About nine o'clock the next morning, Gentleman Jan strolled into Dr. Heale's surgery, pipe in mouth, with an attendant satellite; for every lion, poor as well as rich,—in country as in town, must needs have his jackal.
Heale's surgery—or, in plain English, shop—was a doleful hole enough; in such dirt and confusion as might be expected from a drunken occupant, with a practice which was only not decaying because there was no rival in the field. But monopoly made the old man, as it makes most men, all the more lazy and careless; and there was not a drug on his shelves which could be warranted to work the effect set forth1 in that sanguine2 and too trustful book, the Pharmacopoeia, which, like Mr. Pecksniff's England, expects every man to do his duty, and is, accordingly (as the Lancet and Dr. Letheby know too well), grievously disappointed.
In this kennel4 of evil savours, Heale was slowly trying to poke5 things into something like order; and dragging out a few old drugs with a shaky hand, to see if any one would buy them, in a vague expectation that something must needs have happened to somebody the night before, which would require somewhat of his art.
And he was not disappointed. Gentleman Jan, without taking his pipe out of his mouth, dropped his huge elbows on the counter, and his black-fringed chin on his fists; took a look round the shop, as if to find something which would suit him; and then—
"I say, Doctor, gi's some tackleum."
"Some diachylum plaster, Mr. Beer?" says Heale, meekly6. "What for, then?"
"To tackle my shins. I barked 'em cruel against King Arthur's nose last night. Hard in the bone he is;—wish I was as hard."
"How much diachylum will you want, then, Mr. Beer?"
"Well, I don't know. Let's see!" and Jan pulls up his blue trousers, and pulls down his grey rig and furrows7, and considers his broad and shaggy shins.
"Matter of four pennies broad: two to each leg;" and then replaces his elbows, and smokes on.
"I say, Doctor, that 'ere curate come out well last night. I shall go to church next Sunday."
"What," asks the satellite, "after you upset he that fashion yesterday?"
"I don't care what you thinks;" says Jan, who, of course, bullies8 his jackal, like most lions: "but I goes to church. He's a good 'un, say I,—little and good, like a Welshman's cow; and clapped me on the back when we'd got the man and the maid safe, and says,—'Well done our side, old fellow!' and stands something hot all round, what's more, in at the Mariner9's Rest.—I say, Doctor, where's he as we hauled ashore10? I'll go up and see 'un."
"Not now, then, Mr. Beer; not now, then. He's sleeping, indeed he is, like any child."
"So much the better. We wain't be bothered with his hollering. But go up I will. Do ye let me now; I'll be as still as a maid."
And Jan kicked off his shoes, and marched on tip-toe through the shop, while Dr. Heale, moaning professional ejaculations, showed him the way.
The shipwrecked man was sleeping sweetly; and little was to be seen of his face, so covered was it with dark tangled14 curls and thick beard.
"Ah! a 'Stralian digger, by the beard of him, and his red jersey15," whispered Jan, as he bent16 tenderly over the poor fellow, and put his head on one side to listen to his breathing. "Beautiful he sleeps, to be sure!" said Jan: "and a tidy-looking chap, too. 'Tis a pity to wake 'un, poor wratch; and he, perhaps, with a sweetheart aboard, and drownded; or else all his kit17 lost.—Let 'un sleep so long as he can: he'll find all out soon enough, God help him!"
And big Jan stole down the stairs gently and reverently18, like a true sailor; and took his diachylum, and went off to plaster his shins.
About ten minutes afterwards, Heale was made aware that his guest was awake, "by sundry19 grunts21 and ejaculations, which ended in a series of long and doleful whistles, and then broke out into a song. So he went up, and found the stranger sitting upright in bed, combing his curls with his fingers, and chaunting unto himself a cheerful ditty.
"Good morning, Doctor," quoth he, as his host entered. "Very kind of you, this. Hope I haven't turned a better man than myself out of his bed."
"Delighted to see you so well. Very near drowned, though. We were pumping at your lungs for a full half hour."
"Ah? nothing, though, for an experienced professional man like you!"
"Hum! speaks well for your discrimination," says Heale, flattered. "Very well-spoken young person, though his beard is a bit wild.—How did you know, then, that I was a doctor?"
"By the reverend looks of you, sir. Besides, I smelt23 the rhubarb and senna all the way up-stairs, and knew that I'd fallen among professional brethren;—
"'Oh, then this valiant24 mariner,
Which sailed across the sea,
He came home to his own sweetheart,
With his heart so full of glee;
With his heart so full of glee, sir,
And his pockets full of gold,
And his bag of drugget, with many a nugget,
As heavy as he could hold.'
"Don't you wish yours was, Doctor?"
"Eh, eh, eh," sniggered Heale.
"Mine was last night. Now, Doctor, let's have a glass of brandy-and-water, hot with, and an hour's more sleep; and then kick me out, and into the workhouse. Was anybody else saved from the wreck11 last night?"
"Nobody, sir," said Heale; and said "sir," because, in spite of the stranger's rough looks, his accent,—or rather, his no-accent,—showed him that he had fallen in with a very different, and probably a very superior stamp of man to himself; in the light of which conviction (and being withal a good-natured old soul), he went down and mixed him a stiff glass of brandy-and water, answering his wife's remonstrances25 by—
"The party up-stairs is a bit of a frantic26 party, certainly; but he is certainly a very superior party, and has the true gentleman about him, any one can see. Besides, he's shipwrecked, as you and I may be any day; and what's like brandy-and-water?"
"I should like to know when I'm like to be shipwrecked, or you either;" says Mrs. Heale, in a tone slightly savouring of indignation and contempt. "You think of nothing but brandy-and-water." But she let the doctor take the glass upstairs, nevertheless.
A few minutes afterwards, Frank came in, and inquired for the shipwrecked man.
"Well enough in body, sir; and rather requires your skill than mine," said the old time-server. "Won't you walk up?"
So up Frank was shown.
The stranger was sitting up in bed. "Capital, your brandy is, Doctor,—Ah, sir," seeing Frank, "it is very kind of you, I am sure, to call on me! I presume you are the clergyman?"
But before Frank could answer, Heale had broken forth into loud praises of him, setting forth how the stranger owed his life entirely27 to his superhuman strength and courage.
"'Pon my word, sir," said the stranger,—looking them both over and over, through and through, as if to settle how much of all this he was to believe,—"I am deeply indebted to you for your gallantry. I only wish it had been employed on a better subject."
"My good sir," said Frank, blushing, "you owe your life not to me. I would have helped if I could; but was not thought worthy29 by our sons of Anak here. Your actual preserver was a young girl."
And Frank told him the story.
"Whew! I hope she won't expect me to marry her as payment.—Handsome?"
"Beautiful," said Frank.
"Money?"
"The village schoolmistress."
"Clever?"
"A sort of half-baked body," said Heale.
"A very puzzling intellect," said Frank
"Ah—well—that's a fair excuse for declining the honour. I can't be expected to marry a frantic party, as you called me down stairs just now, Doctor."
"I, sir?"
"Yes, I heard; no offence, though, my good sir,—but I've the ears of a fox. I hope really, though, that she is none the worse for her heroic flights."
"How is she this morning, Mr. Heale?"
"Well—poor thing, a little light-headed last night: but kindly30 when I went in last."
"Whew! I hope she has not fallen in love with me. She may fancy me her property—a private waif and stray. Better send for the Coast-guard officer, and let him claim me as belonging to the Admiralty, as flotsom, jetsom, and lagend; for I was all three last night."
"You were, indeed, sir," said Frank, who began to be a little tired of this levity31; "and very thankful to Heaven you ought to be."
Frank spake this in a somewhat professional tone of voice; at which the stranger arched his eyebrows32, screwed his lips up, and laid his ears back, like a horse when he meditates33 a kick,
"You must be better acquainted with my affairs than I am, my dear sir, if you are able to state that fact.—Doctor! I hear a patient coming into the surgery."
"Extraordinary power of hearing, to be sure," said Heale, toddling35 down stairs, while the stranger went on, looking Frank full in the face.
"Now that old fogy's gone down stairs, my dear sir, let us come to an understanding at the beginning of our acquaintance. Of course, you're bound by your cloth to say that sort of thing to me, just as I am bound by it not to swear in your company: but you'll allow me to remark, that it would be rather trying even to your faith, if you were to be thrown ashore with nothing in the world but an old jersey and a bag of tobacco, two hundred miles short of the port where you hoped to land with fifteen hundred well-earned pounds in your pocket."
"My dear sir," said Frank, after a pause, "whatsoever37 comes from our Father's hand must be meant in love. 'The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away.'"
A quaint34 wince38 passed over the stranger's face.
"Father, sir? That fifteen hundred pounds was going to my father's hand, from whosesoever hand it came, or the loss of it. And now what is to become of the poor old man, that hussy Dame39 Fortune only knows—if she knows her own mind an hour together, which I very much doubt. I worked early and late for that money, sir; up to my knees in mud and water. Let it be enough for your lofty demands on poor humanity, that I take my loss like a man, with a whistle and a laugh, instead of howling and cursing over it like a baboon40. Let's talk of something else; and lend me five pounds, and a suit of clothes. I shan't run away with them, for as I've been thrown ashore here, here I shall stay."
Frank almost laughed at the free and easy request, though he felt at once pained by the man's irreligion, and abashed41 by his Stoicism;—would he have behaved even as well in such a case?
"I have not five pounds in the world."
"Good! we shall understand each other better."
"But the suit of clothes you shall have at once."
"Good again! Let it be your oldest; for I must do a little rock-scrambling here, for purposes of my own."
So off went Frank to fetch the clothes, puzzling over his new parishioner. The man was not altogether well bred, either in voice or manner; but there was an ease, a confidence, a sense of power, which made Frank feel that he had fallen in with a very strong nature; and one which had seen many men, and many lands, and profited by what it had seen.
When he returned, he found the stranger busy at his ablutions, and gradually appearing as a somewhat dapper, handsome fellow, with a bright grey eye, a short nose, a firm, small mouth, a broad and upright forehead, across the left side of which ran a fearful scar.
"That's a shrewd mark," said he, as he caught Frank's eye fixed43 on it, while he sat coolly arranging himself on the bedside. "I got it in fair fight, though, by a Crow's tomahawk in the Rocky Mountains. And here's another token (lifting up his black curls), which a Greek robber gave me in the Morea. I've another under my head, for which I have to thank a Tartar, and one or two more little remembrances of flood and field up and down me. Perhaps they may explain to you why I take life and death so coolly. I've looked too often at the little razor-bridge which parts them, to care much for either. Now, don't let me trouble you any longer. You have your flock to see to, I don't doubt. You'll find me at church on Sunday. I always do at Rome as Rome does."
"Then you will stay away," said Frank, with a sad smile.
"Ah? No. Church is respectable and aristocratic; and there one don't get sent to a place unmentionable, ten times an hour, by some inspired tinker. Beside, country people like the Doctor to go to church with their betters; and the very fellows who go to the Methodist meeting themselves would think it infra dig. in me to walk in there. Now, good-bye—though I haven't introduced myself—not knowing the name of my kind preserver."
"My name is Frank Headley, Curate of the Parish," said Frank, smiling: though he saw the man was rattling45 on for the purpose of preventing his talking on serious matters.
"And mine is Tom Thurnall, F.R.C.S., Licentiate of the Universities of Paris, Glasgow, and whilome surgeon of the good clipper Hesperus, which you saw wrecked12 last night. So, farewell!"
"Come over with me, and have some breakfast."
"No, thanks; you'll be busy. I'll screw some out of old bottles here."
"And now," said Tom Thurnall to himself, as Frank left the room, "to begin life again with an old penknife and a pound of honeydew. I wonder which of them got my girdle. I'll stick here till I find out that one thing, and stop the notes by to-day's post if I can but recollect46 them all;—if I could but stop the nugget, too!"
So saying, he walked down into the surgery, and looked round. Everything was in confusion. Cobwebs were over the bottles, and armies of mites47 played at bo-peep behind them. He tried a few drawers, and found that they stuck fast; and when he at last opened one, its contents were two old dried-up horse-balls, and a dirty tobacco-pipe. He took down a jar marked Epsom salts, and found it full of Welsh snuff; the next, which was labelled cinnamon, contained blue vitriol. The spatula49 and pill-roller were crusted with deposits of every hue50. The pill-box drawer had not a dozen whole boxes in it; and the counter was a quarter of an inch deep in deposit of every vegetable and mineral matter, including ends of string, tobacco ashes, and broken glass.
Tom took up a dirty duster, and set to work coolly to clear up, whistling away so merrily that he brought in Heale.
"I'm doing a little in the way of business, you see."
"Then you really are a professional practitioner51, sir, as Mr. Headley informs me: though, of course, I don't doubt the fact?" said Heale, summoning up all the little courage he had, to ask the question with.
"F.R.C.S. London, Paris, and Glasgow. Easy enough to write and ascertain52 the fact. Have been medical officer to a poor-law union, and to a Brazilian man-of-war. Have seen three choleras, two army fevers, and yellow-jack without end. Have doctored gunshot wounds in the two Texan wars, in one Paris revolution, and in the Schleswig-Holstein row; beside accident practice in every country from California to China, and round the world and back again. There's a fine nest of Mr. Weekes's friend (if not creation), Acarus Horridus," and Tom went on dusting and arranging.
Heale had been fairly taken aback by the imposing54 list of acquirements, and looked at his guest awhile with considerable awe48: suddenly a suspicion flashed across him, which caused him (not unseen by Tom) a start and a look of self-congratulatory wisdom. He next darted55 out of the shop, and returned as rapidly, rather redder about the eyes, and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
"But, sir, though, though"—began he—"but, of course you will allow me, being a stranger—and as a man of business—all I have to say is, if—that is to say—"
"You want to know why, if I've had all these good businesses, why I haven't kept them?"
"Ex—actly," stammered56 Heale much relieved.
"A very sensible and business-like question: but you needn't have been so delicate about asking it as to want a screw before beginning."
"Ah, you're a wag, sir," keckled the old man,
"I'll tell you frankly58; I have an old father, sir,—a gentleman, and a scholar, and a man of science; once in as good a country practice as man could have, till, God help him, he went blind, sir—and I had to keep him, and have still. I went over the world to make my fortune and never made it; and sent him home what I did make, and little enough too. At last, in my despair, I went to the diggings, and had a pretty haul—I needn't say how much. That matters little now; for I suppose it's at the bottom of the sea. There's my story, sir, and a poor one enough it is,—for the dear old man, at least." And Tom's voice trembled so as he told it, that old Heale believed every word, and, what is more, being—like most hard drinkers—not "unused to the melting mood," wiped his eyes fervently59, and went off for another drop of comfort; while Tom dusted and arranged on, till the shop began to look quite smart and business-like.
"Now, sir!"—when the old man came back—"business is business, and beggars must not be choosers. I don't want to meddle60 with your practice; I know the rules of the profession: but if you'll let me sit here and mix your medicines for you, you'll have the more time to visit your patients, that's clear,"—and, perhaps (thought he), to drink your brandy-and-water,—"and when any of them are poisoned by me, it will be time to kick me out. All I ask is, bed and board. Don't be frightened for your spirit-bottle, I can drink water; I've done it many a time, for a week together, in the prairies, and been thankful for a half-pint in the day."
"But, sir, your dignity as a—"
"Fiddlesticks for dignity; I must live, sir. Only lend me a couple of sheets of paper and two queen's heads, that I may tell my friends my whereabouts,—and go and talk it over with Mrs. Heale. We must never act without consulting the ladies."
That day Tom sent off the following epistle:—
"To CHARLES SHUTER, Esq., M.D, St. Mumpsimus's Hospital, London.
"DEAR CHARLEY—
"'I do adjure61 thee, by old pleasant days,
Quartier Latin, and neatly-shod grisettes
By all our wanderings in quaint by-ways,
By ancient frolics, and by ancient debts,'
"Go to the United Bank of Australia forthwith, and stop the notes whose numbers—all, alas62! which I can recollect—are enclosed. Next, lend me five pounds. Next, send me down, as quick as possible, five pounds' worth of decent drugs, as per list; and—if you can borrow me one—a tolerable microscope, and a few natural history books, to astound63 the yokels64 here with: for I was shipwrecked here last night, after all at a dirty little west-country port, and what's worse, robbed of all I had made at the diggings, and start fair, once more, to run against cruel Dame Fortune, as Colston did against the Indians, without a shirt to my back. Don't be a hospitable65 fellow, and ask me to come up and camp with you. Mumpsimus's and all old faces would be a great temptation: but here I must stick till I hear of my money, and physic the natives for my daily bread."
To his father he wrote thus, not having the heart to tell the truth:—
"To EDWARD THURNALL, Esq., M.D., Whitbury.
"My Dearest Old Father—I hope to see you again in a few weeks, as soon as I have settled a little business here, where I have found a capital opening for a medical man. Meanwhile let Mark or Mary write and tell me how you are—and for sending you every penny I can spare, trust me. I have not had all the luck I expected; but am as hearty66 as a bull, and as merry as a cricket, and fall on my legs, as of old, like a cat. I long to come to you; but I mustn't yet. It is near three years since I had a sight of that blessed white head, which is the only thing I care for under the sun, except Mark and little Mary—big Mary I suppose she is now, and engaged to be married to some 'bloated aristocrat44.' Best remembrances to old Mark Armsworth.
"Your affectionate son,
"T.T."
"Mr. Heale," said Tom next, "are we Whigs or Tories here?"
"Why—ahem, sir, my Lord Scoutbush, who owns most hereabouts, and my Lord Minchampstead, who has bought Carcarrow moors67 above,—very old Whig connections, both of them; but Mr. Trebooze, of Trebooze, he, again, thorough-going Tory—very good patient he was once, and may be again—ha! ha! Gay young man, sir—careless of his health; so you see as a medical man, sir—"
"Which is the liberal paper? This one? Very good." And Tom wrote off to the liberal paper that evening a letter, which bore fruit ere the week's end, in the shape of five columns, headed thus:—
WRECK OF THE "HESPERUS."
"The following detailed68 account of this lamentable69 catastrophe70 has been kindly contributed by the graphic71 pen of the only survivor72, Thomas Thurnall, Esquire, F.R.C.S., &c. &c. &c., late surgeon on board the ill-fated vessel73." Which five columns not only put a couple of guineas into Tom's pocket, but, as he intended they should, brought him before the public as an interesting personage, and served as a very good advertisement to the practice which Tom had already established in fancy.
Tom had not worked long, however, before the Coast-guard Lieutenant74 bustled75 in. He had trotted76 home to shave and get his breakfast, and was trotting77 back again to the shore.
"Hillo, Heale! can I see the fellow who was saved last night?"
"I am that fellow," says Tom.
"The dickens you are! you seem to have fallen on your legs quickly enough."
"It's a trick I've had occasion to learn, sir," says Tom. "Can I prescribe for you this morning?"
"Medicine?" roars the Lieutenant, laughing. "Catch me at it! No; I want you to come down to the shore, and help to identify goods and things. The wind has chopped up north, and is blowing dead on; and, with this tide, we shall have a good deal on shore. So, if you're strong enough—"
"I'm always strong enough to do my duty," said Tom.
"Hum! Very good sentiment, young man. Always strong enough for duty.—Hum! worthy of Nelson; said pretty much the same, didn't he? something about duty I know it was, and always thought it uncommon78 fine.—Now, then, what can you tell me about this business?"
It was a sad story; but no sadder than hundreds beside. They had been struck by the gale79 to the westward80 two days before, with the wind south; had lost their foretopmast and boltsprit, and become all but unmanageable; had tried during a lull81 to rig a jury-mast, but were prevented by the gale, which burst on them with fresh fury from the south-west, with very heavy rain and fog; had passed a light in the night, which they took for Scilly, but which must have been the Longships; had still fancied that they were safe, running up Channel with a wide berth82, when, about sunset, the gale had chopped again to north-west;—and Tom knew no more. "I was standing36 on the poop with the captain about ten o'clock. The last words he said to me were,—'If this lasts, we shall see Brest harbour to-morrow,' when she struck, and stopped dead. I was chucked clean off the poop, and nearly overboard; but brought up in the mizen rigging. Where the captain went, poor fellow, Heaven alone knows; for I never saw him after. The mainmast went like a carrot. The mizen stood. I ran round to the cabin-doors. There were four men steering83; the wheel had broke out of the poor fellows' hands, and knocked them over,—broken their limbs, I believe. I was stooping to pick them up, when a sea came into the waist, and then aft, washing me in through the saloon-doors, among the poor half-dressed women and children. Queer sight, Lieutenant! I've seen a good many, but never worse than that. I bolted to my cabin, tied my notes and gold round me, and out again."
"Didn't desert the poor things?"
"Couldn't if I'd tried; they clung to me like a swarm84 of bees. 'Gad85, sir, that was hard lines! to have all the pretty women one had waltzed with every evening through the Trades, and the little children one had been making playthings for, holding round one's knees, and screaming to the doctor to save them. And how the —— was I to save them, sir?" cried Tom, with a sudden burst of feeling, which, as in so many Englishmen, exploded in anger to avoid melting in tears.
"Ought to be a law against it, sir," growled86 the Lieutenant; "against women-folk and children going to sea. It's murder and cruelty. I've been wrecked, scores of times; but it was with honest men, who could shift for themselves, and if they were drowned, drowned; but didn't screech87 and catch hold—I couldn't stand that! Well?"
"Well, there was a pretty little creature, an officer's widow, and two children. I caught her under one arm, and one of the children under the other;—said 'I can't take you all at once; I'll come back for the rest, one by one.'—Not that I believed it; but anything to stop the screaming; and I did hope to put some of them out of the reach of the sea, if I could get them forward. I knew the forecastle was dry, for the chief officer was firing there. You heard him?"
"Yes, five or six times; and then he stopped suddenly."
"He had reason.—We got out. I could see her nose up in the air forty feet above us, covered with fore-cabin passengers. I warped88 the lady and the children upward—Heaven knows how; for the sea was breaking over us very sharp—till we were at the mainmast stump89, and holding on by the wreck of it. I felt the ship stagger as if a whale had struck her, and heard a roar and a swish behind me, and looked back—just in time to see mizen, and poop, and all the poor women and children in it, go bodily, as if they had been shaved off with a knife. I suppose that altered her balance; for before I could turn again she dived forward, and then rolled over upon her beam ends to leeward90, and I saw the sea walk in over her from stem to stern like one white wall, and I was washed from my hold, and it was all over."
"What became of the lady?"
"I saw a white thing flash by to leeward,—what's the use of asking?"
"But the child you held?"
"I didn't let it go till there was good reason."
"Eh?"
Tom tapped the points of his fingers smartly against the side of his head, and then went on, in the same cynical91 drawl, which he had affected92 throughout—
"I heard that—against a piece of timber as we went overboard And, as a medical man, I considered after that, that I had done my duty. Pretty little boy it was, just six years old: and such a fancy for drawing."
The Lieutenant was quite puzzled by Tom's seeming nonchalance93.
"What do you mean, sir? Did you leave the child to perish?"
"Confound you, sir! If you will have plain English, here it is. I tell you I heard the child's skull94 crack like an egg-shell! There, let's talk no more about it, or the whole matter. It's a bad business, and I'm not answerable for it, or you either; so let's go and do what we are answerable for, and identify—"
"Sir! you will be so good as to recollect," said the Lieutenant, with ruffled95 plumes96.
"I do; I do! I beg your pardon a thousand times, I'm sure, for being so rude: but you know as well as I, sir, there are a good many things in the world which won't stand too much thinking over; and last night was one."
"Very true, very true; but how did you get ashore?"
"I get ashore? Oh, well enough! Why not?"
"'Gad, sir, you were near enough being drowned at last; only that girl's pluck saved you."
"Well; but it did save me: and here I am, as I knew I should be when I first struck out from the ship."
"Knew!—that is a bold word for mortal man at sea."
"I suppose it is: but we doctors, you see, get into the way of looking at things as men of science; and the ground of science is experience; and, to judge from experience, it takes more to kill me than I have yet met with. If I had been going to be snuffed out, it would have happened long ago."
"Hum! It's well to carry a cheerful heart; but the pitcher97 goes often to the well, and comes home broken at last."
"I must be a gutta-percha pitcher, I think, then, or else—
"'There's a sweet little cherub98 who sits up aloft,' etc.
as Dibdin has it. Now, look at the facts yourself, sir," continued the stranger, with a recklessness half true, half assumed to escape from the malady99 of thought. "I don't want to boast, sir; I only want to show you that I have some practical reason for wearing as my motto—'Never say die.' I have had the cholera53 twice, and yellow-jack beside: five several times I have had bullets through me; I have been bayoneted and left for dead; I have been shipwrecked three times—and once, as now, I was the only man who escaped; I have been fatted by savages100 for baking and eating, and got away with a couple of friends only a day or two before the feast. One really narrow chance I had, which I never expected to squeeze through: but, on the whole, I have taken full precautions to prevent its recurrence101."
"What was that, then?"
"I have been hanged, sir," said the doctor quietly.
"Hanged?" cried the Lieutenant, facing round upon his strange companion with a visage which asked plainly enough—"You hanged? I don't believe you; and if you have been hanged, what have you been doing to get hanged?"
"You need not take care of your pockets, sir,—neither robbery nor murder was it which brought me to the gallows102; but innocent bug-hunting. The fact is, I was caught by a party of Mexicans, during the last war, straggling after plants and insects, and hanged as a spy. I don't blame the fellows: I had no business where I was; and they could not conceive that a man would risk his life for a few butterflies."
"But if you were hanged, sir—"
"Why did I not die?—By my usual luck. The fellows were clumsy, and the noose103 would not work; so that the Mexican doctor, who meant to dissect104 me, brought me round again; and being a freemason, as I am, stood by me,—got me safe off, and cheated the devil."
The worthy Lieutenant walked on in silence, stealing furtive105 glances at Tom, as if he had been a guest from the other world, but not disbelieving his story in the least. He had seen, as most old navy men, so many strange things happen, that he was prepared to give credit to any tale when told, as Tom's was, with a straightforward106 and unboastful simplicity107.
"There lives the girl who saved you," said he, as they passed Grace
Harvey's door.
"Ah? I ought to call and pay my respects."
But Grace was not at home. The wreck had emptied the school; and Grace had gone after her scholars to the beach.
"We couldn't keep her away, weak as she was," said a neighbour, "as soon as she heard the poor corpses108 were coming ashore."
"Hum?" said Tom. "True woman. Quaint,—that appetite for horrors the sweet creatures have. Did you ever see a man hanged, Lieutenant?—No? If you had, you would have seen two women in the crowd to one man. Can you make out the philosophy of that?"
"I suppose they like it, as some people do hot peppers."
"Or donkeys thistles;—find a little pain pleasant! I had a patient once in France, who read Dumas' 'Crimes Célèbres' all the week, and the 'Vies des Saints' on Sundays, and both, as far as I could see, for just the same purpose,—to see how miserable110 people could be, and how much pinching and pulling they could bear."
So they walked on, along a sheep-path, and over the Spur, and down to the Cove13.
It was such a morning as often follows a gale, when the great firmament111 stares down upon the ruin which it has made, bright and clear, and bold; and seems to say, with shameless smile,—"There, I have done it; and am as merry as ever after it all!" Beneath a cloudless sky, the breakers, still grey and foul112 from the tempest, were tumbling in before a cold northern breeze. Half a mile out at sea, the rough backs of the Chough and Crow loomed113 black and sulky in the foam114. At their feet, the rocks and shingle115 of the Cove were alive with human beings—groups of women and children clustering round a corpse109 or a chest; sailors, knee-deep in the surf hauling at floating spars and ropes; oil-skinned coast-guardsmen pacing up and down in charge of goods, while groups of farmers' men, who had hurried down from the villages inland, lounged about on the top of the cliff, looking sulkily on, hoping for plunder116: and yet half afraid to mingle117 with the sailors below, who looked on them as an inferior race, and refused, in general, to intermarry with them.
The Lieutenant plainly held much the same opinion; for as a party of them tried to descend118 the narrow path to the beach, he shouted after them to come back.
"Eh! you won't?" and out rattled119 from its scabbard the old worthy's sword. "Come back, I say, you loafing, miching, wrecking120 crow-keepers; there are no pickings for you here. Brown, send those fellows back with the bayonet. None but blue-jackets allowed on the beach!" And the labourers go up again, grumbling121.
"Can't trust those landsharks. They'll plunder even the rings off a corpse's fingers. They think every wreck a godsend. I've known them, after they've been driven off, roll great stones over the cliff at night on the coast-guard, just out of spite; while these blue-jackets here—I can depend on them. Can you tell me the reason of that, as you seem a bit of a philosopher?"
"It is easy enough; the sailors have a fellow-feeling with sailors, and the landsmen have none. Besides, the sailors are finer fellows, body and soul; and the reason is that they have been brought up to face danger, and the landsmen haven't."
"Well," said the Lieutenant, "unless a man has been taught to look death in the face, he never will grow up, I believe, to be much of a man at all."
"Danger, my good sir, is a better schoolmaster than all your new model schools, diagrams, and scientific apparatus122. It made our forefathers123 the masters of the sea, though they never heard of popular science; and I dare say couldn't, one out of ten of them, spell their own names."
This sentiment elicited124 from the Lieutenant a grunt20 of approbation125, as Tom intended that it should do; shrewdly arguing that the old martinet126 was no friend to the modern superstition127, that all which is required to cast out the devil is a smattering of the 'ologies.
"Will the gentleman see the corpses?" asked Brown; "we have fourteen already;"—and he led the way to where, along the shingle at high-water mark, lay a ghastly row, some fearfully bruised128 and mutilated, cramped129 together by the death-agony; others with the peaceful smile which showed that they had sunk to sleep in that strange water-death, amid a wilderness130 of pleasant dreams. Strong men lay there, little children, women, whom the sailors' wives had covered decently with cloaks and shawls; and at their heads stood Grace Harvey, motionless, with folded hands, gazing into the dead faces with her great solemn eyes. Her mother and Captain Willis stood by, watching her with a sort of superstitions131 awe. She took no notice either of Thurnall or of the Lieutenant, as the doctor identified the bodies one by one, without a remark which indicated any human emotion.
"A very sensible man, Willis," said the Lieutenant apart, as Tom knelt awhile to examine the crushed features of a sailor; and then looking up said simply,—
"James Macgillivray, second mate. Cause of death, contusions; probably by the fall of the main-mast."
"A very sensible man, and has seen a deal of life, and kept his eyes open; but a terrible hard-plucked one. Talked like a book to me all the way; but, be hanged if I don't think he has a thirty-two pound shot under his ribs132 instead of a heart.—Doctor Thurnall, that is Miss Harvey,—the young person who saved your life last night."
Tom rose, took off his hat (Frank Headley's), and made her a bow, of which an ambassador need not have been ashamed.
"I am exceedingly shocked that Miss Harvey should have run so much danger for anything so worthless as my life."
She looked up at him, and answered, not him, but her own thoughts.
"Strange, is it not, that it was a duty to pray for all these poor things last night, and a sin to pray for them this morning?"
"Grace, dear!" interposed her mother, "don't you hear the gentleman thanking you?"
She started, as one awaking out of a dream, and looked into his face, blushing scarlet133.
"Good heavens, what a beautiful creature!" said Tom to himself, as quite a new emotion passed through him. Quite new it was, whatsoever it was; and he was aware of it. He had had his passions, his intrigues134, in past years, and prided himself—few men more—on understanding women; but the expression of the face, and the strange words with which she had greeted him, added to the broad fact of her having offered her own life for his, raised in him a feeling of chivalrous135 awe and admiration136, which no other woman had ever called up.
"Madam," he said again; "I can repay you with nothing but thanks: but, to judge from your conduct last night, you are one of those people who will find reward enough in knowing that you have done a noble and heroic action."
She looked at him very steadfastly137, blushing still. Thurnall, be it understood, was (at least, while his face was in the state in which Heaven intended it to be, half hidden in a silky-brown beard) a very good-looking fellow; and (to use Mark Armsworth's description) "as hard as a nail; as fresh as a rose; and stood on his legs like a game-cock." Moreover, as Willis said approvingly, he had spoken to her "as if he was a duke, and she was a duchess." Besides, by some blessed moral law, the surest way to make oneself love any human being is to go and do him a kindness; and therefore Grace had already a tender interest in Tom, not because he had saved her, but she him. And so it was, that a strange new emotion passed through her heart also, though so little understood by her, that she put it forthwith into words.
"You might repay me," she said in a sad and tender tone.
"You have only to command me," said Tom, wincing138 a little as the words passed his lips.
"Then turn to God, now in the day of His mercies. Unless you have turned to Him already."
One glance at Tom's rising eyebrows told her what he thought upon those matters.
She looked at him sadly, lingeringly, as if conscious that she ought not to look too long, and yet unable to withdraw her eyes.—"Ah! and such a precious soul as yours must be; a precious soul—all taken, and you alone left! God must have high things in store for you. He must have a great work for you to do. Else, why are you not as one of these! Oh, think! where would you have been at this moment if God had dealt with you as with them?"
"Where I am now, I suppose," said Tom quietly.
"Where you are now?"
"Yes: where I ought to be. I am where I ought to be now. I suppose if I had found myself anywhere else this morning, I should have taken it as a sign that I was wanted there, and not here."
Grace heaved a sigh at words which were certainly startling. The Stoic42 optimism of the world-hardened doctor was new and frightful139 to her.
"My good madam," said he, "the part of Scripture140 which I appreciate best, just now, is the case of poor Job, where Satan has leave to rob and torment141 him to the utmost of his wicked will, provided only he does not touch his life, I wish," he went on, lowering his voice, "to tell you something which I do not wish publicly talked of; but in which you may help me. I had nearly fifteen hundred pounds about me when I came ashore last night, sewed in a belt round my waist. It is gone. That is all."
Tom looked steadily142 at her as he spoke22. She turned pale, red, pale again, her lips quivered: but she spoke no word.
"She has it, as I live!" thought Tom to himself. "'Frailty143, thy name is woman!' The canting, little, methodistical humbug144! She must have slipped it off my waist as I lay senseless. I suppose she means to keep it in pawn145, till I redeem146 it by marrying her. Well I might take an uglier mate certainly; but when I do enter into the bitter bonds of matrimony, I should like to be sure, beforehand, that my wife was not a thief!"
Why, then, did not Tom, if he were so very sure of Grace's having the belt, charge her with the theft? because he had found out already how popular she was, and was afraid of merely making himself unpopular; because, too, he took for granted that whosoever had his belt, had hidden it already beyond the reach of a search warrant; and, because, after all, an honourable147 shame restrained him. It would be a poor return to the woman who had saved his life to charge her with theft the next morning; and more, there was something about that girl's face which had made him feel that, if he had seen her put the belt into her pocket before his eyes, he could not have found the heart to have sent her to gaol148. "No!" thought he; "I'll get it out of her, or whoever has it, and stay here till I do get it. One place is as good as another to me."
But what was Grace saying?
She had turned, after two or three minutes' astonished silence, to her mother and Captain Willis—
"Belt! Mother! Uncle! What is this? The gentleman has lost a belt?"
"Dear me!—a belt! Well, child, that's not much to grieve over, when the Lord has spared his life and soul from the pit!" said her mother, somewhat testily149.
"You don't understand. A belt, I say, full of money—fifteen hundred pounds; he lost it last night. Uncle! Speak, quick! Did you see a belt?"
Willis shook his head meditatively150. "I don't, and yet I do, and yet
I don't again. My brains were, well-nigh washed out of me, I know.
However, sir, I'll think, and talk it over with you too; for if it be
in the village, found it ought to be, and will be, with God's help."
"Found?" cried Grace, in so high a key, that Tom entreated151 her to calm herself, and not make the matter public.—"Found? yes; and shall be found, if there be justice in heaven. Shame that west-country folk should turn robbers and wreckers! Mariners152, too, and manners' wives, who should be praying for those who are wandering far away, each man with his life in his hand! Ah, what a world! When will it end? soon, too soon, when west-country folk rob shipwrecked men! But you will find your belt; yes, sir, you will find it. Wait till you have learnt to do without it. Man does not live by bread alone. Do you think he lives by gold? Only be patient; and when you are worthy of it, you shall find it again, in the Lord's good time."
To the doctor this seemed a mere57 burst of jargon153, invented for the purpose of hiding guilt154; and his faith in womankind was not heightened when he heard Grace's mother say, sotto voce to Willis, that—"In wrecks155, and fires, and such like, a many people complained of having lost more than ever they had."
"Oh ho! my old lady, is that the way the fox is gone?" quoth Tom to that trusty counsellor, himself; and began carefully scrutinising Mrs. Harvey's face. It had been very handsome: it was still very clever: but the eyebrows, crushed together downwards156 above her nose, and rising high at the outer corners, indicated, as surely as the restless down-dropt eye, a character self-conscious, furtive, capable of great inconsistencies, possibly of great deceits.
"You don't look me in the face, old lady!" quoth Tom to himself. "Very well! between you two it lies; unless that old gentleman implicates157 himself also, in his approaching confession158."
He took his part at once. "Well, well, you will oblige me by saying nothing more about it. After all, as this good lady says, the loss of a little money is not worth complaining over, when one has escaped with life. Good morning; and many thanks for all your kindness!"
And Tom made another grand bow, and went off to the Lieutenant.
Grace looked after him awhile, as one stunned159; and then turned to her mother.
"Let us go home."
"Go home? Why there, dear?"
"Let me go home; you need not come. I am sick of this world. Is it not enough to have misery160 and death (and she pointed3 to the row of corpses), but we must have sin, too, wherever we turn! Meanness and theft:—and ingratitude161 too!" she added, in a lower tone.
She went homeward; her mother, in spite of her entreaties162, accompanied her; and, for some reason or other, did not lose sight of her all that day, or for several days after.
Meanwhile, Willis had beckoned163 the Doctor aside. His face was serious and sad, and his lips were trembling.
"This is a very shocking business, sir. Of course, you've told the
Lieutenant."
"Not yet, my good sir."
"But—excuse my boldness; what plainer way of getting it back from the rascal164, whoever he is?"
"Wait awhile," said Tom; "I have my reasons."
"But, sir—for the honour of the place, the matter should be cleared up; and till the thief's found, suspicion will lie on a dozen innocent men; myself among the rest, for that matter."
"You?" said Tom, smiling. "I don't know who I have the honour to speak to; but you don't look much like a gentleman who wishes for a trip to Botany Bay."
The old man chuckled165, and then his face dropped again.
"I'm glad you take the thing so like a man, sir; but it is really no laughing matter. It's a scoundrelly job, only fit for a Maltee off the Nix Mangeery. If it had been a lot of those carter fellows that had carried you up, I could have understood it; wrecking's born in the bone of them: but for those four sailors that carried you up, 'gad sir! they'd have been shot sooner. I've known 'em from boys!" and the old man spoke quite fiercely, and looked up; his lip trembling, and his eye moist.
"There's no doubt that you are honest—whoever is not," thought Tom; so he ventured a further question.
"Then you were by all the while?"
"All the while? Who more? And that's just what puzzles me."
"Pray don't speak loud," said Tom. "I have my reasons for keeping things quiet."
"I tell you, sir. I held the maid, and big John Beer (Gentleman Jan they call him) held me; and the maid had both her hands tight in your belt. I saw it as plain as I see you, just before the wave covered us, though little I thought what was in it; and should never have remembered you had a belt at all, if I hadn't thought over things in the last five minutes."
"Well, sir, I am lucky in having come straight to the fountain head; and must thank you for telling me so frankly what you know."
"Tell you, sir? What else should one do but tell you? I only wish I knew more; and more I'll know, please the Lord. And you'll excuse an old sailor (though not of your rank, sir) saying that he wonders a little that you don't take the plain means of knowing more yourself."
"May I take the liberty of asking your name?" said Tom; who saw by this time that the old man was worthy of his confidence.
"Willis, at your service, sir. Captain they call me, though I'm none.
Sailing-master I was, on board of His Majesty's ship Niobe, 84;" and
Willis raised his hat with such an air, that Tom raised his in return.
"Then, Captain Willis, let me have five words with you apart; first thanking you for having helped to save my life."
"I'm very glad I did, sir; and thanked God for it on my knees this morning: but you'll excuse me, sir, I was thinking—and no blame to me—more of saving my poor maid's life than yours, and no offence to you, for I hadn't the honour of knowing you; but for her, I'd have been drowned a dozen times over."
"No offence, indeed," said Tom; and hardly knew what to say next. "May
I ask, is she your niece? I heard her call you uncle."
"Oh, no—no relation; only I look on her as my own, poor thing, having no father; and she always calls me uncle, as most do us old men in the West."
"Well, then, sir," said Tom, "you will answer for none of the four sailors having robbed me?"
"I've said it, sir."
"Was any one else close to her when we were brought ashore?"
"No one but I. I brought her round myself."
"And who took her home?"
"Her mother and I."
"Very good. And you never saw the belt after she had her hands in it?"
"No; I'm sure not."
"Was her mother by her when she was lying on the rock?"
"No; came up afterwards, just as I got her on her feet."
"Humph! What sort of a character is her mother?"
"Oh, a tidy, God-fearing person, enough. One of these Methodist class-leaders, Brianites they call themselves. I don't hold with them, though I do go to chapel166 at whiles: but there are good ones among them; and I do believe she's one, though she's a little fretful at times. Keeps a little shop that don't pay over well; and those preachers live on her a good deal, I think. Creeping into widows' houses, and making long prayers—you know the text."
"Well, now, Captain Willis, I don't want to hurt your feelings; but do you not see that one of two things I must believe,—either that the belt was torn off my waist, and washed back into the sea, as it may have been after all; or else, that—"
"Do you mean that she took it?" asked Willis, in voice of such indignant astonishment167 that Tom could only answer by a shrug168 of the shoulders.
"Who else could have done so, on your own showing?"
"Sir!" said Willis, slowly. "I thought I had to do with a gentleman: but I have my doubts of it now. A poor girl risks her life to drag you out of that sea, which but for her would have hove your body up to lie along with that line there,"—and Willis pointed to the ghastly row—" and your soul gone to give in its last account—You only know what that would have been like—And the first thing you do in payment is to accuse her of robbing you—her, that the very angels in heaven, I believe, are glad to keep company with;" and the old man turned and paced the beach in fierce excitement.
"Captain Willis," said Tom, "I'll trouble you to listen patiently and civilly to me a minute."
Willis stopped, drew himself up, and touched his hat mechanically.
"Just because I am a gentleman, I have not accused her; but held my tongue, and spoken to you in confidence. Now, perhaps, you will understand why I have said nothing to the Lieutenant."
Willis looked up at him.
"I beg your pardon, sir. I see now, and I'm sorry if I was rude; but it took me aback, and does still. I tell you, sir," quoth he, warming again, "whatever's true,—that's false. You're wrong there, if you never are wrong again; and you'll say so yourself, before you've known her a week. No, sir! If you could make me believe that, I should never believe in goodness again on earth; but hold all men, and women too, and those above, for aught I know, that are greater than men and women, for liars169 together."
What was to be answered? Perhaps only what Tom did answer.
"My good sir, I will say no more. I would not have said that much if I had thought I should have pained you so. I suppose that the belt was washed into the sea. Why not?"
"Why not, indeed, sir? That's a much more Christian-like way of looking at it, than to blacken your own soul before God by suspecting that sweet innocent creature."
"Be it so, then. Only say nothing about the matter; and beg them to say nothing. If it be jammed among the rocks (as it might be, heavy as it is), talking about it will only set people looking for it; and I suppose there is a man or two, even in Aberalva, who would find fifteen hundred pounds a tempting170 bait. If, again, some one finds it, and makes away with it, he will only be the more careful to hide it if he knows that I am on the look-out. So just tell Miss Harvey and her mother that I think it must have been lost, and beg them to keep my secret. And now shake hands with me."
"The best plan, I believe, though bad, is the best," said Willis, holding out his hand; and he walked away sadly. His spirit had been altogether ruffled by the imputation171 on Grace's character: and, besides, the chances of Thurnall's recovering his money seemed to him very small.
In five minutes he returned.
"If you would allow me, sir, there's a man there of whom I should like to ask one question. He who held me, and, after that, helped to carry you up;" and he pointed to Gentleman Jan, who stood, dripping from the waist downward, over a chest which he had just secured. "Just let us ask him, off-hand like, whether you had a belt on when he carried you up. You may trust him, sir. He'd knock you down as soon as look at you; but tell a lie, never."
They went to the giant; and, after cordial salutations, Tom propounded172 his question carelessly, with something like a white lie.
"It's no great matter; but it was an old friend, you see, with fittings for my knife and pistols, and I should be glad to find it again."
Jan thrust his red hand through his black curls, and meditated173 while the water surged round his ankles.
"Never a belt seed I, sir; leastwise while you were in my hands. I had you round the waist all the way up, so no one could have took it off. Why should they? And I undressed you myself; and nothing, save your presence, was there to get off, but jersey and trousers, and a lump of backy against your skin that looked the right sort."
"Have some, then," said Tom, pulling out the honey-dew. "As for the belt, I suppose it's gone to choke the dog-fish."
And there the matter ended, outwardly at least; but only outwardly. Tom had his own opinion, gathered from Grace's seemingly guilty face, and to it he held, and called old Willis, in his heart, a simple-minded old dotard, who had been taken in by her hypocrisy174.
And Tom accompanied the Lieutenant on his dreary175 errand that day, and several days after, through depositions176 before a justice, interviews with Lloyd's underwriters, and all the sad details which follow a wreck. Ere the week's end, forty bodies and more had been recovered, and brought up, ten or twelve at a time, to the churchyard, and upon the down, and laid side by side in one long shallow pit, where Frank Headley read over them the blessed words of hope, amid the sobs177 of women, and the grand silence of stalwart men, who knew not how soon their turn might come; and after each procession came Grace Harvey, with all her little scholars two and two, to listen to the funeral service; and when the last corpse was buried, they planted flowers upon the mound178, and went their way again to learn hymns179 and read their Bible—little ministering angels to whom, as to most sailors' children, death was too common a sight to have in it aught of hideous180 or strange.
And this was the end of the good ship Hesperus, and all her gallant28 crew.
Verily, however important the mere animal lives of men may be, and ought to be, at times, in our eyes, they never have been so, to judge from floods and earthquakes, pestilence181 and storm, in the eyes of Him who made and loves us all. It is a strange fact, better for us, instead of shutting our eyes to it because it interferes182 with our modern tenderness of pain, to ask honestly what it means.
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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sanguine
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| adj.充满希望的，乐观的，血红色的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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kennel
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| n.狗舍，狗窝 | |
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poke
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| n.刺，戳，袋；vt.拨开，刺，戳；vi.戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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meekly
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| adv.温顺地，逆来顺受地 | |
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furrows
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| n.犁沟( furrow的名词复数 )；（脸上的）皱纹v.犁田，开沟( furrow的第三人称单数 ) | |
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bullies
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| n.欺凌弱小者, 开球 vt.恐吓, 威胁, 欺负 | |
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mariner
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| n.水手号不载人航天探测器，海员，航海者 | |
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ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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wrecked
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| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
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cove
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| n.小海湾，小峡谷 | |
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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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jersey
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| n.运动衫 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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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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reverently
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sundry
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grunt
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| v.嘟哝；作呼噜声；n.呼噜声，嘟哝 | |
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grunts
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的第三人称单数 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说； 石鲈 | |
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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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smelt
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| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
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valiant
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| adj.勇敢的，英勇的；n.勇士，勇敢的人 | |
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remonstrances
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frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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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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gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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30
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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31
levity
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| n.轻率，轻浮，不稳定，多变 | |
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32
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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33
meditates
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| 深思，沉思，冥想( meditate的第三人称单数 )； 内心策划，考虑 | |
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34
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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35
toddling
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| v.（幼儿等）东倒西歪地走( toddle的现在分词 )；蹒跚行走；溜达；散步 | |
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36
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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37
whatsoever
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| adv.（用于否定句中以加强语气）任何；pron.无论什么 | |
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38
wince
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| n.畏缩，退避，（因痛苦，苦恼等)面部肌肉抽动；v.畏缩，退缩，退避 | |
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39
dame
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| n.女士 | |
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40
baboon
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| n.狒狒 | |
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41
abashed
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| adj.窘迫的，尴尬的v.使羞愧，使局促，使窘迫( abash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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42
stoic
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| n.坚忍克己之人，禁欲主义者 | |
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43
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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44
aristocrat
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| n.贵族，有贵族气派的人，上层人物 | |
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45
rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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46
recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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47
mites
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| n.（尤指令人怜悯的）小孩( mite的名词复数 )；一点点；一文钱；螨 | |
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48
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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49
spatula
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| n.抹刀 | |
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50
hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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51
practitioner
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| n.实践者，从事者；(医生或律师等)开业者 | |
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52
ascertain
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| vt.发现，确定，查明，弄清 | |
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53
cholera
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| n.霍乱 | |
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54
imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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55
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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56
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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57
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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58
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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59
fervently
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| adv.热烈地，热情地，强烈地 | |
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60
meddle
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| v.干预，干涉，插手 | |
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61
adjure
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| v.郑重敦促(恳请) | |
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62
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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63
astound
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| v.使震惊，使大吃一惊 | |
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64
yokels
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| n.乡下佬，土包子( yokel的名词复数 ) | |
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65
hospitable
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| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
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66
hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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67
moors
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| v.停泊，系泊（船只）( moor的第三人称单数 ) | |
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68
detailed
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| adj.详细的，详尽的，极注意细节的，完全的 | |
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69
lamentable
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| adj.令人惋惜的，悔恨的 | |
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70
catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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71
graphic
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| adj.生动的，形象的，绘画的，文字的，图表的 | |
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72
survivor
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| n.生存者，残存者，幸存者 | |
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73
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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74
lieutenant
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| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
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75
bustled
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| 闹哄哄地忙乱，奔忙( bustle的过去式和过去分词 )； 催促 | |
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76
trotted
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| 小跑，急走( trot的过去分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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77
trotting
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| 小跑，急走( trot的现在分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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78
uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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79
gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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80
westward
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| n.西方，西部；adj.西方的，向西的；adv.向西 | |
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81
lull
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| v.使安静，使入睡，缓和，哄骗；n.暂停，间歇 | |
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82
berth
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| n.卧铺，停泊地，锚位；v.使停泊 | |
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83
steering
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| n.操舵装置 | |
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84
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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85
gad
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| n.闲逛；v.闲逛 | |
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86
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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87
screech
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| n./v.尖叫；(发出)刺耳的声音 | |
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88
warped
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| adj.反常的；乖戾的；（变）弯曲的；变形的v.弄弯，变歪( warp的过去式和过去分词 )；使（行为等）不合情理，使乖戾， | |
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89
stump
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| n.残株，烟蒂，讲演台；v.砍断，蹒跚而走 | |
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90
leeward
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| adj.背风的；下风的 | |
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91
cynical
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|
| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
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92
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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93
nonchalance
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| n.冷淡，漠不关心 | |
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94
skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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95
ruffled
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| adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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96
plumes
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| 羽毛( plume的名词复数 )； 羽毛饰； 羽毛状物； 升上空中的羽状物 | |
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97
pitcher
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| n.(有嘴和柄的)大水罐；(棒球)投手 | |
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98
cherub
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| n.小天使，胖娃娃 | |
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99
malady
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| n.病，疾病(通常做比喻) | |
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100
savages
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| 未开化的人，野蛮人( savage的名词复数 ) | |
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101
recurrence
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| n.复发，反复，重现 | |
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102
gallows
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| n.绞刑架，绞台 | |
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103
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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104
dissect
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| v.分割；解剖 | |
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105
furtive
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| adj.鬼鬼崇崇的，偷偷摸摸的 | |
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106
straightforward
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|
| adj.正直的，坦率的；易懂的，简单的 | |
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107
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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108
corpses
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| n.死尸，尸体( corpse的名词复数 ) | |
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109
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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110
miserable
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|
| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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111
firmament
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| n.苍穹；最高层 | |
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112
foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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113
loomed
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| v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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114
foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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115
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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116
plunder
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| vt.劫掠财物，掠夺；n.劫掠物，赃物；劫掠 | |
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117
mingle
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| vt.使混合，使相混；vi.混合起来；相交往 | |
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118
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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119
rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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120
wrecking
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| 破坏 | |
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121
grumbling
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| adj. 喃喃鸣不平的, 出怨言的 | |
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122
apparatus
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| n.装置，器械；器具，设备 | |
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123
forefathers
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| n.祖先，先人；祖先，祖宗( forefather的名词复数 )；列祖列宗；前人 | |
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124
elicited
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| 引出，探出( elicit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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125
approbation
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| n.称赞；认可 | |
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126
martinet
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| n.要求严格服从纪律的人 | |
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127
superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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128
bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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129
cramped
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| a.狭窄的 | |
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130
wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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131
superstitions
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| 迷信，迷信行为( superstition的名词复数 ) | |
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132
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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133
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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134
intrigues
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| n.密谋策划( intrigue的名词复数 )；神秘气氛；引人入胜的复杂情节v.搞阴谋诡计( intrigue的第三人称单数 )；激起…的好奇心 | |
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135
chivalrous
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| adj.武士精神的；对女人彬彬有礼的 | |
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136
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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137
steadfastly
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| adv.踏实地，不变地；岿然；坚定不渝 | |
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138
wincing
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| 赶紧避开，畏缩( wince的现在分词 ) | |
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139
frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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140
scripture
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| n.经文，圣书，手稿；Scripture:(常用复数)《圣经》，《圣经》中的一段 | |
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141
torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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142
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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143
frailty
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| n.脆弱；意志薄弱 | |
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144
humbug
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| n.花招，谎话，欺骗 | |
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145
pawn
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| n.典当，抵押，小人物，走卒；v.典当，抵押 | |
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146
redeem
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| v.买回，赎回，挽回，恢复，履行（诺言等） | |
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147
honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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148
gaol
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| n.(jail)监狱；(不加冠词)监禁；vt.使…坐牢 | |
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149
testily
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| adv. 易怒地, 暴躁地 | |
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150
meditatively
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| adv.冥想地 | |
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151
entreated
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| 恳求，乞求( entreat的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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152
mariners
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| 海员，水手（mariner的复数形式） | |
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153
jargon
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| n.术语，行话 | |
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154
guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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155
wrecks
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| n.沉船( wreck的名词复数 )；（事故中）遭严重毁坏的汽车（或飞机等）；（身体或精神上）受到严重损伤的人；状况非常糟糕的车辆（或建筑物等）v.毁坏[毁灭]某物( wreck的第三人称单数 )；使（船舶）失事，使遇难，使下沉 | |
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156
downwards
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| adj./adv.向下的（地），下行的（地） | |
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157
implicates
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| n.牵涉，涉及（某人）( implicate的名词复数 )；表明（或意指）…是起因 | |
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158
confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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159
stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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160
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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161
ingratitude
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| n.忘恩负义 | |
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162
entreaties
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| n.恳求，乞求( entreaty的名词复数 ) | |
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163
beckoned
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| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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164
rascal
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| n.流氓；不诚实的人 | |
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165
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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166
chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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167
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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168
shrug
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| v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
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169
liars
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| 说谎者( liar的名词复数 ) | |
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170
tempting
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| a.诱人的, 吸引人的 | |
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171
imputation
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| n.归罪，责难 | |
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172
propounded
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| v.提出（问题、计划等）供考虑[讨论]，提议( propound的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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173
meditated
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| 深思，沉思，冥想( meditate的过去式和过去分词 )； 内心策划，考虑 | |
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174
hypocrisy
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| n.伪善，虚伪 | |
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175
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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176
depositions
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| 沉积（物）( deposition的名词复数 )； （在法庭上的）宣誓作证； 处置； 罢免 | |
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177
sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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178
mound
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| n.土墩，堤，小山；v.筑堤，用土堆防卫 | |
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179
hymns
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌( hymn的名词复数 ) | |
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180
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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181
pestilence
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| n.瘟疫 | |
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182
interferes
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| vi. 妨碍，冲突，干涉 | |
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