Death-dealing instruments have been multiplied and refined by the inventive resources of our times till they have reached a stage of perfection never even approached in the past. Aeroplanes, zeppelins, artillery4, various types of trench5 mortars6, mining, machine-guns, poisonous gases, liquid fire, and the many other means of killing7 and disabling our enemies have rendered this war the most horrible and terrifying in history. Yet it is rare at the front to see officers or men exhibit cowardice. With few exceptions all face death in its many forms with a smile on their lips, bearing at the same time indescribable hardships of mud, dirt, lice, work and weather with unbeatable stoicism. They are always ready to go forward with their faces to the foe8, an irresistible9 army of citizen soldiers. The hardships are often more trying than the dangers, yet it is always an inspiration to hear gay peals10 of laughter at the discomforts11 and hardships borne by men accustomed to all the luxuries of comfortable homes and beloved families.
Just at dark on a zero-cold winter's day our battalion12 arrived at some new frame huts on the edge of a wood. The huts had just been built; they knew not the meaning of bunks13, stoves, or other comforts. The gray sky could be seen through many chinks in the war-contract lumber14, and the frozen earth through cracks in the floor. After a cold supper of bully15 beef, bread, and jam, there lay down on the bare floor of the H.Q. hut to sleep as best they could,—the colonel, a criminal lawyer of Vancouver; the second in command, a lumber dealer16 of Ottawa; an attached major, a lawyer of the same place; the adjutant, a broker17 of Montreal; the paymaster, a banker of Kingston; the signal officer, a bank clerk of Edmonton; the scout18 officer, son of a well-known high court judge of Quebec; and myself. Not a complaint was heard, but jokes were bandied to and fro, and shortly the regular breathing of some and the snoring of others testified that man may quickly become accustomed to strange surroundings. In the morning the boots of all were frozen to the floor!
Men are brave because of many motives19. When they are standing20 shoulder to shoulder facing an enemy, few of them flinch21, no matter how dark the outlook is at the moment. Their pride in themselves, their loyalty22 to their native land, their love of their comrades, and their hatred23 for the enemy combine to prevent them from allowing fear to conquer them. Fear, per se, is another matter. Practically all men experience fear under fire at times, but they grit24 their teeth and press on. The quality that makes them do this is what we call courage. Any man who could look into a hole in the ground into which you could drop a small house, and, knowing this hole was made by a large caliber25 shell, yet feel no fear on going through a barrage26 of such shells, is not a brave man; he's an imbecile. As Kelly said:
"A man that's not afeard o' thim shells has more courage than sinse."
But even outside of that natural fear of shells there is no doubt that at certain moments during the multitudinous dangers of war all men really feel afraid. It cannot be avoided if a man sets any value whatever upon his life; 999 out of 1,000 conquer that impulse to fly, and carry on, the thousandth allows the impulse to conquer him. He is thereafter branded, "coward," unless he retrieves27 himself later. Instinctively28 the brave man is recognized by his fellowmen. In a dangerous advance there are usually a few who drop behind, hide in a shellhole or dugout till the danger passes or lessens29, and then rejoin their unit, claiming to have been lost or stunned30 by a shell. In this way they escape being accused of, and perhaps shot for, desertion. It may be that these men are more to be pitied than blamed. Self preservation31 is the first law of nature, but it is a physical law, and the moral law that man must not be a coward overrules it. A few hours after the advance over Vimy Ridge32, my corporal and I, while dressing33 wounded on the field, met a number of stragglers, all going toward the front lines. They gave various excuses for being behind their companies, and some no doubt told the truth, but it is also certain that a few had shirked.
There is a legitimate34 nervousness, named "shell shock." The real cases of this condition, when they are extreme, are sad to see. An officer or Tommy, who has previously35 been an excellent soldier, suddenly develops "nerves" to such an extent as to be uncontrollable. He trembles violently, his heart may be disorderly in rhythm, he has a terrified air, the slightest noise makes him jump and even occasionally run at top speed to a supposed place of safety. He is the personification of terror, at times crying out or weeping like a child. He is unfit for duty, and will require rest for an extended time. Some cases are not so extreme as this and may simply display sufficient nervousness to prevent their going on.
Shell shock is brought about by the effects of severe shelling; by being buried by an explosion of shell or mine; or by the killing beside the sufferer of a companion. In short, these cases are due to the subjection of the nervous system to a strain which it is unable to withstand, making it collapse36 instead of resiliency rebounding37. The extreme cases are pitiable to observe, and are just as ill as if they were suffering from insanity38, or delirium39 tremens. It is doubtful if the man who has suffered from a severe attack of this malady40 is ever again fit to serve in the firing line. Only time can tell whether or not any permanent weakness will be left in the nervous system as its result. These are not cases of cowardice, though to a superficial observer they might appear so. Some of them six months later, after that full period of rest and care, still show marked tremor41, a fast or irregular heart, are "jumpy" on the slightest sharp sound, and are generally unfit for service.
It is interesting to study the psychology42 of the coward, but it is more interesting and infinitely43 more inspiring to study that of the brave man. Brave men and courageous44 women are so common, as this war has amply proven, that we may find plenty of material for this study. The women—God bless them, and sustain them—have to show more courage than the men; for they have to endure in patience the life-sapping tedium45 of staying at home, while their loved ones go into danger—and perhaps to death. They have not, as their men have, the variety of change, the interest of novelty, or the excitement of battle to sustain them and occupy their minds. Their duty is to wait, wait, wait—praying and hoping that a good and merciful God will spare their loved ones. Oh, you wives, and mothers, and sweethearts, who wait, the world owes to you much more of honor and thanks than it owes to the men at the front! You, in your sublime46 unselfishness, prefer to see your beloved men-folks get the honors and praise, while you are content and happy to accept the reflected glory!
Every country in the world believes that it has the fairest women and the bravest men, and, to make an Irishism, each is right in believing it. It is only natural that each country should have a national pride in the deeds of its heroes, and this war will give to most countries enough acts of bravery and of chivalry47 to inspire their youth for a few generations.
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Capt. Gammil was a handsome, dashing chap whose love of fine clothes, bright colors, silk pajamas—which he wore even in the lines, while the rest of us slept in our uniforms, according to orders—and immaculate cleanliness, gained for him the sobriquet48, Beau Brummel. His farcical gayety was continuous, and rarely did he appear serious, even though a serious mien49 would have been more appropriate. His extremes of style made him a daily cause of humorous remarks on the part of his comrades; and yet his courage was unquestioned. I have seen him coolly walking along, daintily smoking his special brand of cigarette, apparently50 as much at ease as if he were in his own smoking room, with the shells at the same time bursting all about him. Good stories were told of his careless fearlessness at the Somme and elsewhere, as he carried out his duties in tight corners with the sang-froid of a veteran. Here was a fellow one would take to be the lightest of the light, a poseur51, a farceur, a dandy of the ladies, who could be as gay and light in danger as in London. He is the type of chap who was, no doubt, "a sissy" in the opinion of his fellow-schoolboys, but is in reality of the stuff that men are made.
Major Billbower, an English bank-clerk who had lived some years in Canada, was rather the reverse of the above. He took life more seriously, and hardly a day went by that he did not put into the orderly room a complaint, great or small, until he got the name, "the grouser52." Usually his complaints were on behalf of his men whom he seemed to think were always getting discriminated53 against by someone. Because he was of the rather extreme, unmixable, aristocratic type his men respected him rather than loved him (though he was a very likable chap to those who really knew him) but they would unhesitatingly follow him through hell-fire, for in danger his handsomely-chiseled features wore a scornful smile as he strode along, gayly swinging his cane54, with the same air that he had worn in more peaceful days in Hyde Park. He had been decorated for conspicuous55 bravery, and well deserved it. On one occasion a large caliber dud shell struck in the doorway56 of a superficial dugout in which he was writing, and rolled to his feet. Without more than a glance at it, he coolly pushed it to one side with his foot, and continued writing.
Corporal Pare, a red-headed Irish boy, was for a long time my sanitary57 corporal in the lines and out. He had been serving in the lines for sixteen months at the time of which I write, and was tired of it. He frankly58 said he was afraid to do certain things, but when ordered to do them, he carried them out cheerfully and smilingly. At the Somme he won great praise as a runner for carrying messages through heavy barrages59, always appearing terrified at the prospect60, but always getting through. Many a time inspecting the trenches61 with me he would say, respectfully: "Those pineapples are dropping in just ahead of us, sir. Hadn't we better turn back?" Perhaps to tease him, I would go on, telling him to "come along." "Very good, sir," he would say with a cheerful smile on his red face, and he would trudge62 along like a faithful dog. He was "homely63" in looks, red-headed, not clever, and said he was afraid, but no more faithful or more dependable soldier ever went to the front than Corporal Pare.
Sergeant64 Gascrain was a small, shriveled, sharp-tongued, five-foot-high, French Canadian who assisted me for some time. He was cynical65 as to the illnesses of the men, and treated them usually like so many cattle, believing them all to be malingerers, till one day I reminded him that a man may often malinger66, but that did not prevent him from occasionally getting sick. He apparently did not believe it, though he often cursed the rheumatism67 that afflicted68 his own joints69. He said they all had "frigidity70 of the feet, with a big F." He was at times addicted71 to alcohol and every few months he lost his stripes because of intoxication72. Then he would labor73 incessantly74 till, by his good work, he won them back again. And when he did regain75 them he was as proud as if he had won his marshal's baton76, until the next occasion when the great god Bacchus put him back to the ranks with one fell swoop77. With all his faults he had an absolute disregard of danger. I sincerely believe that he thought that if a shell should strike him—well, so much the worse for the shell. At the Somme his cool, courageous work under heavy shell fire won for him, at the recommendation of a British colonel who had observed it, the military medal. But one deed he performed which I think deserved more praise than any other. While working on the field a Lieutenant78 Colonel was brought to him on a stretcher. The Lieutenant Colonel's wound was so slight as to cause a sneer79 to hover80 about the sergeant's lips as he dressed it. A stretcher squad81 carried the colonel to the rear, and another squad, under the sergeant's direction, carried a badly-wounded Tommy. An ambulance came for them. The sergeant had the soldier put in first and then the colonel. But the colonel angrily protested against the Tommy being allowed to go in the same ambulance with him.
"Tres bien, monsieur," replied the sergeant in his quick, sharp tones, and turning to a stretcher squad, said, "Remove the officer." It was quickly done, the colonel staring in angry astonishment82, the sergeant coolly continuing his work while the officer awaited the coming of another ambulance. In my opinion this act of an N.C.O. was worthy83 of a V.C.
Major Peters.—This officer somehow impressed me as being without any semblance84 of nervousness under any conditions. He was always an interesting study. If a shell burst in our neighborhood, close enough to make most of us "duck," Pete would go on serenely85 as if on church parade. Rather slow thinking, he was sure in judgment86. He never made haste to give his thoughts tongue, "nor any unproportioned thought his act." He had a quiet, dry humor, and generous, kindly87 nature. He was invariably late on parade, and probably improperly88 dressed. I have met him on one occasion wandering aimlessly across an area looking for his company, which he had somehow mislaid. If the orderly room gave out an order for some return to be made by company commanders by 8 a.m., his was never in before 10, and then only after he had been reminded of the order. After the Battle of Arras he forgot altogether to put in his recommendations for bravery on the part of any of his men, though by a rush movement he succeeded in getting them in on time.
But with all these faults he had the respect, trust and confidence of everyone. He had won the M.C. twice for coolness and bravery in action. If the holding of the front line was a particularly risky89 proposition at any time, he would probably be the man in charge of the task. He was never found wanting when cool, courageous action was needed, and all knew it. Many are the good tales told of him in his early front line days. By night he would quietly wander off over the parapet by himself, and an hour or so later would come strolling back, after having had a good look into the German lines, and perhaps into some of their dugouts. In his slow voice he would give any valuable information, not wasting any words in doing it. On one of these trips, as he stepped back over the parapet he was met by a senior officer who, knowing his junior's characteristics, said,—
"Well, Pete, what have you found out this time?"
Pete sat himself down on the firing step of the trench and gave him all the information that he had. Suddenly the senior noticed that a pool of blood was collecting where Major Peters sat.
"Are you wounded?" he cried.
"Well, yes," Peters answered slowly, "guess they got me that time," and he rose and strolled carelessly along to the R.A.P. where his wounds were found to be serious enough to put him out of action for a few weeks. The Germans had thrown a bomb at him.
The major loved dearly going into dangerous zones, just wandering off to see what he could see. After we had taken Vimy Ridge, but not yet progressed beyond it, we had outposts on the German side of it, looking down on Vimy and other German positions, 400 or 500 yards away. A good deal of sniping was going on against us, as our men were so much exposed on the side of the hill, where they had very little protection except an odd shellhole or a few feet of shallow trench here and there. Our battalion was holding this line, and I, on the day Vimy village was taken, April 13th, had occasion to make a hurried trip along this whole front, At one spot, where a trench two feet deep was the only protection from possible sniping or shell fire, Major Peters stood, leaning back against the parados, two-thirds of his body exposed, hands in pockets, gazing pensively90 across at the Vimy ruins.
"What are you trying to do? Get your bally head blown off?" I demanded.
Without looking around, or otherwise changing his position, he replied in his slow voice:
"I don't think there's anyone there to blow my head off." This shows his judgment, for he was right, as it proved a little later when our scout officer, followed by a single platoon, entered it. But it showed also his carelessness as to danger, for at the moment he was only guessing, or surmising91, that there was no one in Vimy, and at any moment he might have found it out to his sorrow.
A few minutes after this the accidental explosion of a Mills bomb killed one man, wounded two officers severely92, and six men almost as severely, and I was kept busy for some time attending to them. Having finished, I found Major Peters near me, looking longingly93 toward Vimy, into the ruins of which our scout officer, Lieutenant A——; our O.C. battalion, Major E——; and a platoon in charge of ever-smiling Lieutenant G—— had all disappeared. Major Peters was apparently impatient to go across, though he had no right to do so without orders. Leaving the wounded to be evacuated94 by my always trustworthy and fearless assistants, Corporal H—— and Private B——, M.M., and their stretcher bearers, I joined him. Though I had even less right to go across than he, we dared each other to go, and off we went. An odd shell was falling about and it was quite characteristic for Pete to remark, slowly and seriously,—
"I don't mind dodging95 shells, but I do hate dodging that damned orderly room of ours."
But he was as joyously96 gay as if he were a schoolboy going on some forbidden picnic.
Without encountering a Boche we leisurely97 strolled through the ruined and deserted98 streets, passing here and there a dead German, and one Canadian who must have got lost, and been killed while looking for his own lines. On the main road was a wagon99 of heavy shells with its wheels interlocked with those of another wagon—both apparently deserted in a hurry by the fleeing Germans, for an officer's complete kit100 lay beside them. We passed the station and went on out 500 yards to where our platoon was "digging in." We joined them, and then wandered on for one hundred yards into what was to be the new No Man's Land, without ever having encountered a German. They had deserted the village by dark, and had not left even the proverbial corporal's guard behind. Guided by the major through the streets which were now in the shadows of evening we unerringly found our way back whence we had come, for he had the path-finding instincts of the North American Indian. On arrival we found that, while my absence had been unnoticed, poor Pete's had been, and for some minutes in the orderly room he was in hot water explaining matters. His explanations ended, as they usually did, by being unsatisfactory, and our strict disciplinarian adjutant, Major P——, turned aside to hide a smile, and murmur,—
"Poor Pete! Always in trouble." No matter what breach101 he ever made in the rules, Peters was always forgiven, for his sterling102 worth was too well known to allow anyone in authority to hold anger against him.
One of the best stories told of him is so droll103, and yet so typical, that it is worth repeating: He was attending a course of instruction with a number of other officers on measures to be taken during a gas attack. The gas expert had shown carefully how the gas masks should be put on quickly and correctly, and the officers were applying them. They were instructed to take off the masks, and to see which of them could have his on in the shortest time. To the surprise of all present the slow-moving major had his mask on before any of the others. On inquiring of him how it happened, he admitted with that humorous dry smile of his that he had not bothered taking his mask off after the first trial.
CAPT. J. A. CULLUM, C.A.M.C.
Some twelve years ago when I was studying in Edinburgh, at Scotland's famous university, I occupied rooms at the apartment house of a bonnie little Scotch104 woman on Marchmont Road. Miss Anderson was a mother to us all. How well I remember her smiling, sweet face, above which her white hair made an appropriate halo, as she came in to do for us some kindly, thoughtful act. May she still be in the land of the living and happy!
In the next suite105 of rooms lived Jack106 Cullum of Regina, Canada, and for the last month before examinations, the regular lessees107 of his rooms having returned, he and I occupied the same suite. He was a square-jawed, firm-mouthed, good-looking chap, with a strong arm and leg, made strong by breaking bronchos on the western Canadian ranch108 where he grew to manhood and prosperity. He was blunt, almost to a fault, but his word was good, his mind fair, and his manners sociable109. Other Canadians who were post-graduating there at the same time will remember many a gay evening we passed in the old R.B. on Princes Street, that most magnificent thoroughfare in Scotland, with the old Castle which saw many of the happy and unhappy hours of poor Mary Queen of Scots as a background, Calton Hill and its unfinished Grecian architecture at one end, and that fine Gothic monument to Sir Walter Scott in the center. In all these jolly evenings dear old Cullum was foremost in pay-times and gay-times.
In serious moments and in times of leisure, however, his mind often carried him back in happy reminiscence to his homeland where a pretty Canadian girl, whose photo he carried and often showed, was anticipating his return.
When the war came Jack was among the first to come forward. He went across to France with a Western Canadian battalion. In the next year Cullum was decorated for conspicuous gallantry three times, twice by the King and once by the French Government with the Croix de Guerre. His first act of bravery was performed when the Huns blew up a mine in No Man's Land, injuring many of his battalion. He, heedless of danger—and orders—rushed over the top, and attended his men in plain view of the enemy. For this he was given the Military Cross by King George; and a bar to the M.C. and the French decoration came later for acts of almost reckless courage. He was the first Canadian to win three decorations, and now he was thought to bear a charmed life by his comrades. Shortly after the last bit of ribbon came to him he applied111 for transfer to the fighting forces, resigning his commission in the medical corps112, to accept a lower rank in the infantry113. And just following this noble act, while sitting in a mess hut two miles behind the lines at Noulette Wood, a stray shell came through the roof, slightly injuring two other officers, and mortally wounding Cullum. His generous soul displayed itself to the last, for he absolutely refused to have his wounds dressed until after the others had been attended to, maintaining that his injuries were slight. And the gallant110 Cullum died in the ambulance on his way to the hospital.
But of course they are not all the fine types. You occasionally meet what the English call a rotter, but his kind is exceedingly scarce. After all, the finest type is the ordinary common soldier, without any special qualifications, who, day in and day out, night in and night out, performs the dirty, rough, hard, monotonous114, and often very dangerous, tasks of the Tommy; who does his duty, grumbling115 perhaps, swearing often, but does it without cowardice, without hope of honor or emolument116, except the honor of doing his duty and doing it like a man. When his work is done he comes back, if still alive and well, to sleep in wet clothes, on a mud floor, under a leaky roof or no roof, often hungry, or his appetite satisfied by bully beef and biscuit.
Yes; with all his swearing, despite any lead-swinging, the finest type of all, the real hero of the war, is the ordinary common soldier!
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1
cowardice
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| n.胆小，怯懦 | |
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pampered
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| adj.饮食过量的，饮食奢侈的v.纵容，宠，娇养( pamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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chivalrous
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| adj.武士精神的；对女人彬彬有礼的 | |
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artillery
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| n.(军)火炮，大炮；炮兵(部队) | |
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trench
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| n./v.(挖)沟，(挖)战壕 | |
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mortars
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| n.迫击炮( mortar的名词复数 )；砂浆；房产；研钵 | |
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killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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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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peals
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| n.（声音大而持续或重复的）洪亮的响声( peal的名词复数 )；隆隆声；洪亮的钟声；钟乐v.（使）（钟等）鸣响，（雷等）发出隆隆声( peal的第三人称单数 ) | |
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discomforts
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| n.不舒适( discomfort的名词复数 )；不愉快，苦恼 | |
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battalion
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| n.营；部队；大队(的人) | |
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bunks
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| n.（车、船等倚壁而设的）铺位( bunk的名词复数 )；空话，废话v.（车、船等倚壁而设的）铺位( bunk的第三人称单数 )；空话，废话 | |
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lumber
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| n.木材，木料；v.以破旧东西堆满；伐木；笨重移动 | |
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bully
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| n.恃强欺弱者，小流氓；vt.威胁，欺侮 | |
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dealer
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| n.商人，贩子 | |
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broker
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| n.中间人，经纪人；v.作为中间人来安排 | |
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scout
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| n.童子军，侦察员；v.侦察，搜索 | |
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motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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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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flinch
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| v.畏缩，退缩 | |
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loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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grit
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| n.沙粒，决心，勇气；v.下定决心，咬紧牙关 | |
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caliber
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| n.能力；水准 | |
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barrage
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| n.火力网，弹幕 | |
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retrieves
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| v.取回( retrieve的第三人称单数 )；恢复；寻回；检索（储存的信息） | |
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instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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lessens
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| 变少( lessen的第三人称单数 )； 减少（某事物） | |
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stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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preservation
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| n.保护，维护，保存，保留，保持 | |
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ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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legitimate
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| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
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previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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collapse
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| vi.累倒；昏倒；倒塌；塌陷 | |
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rebounding
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| 蹦跳运动 | |
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insanity
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| n.疯狂，精神错乱；极端的愚蠢，荒唐 | |
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delirium
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| n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
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40
malady
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| n.病，疾病(通常做比喻) | |
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41
tremor
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| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
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42
psychology
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| n.心理，心理学，心理状态 | |
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43
infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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44
courageous
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| adj.勇敢的，有胆量的 | |
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45
tedium
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| n.单调；烦闷 | |
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46
sublime
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| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
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47
chivalry
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| n.骑士气概，侠义；（男人）对女人彬彬有礼，献殷勤 | |
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48
sobriquet
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| n.绰号 | |
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49
mien
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| n.风采；态度 | |
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50
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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51
poseur
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| n.装模作样的人 | |
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52
grouser
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| n.插在河底系船的竿子；鸣不平者；发牢骚者；抱怨者 | |
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53
discriminated
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| 分别，辨别，区分( discriminate的过去式和过去分词 )； 歧视，有差别地对待 | |
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54
cane
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| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
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55
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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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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57
sanitary
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| adj.卫生方面的，卫生的，清洁的，卫生的 | |
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58
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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barrages
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| n.弹幕射击( barrage的名词复数 )；火力网；猛烈炮火；河上的堰坝v.火力攻击（或阻击）( barrage的第三人称单数 )；以密集火力攻击（或阻击） | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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61
trenches
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| 深沟，地沟( trench的名词复数 )； 战壕 | |
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trudge
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| v.步履艰难地走；n.跋涉，费力艰难的步行 | |
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homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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sergeant
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| n.警官，中士 | |
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cynical
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| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
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malinger
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| v.装病以逃避工作 | |
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rheumatism
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| n.风湿病 | |
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afflicted
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| 使受痛苦，折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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joints
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| 接头( joint的名词复数 )； 关节； 公共场所（尤指价格低廉的饮食和娱乐场所） （非正式）； 一块烤肉 （英式英语） | |
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frigidity
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| n.寒冷；冷淡；索然无味；（尤指妇女的）性感缺失 | |
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addicted
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| adj.沉溺于....的，对...上瘾的 | |
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intoxication
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| n.wild excitement;drunkenness；poisoning | |
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73
labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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incessantly
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| ad.不停地 | |
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75
regain
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| vt.重新获得，收复，恢复 | |
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76
baton
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| n.乐队用指挥杖 | |
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swoop
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| n.俯冲，攫取；v.抓取，突然袭击 | |
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lieutenant
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| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
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sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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hover
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| vi.翱翔，盘旋；徘徊；彷徨，犹豫 | |
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squad
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| n.班，小队，小团体；vt.把…编成班或小组 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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83
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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semblance
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| n.外貌，外表 | |
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serenely
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| adv.安详地，宁静地，平静地 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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87
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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improperly
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| 不正确地，不适当地 | |
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risky
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| adj.有风险的，冒险的 | |
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pensively
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| adv.沉思地，焦虑地 | |
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surmising
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| v.臆测，推断( surmise的现在分词 )；揣测；猜想 | |
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severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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93
longingly
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| adv. 渴望地 热望地 | |
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94
evacuated
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| 撤退者的 | |
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95
dodging
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| n.避开，闪过，音调改变v.闪躲( dodge的现在分词 )；回避 | |
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joyously
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| ad.快乐地, 高兴地 | |
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leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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99
wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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kit
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| n.用具包，成套工具；随身携带物 | |
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101
breach
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| n.违反，不履行；破裂；vt.冲破，攻破 | |
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102
sterling
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| adj.英币的(纯粹的，货真价实的)；n.英国货币(英镑) | |
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103
droll
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| adj.古怪的，好笑的 | |
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104
scotch
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| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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105
suite
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| n.一套(家具)；套房；随从人员 | |
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106
jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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107
lessees
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| n.承租人，租户( lessee的名词复数 ) | |
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108
ranch
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| n.大牧场，大农场 | |
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109
sociable
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| adj.好交际的，友好的，合群的 | |
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110
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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111
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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112
corps
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| n.(通信等兵种的)部队；(同类作的)一组 | |
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113
infantry
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| n.[总称]步兵(部队) | |
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114
monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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115
grumbling
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| adj. 喃喃鸣不平的, 出怨言的 | |
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116
emolument
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| n.报酬，薪水 | |
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