Again getting into the automobile3, we rode along the shore, my host calling my attention to the minefields, which stretched from Tchanak southward about seven miles. In this area the Germans and Turks had scattered4 nearly 400 mines. They told me with a good deal of gusto that the Russians had furnished a considerable number of these destructive engines. Day after day Russian destroyers sowed mines at the Black Sea entrance to the Bosphorus, hoping that they would float down-stream and fulfil their appointed task. Every morning Turkish and German mine-sweepers would go up, fish out these mines, and place them in the Dardanelles.
The battery at Erenkeui had also been subjected to a heavy bombardment, but it had suffered little. Unlike Dardanos, it was situated6 back of a hill, completely shut out from view. In order to fortify7 this spot, I was told, the Turks had been compelled practically to dismantle8 the fortifications of the Inner Straits—that section of the stream which extends from Tchanak to Point Nagara. This was the reason why this latter part of the Dardanelles was now practically unfortified. The guns that had been moved for this purpose were old-style Krupp pieces of the model of 1885.
South of Erenkeui, on the hills bordering the road, the Germans had introduced an innovation. They had found several Krupp howitzers left over from the Bulgarian war and had installed them on concrete foundations. Each battery had four or five of these emplacements, so that, as I approached them, I found several substantial bases that apparently10 had no guns. I was mystified further at the sight of a herd11 of buffaloes—I think I counted sixteen engaged in the operation—hauling one of these howitzers from one emplacement to another. This, it seems, was part of the plan of defence. As soon as the dropping shells indicated that the fleet had obtained the range, the howitzer would be moved, with the aid of buffalo12 teams, to another concrete emplacement.
“We have even a better trick than that,” remarked one of{144} the officers. They called out a sergeant13, and recounted his achievement. This soldier was the custodian14 of a contraption which, at a distance, looked like a real gun, but which, when I examined it near at hand, was apparently an elongated15 section of sewer16 pipe. Back of a hill, entirely17 hidden from the fleet, was placed the gun with which this sergeant had co-operated. The two were connected by telephone. When the command came to fire, the gunner in charge of the howitzer would discharge his shell, while the man in charge of the sewer pipe would burn several pounds of black powder and send forth18 a conspicuous19 cloud of inky smoke. Not unnaturally20, the Englishmen and Frenchmen on the ships would assume that the shells speeding in their direction came from the visible smoke-cloud, and would proceed to centre all their attention upon that spot. The space around this burlesque21 gun was pock-marked with shell-holes; the sergeant in charge, I was told, had attracted more than 500 shots, while the real artillery22 piece still remained intact and undetected.
From Erenkeui we motored back to General Djevad’s headquarters, where we had lunch. Djevad took me up to an observation post, and there before my eyes I had the beautiful blue expanse of the ?gean. I could see the entrances to the Dardanelles, Sedd-ul-Bahr, and Kum Kalé standing23 like the guardians24 of a gateway25, with the rippling26 sunny waters stretching between. Far out I saw the majestic27 ships of England and France sailing across the entrance, and, still farther away, I caught a glimpse of the island of Tenedos, behind which we knew that a still larger fleet lay concealed28. Naturally this prospect29 brought to mind a thousand historic and legendary30 associations, for there is probably no single spot in the world more crowded with poetry and romance. Evidently my Turkish escort, General Djevad, felt the spell, for he took a telescope and pointed5 at a bleak31 expanse, perhaps ten miles away.
“Look at that spot,” he said, handing me the glass. “Do you know what that is?”
I looked, but could not identify this sandy beach.
“Those are the plains of Troy,” he said. “And the river that you see winding32 in and out,” he added, “we Turks call it the Mendere, but Homer knew it as the Scamander. Back of us, only a few miles away, is Mount Ida.”
Then he turned his glass out to sea, swept the field where the British ships lay, and again asked me to look at an indicated spot; I immediately brought within view a magnificent English warship33, all stripped for battle, quietly steaming along like a man walking on patrol duty.
Sedd-ul-Bahr Fortification. [To face p. 144.
Sedd-ul-Bahr Fortification.
[To face p. 144.
Fort Dardanos.
Fort Dardanos.
{145}
“That,” said General Djevad, “is the Agamemnon! Shall I fire a shot at her?” he asked me.
“Yes, if you’ll promise me not to hit her,” I answered.
We lunched at headquarters, where we were joined by Admiral Usedom, General Mertens, and General Pomiankowsky, the Austrian Military Attaché at Constantinople. The chief note in the conversation was one of absolute confidence in the future. Whatever the diplomats34 and politicians in Constantinople may have thought, these men, Turks and Germans, had no expectation—at least, their conversation betrayed none—that the Allied fleets would pass their defences. What they seemed to hope for above everything was that their enemies would make another attack.
“If we could only get a chance at the Queen Elizabeth!” said one eager German, referring to the greatest ship in the British Navy, then lying off the entrance.
As the Rhein wine began to disappear, their eagerness for the combat increased.
“If the damn fools would only make a landing!” exclaimed one—I quote his precise words.
The Turkish and German officers, indeed, seemed to vie with each other in expressing their readiness for the fray35. Probably a good deal of this was bravado36, intended for my consumption—indeed, I had private information that their real estimate of the situation was much less reassuring37. Now, however, they declared that the war had presented no real opportunity for the German and English Navies to measure swords, and for this reason the Germans at the Dardanelles welcomed this chance to try the issue.
Having visited all the important places on the Anatolian side, we took a launch and sailed over to the Gallipoli Peninsula. We almost had a disastrous38 experience on this trip. As we approached the Gallipoli shore, our helmsman was asked if he knew the location of the minefield and if he could steer39 through the channel. He said “yes,” and then steered40 directly for the mines! Fortunately the other men noticed the mistake in time, and so we arrived safely at Kilid-ul-Bahr. The batteries here were of about the same character as those on the other side; they formed one of the main defences of the straits. Here everything, so far as a layman41 could judge, was in excellent condition, barring the fact that the artillery pieces were of old design and the ammunition42 not at all plentiful43.
The batteries showed signs of a heavy bombardment. None had been destroyed, but shell-holes surrounded the fortification. My Turkish and German friends looked at these evidences of{146} destruction rather seriously, and they were outspoken44 in their admiration45 for the accuracy of the Allied fire.
“How do they ever get the range?” This was the question they were asking each other. What made the shooting so remarkable46 was the fact that it came, not from Allied ships in the straits, but from ships stationed in the ?gean Sea, on the other side of the Gallipoli Peninsula. The gunners had never seen their target, but had had to fire at a distance of nearly ten miles, over high hills, and yet many of their shells had barely missed the batteries at Kilid-ul-Bahr.
When I was there, however, the place was quiet, for no fighting was going on that day. For my particular benefit the officers put one of their gun-crews through a drill, so that I could obtain a perfect picture of the behaviour of the Turks in action. In their minds’ eyes these artillerists now saw the English ships advancing within range, all their guns pointed to destroy the followers47 of the Prophet. The bugleman blew his horn, and the whole company rushed to their appointed places. Some were bringing shells, others were opening the breeches, others were taking the ranges, others were straining at pulleys, and others were putting the charges into place. Everything was quickness and alertness; evidently the Germans had been excellent instructors48, but there was more to it than German military precision, for the men’s faces lighted up with all that fanaticism49 which supplies the morale50 of Turkish soldiers. These gunners momentarily imagined that they were shooting once more at the infidel English, and the exercise was a congenial one. Above the shouts of all I could hear the sing-song chant of the leader, intoning the prayer with which the Moslem51 has rushed to battle for thirteen centuries.
“Allah is great, there is but one God, and Mohammed is his Prophet!”
When I looked upon these frenzied52 men, and saw so plainly written in their faces their uncontrollable hatred53 of the unbelievers, I called to mind what the Germans had said in the morning about the wisdom of not putting Turkish and German soldiers together. I am quite sure that, had this been done, here, at least, the “Holy War” would have proved a success, and that the Turks would have vented54 their hatred of Christians55 on those who happened to be nearest at hand, for the moment overlooking the fact that they were allies.
I returned to Constantinople that evening, and two days afterward56, on March 18th, the Allied fleet made its greatest attack. As all the world knows, that attack proved disastrous{147} to the Allies. The outcome was the sinking of the Bouvet, the Ocean, and the Irresistible57, and the serious crippling of four other vessels58. Of the sixteen ships engaged in this battle of the 18th, seven were thus put temporarily or permanently59 out of action.
Naturally the Germans and Turks rejoiced over this victory. The police went around and ordered householders each to display a prescribed number of flags in honour of the event. The Turkish people have so little spontaneous patriotism60 or enthusiasm of any kind that they would never decorate their establishments without such definite orders! As a matter of fact, neither Germans nor Turks regarded this celebration too seriously, for they were not yet persuaded that they had really won a victory. Most still believed that the Allied fleets would succeed in forcing their way through. The only question, they said, was whether the Entente61 was ready to sacrifice the necessary number of ships.
Neither Wangenheim nor Pallavicini believed that the disastrous experience of the 18th would end the naval62 attack, and for days they anxiously waited for the fleet to return. This was the general expectation, for no one believed that the Allies, after making this great demonstration63, would accept defeat after the loss of only three ships. The high tension lasted for days and weeks after the repulse64 of the 18th. We were still momentarily expecting the renewal65 of the attack. But the great armada never returned.
Should it have come back? Could the Allied ships really have captured Constantinople? I am constantly asked this question. As a layman my own opinion can have little value, but I have quoted the opinions of the German Generals and Admirals, and of the Turks—practically all of whom, excepting Enver, believed that the enterprise would succeed, and I am half inclined to believe that Enver’s attitude was merely a case of graveyard66 whistling. In what I now have to say on this point, therefore, I wish it understood that I am giving, not my own views, but merely those of the officials then in Turkey who were best qualified67 to judge.
Enver had told me, in our talk on the deck of the Yuruk, that he had “plenty of guns, plenty of ammunition.” But this statement was not true. A glance at the map will show why Turkey was not receiving munitions68 from Germany or Austria at that time. The fact was that Turkey was just as completely isolated69 from her allies then as was Russia. There were two railroad lines leading from Constantinople to Germany. One went by way of Bulgaria and Serbia. Bulgaria was then not an{148} ally. Even though she had winked70 at the passage of guns and shells, this line could not have been used, since Serbia, which controlled the vital link extending from Nish to Belgrade, was still intact.
The other railroad line went through Rumania, by way of Bucharest. This route was independent of Serbia, and, had the Rumanian Government consented, it would have formed a clear route from the Krupps to the Dardanelles. The fact that munitions could be sent off with the connivance71 of the Rumanian Government perhaps accounts for the suspicion that guns and shells were going by that route. Day after day the French and British Ministers protested at Bucharest against this alleged72 violation73 of neutrality, only to be met with angry denials that the Germans were using this line. There is no doubt now that the Rumanian Government was perfectly74 honourable75 in making these denials. It is not unlikely that the Germans themselves started all these stories, merely to fool the Allied fleet into the belief that their supplies were inexhaustible.
Let us suppose that the Allies had returned, say, on the morning of the 19th, what would have happened? The one overwhelming fact is that the fortifications were very short of ammunition. They had almost reached the limit of their resisting powers when the British fleet passed out on the afternoon of the 18th. I had secured permission for Mr. George A. Schreiner, the well-known American correspondent of the Associated Press, to visit the Dardanelles on this occasion. On the night of the 18th this correspondent discussed the situation with General Mertens, who was the chief technical officer at the Straits. General Mertens admitted that the outlook was very discouraging for the defence.
“We expect that the British will come back early to-morrow morning,” he said, “and if they do we may be able to hold out for a few hours.”
General Mertens did not declare in so many words that the ammunition was practically exhausted76, but Mr. Schreiner discovered that such was the case. The fact was that Fort Hamidié, the most powerful defence on the Asiatic side, had just seventeen armour-piercing shells left, while at Kilid-ul-Bahr, which was the main defence on the European side, there were precisely77 ten.
“I should advise you to get up at six o’clock to-morrow morning,” said General Mertens, “and take to the Anatolian Hills. That’s what we are going to do.”
The troops at all the fortifications had their orders to man the{149} guns until the last shell had been fired and then to abandon the forts.
Once these defences became helpless, the problem of the Allied fleet would have been a simple one. The only bar to their progress would have been the minefield, which stretched from a point about two miles north of Erenkeui to Kilid-ul-Bahr. But the Allied fleet had plenty of mine-sweepers, which could have made a channel in a few hours. North of Tchanak, as I have already explained, there were a few guns, but they were of the 1878 model, and could not discharge projectiles78 that could pierce modern armour-plate. North of Point Nagara there were only two batteries, and both dated from 1835! Thus, once having silenced the outer straits, there was nothing to bar the passage to Constantinople except the German and Turkish warships79. The Goeben was the only first-class fighting ship in either fleet, and would not have lasted long against the Queen Elizabeth. The disproportion in the strength of the opposing fleets, indeed, was so enormous that it is doubtful whether there would ever have been an engagement.
Thus the Allied fleet would have appeared before Constantinople on the morning of the 20th. What would have happened then? We have heard much discussion as to whether this purely80 naval attack was justified81. Enver, in his conversation with me, had laid much stress on the absurdity82 of sending a fleet to Constantinople, supported by no adequate landing force; and much of the criticism passed upon the Dardanelles expedition since has centred on that point. Yet it is my opinion that this purely naval attack was justified. I base this judgment83 upon the political situation which then existed in Turkey. Under ordinary circumstances such an enterprise would probably have been a foolish one, but the political conditions in Constantinople then were not ordinary. There was no solidly-established Government in Turkey at that time. A political committee, not exceeding forty members, headed by Talaat, Enver, and Djemal, controlled the Central Government, but their authority throughout the Empire was exceedingly tenuous84. As a matter of fact, the whole Ottoman State, on that 18th day of March, 1915, when the Allied fleet abandoned the attack, was on the brink of dissolution. All over Turkey ambitious chieftains had arisen, who were momentarily expecting the fall, and who were looking for the opportunity to seize their parts of the inheritance.
As previously85 described, Djemal had already organised practically an independent Government in Syria. In Smyrna, Rahmi Bey, the Governor-General, had often disregarded the authorities{150} in the capital. In Adrianople, Hadji Adil, one of the most courageous86 Turks of the time, was making his plans to set up an independent Government. Arabia was already practically an independent nation. Among the subject races the spirit of revolt was rapidly spreading. The Greeks and the Armenians would also have welcomed an opportunity to strengthen the hands of the Allies. The existing financial and industrial conditions seemed to make revolution inevitable87. Many farmers went on strike; they had no seeds, and would not accept them as a free gift from the Government because, they said, as soon as their crops should be garnered88 the Armies would immediately requisition them.
As for Constantinople, the populace there and the best elements among the Turks, far from opposing the arrival of the Allied fleet, would have welcomed it with joy. The Turks themselves were praying that the British and French would take their city, for this would relieve them of the controlling gang, emancipate89 them from the hated Germans, bring about peace, and end their miseries90.
No one understood this better than Talaat. He was taking no chances on making an expeditious91 retreat, in case the Allied fleet appeared before the city. For several months the Turkish leaders had been casting envious92 glances at a Minerva automobile that had been reposing93 in the Belgian Legation ever since Turkey’s declaration of war. Talaat finally obtained possession of the coveted94 prize. He had obtained somewhere another automobile, which he had loaded with extra tyres, gasolene, and all the other essentials of a protracted95 journey. This was evidently intended to accompany the more pretentious96 machine as a kind of “mother ship.” Talaat stationed these automobiles97 on the Asiatic side of the city with chauffeurs98 constantly at hand. Everything was prepared to leave for the interior of Asia at a moment’s notice.
But the great Allied armada never returned to the attack.
About a week after this momentous99 defeat, I happened to drop in at the German Embassy. Wangenheim had a distinguished100 visitor whom he had asked me to meet. I went into his private office, and there was von der Goltz Pasha, recently returned from Belgium, where he had served as Governor. I must admit that, meeting Goltz thus informally, I had difficulty in reconciling his personality with all the stories that were then coming out of Belgium. That morning this mild-mannered, spectacled gentleman seemed sufficiently101 quiet and harmless. Nor did he look his age—he was then about seventy-four; his{151} hair was only streaked102 with grey, and his face was almost unwrinkled. I should not have taken him for more than sixty-five.
The austerity, brusqueness, and ponderous103 dignity which are assumed by most highly-placed Germans were not apparent. His voice was deep, musical, and pleasing, and his manners were altogether friendly and ingratiating. The only evidence of pomp in his bearing was his uniform; he was dressed as a Field-Marshal, his body blazing with decorations and gold braid. Von der Goltz explained and half-apologised for his regalia by saying that he had just returned from an audience with the Sultan. He had come to Constantinople to present to His Majesty104 a medal from the Kaiser, and was taking back to Berlin a similar mark of consideration from the Sultan to the Kaiser, besides an Imperial present of 10,000 cigarettes.
The three of us sat there for some time, drinking coffee, eating German cakes, and smoking German cigars. I did not do much of the talking, but the conversation of von der Goltz and Wangenheim seemed to me to shed much light upon the German mind, and especially on the trustworthiness of German military reports. The aspect of the Dardanelles fight that interested them most at that time was England’s complete frankness in publishing her losses. That the British Government should issue an official statement, saying that three ships had been sunk and that four others had been badly damaged, struck them as most remarkable. In this announcement I merely saw a manifestation105 of the usual British desire to make public the worst—the policy which we Americans also believe to be the best in war-time. But no such obvious explanation could satisfy these wise and solemn Teutons. No, England had some deep purpose in telling the truth so unblushingly; what could it be?
“Es ist ausserordentlich!” (“It is extraordinary!”) said von der Goltz, referring to England’s public acknowledgment of defeat.
“Es ist unerh?rt!” (“It is unheard of!”) declared the equally astonished Wangenheim.
These master diplomatists canvassed106 one explanation after another, and finally reached a conclusion that satisfied the higher strategy. England, they agreed, really had had no enthusiasm for this attack, because, in the event of success, she would have had to hand Constantinople over to Russia—something which England really did not intend to do. By publishing the losses, England showed Russia the enormous difficulties of the task; she had demonstrated, indeed, that the enterprise was impossible. After such losses, England intended Russia to understand that{152} she had made a sincere attempt to gain this great prize of war and expected her not to insist on further sacrifices.
The sequel to this great episode in the war came in the winter of 1915-16. By this time Bulgaria had taken sides with the Entente, Serbia had been overwhelmed, and the Germans had obtained a complete unobstructed railroad line from Constantinople to Austria and Germany. Huge Krupp guns now began to come over this line, all destined107 for the Dardanelles. Sixteen great batteries, of the latest model, were emplaced near the entrance, completely controlling Sedd-ul-Bahr. The Germans lent the Turks 500,000,000 marks, much of which was spent defending this indispensable highway. The thinly-fortified9 straits through which I passed in March, 1915, are now as impregnably fortified as Heligoland. It is doubtful if all the fleets in the world could force the Dardanelles to-day.
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1
allied
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adj.协约国的;同盟国的 | |
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2
brink
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n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘,边沿 | |
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3
automobile
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n.汽车,机动车 | |
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scattered
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adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
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5
pointed
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adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
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situated
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adj.坐落在...的,处于某种境地的 | |
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7
fortify
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v.强化防御,为…设防;加强,强化 | |
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8
dismantle
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vt.拆开,拆卸;废除,取消 | |
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9
fortified
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adj. 加强的 | |
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10
apparently
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adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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11
herd
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n.兽群,牧群;vt.使集中,把…赶在一起 | |
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12
buffalo
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n.(北美)野牛;(亚洲)水牛 | |
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13
sergeant
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n.警官,中士 | |
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14
custodian
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n.保管人,监护人;公共建筑看守 | |
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15
elongated
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v.延长,加长( elongate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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16
sewer
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n.排水沟,下水道 | |
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entirely
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ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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18
forth
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adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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conspicuous
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adj.明眼的,惹人注目的;炫耀的,摆阔气的 | |
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20
unnaturally
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adv.违反习俗地;不自然地;勉强地;不近人情地 | |
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21
burlesque
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v.嘲弄,戏仿;n.嘲弄,取笑,滑稽模仿 | |
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22
artillery
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n.(军)火炮,大炮;炮兵(部队) | |
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standing
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n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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guardians
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监护人( guardian的名词复数 ); 保护者,维护者 | |
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25
gateway
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n.大门口,出入口,途径,方法 | |
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rippling
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起涟漪的,潺潺流水般声音的 | |
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majestic
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adj.雄伟的,壮丽的,庄严的,威严的,崇高的 | |
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concealed
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a.隐藏的,隐蔽的 | |
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prospect
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n.前景,前途;景色,视野 | |
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legendary
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adj.传奇(中)的,闻名遐迩的;n.传奇(文学) | |
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31
bleak
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adj.(天气)阴冷的;凄凉的;暗淡的 | |
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32
winding
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n.绕,缠,绕组,线圈 | |
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warship
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n.军舰,战舰 | |
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diplomats
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n.外交官( diplomat的名词复数 );有手腕的人,善于交际的人 | |
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35
fray
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v.争吵;打斗;磨损,磨破;n.吵架;打斗 | |
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bravado
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n.虚张声势,故作勇敢,逞能 | |
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reassuring
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a.使人消除恐惧和疑虑的,使人放心的 | |
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disastrous
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adj.灾难性的,造成灾害的;极坏的,很糟的 | |
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steer
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vt.驾驶,为…操舵;引导;vi.驾驶 | |
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steered
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v.驾驶( steer的过去式和过去分词 );操纵;控制;引导 | |
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41
layman
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n.俗人,门外汉,凡人 | |
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ammunition
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n.军火,弹药 | |
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plentiful
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adj.富裕的,丰富的 | |
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44
outspoken
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adj.直言无讳的,坦率的,坦白无隐的 | |
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45
admiration
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n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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46
remarkable
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adj.显著的,异常的,非凡的,值得注意的 | |
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47
followers
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追随者( follower的名词复数 ); 用户; 契据的附面; 从动件 | |
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48
instructors
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指导者,教师( instructor的名词复数 ) | |
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49
fanaticism
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n.狂热,盲信 | |
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50
morale
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n.道德准则,士气,斗志 | |
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51
Moslem
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n.回教徒,穆罕默德信徒;adj.回教徒的,回教的 | |
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52
frenzied
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a.激怒的;疯狂的 | |
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53
hatred
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n.憎恶,憎恨,仇恨 | |
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54
vented
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表达,发泄(感情,尤指愤怒)( vent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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55
Christians
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n.基督教徒( Christian的名词复数 ) | |
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56
afterward
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adv.后来;以后 | |
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57
irresistible
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adj.非常诱人的,无法拒绝的,无法抗拒的 | |
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58
vessels
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n.血管( vessel的名词复数 );船;容器;(具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的)人 | |
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permanently
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adv.永恒地,永久地,固定不变地 | |
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60
patriotism
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n.爱国精神,爱国心,爱国主义 | |
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61
entente
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n.协定;有协定关系的各国 | |
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naval
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adj.海军的,军舰的,船的 | |
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demonstration
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n.表明,示范,论证,示威 | |
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repulse
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n.击退,拒绝;vt.逐退,击退,拒绝 | |
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renewal
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adj.(契约)延期,续订,更新,复活,重来 | |
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66
graveyard
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n.坟场 | |
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67
qualified
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adj.合格的,有资格的,胜任的,有限制的 | |
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68
munitions
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n.军火,弹药;v.供应…军需品 | |
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69
isolated
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adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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70
winked
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v.使眼色( wink的过去式和过去分词 );递眼色(表示友好或高兴等);(指光)闪烁;闪亮 | |
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71
connivance
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n.纵容;默许 | |
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72
alleged
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a.被指控的,嫌疑的 | |
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73
violation
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n.违反(行为),违背(行为),侵犯 | |
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74
perfectly
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adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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75
honourable
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adj.可敬的;荣誉的,光荣的 | |
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76
exhausted
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adj.极其疲惫的,精疲力尽的 | |
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77
precisely
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adv.恰好,正好,精确地,细致地 | |
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78
projectiles
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n.抛射体( projectile的名词复数 );(炮弹、子弹等)射弹,(火箭等)自动推进的武器 | |
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79
warships
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军舰,战舰( warship的名词复数 ); 舰只 | |
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80
purely
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adv.纯粹地,完全地 | |
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81
justified
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a.正当的,有理的 | |
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82
absurdity
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n.荒谬,愚蠢;谬论 | |
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83
judgment
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n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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84
tenuous
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adj.细薄的,稀薄的,空洞的 | |
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85
previously
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adv.以前,先前(地) | |
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86
courageous
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adj.勇敢的,有胆量的 | |
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87
inevitable
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adj.不可避免的,必然发生的 | |
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88
garnered
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v.收集并(通常)贮藏(某物),取得,获得( garner的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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89
emancipate
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v.解放,解除 | |
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90
miseries
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n.痛苦( misery的名词复数 );痛苦的事;穷困;常发牢骚的人 | |
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expeditious
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adj.迅速的,敏捷的 | |
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envious
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adj.嫉妒的,羡慕的 | |
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93
reposing
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v.将(手臂等)靠在某人(某物)上( repose的现在分词 ) | |
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coveted
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adj.令人垂涎的;垂涎的,梦寐以求的v.贪求,觊觎(covet的过去分词);垂涎;贪图 | |
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95
protracted
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adj.拖延的;延长的v.拖延“protract”的过去式和过去分词 | |
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96
pretentious
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adj.自命不凡的,自负的,炫耀的 | |
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97
automobiles
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n.汽车( automobile的名词复数 ) | |
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98
chauffeurs
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n.受雇于人的汽车司机( chauffeur的名词复数 ) | |
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99
momentous
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adj.重要的,重大的 | |
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100
distinguished
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adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
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101
sufficiently
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adv.足够地,充分地 | |
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102
streaked
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adj.有条斑纹的,不安的v.快速移动( streak的过去式和过去分词 );使布满条纹 | |
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103
ponderous
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adj.沉重的,笨重的,(文章)冗长的 | |
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104
majesty
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n.雄伟,壮丽,庄严,威严;最高权威,王权 | |
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105
manifestation
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n.表现形式;表明;现象 | |
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106
canvassed
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v.(在政治方面)游说( canvass的过去式和过去分词 );调查(如选举前选民的)意见;为讨论而提出(意见等);详细检查 | |
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107
destined
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adj.命中注定的;(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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