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Updated: May 11, 2025
Von Waltershausen, having spent several years in making an elaborate survey of Etna, produced an atlas containing numerous detailed maps, views, and drawings of this mountain and its surroundings, which were published at Weimar by Engelmann in 1858. A description in MS. to accompany the atlas was also prepared, but before it was printed, the author died, on the 16th October 1876.
"If they only stay at the waterworks all may yet be well." "Wouldn't it be possible to warn Arthur?" began the mother again. "Warn him?" said Engelmann, shrugging his shoulders, "all you have to do is to go to the telegraph office and hand in a telegram to the Japanese official, telling them to remain where they are." "But couldn't we make it a go after all?" asked the youngest son thoughtfully.
This is the very reverse of the truth. "They claim," remarks Engelmann, "that woman in her natural state is the physical equal of man, and constantly point to the primitive woman, the female of savage peoples, as an example of this supposed axiom. Do they know how well this same savage is aware of the weakness of woman and her susceptibility at certain periods of her life?
He was standing in the doorway of the station and now called out: "Where is Arthur Engelmann?" "Not here," came the answer from the train. "Where can he be?" The name was called out several times, but no one answered. The train was ready to start and the men were distributing the boxes carefully inside the cars, so as to be able to unload them without loss of time at their respective destinations.
The Engelmann spruce swayed toward me encouragingly, as though offering to help me down. But its top was many feet from the wall. There was an abandoned bird's nest in it; a little below that was a dead limb with a woodpecker's incision at its base. By leaning out I could see, a hundred feet or more below the bottom of the swaying tree.
A lake with sandy shores lapped in and out among immense bowlders. On the west side a cliff rose straight from the water. At the upper edge a small cataract came leaping down the ledges and plunged noisily into the pool that overflowed into the lake. Above the water was a grove of Engelmann spruces, giant trees that rose straight for more than a hundred feet.
Martin Engelmann, a German who had immigrated to the great Northwest some twenty years ago, owned a pretty little home in the suburbs of Tacoma. The family had just sat down to dinner when the youngest son, who was employed in a large mercantile establishment in the city, entered hurriedly and called out excitedly: "They're coming, father, they're in the harbor."
Old Engelmann was standing, drawn up to his full height, at the window of his home, and mutely he caught the farewell glances of his two sons as they passed by, the one marching in the midst of his comrades, the other lying in the first wagon among the wounded.
After enduring this cannonading for the time above stated, Col. Engelmann became apprehensive that the Confederate cavalry were flanking us, and trying to get between us and Jackson, so he ordered our force to retire. We fell back, in good order, for about a mile, then halted, and faced to the front again.
And now, at last, Arthur Engelmann came running into the station. "Hurry up!" called Fighting Dick. "No, wait a minute! We'll have to take this fellow along," cried Engelmann, pointing to a wounded man, who was being carried by two comrades. "Put him down! We'll have to be off! We've got plenty of men, but not enough guns." "You must take him!" "No, we're off!"
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