It was not yet the season of the Trades, and the northeast breeze which followed us brought a sweltering heat, intolerable anywhere but on deck. Worthington was sitting beside me—a lean man, darkly tanned, with very bright blue eyes. His feet were bare; he wore a singlet, trousers of white drill, and a Manihiki hat—beautifully plaited of bleached3 pandanus leaf—a hat not to be bought with money. The dinner gong sounded.
"I'm not going down," he remarked; "too hot below. I had something to eat at Uturoa. How about you?"
I shook my head—it needed more than a normal appetite to drive one to the dining saloon. Banks of 48 squall cloud, shading from gray to an unwholesome violet, were gathering4 along the horizon, and the air was so heavy that one inhaled5 it with an effort.
"This is the worst month of the hurricane season," Worthington went on; "it was just such an evening as this, last year, that the waterspout nearly got us—the night we sighted Mataora. I was five months up there, you know—marooned when Johnson lost the old Hatutu.
"I was pretty well done up last year, and when I heard that the Hatutu was at Avarua I decided7 to take a vacation and go for a six weeks' cruise with Johnson. Ordinarily he would have been laid up in Papeete until after the equinox, but the company had sent for him to make a special trip to Penrhyn. We had a wretched passage north—a succession of squalls and broiling8 calms. The schooner9 was in bad shape, anyway: rotten sails, rigging falling to pieces, and six inches of grass on her bottom. On a hot day she had a bouquet10 all her own—the sun distilled11 from her a blend of cockroaches12 and mildewed13 copra that didn't smell like a rose garden. On the thirtieth day the skipper told me we were two hundred miles from Penrhyn and so close to Mataora that we might sight the palm tops. I'd heard a lot about the place (it has an English name on the chart)—how isolated14 it was, what a pleasant crowd the natives were, and how it was the best place in the Pacific to see old-fashioned island life.
"We had been working to windward against a light, northerly breeze, but the wind began to drop at noon, and by three o'clock it was glassy calm. There was a wicked-looking mass of clouds moving toward us from 49 the west, but the glass was high and Johnson said we were in for nothing worse than a squall. As the clouds drew near I could see that they had a sort of purplish-black heart, broad at the top, pointed15 at the bottom, and dropping gradually toward the water. There was something queer about it; the mate was pointing, and Johnson's Kanakas were all standing16 up. Suddenly I heard a rushing sound, like a heavy squall passing through the bush; the point of the funnel17 had touched the sea three or four hundred yards away from us—a waterspout! There wasn't a breath of air, and the Hatutu had no engine. It was moving straight for us, so slowly that I could watch every detail of its formation. The boys slid our boat overboard; the mate sang out something about all hands being ready to leave the schooner.
"I've heard of waterspouts ever since I was a youngster, but I never expected to see one as close as we did that day. As the point of cloud dropped toward the sea it was ragged18 and ill defined; but when it touched the water and the noise began I saw its shape change and its outlines grow hard. It was now a thin column, four or five feet in diameter, rising a couple of hundred feet before it swelled21 in the form of a flat cone22, to join the clouds above. Curiously23 enough, it was not perpendicular24, but had a decided sagging25 curve. Nearer and nearer it came, until I could make out the great swirling26 hole at its base, and see the vitreous look of this column of solid water, revolving27 at amazing speed. It hadn't the misty28 edges of a waterfall. The outside was sharply defined as the walls of a tumbler. I wondered what would happen when it struck the Hatutu. The mate 50 was shouting again, but just then the skipper pushed a rifle into my hands. 'Damned if I leave the old hooker,' he swore. 'Shoot into the thing—maybe we can break it up.' And, believe me or not, we did break it up.
"It didn't come down with a crash, as one might have expected. When we had pumped about twenty shots into it, and it was not more than fifty yards away, it began to dwindle29. The column of water became smaller and drew itself out to nothing; the rushing noise ceased; the hole in the sea disappeared in a lazy eddy30; the dark funnel rose and blended with the clouds above.
"A fine southeast breeze sprang up as the clouds dispersed31, and we were reaching away for Penrhyn when a boy up forward gave a shout and pointed to the northwest. Sure enough there was a faint line on the horizon—the palms of Mataora. A sudden idea came to me. I was fed up with the schooner. Why not ask to be put ashore32 and picked up on the Hatutu's return from Penrhyn? She would be back in a fortnight, and it was only a few miles out of her way to drop me and pick me up.
"Johnson is a good fellow; his answer to my proposition was to change his course at once and slack away for the land twelve miles to leeward33. 'You'll have a great time,' he said; 'I wish I were going with you. Old Tari will put you up—I'll give you a word to him. Take along two or three bags of flour and a few presents for the women.'
"At five o'clock we were off the principal village, with canoes all about us and more coming out through the surf. The men were a fine, brawny34 lot, joking 51 with the crew, and eager for news and small trade. I lowered my box, some flour, tobacco, and a few bolts of calico, into the largest canoe, and said good-by to Johnson.
"It was nearly a year before I saw him again; as you know, he lost the Hatutu on Flying Venus Shoal. They made Penrhyn in the boat and got a passage to Tahiti two months later. Everyone knew I was on Mataora, but it was five months before a schooner could come to take me off.
"There is no pass into the lagoon35. As we drew near the shore I saw that the easy, deceptive36 swell20 reared up to form an ugly surf ahead of us. At one point, where a crowd of people was gathered, there was a large irregular fissure37 in the coral, broad and deep enough to admit the passage of a small boat, and filled with rushing water each time a breaker crashed on the reef. My two paddlers stopped opposite this fissure and just outside the surf, watching over their shoulders for the right wave. They let four or five good-sized ones pass, backing water gently with their paddles; but at last a proper one came, rearing and tossing its crest38 till I thought it would break before it reached us. My men dug their paddles into the water, shouting exultantly39 as we darted41 forward. The shouts were echoed on shore. By Jove! it was a thriller42! Tilting43 just on the break of the wave, we flew in between jagged walls of coral, up the fissure, around a turn—and before the water began to rush back, a dozen men and women had plunged44 in waist deep to seize the canoe.
"Mataora is made up of a chain of low islands—all densely45 covered with coconut46 palms—strung together 52 in a rough oval to inclose a lagoon five miles by three. Though there is no pass, the surf at high tide breaches47 over the gaps between the islands. The largest island is only a mile and a half long, and none of them are more than half a mile across. Dotted about the surface of the lagoon are a number of motu—tiny islets—each with its flock of sea fowl48, its clump49 of palms, and shining beach of coral sand. Set in a lonely stretch of the Pacific, the place is almost cut off from communication with the outside world; twice or three times in the course of a year a trading schooner calls to leave supplies and take off copra. Undisturbed by contact with civilization, the life of Mataora flows on—simple, placid50, and agreeably monotonous—very little changed, I fancy, since the old days. It is true that they have a native missionary51, and use calico, flour, and tobacco when they can get them; but these are minor52 things. The great events in their annals are the outrage53 of the Peruvian slavers in eighteen sixty-two, when many of the people were carried off to labor54 and die in the Chinchas Islands, and the hurricane of nineteen thirteen.
"After presenting myself to the missionary and the chief I was escorted by a crowd of youngsters to the lagoon side of the island, where Tairi lived, in a spot cooled by the trade wind and pleasantly shaded by coconuts55. The old chap was a warm friend of Johnson's and made me welcome; I soon arranged to put up with him during my stay on the island. His house, like all the Mataora houses, was worth a bit of study.
"Pandanus logs, five or six inches in diameter and set four feet apart, made the uprights. On each side 53 of these logs, and extending from top to bottom, a groove56 was cut. Thin laths, split from the a?rial roots of the pandanus, were set horizontally into the grooves57, making a wall which permitted the free circulation of air. At the windward end of the house, a large shutter58 of the same material was hung on hinges of bark; on warm days it could be opened to admit the breeze. The plates and rafters were made of the trunks of old coconut palms—a beautiful hard wood which blackens with age and can be polished like mahogany. The roof was thatched with kakao—strips of wood over which were doubled selected leaves of pandanus, six feet long and four inches across. The kakao are laid on like shingles59, so deeply overlapped60 that only six inches of each is exposed, and the result is a cool and perfectly61 water-tight roof which lasts for years.
"The floor of Tari's house was of fine white gravel62, covered with mats. A bed of mats, a few odds63 and ends of fishing gear, and a Bible in the Rarotongan language made up the furniture. The old man had been a pearl diver for many years; he knew all the lagoons64 of this part of the Pacific, and could give the history of every large pearl discovered in these waters. Twenty fathoms65 he considered an ordinary depth for the naked divers66—twenty-five, the limit. One day he went too deep, and since then he had been a cripple with paralyzed legs, dependent for care on the kindly67 people of his island. He busied himself in carving68 out models of the ancient Polynesian sailing canoes, beautifully shaped and polished, inlaid with shell, and provided with sails of mother-of-pearl. Now and then he presented a canoe to the captain of a 54 trading schooner visiting the island, and received in return a bag of flour or a few sticks of tobacco.
"I had some interesting yarns69 with Tari—I speak Rarotongan, and the Mataora language is a good deal the same. They have three extra consonants70, by the way—the f, l, and h. What a puzzle these island dialects are!
"Tairi told me a lot about pearl fishing. The people had divided their lagoon into three sections, one of which was fished each year. In this way each section got a two years' rest. The shell is the object of the diving—pearls are a secondary issue. The divers are not much afraid of sharks, but dread71 the tonu and the big conger eel72. Some years before, when Tari was resting in a boat after a spell under water, one of his companions failed to return to the surface. Looking through his water glass, he saw a great tonu lying on the bottom, sixty feet beneath him—the legs of his comrade hanging from its jaws73. Fancy the ugly brute74, ten feet long and all head, like an overgrown rock cod75, with a man in his mouth. Tairi and several others seized their spears and were over the side next moment; they killed the tonu, but too late to save the life of their companion.
"Conger eels76 grow to enormous size in the pearl lagoons, and the divers keep a close watch for them. They lie in holes and crevices77 of the coral and dart40 out their heads to seize a passing fish, or the wrist of a diver stooping and intent on his task. When the conger's jaws close on wrist or ankle, the diver needs a cool head; no amount of struggling will pull the eel from his hole. One must wait quietly, Tairi told me, until the conger relaxes his jaws preparatory to taking 55 a better grip. Then a quick wrench78, and one is free.
"On an atoll like Mataora, where the food supply is limited to fish and coconuts, with a chicken or a piece of pork as an occasional treat, fishing plays a large part in the life of the people. The men were all expert fishermen, and used a variety of ingenious methods to catch the different kinds of fish. Tairi, of course, was no longer able to go out; but a friend of his—an old fellow named Tamatoa—used to take me with him. He was a fine specimen—six feet tall, muscular and active as a boy, with clear eyes and thick gray hair. One day he proposed trying for koperu, a small variety of mackerel.
"The settlement is on the lee side of the island, where a coral shoal runs out half a mile to sea, covered with twenty to forty fathoms of water. It was early in the morning—a dead calm—when we launched the big canoe and slipped out through the surf. About a quarter of a mile offshore79 Tamatoa asked me to hold the canoe stationary80 while he went about his fishing. Fastening a twenty-foot rope to the thwart81, he made a noose82 at the other end and passed it under his arms. Then he took a ripe coconut, split it, and gouged83 out the meat with his knife. With the white pulp84 in one hand, he slipped overboard and swam down as far as the rope would let him. Through my water glass I watched him put pieces of coconut into his mouth and blow out clouds of the finely chewed stuff, which drifted and eddied85 about him in the gentle current. He seemed to stay under indefinitely—the lungs of a pearl diver are wonderful things! Now and then he came to the surface for a fresh supply of chum, and finally—at 56 first in twos and threes, and then in shoals—the koperu began to appear from the depths. Little by little he enticed86 them close to the surface, until they swam all about him fearlessly, gobbling the morsels87 of coconut. At last the old man reached up for his fishing tackle—an eighteen-inch twig88, with a bit of doubled sewing cotton and a tiny barbless89 hook. He baited the hook with a particle of coconut and dangled90 it under the nose of the nearest koperu. While he hung on the shortened rope, just beneath the surface, his right arm broke water in a series of jerks, and each time it rose a fish tumbled into the canoe until they lay in the bottom by dozens.
"Though the people of Mataora made sport of their work, they had plenty of leisure for other things. In the evening, when the tasks of the day had been completed by lighting91 the lamps in the roofed-over sleeping places of the dead, the young people loved to gather for a session of akatu talanga—story telling. They met in some one's house or brought mats to spread in the bright moonlight outside; and while the others lay about, intent on the tale, one after another related the adventures of some Polynesian hero or the loves of some legendary92 island princess—strange fragments from the old days, full of specters and devils and monstrous93 heathen gods. There was a girl named Porima who told her stories marvelously well—a tall youngster of seventeen, with a dash of off-island blood; Hawaiian, I think. She was an artist in her way; one could imagine in her the pioneer of a literature to come. Her broad forehead, the masses of black hair which from time to time, with an impatient gesture, she shook back over her shoulders, and the slumberous94 57 eyes, with a suggestion of hypnotic power, made her a person not easily forgotten. Although she had told them many times, Porima's stories never failed to hold her audience; the whispering ceased when she began, and every head turned toward where she sat, her hands continually in motion, her voice rising in excitement, or dying away to a murmur95, while the listeners held their breath. As the hours passed, both audience and performers used to grow weary and drop off to sleep, one by one; finally a rooster crowed and one awoke with a start to realize that it was day.
"One evening, at a story telling, I heard a shout from the beach and remembered that I had been invited to go after flying fish. A dozen canoes were putting out through the surf, each manned by four paddlers. I made a fourth in the last canoe; we shot out of the opening with a receding96 wave, paddled desperately97 through the surf, and a moment later were rocking gently beyond the breakers. The canoes were formed into a rough line; each stern-man lit a torch of coconut leaves bound with bark, and a man forward took his place standing—net in hand. The net is like a shallow landing net, set on a haft of stiff bamboo, and can be handled only after years of unconscious training. My position, paddling amidships, enabled me to watch how the net was managed—one doesn't often see such an exhibition of dexterity98 and strength. The art consists in clapping the net over the fish just at the moment when he is lying at the surface, hesitating before taking flight; at any instant the netter may see a fish to port, to starboard, or directly ahead. Our man swung his net continually, and each time it passed over the canoe he flipped99 it 58 upside-down to drop a fish. Think of the muscles needed for this sort of thing; the quickness of eye and hand, where a delicate balance must be maintained, and one is constantly alert to guard one's face against the fish, which whizz past at all angles. Then remember that it is a pretty serious matter to capsize in this torch-lit water, swarming100 with sharks, where it is imprudent even to trail one's hand overboard.
"In the bend of a bow-shaped islet at the north end of the lagoon, under the palms behind a shore of blue water and dazzling sand, lived an old chap named Ruri, who introduced me to another kind of fishing. Ruri was close to seventy, but a strong man still; his only complaint was lack of teeth, which compelled him to live on varuvaru—the grated-up meat of the young coconut, mixed with its own milk. The ambition of his life was a trip to Tahiti to get a set of false teeth. He was not a native of Mataora—his mother was a Gilbert-Islander and his father a Samoan. For many years Ruri had followed the sea—cabin boy under Bully101 Hayes; deserter (to keep a whole skin) from the famous Leonora; blackbirder in the New Hebrides and Solomon Islands; pearl fisher in Penrhyn and the lagoons of the Paumotu. At last, on a black night of storm, his vessel102 struck and went to pieces on the coral of Mataora, and Ruri's days of wandering were over. He married a woman of the island, but now she was dead and the old man lived alone, a mile from the settlement, occupied with his simple wants and immersed in dreams of the past. Close beside his house was the grave of his wife—a tomb of cement inclosed in a neat building of octagonal shape, with a door and a small curtained window. A fine lamp, carefully 59 tended and lit every evening at sunset, hung above the grave, and a few stunted103 gardenias104 and frangipanis, brought from enormous distances, were planted about the door. Ruri's little plantation105 of coconuts and coarse taro106 was free from weeds, and the neatness of his house, shipshape and scrupulously107 clean, betrayed the old sailor.
"After a spell of calm weather, when the breaching108 surf had ceased to cloud the waters of the lagoon, and the suspended particles of coral sand had settled to the bottom, Ruri offered to show me how to catch tenu—a fine fish, inhabiting the lagoon in ten to twenty fathoms of water—speckled like a trout109 on a ground of brown and gold, and reaching a weight of twenty pounds.
"In the absurdly complicated process of obtaining bait, tenu-fishing is typical of the South Pacific. The night before, Ruri had spent two hours with a torch, catching110 hermit111 crabs112; now, using these crabs for bait, we had to catch some ku ta—a small, prickly fish which alone has power to interest the tenu. We set out in Ruri's leaky canoe and paddled to a big, coral mushroom, which rose to within a yard of the surface. Here the old man smashed the shells of his hermit crabs with a stone, broke off the claws, set the soft bodies to one side, and mashed114 the claws to a paste, which he dropped overboard and allowed to drift into a dark hole in the coral. Then he produced a short line, baited the hook with a body of a crab113, and let it sink out of sight into the darkness of the hole. In ten minutes a dozen ku ta were gasping115 in the bottom of the canoe—fantastic little fish, colored scarlet116 and vermilion, with enormous black eyes and 60 a dorsal117 fin19 which seemed to be carved out of red sealing wax. We put them in a basket, trailed overboard to keep them alive, and began the real fishing of the day. I paddled slowly, while Ruri—who did not believe in fishing till the fish was in sight—leaned over the side, scrutinizing118 the bottom through his water glass. Finally he signaled me to stop—his eye had caught the movement of a tenu among the masses of live coral, forty feet below us. The rest was simple: one hooked a ku ta under the dorsal fin, tossed him overboard, and allowed the weight of the hook and line to carry him to the bottom. By means of the water glass, one could watch the approach of the tenu, see him seize the bait, and judge the proper moment to strike.
"The bonito, which they call atu, is the most important of all fish to the people of Mataora. Almost any fine day one could see a fleet of canoes working offshore, busy at bonito catching, surrounded by a cloud of the sea birds which guide one to the schools. They use a pretty lure119 for this fishing—a sort of jig120 cut out of mother-of-pearl, equipped with a tuft of red-dyed coconut husk and a barbless hook of shell. Each fisherman carries a stiff bamboo rod and half a dozen of these lures—ranging in color from pale green to black—attached to ten-foot lengths of line. The islanders have discovered that the condition of the water and the variations of light make certain colors more attractive than others at a given time; and when a school is found they try one shade after another till they discover which the bonito prefer. Then the jigs121 not in use are hooked to a ring at the base of the pole, and the fisherman begins to pull bonito from 61 the water, heaving them out by main strength, without a moment's play. The barbless hook releases itself the moment the fish is in the canoe, and the lure goes overboard without the loss of an instant.
"One day, after a period of low tides, I saw another method of fishing—rarely practised nowadays—an ora, or fish-poisoning picnic. You know the barringtonia, probably—the big tree from which they make their drums; it grows on all the high islands, and sometimes one finds it on the richer atolls. There were a few on Mataora. Ever notice the flower? It is a lovely thing—a tassel122 of silky cream-colored stamens, shading to old rose at the ends, and tipped with golden beads123. The fruit is odd-looking, like a squarish pomegranate, and it has odd properties, for when pounded up and put into shallow water it seems to stupefy the fish.
"I was sitting in the shade beside Tari's house when a boy came through the settlement, blowing melancholy124 blasts on a conch shell and announcing that the chief wanted everyone to be on hand that afternoon at a certain part of the lagoon, where an ora was to be held. We set out at noon, the women carrying the crushed seeds of the barringtonia in hastily woven baskets of green coconut frond125. A crowd from the other settlements was awaiting our arrival; and when the babies had been put to sleep in the shade, with small children stationed beside them to fan away the flies, the fun began. A shallow stretch of lagoon lay before us, half a mile long by a quarter wide, and into this plunged the women and girls, wading126 and swimming in all directions, trailing behind them their baskets of poison. As time went on, a faint and 62 curious odor began to rise from the water—a smell which reminded me vaguely127 of potassium cyanide. Soon the spearmen were busy—wild brown figures, naked except for scarlet loin cloths—pursuing the half-stupefied fish among the crevices of the coral. Before the effect of the poison wore off and the reviving fish began to make their escape to deeper water the men were returning to the beach, the strings128 of hibiscus bark at their belts loaded and dragging.
"On another day I joined a party of young people for a picnic across the lagoon. It was glassy calm; the water was like a mirror in which the palms of the wooded islets were reflected with motionless perfection. The beaches on the far side, invisible on an ordinary day, seemed to rise far out of water in the mirage129. We landed on an uninhabited island, hauled up our canoes, and set out on a hunt for coconut crabs.
"They are extraordinary creatures, these crabs, enormous, and delicious to eat. You will not find many on the high islands; but in a place like Mataora there are hundreds of them, and they do a lot of damage to the coconuts. During the day they hide in their holes, deep among the roots of some big trees; at night they come out, climb the palms, nip off the nuts with their powerful claws, descend130 to the ground, tear off the husks, break open the shells, and devour131 the meat. To catch them, one can either dig them out or build a fire at the mouth of the hole, which never fails to draw them. Fire simply fascinates the brutes132. They must be handled warily133, for their claws can grip like a pair of pipe tongs134 and shear135 off a man's finger without an effort.
"We lit a fire under the shade of a puka tree and 63 liberated136 the crabs we had captured. It sounds incredible, but they walked into the fire, and sat down quietly on the embers to roast! One of the boys climbed a palm and brought us some coconuts of a variety called nu mangaro, with an edible137 husk, sweet and fibrous, like sugar cane6. After lunch we had a swim in the deep water close inshore and lay about smoking while the girls wove us wreaths of sweet fern. It was an idyllic138 sort of a day.
"I spent five months on Mataora. At first, when the schooner did not appear, I was worried and used to fret139 a little; but as time went on I grew to like the easy-going, dreamy life, and when at last a schooner came to take me off I didn't know whether to be glad or sorry—there were moments when I almost decided to send for a few things and follow the example of old Ruri.
"During those five months I knew more disinterested140 kindliness141 than I had supposed existed in the world; my heart warmed to the people of Mataora.
"Finally the day came when the schooner dropped anchor in the lee of the village—Whitmore's Tureia. Canoe after canoe shot out through the surf; the women gathered in the shade of the canoe houses on the beach, awaiting the landing of the boatmen, who would bring news of husbands diving for shell in distant lagoons, or relatives scattered142 among far-off groups of islands. As I shook hands with Whitmore I heard a prolonged wailing143 from the village—the tangi of a new widow.
"When I went to the house to get my things together Tari informed me that, as the schooner would not leave till next day, the people were preparing a farewell 64 feast in my honor. It was held in the assembly house of the village, decorated with arches of palm frond, garlands of scented144 fern, and the scarlet flowers of the hibiscus. Everyone brought a gift for the departing stranger—a fan, a hat, a pearl fishhook, a drinking cup of ornamented145 coconut shell, a carved paddle of porcupine146 wood inlaid with mother-of-pearl. I distributed what little I had to offer, wishing it were a dozen times as much.
"On the beach next morning the people of Mataora gathered for a last handclasp; smile cynically147 if you will—there were tears shed; I wasn't too happy myself when I heard their plaintive148 song of farewell floating out across the water."
Worthington ceased speaking and leaned forward to scratch a match. The squall had passed long since; the immense arch of the Milky149 Way stretched overhead, and low in the south—beyond Hull150 Island and Rimatara, over the loneliest ocean in the world—the Southern Cross was rising. Lying on mats behind us, a party of Cook-Islanders spoke151 in soft tones, their faces illuminated fitfully by the glow of their cigarettes. My companion was lighting his pipe, and in the flare152 of the match I could see that he was smiling to himself.
"Some day," he said, "you will hear that I have closed up my affairs and disappeared. Don't worry when that happens; you'll know I have gone to Mataora—this time to stop for good."
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illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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bleached
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| 漂白的，晒白的，颜色变浅的 | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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inhaled
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| v.吸入( inhale的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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cane
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| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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broiling
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| adj.酷热的，炽热的，似烧的v.（用火）烤（焙、炙等）( broil的现在分词 )；使卷入争吵；使混乱；被烤（或炙） | |
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schooner
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| n.纵帆船 | |
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bouquet
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| n.花束，酒香 | |
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distilled
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| adj.由蒸馏得来的v.蒸馏( distil的过去式和过去分词 )；从…提取精华 | |
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cockroaches
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| n.蟑螂( cockroach的名词复数 ) | |
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mildewed
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| adj.发了霉的，陈腐的，长了霉花的v.（使）发霉，（使）长霉( mildew的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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isolated
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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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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funnel
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| n.漏斗；烟囱；v.汇集 | |
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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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19
fin
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| n.鳍；(飞机的)安定翼 | |
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20
swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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21
swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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22
cone
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| n.圆锥体，圆锥形东西，球果 | |
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23
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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24
perpendicular
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| adj.垂直的，直立的；n.垂直线，垂直的位置 | |
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25
sagging
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| 下垂[沉，陷]，松垂，垂度 | |
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26
swirling
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| v.旋转，打旋( swirl的现在分词 ) | |
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27
revolving
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| adj.旋转的，轮转式的；循环的v.（使）旋转( revolve的现在分词 )；细想 | |
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28
misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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29
dwindle
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| v.逐渐变小（或减少） | |
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30
eddy
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| n.漩涡，涡流 | |
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31
dispersed
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| adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
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32
ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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33
leeward
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| adj.背风的；下风的 | |
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34
brawny
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| adj.强壮的 | |
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35
lagoon
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| n.泻湖，咸水湖 | |
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36
deceptive
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| adj.骗人的，造成假象的，靠不住的 | |
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37
fissure
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| n.裂缝；裂伤 | |
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38
crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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39
exultantly
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| adv.狂欢地，欢欣鼓舞地 | |
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40
dart
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| v.猛冲，投掷；n.飞镖，猛冲 | |
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41
darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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42
thriller
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| n.惊险片，恐怖片 | |
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43
tilting
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| 倾斜，倾卸 | |
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44
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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45
densely
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| ad.密集地；浓厚地 | |
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46
coconut
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| n.椰子 | |
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47
breaches
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| 破坏( breach的名词复数 )； 破裂； 缺口； 违背 | |
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48
fowl
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| n.家禽，鸡，禽肉 | |
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49
clump
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| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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50
placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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51
missionary
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| adj.教会的，传教(士)的；n.传教士 | |
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52
minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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53
outrage
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| n.暴行，侮辱，愤怒；vt.凌辱，激怒 | |
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54
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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55
coconuts
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| n.椰子( coconut的名词复数 )；椰肉，椰果 | |
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56
groove
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| n.沟，槽；凹线，（刻出的）线条，习惯 | |
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57
grooves
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| n.沟( groove的名词复数 )；槽；老一套；（某种）音乐节奏v.沟( groove的第三人称单数 )；槽；老一套；（某种）音乐节奏 | |
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58
shutter
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| n.百叶窗；(照相机)快门；关闭装置 | |
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59
shingles
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| n.带状疱疹；（布满海边的）小圆石( shingle的名词复数 )；屋顶板；木瓦（板）；墙面板 | |
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60
overlapped
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| _adj.重叠的v.部分重叠( overlap的过去式和过去分词 )；（物体）部份重叠；交叠；（时间上）部份重叠 | |
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61
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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62
gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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63
odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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64
lagoons
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| n.污水池( lagoon的名词复数 )；潟湖；（大湖或江河附近的）小而浅的淡水湖；温泉形成的池塘 | |
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65
fathoms
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| 英寻( fathom的名词复数 ) | |
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66
divers
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| adj.不同的；种种的 | |
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67
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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68
carving
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| n.雕刻品，雕花 | |
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69
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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70
consonants
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| n.辅音，子音( consonant的名词复数 )；辅音字母 | |
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71
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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72
eel
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| n.鳗鲡 | |
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73
jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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74
brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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75
cod
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| n.鳕鱼；v.愚弄；哄骗 | |
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76
eels
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| abbr. 电子发射器定位系统（=electronic emitter location system） | |
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77
crevices
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| n.（尤指岩石的）裂缝，缺口( crevice的名词复数 ) | |
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78
wrench
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| v.猛拧；挣脱；使扭伤；n.扳手；痛苦，难受 | |
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79
offshore
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| adj.海面的，吹向海面的；adv.向海面 | |
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80
stationary
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| adj.固定的，静止不动的 | |
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81
thwart
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| v.阻挠，妨碍，反对；adj.横(断的) | |
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82
noose
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| n.绳套，绞索（刑）；v.用套索捉；使落入圈套；处以绞刑 | |
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83
gouged
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| v.凿( gouge的过去式和过去分词 )；乱要价；（在…中）抠出…；挖出… | |
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84
pulp
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| n.果肉，纸浆；v.化成纸浆，除去...果肉，制成纸浆 | |
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85
eddied
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| 起漩涡，旋转( eddy的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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86
enticed
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| 诱惑，怂恿( entice的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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87
morsels
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| n.一口( morsel的名词复数 )；（尤指食物）小块，碎屑 | |
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88
twig
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| n.小树枝，嫩枝；v.理解 | |
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89
barbless
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| 无倒刺 | |
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90
dangled
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| 悬吊着( dangle的过去式和过去分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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91
lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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92
legendary
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| adj.传奇（中）的，闻名遐迩的；n.传奇（文学） | |
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93
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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94
slumberous
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| a.昏昏欲睡的 | |
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95
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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96
receding
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| v.逐渐远离( recede的现在分词 )；向后倾斜；自原处后退或避开别人的注视；尤指问题 | |
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97
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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98
dexterity
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| n.(手的)灵巧，灵活 | |
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99
flipped
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| 轻弹( flip的过去式和过去分词 )； 按（开关）； 快速翻转； 急挥 | |
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100
swarming
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| 密集( swarm的现在分词 )； 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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101
bully
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| n.恃强欺弱者，小流氓；vt.威胁，欺侮 | |
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102
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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103
stunted
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| adj.矮小的；发育迟缓的 | |
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104
gardenias
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| n.栀子属植物，栀子花( gardenia的名词复数 ) | |
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105
plantation
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| n.种植园，大农场 | |
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106
taro
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| n.芋，芋头 | |
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107
scrupulously
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| adv.一丝不苟地；小心翼翼地，多顾虑地 | |
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108
breaching
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| 攻破( breach的过去式 )； 破坏，违反 | |
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109
trout
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| n.鳟鱼；鲑鱼(属) | |
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110
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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111
hermit
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| n.隐士，修道者；隐居 | |
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112
crabs
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| n.蟹( crab的名词复数 )；阴虱寄生病；蟹肉v.捕蟹( crab的第三人称单数 ) | |
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113
crab
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| n.螃蟹，偏航，脾气乖戾的人，酸苹果；vi.捕蟹，偏航，发牢骚；vt.使偏航，发脾气 | |
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114
mashed
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| a.捣烂的 | |
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115
gasping
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| adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
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116
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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117
dorsal
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| adj.背部的，背脊的 | |
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118
scrutinizing
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| v.仔细检查，详审( scrutinize的现在分词 ) | |
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119
lure
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| n.吸引人的东西，诱惑物；vt.引诱，吸引 | |
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120
jig
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| n.快步舞（曲）；v.上下晃动；用夹具辅助加工；蹦蹦跳跳 | |
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121
jigs
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| n.快步舞（曲）极快地( jig的名词复数 )；夹具v.（使）上下急动( jig的第三人称单数 ) | |
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122
tassel
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| n.流苏，穗；v.抽穗， （玉米）长穗须 | |
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123
beads
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| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
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124
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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125
frond
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| n.棕榈类植物的叶子 | |
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126
wading
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| （从水、泥等）蹚，走过，跋( wade的现在分词 ) | |
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127
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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128
strings
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| n.弦 | |
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129
mirage
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| n.海市蜃楼，幻景 | |
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130
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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131
devour
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| v.吞没；贪婪地注视或谛听，贪读；使着迷 | |
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132
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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133
warily
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| adv.留心地 | |
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134
tongs
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| n.钳；夹子 | |
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135
shear
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| n.修剪，剪下的东西，羊的一岁；vt.剪掉，割，剥夺；vi.修剪，切割，剥夺，穿越 | |
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136
liberated
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| a.无拘束的，放纵的 | |
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137
edible
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| n.食品，食物；adj.可食用的 | |
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138
idyllic
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| adj.质朴宜人的，田园风光的 | |
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139
fret
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| v.(使)烦恼；(使)焦急；(使)腐蚀，(使)磨损 | |
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140
disinterested
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| adj.不关心的，不感兴趣的 | |
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141
kindliness
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| n.厚道，亲切，友好的行为 | |
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142
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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143
wailing
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的现在分词 )；沱 | |
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144
scented
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| adj.有香味的；洒香水的；有气味的v.嗅到(scent的过去分词) | |
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145
ornamented
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| adj.花式字体的v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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146
porcupine
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| n.豪猪， 箭猪 | |
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147
cynically
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| adv.爱嘲笑地，冷笑地 | |
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148
plaintive
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| adj.可怜的，伤心的 | |
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149
milky
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| adj.牛奶的，多奶的；乳白色的 | |
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150
hull
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| n.船身；(果、实等的)外壳；vt.去(谷物等)壳 | |
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151
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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152
flare
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| v.闪耀，闪烁；n.潮红；突发 | |
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