Two days ago we steamed out of Table Bay on just such a gray, drizzling1 afternoon as that on which we entered it. But the weather cleared directly we got out to sea, and since then it has carried us along as though we had been on a pleasant summer cruise. All yesterday we were coasting along the low downs which edge the dangerous sea-board for miles upon miles. From the deck of the Edinburgh Castle the effect is monotonous2 enough, although just now everything is brightly green; and, with their long ribbon fringe of white breaker-foam glinting in the spring sunshine, the stretches of undulating hillocks looked their best. This part of the coast is well lighted, and it was always a matter of felicitation at night when, every eighty miles or so, the guiding rays of a lighthouse shone out in the soft gloom of the starlight night. One of these lonely towers stands more than eight hundred feet above the sea-level, and warns ships off the terrible Agulhas Bank.
We have dropped our anchor this fresh bright morning a mile or so from the shore on which Port Elizabeth stands. Algoa Bay is not much of a shelter, and it is always a chance whether a sudden south-easter may not come tearing down upon the shipping3, necessitating4 a sudden tripping of anchors and running out to sea to avoid the fate which is staring us warningly in the face in the shape of the gaunt ribs5 or rusty6 cylinders7 of sundry8 cast-away vessels9. To-day the weather is on its good behavior; the south-easter rests on its
a?ry nest
As still as a brooding dove;
and sun and sea are doing their best to show off the queer little straggling town creeping up the low sandy hills that lie before us. I am assured that Port Elizabeth is a flourishing mercantile place. From the deck of our ship I can’t at all perceive that it is flourishing, or doing anything except basking11 in the pleasant sunshine. But when I go on shore an hour or two later I am shown a store which takes away my breath, and before whose miscellaneous contents the stoutest-hearted female shopper must needs baisser son pavilion. Everything in this vast emporium looked as neat and orderly as possible, and, though the building was twice as big as the largest co-operative store in London, there was no hurry or confusion. Thimbles and ploughs, eau-de-cologne and mangles13, American stoves, cotton dresses of astounding14 patterns to suit the taste of Dutch ladies, harmoniums and flat-irons,—all stood peaceably side by side together. But these were all “unconsidered trifles” next the more serious business of the establishment, which was wool—wool in every shape and stage and bale. In this department, however, although for the sake of the dear old New Zealand days my heart warms at the sight of the huge packages, I was not supposed to take any interest; so we pass quickly out into the street again, get into a large open carriage driven by a black coachman, and make the best of our way up to a villa15 on the slope of the sandy hill. Once I am away from the majestic16 influence of that store the original feeling of Port Elizabeth being rather a dreary17 place comes back upon me; but we drive all about—to the Park, which may be said to be in its swaddling-clothes as a park, and to the Botanic Gardens, where the culture of foreign and colonial flowers and shrubs18 is carried on under the chronic19 difficulties of too much sun and wind and too little water. Everywhere there is building going on—very modest building, it is true, with rough-and-ready masonry20 or timber, and roofs of zinc21 painted in strips of light colors, but everywhere there are signs of progress and growth. People look bored, but healthy, and it does not surprise me in the least to hear that though there are a good many inhabitants, there is not much society. A pretty little luncheon22 and a pleasant hour’s chat in a cool, shady drawing-room, with plenty of new books and music and flowers, gave me an agreeable impression to carry back on board the ship; which, by the way, seemed strangely silent and deserted23 when we returned, for most of our fellow-passengers had disembarked here on their way to different parts of the interior.
As I saunter up and down the clean, smart-looking deck of what has been our pleasant floating home during these past four weeks, I suddenly perceive a short, squat24 pyramid on the shore, standing25 out oddly enough among the low-roofed houses. If it had only been red instead of gray, it might have passed for the model of the label on Bass’s beer-bottles; but, even as it is, I feel convinced that there is a story connected with it: and so it proves, for this ugly, most unsentimental-looking bit of masonry was built long ago by a former governor as a record of the virtues26 and perfections of his dead wife, whom, among other lavish27 epithets28 of praise, he declares to have been “the most perfect of women.” Anyhow, there it stands, on what was once a lonely strip of sand and sea, a memorial—if one can only believe the stone story, now nearly a hundred years old—of a great love and a great sorrow; and one can envy the one and pity the other just as much when looking at this queer, unsightly monument as when one stands on the pure marble threshold of the exquisite29 Taj Mahal at Agra, and reads that it too, in all its grace and beauty, was reared “in memory of an undying love.”
Although the day has been warm and balmy, the evening air strikes chill and raw, and our last evening on board the dear old ship has to be spent under shelter, for it is too cold to sit on deck. With the first hours of daylight next morning we have to be up and packing, for by ten o’clock we must be on board the Florence, a small, yacht-like coasting-steamer which can go much closer into the sand-blocked harbors scooped30 by the action of the rivers all along the coast. It is with a very heavy heart that I, for one, say good-bye to the Edinburgh Castle, where I have passed so many happy hours and made some pleasant acquaintances. A ship is a very forcing-house of friendship, and no one who has not taken a voyage can realize how rapidly an acquaintance grows and ripens31 into a friend under the lonely influences of sea and sky. We have all been so happy together, everything has been so comfortable, everybody so kind, that one would indeed be cold-hearted if, when the last moment of our halcyon32 voyage arrived, it could bring with it anything short of a regret.
With the same chivalrous33 goodness and courtesy which has taken thought for the comfort of our every movement since we left Dartmouth, our captain insists on seeing us safely on board the Florence (what a toy-boat she looks after our stately ship!) and satisfying himself that we can be comfortably settled once more in our doll’s house of a new cabin. Then there comes a reluctant “Good-bye” to him and all our kind care-takers of the Edinburgh Castle; and the last glimpse we catch of her—for the Florence darts34 out of the bay like a swallow in a hurry—is her dipping her ensign in courteous35 farewell to us.
In less than twenty-four hours we had reached another little port, some hundred and fifty miles or so up the coast, called East London. Here the harbor is again only an open roadstead, and hardly any vessel10 drawing more than three or four feet of water can get in at all near the shore, for between us and it is a bar of shifting sand, washed down, day by day, by the strong current of the river Buffalo36. All the cargo37 has to be transferred to lighters38, and a little tug39 steamer bustles40 backward and forward with messages of entreaty41 to those said lighters to come out and take away their loads. We had dropped our anchor by daylight, yet at ten o’clock scarcely a boat had made its appearance alongside, and every one was fuming43 and fretting44 at the delay and consequent waste of fine weather and daylight. That is to say, it was a fine bright day overhead, with sunshine and sparkle all round, but the heavy roll of the sea never ceased for a moment. From one side to the other, until her ports touched the water, backward and forward, with slow, monotonous heaving, our little vessel swayed with the swaying rollers until everybody on board felt sick and sorry. “This is comparatively a calm day,” I was told: “you can’t possibly imagine from this what rolling really is.” But I can imagine quite easily, and do not at all desire a closer acquaintance with this restless Indian Ocean. Breakfast is a moment of penance45: little G—— is absolutely fainting from agonies of sea-sickness, though he has borne all our South-Atlantic tossings with perfect equanimity46; and it is with real joy, that I hear the lifeboat is alongside, and that the kind-hearted captain of the Florence (how kind sailors are!) offers to take babies, nurse and me on shore, so as to escape a long day of this agonizing48 rolling. In happy unconsciousness of what landing at East London, even in a lifeboat, meant when a bar had to be crossed, we were all tumbled and bundled, more or less unceremoniously, into the great, roomy boat, and were immediately taken in hand by the busy little tug. For half a mile or more we made good progress in her wake, being in a position to set at naught49 the threatening water-mountains which came tumbling in furious haste from seaward. It was not until we seemed close to the shore and all our troubles over that the tug was obliged to cast us off, owing to the rapidly shoaling water, and we prepared to make the best of our own way in. Bad was that best, indeed, though the peril50 came and went so quickly that it is but a confused impression I retain of what seemed to me a really terrible moment. One instant I hear felicitations exchanged between our captain—who sits protectingly close to me and poor, fainting little G——, who lies like death in my arms—and the captain of the lifeboat. The next moment, in spite of sudden panic and presence of danger, I could laugh to hear the latter sing out in sharpest tones of terror and dismay, “Ah, you would, would you?” coupled with rapid orders to the stout12 rowers and shouts to us of “Look out!” and I do look out, to see on one side sand which the retreating wave has sucked dry, and in which the boat seems trying to bury herself as though she were a mole51: on the other hand there towers above us a huge green wave, white-crested and curled, which is rushing at us like a devouring52 monster. I glance, as I think, for the last time, at the pale nurse, on whose lap lies the baby placidly53 sucking his bottle. I see a couple of sailors lay hold of her and the child with one hand each, whilst with the other they cling desperately54 to the thwarts55. A stout seafaring man flings the whole weight of his ponderous56 pilot-coated body upon G—— and me: I hear a roar of water, and, lo! we are washed right up alongside of the rude landing-place, still in the boat indeed, but wet and frightened to the last degree. Looking back on it all, I can distinctly remember that it was not the sight of the overhanging wave which cost me my deadliest pang57 of sickening fright, but the glimpse I caught of the shining, cruel-looking sand, sucking us in so silently and greedily. We were all trembling so much that it seemed as impossible to stand upright on the earth as on the tossing waters, and it was with reeling, drunken-looking steps that we rolled and staggered through the heavy sand-street until we reached the shelter of an exceedingly dirty hotel. Everything in it required courage to touch, and it was with many qualms58 that I deposited limp little G—— on a filthy59 sofa. However, the mistress of the house looked clean, and so did the cups and saucers she quickly produced; and by the time we had finished a capital breakfast we were all quite in good spirits again, and so sharpened up as to be able to “mock ourselves” of our past perils60 and present discomforts61. Outside there were strange, beautiful shrubs in flower, tame pigeons came cooing and bowing in at the door, and above all there was an enchanting62 freshness and balminess in the sunny air.
In about an hour “Capting Florence” (as G—— styles our new commander) calls for us and takes us out sight-seeing. First and foremost, across the river to the rapidly-growing railway lines, where a brand-new locomotive was hissing63 away with full steam up. Here we were met and welcomed by the energetic superintendent64 of this iron road, and, to my intense delight, after explaining to me what a long distance into the interior the line had to go and how fast it was getting on, considering the difficulties in the way of doing anything in South Africa, from washing a pocket-handkerchief up to laying down a railway, he proposed that we should get on the engine and go as far as the line was open for anything like safe traveling. Never were such delightful65 five minutes as those spent in whizzing along through the park-like country and cutting fast through the heavenly air. In vain did I smell that my serge skirts were getting dreadfully singed66, in vain did I see most uncertain bits of rail before me: it was all too perfectly67 enchanting to care for danger or disgrace, and I could have found it in my heart to echo G—— ’s plaintive68 cry for “More!” when we came to the end and had to get off. But it consoled us a little to watch the stone-breaking machine crunching69 up small rocks as though they had been lumps of sugar, and after looking at that we set off for the unfinished station, and could take in, even in its present skeleton state, how commodious70 and handsome it will all be some day. You are all so accustomed to be whisked about the civilized71 world when and where you choose that it is difficult to make you understand the enormous boon72 the first line of railway is to a new country—not only for the convenience of travelers, but for the transport of goods, the setting free of hundreds of cattle and horses and drivers—all sorely needed for other purposes—and the fast-following effects of opening up the resources of the back districts. In these regions labor73 is the great difficulty, and one needs to hold both patience and temper fast with both one’s hands when watching either Kafir or Coolie at work. The white man cannot or will not do much with his hands out here, so the navvies are slim-looking blacks, who jabber74 and grunt75 and sigh a good deal more than they work.
It is a fortunate circumstance that the delicious air keeps us all in a chronic state of hunger, for it appears in South Africa that one is expected to eat every half hour or so. And, shamed am I to confess, we do eat—and eat with a good appetite too—a delicious luncheon at the superintendent’s, albeit76 it followed closely on the heels of our enormous breakfast at the dirty hotel. Such a pretty little bachelor’s box as it was!—so cool and quiet and neat!—built somewhat after the fashion of the Pompeian houses, with a small square garden full of orange trees in the centre, and the house running round this opening in four corridors. After lunch a couple of nice, light Cape47 carts came to the door, and we set off to see a beautiful garden whose owner had all a true Dutchman’s passion for flowers. Here was fruit as well as flowers. Pineapples and jasmine, strawberries and honeysuckle, grew side by side with bordering orange trees, feathery bamboos and sheltering gum trees. In the midst of the garden stood a sort of double platform, up whose steep border we all climbed: from this we got a good idea of the slightly undulating land all about, waving down like solidified77 billows to where the deep blue waters sparkled and rolled restlessly beyond the white line of waves ever breaking on the bar. I miss animal life sadly in these parts: the dogs I see about the streets are few in number, and miserably78 currish specimens79 of their kind. “Good dogs don’t answer out here,” I am told: that is to say, they get a peculiar80 sort of distemper, or ticks bite them, or they got weak from loss of blood, or become degenerate81 in some way. The horses and cattle are small and poor-looking, and hard-worked, very dear to buy and very difficult to keep and to feed. I don’t even see many cats, and a pet bird is a rarity. However, as we stood on the breezy platform I saw a most beautiful wild bird fly over the rosehedge just below us. It was about as big as a crow, but with a strange iridescent82 plumage. When it flitted into the sunshine its back and wings shone like a rainbow, and the next moment it looked perfectly black and velvety83 in the shade. Now a turquoise-blue tint84 comes out on its spreading wings, and a slant85 in the sunshine turns the blue into a chrysoprase green. Nobody could tell me its name: our Dutch host spoke86 exactly like Hans Breitmann, and declared it was a “bid of a crow,” and so we had to leave it and the platform and come down to more roses and tea. There was so much yet to be seen and to be done that we could not stay long, and, laden87 with magnificent bouquets88 of gloire de Dijon roses and honeysuckle, and divers89 strange and lovely flowers, we drove off again in our Cape carts. I observed that instead of saying “Whoa!” or checking the horses in any way by the reins90, the driver always whistles to them—a long, low whistle—and they stand quite still directly. We bumped up and down, over extraordinarily91 rough places, and finally slid down a steep cutting to the brink92 of the river Buffalo, over which we were ferried, all standing, on a big punt, or rather pontoon. A hundred yards or so of rapid driving then took us to a sort of wharf93 which projected into the river, where the important-looking little tug awaited us; and no sooner were we all safely on board—rather a large party by this time, for we had gone on picking up stragglers ever since we started, only three in number, from the hotel—than she sputtered94 and fizzed herself off upstream. By this time it was the afternoon, and I almost despair of making you see the woodland beauty of that broad mere95, fringed down to the water’s edge on one side with shrubs and tangle96 of roses and woodbine, with ferns and every lovely green creeping thing. That was on the bank which was sheltered from the high winds: the other hillside showed the contrast, for there, though green indeed, only a few feathery tufts of pliant97 shrubs had survived the force of some of these south-eastern gales98. We paddled steadily99 along in mid-stream, and from the bridge (where little G—— and I had begged “Capting Florence” to let us stand) one could see the double of each leaf and tendril and passing cloud mirrored sharp and clear in the crystalline water. The lengthening100 shadows from rock and fallen crag were in some places flung quite across our little boat, and so through the soft, lovely air, flooded with brightest sunshine, we made our way, up past Picnic Creek101, where another stream joins the Buffalo, and makes miniature green islands and harbors at its mouth, up as far as the river was navigable for even so small a steamer as ours. Every one was sorry when it became time to turn, but there was no choice: the sun-burned, good-looking captain of the tug held up a warning hand, and round we went with a wide sweep, under the shadows, out into the sunlight, down the middle of the stream, all too soon to please us.
Before we left East London, however, there was one more great work to be glanced at, and accordingly we paid a hasty visit to the office of the superintendent of the new harbor-works, and saw plans and drawings of what will indeed be a magnificent achievement when carried out. Yard by yard, with patient under-sea sweeping102, all that waste of sand brought down by the Buffalo is being cleared away; yard by yard, two massive arms of solidest masonry are stretching themselves out beyond those cruel breakers: the river is being forced into so narrow a channel that the rush of the water must needs carry the sand far out to sea in future, and scatter103 it in soundings where it cannot accumulate into such a barrier as that which now exists. Lighthouses will guard this safe entrance into a tranquil104 anchorage, and so, at some not too far distant day, there is good hope that East London may be one of the most valuable harbors on this vast coast; and when her railway has reached even the point to which it is at present projected, nearly two hundred miles away, it will indeed be a thriving place. Even now, there is a greater air of movement and life and progress about the little seaport105, what with the railway and the harbor-works, than at any other place I have yet seen; and each great undertaking106 is in the hands of men of first-rate ability and experience, who are as persevering107 as they are energetic. After looking well over these most interesting plans there was nothing left for us to do except to make a sudden raid on the hotel, pick up our shawls and bags, pay a most moderate bill of seven shillings and sixpence for breakfast for three people and luncheon for two, and the use of a room all day, piteously entreat42 the mistress of the inn to sell us half a bottle of milk for G—— ’s breakfast to-morrow—as he will not drink the preserved milk—and so back again on board the tug. The difficulty about milk and butter is the first trouble which besets109 a family traveling in these parts. Everywhere milk is scarce and poor, and the butter such as no charwoman would touch in England. In vain does one behold110 from the sea thousands of acres of what looks like undulating green pasturage, and inland the same waving green hillocks stretch as far as the eye can reach: there is never a sheep or cow to be seen, and one hears that there is no water, or that the grass is sour, or that there is a great deal of sickness about among the animals in that locality. Whatever the cause, the result is the same—namely, that one has to go down on one’s knees for a cupful of milk, which is but poor, thin stuff at its best, and that Irish salt butter out of a tub is a costly111 delicacy112.
Having secured this precious quarter of a bottle of milk, for which I was really as grateful as though it had been the Koh-i-noor, we hastened back to the wharf and got on board the little tug again. “Now for the bridge!” cry G—— and I, for has not Captain Florence promised us a splendid but safe tossing across the bar? And faithfully he and the bar and the boat keep their word, for we are in no danger, it seems, and yet we appear to leap like a race-horse across the strip of sand, receiving a staggering buffet113 first on one paddle-wheel and then on the other from the angry guardian114 breakers, which seem sworn foes115 of boats and passengers. Again and again are we knocked aside by huge billows, as though the poor little tug were a walnut-shell; again and again do we recover ourselves, and blunder bravely on, sometimes with but one paddle in the water, sometimes burying our bowsprit in a big green wave too high to climb, and dashing right through it as fast as if we shut our eyes and went at everything. The spray flies high over our heads, G—— and I are drenched116 over and over again, but we shake the sparkling water off our coats, for all the world like Newfoundland dogs, and are all right again in a moment. “Is that the very last?” asks G—— reluctantly as we take our last breaker like a five-barred gate, flying, and find ourselves safe and sound, but quivering a good deal, in what seems comparatively smooth water. Is it smooth, though? Look at the Florence and all the other vessels. Still at it, seesaw117, backward and forward, roll, roll, roll! How thankful we all are to have escaped a long day of sickening, monotonous motion! But there is the getting on board to be accomplished118, for the brave little tug dare not come too near to her big sister steamboat or she would roll over on her. So we signal for a boat, and quickly the largest which the Florence possesses is launched and manned—no easy task in such a sea, but accomplished in the smartest and most seamanlike119 fashion. The sides of the tug are low, so it is not very difficult to scramble120 and tumble into the boat, which is laden to the water’s edge by new passengers from East London and their luggage. When, however, we have reached the rolling Florence it is no easy matter to get out of the said boat and on board. There is a ladder let down, indeed, from the Florence’s side, but how are we to use it when one moment half a dozen rungs are buried deep in the sea, and the next instant ship and ladder and all have rolled right away from us? It has to be done, however, and what a tower of strength and encouragement does “Capting Florence” prove himself at this juncture121! We are all to sit perfectly still: no one is to move until his name is called, and then he is to come unhesitatingly and do exactly what he is told.
“Pass up the baby!” is the first order which I hear given, and that astonishing baby is “passed up” accordingly. I use the word “astonishing” advisedly, for never was an infant so bundled about uncomplainingly. He is just as often upside down as not; he is generally handed from one quartermaster to the other by the gathers of his little blue flannel122 frock; seas break over his cradle on deck, but nothing disturbs him. He grins and sleeps and pulls at his bottle through everything, and grows fatter and browner and more impudent123 every day. On this occasion, when—after rivaling Léotard’s most daring feats124 on the trapeze in my scramble up the side of a vessel which was lurching away from me—I at last reached the deck, I found the ship’s carpenter nursing the baby, who had seized the poor man’s beard firmly with one hand, and with the finger and thumb of the other was attempting to pick out one of his merry blue eyes. “Avast there!” cried the long-suffering sailor, and gladly relinquished125 the mischievous126 bundle to me.
Up with the anchor, and off we go once more into the gathering127 darkness of what turns out to be a wet and windy night. Next day the weather had recovered its temper, and I was called upon deck directly after breakfast to see the “Gates of St. John,” a really fine pass on the coast where the river Umzimvubu rushes through great granite128 cliffs into the sea. If the exact truth is to be told, I must confess I am a little disappointed with this coast-scenery. I have heard so much of its beauty, and as yet, though I have seen it under exceptionally favorable conditions of calm weather, which has allowed us to stand in very close to shore, I have not seen anything really fine until these “Gates” came in view. It has all been monotonous, undulating downs, here and there dotted with trees, and in some places the ravines were filled with what we used to call in New Zealand bush—i.e., miscellaneous greenery. Here and there a bold cliff or tumbled pile of red rock makes a landmark129 for the passing ships, but otherwise the uniformity is great indeed. The ordinary weather along this coast is something frightful130, and the great reputation of our little Florence is built on the method in which she rides dry and safe as a duck among these stormy waters. Now that we are close to “fair Natal131,” the country opens out and improves in beauty. There are still the same sloping, rolling downs, but higher downs rise behind them, and again beyond are blue and purpling hills. Here and there, too, are clusters of fat, dumpy haystacks, which in reality are no haystacks at all, but Kafir kraals. Just before we pass the cliff and river which marks where No-Man’s Land ends and Natal begins these little locations are more frequently to be observed, though what their inhabitants subsist132 on is a marvel133 to me, for we are only a mile or so from shore, and all the seeing power of all the field-glasses on board fails to discern a solitary134 animal. We can see lots of babies crawling about the hole which serves as door to a Kafir hut, and they are all as fat as little pigs; but what do they live on? Buttermilk, I am told—that is to say, sour milk, for the true Kafir palate does not appreciate fresh, sweet milk—and a sort of porridge made of mealies. I used to think “mealies” was a coined word for potatoes, but it really signifies maize135 or Indian corn, which is rudely crushed and ground, and forms the staple136 food of man and beast.
In the mean time, we are speeding gayly over the bright waters, never very calm along this shore. Presently we come to a spot clearly marked by some odd-colored, tumbled-down cliffs and the remains137 of a great iron butt108, where, more than a hundred years ago, the Grosvenor, a splendid clipper ship, was wrecked138. The men nearly all perished or were made away with, but a few women were got on shore and carried off as prizes to the kraals of the Kafir “inkosis” or chieftains. What sort of husbands these stalwart warriors139 made to their reluctant brides tradition does not say, but it is a fact that almost all the children were born mad, and their descendants are, many of them, lunatics or idiots up to the present time. As the afternoon draws on a chill mist creeps over the hills and provokingly blots140 out the coast, which gets more beautiful every league we go. I wanted to remain up and see the light on the bluff141 just outside Port d’Urban, but a heavy shower drove me down to my wee cabin before ten o’clock. Soon after midnight the rolling of the anchor-chains and the sudden change of motion from pitching and jumping to the old monotonous roll told us that we were once more outside a bar, with a heavy sea on, and that there we must remain until the tug came to fetch us. But, alas142! the tug had to make short work of it next morning, on account of the unaccommodating state of the tide, and all our hopes of breakfasting on shore were dashed by a hasty announcement at 5 A.M. that the tug was alongside, the mails were rapidly being put on board of her, and that she could not wait for passengers or anything else, because ten minutes later there would not be water enough to float her over the bar.
“When shall we be able to get over the bar?” I asked dolefully.
“Not until the afternoon,” was the prompt and uncompromising reply, delivered through my keyhole by the authority in charge of us. And he proved to be quite right; but I am bound to say the time passed more quickly than we had dared to hope or expect, for an hour later a bold little fishing-boat made her way through the breakers and across the bar in the teeth of wind and rain, bringing F—— on board. He has been out here these eight months, and looks a walking advertisement of the climate and temperature of our new home, so absolutely healthy is his appearance. He is very cheery about liking143 the place, and particularly insists on the blooming faces and sturdy limbs I shall see belonging to the young Natalians. Altogether, he appears thoroughly144 happy and contented145, liking his work, his position, everything and everybody; which is all extremely satisfactory to hear. There is so much to tell and so much to behold that, as G—— declares, “it is afternoon directly,” and, the signal-flag being up, we trip our anchor once more and rush at the bar, two quartermasters and an officer at the wheel, the pilot and captain on the bridge, all hands on deck and on the alert, for always, under the most favorable circumstances, the next five minutes hold a peril in every second. “Stand by for spray!” sings out somebody, and we do stand by, luckily for ourselves, for “spray” means the top of two or three waves. The dear little Florence is as plucky146 as she is pretty, and appears to shut her eyes and lower her head and go at the bar. Scrape, scrape, scrape! “We’ve stuck! No, we haven’t! Helm hard down! Over!” and so we are. Among the breakers, it is true, buffeted147 hither and thither148, knocked first to one side and then to the other; but we keep right on, and a few more turns of the screw take us into calm water under the green hills of the bluff. The breakers are behind us, we have twenty fathoms149 of water under our keel, the voyage is ended and over, the captain takes off his straw hat to mop his curly head, everybody’s face loses the expression of anxiety and rigidity150 it has worn these past ten minutes, and boats swarm151 like locusts152 round the ship. The baby is passed over the ship’s side for the last time, having been well kissed and petted and praised by every one as he was handed from one to the other, and we row swiftly away to the low sandy shore of the “Point.”
Only a few warehouses153, or rather sheds of warehouses, are to be seen, and a rude sort of railway-station, which appears to afford indiscriminate shelter to boats as well as to engines. There are leisurely155 trains which saunter into the town of D’Urban, a mile and a half away, every half hour or so, but one of these “crawlers” had just started. The sun was very hot, and we voyagers were all sadly weary and headachy. But the best of the colonies is the prompt, self-sacrificing kindness of old-comers to new-comers. A gentleman had driven down in his own nice, comfortable pony-carriage, and without a moment’s hesitation156 he insisted on our all getting into it and making the best of our way to our hotel. It is too good an offer to be refused, for the sun is hot and the babies are tired to death; so we start, slowly enough, to plough our way through heavy sand up to the axles. If the tide had been out we could have driven quickly along the hard, dry sand; but we comfort ourselves by remembering that there had been water enough on the bar, and make the best of our way through clouds of impalpable dust to a better road, of which a couple of hundred yards land us at our hotel. It looks bare and unfurnished enough, in all conscience, but it is a new place, and must be furnished by degrees. At all events, it is tolerably clean and quiet, and we can wash our sunburned faces and hands, and, as nurse says, “turn ourselves round.”
Coolies swarm in every direction, picturesque157 fish-and fruit-sellers throng158 the verandah of the kitchen a little way off, and everything looks bright and green and fresh, having been well washed by the recent rains. There are still, however, several feet of dust in the streets, for they are made of dust; and my own private impression is, that all the water in the harbor would not suffice to lay the dust of D’Urban for more than half an hour. With the restlessness of people who have been cooped up on board ship for a month, we insist, the moment it is cool enough, on being taken out for a walk. Fortunately, the public gardens are close at hand, and we amuse ourselves very well in them for an hour or two, but we are all thoroughly tired and worn out, and glad to get to bed, even in gaunt, narrow rooms on hard pallets.
The two following days were spent in looking after and collecting our cumbrous array of boxes and baskets. Tin baths, wicker chairs and baskets, all had to be counted and recounted, until one got weary of the word “luggage;” but that is the penalty of drafting babies about the world. In the intervals159 of the serious business of tracing No. 5 or running No. 10 to earth in the corner of a warehouse154, I made many pleasant acquaintances and received kindest words and notes of welcome from unknown friends. All this warm-hearted, unconventional kindness goes far to make the stranger forget his “own people and his father’s house,” and feel at once at home amid strange and unfamiliar160 scenes. After all, “home” is portable, luckily, and a welcoming smile and hand-clasp act as a spell to create it in any place. We also managed, after business-hours, when it was of no use making expeditions to wharf or custom-house after recusant carpet-bags, to drive to the Botanic Gardens. They are extensive and well kept, but seem principally devoted161 to shrubs. I was assured that this is the worst time of year for flowers, as the plants have not yet recovered from the winter drought. A dry winter and wet summer is the correct atmospheric162 fashion here: in winter everything is brown and dusty and dried up, in summer green and fragrant163 and well watered. The gardens are in good order, and I rather regretted not being able to examine them more thoroughly. Another afternoon we drove to the Berea, a sort of suburban164 Richmond, where the rich semi-tropical vegetation is cleared away in patches, and villas165 with pretty pleasure-grounds are springing up in every direction. The road winds up the luxuriantly-clothed slopes, with every here and there lovely sea-views of the harbor, with the purpling lights of the Indian Ocean stretching away beyond. Every villa must have an enchanting prospect166 from its front door, and one can quite understand how alluring167 to the merchants and business-men of D’Urban must be the idea of getting away after office-hours, and sleeping on such high ground in so fresh and healthy an atmosphere. And here I must say that we Maritzburgians (I am only one in prospective) wage a constant and deadly warfare168 with the D’Urbanites on the score of the health and convenience of our respective cities. We are two thousand feet above the sea and fifty-two miles inland, so we talk in a pitying tone of the poor D’Urbanites as dwellers169 in a very hot and unhealthy place. “Relaxing” is the word we apply to their climate when we want to be particularly nasty, and they retaliate170 by reminding us that they are ever so much older than we are (which is an advantage in a colony), and that they are on the coast, and can grow all manner of nice things which we cannot compass, to say nothing of their climate being more equable than ours, and their thunderstorms, though longer in duration, mere flashes in the pan compared to what we in our amphitheatre of hills have to undergo at the hands of the electric current. We never can find answer to that taunt171, and if the D’Urbanites only follow up their victory by allusions172 to their abounding173 bananas and other fruits, their vicinity to the shipping, and consequent facility of getting almost anything quite easily, we are completely silenced, and it is a wonder if we retain presence of mind enough to murmur174 “Flies.” On the score of dust we are about equal, but I must in fairness confess that D’Urban is a more lively and a better-looking town than Maritzburg when you are in it, though the effect from a distance is not so good. It is very odd how unevenly175 the necessaries of existence are distributed in this country. Here at D’Urban anything hard in the way of stone is a treasure: everything is soft and friable176: sand and finest shingle177, so fine as to be mere dust, are all the available material for road-making. I am told that later on I shall find that a cartload of sand in Maritzburg is indeed a rare and costly thing: there we are all rock, a sort of flaky, slaty178 rock underlying179 every place.
Our last day, or rather half day, in D’Urban was very full of sightseeing and work. F—— was extremely anxious for me to see the sun rise from the signal-station on the bluff, and accordingly he, G—- and I started with the earliest dawn. We drove through the sand again in a hired and springless Cape cart down to the Point, got into the port-captain’s boat and rowed across a little strip of sand at the foot of a winding180 path cut out of the dense181 vegetation which makes the bluff such a refreshingly182 green headland to eyes of wave-worn voyagers. A stalwart Kafir carried our picnic basket, with tea and milk, bread and butter and eggs, up the hill, and it was delightful to follow the windings183 of the path through beautiful bushes bearing strange and lovely flowers, and knit together in patches in a green tangle by the tendrils of a convolvulus or clematis, or sort of wild passion-flower, whose blossoms were opening to the fresh morning air. It was a cool but misty184 morning, and though we got to our destination in ample time, there was never any sunrise at all to be seen. In fact, the sun steadily declined to get up the whole day, so far as I knew, for the sea looked gray and solemn and sleepy, and the land kept its drowsy185 mantle186 of haze187 over its flat shore; which haze thickened and deepened into a Scotch188 mist as the morning wore on. We returned by the leisurely railway—a railway so calm and stately in its method of progression that it is not at all unusual to see a passenger step calmly out of the train when it is at its fullest speed of crawl, and wave his hand to his companions as he disappears down the by-path leading to his little home. The passengers are conveyed at a uniform rate of sixpence a head, which sixpence is collected promiscuously189 by a small boy at odd moments during the journey. There are no nice distinctions of class, either, for we all travel amicably190 together in compartments191 which are a judicious192 mixture of a third-class carriage and a cattle-truck. Of course, wood is the only fuel used, and that but sparingly, for it is exceedingly costly.
There was still much to be done by the afternoon—many visitors to receive, notes to write and packages to arrange, for our traveling of these fifty-two miles spreads itself over a good many hours, as you will see. About three o’clock the government mule-wagon193 came to the door. It may truly and literally194 be described as “stopping the way,” for not only is the wagon itself a huge and cumbrous machine, but it is drawn195 by eight mules196 in pairs, and driven by a couple of black drivers. I say “driven by a couple of drivers,” because the driving was evidently an affair of copartnership: one held the reins—such elaborate reins as they were! a confused tangle of leather—and the other had the care of two or three whips of differing lengths. The drivers were both jet black—not Kafirs, but Cape blacks—descendants of the old slaves taken by the Dutch. They appeared to be great friends, these two, and took earnest counsel together at every rut and drain and steep pinch of the road, which stretched away, over hill and dale, before us, a broad red track, with high green hedges on either hand. Although the rain had not yet fallen long or heavily, the ditches were all running freely with red, muddy water, and the dust had already begun to cake itself into a sticky, pasty red clay. The wagon was shut in by curtains at the back and sides, and could hold eight passengers easily. Luckily for the poor mules, however, we were only five grown-up people, including the drivers. The road was extremely pretty, and the town looked very picturesque as we gradually rose above it and looked down on it and the harbor together. Of a fine, clear afternoon it would have been still nicer, though I was much congratulated on the falling rain on account of the absence of its alternative—dust. Still, it was possible to have too much of a good thing, and by the time we reached Pine Town, only fourteen miles away, the heavy roads were beginning to tell on the poor mules, and the chill damp of the closing evening made us all only too thankful to get under the shelter of a roadside inn (or hotel, as they are called here), which was snug197 and bright and comfortable enough to be a credit to any colony. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to be told that this inn was not only a favorite place for people to come out to from D’Urban to spend their holiday time in fine weather (there is a pretty little church in the village hard by), but also that it was quite de rigueur for all honeymoons198 to be spent amid its pretty scenery.
A steady downpour of rain all through the night made our early start next day an affair of doubt and discouragement and dismal199 prophecy; but we persevered200, and accomplished another long stage through a cold persistent201 drizzle202 before reaching an inn, where we enjoyed simply the best breakfast I ever tasted, or at all events the best I have tasted in Natal. The mules were also unharnessed, and after taking, each, a good roll on the damp grass, turned out in the drizzling rain for a rest and a nibble203 until their more substantial repast was ready. The rain cleared up from time to time, but an occasional heavy shower warned us that the weather was still sulky. It was in much better heart and spirits, however, that we made a second start about eleven o’clock, and struggled on through heavy roads up and down weary hills, slipping here, sliding there, and threatening to stick everywhere. Our next stage was to a place where the only available shelter was a filthy inn, at which we lingered as short a time as practicable—only long enough, in fact, to feed the mules—and then, with every prospect of a finer afternoon, set out once more on the last and longest stage of our journey. All the way the road has been very beautiful, in spite of the shrouding204 mist, especially at the Inchanga Pass, where round the shoulder of the hill as fair a prospect of curved green hills, dotted with clusters of timber exactly like an English park, of distant ranges rising in softly-rounded outlines, with deep violet shadows in the clefts205 and pale green lights on the slopes, stretches before you as the heart of painter could desire. Nestling out of sight amid this rich pasture-land are the kraals of a large Kafir location, and no one can say that these, the children of the soil, have not secured one of the most favored spots. To me it all looked like a fair mirage206. I am already sick of beholding207 all this lovely country lying around, and yet of being told that food and fuel are almost at famine-prices. People say, “Oh, but you should see it in winter. Now it is green, and there is plenty of feed on it, but three months ago no grass-eating creature could have picked up a living on all the country-side. It is all as brown and bare as parchment for half the year. This is the spring.” Can you not imagine how provoking it is to hear such statements made by old settlers, who know the place only too well, and to find out that all the radiant beauty which greets the traveler’s eye is illusive208, for in many places there are miles and miles without a drop of water for the flock and herds209; consequently, there are no means of transport for all this fuel until the days of railways? Besides which, through Natal lies the great highway to the Diamond Fields, the Transvaal and the Free States, and all the opening-up country beyond; so it is more profitable to drive a wagon than to till a farm. Every beast with four legs is wanted to drag building materials or provisions. The supply of beef becomes daily more precarious210 and costly, for the oxen are all “treking,” and one hears of nothing but diseases among animals—“horse sickness,” pleuro-pneumonia, fowl211 sickness (I feel it an impertinence for the poultry212 to presume to be ill), and even dogs set up a peculiar and fatal sort of distemper among themselves.
But to return to the last hours of our journey. The mules struggle bravely along, though their ears are beginning to flap about any way, instead of being held straight and sharply pricked213 forward, and the encouraging cries of “Pull up, Capting! now then, Blue-bok, hi!” become more and more frequent: the driver in charge of the whips is less nice in his choice of a scourge214 with which to urge on the patient animals, and whacks215 them soundly with whichever comes first. The children have long ago wearied of the confinement216 and darkness of the back seats of the hooded217 vehicle; we are all black and blue from jolting218 in and out of deep holes hidden by mud which occur at every yard; but still our flagging spirits keep pretty good, for our little Table Mountain has been left behind, whilst before us, leaning up in one corner of an amphitheatre of hills, are the trees which mark where Maritzburg nestles. The mules see it too, and, sniffing219 their stables afar off, jog along faster. Only one more rise to pull up: we turn a little off the high-road, and there, amid a young plantation220 of trees, with roses, honeysuckle and passion-flowers climbing up the posts of the wide verandah, a fair and enchanting prospect lying at our feet, stands our new home, with its broad red tiled roof stretching out a friendly welcome to the tired, belated travelers.
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1
drizzling
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| 下蒙蒙细雨，下毛毛雨( drizzle的现在分词 ) | |
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monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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shipping
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| n.船运（发货，运输，乘船） | |
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necessitating
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| 使…成为必要，需要( necessitate的现在分词 ) | |
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ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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cylinders
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| n.圆筒( cylinder的名词复数 )；圆柱；汽缸；（尤指用作容器的）圆筒状物 | |
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sundry
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| adj.各式各样的，种种的 | |
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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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vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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basking
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| v.晒太阳，取暖( bask的现在分词 )；对…感到乐趣；因他人的功绩而出名；仰仗…的余泽 | |
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mangles
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| n.轧布机，轧板机，碾压机（mangle的复数形式）vt.乱砍（mangle的第三人称单数形式） | |
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astounding
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| adj.使人震惊的vt.使震惊，使大吃一惊astound的现在分词) | |
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villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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18
shrubs
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| 灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
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chronic
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| adj.(疾病)长期未愈的，慢性的；极坏的 | |
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masonry
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| n.砖土建筑；砖石 | |
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zinc
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| n.锌；vt.在...上镀锌 | |
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luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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squat
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| v.蹲坐，蹲下；n.蹲下；adj.矮胖的，粗矮的 | |
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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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virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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lavish
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| adj.无节制的；浪费的；vt.慷慨地给予，挥霍 | |
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epithets
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| n.（表示性质、特征等的）词语( epithet的名词复数 ) | |
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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30
scooped
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| v.抢先报道( scoop的过去式和过去分词 )；（敏捷地）抱起；抢先获得；用铲[勺]等挖（洞等） | |
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ripens
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| v.成熟，使熟( ripen的第三人称单数 ) | |
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halcyon
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| n.平静的，愉快的 | |
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chivalrous
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| adj.武士精神的；对女人彬彬有礼的 | |
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34
darts
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| n.掷飞镖游戏；飞镖( dart的名词复数 )；急驰，飞奔v.投掷，投射( dart的第三人称单数 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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buffalo
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| n.(北美)野牛；(亚洲)水牛 | |
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cargo
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| n.(一只船或一架飞机运载的)货物 | |
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lighters
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| n.打火机，点火器( lighter的名词复数 ) | |
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39
tug
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| v.用力拖(或拉)；苦干；n.拖；苦干；拖船 | |
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40
bustles
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| 热闹( bustle的名词复数 )； （女裙后部的）衬垫； 撑架 | |
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41
entreaty
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| n.恳求，哀求 | |
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42
entreat
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| v.恳求，恳请 | |
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43
fuming
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| 愤怒( fume的现在分词 )； 大怒； 发怒； 冒烟 | |
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44
fretting
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| n. 微振磨损 adj. 烦躁的, 焦虑的 | |
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45
penance
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| n.（赎罪的）惩罪 | |
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46
equanimity
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| n.沉着，镇定 | |
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cape
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| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
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48
agonizing
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| adj.痛苦难忍的；使人苦恼的v.使极度痛苦；折磨(agonize的ing形式) | |
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49
naught
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| n.无，零 [=nought] | |
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50
peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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51
mole
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| n.胎块；痣；克分子 | |
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52
devouring
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| 吞没( devour的现在分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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53
placidly
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| adv.平稳地，平静地 | |
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54
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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55
thwarts
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| 阻挠( thwart的第三人称单数 )； 使受挫折； 挫败； 横过 | |
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ponderous
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| adj.沉重的，笨重的，(文章)冗长的 | |
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pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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qualms
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| n.不安；内疚 | |
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filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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perils
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| 极大危险( peril的名词复数 )； 危险的事（或环境） | |
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discomforts
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| n.不舒适( discomfort的名词复数 )；不愉快，苦恼 | |
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enchanting
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| a.讨人喜欢的 | |
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hissing
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| n. 发嘶嘶声, 蔑视 动词hiss的现在分词形式 | |
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superintendent
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| n.监督人，主管，总监；(英国)警务长 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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singed
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| v.浅表烧焦( singe的过去式和过去分词 )；（毛发）燎，烧焦尖端[边儿] | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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plaintive
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| adj.可怜的，伤心的 | |
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69
crunching
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| v.嘎吱嘎吱地咬嚼( crunch的现在分词 )；嘎吱作响；（快速大量地）处理信息；数字捣弄 | |
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70
commodious
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| adj.宽敞的；使用方便的 | |
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71
civilized
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| a.有教养的，文雅的 | |
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72
boon
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| n.恩赐，恩物，恩惠 | |
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73
labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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74
jabber
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| v.快而不清楚地说；n.吱吱喳喳 | |
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75
grunt
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| v.嘟哝；作呼噜声；n.呼噜声，嘟哝 | |
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76
albeit
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| conj.即使；纵使；虽然 | |
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77
solidified
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| （使）成为固体，（使）变硬，（使）变得坚固( solidify的过去式和过去分词 )； 使团结一致； 充实，巩固； 具体化 | |
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78
miserably
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| adv.痛苦地；悲惨地；糟糕地；极度地 | |
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79
specimens
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| n.样品( specimen的名词复数 )；范例；（化验的）抽样；某种类型的人 | |
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80
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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81
degenerate
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| v.退步，堕落；adj.退步的，堕落的；n.堕落者 | |
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82
iridescent
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| adj.彩虹色的，闪色的 | |
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83
velvety
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| adj. 像天鹅绒的, 轻软光滑的, 柔软的 | |
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84
tint
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| n.淡色，浅色；染发剂；vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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85
slant
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| v.倾斜，倾向性地编写或报道；n.斜面，倾向 | |
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86
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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87
laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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88
bouquets
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| n.花束( bouquet的名词复数 )；（酒的）芳香 | |
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89
divers
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| adj.不同的；种种的 | |
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90
reins
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| 感情，激情； 缰( rein的名词复数 )； 控制手段； 掌管； （成人带着幼儿走路以防其走失时用的）保护带 | |
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91
extraordinarily
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| adv.格外地；极端地 | |
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92
brink
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| n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘，边沿 | |
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93
wharf
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| n.码头，停泊处 | |
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94
sputtered
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| v.唾沫飞溅( sputter的过去式和过去分词 )；发劈啪声；喷出；飞溅出 | |
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95
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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96
tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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97
pliant
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| adj.顺从的；可弯曲的 | |
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98
gales
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| 龙猫 | |
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99
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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100
lengthening
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| （时间或空间）延长，伸长( lengthen的现在分词 )； 加长 | |
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101
creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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102
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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103
scatter
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| vt.撒，驱散，散开；散布/播；vi.分散，消散 | |
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104
tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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105
seaport
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| n.海港，港口，港市 | |
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106
undertaking
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| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
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107
persevering
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| a.坚忍不拔的 | |
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108
butt
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| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
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109
besets
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| v.困扰( beset的第三人称单数 )；不断围攻；镶；嵌 | |
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110
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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111
costly
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| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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112
delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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113
buffet
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| n.自助餐；饮食柜台；餐台 | |
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114
guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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115
foes
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| 敌人，仇敌( foe的名词复数 ) | |
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116
drenched
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| adj.湿透的；充满的v.使湿透( drench的过去式和过去分词 )；在某人（某物）上大量使用（某液体） | |
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117
seesaw
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| n.跷跷板 | |
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118
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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119
seamanlike
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| 海员般的，熟练水手似的 | |
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120
scramble
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| v.爬行，攀爬，杂乱蔓延，碎片，片段，废料 | |
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121
juncture
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| n.时刻，关键时刻，紧要关头 | |
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122
flannel
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| n.法兰绒；法兰绒衣服 | |
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123
impudent
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| adj.鲁莽的，卑鄙的，厚颜无耻的 | |
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124
feats
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| 功绩，伟业，技艺( feat的名词复数 ) | |
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125
relinquished
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| 交出，让给( relinquish的过去式和过去分词 )； 放弃 | |
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126
mischievous
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| adj.调皮的，恶作剧的，有害的，伤人的 | |
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127
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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128
granite
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| adj.花岗岩，花岗石 | |
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129
landmark
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| n.陆标，划时代的事，地界标 | |
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130
frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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131
natal
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| adj.出生的，先天的 | |
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132
subsist
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| vi.生存，存在，供养 | |
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133
marvel
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| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
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134
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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135
maize
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| n.玉米 | |
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136
staple
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| n.主要产物，常用品，主要要素，原料，订书钉，钩环；adj.主要的，重要的；vt.分类 | |
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137
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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138
wrecked
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| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
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139
warriors
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| 武士，勇士，战士( warrior的名词复数 ) | |
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140
blots
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| 污渍( blot的名词复数 )； 墨水渍； 错事； 污点 | |
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141
bluff
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| v.虚张声势，用假象骗人；n.虚张声势，欺骗 | |
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142
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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143
liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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144
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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145
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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146
plucky
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| adj.勇敢的 | |
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147
buffeted
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| 反复敲打( buffet的过去式和过去分词 )； 连续猛击； 打来打去； 推来搡去 | |
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148
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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149
fathoms
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| 英寻( fathom的名词复数 ) | |
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150
rigidity
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| adj.钢性，坚硬 | |
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151
swarm
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| n.(昆虫)等一大群；vi.成群飞舞；蜂拥而入 | |
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152
locusts
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| n.蝗虫( locust的名词复数 )；贪吃的人；破坏者；槐树 | |
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153
warehouses
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| 仓库，货栈( warehouse的名词复数 ) | |
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154
warehouse
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| n.仓库；vt.存入仓库 | |
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155
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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156
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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157
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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158
throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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159
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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160
unfamiliar
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| adj.陌生的，不熟悉的 | |
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161
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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162
atmospheric
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| adj.大气的，空气的；大气层的；大气所引起的 | |
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163
fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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164
suburban
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| adj.城郊的，在郊区的 | |
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165
villas
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| 别墅，公馆( villa的名词复数 )； （城郊）住宅 | |
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166
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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167
alluring
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| adj.吸引人的，迷人的 | |
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168
warfare
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| n.战争(状态)；斗争；冲突 | |
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169
dwellers
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| n.居民，居住者( dweller的名词复数 ) | |
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170
retaliate
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| v.报复，反击 | |
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171
taunt
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| n.辱骂，嘲弄；v.嘲弄 | |
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172
allusions
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| 暗指，间接提到( allusion的名词复数 ) | |
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173
abounding
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| adj.丰富的，大量的v.大量存在，充满，富于( abound的现在分词 ) | |
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174
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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175
unevenly
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| adv.不均匀的 | |
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176
friable
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| adj.易碎的 | |
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177
shingle
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| n.木瓦板；小招牌(尤指医生或律师挂的营业招牌)；v.用木瓦板盖（屋顶）；把（女子头发）剪短 | |
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178
slaty
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| 石板一样的，石板色的 | |
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179
underlying
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| adj.在下面的，含蓄的，潜在的 | |
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180
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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181
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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182
refreshingly
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| adv.清爽地，有精神地 | |
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183
windings
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| （道路、河流等）蜿蜒的，弯曲的( winding的名词复数 )； 缠绕( wind的现在分词 )； 卷绕； 转动（把手） | |
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184
misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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185
drowsy
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| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
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186
mantle
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| n.斗篷，覆罩之物，罩子；v.罩住，覆盖，脸红 | |
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187
haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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188
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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189
promiscuously
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| adv.杂乱地，混杂地 | |
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190
amicably
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| adv.友善地 | |
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191
compartments
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|
| n.间隔( compartment的名词复数 )；（列车车厢的）隔间；（家具或设备等的）分隔间；隔层 | |
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192
judicious
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| adj.明智的，明断的，能作出明智决定的 | |
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193
wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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194
literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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195
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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196
mules
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| 骡( mule的名词复数 )； 拖鞋； 顽固的人； 越境运毒者 | |
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197
snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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198
honeymoons
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| 蜜月( honeymoon的名词复数 )； 短暂的和谐时期； 蜜月期； 最初的和谐时期 | |
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199
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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200
persevered
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| v.坚忍，坚持( persevere的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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201
persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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202
drizzle
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| v.下毛毛雨；n.毛毛雨，蒙蒙细雨 | |
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203
nibble
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| n.轻咬，啃；v.一点点地咬，慢慢啃，吹毛求疵 | |
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204
shrouding
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| n.覆盖v.隐瞒( shroud的现在分词 )；保密 | |
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205
clefts
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| n.裂缝( cleft的名词复数 )；裂口；cleave的过去式和过去分词；进退维谷 | |
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206
mirage
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| n.海市蜃楼，幻景 | |
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207
beholding
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| v.看，注视( behold的现在分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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208
illusive
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| adj.迷惑人的，错觉的 | |
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209
herds
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| 兽群( herd的名词复数 )； 牧群； 人群； 群众 | |
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210
precarious
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| adj.不安定的，靠不住的；根据不足的 | |
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211
fowl
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| n.家禽，鸡，禽肉 | |
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212
poultry
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| n.家禽，禽肉 | |
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213
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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214
scourge
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| n.灾难，祸害；v.蹂躏 | |
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215
whacks
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| n.重击声( whack的名词复数 )；不正常；有毛病v.重击，使劲打( whack的第三人称单数 ) | |
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216
confinement
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| n.幽禁，拘留，监禁；分娩；限制，局限 | |
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217
hooded
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| adj.戴头巾的；有罩盖的；颈部因肋骨运动而膨胀的 | |
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218
jolting
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| adj.令人震惊的 | |
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219
sniffing
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| n.探查法v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的现在分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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220
plantation
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| n.种植园，大农场 | |
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