Having devoted4 the day following my return to Santiago to botanical work, chiefly in the herbarium of Dr. Philippi, I started on the following morning in company with his son, Professor Friedrich Philippi, for an excursion up the slopes of the mountain range nearest the city. My companion had kindly5 sent forward in advance his servant with horses, and we engaged a hackney coach to convey us to the Baths of Apoquinto, where a warm mineral spring bursts out at the very base of the mountain. The common carriages throughout South America are heavy lumbering6 vehicles, and the road, though nearly level, was deep in volcanic7 sand; but the horses are excellent, and, in spite of several halts to collect a few189 plants yet in flower, we accomplished8 the distance of nine miles in little over an hour.
BATHS ON APOQUINTO.
The establishment at Apoquinto is on a small scale and somewhat rustic9 in character, but it had been recently taken by an Englishman, and now supplies fair accommodation, which would be prized by a naturalist10 who should be fortunate enough to visit Chili at a favourable11 season. We mounted our horses without delay, and at once commenced the ascent12, gentle for a short way, but soon becoming so steep that it was more convenient to dismount at several places. Under the experienced guidance of my companion, I found more interesting plants still in flower or fruit than I had ventured to expect at this season. I here for the first time found a species of Mulinum, one of a large group of umbelliferous plants characteristic of the Chilian flora13, and nearly all confined to South America. The leaves in the commonest species are divided into a few stiff pointed14 segments, reminding one somewhat of the Echinophora of the Mediterranean15 shores, once erroneously supposed to be a native of England.
I was especially struck on this day with the extraordinary variety of odours, pleasant or the reverse, that are exhaled16 by the native plants of Chili. As commonly happens in dry countries, a large proportion of the native plants contain resinous17 gums, each of which emits some peculiar18 and penetrating19 smell. I had already observed this elsewhere in the country, but, perhaps owing to the great variety of the vegetation on these slopes, the recollections of the day are indelibly associated with those of the impressions190 on the olfactory21 nerve. If there be persons in whom such impressions are sufficiently22 distinct to be accurately23 recalled by an effort of the memory, I can imagine that in some countries the nose might afford a valuable help to the botanical collector. To judge, however, from personal experience, I should say that of all the senses that of smell is the one which supplies the least accurate impressions, and those least capable of certain recognition.
We reached a place where a small stream from the upper part of the mountain springs in a little waterfall from a cleft24 in the rocks, and which is known as the Salto de San Ramon. This is probably about four thousand feet above the sea-level, and between us and the lower limit of the snow which covered the higher slopes there stretched a rather steep acclivity, covered, like the ground around us, with bushes and small shrubby25 plants. A few small trees (chiefly Kageneckia) grew near the Salto, but higher up scarce any were to be seen. Professor Philippi, who is well acquainted with the ground, thought that little, if anything, would be added to our collections by continuing the ascent, so we devoted the spare time to examining the ground in our immediate27 neighbourhood, thus adding a few species not before seen. In summer, however, an active botanist28, starting early from Apoquinto, who did not object to an ascent of six or seven thousand feet, would reach the zone of Alpine29 vegetation, and be sure to collect many of the curious plants of this region of the Andes.
May 22 and the following day were fully30 occupied in Santiago. Among other agreeable acquaintances,191 I called upon Don F. Balmacedo, then minister for foreign affairs, and now President of the Republic, who favoured me with a letter of introduction to the governor of the Chilian settlement in the Straits of Magellan. I also enjoyed an interesting conversation with Dr. Taforò, then designated by the Chilian Government for the vacant archbishopric of Santiago. Some canonical31 objections appear to have created difficulties at Rome, and the see, as I believe, remains32 vacant.
THE CUMULATIVE33 VOTE IN CHILI.
I found in Dr. Taforò an agreeable and well-informed gentleman, who appeared to hold enlightened views, and to be free from many of the prejudices which the Spanish clergy34 have inherited from the dark period of ecclesiastical tyranny and absolute royalty35. With regard to the Chilian clergy in general, I derived36 a favourable impression from the testimony37 of my various acquaintances. At all events, they appear to be respected by the mass of the population, whereas in Peru they are regarded with dislike and contempt by all classes alike.
Among the various claims of the Chilian republic to be regarded with interest by the student of political progress, I must note the fact that it has for some time successfully adopted a system of suffrage38 which is supposed to be too complex for the people of our country. In political elections for representatives the mode of voting is, I believe, very nearly the same as that known amongst us as the Hare system; while in municipal elections the cumulative vote is adopted, each voter having as many votes as there are candidates to be elected, and being allowed to give as many192 votes as he pleases to the one or more candidates of his choice. I unfortunately was not aware of these facts while in the country, and therefore failed to make inquiry39 on the subject; but the fact that, while there is a keen interest in political life, no one has proposed to alter the present mode of voting, seems to prove that the existing system gives general satisfaction.
Early in the morning of May 24 I left Santiago, bound for Santa Rosa de los Andes, the highest town in the valley of the Rio Aconcagua. That river is mainly fed from the snows of the great peak from which it takes its name, the highest summit of the New World.29 In its lower course it waters the Quillota valley, through which the railway is carried from Valparaiso to Santiago. In travelling from the latter city it is therefore necessary to return to the junction40 at Llaillai, whence a branch line leads eastward41 along the river to San Felipe and Santa Rosa. The sky was cloudless, the air delightfully42 clear, and the views of the great range were indescribably grand and beautiful, especially in the neighbourhood of San Felipe. The summit of Aconcagua, as seen from this side, shows three sharp peaks of bare rock, too steep to retain the snow which now lay deep on the lower declivities. It has been inferred that the summit must be formed of crystalline or metamorphic rock, as there is no indication of the existence of a crater43. This is by no means improbable, as we know that193 granite44, old slates45, and conglomerates46, as well as newer Secondary rocks, are found at many points along the axis47 of the main range; but, on the other hand, we know that most of the higher peaks in Central Chili are volcanic, and the removal of all but some fragments of the cone48 of an ancient crater may leave sharp teeth of rocks such as are seen at the summit of Aconcagua. In the view which I obtained from the Morro of Cauquenes I observed several lofty peaks of somewhat the same character, which struck me as probably the shattered remains of ancient craters49.
SANTA ROSA DE LOS ANDES.
Reaching Santa Rosa early in the afternoon, I proceeded to the Hotel Colon50 in the plaza51, which, as usual, forms the centre of the town. The French landlord and his wife were civil, obliging people, and, although the establishment seemed to be much out at elbows, I was soon installed in a tolerably good room, and supplied with information for which I had hitherto been vainly seeking. The main line of communication between the adjoining republics of Chili and Argentaria30 is over the Uspallata Pass at the head of the valley of Aconcagua; and Santa Rosa, or as it is more commonly called, Los Andes, is the starting-point for travellers from the west. Don B. V. Mackenna had kindly furnished me with a letter to the officer in charge of the custom-house station at the foot of the pass, known as the Resguardo del Rio*194 Colorado, and led me to believe that a carriage road extended as far as that point. The latter statement was, however, disputed by several of my acquaintances in Santiago, and the most various assertions were made as to the distance and the time requisite52 for the excursion. As it turned out, Mr. Mackenna, as he generally is, was correctly informed. The road, as I now learned, was in bad order, but quite passable for a carriage; and the distance could be accomplished in little over three hours.
Having ordered a vehicle for the next morning, I inquired for a man or a boy acquainted with the neighbourhood of the town, who might serve as guide and carry some of the traps with which a botanist is usually encumbered53. An ill-looking fellow, who seemed to have been drinking heavily overnight, soon made his appearance, and we started through a long, dusty street, with only very few houses at wide intervals55, which led to the road by which I was to travel on the following morning. Seeing the ground near the town to be much inclosed, while on the opposite side of the river a broad belt of flat stony56 ground, partly covered with bushes and small trees, gave better prospect57 to the botanist, I desired to be conducted to the nearest bridge by which I might cross the stream. When we reached the place it appeared to be even a more rickety structure than usual, requiring some care to avoid the numerous holes in the basket-work which formed the floor. Having ascertained59 that I meant to return the same way, my guide proceeded to stretch himself on the bank, where I found him fast asleep on my return.
195
A LAZY GUIDE.
The character of the vegetation was the same as that about Santiago, but the general aspect indicated a decided60 increase of dryness in the climate, so that at the present season there was very little remaining to be gleaned61 by the botanical collector. As usually happens, however, careful search did not go quite unrewarded. I found several species not before seen, and even where there were no specimens62 fit for preservation63 something was to be learned. My next object was to ascend64 the neighbouring hill, or cerro, which immediately overlooks the town of Santa Rosa. A new proprietor65 had bought a tract66 of land on the left bank of the river, and erected67 very substantial fences rather troublesome to a trespasser68. My so-called guide dropped behind as I began to ascend the hill—only five or six hundred feet in height—finally turned back, and, having deposited my goods at the hotel, claimed and received an ill-earned fee. The stony slopes were utterly69 parched70, yet I found a few botanical novelties. A small shrubby composite with prickly leaves, but with the habit and inflorescence of a Baccharis, was still in tolerable condition. I took it for the female plant of some species of that characteristic South American di?cious genus; but I afterwards ascertained that it belonged to a completely different group, namely, the Mutisiace?, being the Proustia baccharoides of Don.
The view from the summit of the Cerro towards the Andean range was not equal to that from San Felipe, but on the opposite side the outlook towards the plain was interesting. The contrast between the zone of cultivation71 in the low lands accessible to196 irrigation and the higher ground, burnt by the summer to a uniform yellow-brown tint72, was striking to the eye. The town of Santa Rosa, laid out on the flat at the foot of the hill, was a curious feature in the prospect. It was designed on the regular plan which seems to have recommended itself to all the European settlers in the American continent, but which I have nowhere seen so exactly carried out as at this place. A chess-board supplied the model, with one row of squares cut off to avoid some rough ground. Fifty-six squares—quadras—exactly equal in size, are divided by broad roads, and the whole is surrounded by a wall about half a mile in length each way. The quadra in the centre forms the plaza; the others were to be occupied by houses and gardens. To make the town, as planned by its founders73, a perfect model, it wants nothing but houses and people to live in them. It was, perhaps, imagined that, being on the main line of communication across the Andes, this might become a place of some importance; but the traffic is very limited, and, such as it is, it is carried on by trains of horses and mules74 that travel to and fro between Valparaiso and Mendoza. The area of land fit for cultivation in the valley above San Felipe is small, and the resort of retail75 traders doubtless very limited. The result is that Santa Rosa is a town without houses. Many of the quadras are occupied by a single house and annexed76 garden, and only round or close to the plaza is such a thing as a row of adjoining buildings to be seen.
The morning of May 25 was noteworthy as producing the solitary78 instance of punctuality in a native197 of South America that I encountered in the course of my journey. The virtuous79 driver of the carriage which I had engaged to take me to the Resguardo was actually at the door of the hotel at the appointed hour, soon after sunrise; but it availed little for my object. Not a soul was stirring in the hotel; and though I made no small disturbance80, it was long before I could induce the lazy waiter to make his appearance. I had not thought of providing my breakfast overnight, and could not start without food for a long day’s expedition.
VALLEY OF ACONCAGUA.
At length we started on the road by the left bank which I had followed on the previous evening, and, the weather being again nearly perfect, I thoroughly81 enjoyed a very charming excursion, which carried me farther into the heart of the Cordillera than I had yet reached. As very often happens, however, the nearer one gets to the great peaks the less one is able to see of them. The general outline of the slopes in the inner valleys of high mountain countries is usually convex, because the torrents82 have deepened the trench83 between opposite slopes more quickly than suba?rial action has worn away the flanks; and it is only exceptionally that the summits of the ridges84 can be seen from the intervening valley. Among mountains where the main lines of valley are, so to say, structural85—i.e. depending on inequalities produced during the original elevation86 of the mountain mass—the case is somewhat different. Such valleys are usually nearly straight, as we see so commonly in the European Alps, and the peaks lying about the head of the valley are therefore often in view; but in the Andes,198 as in many parts of the Rocky Mountains, it would appear that the valleys are exclusively due to erosive action, and, their direction being determined87 by merely local conditions, they are extremely sinuous89, and rarely follow the same direction for any considerable distance.
The road up the Aconcagua valley seemed to me at the time to be about the worst over which I ever travelled in a carriage, but I had not then made acquaintance with the mountain tracks, which they are pleased to call roads, in the United States. Looking back in the light of subsequent experience, I suppose that the Chilian roads should rank among the best in the American continent, although this one was so uneven90 that in awkward places, where it overhung the river, the carriage was often tilted91 so much to one side that I was thankful not to have with me a nervous companion.
About half-way to the Resguardo the road crosses the river by a stone bridge, where it rushes in a narrow channel between high rocky banks. Seeing botanical inducements, I descended92 to examine the banks on either side, and in crossing the bridge noticed, what I might otherwise have overlooked, that the crown of the arch was rapidly giving way. There was a large hole in the centre, and the structure was sustained only by the still solid masonry94 on each side, where the wear and tear had been less constant. I have often admired the calm good sense displayed by the horses in all parts of America, and was interested in observing the prudent95 way in which our steeds selected the safest spots on either side of the199 hole without any appearance of the nervousness which seems hereditary96 in English horses, partly due, I suppose, to the unnatural97 conditions in which they live. With every confidence in animal sagacity, but none whatever in the stability of the bridge, I thought it judicious98 on my return in the evening to recross it on foot.
A SENSITIVE PLANT.
I found two or three curious plants not before seen on the rocks here, and again found the singular Zygophyllaceous shrub26 Porliera hygrometrica, which is not uncommon99 in this part of Chili. The numerous stiff spiny100 branches diverging101 at right angles must produce flowers during a great part of the year, as I observed at this season both nearly ripe fruit and flowers in various stages of development. The small pinnate leaves, somewhat resembling in form those of the sensitive plant, have something of the same quality. But in this case the effective stimulus103 seems to be that of light, causing them to expand in sunshine and to close when the sky is covered. If at all, they must be very slightly affected104 by contact, as I failed to observe it. If I am correct, the appropriate specific name would be photometrica rather than hygrometrica.
In the hedges and among the bushes a pretty climbing plant (Eccremocarpus scaber) seemed to be common on the right bank of the stream, producing flower and ripe fruit at the same time. It belongs to the trumpet-flower tribe (Bignoniace?), though not rivalling in size or brilliancy of colour the true Bignonias which I afterwards saw in Brazil.
Having passed on the left the opening of a narrow200 valley which appears to contain the main stream of the Aconcagua, I reached the Resguardo somewhat before noon, and proceeded at once to deliver my letter to Captain X——, the officer commanding the frontier station. I was most courteously105 received, with a pressing invitation to join the almuerzo, or luncheon106, which is the ordinary midday meal in Chili. Besides the lady of the house, I met at table an officer of the Chilian navy, a friend of my host, who had come to recruit in mountain air after recovery from a serious illness, and who spoke107 English fairly well. The conversation was interesting, and I was struck by the excellent tone and quick intelligence displayed by these agreeable specimens of Chilian society. In the kindest way, and with evident sincerity108, my host pressed me to remain for a week at his house, and promised me many excursions in the neighbourhood. It was with real reluctance109 that, owing to imperious engagements, I was forced to decline the hospitable110 invitation; and it has been a further regret that, having failed to note it at the time, my treacherous111 memory has not retained the name of this amiable112 gentleman.
Meanwhile, although the time passed so pleasantly, I was burning with the desire to make use of the brief interval54 available for seeing something of the surrounding country. The Resguardo stands at the junction of a rivulet113 that descends114 from the Uspallata Pass with the Rio Colorado, which flows from the north-east apparently115 from the roots of the great peak of Aconcagua. As far as I could see, the track leading to the pass wind in zigzags116 up steep201 slopes, at this season almost completely bare of vegetation, and I decided on following the valley of the Rio Colorado, where, at least along the banks of the stream, vegetation was comparatively abundant. My obliging host had provided a horse and a guide, and I rode for about an hour up the valley, which in great part is narrowed nearly to a ravine. In one place, where it widens to a few hundred yards, I passed a peasant’s cottage, with a few stony fields from which the crop had been gathered.
THE VERBENA FAMILY.
Among the plants not before observed, I was at first puzzled by a sort of thicket117 of long green leafless stems eight or ten feet in height, growing near the stream. Only after searching for some time I detected some withered118 remains of a short spike119 of flowers at the ends of the stems, which showed the plant to be of the Verbena family. Whatever may be the original home of that ancient tribe which has spread throughout all the temperate120 and tropical regions of the earth, it is in South America, and especially in the extra-tropical regions, that it has developed the greatest variety both of genera and species. On the heights of the Peruvian Andes, from the snows of the Chilian Cordillera to the shores of the Pacific, as well as on the plains of Argentaria and Uruguay, the botanist is everywhere charmed by the brilliant flowers of numerous species of true Verbena. In the warmer zone the allied121 genus Lippia becomes predominant, and displays an equal variety of aspect; but in Chili especially we find a number of plants very different in aspect, although nearly allied in structure to the familiar types. The plant of the Rio Colorado—202known to botanists122 as Baillonia spartioides—appears to be rare in Chili, as it is not among the species collected by the earlier explorers of this region.
I was interested in finding here two species of Loranthus, which, unlike their congeners, grow in a respectable way, depending on their own resources for subsistence. The great majority of nearly four hundred known species of this genus live as parasites123 on the stems of other plants, but these form bushes with woody roots, which apparently have not even an underground connection with those of their neighbours. When I returned to the Resguardo, laden124 with plants, it was high time to think of starting homeward to Santa Rosa. I did not much fancy travelling by night over the curious road that I had followed in the morning, and my coachman seemed to hold the same opinion very strongly. Accordingly I soon started, after cordial leave-taking, but was a little surprised when, without previous warning, the driver pulled up his horses at the garden gate of a substantial house, which I had noticed in the morning a few hundred yards below the Resguardo. Presently a young man came out, and, addressing me in very fair English, explained that he had written to order a carriage for the following day, but would be thankful if I could give him a seat to convey him to his family at Santa Rosa. Of course I willingly consented, and in the conversation, which was carried on alternately in Spanish and English during the following three hours, I gained an opportunity for some practice in a language which has never been quite familiar to me.
I became interested in the poor young fellow, who203 was evidently in an advanced stage of pulmonary consumption. He had been on a visit with friends, in the vain hope that the pure air of this mountain valley might arrest the disease, and now, as the season was far advanced, wished to rejoin his wife and children at Santa Rosa. Like many consumptive patients, he had a feverish125 proneness126 for talk; and, having first told me his own story, he asked me a multitude of questions respecting my present journey and as to the other countries that I have visited. At length, with evident reference to my age, he gravely said, “No le parece Se?or que es tiempo para descansar?” I answered that there would be time enough to descansar when one is laid underground, and that for the present I saw no occasion to rest. As I stopped the carriage only two or three times to gather plants, and the driver kept his horses at a smart trot127 most of the way, we accomplished the return journey of eighteen or twenty miles in a little under three hours, and reached the town at nightfall.
RETURN TO VALPARAISO.
On the 26th I returned to Valparaiso, meeting the Santiago train at the now familiar junction station of Llaillai. Although the weather was still fine, clouds hung round the Cordillera, and I was not destined128 again to enjoy the glorious view of the great range. My first care on reaching the port was to secure my passage in the German steamer as far as the Straits of Magellan. I found that the steamship129 Rhamses of the Cosmos130 line, which in ordinary course should have departed on the 28th, was delayed until the following day, May 29. It was inevitable131 to regret that the additional day had not been devoted to the Rio204 Colorado, but, in fact, I found my time fully occupied during the two days that remained available. The collections of dried plants made up to this time had to be packed securely in the chest in which they were to remain until they reached England, and, as every botanist knows, it is expedient132 to hasten the process of drying fresh plants as far as possible before going to sea, where the operation is always one of difficulty.
I was invited to dinner on the day of my arrival by Mr. C——, one of the chief English merchants established in Chili, and acquired some interesting information from his conversation. Having been at work during a great part of the previous night, I was, however, thoroughly tired, and was able to profit less than I should have done by the hospitable entertainment. On the morning of my departure from Cauquenes I had met Mr. Edwin Reed, an English naturalist many years resident in Chili, and by appointment called upon him at his house in Valparaiso. Mr. Reed has a good knowledge of the botany and zoology133 of his adopted country, and several hours were agreeably spent on each of the two available days in going through parcels of his duplicate collections, when he was good enough to give me flowering specimens of plants which I had seen only in imperfect condition, as well as of many others from the higher region of the Cordillera which had been entirely134 inaccessible135 to me.
My visit to Chili had now come to an end. All needful preparations were concluded; and, after a busy morning and an excellent luncheon at the Hotel Colon, I went on board the Rhamses early in the205 afternoon of May 29, not without deep regret at quitting a country where I had spent twenty of the most enjoyable days of my life. The only occupants of the first-class saloon were a German gentleman, Mr. Z——; his wife, a delicate Peruvian lady, who remained in her cabin during most of the voyage; five children; and a maid. I found a good clean cabin, which had been reserved for my use, and before long a tall, handsome man of pleasant countenance136 introduced himself to me as Captain Willsen, commanding the Rhamses.
GERMAN STEAMERS.
The steamers of the German Cosmos line, of which this is, I believe, a fair example, differ in many respects from the great English ocean steamships137 which conduct most of the intercourse138 between Europe and South America. They are mainly destined for cargo139, the accommodation for passengers being comparatively very limited, and of scarcely half the dimensions, being of rather less than two thousand tons displacement140 by our measurement. In our passenger ships speed is always the foremost consideration. In accordance with the national temperament141, the German steamers set slight store on that object; safety and economy are the aims constantly kept in view, and the consumption of an increased quantity of coal in order to gain a day would be regarded as culpable142 extravagance. The especial advantage which they offer to every traveller in this region is that, owing to their light draught143, they are able to traverse the narrow and intricate channels of Western Patagonia between the mountainous islands and the mainland; while to sea-sick passengers the object of avoiding206 more than four hundred miles of the heavy seas of the Southern Pacific is a further inducement. A naturalist finds an additional attraction in the general sympathy and helpfulness which he may expect from every officer in a German ship. Courtesy and friendly feeling are almost invariably to be found on board our steamers, but the pursuits of a naturalist rarely seem to call forth144 the slightest show of interest.
Our departure was fixed145 for two p.m., but in fact we did not move till past seven, long after dark at this season. On getting out to sea we found a moderate swell146 running from the southward, and moved slowly, as coal was economized147. On the following morning we found ourselves rather far from land, and, although the weather was moderately clear, we had only a few distant glimpses of the coast during the day. The barometer148 fell slowly about two-tenths of an inch from morning to night, and it seemed evident that we were about to bid farewell to the bright skies of Central Chili. We were to take in coal for the voyage to Europe at Lota, about two hundred and fifty nautical149 miles south of Valparaiso. That distance could be easily accomplished, even by the Rhamses, in twenty-four hours; but as there was no object in arriving before morning, we economized fuel and travelled slowly. Heavy rain fell during the entire night, and ceased only when, on the morning of May 31, we entered the harbour of Lota.
Lota is a place which, although not marked on Stanford’s latest map of South America, has within a short time risen to considerable importance, owing to the discovery of extensive deposits of lignite of207 excellent quality. I have heard various estimates of its value as steam coal, the lowest of which set five tons of Lota coal as equal to four of Welsh anthracite. The seams appear to be of considerable thickness, and the underground works have now extended to a considerable distance from the shore. All the ocean steamers returning to Europe now call here for their provision of fuel, and in addition the proprietor has established extensive works for smelting150 copper151 and for making glass. The owner of this great property is a lady, the widow of the late Mr. Cousi?o, whose income is rated at about £200,000 a year. About 2500 people are constantly employed, who, with their families, inhabit a small town of poor appearance which has grown up on the hill overlooking the harbour.
COAL DEPOSITS OF LOTA.
I was courteously invited to the house of Mr. Squella, a relation of Madame Cousi?o, who has the direction of this great establishment, and there had the pleasure of again meeting my former travelling companion, Mr. H——, and also Captain Simpson, an officer of the Chilian navy of English extraction, who, while commanding a ship on the southern coast, has rendered some services to science. The conversation was carried on chiefly in English, which has decidedly become the lingua franca of South America, but was shortened by my natural anxiety to turn to the best account the short time at my disposal. I had a choice between three alternatives—a descent into the coal mine, a visit to the works above ground and the miners’ town, or a ramble152 through the so-called park, which occupies the promontory153 stretching westward208 which forms the natural harbour of Lota, and covers a great portion of the precious deposit to which the place owes its new-born importance. I naturally preferred the latter, feeling that my limited experience as a geological observer would not allow me to profit much by a subterranean155 excursion. I made inquiry, however, as to the vegetable remains found in the lignite, and I was told that they are abundant, although the few specimens which I saw showed but slight traces of vegetable structure. I was led to believe that a collection of specimens had been sent to Europe to my late lamented156 friend, Dr. Oswald Heer, but I am not aware that he has left any reference to such a collection, or even that it ever reached his hands.
The parque of Lota, to which I directed my steps, has rather the character of an extensive pleasure-ground than of what we call a park; but the surface is so uneven, and the outline so irregular, that I could not estimate its extent. The numerous fantastic structures in questionable157 taste that met the eye in every direction create at the first moment an unfavourable impression, but the charms of the spot are so real that this is soon forgotten. The variety and luxuriance of the vegetation, and the diversified158 views of the sea and the rocky shores, were set off by occasional bursts of bright sunshine, in which the drops that still hung on every leaflet glittered like jewels of every hue159. The trees here were of very moderate dimensions, the largest (here called roble) being of the laurel family, which, for want of flower or fruit, I failed to identify. The Spaniards in South209 America have given the name roble, which properly means “oak,” to a variety of trees which agree only in having a thick trunk and spreading branches. The shrubs160 were very numerous, partly indigenous161 and partly exotic, and a peculiar feature which I have not noticed in any other large garden is the number of parasites living on the trunks and branches of the trees and shrubs. Ferns were very numerous and grow luxuriantly, showing a wide difference of climate between this coast and that of the country two or three degrees further north. But the great ornament162 of this place is the beautiful climber, Lapageria rosea, now producing in abundance its splendid flowers, which so finely contrast with its dark-green glossy163 foliage164. The specific name rosea is unfortunate, as the colour of the flowers is bright crimson165, verging102 on scarlet166.
THE PARQUE OF LOTA.
One of the special features of this garden was the abundance of humming-birds that haunted the shrubs and small trees, and darted167 from spray to spray with movements so rapid that to my imperfect vision their forms were quite indistinguishable. Whenever I drew near in the hope of gaining a clearer view, they would dart168 away to another shrub a few yards distant, and I am unable to say whether the bright little creatures belonged to one and the same or to several different species.
At one place where the garden is only some twenty feet above the beach, I scrambled169 down the rocks, and was rewarded by the sight of two or three plants characteristic of this region. The most attractive of these is one of the many generic171 types peculiar to210 the Chilian flora, allied to the pine-apple. The long stiff leaves, edged with sharp teeth and radiating from the lower part of the stem, are coloured bright red along the centre and at the base, forming, when seen from a distance, a brilliant, many-rayed red star. Another novelty was Francoa sonchifolia, which also clings to the rocks by the sea. It has somewhat the habit of a large crucifer, but the structure of the flower and fruit is widely different. It was regarded by Lindley as the type of a distinct natural family, but has been, with one other Chilian genus (Tetilla), classed as a tribe of the saxifrage family.
Time passed quickly in such an interesting spot, and the hour appointed for returning to the ship had nearly arrived, when Mr. Reilly, the gardener who has the management of the parque, invited me to see his house. He came, as I learned, from Wexford, in Ireland, had had some training in the Royal Gardens at Kew, when his fortunate star led him to Chili. I found him installed in a very pretty and comfortable house, charmingly situated172, in as full enjoyment173 of one of the most beautiful gardens in the world as if he were its absolute owner. This was only one more instance of the success which so often attends my countrymen when removed to a distance from their native land. Freed from the evil influences that seem indigenous to the soil of that unfortunate island, they develop qualities that are too rarely perceptible at home. The arguments for emigration are commonly based only on the economical necessity for relieving the land of surplus population; to my mind it may be advocated on other and quite different211 grounds. For every Irishman who is carried to a distant land there is a strong probability of a distinct gain to the world at large.
CAUTIOUS SEAMANSHIP.
I left the parque at Lota with my memory full of pictures of a spot which, along with Mr. Cooke’s famous garden at Montserrat, near Cintra, and that of M. Landon in the oasis174 of Biskra, I count as the most beautiful garden that I have yet seen.
A rather large island—Isla de Sta. Maria—lies off the Chilian coast to the west of Lota, and is separated on the southern side from the promontory of Lavapie by a channel several miles wide. But as this is beset175 with rocks, the rule of the German steamers is to avoid the passage, excepting in clear weather by day. In deference176, therefore, to this cautious regulation, we set our helm to the north on leaving Lota, two or three hours after sunset, and only after keeping that course for some ten miles, and running past the small port of Coronel, steered177 out to seaward, and finally resumed our proper southerly direction. Our sleep was somewhat disturbed by the heavy rolling of the ship during the night, and the morning of the 1st of June broke dimly amid heavy lowering clouds, just such a day as one might expect at the corresponding date (December 1) on the western coast of Europe. Although the sea was running high, there was little wind. The barometer at daybreak stood at 29·98, having risen a tenth of an inch since the previous evening, and the temperature was about 52° Fahr. In our seas one would suppose that a gale178 must have recently prevailed at no great distance, but I believe the fact to be that in the Southern Pacific high seas212 prevail during a great part of the year, even where no strong winds are present to excite them. Gales179 are undoubtedly180 common in the zone between the fiftieth and sixtieth degrees of south latitude181, and the waves habitually182 run higher there than they ever do in the comparatively confined area of the Atlantic. The disturbances183 are propagated to great distances, modified, of course, by winds, currents, and the form of the coasts when they approach the land; but the smooth waters that extend more than thirty degrees on either side of the equator are rarely encountered in higher latitudes184. The skies brightened as the day wore on, and the sun from time to time broke through the clouds; but we were out of sight of land, and the only objects in view during the day were the sea, the sky, and the numerous sea-fowl that followed the ship. The incessant185 rolling made it difficult to settle down to any occupation.
We were now abreast186 of that large tract of Chili which has been left in the possession of its aboriginal187 owners, the Araucanian Indians, extending about one hundred miles from north to south, and a rather greater distance from the coast to the crest188 of the Cordillera. It is unfortunate that so little is known of the Araucanians, as, in many respects, they appear to be the most interesting remaining tribe of the aboriginal American population. For nearly two centuries they maintained their independence in frequent sanguinary encounters with the Spaniards, which are said on Chilian authority to have cost the invaders189 the loss of 100,000 men. Since the establishment of Chilian independence, the policy of the republic has been to213 establish friendly relations with this indomitable people. The territory between the Bio-Bio river to the north and the Tolten to the south was assigned to them, and small annual donations were made to the principal chiefs on condition of their maintaining order amongst the tribesmen. During the last forty years, however, white settlers have trespassed190 to a considerable extent on the Indian territory, both on the north and south sides, but have generally contrived191 to keep up friendly intercourse with the natives, while Chilian officials, established at Angol on the river Mallego, exercise a species of supervision192 over the entire region.
ARAUCANIAN INDIANS.
The present Araucanian population is somewhat vaguely193 estimated at about 40,000, and it is a question of some interest whether, like most native races in contact with those of European descent, they will ultimately be improved out of existence, or be gradually brought within the pale of civilization and fused with the intrusive194 element. The soil is said to be in great part fertile; they raise a large quantity of live stock, and some of the chiefs are said to have amassed195 wealth, and to have begun to show a taste for the comforts and conveniences of civilized196 life.
While at Santiago, I made some inquiry as to the language of the Araucanian tribes. I was informed that in the seventeenth century the Jesuit missionaries197 published a grammar of the language, of which only two or three copies are known to exist. About the beginning of this century a new edition, or reprint, of this work appeared at Madrid, but, as I was assured, has also become extremely rare, and copies are very seldom to be procured198.
214 On the evening of the 1st the barometer had risen about a tenth of an inch, but by the following morning had returned to the same point (very nearly thirty inches) as on the previous day, without any change in the state of the weather; but we enjoyed more sunshine, and the proceedings199 of the birds that ceaselessly bore us company afforded us constant occupation and amusement. Two species were predominant. One of these was the well-known cape201 pigeon (Daption capensis), familiar to all mariners202 in the southern hemisphere. This is a handsome bird, much larger than a pigeon, exhibiting a considerable variety of plumage in what appeared to be adult individuals. In all the ground colour is white, and the tips of the spreading tail feathers are dark brown or nearly black. The upper surface of the wings sometimes showed a somewhat tesselated pattern of white and dark brown, but more commonly were marked by two transverse dark bands, with pure white between. They were very numerous, as many as from fifty to a hundred being near the ship at the same time, keeping close company, and often swooping204 over the deck a few feet over our heads; but, although seemingly fearless, they never were induced to take a piece of meat from a man’s hand, though the temptation was often renewed. The next in frequency—called on this coast colomba—is nearly as large as the cape pigeon, with plumage much resembling that of a turtle dove. This also approached very near. Both of these birds seemed to feel fatigue205, as, after circling round the ship for half an hour at a time, they would rest on the surface of the water, dropping rapidly astern, but after some215 minutes resume their flight and soon overtake the ship. More interesting to me were the two species of albatross, which I had never before had an opportunity of observing. These were more shy in their behaviour, never, I think, approaching nearer than seventy or eighty yards, and usually following the ship with a slow, leisurely206 flight still farther astern. The common, nearly white, species (Diomedea exulans) is but a little larger than the dark-coloured, nearly black species, which I supposed to be the Diomedea fuliginosa of ornithologists.31 If, as is probable, the same birds followed us all day, we saw but two of the latter, which are, I believe, everywhere comparatively scarce. In both species I was struck by the peculiar form of the expanded wing, which is very narrow in proportion to its great length.
BIRDS OF THE SOUTHERN OCEAN.
The moment of excitement for the birds, as well as for the lookers-on, was when a basket of kitchen refuse was from time to time thrown overboard. It was amusing to watch the rush of hungry creatures all swooping down nearly at the same point, and making a marvellous clatter207 as they eagerly contended for the choice morsels208. It did not appear to me that the smaller birds showed any fear of the powerful albatross, or that the latter used his strength to snatch away anything that had been secured by a weaker rival.
About noon on the 2nd of June we were abreast of the northern part of the large island of Chiloe, but were too far out to sea to get a glimpse of the high216 land on the west coast. At the northern end the island is separated from the mainland by a narrow channel (Canal de Chacao) only two or three miles in width; but on the east side the broad strait or interior sea between Chiloe and the opposite coast is from thirty to forty miles in breadth, and beset by rocky islets varying in size from several miles to a few yards.
Another unquiet night ushered210 in the morning of the 3rd of June. This was fairly clear, with a fresh breeze from the south-west, which, as the day advanced, rose nearly to a gale. The sea did not appear to run higher than before, but the waves struck the ship’s side with greater force, and at intervals of about ten minutes we shipped rather heavy seas, after which the deck was nearly knee-deep in water, and a weather board was needed to keep the saloon from being flooded. The barometer fell slightly, and the temperature was decidedly lower, the thermometer marking about 50° Fahr. Some attempts at taking exercise on the hurricane deck were not very successful, my friend, Mr. H——, being knocked down and somewhat bruised211, and we finally retired212 to the saloon, and found the state of things not exhilarating. We saw nothing of the Chonos Archipelago, consisting of three large and numerous small islands, all covered with dense213 forest, and separated from the mainland by a strait, yet scarcely surveyed, about a hundred and twenty miles in length, and ten to fifteen in breadth.
Darwin, writing nearly fifty years ago, anticipated that these islands would before long be inhabited, but I was assured that no permanent settlement has ever been established. Parties of woodcutters have from217 time to time visited the islands, but no one has been tempted214 to remain. The excessive rainfall, which is more continuous in summer than in winter, makes them unfit for the residence of civilized man; but it seems probable that Fuegians transported there would find conditions favourable to their constitution and habits of life. It is another question whether the world would be any the better for the multiplication215 of so low a type of humanity.
HEAVY SEAS OF THE SOUTH PACIFIC.
In the afternoon, as the sea was running very high, the captain set the ship’s head to the wind. We saw him but once, and perceived an anxious expression on his usually jovial216 countenance. It afterwards came out that he apprehended217 the continuance of the gale, in which case he might not have ventured to put the helm round so as to enter the Gulf of Pe?as. At nightfall, however, the wind fell off, and by midnight the weather was nearly calm, though the ship gave us little rest from the ceaseless rolling. During all this time sounds that issued at intervals from the cabin of the Peruvian lady and her children showed that what was merely a bore to us was to them real misery218. I have often asked myself whether there is something about a sea-voyage that develops our natural selfishness, or whether it is because one knows that the suffering is temporary and has no bad results, that one takes so little heed219 of the really grievous condition of travellers who are unable to bear the movement of the sea. A voyage with sea-sick passengers, especially in bad weather, when one is confined to the saloon, is a good deal like being lodged220 in one of the prisons of the Spanish inquisition while torture was freely218 applied221 to the unhappy victims; and yet persons who are not counted as hard-hearted seem to bear their position with perfect equanimity222, if not with something of self-satisfaction.
The morning of the 4th of June was so dark that we supposed our watches to have gone astray. Of course, the days were rapidly growing shorter as we ran to the southward, but the dim light on this morning was explained when we sallied forth. The wind had veered223 round to the north, and in these latitudes that means a murky224 sky with leaden clouds above and damp foggy air below. The change, however, was opportune225. We were steering226 about due south-east, entering the Gulf of Pe?as, with the dim outline of Cape Tres Montes faintly seen on our larboard bow.
I have already alluded227 to the peculiar conformation of the south-western extremity228 of the South American continent, which, from the latitude of 40° south to the opening of the Straits of Magellan, a distance of about nine hundred miles, exhibits an almost continuous range of high land running parallel to the southern extremity of the great range of the Andes. At its northern end this western range, under the names Cordillera Pelada and Cordillera de la Costa, forms part of the mainland of Chili, being separated from the Andes by a broad belt of low country including several large lakes, those of Ranco and Llanquihue being each about a hundred miles in circuit. South of the Canal de Chacao the range is continued by the island of Chiloe and the Chonos Archipelago, and then by the great mountainous promontory whose219 southern extremity is Cape Tres Montes. Here occurs the widest breach229 in the continuity of the range, as the Gulf of Pe?as is fully forty miles wide. To the southward commences the long range of mountainous islands that extend to the Straits of Magellan, between which and the mainland lie the famous channels of Western Patagonia. It is worthy77 of note that, corresponding to the elevation of this parallel western range, the height of the main chain of the Andes is notably230 diminished. Of the summits that have hitherto been measured south of latitude 42° only one—the Volcano de Chana—attains232 to a height of eight thousand feet, and there is reason to believe that numerous passes of little more than half that elevation connect the eastern and western slopes of the chain.
RANGE OF THE ANTARCTIC FLORA.
Another point of some interest is the northern extension of the so-called antarctic flora throughout the whole of the western range, many of the characteristic species being found on the Cordillera Pelada close to Valdivia, which does not, I believe, much exceed three thousand feet in height. It is true that a few antarctic species have been found in the higher region of the Andes as far north as the equator, just as a few northern forms have travelled southward by way of the Rocky Mountains and the highlands of Mexico and Central America; and Professor Fr. Philippi has lately shown that many southern forms, and even a few true antarctic types, extend to the hills of the desert region of Northern Chili, where the constant presence of fog supplies the necessary moisture.32220 The true northern limit, however, of the antarctic flora may be fixed at the Cordillera Pelada of Valdivia.
We crept on cautiously into the gulf, anxiously looking out for some safe landmark233 to secure an entrance into the northern end of Messier’s Channel. Soon after midday we descried234 a remarkable235 conical hill, which is happily placed so as to distinguish the true opening from the indentations of the rocky coast. As we advanced the air became thicker and colder, as drizzling236 rain set in; but the practised eyes of seamen237 are content with indications that convey no meaning to an ordinary landsman, and just as the night was closing in almost pitch dark, the rattle238 of the chain cable announced that we had come to anchor for the night in Hale Cove.
WILD CELERY.
The weather had become very cold. At two p.m. in the gulf the thermometer stood at 42°, and after nightfall it marked only a few degrees above freezing-point, so that, even in the saloon, we sat in our great coats, not at all enjoying the unaccustomed chilliness239. All rejoiced, therefore, when the captain, having quite recovered his wonted cheerfulness, announced that a stove was to be set up forthwith in the saloon, and a tent erected on deck to give shelter from the weather. The stove was a small, somewhat rickety concern, and we fully understood that it would not have been safe to light it while the ship was labouring in the heavy seas outside; but it was especially welcome to me, as I was anxiously longing240 for the chance of getting my botanical paper thoroughly dry. As we enjoyed a cheerful dinner, two of the officers pushed off in one of the ship’s boats into the blackness that had closed221 around. After some time a large fire was seen blazing a few hundred yards from the ship, and, amid rain and sleet241, we could descry242 from the deck some moving forms. They had succeeded, I know not how, in getting the damp timber into a blaze, and were good-naturedly employed in gathering243 whatever they could lay hands upon to contribute to my botanical collection. Not much could be expected under such conditions, but everything in this, to me, quite new region was full of interest. Dead branches covered with large lichens244 introduced me to one of the most characteristic features of the vegetation. The white fronds245, four or five inches wide, and several feet in length, enliven the winter aspect of these shores, and possibly supply food to some of the wild animals. Among the plants which had been dragged up at random246 were several roots of the wild celery of the southern hemisphere. It is widely spread throughout the islands of the southern ocean, as well as on the shores of both coasts of Patagonia, and was described as a distinct species by Dupetit Thouars; but in truth, as Sir Joseph Hooker long ago remarked in the “Flora Antarctica,” there are no structural characters by which to distinguish it from the common wild celery of Europe, which is likewise essentially247 a maritime248 plant. Growing in a region where it is little exposed to sunshine, it has less of the strong characteristic smell of our wild plants, and the leaves may be eaten raw as salad, or boiled, which is not the case with our plant until the gardener, by heaping earth about the roots, diminishes the pungency249 of the smell and flavour.
One thought alone troubled me as I lay down in222 my berth250 to enjoy the first quiet night’s rest. If the weather should hold on as it now fared, there was but a slight prospect of enjoying the renowned251 scenery of the channels, or of making much acquaintance with the singular vegetation of this new region. It was therefore with intense relief and positive delight that I found, on sallying forth before sunrise, a clear sky and a moderate breeze from the south. Snow had fallen during the night, and was now hard frozen; and in the tent, where my plants had lain during the night, it was necessary to break off fragments of ice with numbed252 fingers before laying them in paper.
We weighed anchor about daybreak, and the 5th of June, my first day in the Channels, will ever remain as a bright spot in my memory. Wellington Island, which lay on our right, is over a hundred and fifty miles in length, a rough mountain range averaging apparently about three thousand feet in height, with a moderately uniform coast-line. On the other hand, the mainland presents a constantly varying outline, indented253 by numberless coves254 and several deep narrow sounds running far into the recesses255 of the Cordillera. In the intermediate channel crowds of islets, some rising to the size of mountains, some mere88 rocks peeping above the water, present an endless variety of form and outline. But what gives to the scenery a unique character is the wealth of vegetation that adorns256 this seemingly inclement257 region. From the water’s edge to a height which I estimated at fourteen hundred feet, the rugged258 slopes were covered with an unbroken mantle259 of evergreen260 trees and shrubs. Above that height the bare declivities were clothed with snow,223 mottled at first by projecting rocks, but evidently lying deep upon the higher ridges. I can find no language to give any impression of the marvellous variety of the scenes that followed in quick succession against the bright blue background of a cloudless sky, and lit up by a northern sun that illumined each new prospect as we advanced. At times one might have fancied one’s self on a great river in the interior of a continent, while a few minutes later, in the openings between the islands, the eye could range over miles of water to the mysterious recesses of the yet unexplored Cordillera of Patagonia, with occasional glimpses of snowy peaks at least twice the height of the summits near at hand. About two o’clock we reached the so-named English Narrows, where the only known navigable channel is scarcely a hundred yards in width between two islets bristling261 with rocks. The tide rushed through at the rate of a rapid river, and our captain displayed even more than his usual caution. Some ten men of the crew were posted astern with steering gear, in readiness to provide for the possible breakage of the chains from the steering-house. It seemed unlikely enough that such an accident should occur at that particular point, but there was no doubt that if it did a few seconds might send the ship upon the rocks.
THE ENGLISH NARROWS.
One of the advantages of a voyage through the Channels is that at all seasons the ship comes to anchor every night, and the traveller is not exposed to the mortification262 of passing the most beautiful scenes when he is unable to see them. When more thoroughly known, it is likely that among the numerous224 coves many more will be found to offer good anchorage; but few are now known, and the distance that can be run during the short winter days is not great. We were told that our halt for the night was to be at Eden Harbour, less than twenty miles south of the English Narrows, and to my great satisfaction we dropped anchor about 3.30 p.m., when there was still a full hour of daylight. Our good-natured captain put off dinner for an hour, and with all convenient speed I went ashore263 with Mr. H—— and two officers of the ship.
Eden Harbour deserves its name. A perfectly264 sheltered cove, with excellent holding-ground, is enclosed by steep forest-clad slopes, culminating to the north in a lofty conical hill easily recognized by seamen. The narrow fringe between the forest and the beach is covered with a luxuriant growth of ferns and shrubby plants, many of them covered in summer with brilliant flowers, blooming in a solitude265 rarely broken by the passage of man. After scrambling266 over the rocks on the beach, the first thing that struck us was the curious nature of the ground under our feet. The surface was crisp and tolerably hard, but each step caused an undulation that made one feel as if walking on a thick carpet laid over a mass of sponge. Striking a blow with the pointed end of my ice-axe, it at once pierced through the frozen crust, and sank to the hilt over four feet into the semifluid mass beneath, formed of half-decomposed remains of vegetation.
At every step plants of this region, never before seen, filled me with increasing excitement. Several225 were found with very tolerable fruit, and there were even some remains of the flowers of Desfontainea spinosa and Mitraria coccinea. The latter beautiful shrub appears to have been hitherto known only from Chiloe and the Chonos Archipelago. In those islands it is described as a tall climber straggling among the branches of trees. Here I found it somewhat stunted267, growing four or five feet high, with the habit of a small fuchsia. Neither of these is a true antarctic species. Like many Chilian plants, they are peculiar and much-modified members of tribes whose chief home is in tropical America. Everything else that I saw was characteristically antarctic. Three small coniferous trees peculiar to this region; a large-flowered berberry, with leaves like those of a holly268, growing six or eight feet high, still showing remains of the flower; and two species of Pernettya, with berries like those of a bilberry, and which replace our Vaccinia in the southern hemisphere, were among the new forms that greeted me.
VEGETATION OF EDEN HARBOUR.
A few minutes’ stumbling over fallen timber brought us to the edge of the forest, and it was soon seen that, even if time allowed, it would be no easy matter to penetrate269 into it. The chief and only large tree was the evergreen beech270 (Fagus betuloides of botanists). This has a thick trunk, commonly three or four feet in diameter, but nowhere, I believe, attains any great height. Forty feet appeared to me the outside limit attained271 by any that I saw here or elsewhere. But perhaps the most striking, and to me unexpected, feature in the vegetation was the abundance and luxuriance of the ferns that inhabit these coasts. From226 out of the stiff frozen crust under our feet a profusion272 of delicate filmy ferns (Hymenophylla) grew to an unaccustomed size, including several quite distinct species; while here and there clumps273 of the stiff fronds of Lomaria magellanica, a couple of feet in height, showed an extraordinary contrast in form and habit. As Sir Joseph Hooker long ago remarked, the regular rigid274 crown of fronds issuing from a thick rhizome, when seen from a little distance, remind one forcibly of a Zamia. It was to me even more surprising to find here in great abundance a representative of a genus of ferns especially characteristic of the tropical zone. The Gleichenia of these coasts differs sufficiently to deserve a separate specific name, but in general appearance is strikingly like that which I afterwards saw growing in equal abundance in Brazil.
This continent, with its thousands of miles of unbroken coast-line, and its mountain backbone275 stretching from the equator to Fuegia, has offered extraordinary facilities for the diffusion276 of varied277 types of vegetation. As I have already remarked, some species of antarctic origin travel northward278, and some others, now confined to the equatorial Andes, are most probably modified descendants from the same parent stock; while a small number of tropical types, after undergoing more or less modification279, have found their way to the extreme southern extremity of the continent.
By a vigorous use of my ice-axe, which is an excellent weapon for a botanist, I succeeded in uprooting280 a good many plants from the icy crust in which they227 grew; but the minutes slipped quickly by, daylight was fading in this sheltered spot, shut out from the north and west by steep hills, and too soon came the call to return to the ship. On the beach I picked up the carapace281 of a crab282—bright red and beset with sharp protuberances—evidently freshly feasted on by some rapacious283 animal. The whole of the body and the shell of the under part as well as the claws had disappeared, leaving nothing but the carapace, which I presume had been found too hard and indigestible. Darwin informs us that the sea-otter of this region feeds largely on this or some allied species of crab.
A RED CRAB.
The cold was sufficient to make the little stove in the saloon of the steamer very acceptable, but at no time throughout the voyage could be called severe. Between noon and three p.m. on the 5th of June the thermometer in the open air stood about 40° Fahr., and fell at night only two or three degrees below freezing-point. The barometer was high, gradually rising from 30 inches to 30·3, at which it stood on the following day. Everything promised settled weather, and it was therefore disappointing to find the sky completely covered when I went on deck early in the morning of the 6th. A light breeze from the north raised the temperature by a few degrees and brought the clouds. The scenery throughout the day was even of a grander character than before, and the absence of sunshine gave it a sterner aspect. At times, when passing the smaller islands, I was forcibly reminded of the upper lake of Killarney, the resemblance being much increased by the appearance228 of the smaller islets and rocks worn down and rounded by floating ice. On this and the following days I frequently looked out for evidences of ice-action on the rocky flanks of the mountains. These were at some points very perceptible up to a considerable height; but all that I could clearly make out appeared to be directed from south to north, and nearly or quite horizontal. I failed to trace any indication on the present surface of the descent in a westerly direction of great glaciers284 flowing from the interior towards the coast.
Before midday we passed opposite the opening of Eyre Sound, one of the most considerable of the numerous inlets that penetrate the mountains on the side of the mainland. This is said to extend for forty or fifty miles into the heart of the Cordillera, and it seems certain that one, or perhaps several, glaciers descend93 into the sound, as at all seasons masses of floating ice are drifted into the main channel. We did not see them at first, as the northerly breeze had carried them towards the southern side of the inlet; but before long we found ourselves in the thick of them, and for about a mile steamed slowly amongst floating masses of tolerably uniform dimensions, four or five feet in height out of the water, and from ten to fifteen feet in length. At a little distance they looked somewhat like a herd286 of animals grazing. Seen near at hand, the ice looked much weathered, and it may be inferred that the parent glacier285 reaches the sea somewhere near the head of the sound, and they had been exposed for a considerable time before reaching its mouth.
229
ORIGIN OF THE GLACIERS.
The existence of great glaciers descending287 to the sea-level on the west coast of South America, one of which lies so far north as the Gulf of Pe?as, about 47° south latitude, is a necessary consequence of the rapid depression of the line of perpetual snow on the flanks of the Andes, as we follow the chain southward from Central Chili to the channels of Patagonia. The circumstance that permanent snow is not found lower than about fourteen thousand feet above the sea in latitude 34°, while only 8° farther south the limit is about six thousand feet above the sea-level, has been regarded as evidence of a great difference of climate between the northern and southern hemispheres, and more especially of exceptional conditions of temperature affecting this coast. It appears to me that all the facts are fully explained by the extraordinary increase of precipitation from the atmosphere, in the form of rain or snow, which occurs within the zone where the rapid depression of the snow-line is observed. So far as mean annual temperature of the coast is concerned, the diminution288 of heat in receding289 from the equator is less than the normal amount, being not quite 5° Fahr. for 7° of latitude between Valparaiso and Valdivia. But the annual rainfall at Valdivia is eight times, and at Ancud in Chiloe more than nine times, the amount that falls at Santiago. Allowing that the disproportion may be less great between the snowfall on the Cordillera in the respective latitudes of these places, we cannot estimate the increased fall about latitude 40° at less than four times the amount falling in Central Chili. When we further recollect20 that in the230 latter region the sky is generally clear in summer, and that the surface is exposed to the direct rays of a sun not far from vertical290, while on the southern coast the sun is constantly veiled by heavy clouds, it is obvious that all the conditions are present that must depress the snow-line to an exceptional extent, and allow of those accumulations of snow that give birth to glaciers. When a comparison is drawn291 between South Chili and Norway, it must not be forgotten that at Bergen, where the Norwegian rainfall is said to be at its maximum, the annual amount is sixty-seven inches, or exactly one-half of that registered in Chiloe.
It is a confirmation292 of this view of the subject that in going southward from the parallel of 42° to Cape Froward in the Straits of Magellan, through 12° of latitude, while the fall of mean yearly temperature must be reckoned at 8° Fahr., the depression of the snow-line cannot exceed three thousand feet.33 Of course, we have no direct observations of rainfall in the Channels or on the west side of the Straits of Magellan, but there is no doubt that it diminishes considerably293 in going southward.
To the south of Eyre Sound the main channel opens to a width of four or five miles, and is little encumbered by rocky islets, so that we kept a direct course a little west of south, and in less than two hours reached the southern extremity of Wellington Island, and gained a view of the open sea through a231 broad strait which is known as the Gulf of Trinidad. Now that this has been well surveyed, it offers an opportunity for steamers bound southward that have missed the entrance to the Gulf of Pe?as to enter from the Pacific, and take the course to the Straits of Magellan through the southern channels.
INTRICACY OF THE CHANNELS.
We had now accomplished the first stage in the voyage through the Channels. Many local names have been given to the various passages open to navigation on this singular coast; but, speaking broadly, the northern portion, between Wellington Island and the mainland, is called Messier’s Channel; the middle part, including a number of distinct openings between various islands, is known as the Sarmiento Channel; and the southern division, between Queen Adelaide Island and the continent, is Smyth’s Channel. Facing the Pacific to the south of Wellington Island are three of large size—Prince Henry Island, Madre de Dios, and Hanover Island, besides countless294 islets which beset the straits that divide these from each other; and the course followed by the steamers lies between the outer islands and another large one (Chatham Island) which here rose between us and the mainland.
In the afternoon the north wind freshened; as a result, the weather became very thick, and rain set in, which lasted throughout the night. Our intended quarters were in a cove called Tom Bay; but our cautious captain, with a due dislike to “dirty weather,” resolved to halt in a sheltered spot a few miles farther north, known as Henderson’s Inlet. Both these places afford excellent shelter, but the bottom is rocky,232 and ships are much exposed to lose their anchors. Although we arrived some time before sunset, the evening was so dark, and the general aspect of things so discouraging, that no one suggested an attempt to go ashore. Although we were quite near to land, I could make out very little of the outlines; and, indeed, of this middle portion of the voyage I have retained no distinct pictures in my memory.
It struck me as very singular that, with a moderately strong breeze from the north, the barometer should have stood so high, remaining through the day at about 30·3 inches, and marking at nine p.m. 30·28. The temperature, as was to be expected, was higher than on the previous day, being about 40° during the day, and not falling at night below 35°.
Although the morning showed some improvement in the appearance of the weather, the sky was gloomy when, after a little trouble in raising the anchor, we got under way early on the 7th of June. The clouds lifted occasionally during the day, and I enjoyed some brief glimpses of grand scenery; but the only distinct impression I retained was that of hopeless bewilderment in attempting to make out the positions of the endless labyrinth295 of islands through which we threaded our way. In spite of all that has been done, it seems as if there remained the work of many surveying expeditions to complete the exploration of these coasts. As to several of the eminences296 that lie on the eastern side of the channel, it is yet uncertain whether they are islands or peninsulas projecting from the mainland. It was announced that our next anchorage was to be at Puerto Bueno, there being no other suitable233 place for a considerable distance, and we were led to expect that we should probably find there some Fuegians, as the place is known to be one of their favourite haunts.
PUERTO BUENO.
We dropped anchor about half-past two, in a rather wide cove, or small bay, opening into the mainland a few miles south of Chatham Island. The shores are comparatively low, and enclosed by a dense forest of evergreen beech, which in most parts descends to the water’s edge. The place owes its good repute among mariners to the excellent holding-ground; but it did not appear to me as well sheltered as the other natural harbours that we visited, and as the bottom shelves very gradually, we lay fully a mile off the shore. Fortunately the weather had improved somewhat; a moderate breeze from the north brought slight drizzling rain, but gave no further trouble. A boat was soon ready alongside, and we pulled for the shore, with three of the ship’s officers armed with fowling-pieces, intended partly to impress the natives with due respect, but mainly designed for the waterbirds that abound297 along the shores of the inlet. We were correctly steered for the right spot, as, on scrambling ashore and crossing the belt of spongy ground between the water and the edge of the forest, we found evident tokens that the Fuegian encampment had not been long deserted298. The broken remains of a rude canoe and fragments of basket-work were all that we could find, and we judged that a small party, perhaps no more than ten or a dozen, had left the place a few weeks before our arrival. These wretched Fuegians are said to go farther south,234 and to keep more to the exposed coasts during winter, because at that season animal life is there more abundant.
After exchanging sundry299 jokes about the general disappointment in failing to behold300 the wilde fr?ulein in their natural home, the party separated, two of the officers proceeding200 in the boat towards the upper part of the inlet in quest of water-fowl. For nearly an hour we heard the frequent discharge of their guns, and much ammunition301 must certainly have been expended302; but when they returned their report was that the birds were too wild, and no addition was made to the ship’s larder303.
The general character of the vegetation at Puerto Bueno was the same as that at Eden Harbour, but there were some indications of a slight increase in the severity of the climate. Mitraria coccinea and a few other representatives of the special flora of Chili were no longer to be found, while some antarctic types not before seen here first made their appearance. The most prominent of these was a bush from three to five feet high, in general appearance reminding one of rosemary, but at this season abundantly furnished with the plumed304 fruits characteristic of a composite. This plant, nearly allied to the genus Olearia, whose numerous species are confined to Australia, New Zealand, and the adjoining islands, is known to botanists as Chiliotrichium amelloides, and is one of the characteristic species of this region. It is plentiful305 in Fuegia and on the northern shores of the Straits of Magellan. Sir Joseph Hooker, in the “Flora Antarctica,” remarks that this is the nearest approach235 to a tree that is made by the meagre native vegetation of the Falkland Islands.
PATAGONIAN CONIFERS.
My attention had already been directed at Eden Harbour to the peculiar coniferous plants of this region, and I here found the same species in better condition. The most conspicuous306, a small tree with stiff pointed leaves somewhat like an araucaria, here produced abundant fruit, which showed it to be a Podocarpus (P. nubigena of Lindley). Another shrub of the same family, but very different in appearance, is a species of Libocedrus, allied to the cypress307 of the Old World, which tolerates even the inclement climate of Hermite Island, near Cape Horn. The distribution of the various species of this genus is not a little perplexing to the botanical geographer308. This and another species inhabit the west side of South America, two are found in New Zealand, one in the island of New Caledonia, one is peculiar to Southern China, and one to Japan, while an eighth species belongs to California. The most probable supposition is that the home of the common ancestor of the genus was in the circumpolar lands of the Antarctic Circle at a remote period when that region enjoyed a temperate climate; but the processes by which descendants from that stock reached such remote parts of the earth are not easily conjectured309.
It was nearly dark when the unsuccessful sportsmen returned with the boat, and but for the ship’s lights we should have scarcely been able to make out her position. Some of the many stories of seamen cast away in this inclement region came into my mind during the short half-hour of our return, and, in the236 presence of the actual scenes and conditions, my impressions assumed a vividness that they had never acquired when “living at home at ease.”
In the evening I observed that the barometer had fallen considerably from the usually high point at which it stood up to the 6th, and throughout the night and the following day (June 8) it varied little from 29·9 inches. When we came on deck on the morning of the 8th, the uniform remark of the passengers was, “What a warm day!” We had become used to a temperature of about 40°, and a rise of 5° Fahr. gave the impression of a complete change of climate. It is curious how completely relative are the impressions of heat and cold on the human body, and how difficult it is, even for persons accustomed to compare their sensations with the instrument, to form a moderately good estimate of the actual temperature. We paid dearly, however, for any bodily comfort gained from the comparative warmth in the thick weather that prevailed during most of the day. We had some momentary310 views of grand scenery, but, as on the preceding day, these were fleeting311, and I failed to carry away any definite pictures. It would appear that in such weather the navigation amid such a complete maze312 of islands and channels must be nearly impossible, but the various surveying-expeditions have placed landmarks313, in the shape of wooden posts and crosses, that suffice to the practised eyes of seamen.
About ten a.m. we reached the end of the Sarmiento Channel, opposite to which the comparatively broad opening of Lord Nelson Strait, between Hanover Island and Queen Adelaide Island, leads westward154 to237 the Pacific, and before long entered on the third stage of our voyage, which is known as Smyth’s Channel. This name is used collectively for the labyrinth of passages lying among the smaller islands that fill the space between Queen Adelaide Island and the mainland of South-western Patagonia; but to distinguish the openings between separate islands various names have been given, with which no one not a navigator need burthen his memory. Perhaps the thick weather may have been the cause, but we all noticed the comparative rarity of all appearance of animal life on this and the previous day. A large whale passing near the ship gave the only occasion for a little momentary excitement. As we ran southward, and were daily approaching the winter solstice, the successive days became sensibly shorter, and it was already nearly dark when, soon after four p.m., we cast anchor in an opening between two low islands which is known as Mayne Channel.
SMYTH’S CHANNEL.
It was impossible not to experience a sense of depression at the persistence314 of such unfriendly weather during the brief period of passing through a region of such exceptional interest, an opportunity, if once lost, never to be recovered. With corresponding eagerness the hope held out by a steady rise of the barometer was greeted, especially when I found that this continued up to ten p.m., and amounted since morning to a quarter of an inch. We were under way some time before daylight on June 9, and great was my delight when, going on deck, I found a cloudless sky and the Southern Cross standing315 high in the firmament316.
238 It was a morning never to be forgotten. We rapidly made our way from amid the maze of smaller islands, and glided317 over the smooth water into a broad channel commanding a wide horizon, bounded a panorama318 of unique character. As the stars faded and daylight stole over the scene, fresh features of strangeness and beauty at each successive moment came into view, until at last the full glory of sunshine struck the highest point of Queen Adelaide Island, and a few moments later crowned the glistening319 summits of all the eminences that circled around. The mountainous outline of Queen Adelaide Island, on the right hand, which anywhere else would fix attention, was somewhat dwarfed320 by the superior attractions of the other objects in view. We had reached the point where Smyth’s Channel widens out into the western end of the Straits of Magellan, and right in front of us rose the fantastic outline of the Land of Desolation, as the early navigators styled the shores that bound the southern entrance to the Straits; and as we advanced it was possible to follow every detail of the outline, even to the bold summit of Cape Pillar, forty miles away to the westward. Marking as it does the entrance to the Straits from the South Pacific, that headland has drawn to it many an anxious gaze since steam navigation has made the passage of the Straits easy and safe, and thus avoids the hardship and delay of the inclement voyage round Cape Horn.
The coast nearest to us was at least as attractive as any other part of the panorama. The southern extremity of the continent is a strange medley321 of239 mountain and salt water, which can be explained only by the irregular action of elevatory forces not following a definite line of direction. Several of the narrow sounds that penetrate the coast are spread out inland into large salt-water lakes, and all the shores along which we coasted between Smyth’s Channel and Sandy Point belong to peninsulas projecting between fifty and one hundred miles from the continuous mainland of Patagonia. The outline is strangely varied. Bold snow-covered peaks alternate with lower rocky shores, and are divided by channels of dark blue water penetrating to an unknown distance into the interior. From amidst the higher summits flowed several large ice-streams, appearing, even from a distance, to be traversed by broad crevasses322. I did not see any of these glaciers actually reach the sea, but one, whose lower end was masked by a projecting forest-clad headland, must have approached very near to the beach.
STRAITS OF MAGELLAN.
I have called the scene unique, and, in truth, I believe that nothing like it is to be found elsewhere in the world. The distant picture showing against the sky under the low rays of the winter sun is probably to be matched by some that arctic navigators bear in their memory; but here, below the zone of snow and ice, we had the striking contrast of shores covered by dense forest and clothed with luxuriant vegetation. Not much snow can have fallen, as up to a height of about twelve hundred feet above the sea, as far as the forest prevails, none met the eye. On the Norwegian coast, where one might be tempted to look for winter scenes somewhat of the same240 character, the forest is composed of coniferous trees, which have a very different aspect, and at the corresponding season they are, I imagine, usually so laden with snow that they can give little relief to the eye.
I was struck by the fact that, although we had travelled southward five and a half degrees of latitude (nearly four hundred English miles) since entering the Gulf of Pe?as, the upper limit of the forest belt was so little depressed323. I could not estimate the average depression at more than from two to three hundred feet.
As we advanced into the main channel, and were drawing near to the headland of Cape Tamar, where the Straits of Magellan are narrowed between that and the opposite coast of the Land of Desolation, we noticed that what seemed from a distance to be a mere film of vapour lying on the surface of the sea grew gradually thicker, rose to a height of about one hundred feet, and quite abruptly324, in the space of two or three ship’s lengths, we lost the bright sky and the wonderful panorama, and were plunged326 in a fog that lasted through the greater part of the afternoon. The one constant characteristic of the climate of this region is its liability at all seasons to frequent and abrupt325 change, especially by day. It is, as I learned, a rare event when a day passes without one or two, or even more frequent, changes of the wind, bringing corresponding changes of temperature, rain, or snow, or clear sky; but, as a rule, the weather is less inconstant in winter than at other seasons. A short experience makes it easy to understand the extreme difficulty of navigation in the Straits for sailing ships,241 and the expediency327 of preferring the less inviting328 course of rounding Cape Horn.
BORYA BAY.
Several times during the day the fog cleared away for a while, and gave us grand views of the coast on either hand. That of the Land of Desolation especially attracted my attention. Captain Willsen pointed out to me, as we stood on the bridge, to which I had free access, the opening of a narrow sound which has lately been ascertained to penetrate entirely through what used to be considered a single island. The expressive329 name must, indeed, be abandoned, for, if I am not mistaken, the Land of Desolation of our maps is already known to consist of three, and may possibly form many more islands, divided from each other by very narrow channels. Our cautious commander resolved once again to anchor for the night, and selected for the purpose Borya Bay, a small sheltered cove some distance east of Port Gallant330, a harbour often visited by the English surveying-expeditions. Daylight had departed when, about half-past five, we reached our anchorage; but the sky was again quite clear, and we enjoyed the weird331 effects of moonlight illumination. The scenery is very grand, and was more wintry in aspect than at any other point in our voyage. A mountain at the head of the cove rose steeply to a height of at least two thousand feet, and cast a dark shadow over the ship as we lay very near the shore. The shores were begirt with the usual belt of forest, but this did not extend far, and the declivities all around were clad with snow, which lay rather deep. It appeared to me that a rather large glacier descended to within242 a few hundred feet of the shore, but, seen by the imperfect light, I felt uncertain as to the fact. Since entering the Straits, I had noticed that on the steeper slopes facing the south, where the surface can receive but little sunshine at any season, the forest ascends332 but a short distance above the sea-level. Above that limit in such situations I observed only a scanty333 covering of bushes, and higher up the surface at this season appeared quite bare.
As Borya Bay is one of the customary haunts of the Fuegians, the steam-whistle was sounded on our arrival as an invitation to any natives who might be encamped there. This always suffices to attract them, with the hope of being able to gratify their universal craving334 for tobacco. The appeal was not answered, as the people were doubtless on the outer coasts, and we were not destined to see anything of the most miserable335 of all the races of man.
As the weather remained bright, the anchor was raised soon after midnight, and by one a.m. we were on our way, steering south-east, to round the southern extremity of the mainland of America. Awaking to the disappointment of having missed a view of one of the most interesting portions of the Straits, I hurried on deck, and found a new change in the aspect of the skies. The night had been cold, with a sharp frost; but in the morning, soon after daybreak, the air felt quite warm, with the thermometer marking 39° Fahr. A northerly breeze had set in, and as an inevitable result brought thick weather. I again noticed, however, that the barometer on these coasts243 seems to be very slightly affected by changes in the wind’s direction. It stood last night at 30·16 inches, and on the morning of the 10th, with a complete change of weather, had fallen only eight-hundredths of an inch.
MOUNT SARMIENTO.
The southern end of the continent is shaped like a broad wedge, whose apex336 is Cape Froward, laying in south latitude 53° 54′. We passed it early in the forenoon, giving the headland, which we saw dimly to the north, a broad berth, so that we about touched the 54th parallel. If we compare this with the climate of places in about the same latitude, as, for instance, with that of the Isle209 of Man, we are apt to consider the climate as severe; but we habitually forget how far the condition of Western Europe is affected by exceptional circumstances; and if we look elsewhere in the northern hemisphere, taking, for instance, the Labrador coast, the south of Kamschatka, or even the coast of British Columbia, we must admit that the Straits of Magellan afford no confirmation to the prevalent ideas respecting the greater cold of the climate of the southern hemisphere.
Soon after this turning-point of the voyage the sky partially337 cleared to the southward, and we were fortunate enough to enjoy one of the most impressive scenes that my memory has recorded. The broad sound that divides Clarence Island from the main island of Tierra del Fuego lay open before us, flanked on either hand by lofty snow-clad summits. In the background, set as in a frame, rose the magnificent peak of Mount Sarmiento, the Matterhorn of this region, springing, as it appeared, from the shore to a244 height of seven thousand feet.34 Sole sovereign of these antarctic solitudes338, I know of no other peak that impresses the mind so deeply with the sense of wonder and awe339. As seen from the north, the eastern and western faces are almost equally precipitous, and the broad top is jagged by sharp teeth, of which the two outermost340, one to the east, the other to the west, present summits of apparently equal height. At a distance of about twenty-five miles the whole mass seemed to be coated with snow and ice, save where some sharp ridges and teeth of black rock stood out against the sky. I remained for some time utterly engrossed341 by the marvellous spectacle, and at last bethought myself of endeavouring to secure at least an outline of the scene; but before I could fetch a sketch-book, a fresh change in the weather partly obscured, and, a few minutes later, finally concealed342 from my eyes a picture that remains vividly343 impressed on my memory.
It was impossible not to speculate on the origin and past history of this remarkable peak. Admitting that there is evidence to show that the larger part of the rocks of this region are of volcanic origin, it appeared to me evident not only that Mount Sarmiento is not a volcanic cone, but that the rock of which it is composed is not of volcanic origin. Whether its real form be that of a tower, or that of a ridge58 with precipitous sides seen in profile, no volcanic rocks elsewhere in the world can retain slopes so245 nearly approaching to the vertical. It is, I believe, a portion of the original rock skeleton that formed the axis of the Andean chain during the long ages that preceded the great volcanic outbursts that have covered over the framework of the western side of South America. Like most peaks of a similar form, I am disposed to believe that in the course of gradual upheaval344 the flanks have been carved by marine203 action to the nearly vertical form which impresses the beholder345. Although snow-covered mountains suffer a certain limited amount of denudation346 in the channels through which glaciers flow, there is reason to hold that they are far less subject to degradation347 than those which are not protected from the main agencies that wear away rocky surfaces. It is by alternations of temperature, by frost, and the action of running water, that rocks are rapidly eaten away, and from these a snow-covered mountain is to a great extent secured.
CHANGE OF SCENERY.
A few miles east of Cape Froward the coast of the mainland trends nearly due north for a distance of fully sixty miles, and a marked change is perceived in the aspect of the shores. Instead of the bold outlines to which our eyes had become accustomed, the coastline lay low, fringed with forest on the side of the mainland, which now lay to our west, and on the other hand showing bare flats, here and there flecked with fresh snow. The land on that side at first belonged to Dawson Island; but later in the day, as we approached our destination, the dreary348 flats formed part of Northern Tierra del Fuego.
ISOLATION349 OF SANDY POINT.
The weather was thick as we passed Port Famine,246 and there was little to attract attention until we drew near to Sandy Point, a place that was to me the more interesting as I intended to make it my home until the arrival of the next English steamer. The belt of forest rose over low swelling350 hills near the sea, and in the distance a loftier range, from two to three thousand feet in height, showed a nearly horizontal line against the cloudy sky. As we approached, several structures of painted wood became visible, and for the first time since we left Lota we beheld351 human dwellings352. Sandy Point, known to the natives of South America by the equivalent name Punta Arenas353, is certainly one of the most isolated354 of inhabited spots to be found in the world. Since the scramble170 for Africa has set in, it is, I suppose, only on the Australian coast that one would find any settlement so far removed from neighbours or rivals. On the side of Chili the nearest permanent habitations are in the island of Chiloe, fully seven hundred miles distant in a straight line, and considerably farther by the only practicable route. On the side of Argentaria there is a miserable attempt at a settlement at the mouth of the river Santa Cruz, where the Argentine Government has thought it expedient to hoist355 their flag in order to assert the rights of sovereignty of the Confederation over the dreary wastes of South-eastern Patagonia. This was described to me as a group of half a dozen wooden sheds, where a few disconsolate356 soldiers spend a weary time of exile from the genial357 climate of Buenos Ayres. By the sea route it is about four hundred miles from Sandy Point, but no direct communication between the two places is kept247 up. For all practical purposes, the nearest civilized neighbours to Sandy Point are the English colonists358 in the Falkland Islands, where, in spite of inhospitable soil and climate, some of our countrymen have managed to attain231 to tolerable prosperity, chiefly by sheep-farming. But with an interval of nearly five hundred miles of stormy ocean mutual359 intercourse is neither easy nor frequent.
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1 chili | |
n.辣椒 | |
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2 gulf | |
n.海湾;深渊,鸿沟;分歧,隔阂 | |
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3 cove | |
n.小海湾,小峡谷 | |
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4 devoted | |
adj.忠诚的,忠实的,热心的,献身于...的 | |
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5 kindly | |
adj.和蔼的,温和的,爽快的;adv.温和地,亲切地 | |
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6 lumbering | |
n.采伐林木 | |
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7 volcanic | |
adj.火山的;象火山的;由火山引起的 | |
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8 accomplished | |
adj.有才艺的;有造诣的;达到了的 | |
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9 rustic | |
adj.乡村的,有乡村特色的;n.乡下人,乡巴佬 | |
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10 naturalist | |
n.博物学家(尤指直接观察动植物者) | |
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11 favourable | |
adj.赞成的,称赞的,有利的,良好的,顺利的 | |
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12 ascent | |
n.(声望或地位)提高;上升,升高;登高 | |
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13 flora | |
n.(某一地区的)植物群 | |
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14 pointed | |
adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
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15 Mediterranean | |
adj.地中海的;地中海沿岸的 | |
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16 exhaled | |
v.呼出,发散出( exhale的过去式和过去分词 );吐出(肺中的空气、烟等),呼气 | |
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17 resinous | |
adj.树脂的,树脂质的,树脂制的 | |
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18 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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19 penetrating | |
adj.(声音)响亮的,尖锐的adj.(气味)刺激的adj.(思想)敏锐的,有洞察力的 | |
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20 recollect | |
v.回忆,想起,记起,忆起,记得 | |
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21 olfactory | |
adj.嗅觉的 | |
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22 sufficiently | |
adv.足够地,充分地 | |
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23 accurately | |
adv.准确地,精确地 | |
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24 cleft | |
n.裂缝;adj.裂开的 | |
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25 shrubby | |
adj.灌木的,灌木一般的,灌木繁茂著的 | |
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26 shrub | |
n.灌木,灌木丛 | |
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27 immediate | |
adj.立即的;直接的,最接近的;紧靠的 | |
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28 botanist | |
n.植物学家 | |
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29 alpine | |
adj.高山的;n.高山植物 | |
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30 fully | |
adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
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31 canonical | |
n.权威的;典型的 | |
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32 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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33 cumulative | |
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34 clergy | |
n.[总称]牧师,神职人员 | |
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35 royalty | |
n.皇家,皇族 | |
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36 derived | |
vi.起源;由来;衍生;导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 );(从…中)得到获得;源于;(从…中)提取 | |
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37 testimony | |
n.证词;见证,证明 | |
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38 suffrage | |
n.投票,选举权,参政权 | |
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39 inquiry | |
n.打听,询问,调查,查问 | |
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40 junction | |
n.连接,接合;交叉点,接合处,枢纽站 | |
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41 eastward | |
adv.向东;adj.向东的;n.东方,东部 | |
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42 delightfully | |
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43 crater | |
n.火山口,弹坑 | |
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44 granite | |
adj.花岗岩,花岗石 | |
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45 slates | |
(旧时学生用以写字的)石板( slate的名词复数 ); 板岩; 石板瓦; 石板色 | |
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46 conglomerates | |
n.(多种经营的)联合大企业( conglomerate的名词复数 );砾岩;合成物;组合物 | |
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47 axis | |
n.轴,轴线,中心线;坐标轴,基准线 | |
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48 cone | |
n.圆锥体,圆锥形东西,球果 | |
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49 craters | |
n.火山口( crater的名词复数 );弹坑等 | |
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50 colon | |
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51 plaza | |
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52 requisite | |
adj.需要的,必不可少的;n.必需品 | |
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53 encumbered | |
v.妨碍,阻碍,拖累( encumber的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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54 interval | |
n.间隔,间距;幕间休息,中场休息 | |
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55 intervals | |
n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 );间隔时间;[数学]区间;(戏剧、电影或音乐会的)幕间休息 | |
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56 stony | |
adj.石头的,多石头的,冷酷的,无情的 | |
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57 prospect | |
n.前景,前途;景色,视野 | |
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58 ridge | |
n.山脊;鼻梁;分水岭 | |
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59 ascertained | |
v.弄清,确定,查明( ascertain的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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60 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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61 gleaned | |
v.一点点地收集(资料、事实)( glean的过去式和过去分词 );(收割后)拾穗 | |
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62 specimens | |
n.样品( specimen的名词复数 );范例;(化验的)抽样;某种类型的人 | |
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63 preservation | |
n.保护,维护,保存,保留,保持 | |
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64 ascend | |
vi.渐渐上升,升高;vt.攀登,登上 | |
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65 proprietor | |
n.所有人;业主;经营者 | |
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66 tract | |
n.传单,小册子,大片(土地或森林) | |
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67 ERECTED | |
adj. 直立的,竖立的,笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立,建立 | |
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68 trespasser | |
n.侵犯者;违反者 | |
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69 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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70 parched | |
adj.焦干的;极渴的;v.(使)焦干 | |
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71 cultivation | |
n.耕作,培养,栽培(法),养成 | |
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72 tint | |
n.淡色,浅色;染发剂;vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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73 founders | |
n.创始人( founder的名词复数 ) | |
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74 mules | |
骡( mule的名词复数 ); 拖鞋; 顽固的人; 越境运毒者 | |
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75 retail | |
v./n.零售;adv.以零售价格 | |
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76 annexed | |
[法] 附加的,附属的 | |
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77 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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78 solitary | |
adj.孤独的,独立的,荒凉的;n.隐士 | |
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79 virtuous | |
adj.有品德的,善良的,贞洁的,有效力的 | |
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80 disturbance | |
n.动乱,骚动;打扰,干扰;(身心)失调 | |
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81 thoroughly | |
adv.完全地,彻底地,十足地 | |
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82 torrents | |
n.倾注;奔流( torrent的名词复数 );急流;爆发;连续不断 | |
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83 trench | |
n./v.(挖)沟,(挖)战壕 | |
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84 ridges | |
n.脊( ridge的名词复数 );山脊;脊状突起;大气层的)高压脊 | |
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85 structural | |
adj.构造的,组织的,建筑(用)的 | |
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86 elevation | |
n.高度;海拔;高地;上升;提高 | |
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87 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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88 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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89 sinuous | |
adj.蜿蜒的,迂回的 | |
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90 uneven | |
adj.不平坦的,不规则的,不均匀的 | |
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91 tilted | |
v. 倾斜的 | |
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92 descended | |
a.为...后裔的,出身于...的 | |
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93 descend | |
vt./vi.传下来,下来,下降 | |
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94 masonry | |
n.砖土建筑;砖石 | |
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95 prudent | |
adj.谨慎的,有远见的,精打细算的 | |
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96 hereditary | |
adj.遗传的,遗传性的,可继承的,世袭的 | |
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97 unnatural | |
adj.不自然的;反常的 | |
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98 judicious | |
adj.明智的,明断的,能作出明智决定的 | |
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99 uncommon | |
adj.罕见的,非凡的,不平常的 | |
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100 spiny | |
adj.多刺的,刺状的;n.多刺的东西 | |
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101 diverging | |
分开( diverge的现在分词 ); 偏离; 分歧; 分道扬镳 | |
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102 verging | |
接近,逼近(verge的现在分词形式) | |
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103 stimulus | |
n.刺激,刺激物,促进因素,引起兴奋的事物 | |
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104 affected | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
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105 courteously | |
adv.有礼貌地,亲切地 | |
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106 luncheon | |
n.午宴,午餐,便宴 | |
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107 spoke | |
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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108 sincerity | |
n.真诚,诚意;真实 | |
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109 reluctance | |
n.厌恶,讨厌,勉强,不情愿 | |
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110 hospitable | |
adj.好客的;宽容的;有利的,适宜的 | |
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111 treacherous | |
adj.不可靠的,有暗藏的危险的;adj.背叛的,背信弃义的 | |
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112 amiable | |
adj.和蔼可亲的,友善的,亲切的 | |
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113 rivulet | |
n.小溪,小河 | |
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114 descends | |
v.下来( descend的第三人称单数 );下去;下降;下斜 | |
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115 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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116 zigzags | |
n.锯齿形的线条、小径等( zigzag的名词复数 )v.弯弯曲曲地走路,曲折地前进( zigzag的第三人称单数 ) | |
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117 thicket | |
n.灌木丛,树林 | |
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118 withered | |
adj. 枯萎的,干瘪的,(人身体的部分器官)因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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119 spike | |
n.长钉,钉鞋;v.以大钉钉牢,使...失效 | |
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120 temperate | |
adj.温和的,温带的,自我克制的,不过分的 | |
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121 allied | |
adj.协约国的;同盟国的 | |
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122 botanists | |
n.植物学家,研究植物的人( botanist的名词复数 ) | |
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123 parasites | |
寄生物( parasite的名词复数 ); 靠他人为生的人; 诸虫 | |
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124 laden | |
adj.装满了的;充满了的;负了重担的;苦恼的 | |
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125 feverish | |
adj.发烧的,狂热的,兴奋的 | |
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126 proneness | |
n.俯伏,倾向 | |
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127 trot | |
n.疾走,慢跑;n.老太婆;现成译本;(复数)trots:腹泻(与the 连用);v.小跑,快步走,赶紧 | |
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128 destined | |
adj.命中注定的;(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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129 steamship | |
n.汽船,轮船 | |
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130 cosmos | |
n.宇宙;秩序,和谐 | |
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131 inevitable | |
adj.不可避免的,必然发生的 | |
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132 expedient | |
adj.有用的,有利的;n.紧急的办法,权宜之计 | |
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133 zoology | |
n.动物学,生态 | |
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134 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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135 inaccessible | |
adj.达不到的,难接近的 | |
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136 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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137 steamships | |
n.汽船,大轮船( steamship的名词复数 ) | |
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138 intercourse | |
n.性交;交流,交往,交际 | |
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139 cargo | |
n.(一只船或一架飞机运载的)货物 | |
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140 displacement | |
n.移置,取代,位移,排水量 | |
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141 temperament | |
n.气质,性格,性情 | |
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142 culpable | |
adj.有罪的,该受谴责的 | |
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143 draught | |
n.拉,牵引,拖;一网(饮,吸,阵);顿服药量,通风;v.起草,设计 | |
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144 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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145 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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146 swell | |
vi.膨胀,肿胀;增长,增强 | |
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147 economized | |
v.节省,减少开支( economize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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148 barometer | |
n.气压表,睛雨表,反应指标 | |
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149 nautical | |
adj.海上的,航海的,船员的 | |
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150 smelting | |
n.熔炼v.熔炼,提炼(矿石)( smelt的现在分词 ) | |
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151 copper | |
n.铜;铜币;铜器;adj.铜(制)的;(紫)铜色的 | |
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152 ramble | |
v.漫步,漫谈,漫游;n.漫步,闲谈,蔓延 | |
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153 promontory | |
n.海角;岬 | |
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154 westward | |
n.西方,西部;adj.西方的,向西的;adv.向西 | |
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155 subterranean | |
adj.地下的,地表下的 | |
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156 lamented | |
adj.被哀悼的,令人遗憾的v.(为…)哀悼,痛哭,悲伤( lament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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157 questionable | |
adj.可疑的,有问题的 | |
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158 diversified | |
adj.多样化的,多种经营的v.使多样化,多样化( diversify的过去式和过去分词 );进入新的商业领域 | |
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159 hue | |
n.色度;色调;样子 | |
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160 shrubs | |
灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
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161 indigenous | |
adj.土产的,土生土长的,本地的 | |
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162 ornament | |
v.装饰,美化;n.装饰,装饰物 | |
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163 glossy | |
adj.平滑的;有光泽的 | |
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164 foliage | |
n.叶子,树叶,簇叶 | |
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165 crimson | |
n./adj.深(绯)红色(的);vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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166 scarlet | |
n.深红色,绯红色,红衣;adj.绯红色的 | |
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167 darted | |
v.投掷,投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 );向前冲,飞奔 | |
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168 dart | |
v.猛冲,投掷;n.飞镖,猛冲 | |
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169 scrambled | |
v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 );攀登;争夺;(军事飞机)紧急起飞 | |
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170 scramble | |
v.爬行,攀爬,杂乱蔓延,碎片,片段,废料 | |
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171 generic | |
adj.一般的,普通的,共有的 | |
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172 situated | |
adj.坐落在...的,处于某种境地的 | |
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173 enjoyment | |
n.乐趣;享有;享用 | |
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174 oasis | |
n.(沙漠中的)绿洲,宜人的地方 | |
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175 beset | |
v.镶嵌;困扰,包围 | |
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176 deference | |
n.尊重,顺从;敬意 | |
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177 steered | |
v.驾驶( steer的过去式和过去分词 );操纵;控制;引导 | |
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178 gale | |
n.大风,强风,一阵闹声(尤指笑声等) | |
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179 gales | |
龙猫 | |
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180 undoubtedly | |
adv.确实地,无疑地 | |
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181 latitude | |
n.纬度,行动或言论的自由(范围),(pl.)地区 | |
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182 habitually | |
ad.习惯地,通常地 | |
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183 disturbances | |
n.骚乱( disturbance的名词复数 );打扰;困扰;障碍 | |
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184 latitudes | |
纬度 | |
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185 incessant | |
adj.不停的,连续的 | |
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186 abreast | |
adv.并排地;跟上(时代)的步伐,与…并进地 | |
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187 aboriginal | |
adj.(指动植物)土生的,原产地的,土著的 | |
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188 crest | |
n.顶点;饰章;羽冠;vt.达到顶点;vi.形成浪尖 | |
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189 invaders | |
入侵者,侵略者,侵入物( invader的名词复数 ) | |
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190 trespassed | |
(trespass的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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191 contrived | |
adj.不自然的,做作的;虚构的 | |
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192 supervision | |
n.监督,管理 | |
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193 vaguely | |
adv.含糊地,暖昧地 | |
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194 intrusive | |
adj.打搅的;侵扰的 | |
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195 amassed | |
v.积累,积聚( amass的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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196 civilized | |
a.有教养的,文雅的 | |
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197 missionaries | |
n.传教士( missionary的名词复数 ) | |
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198 procured | |
v.(努力)取得, (设法)获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 );拉皮条 | |
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199 proceedings | |
n.进程,过程,议程;诉讼(程序);公报 | |
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200 proceeding | |
n.行动,进行,(pl.)会议录,学报 | |
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201 cape | |
n.海角,岬;披肩,短披风 | |
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202 mariners | |
海员,水手(mariner的复数形式) | |
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203 marine | |
adj.海的;海生的;航海的;海事的;n.水兵 | |
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204 swooping | |
俯冲,猛冲( swoop的现在分词 ) | |
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205 fatigue | |
n.疲劳,劳累 | |
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206 leisurely | |
adj.悠闲的;从容的,慢慢的 | |
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207 clatter | |
v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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208 morsels | |
n.一口( morsel的名词复数 );(尤指食物)小块,碎屑 | |
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209 isle | |
n.小岛,岛 | |
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210 ushered | |
v.引,领,陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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211 bruised | |
[医]青肿的,瘀紫的 | |
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212 retired | |
adj.隐退的,退休的,退役的 | |
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213 dense | |
a.密集的,稠密的,浓密的;密度大的 | |
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214 tempted | |
v.怂恿(某人)干不正当的事;冒…的险(tempt的过去分词) | |
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215 multiplication | |
n.增加,增多,倍增;增殖,繁殖;乘法 | |
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216 jovial | |
adj.快乐的,好交际的 | |
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217 apprehended | |
逮捕,拘押( apprehend的过去式和过去分词 ); 理解 | |
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218 misery | |
n.痛苦,苦恼,苦难;悲惨的境遇,贫苦 | |
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219 heed | |
v.注意,留意;n.注意,留心 | |
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220 lodged | |
v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 );暂住;埋入;(权利、权威等)归属 | |
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221 applied | |
adj.应用的;v.应用,适用 | |
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222 equanimity | |
n.沉着,镇定 | |
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223 veered | |
v.(尤指交通工具)改变方向或路线( veer的过去式和过去分词 );(指谈话内容、人的行为或观点)突然改变;(指风) (在北半球按顺时针方向、在南半球按逆时针方向)逐渐转向;风向顺时针转 | |
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224 murky | |
adj.黑暗的,朦胧的;adv.阴暗地,混浊地;n.阴暗;昏暗 | |
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225 opportune | |
adj.合适的,适当的 | |
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226 steering | |
n.操舵装置 | |
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227 alluded | |
提及,暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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228 extremity | |
n.末端,尽头;尽力;终极;极度 | |
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229 breach | |
n.违反,不履行;破裂;vt.冲破,攻破 | |
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230 notably | |
adv.值得注意地,显著地,尤其地,特别地 | |
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231 attain | |
vt.达到,获得,完成 | |
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232 attains | |
(通常经过努力)实现( attain的第三人称单数 ); 达到; 获得; 达到(某年龄、水平、状况) | |
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233 landmark | |
n.陆标,划时代的事,地界标 | |
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234 descried | |
adj.被注意到的,被发现的,被看到的 | |
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235 remarkable | |
adj.显著的,异常的,非凡的,值得注意的 | |
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236 drizzling | |
下蒙蒙细雨,下毛毛雨( drizzle的现在分词 ) | |
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237 seamen | |
n.海员 | |
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238 rattle | |
v.飞奔,碰响;激怒;n.碰撞声;拨浪鼓 | |
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239 chilliness | |
n.寒冷,寒意,严寒 | |
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240 longing | |
n.(for)渴望 | |
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241 sleet | |
n.雨雪;v.下雨雪,下冰雹 | |
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242 descry | |
v.远远看到;发现;责备 | |
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243 gathering | |
n.集会,聚会,聚集 | |
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244 lichens | |
n.地衣( lichen的名词复数 ) | |
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245 fronds | |
n.蕨类或棕榈类植物的叶子( frond的名词复数 ) | |
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246 random | |
adj.随机的;任意的;n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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247 essentially | |
adv.本质上,实质上,基本上 | |
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248 maritime | |
adj.海的,海事的,航海的,近海的,沿海的 | |
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249 pungency | |
n.(气味等的)刺激性;辣;(言语等的)辛辣;尖刻 | |
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250 berth | |
n.卧铺,停泊地,锚位;v.使停泊 | |
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251 renowned | |
adj.著名的,有名望的,声誉鹊起的 | |
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252 numbed | |
v.使麻木,使麻痹( numb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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253 indented | |
adj.锯齿状的,高低不平的;缩进排版 | |
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254 coves | |
n.小海湾( cove的名词复数 );家伙 | |
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255 recesses | |
n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 );(工作或业务活动的)中止或暂停期间;学校的课间休息;某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 );将(墙)做成凹形,在(墙)上做壁龛;休息,休会,休庭 | |
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256 adorns | |
装饰,佩带( adorn的第三人称单数 ) | |
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257 inclement | |
adj.严酷的,严厉的,恶劣的 | |
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258 rugged | |
adj.高低不平的,粗糙的,粗壮的,强健的 | |
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259 mantle | |
n.斗篷,覆罩之物,罩子;v.罩住,覆盖,脸红 | |
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260 evergreen | |
n.常青树;adj.四季常青的 | |
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261 bristling | |
a.竖立的 | |
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262 mortification | |
n.耻辱,屈辱 | |
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263 ashore | |
adv.在(向)岸上,上岸 | |
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264 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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265 solitude | |
n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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266 scrambling | |
v.快速爬行( scramble的现在分词 );攀登;争夺;(军事飞机)紧急起飞 | |
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267 stunted | |
adj.矮小的;发育迟缓的 | |
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268 holly | |
n.[植]冬青属灌木 | |
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269 penetrate | |
v.透(渗)入;刺入,刺穿;洞察,了解 | |
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270 beech | |
n.山毛榉;adj.山毛榉的 | |
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271 attained | |
(通常经过努力)实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 ); 达到; 获得; 达到(某年龄、水平、状况) | |
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272 profusion | |
n.挥霍;丰富 | |
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273 clumps | |
n.(树、灌木、植物等的)丛、簇( clump的名词复数 );(土、泥等)团;块;笨重的脚步声v.(树、灌木、植物等的)丛、簇( clump的第三人称单数 );(土、泥等)团;块;笨重的脚步声 | |
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274 rigid | |
adj.严格的,死板的;刚硬的,僵硬的 | |
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275 backbone | |
n.脊骨,脊柱,骨干;刚毅,骨气 | |
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276 diffusion | |
n.流布;普及;散漫 | |
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277 varied | |
adj.多样的,多变化的 | |
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278 northward | |
adv.向北;n.北方的地区 | |
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279 modification | |
n.修改,改进,缓和,减轻 | |
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280 uprooting | |
n.倒根,挖除伐根v.把(某物)连根拔起( uproot的现在分词 );根除;赶走;把…赶出家园 | |
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281 carapace | |
n.(蟹或龟的)甲壳 | |
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282 crab | |
n.螃蟹,偏航,脾气乖戾的人,酸苹果;vi.捕蟹,偏航,发牢骚;vt.使偏航,发脾气 | |
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283 rapacious | |
adj.贪婪的,强夺的 | |
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284 glaciers | |
冰河,冰川( glacier的名词复数 ) | |
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285 glacier | |
n.冰川,冰河 | |
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286 herd | |
n.兽群,牧群;vt.使集中,把…赶在一起 | |
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287 descending | |
n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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288 diminution | |
n.减少;变小 | |
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289 receding | |
v.逐渐远离( recede的现在分词 );向后倾斜;自原处后退或避开别人的注视;尤指问题 | |
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290 vertical | |
adj.垂直的,顶点的,纵向的;n.垂直物,垂直的位置 | |
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291 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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292 confirmation | |
n.证实,确认,批准 | |
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293 considerably | |
adv.极大地;相当大地;在很大程度上 | |
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294 countless | |
adj.无数的,多得不计其数的 | |
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295 labyrinth | |
n.迷宫;难解的事物;迷路 | |
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296 eminences | |
卓越( eminence的名词复数 ); 著名; 高地; 山丘 | |
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297 abound | |
vi.大量存在;(in,with)充满,富于 | |
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298 deserted | |
adj.荒芜的,荒废的,无人的,被遗弃的 | |
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299 sundry | |
adj.各式各样的,种种的 | |
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300 behold | |
v.看,注视,看到 | |
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301 ammunition | |
n.军火,弹药 | |
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302 expended | |
v.花费( expend的过去式和过去分词 );使用(钱等)做某事;用光;耗尽 | |
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303 larder | |
n.食物贮藏室,食品橱 | |
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304 plumed | |
饰有羽毛的 | |
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305 plentiful | |
adj.富裕的,丰富的 | |
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306 conspicuous | |
adj.明眼的,惹人注目的;炫耀的,摆阔气的 | |
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307 cypress | |
n.柏树 | |
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308 geographer | |
n.地理学者 | |
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309 conjectured | |
推测,猜测,猜想( conjecture的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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310 momentary | |
adj.片刻的,瞬息的;短暂的 | |
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311 fleeting | |
adj.短暂的,飞逝的 | |
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312 maze | |
n.迷宫,八阵图,混乱,迷惑 | |
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313 landmarks | |
n.陆标( landmark的名词复数 );目标;(标志重要阶段的)里程碑 ~ (in sth);有历史意义的建筑物(或遗址) | |
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314 persistence | |
n.坚持,持续,存留 | |
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315 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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316 firmament | |
n.苍穹;最高层 | |
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317 glided | |
v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 );掠过;(鸟或飞机 ) 滑翔 | |
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318 panorama | |
n.全景,全景画,全景摄影,全景照片[装置] | |
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319 glistening | |
adj.闪耀的,反光的v.湿物闪耀,闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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320 dwarfed | |
vt.(使)显得矮小(dwarf的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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321 medley | |
n.混合 | |
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322 crevasses | |
n.破口,崩溃处,裂缝( crevasse的名词复数 ) | |
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323 depressed | |
adj.沮丧的,抑郁的,不景气的,萧条的 | |
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324 abruptly | |
adv.突然地,出其不意地 | |
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325 abrupt | |
adj.突然的,意外的;唐突的,鲁莽的 | |
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326 plunged | |
v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 );暴跌;骤降;突降 | |
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327 expediency | |
n.适宜;方便;合算;利己 | |
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328 inviting | |
adj.诱人的,引人注目的 | |
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329 expressive | |
adj.表现的,表达…的,富于表情的 | |
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330 gallant | |
adj.英勇的,豪侠的;(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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331 weird | |
adj.古怪的,离奇的;怪诞的,神秘而可怕的 | |
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332 ascends | |
v.上升,攀登( ascend的第三人称单数 ) | |
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333 scanty | |
adj.缺乏的,仅有的,节省的,狭小的,不够的 | |
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334 craving | |
n.渴望,热望 | |
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335 miserable | |
adj.悲惨的,痛苦的;可怜的,糟糕的 | |
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336 apex | |
n.顶点,最高点 | |
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337 partially | |
adv.部分地,从某些方面讲 | |
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338 solitudes | |
n.独居( solitude的名词复数 );孤独;荒僻的地方;人迹罕至的地方 | |
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339 awe | |
n.敬畏,惊惧;vt.使敬畏,使惊惧 | |
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340 outermost | |
adj.最外面的,远离中心的 | |
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341 engrossed | |
adj.全神贯注的 | |
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342 concealed | |
a.隐藏的,隐蔽的 | |
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343 vividly | |
adv.清楚地,鲜明地,生动地 | |
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344 upheaval | |
n.胀起,(地壳)的隆起;剧变,动乱 | |
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345 beholder | |
n.观看者,旁观者 | |
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346 denudation | |
n.剥下;裸露;滥伐;剥蚀 | |
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347 degradation | |
n.降级;低落;退化;陵削;降解;衰变 | |
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348 dreary | |
adj.令人沮丧的,沉闷的,单调乏味的 | |
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349 isolation | |
n.隔离,孤立,分解,分离 | |
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350 swelling | |
n.肿胀 | |
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351 beheld | |
v.看,注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 );瞧;看呀;(叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现)哎哟 | |
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352 dwellings | |
n.住处,处所( dwelling的名词复数 ) | |
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353 arenas | |
表演场地( arena的名词复数 ); 竞技场; 活动或斗争的场所或场面; 圆形运动场 | |
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354 isolated | |
adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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355 hoist | |
n.升高,起重机,推动;v.升起,升高,举起 | |
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356 disconsolate | |
adj.忧郁的,不快的 | |
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357 genial | |
adj.亲切的,和蔼的,愉快的,脾气好的 | |
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358 colonists | |
n.殖民地开拓者,移民,殖民地居民( colonist的名词复数 ) | |
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359 mutual | |
adj.相互的,彼此的;共同的,共有的 | |
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