At Akuse I changed my plans. I had intended to come here, drop down the Volta in the little river steamers that run twice a week to Addah, and then pursue my way along the coast to Keta where there was an old Danish castle, and possibly get across the German border and see Lome, their capital. But there is this charm or drawback—which ever way you like to look at it—about Africa: no one knows anything about the country beyond his immediate3 district. The Provincial4 Commissioner5 had gone to Addah, and I discussed my further progress with the D.C. and his wife as we sat on the verandah that night and looked over the country bathed in the most gorgeous moonlight. The D.C.'s wife, a pretty little woman who had only been out a couple of months, was of opinion that the vile6 country was killing7 her and her husband, that it was simply a waste of life to live here, and she could not get over her surprise that I should find anything of interest in it. The D.C. thought it wouldn't be half bad if only the Government brought you back to the same place, so that you might see some result for your labours, and he strongly advised me to go a day or two up the river in a canoe just to see the country.
“It is quite worth seeing,” said he, and his wife smiled. She had seen all she intended to see of the country at Akuse, and did not want to go farther in.
The next day I went into the town, the official quarters are some distance away, and called on a couple of the principal merchants.
The factor at Miller8 Bros, put a new idea into my head.
“Oh yes, go up the Volta,” said he; “you can get up as far as Labolabo, then cut across-country and come out at Ho in German territory. You can get to Palime from there, and that is rail-head, so you can easily make your way down to Lome.”
It sounded rather an attractive programme.
“You go and see Rowe about it,” he suggested.
So I went and called upon Swanzy's agent, a nice young fellow, who first laughed, then looked me up and down doubtfully, and finally said it could be done. Mr Grey, one of their principals, had come across that way the other day, but it was very rough going indeed. No one else that he knew of had ever ventured it.
0309
If I liked to try he would get me a canoe to go up the river in, and give me letters to their black agents, for I must not expect to meet any white men. And again he looked doubtful.
If I liked; of course I liked. I am always ready to plunge9 in and take any risks in the future, provided the initial steps are not too difficult, and once he found I wanted to go, Mr Rowe made the initial steps very easy indeed.
First he very nobly lent me twenty-five pounds in threepenny bits, for I had got beyond the region of banks before I realised it, and had only two pounds in hand; he engaged a canoe and six men for me; he gave me letters to all Swanzy's agents in the back-country; and finally, when I had said goodbye to the D.C. and his wife, he gave me luncheon11 and had me rolled down on a trolley by the little hand railway, if I may coin a word, that runs through the swamp and connects Akuse with its port Amedika on the Volta.
This was a new mode of progression rather pleasant than otherwise, for as it was down-hill to the river it couldn't have been hard on the men who were pushing. I had come from the Commissioner's to the town on a cart, proudly sitting on top of my gear, and drawn12 by half a dozen Kroo boys; now my luggage went before me on another trolley, and my way was punctuated13 by the number of parcels that fell off. My clothes were in a tin uniform case supposed, mistakenly, I afterwards found, to be air-tight and watertight, and I did not want this to fall off and break open, because in it I had stowed all my money—twenty-five pounds all in threepenny bits is somewhat of a care, I find. It escaped, but my bedding went, making a nice cushion for the typewriter which followed it.
The port Amedika, as may be seen from the picture, is very primitive14, and though twice a week the little mail steamer comes up coaly and black as her own captain, on the occasion of my departure there were only canoes in the harbour.
My canoe was one of the most ordinary structures, with a shelter in the middle under which I had my chair put up. My gear was stowed fore10 and aft, and six canoe-men took charge.
0309
Starting always seems to be a difficulty in Africa, and when I was weary of the hot sun and the glare from the water, and was wondering why we did not start, the canoe-men, true to their kind, found they had no chop, and they had to wait till one of their number went back and got it. But it was got at last and I was fairly afloat on the Volta.
To be paddled up a river is perhaps a very slow mode of progression, but in no other way could I have seen the country so well; in no other way could I have grasped its vast wealth, its wonderful resources. It is something of an adventure to go up the Volta too, for as soon as we started its smooth, wide reaches were broken by belts of rock that made it seem well-nigh impassable. Again and again from the low seat in the canoe it looked as if a rocky barrier barred all further progress, but here and there the water rushed down the narrow chasm15 as in a mill-race. Wonderful it was to find that a canoe could be poled up those rocky stairways against the rushing water. The rapids before you reach Kpong are innumerable; it seems as if the going were one long struggle. But the river is wonderfully beautiful; it twists and turns, and first on the right hand and then on the left I could see a tall peak, verdure-clad to its very summit, Yogaga, the Long Woman. First the sun shone on it brilliantly, as if it would emphasise16 its great beauty, and then a tornado17 swept down, and the mist seemed to rise up and swallow it. The Senchi Rapids raise the river thirty-four feet in a furlong or two, and the water, white and foaming18, boils over the brown rocks like the water churned up in the wake of a great ocean steamer. I could not believe we were going up there when we faced them, but the expert canoe-men, stripped to a loin cloth, with shout and song defying the river, poled and pulled and pushed the canoe up to another quiet reach, and when they had reached calm water flung themselves down and smoked and chattered19 and looked back over the way we had come. We seemed to go up in a series of spasms20; either the men were working for dear life or they were idling so as to bring down upon them the wrath21 of Grant who, after that trip along the Coast, felt himself qualified22 to speak, and again and again I had to interfere23 and explain that if anybody was going to scold the men it must be me. But indeed they worked so hard they needed a spell.
0313
Many a time when the canoe was broadside on and the white water was boiling up all round her, I thought, “Well, this really looks very dangerous,” but nobody had told me it was, so I supposed it was only my ignorance, but I heard afterwards that I was right, it is dangerous. Many a bag of cotton has gone to the bottom here, and many a barrel of oil has been dashed to pieces against the rocks, and if many a white man's gear has not gone to the bottom too, it is only because white men on this river are few and far between. I had one great advantage, I did not realise the danger till we were right in it, and then it was pressing, it absorbed every thought till we were in smooth water again, with the men lying panting at the bottom of the canoe, so that I really had not time to be afraid till it was all over. Frankly24, I don't think I could enter upon such a journey again so calmy, but I am glad I have gone once, for it was such a wonderful and enchanting25 river. Some day they dream the great waterway will be used to reach Tamale, a ten days' journey farther north, but money must be spent before that happy end is arrived at, though I fancy that if the river were in German hands something would be attempted at once, for the country is undoubtedly26 very rich.
“Scratch the earth it laughs a harvest.” Cocoa and palm oil and rubber all come to the river or grow within a short distance of its banks, and all tropical fruits and native food-stuffs flourish like weeds. Beauty is perhaps hardly an asset in West Africa, but the Volta is a most beautiful river. The Gambia is interesting, the Congo grand, but the Volta is entrancingly lovely. I have heard men rave27 of the beauty of the Thames, and it certainly is a pleasant river, with its smooth, green lawns, its shady trees, and its picturesque28 houses; but to compare it to the Volta is to compare a pretty little birch-bark canoe to a magnificent sailing ship with all her snowy canvas set, heeling over to the breeze. Sometimes its great, wide, quiet reaches are like still, deep lakes, in whose clear surface is mirrored the calm, blue sky, the fleecy clouds, the verdure-clad banks, and the hills that are clothed in the densest30 green to their very peaks. Sometimes it is a raging torrent31, fighting its way over the rocks, and beneath the vivid blue sky is the gorgeous vegetation of the Tropics, tangled32, luxuriant, feathery palms, tall and shapely silk-cotton trees bound together with twining creeper and trailing vine in one impenetrable mass. A brown patch proclaims a village, and here are broad-leaved bananas, handsome mangoes, fragrant33 orange trees, lighter-coloured cocoa patches, and cassada that from the distance might be a patch of lucerne. Always there are hills, rising high, cutting the sky sharply, ever changing, ever reflected faithfully in the river at their feet. There is traffic, of course, men fishing from canoes, and canoes laden34 with barrels of oil or kernels35, or cocoa going down the river, the boats returning with the gin and the cotton cloths for the factories run by the negro agents of the great trading-houses; and every three or four hours or so—distance is as yet counted by time in West Africa—are the stations of the preventive service.
0317
This preventive service is rather curious, because both banks of the river, in the latter part of its course, are owned by the English, and the service is between the two portions of the Colony. But east of the Volta, whither I was bound, the country is but little known, and apparently36 the powers that be do not feel themselves equal to cope with a very effective preventive service, so they have there the same duties, a 4 per cent, one that the Germans have in Togo land, while west of the Volta they have a 10 per cent. duty.
I hope there is not much smuggling37 on the Volta, for with all apologies to the white preventive officers, I doubt the likelihood of the men doing much to stop it. The stations match the river. They have been picturesquely38 planned—the plans carefully carried out; the houses are well kept up, and round them are some of the few gardens, in English hands, on the Gold Coast that really look like gardens. Though I did not in the course of three days' travel come across him, I felt they marked the presence of some careful, capable white man. The credit is certainly not due to the negro preventive men. In the presence of their white officer they are smart-looking men; seen in his absence they relax their efforts and look as untidy and dirty as a railway porter after a hard day's struggle with a Bank Holiday crowd. After all one can hardly blame the negro for not exerting himself. Nature has given him all he absolutely requires; he has but to stretch out his hand and take it, using almost as little forethought and exertion39 as the great black cormorants40 or the little blue-and-white king-fishers that get their livelihood41 from the river.
And I was afraid of those men. I may have wronged them for they were quite civil, but I was afraid. Again and again they made me remember, as the ordinary peasants never did, that I was a woman alone and very very helpless. Nothing would have induced me to stay two nights at one of those stations. These men were half-civilised. They had lost all awe42 of a white face, and, I felt, were inclined to be presuming. What could I have done if they had forgotten their thin veneer43 of civilisation44, and gone back to pure savagery45. Nothing—I know it—nothing. At Adjena I had to have my camp-bed put up on the verandah, because I found the house too stuffy46, and the moonlit river was glorious to look upon, but I was anything but happy in my own mind; I wondered if I wanted help if my canoe-men, who were very decent, respectable savages47, would come to my help. I wonder still. But the morning brought me a glorious view. The sun rose behind Chai Hill, and flung its shadow all across the river, and I attempted feebly to reproduce it in a photograph, and gladly and thankfully I went on my way up the river, and I vowed48 in my own mind that never if I could help it would I come up here again by myself. If any adventurous49 woman feels desirous of following in my footsteps, I have but one piece of advice to give her—“Don't.” I don't think I would do it again for all the money in the Bank of England. I may do him an injustice50, but I do not trust the half-civilised black man. I got through, I think, because for a moment he was astonished. Next time he will not be taken by surprise, and it will not be safe.
0321
At Labolabo I left the river. Dearly I should have loved to have gone on, to have made my way up to the Northern Territories, but for one thing, my canoe-men were only engaged as far as Labolabo; for another, I had not brought enough photographic plates. I really think it was that last consideration that stopped me. What was the good of going without taking photographs? Curiously51 enough, the fact that I was afraid did not weigh much with me. I suppose we are all built alike, and at moments our mental side weights up our emotional side. Now, my mental side very much wanted to go up past the Afram plain. I should have had to stay in the preventive service houses, which grew farther and farther apart, and I was afraid of the preventive service men, afraid of them in the sordid52 way one fears the low-class ruffian of the great cities, but there was that in me that whispered that there was a doubt, and therefore it might be exceedingly foolish to check my search after knowledge for a fear that might only be a causeless fear. But about the photographic plates there was no doubt; I had not brought nearly enough with me, and therefore I landed very meekly53 at Labolabo.
There was rather a desolate-looking factory, but it did not look inviting54 enough to induce me to go inside it, so I sat down under a tree on the high bank of the river and interviewed the black factor to whom Swanzy's agent had given me a letter. He was mightily55 surprised, but I was accustomed to being received with surprise now, and began to consider the making of a cup of tea. Then the factor brought another man along and introduced him to me as Swanzy's agent at Pekki Blengo, Mr Olympia. And once more I feel like apologising to all the African peoples for anything I may have said against them. Mr Olympia came from French Dahomey. He was extremely good-looking, and had polished, courteous56 manners such as one dreams of in the Spanish hidalgos of old. If you searched the wide world over I do not think you could wish to find a more charming man than Swanzy's black agent at Pekki Blengo. I know very little of him. I only met him casually57 as I met other black men, men outside the pale for me, a white woman, but I felt when I looked at him there might be possibilities in the African race; when I think of their enormous strength and their wonderful vigour58, immense possibilities.
I explained to Mr Olympia that I wanted to get to the rest-house at Anum, that I had arranged for my canoe-men to carry my kit59 there, and that Mr Rowe had told me that he, Mr Olympia, could get me carriers on to Ho. He said certainly, but he thought I ought at least to go up to the British Cotton-growing Experimental Farm, about ten minutes' walk away from the river. He felt that the white man in charge would be much hurt if I did not at least call and see him.
A white man at Labolabo! How surprised I was. Of course I would go, and Mr Olympia apologising for the absence of hammock or cart, we set off to walk.
Those African ten minutes! It took me a good forty minutes through the blazing heat of an African afternoon, and then I was met upon the steps of the bungalow60 by a perfectly61 amazed white man in his shirt sleeves, who hurriedly explained that when he had seen the luggage coming along in charge of the faithful Grant, who made the nearest approach to a slave-driver I have ever seen, he had asked him, “Who be your master?”
“It be no massa,” said Grant, “it be missus.”
“And then,” said my new friend, “I set him at the end of the avenue and told him he was to keep you off till I found a coat. But I couldn't find it. I don't know where the blamed thing's got to.”
He went on to inquire where I had come from and how I had come. I told him, “Up the river.”
“But,” he protested, “it requires a picked crew of ten preventive service men to come up the Volta.”
I assured him, I was ready to take my oath about it, you could do it fairly easily with six ordinary, hired men, but he went on shaking his head and declared he couldn't imagine what Rowe was thinking of. He thought I had really embarked62 on the maddest journey ever woman dreamt of, and while getting me a cool drink, for which I blessed him, went on murmuring, “Rowe must have been mad.” I think his surprise brought home to me for the first time the fact that I was doing anything unusual. Before that it had seemed very natural to be going up the river, to be simply wanting to get on and see the great waterway and the country behind.
I did not go on to Anum as I had intended. It was Easter Saturday, and my new friend suggested I should spend Easter with him. I demurred63, and he said it would be a charity. He had no words to express his loneliness, and as for the canoe-men, who could not stay to carry my things to Anum, let them go. He would see about my gear being taken up there. And so I stayed, glad to see how a man managed by himself in the wilderness64.
The British Cotton-growing Experimental Farm at Labolabo is to all intents and purposes a failure. It was set there in the midst of gorgeously rich country to teach the native to grow cotton, and the native seeing that cocoa, with infinitively less exertion, pays him very much better, naturally firmly declines to do anything of the sort. So here in this beautiful spot lives utterly65 alone a solitary66 white man who, with four inefficient67 labourers, tries desperately68 to keep the primeval bush from swallowing up the farm and entirely69 effacing70 all the hard work that has been done there. This farm should be a valuable possession besides being a very beautiful one. The red-roofed bungalow is set in a bay of the high, green hills, which stretch out verdure-clad arms, threatening every moment to envelop71 it. The land slopes gently, and as I sat on the broad verandah, through the dense29 foliage72 of the trees I could catch glimpses of the silver Volta a mile and a half away, while beyond again the blue hills rose range after range till they were lost in the bluer distance. Four years ago this man who was entertaining me so hospitably73 had planted a mile-long avenue to lead up to his bungalow, and now the tall grape-fruit and shaddock in front of his verandah meet and have regularly to be cut away to keep the path clear. I am too ignorant to know what could be grown with profit, only I can see that the land is rich and fruitful, and should be, with the river so close, a most valuable possession. As it is, it is one of the most lonely places in the world. I sympathised deeply with the man living there alone. The loneliness grips. If I went to my room I could hear him tramping monotonously74 up and down the verandah. “Tramp, tramp, tramp,” and when I went out he smiled queerly.
0327
“I can't help doing it,” said he; “it's the lonely man's walk. And when I can't see those two lines,” he pointed75 to two boards in the verandah, “I know I'm drunk and I go to bed.”
It was like the story of the man who kept a frog in his pocket and every time he had a drink he took it out and looked at it.
“What the dickens do you do that for?” asked a companion.
“Well, when I see two frogs,” said he, “I know I've had enough.”
Now I don't believe my friend at Labolabo did exceed, judging by his looks, but if ever man might be excused it was he. He had for servants a very old cook and a slave-boy with a much-scarred face; the marks upon his face proclaimed his former status, but no man could understand the unintelligible76 jargon77 he spoke78, so no man knew where he came from. It was probably north of German territory. At any rate, he flitted about the bungalow a most inadequate79 steward80.
And he laid the table in the stone house—or rather the shelter with two stone walls, a stone floor, and a broken-down thatch81 roof, where we had our meals. It was perhaps twenty yards from the bungalow, and on the garden side grew like a wall great bushes of light-green feathery justitia with its yellow, bell-like flowers, while on the other side a little grass-grown plain stretched away to the forest-clad hills behind.
Oh, but it was lonely! and fear is a very catching thing.
“There is nothing to be afraid of in Africa,” said my host, “till the moment there is something, and then you're done.”
Whether he was right or not I do not know, but I realised as I had never done before why men get sick in the bush, worse, why they take to drink and why they go mad. I looked out from the verandah, and when I saw a black figure slip silently in among the trees I wondered what it portended82. I looked behind me to see if one might not be coming from behind the kitchen. The fool-bird in the bush crying, “Hoo! hoo! hoo!” all on one note seemed but crying a suitable dirge83. Fear hid on the verandah; I could hear him in the creak of a door, in the “pad, pad” of the slave-boy's feet; I could almost have sworn I saw him skulking84 under the mango tree where were kept the thermometers; and when on Easter Sunday a tornado swept down from the hills, blotting85 out the vivid green in one pall86 of grey mist, he was in the shrieking87 wind and in the shuddering88 rain.
Never was I more impersonally89 sorry to leave a man alone, for if I saw my host again I doubt if he would recognise me, but it seemed wicked to leave a fellow white man alone in such a place. If there had been any real danger, of course I should only have been an embarrassment90, but at least I was company of his own kind and I kept that haunting fear at bay.
I stayed two days and then I felt go I must. I was also faced with my own carelessness and the casual manner in which I had dropped into the wilderness. Anum mountain was a steep climb of five miles, and beyond that again I had, as far as I could gather, several days' journey in the wilds before I could hope to reach rail-head in German Togo, and I had actually never remembered that I should want a hammock. The Cotton-growing Association didn't possess one, and, like Christian91 in the “Pilgrim's Progress,” I “cast about me” what I should do. I could not fancy myself walking in the blazing noonday sun. My host smiled. He did not think it was a matter of any great consequence because he felt sure I could not get through, but he came to my rescue all the same and sent up a couple of labourers to the Basel Mission at Anum to see what they could suggest. The labourers came back with a hammock—rather a dilapidated one—on their heads, and an invitation to luncheon next day.
“It's as far as you'll go,” said my friend, “if nothing else stops you; you can't possibly get carriers. Remember, I'll put you up with pleasure on your way back.”
But I was not going to face the Volta again by myself, though I did not tell him that. Those black men insulted me by making me fear them.
It was a very hot morning when we started to climb up Anum mountain. The bush on either side was rather thick, and the road was steep and very bad going. It was shaded, luckily, most of the way, and there arose that damp, pleasant smell that comes from moist earth, the rich, sensuous92, insidious93 scent94 of an orchid95 that I could not see, or the mouselike smell of the great fruitarian bats that in these daylight hours were hidden among the dense greenery of the roadside. It was a toilsome journey, and my new friend walked beside me, but at last we reached Anum town, a mud-built, native town, bare, hot, dirty, unkempt, and we passed beyond it to the grateful shade once more of the Basel Mission grounds.
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1
trolley
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| n.手推车，台车；无轨电车；有轨电车 | |
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catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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provincial
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| adj.省的，地方的；n．外省人，乡下人 | |
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commissioner
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| n.（政府厅、局、处等部门）专员，长官，委员 | |
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vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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miller
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| n.磨坊主 | |
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plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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fore
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| adv.在前面；adj.先前的；在前部的；n.前部 | |
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luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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punctuated
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| v.（在文字中）加标点符号，加标点( punctuate的过去式和过去分词 )；不时打断某事物 | |
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primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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chasm
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| n.深坑，断层，裂口，大分岐，利害冲突 | |
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emphasise
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| vt.加强...的语气，强调，着重 | |
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tornado
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| n.飓风，龙卷风 | |
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foaming
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| adj.布满泡沫的；发泡 | |
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chattered
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| （人）喋喋不休( chatter的过去式 )； 唠叨； （牙齿）打战； （机器）震颤 | |
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spasms
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| n.痉挛( spasm的名词复数 )；抽搐；（能量、行为等的）突发；发作 | |
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wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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qualified
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| adj.合格的，有资格的，胜任的，有限制的 | |
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interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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enchanting
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| a.讨人喜欢的 | |
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undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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rave
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| vi.胡言乱语；热衷谈论；n.热情赞扬 | |
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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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dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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densest
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| 密集的( dense的最高级 )； 密度大的； 愚笨的； （信息量大得）难理解的 | |
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torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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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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kernels
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| 谷粒( kernel的名词复数 )； 仁； 核； 要点 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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smuggling
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| n.走私 | |
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picturesquely
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exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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cormorants
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| 鸬鹚，贪婪的人( cormorant的名词复数 ) | |
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livelihood
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| n.生计，谋生之道 | |
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awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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veneer
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| n.(墙上的)饰面，虚饰 | |
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civilisation
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| n.文明，文化，开化，教化 | |
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savagery
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| n.野性 | |
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stuffy
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| adj.不透气的，闷热的 | |
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savages
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| 未开化的人，野蛮人( savage的名词复数 ) | |
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vowed
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| 起誓，发誓（vow的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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adventurous
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| adj.爱冒险的；惊心动魄的，惊险的，刺激的 | |
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injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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sordid
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| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
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meekly
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| adv.温顺地，逆来顺受地 | |
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inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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mightily
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| ad.强烈地；非常地 | |
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courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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vigour
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| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
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kit
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| n.用具包，成套工具；随身携带物 | |
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bungalow
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| n.平房，周围有阳台的木造小平房 | |
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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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embarked
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| 乘船( embark的过去式和过去分词 )； 装载； 从事 | |
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demurred
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| v.表示异议，反对( demur的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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inefficient
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| adj.效率低的，无效的 | |
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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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effacing
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| 谦逊的 | |
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envelop
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| vt.包，封，遮盖；包围 | |
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foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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hospitably
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| 亲切地，招待周到地，善于款待地 | |
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monotonously
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| adv.单调地，无变化地 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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unintelligible
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| adj.无法了解的，难解的，莫明其妙的 | |
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jargon
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| n.术语，行话 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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inadequate
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| adj.(for,to)不充足的，不适当的 | |
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steward
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| n.乘务员，服务员；看管人；膳食管理员 | |
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thatch
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| vt.用茅草覆盖…的顶部；n.茅草(屋) | |
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portended
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| v.预示( portend的过去式和过去分词 )；预兆；给…以警告；预告 | |
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dirge
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| n.哀乐，挽歌，庄重悲哀的乐曲 | |
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84
skulking
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| v.潜伏，偷偷摸摸地走动，鬼鬼祟祟地活动( skulk的现在分词 ) | |
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85
blotting
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| 吸墨水纸 | |
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86
pall
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| v.覆盖，使平淡无味；n.柩衣，棺罩；棺材；帷幕 | |
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shrieking
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| v.尖叫( shriek的现在分词 ) | |
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shuddering
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| v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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impersonally
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| ad.非人称地 | |
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90
embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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sensuous
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| adj.激发美感的；感官的，感觉上的 | |
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insidious
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| adj.阴险的，隐匿的，暗中为害的，（疾病）不知不觉之间加剧 | |
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scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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orchid
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| n.兰花，淡紫色 | |
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