs and bark. My lady stopped abruptly and stared at these. She shook her head sadly, murmuring to herself.
'Germans to the front, that's our slogan now, and we'll show the people in Washington that the German-Americans treat the duties of their new country seriously." Old Engelmann laid his hand on his son's shoulder, saying: "Right you are, my boy, and my blessing go with you! So you are to cut the telegraph-wire?" "Yes, father. We happen to know where it is.
The young fellow had talked himself into a state of great excitement, and his two sisters, watching him proudly, began to be infected by his enthusiasm. The shades of night were falling slowly as Richard Engelmann bade a touching farewell to his family and left the house, whistling a lively tune as he walked towards the town.
Engelmann stared attentively at the poodle, buried in thought. "How many of them are there?" he asked after a pause. "At least a whole battalion, I'm told," answered the son, finishing his soup in short order. "Then it's all over, of course.
But now the turn of the other fellows was to come. Soon after their charging column disappeared behind the ridge in our front, they put in position on the crest of the ridge two black, snaky looking pieces of artillery, and began giving us the benefit of the "artillery practice" Col. Engelmann had alluded to.
Bum bum bum, bum, bum they went, and then the shrill squeaking of the fifes could also be heard. "Yes, there they are, the deuce take 'em," said Engelmann. The sound of the drums became more and more distinct and presently the sound of troops marching in step could be clearly distinguished.
Engelmann, the brigade commander, came galloping up, and stopped about opposite the front of the regiment. Maj. Ohr, our regimental commander, who was in the rear of the regiment on foot, walked out to meet him. Engelmann was a German, and a splendid officer. "Goot morning, Major," he said, in a loud voice we all heard. "How are de poys?"
As the train pants up over the arid hills, 6,000, 7,000, 7,500 feet, you would never guess that just behind these knolls of scrub pine and juniper, the foothills rolling back to the mountains, whose snow peaks you can see on the blue horizon, present a heavy growth of park-like yellow pine forests trees eighty to 150 feet high, straight as a mast, clear of under-branching and underbrush, interspersed with cedar and juniper and Engelmann spruce.
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