For time, during her three years’ inaction, had eaten deep into the Dream and her fittings; she had sold in consequence a shade above her value as old junk; and the three adventurers had scarce been able to afford even the most vital repairs. The rigging, indeed, had been partly renewed, and the rest set up; all Grant Sanderson’s old canvas had been patched together into one decently serviceable suit of sails; Grant Sanderson’s masts still stood, and might have wondered at themselves. “I haven’t the heart to tap them,” Captain Wicks used to observe, as he squinted6 up their height or patted their rotundity; and “as rotten as our foremast” was an accepted metaphor7 in the ship’s company. The sequel rather suggests it may have been sounder than was thought; but no one knew for certain, just as no one except the captain appreciated the dangers of the cruise. The captain, indeed, saw with clear eyes and spoke8 his mind aloud; and though a man of an astonishing hot-blooded courage, following life and taking its dangers in the spirit of a hound upon the slot, he had made a point of a big whaleboat. “Take your choice,” he had said; “either new masts and rigging or that boat. I simply ain’t going to sea without the one or the other. Chicken coops are good enough, no doubt, and so is a dinghy; but they ain’t for Joe.” And his partners had been forced to consent, and saw six and thirty pounds of their small capital vanish in the turn of a hand.
All four had toiled9 the best part of six weeks getting ready; and though Captain Wicks was of course not seen or heard of, a fifth was there to help them, a fellow in a bushy red beard, which he would sometimes lay aside when he was below, and who strikingly resembled Captain Wicks in voice and character. As for Captain Kirkup, he did not appear till the last moment, when he proved to be a burly mariner11, bearded like Abou Ben Adhem. All the way down the harbour and through the Heads, his milk-white whiskers blew in the wind and were conspicuous12 from shore; but the Currency Lass had no sooner turned her back upon the lighthouse, than he went below for the inside of five seconds and reappeared clean shaven. So many doublings and devices were required to get to sea with an unseaworthy ship and a captain that was “wanted.” Nor might even these have sufficed, but for the fact that Hadden was a public character, and the whole cruise regarded with an eye of indulgence as one of Tom’s engaging eccentricities14. The ship, besides, had been a yacht before; and it came the more natural to allow her still some of the dangerous liberties of her old employment.
A strange ship they had made of it, her lofty spars disfigured with patched canvas, her panelled cabin fitted for a traderoom with rude shelves. And the life they led in that anomalous15 schooner was no less curious than herself. Amalu alone berthed17 forward; the rest occupied staterooms, camped upon the satin divans19, and sat down in Grant Sanderson’s parquetry smoking-room to meals of junk and potatoes, bad of their kind and often scant20 in quantity. Hemstead grumbled21; Tommy had occasional moments of revolt and increased the ordinary by a few haphazard22 tins or a bottle of his own brown sherry. But Hemstead grumbled from habit, Tommy revolted only for the moment, and there was underneath23 a real and general acquiescence24 in these hardships. For besides onions and potatoes, the Currency Lass may be said to have gone to sea without stores. She carried two thousand pounds’ worth of assorted25 trade, advanced on credit, their whole hope and fortune. It was upon this that they subsisted26 — mice in their own granary. They dined upon their future profits; and every scanty27 meal was so much in the savings28 bank.
Republican as were their manners, there was no practical, at least no dangerous, lack of discipline. Wicks was the only sailor on board, there was none to criticise29; and besides, he was so easy-going, and so merry-minded, that none could bear to disappoint him. Carthew did his best, partly for the love of doing it, partly for love of the captain; Amalu was a willing drudge30, and even Hemstead and Hadden turned to upon occasion with a will. Tommy’s department was the trade and traderoom; he would work down in the hold or over the shelves of the cabin, till the Sydney dandy was unrecognizable; come up at last, draw a bucket of sea-water, bathe, change, and lie down on deck over a big sheaf of Sydney Heralds31 and Dead Birds, or perhaps with a volume of Buckle32’s History of Civilisation33, the standard work selected for that cruise. In the latter case, a smile went round the ship, for Buckle almost invariably laid his student out, and when Tom awoke again he was almost always in the humour for brown sherry. The connection was so well established that “a glass of Buckle” or “a bottle of civilisation” became current pleasantries on board the Currency Lass.
Hemstead’s province was that of the repairs, and he had his hands full. Nothing on board but was decayed in a proportion; the lamps leaked; so did the decks; door-knobs came off in the hand, mouldings parted company with the panels, the pump declined to suck, and the defective34 bathroom came near to swamp the ship. Wicks insisted that all the nails were long ago consumed, and that she was only glued together by the rust35. “You shouldn’t make me laugh so much, Tommy,” he would say. “I’m afraid I’ll shake the sternpost out of her.” And, as Hemstead went to and fro with his tool basket on an endless round of tinkering, Wicks lost no opportunity of chaffing him upon his duties. “If you’d turn to at sailoring or washing paint or something useful, now,” he would say, “I could see the fun of it. But to be mending things that haven’t no insides to them appears to me the height of foolishness.” And doubtless these continual pleasantries helped to reassure37 the landsmen, who went to and fro unmoved, under circumstances that might have daunted38 Nelson.
The weather was from the outset splendid, and the wind fair and steady. The ship sailed like a witch. “This Currency Lass is a powerful old girl, and has more complaints than I would care to put a name on,” the captain would say, as he pricked39 the chart; “but she could show her blooming heels to anything of her size in the Western Pacific.” To wash decks, relieve the wheel, do the day’s work after dinner on the smoking-room table, and take in kites at night — such was the easy routine of their life. In the evening — above all, if Tommy had produced some of his civilisation — yarns40 and music were the rule. Amalu had a sweet Hawaiian voice; and Hemstead, a great hand upon the banjo, accompanied his own quavering tenor42 with effect. There was a sense in which the little man could sing. It was great to hear him deliver My Boy Tammie in Austrylian; and the words (some of the worst of the ruffian Macneil’s) were hailed in his version with inextinguishable mirth.
Where hye ye been a’ dye?
he would ask, and answer himself:—
I’ve been by burn and flowery brye,
Meadow green an’ mountain grye,
Courtin’ o’ this young thing,
Just come frye her mammie.
It was the accepted jest for all hands to greet the conclusion of this song with the simultaneous cry: “My word!” thus winging the arrow of ridicule43 with a feather from the singer’s wing. But he had his revenge with Home, Sweet Home, and Where is my Wandering Boy To-night? — ditties into which he threw the most intolerable pathos44. It appeared he had no home, nor had ever had one, nor yet any vestige45 of a family, except a truculent46 uncle, a baker47 in Newcastle, N.S.W. His domestic sentiment was therefore wholly in the air, and expressed an unrealised ideal. Or perhaps, of all his experiences, this of the Currency Lass, with its kindly48, playful, and tolerant society, approached it the most nearly.
It is perhaps because I know the sequel, but I can never think upon this voyage without a profound sense of pity and mystery; of the ship (once the whim49 of a rich blackguard) faring with her battered50 fineries and upon her homely51 errand, across the plains of ocean, and past the gorgeous scenery of dawn and sunset; and the ship’s company, so strangely assembled, so Britishly chuckle-headed, filling their days with chaff36 in place of conversation; no human book on board with them except Hadden’s Buckle, and not a creature fit either to read or to understand it; and the one mark of any civilised interest, being when Carthew filled in his spare hours with the pencil and the brush: the whole unconscious crew of them posting in the meanwhile towards so tragic52 a disaster.
Twenty-eight days out of Sydney, on Christmas eve, they fetched up to the entrance of the lagoon53, and plied54 all that night outside, keeping their position by the lights of fishers on the reef and the outlines of the palms against the cloudy sky. With the break of day, the schooner was hove to, and the signal for a pilot shown. But it was plain her lights must have been observed in the darkness by the native fishermen, and word carried to the settlement, for a boat was already under weigh. She came towards them across the lagoon under a great press of sail, lying dangerously down, so that at times, in the heavier puffs55, they thought she would turn turtle; covered the distance in fine style, luffed up smartly alongside, and emitted a haggard looking white man in pyjamas57.
“Good-mornin’, Cap’n,” said he, when he had made good his entrance. “I was taking you for a Fiji man-of-war, what with your flush decks and them spars. Well, gen’lemen all, here’s wishing you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year,” he added, and lurched against a stay.
“Why, you’re never the pilot?” exclaimed Wicks, studying him with a profound disfavour. “You’ve never taken a ship in — don’t tell me!”
“Well, I should guess I have,” returned the pilot. “I’m Captain Dobbs, I am; and when I take charge, the captain of that ship can go below and shave.”
“But, man alive! you’re drunk, man!” cried the captain.
“Drunk!” repeated Dobbs. “You can’t have seen much life if you call me drunk. I’m only just beginning. Come night, I won’t say; I guess I’ll be properly full by then. But now I’m the soberest man in all Big Muggin.”
“It won’t do,” retorted Wicks. “Not for Joseph, sir. I can’t have you piling up my schooner.”
“All right,” said Dobbs, “lay and rot where you are, or take and go in and pile her up for yourself like the captain of the Leslie. That’s business, I guess; grudged59 me twenty dollars’ pilotage, and lost twenty thousand in trade and a brand new schooner; ripped the keel right off of her, and she went down in the inside of four minutes, and lies in twenty fathom60, trade and all.”
“What’s all this?” cried Wicks. “Trade? What vessel61 was this Leslie, anyhow?”
“Consigned to Cohen and Co., from ‘Frisco,” returned the pilot, “and badly wanted. There’s a barque inside filling up for Hamburg — you see her spars over there; and there’s two more ships due, all the way from Germany, one in two months, they say, and one in three; Cohen and Co.‘s agent (that’s Mr. Topelius) has taken and lain down with the jaundice on the strength of it. I guess most people would, in his shoes; no trade, no copra, and twenty hundred ton of shipping62 due. If you’ve any copra on board, cap’n, here’s your chance. Topelius will buy, gold down, and give three cents. It’s all found money to him, the way it is, whatever he pays for it. And that’s what come of going back on the pilot.”
“Excuse me one moment, Captain Dobbs. I wish to speak with my mate,” said the captain, whose face had begun to shine and his eyes to sparkle.
“Please yourself,” replied the pilot. “You couldn’t think of offering a man a nip, could you? just to brace63 him up. This kind of thing looks damned inhospitable, and gives a schooner a bad name.”
“I’ll talk about that after the anchor’s down,” returned Wicks, and he drew Carthew forward. “I say,” he whispered, “here’s a fortune.”
“How much do you call that?” asked Carthew.
“I can’t put a figure on it yet — I daren’t!” said the captain. “We might cruise twenty years and not find the match of it. And suppose another ship came in to-night? Everything’s possible! And the difficulty is this Dobbs. He’s as drunk as a marine10. How can we trust him? We ain’t insured — worse luck!”
“Suppose you took him aloft and got him to point out the channel?” suggested Carthew. “If he tallied65 at all with the chart, and didn’t fall out of the rigging, perhaps we might risk it.”
“Well, all’s risk here,” returned the captain. “Take the wheel yourself, and stand by. Mind, if there’s two orders, follow mine, not his. Set the cook for’ard with the heads’ls, and the two others at the main sheet, and see they don’t sit on it.” With that he called the pilot; they swarmed66 aloft in the fore1 rigging, and presently after there was bawled67 down the welcome order to ease sheets and fill away.
At a quarter before nine o’clock on Christmas morning the anchor was let go.
The first cruise of the Currency Lass had thus ended in a stroke of fortune almost beyond hope. She had brought two thousand pounds’ worth of trade, straight as a homing pigeon, to the place where it was most required. And Captain Wicks (or, rather, Captain Kirkup) showed himself the man to make the best of his advantage. For hard upon two days he walked a verandah with Topelius, for hard upon two days his partners watched from the neighbouring public house the field of battle; and the lamps were not yet lighted on the evening of the second before the enemy surrendered. Wicks came across to the Sans Souci, as the saloon was called, his face nigh black, his eyes almost closed and all bloodshot, and yet bright as lighted matches.
“Come out here, boys,” he said; and when they were some way off among the palms, “I hold twenty-four,” he added in a voice scarcely recognizable, and doubtless referring to the venerable game of cribbage.
“What do you mean?” asked Tommy.
“I’ve sold the trade,” answered Wicks; “or, rather, I’ve sold only some of it, for I’ve kept back all the mess beef and half the flour and biscuit; and, by God, we’re still provisioned for four months! By God, it’s as good as stolen!”
“My word!” cried Hemstead.
“But what have you sold it for?” gasped68 Carthew, the captain’s almost insane excitement shaking his nerve.
“Let me tell it my own way,” cried Wicks, loosening his neck. “Let me get at it gradual, or I’ll explode. I’ve not only sold it, boys, I’ve wrung69 out a charter on my own terms to ‘Frisco and back; on my own terms. I made a point of it. I fooled him first by making believe I wanted copra, which of course I knew he wouldn’t hear of — couldn’t, in fact; and whenever he showed fight, I trotted70 out the copra, and that man dived! I would take nothing but copra, you see; and so I’ve got the blooming lot in specie — all but two short bills on ‘Frisco. And the sum? Well, this whole adventure, including two thousand pounds of credit, cost us two thousand seven hundred and some odd. That’s all paid back; in thirty days’ cruise we’ve paid for the schooner and the trade. Heard ever any man the match of that? And it’s not all! For besides that,” said the captain, hammering his words, “we’ve got Thirteen Blooming Hundred Pounds of profit to divide. I bled him in four Thou.!” he cried, in a voice that broke like a schoolboy’s.
For a moment the partners looked upon their chief with stupefaction, incredulous surprise their only feeling. Tommy was the first to grasp the consequences.
“Here,” he said, in a hard, business tone. “Come back to that saloon. I’ve got to get drunk.”
“You must please excuse me, boys,” said the captain, earnestly. “I daren’t taste nothing. If I was to drink one glass of beer, it’s my belief I’d have the apoplexy. The last scrimmage, and the blooming triumph, pretty nigh hand done me.”
“Well, then, three cheers for the captain,” proposed Tommy.
But Wicks held up a shaking hand. “Not that either, boys,” he pleaded. “Think of the other buffer71, and let him down easy. If I’m like this, just fancy what Topelius is! If he heard us singing out, he’d have the staggers.”
As a matter of fact, Topelius accepted his defeat with a good grace; but the crew of the wrecked73 Leslie, who were in the same employment and loyal to their firm, took the thing more bitterly. Rough words and ugly looks were common. Once even they hooted74 Captain Wicks from the saloon verandah; the Currency Lasses drew out on the other side; for some minutes there had like to have been a battle in Butaritari; and though the occasion passed off without blows, it left on either side an increase of ill-feeling.
No such small matter could affect the happiness of the successful traders. Five days more the ship lay in the lagoon, with little employment for any one but Tommy and the captain, for Topelius’s natives discharged cargo75 and brought ballast; the time passed like a pleasant dream; the adventurers sat up half the night debating and praising their good fortune, or strayed by day in the narrow isle76, gaping77 like Cockney tourists; and on the first of the new year, the Currency Lass weighed anchor for the second time and set sail for ‘Frisco, attended by the same fine weather and good luck. She crossed the doldrums with but small delay; on a wind and in ballast of broken coral, she outdid expectations; and, what added to the happiness of the ship’s company, the small amount of work that fell on them to do, was now lessened78 by the presence of another hand. This was the boatswain of the Leslie; he had been on bad terms with his own captain, had already spent his wages in the saloons of Butaritari, had wearied of the place, and while all his shipmates coldly refused to set foot on board the Currency Lass, he had offered to work his passage to the coast. He was a north of Ireland man, between Scotch79 and Irish, rough, loud, humorous, and emotional, not without sterling80 qualities, and an expert and careful sailor. His frame of mind was different indeed from that of his new shipmates; instead of making an unexpected fortune, he had lost a berth18; and he was besides disgusted with the rations81, and really appalled83 at the condition of the schooner. A stateroom door had stuck, the first day at sea, and Mac (as they called him) laid his strength to it and plucked it from the hinges.
“Glory!” said he, “this ship’s rotten.”
“I believe you, my boy,” said Captain Wicks.
The next day the sailor was observed with his nose aloft.
“Don’t you get looking at these sticks,” the captain said, “or you’ll have a fit and fall overboard.”
Mac turned towards the speaker with rather a wild eye. “Why, I see what looks like a patch of dry rot up yonder, that I bet I could stick my fist into,” said he.
“Looks as if a fellow could stick his head into it, don’t it?” returned Wicks. “But there’s no good prying84 into things that can’t be mended.”
“I think I was a Currency Ass3 to come on board of her!” reflected Mac.
“Well, I never said she was seaworthy,” replied the captain: “I only said she could show her blooming heels to anything afloat. And besides, I don’t know that it’s dry rot; I kind of sometimes hope it isn’t. Here; turn to and heave the log; that’ll cheer you up.”
“Well, there’s no denying it, you’re a holy captain,” said Mac.
And from that day on, he made but the one reference to the ship’s condition; and that was whenever Tommy drew upon his cellar. “Here’s to the junk trade!” he would say, as he held out his can of sherry.
“Why do you always say that?” asked Tommy.
“I had an uncle in the business,” replied Mac, and launched at once into a yarn41, in which an incredible number of the characters were “laid out as nice as you would want to see,” and the oaths made up about two-fifths of every conversation.
Only once he gave them a taste of his violence; he talked of it, indeed, often; “I’m rather a voilent man,” he would say, not without pride; but this was the only specimen85. Of a sudden, he turned on Hemstead in the ship’s waist, knocked him against the foresail boom, then knocked him under it, and had set him up and knocked him down once more, before any one had drawn86 a breath.
“Here! Belay that!” roared Wicks, leaping to his feet. “I won’t have none of this.”
Mac turned to the captain with ready civility. “I only want to learn him manners,” said he. “He took and called me Irishman.”
“Did he?” said Wicks. “O, that’s a different story! What made you do it, you tomfool? You ain’t big enough to call any man that.”
“I didn’t call him it,” spluttered Hemstead, through his blood and tears. “I only mentioned-like he was.”
“Well, let’s have no more of it,” said Wicks.
“But you ARE Irish, ain’t you?” Carthew asked of his new shipmate shortly after.
“I may be,” replied Mac, “but I’ll allow no Sydney duck to call me so. No,” he added, with a sudden heated countenance87, “nor any Britisher that walks! Why, look here,” he went on, “you’re a young swell88, aren’t you? Suppose I called you that!” ‘I’ll show you,’ you would say, and turn to and take it out of me straight.”
On the 28th of January, when in lat. 27 degrees 20’ N., long. 177 degrees W., the wind chopped suddenly into the west, not very strong, but puffy and with flaws of rain. The captain, eager for easting, made a fair wind of it and guyed the booms out wing and wing. It was Tommy’s trick at the wheel, and as it was within half an hour of the relief (seven thirty in the morning), the captain judged it not worth while to change him.
The puffs were heavy but short; there was nothing to be called a squall, no danger to the ship, and scarce more than usual to the doubtful spars. All hands were on deck in their oilskins, expecting breakfast; the galley89 smoked, the ship smelt90 of coffee, all were in good humour to be speeding eastward91 a full nine; when the rotten foresail tore suddenly between two cloths and then split to either hand. It was for all the world as though some archangel with a huge sword had slashed92 it with the figure of a cross; all hands ran to secure the slatting canvas; and in the sudden uproar93 and alert, Tommy Hadden lost his head. Many of his days have been passed since then in explaining how the thing happened; of these explanations it will be sufficient to say that they were all different and none satisfactory; and the gross fact remains94 that the main boom gybed, carried away the tackle, broke the mainmast some three feet above the deck and whipped it overboard. For near a minute the suspected foremast gallantly95 resisted; then followed its companion; and by the time the wreck72 was cleared, of the whole beautiful fabric97 that enabled them to skim the seas, two ragged98 stumps99 remained.
In these vast and solitary101 waters, to be dismasted is perhaps the worst calamity102. Let the ship turn turtle and go down, and at least the pang103 is over. But men chained on a hulk may pass months scanning the empty sea line and counting the steps of death’s invisible approach. There is no help but in the boats, and what a help is that! There heaved the Currency Lass, for instance, a wingless lump, and the nearest human coast (that of Kauai in the Sandwiches) lay about a thousand miles to south and east of her. Over the way there, to men contemplating104 that passage in an open boat, all kinds of misery105, and the fear of death and of madness, brooded.
A serious company sat down to breakfast; but the captain helped his neighbours with a smile.
“Now, boys,” he said, after a pull at the hot coffee, “we’re done with this Currency Lass, and no mistake. One good job: we made her pay while she lasted, and she paid first rate; and if we were to try our hand again, we can try in style. Another good job: we have a fine, stiff, roomy boat, and you know who you have to thank for that. We’ve got six lives to save, and a pot of money; and the point is, where are we to take ‘em?”
“It’s all two thousand miles to the nearest of the Sandwiches, I fancy,” observed Mac.
“No, not so bad as that,” returned the captain. “But it’s bad enough: rather better’n a thousand.”
“I know a man who once did twelve hundred in a boat,” said Mac, “and he had all he wanted. He fetched ashore106 in the Marquesas, and never set a foot on anything floating from that day to this. He said he would rather put a pistol to his head and knock his brains out.”
“Ay, ay!” said Wicks. “Well I remember a boat’s crew that made this very island of Kauai, and from just about where we lie, or a bit further. When they got up with the land, they were clean crazy. There was an iron-bound coast and an Old Bob Ridley of a surf on. The natives hailed ‘em from fishing-boats, and sung out it couldn’t be done at the money. Much they cared! there was the land, that was all they knew; and they turned to and drove the boat slap ashore in the thick of it, and was all drowned but one. No; boat trips are my eye,” concluded the captain, gloomily.
The tone was surprising in a man of his indomitable temper. “Come, Captain,” said Carthew, “you have something else up your sleeve; out with it!”
“It’s a fact,” admitted Wicks. “You see there’s a raft of little bally reefs about here, kind of chicken-pox on the chart. Well, I looked ‘em all up, and there’s one — Midway or Brooks107 they call it, not forty mile from our assigned position — that I got news of. It turns out it’s a coaling station of the Pacific Mail,” he said, simply.
“Well, and I know it ain’t no such a thing,” said Mac. “I been quartermaster in that line myself.”
“All right,” returned Wicks. “There’s the book. Read what Hoyt says — read it aloud and let the others hear.”
Hoyt’s falsehood (as readers know) was explicit108; incredulity was impossible, and the news itself delightful109 beyond hope. Each saw in his mind’s eye the boat draw in to a trim island with a wharf110, coal-sheds, gardens, the Stars and Stripes and the white cottage of the keeper; saw themselves idle a few weeks in tolerable quarters, and then step on board the China mail, romantic waifs, and yet with pocketsful of money, calling for champagne111, and waited on by troops of stewards112. Breakfast, that had begun so dully, ended amid sober jubilation113, and all hands turned immediately to prepare the boat.
Now that all spars were gone, it was no easy job to get her launched. Some of the necessary cargo was first stowed on board; the specie, in particular, being packed in a strong chest and secured with lashings to the afterthwart in case of a capsize. Then a piece of the bulwark115 was razed116 to the level of the deck, and the boat swung thwart114-ship, made fast with a slack line to either stump100, and successfully run out. For a voyage of forty miles to hospitable64 quarters, not much food or water was required; but they took both in superfluity. Amalu and Mac, both ingrained sailor-men, had chests which were the headquarters of their lives; two more chests with handbags, oilskins, and blankets supplied the others; Hadden, amid general applause, added the last case of the brown sherry; the captain brought the log, instruments, and chronometer117; nor did Hemstead forget the banjo or a pinned handkerchief of Butaritari shells.
It was about three P.M. when they pushed off, and (the wind being still westerly) fell to the oars118. “Well, we’ve got the guts119 out of YOU!” was the captain’s nodded farewell to the hulk of the Currency Lass, which presently shrank and faded in the sea. A little after a calm succeeded, with much rain; and the first meal was eaten, and the watch below lay down to their uneasy slumber120 on the bilge under a roaring shower-bath. The twenty- ninth dawned overhead from out of ragged clouds; there is no moment when a boat at sea appears so trenchantly121 black and so conspicuously122 little; and the crew looked about them at the sky and water with a thrill of loneliness and fear. With sunrise the trade set in, lusty and true to the point; sail was made; the boat flew; and by about four in the afternoon, they were well up with the closed part of the reef, and the captain standing123 on the thwart, and holding by the mast, was studying the island through the binoculars124.
“Well, and where’s your station?” cried Mac.
“I don’t someway pick it up,” replied the captain.
“No, nor never will!” retorted Mac, with a clang of despair and triumph in his tones.
The truth was soon plain to all. No buoys125, no beacons126, no lights, no coal, no station; the castaways pulled through a lagoon and landed on an isle, where was no mark of man but wreckwood, and no sound but of the sea. For the seafowl that harboured and lived there at the epoch127 of my visit were then scattered128 into the uttermost parts of the ocean, and had left no traces of their sojourn129 besides dropped feathers and addled130 eggs. It was to this they had been sent, for this they had stooped all night over the dripping oars, hourly moving further from relief. The boat, for as small as it was, was yet eloquent131 of the hands of men, a thing alone indeed upon the sea but yet in itself all human; and the isle, for which they had exchanged it, was ingloriously savage132, a place of distress133, solitude134, and hunger unrelieved. There was a strong glare and shadow of the evening over all; in which they sat or lay, not speaking, careless even to eat, men swindled out of life and riches by a lying book. In the great good nature of the whole party, no word of reproach had been addressed to Hadden, the author of these disasters. But the new blow was less magnanimously borne, and many angry glances rested on the captain.
Yet it was himself who roused them from their lethargy. Grudgingly135 they obeyed, drew the boat beyond tidemark, and followed him to the top of the miserable137 islet, whence a view was commanded of the whole wheel of the horizon, then part darkened under the coming night, part dyed with the hues138 of the sunset and populous139 with the sunset clouds. Here the camp was pitched and a tent run up with the oars, sails, and mast. And here Amalu, at no man’s bidding, from the mere140 instinct of habitual141 service, built a fire and cooked a meal. Night was come, and the stars and the silver sickle142 of new moon beamed overhead, before the meal was ready. The cold sea shone about them, and the fire glowed in their faces, as they ate. Tommy had opened his case, and the brown sherry went the round; but it was long before they came to conversation.
“Well, is it to be Kauai after all?” asked Mac suddenly.
“This is bad enough for me,” said Tommy. “Let’s stick it out where we are.”
“Well, I can tell ye one thing,” said Mac, “if ye care to hear it. When I was in the China mail, we once made this island. It’s in the course from Honolulu.”
“Deuce it is!” cried Carthew. “That settles it, then. Let’s stay. We must keep good fires going; and there’s plenty wreck.”
“Lashings of wreck!” said the Irishman. “There’s nothing here but wreck and coffin143 boards.”
“But we’ll have to make a proper blyze,” objected Hemstead. “You can’t see a fire like this, not any wye awye, I mean.”
“Can’t you?” said Carthew. “Look round.”
They did, and saw the hollow of the night, the bare, bright face of the sea, and the stars regarding them; and the voices died in their bosoms144 at the spectacle. In that huge isolation145, it seemed they must be visible from China on the one hand and California on the other.
“My God, it’s dreary146!” whispered Hemstead.
“Dreary?” cried Mac, and fell suddenly silent.
“It’s better than a boat, anyway,” said Hadden. “I’ve had my bellyful of boat.”
“What kills me is that specie!” the captain broke out. “Think of all that riches — four thousand in gold, bad silver, and short bills — all found money, too! — and no more use than that much dung!”
“I’ll tell you one thing,” said Tommy. “I don’t like it being in the boat — I don’t care to have it so far away.”
“Why, who’s to take it?” cried Mac, with a guffaw147 of evil laughter.
But this was not at all the feeling of the partners, who rose, clambered down the isle, brought back the inestimable treasure-chest slung148 upon two oars, and set it conspicuous in the shining of the fire.
“There’s my beauty!” cried Wicks, viewing it with a cocked head. “That’s better than a bonfire. What! we have a chest here, and bills for close upon two thousand pounds; there’s no show to that — it would go in your vest-pocket — but the rest! upwards149 of forty pounds avoirdupois of coined gold, and close on two hundredweight of Chile silver! What! ain’t that good enough to fetch a fleet? Do you mean to say that won’t affect a ship’s compass? Do you mean to tell me that the lookout150 won’t turn to and SMELL it?” he cried.
Mac, who had no part nor lot in the bills, the forty pounds of gold, or the two hundredweight of silver, heard this with impatience151, and fell into a bitter, choking laughter. “You’ll see!” he said harshly. “You’ll be glad to feed them bills into the fire before you’re through with ut!” And he turned, passed by himself out of the ring of the firelight, and stood gazing seaward.
His speech and his departure extinguished instantly those sparks of better humour kindled152 by the dinner and the chest. The group fell again to an ill-favoured silence, and Hemstead began to touch the banjo, as was his habit of an evening. His repertory was small: the chords of Home, Sweet Home fell under his fingers; and when he had played the symphony, he instinctively153 raised up his voice. “Be it never so ‘umble, there’s no plyce like ‘ome,” he sang. The last word was still upon his lips, when the instrument was snatched from him and dashed into the fire; and he turned with a cry to look into the furious countenance of Mac.
“I’ll be damned if I stand this!” cried the captain, leaping up belligerent154.
“I told ye I was a voilent man,” said Mac, with a movement of deprecation very surprising in one of his character. “Why don’t he give me a chance then? Haven’t we enough to bear the way we are?” And to the wonder and dismay of all, the man choked upon a sob58. “It’s ashamed of meself I am,” he said presently, his Irish accent twenty-fold increased. “I ask all your pardons for me voilence; and especially the little man’s, who is a harmless crayture, and here’s me hand to’m, if he’ll condescind to take me by ‘t.”
So this scene of barbarity and sentimentalism passed off, leaving behind strange and incongruous impressions. True, every one was perhaps glad when silence succeeded that all too appropriate music; true, Mac’s apology and subsequent behaviour rather raised him in the opinion of his fellow- castaways. But the discordant155 note had been struck, and its harmonics tingled156 in the brain. In that savage, houseless isle, the passions of man had sounded, if only for the moment, and all men trembled at the possibilities of horror.
It was determined157 to stand watch and watch in case of passing vessels158; and Tommy, on fire with an idea, volunteered to stand the first. The rest crawled under the tent, and were soon enjoying that comfortable gift of sleep, which comes everywhere and to all men, quenching159 anxieties and speeding time. And no sooner were all settled, no sooner had the drone of many snorers begun to mingle160 with and overcome the surf, than Tommy stole from his post with the case of sherry, and dropped it in a quiet cove56 in a fathom of water. But the stormy inconstancy of Mac’s behaviour had no connection with a gill or two of wine; his passions, angry and otherwise, were on a different sail plan from his neighbours’; and there were possibilities of good and evil in that hybrid161 Celt beyond their prophecy.
About two in the morning, the starry162 sky — or so it seemed, for the drowsy163 watchman had not observed the approach of any cloud — brimmed over in a deluge164; and for three days it rained without remission. The islet was a sponge, the castaways sops165; the view all gone, even the reef concealed166 behind the curtain of the falling water. The fire was soon drowned out; after a couple of boxes of matches had been scratched in vain, it was decided167 to wait for better weather; and the party lived in wretchedness on raw tins and a ration82 of hard bread.
By the 2nd February, in the dark hours of the morning watch, the clouds were all blown by; the sun rose glorious; and once more the castaways sat by a quick fire, and drank hot coffee with the greed of brutes168 and sufferers. Thenceforward their affairs moved in a routine. A fire was constantly maintained; and this occupied one hand continuously, and the others for an hour or so in the day. Twice a day, all hands bathed in the lagoon, their chief, almost their only pleasure. Often they fished in the lagoon with good success. And the rest was passed in lolling, strolling, yarns, and disputation. The time of the China steamers was calculated to a nicety; which done, the thought was rejected and ignored. It was one that would not bear consideration. The boat voyage having been tacitly set aside, the desperate part chosen to wait there for the coming of help or of starvation, no man had courage left to look his bargain in the face, far less to discuss it with his neighbours. But the unuttered terror haunted them; in every hour of idleness, at every moment of silence, it returned, and breathed a chill about the circle, and carried men’s eyes to the horizon. Then, in a panic of self-defence, they would rally to some other subject. And, in that lone16 spot, what else was to be found to speak of but the treasure?
That was indeed the chief singularity, the one thing conspicuous in their island life; the presence of that chest of bills and specie dominated the mind like a cathedral; and there were besides connected with it, certain irking problems well fitted to occupy the idle. Two thousand pounds were due to the Sydney firm: two thousand pounds were clear profit, and fell to be divided in varying proportions among six. It had been agreed how the partners were to range; every pound of capital subscribed169, every pound that fell due in wages, was to count for one “lay.” Of these, Tommy could claim five hundred and ten, Carthew one hundred and seventy, Wicks one hundred and forty, and Hemstead and Amalu ten apiece: eight hundred and forty “lays” in all. What was the value of a lay? This was at first debated in the air and chiefly by the strength of Tommy’s lungs. Then followed a series of incorrect calculations; from which they issued, arithmetically foiled, but agreed from weariness upon an approximate value of 2 pounds, 7 shillings 7 14 pence. The figures were admittedly incorrect; the sum of the shares came not to 2000 pounds, but to 1996 pounds, 6 shillings: 3 pounds, 14 shillings being thus left unclaimed. But it was the nearest they had yet found, and the highest as well, so that the partners were made the less critical by the contemplation of their splendid dividends170. Wicks put in 100 pounds and stood to draw captain’s wages for two months; his taking was 333 pounds 3 shillings 6 12 pence. Carthew had put in 150 pounds: he was to take out 401 pounds, 18 shillings 6 12 pence. Tommy’s 500 pounds had grown to be 1213 pounds 12 shillings 9 34 pence; and Amalu and Hemstead, ranking for wages only, had 22 pounds, 16 shillings 12 pence, each.
From talking and brooding on these figures, it was but a step to opening the chest; and once the chest open, the glamour171 of the cash was irresistible172. Each felt that he must see his treasure separate with the eye of flesh, handle it in the hard coin, mark it for his own, and stand forth173 to himself the approved owner. And here an insurmountable difficulty barred the way. There were some seventeen shillings in English silver: the rest was Chile; and the Chile dollar, which had been taken at the rate of six to the pound sterling, was practically their smallest coin. It was decided, therefore, to divide the pounds only, and to throw the shillings, pence, and fractions in a common fund. This, with the three pound fourteen already in the heel, made a total of seven pounds one shilling.
“I’ll tell you,” said Wicks. “Let Carthew and Tommy and me take one pound apiece, and Hemstead and Amalu split the other four, and toss up for the odd bob.”
“O, rot!” said Carthew. “Tommy and I are bursting already. We can take half a sov’ each, and let the other three have forty shillings.”
“I’ll tell you now — it’s not worth splitting,” broke in Mac. “I’ve cards in my chest. Why don’t you play for the slump174 sum?”
In that idle place, the proposal was accepted with delight. Mac, as the owner of the cards, was given a stake; the sum was played for in five games of cribbage; and when Amalu, the last survivor175 in the tournament, was beaten by Mac, it was found the dinner hour was past. After a hasty meal, they fell again immediately to cards, this time (on Carthew’s proposal) to Van John. It was then probably two P.M. of the 9th February; and they played with varying chances for twelve hours, slept heavily, and rose late on the morrow to resume the game. All day of the 10th, with grudging136 intervals176 for food, and with one long absence on the part of Tommy from which he returned dripping with the case of sherry, they continued to deal and stake. Night fell: they drew the closer to the fire. It was maybe two in the morning, and Tommy was selling his deal by auction177, as usual with that timid player; when Carthew, who didn’t intend to bid, had a moment of leisure and looked round him. He beheld178 the moonlight on the sea, the money piled and scattered in that incongruous place, the perturbed179 faces of the players; he felt in his own breast the familiar tumult180; and it seemed as if there rose in his ears a sound of music, and the moon seemed still to shine upon a sea, but the sea was changed, and the Casino towered from among lamplit gardens, and the money clinked on the green board. “Good God!” he thought, “am I gambling181 again?” He looked the more curiously182 about the sandy table. He and Mac had played and won like gamblers; the mingled183 gold and silver lay by their places in the heap. Amalu and Hemstead had each more than held their own, but Tommy was cruel far to leeward184, and the captain was reduced to perhaps fifty pounds.
“I say, let’s knock off,” said Carthew.
“Give that man a glass of Buckle,” said some one, and a fresh bottle was opened, and the game went inexorably on.
Carthew was himself too heavy a winner to withdraw or to say more; and all the rest of the night he must look on at the progress of this folly185, and make gallant96 attempts to lose with the not uncommon186 consequence of winning more. The first dawn of the 11th February found him well-nigh desperate. It chanced he was then dealer187, and still winning. He had just dealt a round of many tens; every one had staked heavily; the captain had put up all that remained to him, twelve pounds in gold and a few dollars; and Carthew, looking privately188 at his cards before he showed them, found he held a natural.
“See here, you fellows,” he broke out, “this is a sickening business, and I’m done with it for one.” So saying, he showed his cards, tore them across, and rose from the ground.
The company stared and murmured in mere amazement189; but Mac stepped gallantly to his support.
“We’ve had enough of it, I do believe,” said he. “But of course it was all fun, and here’s my counters back. All counters in, boys!” and he began to pour his winnings into the chest, which stood fortunately near him.
Carthew stepped across and wrung him by the hand. “I’ll never forget this,” he said.
“And what are ye going to do with the Highway boy and the plumber190?” inquired Mac, in a low tone of voice. “They’ve both wan13, ye see.”
“That’s true!” said Carthew aloud. “Amalu and Hemstead, count your winnings; Tommy and I pay that.”
It was carried without speech: the pair glad enough to receive their winnings, it mattered not from whence; and Tommy, who had lost about five hundred pounds, delighted with the compromise.
“And how about Mac?” asked Hemstead. “Is he to lose all?”
“I beg your pardon, plumber. I’m sure ye mean well,” returned the Irishman, “but you’d better shut your face, for I’m not that kind of a man. If I t’ought I had wan that money fair, there’s never a soul here could get it from me. But I t’ought it was in fun; that was my mistake, ye see; and there’s no man big enough upon this island to give a present to my mother’s son. So there’s my opinion to ye, plumber, and you can put it in your pockut till required.”
“Well, I will say, Mac, you’re a gentleman,” said Carthew, as he helped him to shovel191 back his winnings into the treasure chest.
“Divil a fear of it, sir! a drunken sailor-man,” said Mac.
The captain had sat somewhile with his face in his hands: now he rose mechanically, shaking and stumbling like a drunkard after a debauch192. But as he rose, his face was altered, and his voice rang out over the isle, “Sail, ho!”
All turned at the cry, and there, in the wild light of the morning, heading straight for Midway Reef, was the brig Flying Scud193 of Hull194.
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1
fore
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| adv.在前面；adj.先前的；在前部的；n.前部 | |
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schooner
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| n.纵帆船 | |
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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purported
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| adj.传说的，谣传的v.声称是…，（装得）像是…的样子( purport的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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squinted
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| 斜视( squint的过去式和过去分词 )； 眯着眼睛； 瞟； 从小孔或缝隙里看 | |
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metaphor
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| n.隐喻，暗喻 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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toiled
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的过去式和过去分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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marine
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| adj.海的；海生的；航海的；海事的；n.水兵 | |
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mariner
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| n.水手号不载人航天探测器，海员，航海者 | |
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12
conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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wan
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| (wide area network)广域网 | |
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eccentricities
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| n.古怪行为( eccentricity的名词复数 )；反常；怪癖 | |
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anomalous
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| adj.反常的；不规则的 | |
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lone
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| adj.孤寂的，单独的；唯一的 | |
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berthed
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| v.停泊( berth的过去式和过去分词 )；占铺位 | |
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berth
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| n.卧铺，停泊地，锚位；v.使停泊 | |
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divans
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| n.（可作床用的）矮沙发( divan的名词复数 )；（波斯或其他东方诗人的）诗集 | |
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scant
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| adj.不充分的，不足的；v.减缩，限制，忽略 | |
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grumbled
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| 抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
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haphazard
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| adj.无计划的，随意的，杂乱无章的 | |
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underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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acquiescence
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| n.默许；顺从 | |
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assorted
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| adj.各种各样的，各色俱备的 | |
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subsisted
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| v.（靠很少的钱或食物）维持生活，生存下去( subsist的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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scanty
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| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
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savings
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| n.存款，储蓄 | |
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criticise
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| v.批评，评论；非难 | |
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drudge
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| n.劳碌的人；v.做苦工，操劳 | |
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heralds
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| n.使者( herald的名词复数 )；预报者；预兆；传令官v.预示( herald的第三人称单数 )；宣布（好或重要） | |
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buckle
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| n.扣子，带扣；v.把...扣住，由于压力而弯曲 | |
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civilisation
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| n.文明，文化，开化，教化 | |
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defective
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| adj.有毛病的，有问题的，有瑕疵的 | |
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rust
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| n.锈；v.生锈；(脑子)衰退 | |
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chaff
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| v.取笑，嘲笑；n.谷壳 | |
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reassure
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| v.使放心，使消除疑虑 | |
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daunted
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| 使（某人）气馁，威吓( daunt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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pricked
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| 刺，扎，戳( prick的过去式和过去分词 )； 刺伤； 刺痛； 使剧痛 | |
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yarns
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| n.纱( yarn的名词复数 )；纱线；奇闻漫谈；旅行轶事 | |
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yarn
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| n.纱，纱线，纺线；奇闻漫谈，旅行轶事 | |
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tenor
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| n.男高音（歌手），次中音（乐器），要旨，大意 | |
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ridicule
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| v.讥讽，挖苦；n.嘲弄 | |
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pathos
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| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
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vestige
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| n.痕迹，遗迹，残余 | |
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truculent
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| adj.野蛮的，粗野的 | |
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47
baker
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| n.面包师 | |
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48
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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49
whim
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| n.一时的兴致，突然的念头；奇想，幻想 | |
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battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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51
homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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lagoon
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| n.泻湖，咸水湖 | |
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54
plied
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| v.使用（工具）( ply的过去式和过去分词 )；经常供应（食物、饮料）；固定往来；经营生意 | |
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55
puffs
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| n.吸( puff的名词复数 )；（烟斗或香烟的）一吸；一缕（烟、蒸汽等）；（呼吸或风的）呼v.使喷出( puff的第三人称单数 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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56
cove
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| n.小海湾，小峡谷 | |
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pyjamas
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| n.（宽大的）睡衣裤 | |
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58
sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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grudged
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| 怀恨（grudge的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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fathom
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| v.领悟，彻底了解 | |
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61
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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62
shipping
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| n.船运（发货，运输，乘船） | |
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63
brace
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| n. 支柱,曲柄,大括号; v. 绷紧,顶住,(为困难或坏事)做准备 | |
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64
hospitable
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| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
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tallied
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| v.计算，清点( tally的过去式和过去分词 )；加标签（或标记）于；（使）符合；（使）吻合 | |
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66
swarmed
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| 密集( swarm的过去式和过去分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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67
bawled
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| v.大叫，大喊( bawl的过去式和过去分词 )；放声大哭；大声叫出；叫卖（货物） | |
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gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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69
wrung
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| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
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70
trotted
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| 小跑，急走( trot的过去分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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71
buffer
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| n.起缓冲作用的人(或物)，缓冲器；vt.缓冲 | |
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72
wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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73
wrecked
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| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
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74
hooted
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| （使）作汽笛声响，作汽车喇叭声( hoot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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75
cargo
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| n.(一只船或一架飞机运载的)货物 | |
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76
isle
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| n.小岛，岛 | |
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77
gaping
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| adj.口的；张口的；敞口的；多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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78
lessened
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| 减少的，减弱的 | |
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79
scotch
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| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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80
sterling
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| adj.英币的(纯粹的，货真价实的)；n.英国货币(英镑) | |
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81
rations
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| 定量( ration的名词复数 )； 配给量； 正常量； 合理的量 | |
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82
ration
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| n.定量(pl.)给养，口粮；vt.定量供应 | |
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83
appalled
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| v.使惊骇，使充满恐惧( appall的过去式和过去分词)adj.惊骇的；丧胆的 | |
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84
prying
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| adj.爱打听的v.打听，刺探（他人的私事）( pry的现在分词 )；撬开 | |
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85
specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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86
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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87
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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88
swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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89
galley
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| n.（飞机或船上的）厨房单层甲板大帆船；军舰舰长用的大划艇； | |
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90
smelt
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| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
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91
eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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92
slashed
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| v.挥砍( slash的过去式和过去分词 )；鞭打；割破；削减 | |
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93
uproar
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| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
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94
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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95
gallantly
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| adv. 漂亮地，勇敢地，献殷勤地 | |
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96
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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97
fabric
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| n.织物，织品，布；构造，结构，组织 | |
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98
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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99
stumps
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| （被砍下的树的）树桩( stump的名词复数 )； 残肢； （板球三柱门的）柱； 残余部分 | |
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100
stump
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| n.残株，烟蒂，讲演台；v.砍断，蹒跚而走 | |
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101
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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102
calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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103
pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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104
contemplating
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| 深思，细想，仔细考虑( contemplate的现在分词 )； 注视，凝视； 考虑接受（发生某事的可能性）； 深思熟虑，沉思，苦思冥想 | |
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105
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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106
ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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107
brooks
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| n.小溪( brook的名词复数 ) | |
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108
explicit
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| adj.详述的，明确的；坦率的；显然的 | |
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109
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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110
wharf
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| n.码头，停泊处 | |
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111
champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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112
stewards
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| （轮船、飞机等的）乘务员( steward的名词复数 )； （俱乐部、旅馆、工会等的）管理员； （大型活动的）组织者； （私人家中的）管家 | |
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113
jubilation
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| n.欢庆，喜悦 | |
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114
thwart
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| v.阻挠，妨碍，反对；adj.横(断的) | |
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115
bulwark
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| n.堡垒，保障，防御 | |
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116
razed
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| v.彻底摧毁，将…夷为平地( raze的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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117
chronometer
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| n.精密的计时器 | |
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118
oars
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| n.桨，橹( oar的名词复数 )；划手v.划（行）( oar的第三人称单数 ) | |
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119
guts
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| v.狼吞虎咽，贪婪地吃，飞碟游戏（比赛双方每组5人，相距15码，互相掷接飞碟）；毁坏（建筑物等）的内部( gut的第三人称单数 )；取出…的内脏n.勇气( gut的名词复数 )；内脏；消化道的下段；肠 | |
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120
slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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121
trenchantly
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122
conspicuously
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| ad.明显地，惹人注目地 | |
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123
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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124
binoculars
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| n.双筒望远镜 | |
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125
buoys
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| n.浮标( buoy的名词复数 )；航标；救生圈；救生衣v.使浮起( buoy的第三人称单数 )；支持；为…设浮标；振奋…的精神 | |
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126
beacons
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| 灯塔( beacon的名词复数 )； 烽火； 指路明灯； 无线电台或发射台 | |
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127
epoch
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| n.(新)时代；历元 | |
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128
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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129
sojourn
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| v./n.旅居，寄居；逗留 | |
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130
addled
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| adj.（头脑）糊涂的，愚蠢的；（指蛋类）变坏v.使糊涂( addle的过去式和过去分词 )；使混乱；使腐臭；使变质 | |
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131
eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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132
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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133
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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134
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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135
grudgingly
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136
grudging
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| adj.勉强的，吝啬的 | |
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137
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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138
hues
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| 色彩( hue的名词复数 )； 色调； 信仰； 观点 | |
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139
populous
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| adj.人口稠密的，人口众多的 | |
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140
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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141
habitual
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| adj.习惯性的；通常的，惯常的 | |
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142
sickle
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| n.镰刀 | |
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143
coffin
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| n.棺材，灵柩 | |
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144
bosoms
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| 胸部( bosom的名词复数 )； 胸怀； 女衣胸部（或胸襟）； 和爱护自己的人在一起的情形 | |
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145
isolation
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| n.隔离，孤立，分解，分离 | |
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146
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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147
guffaw
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| n.哄笑；突然的大笑 | |
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148
slung
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| 抛( sling的过去式和过去分词 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
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149
upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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150
lookout
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| n.注意，前途，瞭望台 | |
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151
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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152
kindled
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| （使某物）燃烧，着火( kindle的过去式和过去分词 )； 激起（感情等）； 发亮，放光 | |
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153
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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154
belligerent
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| adj.好战的，挑起战争的；n.交战国，交战者 | |
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155
discordant
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| adj.不调和的 | |
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156
tingled
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| v.有刺痛感( tingle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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157
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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158
vessels
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| n.血管( vessel的名词复数 )；船；容器；（具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的）人 | |
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159
quenching
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| 淬火，熄 | |
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160
mingle
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| vt.使混合，使相混；vi.混合起来；相交往 | |
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161
hybrid
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| n.(动，植）杂种，混合物 | |
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162
starry
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| adj.星光照耀的, 闪亮的 | |
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163
drowsy
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| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
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164
deluge
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| n./vt.洪水，暴雨，使泛滥 | |
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165
sops
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| n.用以慰藉或讨好某人的事物( sop的名词复数 )；泡湿的面包片等v.将（面包等）在液体中蘸或浸泡( sop的第三人称单数 )；用海绵、布等吸起（液体等） | |
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166
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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167
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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168
brutes
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| 兽( brute的名词复数 )； 畜生； 残酷无情的人； 兽性 | |
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169
subscribed
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| v.捐助( subscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；签署，题词；订阅；同意 | |
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170
dividends
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| 红利( dividend的名词复数 )； 股息； 被除数； （足球彩票的）彩金 | |
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171
glamour
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| n.魔力，魅力；vt.迷住 | |
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172
irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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173
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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174
slump
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| n.暴跌，意气消沉，（土地）下沉；vi.猛然掉落，坍塌，大幅度下跌 | |
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175
survivor
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| n.生存者，残存者，幸存者 | |
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176
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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177
auction
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| n.拍卖；拍卖会；vt.拍卖 | |
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178
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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179
perturbed
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| adj.烦燥不安的v.使（某人）烦恼，不安( perturb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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180
tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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181
gambling
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| n.赌博；投机 | |
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182
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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183
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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184
leeward
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| adj.背风的；下风的 | |
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185
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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186
uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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187
dealer
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| n.商人，贩子 | |
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188
privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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189
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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190
plumber
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| n.(装修水管的)管子工 | |
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191
shovel
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| n.铁锨，铲子，一铲之量；v.铲，铲出 | |
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192
debauch
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| v.使堕落，放纵 | |
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193
scud
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| n.疾行；v.疾行 | |
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194
hull
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| n.船身；(果、实等的)外壳；vt.去(谷物等)壳 | |
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