Skim Organizes the Constabulary.
The soldiers had gone, bag and baggage, dog, parrot, and monkey, blanket-roll and cook. I stood by the deserted1 convent under the lime-tree, watching the little transport disappear beyond the promontory2. The house that formerly3 had been headquarters seemed abandoned. There was the list of calls still pasted on the door. Reveille, guard-mount, mess-call, taps,—the village would seem strange without these bugle-notes. The sturdy sentry4 who had paced his beat was gone. When would I ever see again my old friend the ex-circus clown, and hear him tinkle5 the “potato-bug” and sing “Ma Filipino Babe?” Walking along the lonely shore, now lashed6 by breakers, I looked out on the blue wilderness7 beyond. It was with feelings such as Robinson Crusoe must [182]have had that I went back then to the empty house.
Ramon, convinced that something would break loose, now that the troops were gone, had left for Cagayan. His wife, Maria, slept at night with a big bolo underneath9 her pillow. There was a “bad” town only a few miles away—a village settled by Tagalog convicts, who had been conspicuous10 in the revolt a few years previous. The people feared these neighbors, the assassins, and they double-barred their doors at night. I was awakened11 as the clock struck twelve by unfamiliar12 noises,—nothing but the lizard13 croaking14 in the bonga-tree. Again, at one, I started up. It was the rats, and from the rattling15 sound above I judged that the house-snake was pursuing them. At early morning came the chorus of the chanticleers. Through the transparent16 Japanese blinds I could see the huge green mountains shouldering the overhanging clouds. Ah! the mysterious, silent mountains, with their wonderful, deep shadows! The work of man seemed insignificant17 beside them, and Balingasag the lonesomest place in all the world. [183]
One morning the sharp whistle of the launch aroused the town. Proceeding18 to the shore, I saw a boat put out from the Victoria, sculled by a native deck-hand. As the sun had not yet risen, all the sea was gray, and sea and sky blended into one vast planetary sphere. Two natives carrying the ample form of the constabulary captain staggered through the surf. Behind them came the captain’s life-long partner and lieutenant19, a slight man, with cold, steely eyes, dressed in gray crash uniform, with riding leggings. They had been through one campaign together as rough riders; for the captain had once been “sheriff of Gallup County,” in the great Southwest.
The house no longer seemed deserted with this company, and as they had brought supplies for two months—which included bread!—we made an early attack upon these commissaries. Since the troops had left I had been existing on canned salmon20 and sardines21. Now there were cheese, guava, artichokes, mushrooms, ham, bacon, blackberry-jam, and fruits. The captain, natural detective that he was, caught one of the muchachos stealing a bottle of cherries, which he had thrown out the [184]window during the unpacking22, with the purpose of securing it next day. On being accused, he made a vigorous protest of his innocence24, but after a few minutes he returned triumphantly25 with the intelligence that he had “found” that which was lost.
A heavy rain and the tail-end of a monsoon27 kept my two guests prisoners for a week. The presidente of the town had issued a bandilla that all able-bodied men were wanted to enlist28 in the constabulary. Accordingly came awkward natives to the house, where the interpreter examined them; for all the Spanish that the genial29 captain knew—and he had lived already two years in the Philippines—was “bueno,” “malo,” “saca este,” and “sabe that?” The candidates were measured, and, if not found wanting, were turned over to the native tailor to be fitted with new uniforms. Some of the applicants30 confessed that they had once been Insurrectos; but so much the better,—they knew how to fight. They said that they were not afraid of Moros—though I think that they would rather have encountered tigers—and when [185]finally dressed, a few days later, they appeared upon the streets self-conscious, objects of adoration31 in the eyes of all the local belles32.
The time came when the mists dissolved upon the mountains, and the little clouds scudded33 along overhead as though to get in from the rain. The sun had struggled out for a few minutes, and the wind abated34. But the sea had not forgotten recent injuries, and all night we could hear the booming of the surf. The launch, drowned in a nebula35 of spray, dashed by, and sought an anchorage in safer waters. So it was decided36 that we go to Cagayan in a big banca. But it was a most unwieldly craft to launch. We got the arms and ammunition37 safe aboard, and then, assisted by the sturdy corporals and miscellaneous natives, we pushed out. A rushing comber swept the boat and nearly swamped it. But we bore up till about a hundred yards from shore, when a gigantic breaker bearing down upon the banca—which had been deflected38 so as to present a broadside—filled her completely, and she went down in the swirling39 spume. Up to our necks in surf, we labored40 for [186]an hour, together with the population of the fishing village, finally to save the wretched boat and most of the constabulary ordnance41.
But, alas42 for the lieutenant! He had lost one of his riding-leggings, and for half a day he paced the shore in search of it. He offered rewards to any native who should rescue it. Lacking a saving sense of humor, he bemoaned43 his fate, and when he did give up the search, he discontinued it reluctantly. And two years afterwards, when I next met him, he inquired if I had seen his legging washed up on the beach. “Some native must be sporting around in it,” he said. “It set me back five dollars, Mex.”
It was a sleepy day at Cagayan. The tropical river flowed in silence through the jungle like a serpent. In Capitan A-Bey’s house opposite, a se?orita droned the Stepanie Gavotte on the piano. Capitan A-Bey’s pigs rooted industriously44 in the compound. The teacher who had hiked in from El Salvador, unconscious that his canvas leggings were transposed, was engaged in a deep game of solitaire. [187]
Upon the settee in the new constabulary residence, his long legs doubled up ridiculously, still in khaki breeches and blue flannel45 army shirt, lay “Skim,” with a week’s growth of beard upon his face, sleeping after a night-ride over country roads. After an hour or two of rest he would again be in the saddle for two days.
Late in the afternoon we started on constabulary ponies46 for Balingasag—a ride of thirty miles through quagmires47, over swollen48 streams and mountain trails. Our ponies were the unaccepted present from a quack49 who thus had tried to buy his way out of the calaboose, where he was “doing time” for trying to pass himself off as a prophet.
The first few miles of the journey led through the cloistered50 archways of bamboo. We crossed the Kauffman River, swimming the horses down stream. Then the muddy roads began. The constant rains had long ago reduced them to a state of paste, and although some attempt had been made to stiffen51 them with a filling of dried cocoanut-husks, the sucking sound made by the ponies’ hoofs52 was but a prelude53 to our final floundering in the mud. There was a narrow ridge54 on one [188]side near a thorny55 hedge, and, balancing ourselves on this, we made slow progress, meanwhile tearing our clothes to shreds56. Skim had considerable difficulty with his long legs, for he could have touched the ground on either side, but he could use them to advantage, when it came to wading57 through the slosh ourselves, and dragging the tired ponies after us. At night we “came to anchor” in a village, where we purchased a canned dinner in a Spanish store. The natives gathered around us as we sat, all splashed with mud, on wicker chairs in front of the provincial58 almacen. Skim talked with the Spaniard, alternating every word with “estie,” while the Don kept swallowing his eyes and gesturing appropriately. Skim was convinced that his Castilian was fine art.
We slept in a deserted schoolhouse, lizards59 and mosquitoes being our bed-fellows. Skim, the rough cowboy that he was, pillowed his head upon the horse’s flank, and kept his boots on. At the break of day, restless as ever, he was off again. Crossing the Jimenez River in a native ferry while the horses swam, we passed through tiny villages that had not seen a white man for a year. Our [189]journey now lay through the woods, and Skim, dismounting, stalked along the narrow trail as though he had been shod in seven-league boots. I heard a pistol shot ring out, and, coming up, found Skim in mortal combat with an ape. Then one more plunge60 into a river, and another stream spanned by a bamboo pole, which we negotiated like funambulists, dragging the steeds below us by their halters,—then Balingasag.
In town the big vaquero was a schoolboy on a holiday. He was a perfect panther for prowling around the streets at night, and in the market-place, where we now missed the scattering61 of khaki, he became acquainted with the natives, and drank tuba with them. He came back with reports about the resources of the town. There was an Indian merchant stranded62 at Ramon’s, who had a lot of watches for sale cheap. He purchased some lace curtains at the Chino store, and yellow pi?a cloth for a mosquito bar, and with this stuff he had transformed his bed into a perfect bower63. It was almost a contradiction that this wild fellow, who was more accustomed to his boots and spurs at night than to pajamas64, should have [190]taken so much pains to make his sleeping-quarters dainty. Streamers of baby-ribbon fell in graceful65 lines about the curtains, while the gauze mosquito-bar was decorated with the medals he had won for bravery.
A photograph of his divorced wife occupied the place of honor near the looking-glass. In reminiscent moods Skim used to tell how Chita, of old Mexico, had left him after stabbing him three times with the jeweled knife that he had given her. “I didn’t interfere66 with her,” he said, “but told her, when she pricked67 me with the little knife, it was my heart that she was jabbing at.” Skim also told me of his expedition into “Dead Man’s Gulch,” “Death Valley,” and the suddenly-abandoned mining-camps among the hills of California. And he had met the daughter of a millionaire in Frisco, and had seen her home. “And when I saw the big shack68 looming69 up there in the woods,” he said, “I thought sure that I’d struck the wrong farmhouse70.”
Skim rented a small place surrounded by a hedge of bonga palms, and here he entertained the village royally. He was a favorite among the [191]girls, and lavished71 gifts upon them, mostly the latest illustrated72 magazines that belonged to me. He ruled his awkward soldiers with an iron hand, and they were more afraid of him that of the Evil One. Of course, they could not understand his Spanish, and would often answer, “Si, se?or” when they had not the least idea of what the orders were. Then they would come to grief for disobedience, or receive Skim’s favorite reprimand of “Blooming idiot! No sabe your own language?” When his cook displeased73 him, he (the cook) would generally come bumping down the stairs. The voice of Skim was as the roaring lion in a storm. Desertions were many in those strenuous74 days; for the constabulary guards were not the heroes of the hour.
Always insisting on strict discipline, Skim, on the day we made our trial hike, marshaled his forces in a rigid75 line, and, after roll-call, marched them off in order to the hills. The soldiers took about three steps to his one, and, trying to keep up with him through the dense76 hemp-fields, they broke ranks and ran. We followed a mountain stream to its headwaters, scrambling77 over bowlders, [192]wading waist-deep in the ice-cold stream, and by the time we broke the underbrush and pushed up hill, big Skim had literally78 hiked the soldiers off their feet. They were unspeakably relieved when we sat down at noon in the cool shade, upon the brink79 of a deep, crystal pool, and ate our luncheon80. Skim, insisting that the canned quail—which retained its gamy flavor—was beyond redemption, turned it over to the soldiers to their great delight.
In spite of his severity, Skim had a soft heart, and when all dressed in white and gold, he would go up to visit Se?or Roa and his daughters; while the girls would play duets on the piano, Skim, with a little chocolate baby under either arm, would sing in an insinuating81 voice one of his good old cowboy songs, regardless of the fact that he was not in tune82 with his accompaniment. He always appeared on Sundays cleanly shaven and immaculate in white, and when the girls went by his house to church, their dusky arms glowing among the gauze, appealed to him and made him sad.
No one could ever contradict Skim, though [193]he couldn’t even write his own name legibly. His monthly reports were actually works of art. “Seenyor Inspekter of constabulery,” he would write, “i hav the honner to indite83 the following report. i hav bin8 having trubel with the moros. They was too boats of them and they had a canon in the bow. i faired three shots and too of them fell down but they al paddeled aeway so fast i coodnt catch them.” And again: “On wensday the first instant i went on a hike of seven miles. i captured three ladrones four bolos, one old gun and too durks.” Then after practicing his signature for half an hour on margins84 of books or any kind of paper he could find, he used to sign his document with a tremendous flourish.
I rather miss the rock thrown at my blinds at 4 o’clock A. M. A little catlike sergeant85, a mestizo, is in charge of the constabulary, and the men are glad. No longer does the huge six-footer, with his army Colt’s, stalk through the village streets. The other day I got a note from Skim: “i dont think i ain’t never going to come back there eny moar,” he wrote above the most [194]successful signature that I had ever seen. A few months later Skim was badly crippled in a fight with robbers. He was sent to Manila to the civil hospital. On his discharge he was promoted, and he now wears three bars on his shoulder-straps86. He has been shot three times since then, and he has written, “If i dont get kilt no more, i dont think that i wont88 come back.”
To-day the constabulary is well organized. They have distinguished89 themselves time and again in battle-line. They have put down the lingering sparks of the rebellion. They look smart in their brand-new uniforms and russet boots. But it was only a year or two ago that Skim had crowded their uncivilized feet into the clumsy army shoe, and knocked them around like puppets in a Noah’s ark. Skim, if you ever get hold of these few pages written in your honor, here’s my compliments and my best wishes for another bar upon your shoulder-straps, and—yes, here’s hoping that you “won’t get killed no more.” [195]
II.
Last Days at Oroquieta.
I had been visiting the teachers at El Salvador, who occupied a Spanish convent, with a broad veranda90 looking out upon the blue sea and a grove91 of palms. It was a country of bare hills, which reminded one somewhat of Colorado. Nipa jungles bristled92 at the mouths of rivers, and the valleys were verdant93 with dense mango copses. We made our first stop on the way from Cagayan on Sunday morning at a village situated94 in a prairie, where a drove of native ponies had been tethered near the nipa church. The roads were alive with people who had been attending services or who were on the way to the next cock-fight. Falling in with a loquacious95 native, who supplied us with a store of mangoes, we rode on, and reached Tag-nipa or El Salvador late in the afternoon.
One of the teachers, “Teddy,” might have actually stepped from out the pages of Kate Greenaway. He had a large, broad forehead, and [196]a long, straight nose. He conducted a school of miserable96 little girls, and in the evening, like a village preacher, he would make his pastoral calls with a “Hello, girlie!” for each child he met. When he was pleased at anything, he used to clap his hands, exclaiming, “Goodie!” “Teddy” envied me “my baccalaureate enthusiasm,” and, encouraged evidently by this quality, he would read Chaucer in a sing-song voice, or, when this recreation failed, would make up limericks to a guitar accompaniment. His partner was the one who wore the transposed leggings, and who walked as though continually following a plow98.
Leaving for Oroquieta, in a Moro sailboat stocked with Chinese pigs and commissaries that belonged to one called “Jac-cook” by the natives, or “The Great White Father”—a New Zealander who could have posed as an Apollo or a Hercules—the sailors whistled for wind, and finally succeeded in obtaining it. The moon rose early over the dark waters, and the boat, behaving admirably, rode the huge waves like a cockle. We had nearly gone to pieces on a coral reef that night if “Jac-cook,” suddenly aroused by the unusual [197]sound of breakers, had not lowered sail in time to save the ship from running on the sharp rock half a mile from land. The sailors, perfectly99 incompetent100, and panic-stricken at the course the boat was taking, blundered frightfully as the New Zealander assumed command.
No doubt the best mess in the town at that time was the one conducted by the members of the hospital detachment. “Shorty,” who did the cooking, was a local druggist in his way; that is, he sold the natives talcum powder, which they bought at quinine rates. The acting101 steward102, whom all the Filipinos called “Francisco,” though his name was Louis, was a butcher, and a doctor too. Catching103 the Spaniard’s goat out late at night, he knocked it in the head. The carcass was then taken into the dissecting-room, where it was skinned and dressed for the fresh-meat supply. He had acquired a local reputation as a medico, to the disgust of the real army doctor, who, for a long time, could not imagine why his medicines had disappeared so fast. Then there was “Red,” who had the art of laziness down fine, and who could usually be found playing monte with the [198]natives. With the money he had won at monte games and chicken-fights, he intended to set up a drugstore in America.
In a downpour of rain I left one morning for Aloran, down the coast and up the winding104 river. Prisoners furnished by the presidente manned the banca. They were guarded by a barefooted municipal policeman, who, on falling presently to sleep, would probably have lost his Mauser overboard had not one of the convicts rescued it and courteously105 returned it to him. It was a wet and lonesome pull up the Aloran River, walled in on both sides by nipa jungles, and forever winding in and out. After an hour or so, while I was wondering what we were coming to, we met a raft poled down the stream with “Red” and a young Austrian constabulary officer aboard.
Finding a little teacup of a house, I moved in, and, before an interested throng106 of natives, started to unpack23 my trunks and boxes with a sense of genuine relief; for I had had four months of traveling and living out of steamer-trunks. But I returned to Oroquieta all in good time for the doctor’s birthday and the annual Oroquieta ball. I [199]found the doctor wandering about Aloran late one afternoon; for he had been attending a sick Chinaman. We started back together through the night, and, in the darkness, voices greeted us, or snarled107 a “Buenas noches” at us as we passed. Bridges that carabaos had fallen through were crossed successfully, and we arrived at Oroquieta during the band concert.
The foreign colony at Oroquieta was more interesting than the person? dramatis of the “Canterbury Tales.” Where to begin I do not know. But, anyway, there was my old friend the constabulary captain, “Foxy Grandpa,” as we called him then, because when he was not engaged in telling how he had arrested somebody in Arizona, he was playing practical jokes or doing tricks with cards and handkerchiefs. And then there was the “Arizona Babe,” a blonde of the Southwestern type, affianced to the commissary sergeant. The wife o￡ the commanding officer, a veritable O’Dowd, and little Flora108, daughter of O’Dowd, who rode around town in a pony109 cart, were leaders of society for the subpost.
Then you could take a stool in front of [200]Paradies’s general store, and almost at any time engage the local teacher in an argument. You would expect, of course, that he would wander from his topic till you found yourself discussing something entirely110 foreign to the subject, but so long as he was talking, everything was satisfactory. There were the two Greek traders who had “poisoned the wells” out Lobuc way,—so people said. And I must not forget “Jac-cook,” whose grandfather, according to his own report, had been a cannibal, a king of cannibals, and eaten a roast baby every morning for his breakfast. Jack111 was a soldier of fortune if there ever was one. He could give you a recipe for making poi from ripe bananas and the milk of cocoanuts, or for distilling112 whisky from fermented113 oranges,—both of which formulas I have unfortunately lost. He recommended an exclusive diet of raw fish, and in his youth he had had many a hard battle with the shark and octopus114. His one regret was that there were no sharks in the Oroquieta Bay, that, diving under, he could rip with a sharp knife. “To catch the devil-fish,” he used to say, “you whirl them rapidly around [201]your arm until they get all tangled115 up and supine-like.” And once, like Ursus, in “Quo Vadis,” he had taken a young bull by the horns and broken its neck.
All members of good standing116 in the colony received their invitations to the birthday party. Old Vivan, the ex-horse-doctor of the Insurrectos, went out early in the morning to cut palms. The floor was waxed and the walls banked with green. The first to arrive was “Fresno Bill,” the Cottobato trader, in a borrowed white suit and a pair of soiled shoes. Then came the bronzed Norwegian captain of the Delapaon, hearty117 and hale from twenty years of deep-sea sailing from the Java coast to Heligoland. Came Paradies, the little German trader, in his finest blacks, and chose a seat off in one corner of the room. Then “Foxy Grandpa” and the “Arizona Babe” arrived, and the old maid from Zamboanga, who, when expression failed her, would usurp118 the conversation with a “blab, blab, blab!” And as the serpent made for old Laoco?n, so she now made for “Fresno Bill.”
Half an hour more and the party was in full [202]swing. Native musicians, stationed on the landing, furnished the music, and Vivan, the Filipino Chesterfield, with sweeping119 bows to every one, was serving the refreshments120. Padre Pastor97, in his black gown, with his face all wreathed in smiles, was trying to explain to the schoolteacher’s wife that “stars were the forget-me-nots of heaven.” The young commissary sergeant had secured an alcove121 for the “Arizona babe,” and “Foxy grandpa,” taking a nip of something when his good wife’s back was turned, was telling his best anecdote122 of the southwest, “Ichabod Crane,” the big-boned Kansan—who had got the better of us all that afternoon in argument—swinging his arms, and with his head thrown back, was trying to herd123 the people into an old-fashioned reel. Grabbing the little daughter of the regiment124 together with the French constabulary officer—they loved each other like two cats—he shouted, “Salamander, there! Why don’t you salamander?” Entering into the fun more than the rest, the genial army doctor “kept the ball a-rolling.” [203]
For the doctor was a southerner, as many of the army people are. In his dual125 function of physician-soldier, he could boast that he had killed more men, had more deaths to his credit, than his fellow officers. He was undoubtedly126 the best leech127 in the world. When off duty he assumed a Japanese kimono, which became him like the robes of Nero. Placing his sandaled feet upon the window-sill, he used to read the Army and Navy Journal by the hour. Although he had a taste for other literature, his studies were considerably128 hampered129 by a tendency to fall asleep after the first few paragraphs. He spent about four weeks on “Majorie Daw.” When he was happy—and he generally was happy—he would sing that favorite song of his, “O, Ca’line.” It went:
“O, Ca’line! O, Ca’line!
Can’t you dance da pea-vine?
O, my Jemima, O-hi-o.”
But he could never explain satisfactorily what the “pea-vine” was. His “Ring around and shake a leg, ma lady,” was a triumph in the lyric130 line. [204]
We used to walk to Lobuc every afternoon to purchase eggs. The doctor’s “Duna ba icao itlong dinhi?” always amused the natives, who, when they had any eggs, took pleasure in producing them. It was with difficulty that I taught him to say “itlog” (egg) instead of “eclogue,” which he had been using heretofore. He made one error, though, which never could be rectified,—he always called a Chinaman a “hen chick,” much to the disgust of the offended Oriental, whose denomination132 was expressed in the Visayan by the word “inchic.”
I pause before attempting a description of the Oroquieta ball, and, like the poets, pray to some kind muse131 to guide my pen. To-night I feel again the same thrill that I felt the night of the grand Oroquieta ball. The memories of Oroquieta music seem as though they might express themselves in words:
“The stars so brightly shine,
But ah, those stars of thine!
Are none like yours, Bonita,
Beyond the ocean brine.”
[205]
And then I seem to see the big captain—“Foxy grandpa”—beating the bass133 drum like that extraordinary man that Mark Twain tells about, “who hadn’t a tooth in his whole head.” I can remember how Don Julian, the crusty Spaniard, animated134 with the spirit of old Capulet, stood on the chair and shouted, “Viva los Americanos!”—and the palm-grove, like a room of many pillars, lighted by Chinese lanterns.
It was a time of magic moonlight, when the sea broke on the sands in phosphorescent lines in front of the kiosko. Far out on the horizon lights of fishing-boats would glimmer135, and the dusky shores of Siquijor or the volcanic136 isle137 of Camaguin loomed138 in the distance. Here there were little cities as completely isolated139 though they were parts of another planet, where the “other” people worked and played, and promenaded140 to the strumming of guitars. And in the background rose the triple range of mountains, cold, mysterious, and blue in the transfiguring moonlight.
The little army girl, like some fair goddess of the night, monopolized141 the masculine attention [206]at the ball. When she appeared upon the floor, all others, as by mutual142 consent, retired143, and left the field to her alone. The “Pearls of Lobuc,” who refused to come until a carriage was sent after them, appeared in delicate gauze dresses, creamy stockings, and white slippers144. And “The Princess of the Philippines,” Diega, with her saucy145 pompadour, forgot that it was time to drop your hand at the conclusion of the dance. Our noble Ichabod was there in a tight-fitting suit of black and narrow trousers, fervently146 discussing with the French constabulary man whether a frock was a Prince Albert. Paradies capered147 mincingly148 to the quick music of the waltz, and the old maid, unable to restrain herself, kept begging the doctor—who did not know how to dance—only to try a two-step with her, please. And the poor doctor, in his agony, had sweated out another clean white uniform. I had almost forgotten Maraquita and the zapatillas with the pearl rosettes. She was a little queen in pink-and-white, and ere the night was over she had given me her “sing sing” (ring) and fan, and told me that I could “ask papa” if I wanted to. The next day she was just as pretty [207]in light-blue and green, and with her hair unbound. She poked149 her toes into a pair of gold-embroidered sandals, and seemed very much embarrassed at my presence. This was explained when, later in the day, her uncle asked me for Miss Maraquita’s ring.
Although the cook and the muchachos ate the greater part of the refreshments, and a heart or two was broken incidentally, the Oroquieta ball passed into history as being the most brilliant function of its kind that ever had been witnessed at the post.
The winter passed with an occasional plunge in the cool river, and the surf-bath every morning before breakfast. In the evening we would ride to Lobuc, racing150 the ponies back to town in a white cloud of dust. Dinner was always served for any number, for we frequently had visitors,—field officers on hunting leave, commercial drummers from Cebu, the circuit judge, the captain of the Delapaon. The doctor had been threatening for some time, now, to give Vivan a necessary whipping, which he did one morning to that Chesterfield’s astonishment151. Calling the servant “Usted,” [208]or “Your honor,” he applied152 the strap87, and old Vivan was shaking so with laughter that he hardly felt the blows. But after that, he tumbled over himself with eagerness to fill our orders. We had found the coolest places in the town,—the beach at Lobuc, under a wide-spreading tree, and the thatched bridge where the wind swept up and down the river, where the women beat their washing on the rounded stones, and carabaos dreamed in the shade of the bamboo. The cable used to steady the bridge connected with the shore, the doctor explained to the old maid, was the Manila cable over which the messages were sent.
The clamor of bells one morning reminded us that the fiesta week was on, and old Vivan came running in excitedly with the intelligence that seven bancas were already anchored at the river’s mouth, and there were twenty more in sight. Then he went breathlessly around the town to circulate the news. We rode about in Flora’s pony cart, and sometimes went to visit “Foxy Grandpa,” wife, and “Arizona Babe.” “Old Tom,” the convict on parole for murder, waited on the table, serving the pies that Mrs. G. had [209]taught the cook to make, and the canned peaches with evaporated cream. Then, on adjourning153 to the parlor154, with its pillars and white walls, the “Babe” would play “Old Kentucky Home” on the piano till the china shepherdesses danced with the vibrations155, and the genial captain, growing reminiscent, would recall the story of the man he had arrested in old Mexico, or even condescend156 to do a new trick with a handkerchief. There was a curious picture from Japan in a gilt157 frame that had the place of honor over the piano. It was painted on a plaque158 of china, robin’s-egg blue, inlaid with bits of pearl,—which represented boats or something on the Inland Sea, while figures of men and small boys, enthusiastically waving Japanese flags, all cut out of paper, had been pasted on. There was an arched bridge over the blue water, and a sampan sculled by a boatman in a brown kimono. There was a house with paper windows and a thatched roof.
... Chino José died, and was given a military funeral. The bier was covered with the Stars and Stripes. A company of native scouts159 [210]was detailed160 as an escort, and the local band led the procession to the church. Old “Ichabod,” with a long face, and in a dress suit, with a purple four-in-hand tie, followed among the candle-bearers with long strides. The tapers161 burning in the nave162 resembled a small bonfire, and exhaustive masses finally resulted, so I judge, in getting the old heathen’s spirit out of purgatory163. Good old Chino José! He had left his widow fifty thousand “Mex,” of which the priest received his share; also the doctor, for the hypodermic injections of the past three months.
Then came the wedding of Bazon, whose bride, for her rebellious164 love, had recently been driven from her mother’s home. Bazon, touched by this act of loyalty165, cut his engagement with another girl and made the preparations for the wedding feast. I met the little Maraquita at Bazon’s reception, and conversed166 with her through an interpreter. “The se?orita says,” so the interpreter informed me, “she appreciates your conversation very much, and thinks you play the piano very well. She has a new piano in her house that came from Paris. In a little while the se?orita will depart [211]for Spain, where she intends to study in a convent for a year.” Ah, Maraquita! She had had an Insurrecto general for a suitor, and had turned him down. And she had jilted Joe, the French constabulary officer, and had rejected a neighboring merchant’s offer for her hand of fifty carabaos. I have to-day a small reminder167 of her dainty needlework—a family of Visayan dolls which she had dressed according to the native mode.
One day the undertaker’s boat dropped in with a detachment of the burial corps168 aboard. The bodies of the soldiers that had slept for so long in the convent garden were removed, and taken in brass169 caskets back across the sea....
We started out one morning on constabulary ponies, brilliantly caparisoned in scarlet170 blankets and new saddles. “Ichabod,” the Kansas maestro, had proposed to guide us to Misamis over the mountain trail. It was not long, however, before one spoke171 of trails in the past tense. The last place that was on the map—a town of questionable172 loyalty, that we had gladly left late in the afternoon—now seemed, as we remembered it, in contrast [212]with the wilderness, a small metropolis173. The Kansan still insisted that he was not lost. “Do you know where we are?” I asked. “Wa-al,” he replied, “those mountains ought to be ’way over on the other side of us, and the flat side of the moon ought to be turned the other way.” We wandered for ten hours through prairies of tall buffalo-grass, at last discovering a trail that led down to the sea. The ponies were as stiff as though they had been made of wood instead of flesh and blood.
We had Thanksgiving dinner at the doctor’s. Old Tom did the cooking, and Vivan, all smiles, waited upon the guests. Stuffed chicken and roast sucking pig, and a young kid that the muchachos had tortured to death that morning, sawing its throat with a dull knife, were the main courses. Padre Pastor, who had held a special mass that morning for Americans, “returned thanks,” rolling his eyes, and saying something about the flowers not being plentiful174 or fragrant175, but the stars, exceptional in brilliance176, compensating177 for the floral scantiness178. The doctor sang “O, Ca’line,” and the captain did tricks with the [213]napkins. Everybody voted this Thanksgiving a success.
The weary days that followed at Aloran were relieved late in December by a visit from the doctor, and a new constabulary officer named Johnson,1 who had ridden out on muddy roads, through swimming rice-pads, across swollen rivers. When the store of commissaries was exhausted179, we rode back, and Johnson came to grief by falling through an open bridge into a rice-swamp, so that all that we could see of him was a square inch of his poor horse’s nose. We pulled him out, and named the place “Johnson’s Despair.” [214]
Our Christmas Eve was an eventful one. The transport Trenton went to pieces on our coral reef. We were expecting company, and when the boat pulled in, we went down to the beach to tell them where the landing was. “We thought that you were trying to tell us we were on a rock,” the little cavalry180 lieutenant, who had been at work all night upon the pumps, said, when we saw him in the morning. It was like a shipwreck181 in a comic opera, so easily the vessel182 grounded; and at noon the next day we were invited out on shipboard for a farewell luncheon. The boat was listed dangerously [215]to port, and, as the waves rolled in, kept bumping heavily upon the coral floor. The hull183 under the engines was staved in, and, as the tide increased, the vessel twisted as though flexible. Broken amidships, finally, she twisted like some tortured creature of the deep. The masts and smokestacks branched off at divergent angles, giving the ship a rather drunken aspect. At high tide the masts and deck-house were swept off; the bow went, and the boat collapsed184 and bent185. By evening nothing was left except the bowsprit rocking defiantly186 among the breakers, a broken skeleton, the keel and ribs187, and the big boiler188 tumbling and squirting in the surf.
There were three shipwrecked mariners190 to care for,—the bluff191 captain, one of nature’s noblemen, who had spent his life before the mast and on the bridge, and who had been tossed upon many a strange and hostile coast. He had a deep scar on his head, received when he was shanghaied twenty years before. He told strange stories of barbaric women dressed in sea-shells; of the Pitcairn islanders, who formerly wore clothes of [216]papyrus, but now dressed in the latest English fashion, trading the native fruits and melons for the merchandise of passing ships.
Then there was Mac, the chief, a stunted192, sandy little man, covered with freckles193, and tattooed194 with various marine189 designs. He loved his engine better than himself, and in his sorrow at its break-up, he was driven to the bottle, and when last seen—after asking “ever’ one” to take a drink—was wandering off, his arms around two Filipino sailors. Coming to life a few days later, “Mac ain’t sayin’ much,” he said, “but Mac, ’e knows.” Yielding to our persuasion195, he wrote down a song “what ’e ’ad learned once at a sailors’ boardin’ ’ouse in Frisco.” It was called “The Lodger196,” and he rendered it thus, in a deep-sea voice:
“The other night I chanced to meet a charmer of a girl,
An’, nothin’ else to do, I saw ’er ’ome;
We ’ad a little bottle of the very finest brand,
An’ drank each other’s ’ealth in crystal foam197.
I lent the dear a sover’ign; she thanked me for the same
An’ laid ’er golden ’ead upon me breast;
But soon I finds myself thrown out the passage like shot,—
A six-foot man confronts me, an’ ’e says:
Chorus—
I’m sorry to disturb you, but the lodger ’as come,” etc.
[217]
The feature of the song, however, was Mac’s leer, which, in a public hall, would have brought down the house, and which I feel unable to describe.
The mate, aroused by the example of the chief, rendered a “Tops’l halliard shanty198,” “Blow, Bullies199, Blow.” It was almost as though a character had stepped from Pinafore, when the athletic200, gallant201 little mate, giving a hitch202 to his trousers, thus began: “Strike up a light there, Bullies; who’s the last man sober?” Song.
“O, a Yankee ship came down the river—
Blow, Bullies, blow!
Her sails were silk and her yards were silver—
Blow, my Bully203 boys, blow!
Now, who do you think was the cap’n of ’er?
Blow, Bullies, blow!
Old Black Ben, the down-east bucko—
Blow, my Bully boys, How!”
”’Ere is a shanty what the packeteers sings when, with ’full an’ plenty,’ we are ’omeward bound. It is a ’windlass shanty,’ an’ we sings it to the music of the winch. The order comes ’hup anchors,’ and the A one packeteer starts hup: [218]
”’We’re hom’ard bound; we’re bound away;
Good-bye, fare y’ well.
We’re home’ard bound; we leave to-day;
Hooray, my boys! we’re home’ard bound.
We’re home’ard bound from Liverpool town;
Hooray, my boys, hooray!
A bully ship and a bully crew;
Good-bye, fare y’ well.
A bucko mate an’ a skipper too;
Hooray, my boys, we’re home’ard bound!’”
For the old maid this was the time the ages had been waiting for. What anxious nights she spent upon her pillow or before the looking-glass; what former triumphs she reviewed; and what plans for the conquest she had made, shall still remain unwritten history. When she was ready to appear, we used to hear her nervous call, “Doctor! Can I come over?” Poor old maid! She couldn’t even wait till she was asked. How patiently she stirred the hot tomato soy the captain made; O yes! She could be useful and domestic. How tenderly she leaned upon the arm of the captain’s chair, caressing204 the scar upon his head “where he was shanghaied!” Then, like Othello, he would entertain her with his story about the ladies in the sea-shell clothes, or of the time when [219]he had “weathered the Horn” in a “sou’wester.” She was flurried and excited all the week. The climax205 came after the captain left for Iligan. The old maid learned somehow that he was going to Manila on a transport which would pass by Oroquieta but a few miles out. Sending a telegram to the chief quartermaster whom she called a “dear,” she said that if the ship would stop to let her on, she could go out to meet it in a banca. Though the schoolmaster and his wife had also requested transportation on the same boat, the old maid, evidently thinking that “three made a crowd,” wired to her friend the quartermaster not to take them on.
We met the old maid almost in hysterics on the road to Lobuc. “O, for the love of God!” she cried, “get me a boat, and get my trunk down to the shore. I have about ten minutes left to catch that ship.” It was old Ichabod who rowed her out in the canoe—the old maid, with the sun now broken out behind the clouds, her striped parasol, and a small steamer trunk. It was a mad race for old Ichabod, and they were pretty well drenched206 when the old maid climbed aboard the [220]transport, breathless but triumphant26. I have since learned that Dido won her wandering ?neas in Manila, and that the captain finally has found his “bucko mate.”
It was old Ichabod’s delight to teach a class of sorry-looking se?oritas, with their dusty toes stuck into carpet slippers, and their hair combed back severely207 on their heads. The afternoons he spent in visiting his flock; we could descry208 him from afar, chin in the air, arms swinging, hiking along with five-foot strides. If he could “doctor up” the natives he was satisfied. He knew them all by name down to the smallest girl, and he applied his healing lotions209 with the greatest sense of duty, much to the amusement of the regular M.D. But Ichabod was qualified210, for he had once confided211 to me that at one time he had learned the names of all the bones in the left hand!
The colony showed signs of breaking up. The native scouts had gone, leaving their weeping “hindais” on the shore. “Major O’Dowd,” his wife, and Flora had also departed to a station sin Americanos up in the interior. At this, the doctor, [221]for the first time in his life, broke into song, after the style and meter of immortal212 Omar:
“Hiram, indeed is gone; his little Rose
Vamosed to Lintogoup with all her clothes;
But still the Pearls are with us down the line,
And many a hindai to the tubig goes.”
“Tubig,” he said, “did not mean ’water.’ It was more poetical213, expressing the idea of fountain, watering-place, or spa.”
It was my last day at Aloran. In the morning I ascended214 a near elevation215, and looked down upon the sleepy valley spread below. There was the river winding in and out; there was the convent, like a doll-house in a field of green. Vivan had gone on with the trunks and boxes packed upon a carabao. The ponies were waiting in the compound. Valedictories216 were quickly said; but there was little Peter with his silken cheeks, the brightest little fellow I have ever known. It seemed a shame to leave him there in darkest Mindanao. Turning the horses into the Aloran River at the ford217 we struck the high road near the barrio of Feliz. Galloping218 on, past “Columbine” bridge, [222]“Skeleton” bridge, “Johnson’s Despair,” and Fenis, we arrived at Oroquieta in good time.
But what a change from the old place as we had known it! Hiram, indeed was gone. The doctor had set out for pastures new. The “Arizona Babe” and “Foxy Grandpa” had departed for fresh fields. Like one who, falling asleep in a theater, awakes to find the curtain down and the spectators gone, so I now looked about the vacant town. The actors had departed, and “the play was played out.” [223]
1 Johnson, the runaway219 constabulary officer, was killed October last by the crew of the native boat which he had captured after the Steamship220 “Victoria,” which he had seized, had grounded off the coast of Negros. Four of the crew were killed during the fight. In true brigand221 style he had taken the boat at the revolver’s point, and headed for the coast of Borneo. He had ten thousand dollars of government money, and his intention was to land at various ports and make the local merchants “stand and deliver.” I gave the following interview to the reporter of the Princeton (Indiana) “Clarion-News,” October 16, 1903:
”’Johnson, the pirate,’ is dead, and buried in the lonely isle of Negros. Many a worse man occupies a better grave. The worst that you can say of Johnson is, that he was wrong and that he liked to drink too much.
“I shall always remember him in his red shoulder straps, his khaki riding suit and leather leggings. Before I had ever seen him I had heard the old constabulary captain say: ’That feller looks like a born fighter. Bet he ain’t afraid of anything.’ ... The padre gave us a Christmas dinner, and Johnson at [214n]this function took too much of the communion wine. On the way back he reeled continually in his saddle, vomiting222 a stream of red wine....
“We often used to race our ponies into Oroquieta neck and neck, scattering natives, chickens, and pigs to right and left. The last I saw of him was as he put out on a stormy sea in a frail223 Moro sailboat bound for Cagayan, which at that time was infested224 with ladrones.
“Johnson was only a boy, but he had been a sailor and a soldier, and had seen adventures in the Canary Islands, in Cuba, and the Philippines. The boat that he held up and started off to Borneo was one employed in questionable trade. She was a smuggler225, and had formerly been in the service of the ’Insurrecto’ Government. She used to drop in at a port at night and pull out in the morning with neither a bill of lading nor a manifest.
“Johnson should not be blamed too much for the wild escapade. The climate had undoubtedly affected226 him; moreover the constabulary has no business putting heavy responsibilities upon young boys.”
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1
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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promontory
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| n.海角；岬 | |
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formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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4
sentry
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| n.哨兵，警卫 | |
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5
tinkle
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| vi.叮当作响；n.叮当声 | |
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6
lashed
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| adj.具睫毛的v.鞭打( lash的过去式和过去分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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bin
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| n.箱柜；vt.放入箱内；[计算机] DOS文件名:二进制目标文件 | |
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9
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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10
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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11
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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12
unfamiliar
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| adj.陌生的，不熟悉的 | |
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13
lizard
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| n.蜥蜴，壁虎 | |
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14
croaking
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| v.呱呱地叫( croak的现在分词 )；用粗的声音说 | |
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15
rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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16
transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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17
insignificant
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| adj.无关紧要的，可忽略的，无意义的 | |
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18
proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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19
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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20
salmon
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| n.鲑，大马哈鱼，橙红色的 | |
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21
sardines
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| n. 沙丁鱼 | |
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22
unpacking
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| n.取出货物，拆包[箱]v.从（包裹等）中取出（所装的东西），打开行李取出( unpack的现在分词 )；拆包；解除…的负担；吐露（心事等） | |
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23
unpack
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| vt.打开包裹（或行李），卸货 | |
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24
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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25
triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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26
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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27
monsoon
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| n.季雨，季风，大雨 | |
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28
enlist
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| vt.谋取(支持等)，赢得；征募；vi.入伍 | |
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29
genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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30
applicants
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| 申请人，求职人( applicant的名词复数 ) | |
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31
adoration
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| n.爱慕，崇拜 | |
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32
belles
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| n.美女( belle的名词复数 )；最美的美女 | |
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33
scudded
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| v.（尤指船、舰或云彩）笔直、高速而平稳地移动( scud的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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34
abated
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| 减少( abate的过去式和过去分词 )； 减去； 降价； 撤消（诉讼） | |
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35
nebula
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| n.星云，喷雾剂 | |
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36
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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37
ammunition
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| n.军火，弹药 | |
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38
deflected
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| 偏离的 | |
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39
swirling
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| v.旋转，打旋( swirl的现在分词 ) | |
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40
labored
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| adj.吃力的，谨慎的v.努力争取(for)( labor的过去式和过去分词 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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41
ordnance
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| n.大炮，军械 | |
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42
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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43
bemoaned
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| v.为（某人或某事）抱怨( bemoan的过去式和过去分词 )；悲悼；为…恸哭；哀叹 | |
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44
industriously
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45
flannel
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| n.法兰绒；法兰绒衣服 | |
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46
ponies
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| 矮种马，小型马( pony的名词复数 )； ￡25 25 英镑 | |
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47
quagmires
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| n.沼泽地，泥潭( quagmire的名词复数 ) | |
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48
swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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49
quack
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| n.庸医；江湖医生；冒充内行的人；骗子 | |
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50
cloistered
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| adj.隐居的，躲开尘世纷争的v.隐退，使与世隔绝( cloister的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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51
stiffen
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| v.(使)硬，(使)变挺，(使)变僵硬 | |
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52
hoofs
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| n.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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53
prelude
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| n.序言，前兆，序曲 | |
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54
ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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55
thorny
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| adj.多刺的，棘手的 | |
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56
shreds
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| v.撕碎，切碎( shred的第三人称单数 )；用撕毁机撕毁（文件） | |
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57
wading
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| （从水、泥等）蹚，走过，跋( wade的现在分词 ) | |
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58
provincial
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| adj.省的，地方的；n．外省人，乡下人 | |
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59
lizards
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| n.蜥蜴( lizard的名词复数 ) | |
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60
plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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61
scattering
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| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
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62
stranded
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| a.搁浅的，进退两难的 | |
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63
bower
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| n.凉亭，树荫下凉快之处；闺房；v.荫蔽 | |
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64
pajamas
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| n.睡衣裤 | |
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65
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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66
interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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67
pricked
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| 刺，扎，戳( prick的过去式和过去分词 )； 刺伤； 刺痛； 使剧痛 | |
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68
shack
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| adj.简陋的小屋，窝棚 | |
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69
looming
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| n.上现蜃景（光通过低层大气发生异常折射形成的一种海市蜃楼）v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的现在分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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70
farmhouse
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| n.农场住宅（尤指主要住房） | |
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71
lavished
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| v.过分给予，滥施( lavish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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72
illustrated
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| adj. 有插图的，列举的 动词illustrate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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73
displeased
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| a.不快的 | |
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74
strenuous
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| adj.奋发的，使劲的；紧张的；热烈的，狂热的 | |
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75
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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76
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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77
scrambling
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| 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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78
literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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79
brink
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| n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘，边沿 | |
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80
luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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81
insinuating
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| adj.曲意巴结的，暗示的v.暗示( insinuate的现在分词 )；巧妙或迂回地潜入；（使）缓慢进入；慢慢伸入 | |
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82
tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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83
indite
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| v.写（文章，信等）创作 | |
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84
margins
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| 边( margin的名词复数 )； 利润； 页边空白； 差数 | |
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85
sergeant
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| n.警官，中士 | |
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86
straps
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| n.带子( strap的名词复数 )；挎带；肩带；背带v.用皮带捆扎( strap的第三人称单数 )；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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87
strap
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| n.皮带，带子；v.用带扣住，束牢；用绷带包扎 | |
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88
wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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89
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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90
veranda
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| n.走廊；阳台 | |
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91
grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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92
bristled
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| adj. 直立的，多刺毛的 动词bristle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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93
verdant
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| adj.翠绿的，青翠的，生疏的，不老练的 | |
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94
situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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95
loquacious
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| adj.多嘴的，饶舌的 | |
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96
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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97
pastor
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| n.牧师，牧人 | |
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98
plow
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| n.犁，耕地，犁过的地；v.犁，费力地前进[英]plough | |
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99
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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100
incompetent
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| adj.无能力的，不能胜任的 | |
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101
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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102
steward
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| n.乘务员，服务员；看管人；膳食管理员 | |
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103
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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104
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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105
courteously
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| adv.有礼貌地，亲切地 | |
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106
throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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107
snarled
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| v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的过去式和过去分词 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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108
flora
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| n.(某一地区的)植物群 | |
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109
pony
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| adj.小型的；n.小马 | |
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110
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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111
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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112
distilling
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| n.蒸馏（作用）v.蒸馏( distil的过去式和过去分词 )( distilled的过去分词 )；从…提取精华 | |
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113
fermented
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| v.（使）发酵( ferment的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）激动；骚动；骚扰 | |
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114
octopus
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| n.章鱼 | |
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115
tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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116
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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117
hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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118
usurp
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| vt.篡夺，霸占；vi.篡位 | |
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119
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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120
refreshments
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| n.点心,便餐;(会议后的)简单茶点招 待 | |
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121
alcove
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| n.凹室 | |
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122
anecdote
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| n.轶事，趣闻，短故事 | |
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123
herd
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| n.兽群，牧群；vt.使集中，把…赶在一起 | |
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124
regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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125
dual
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| adj.双的；二重的，二元的 | |
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126
undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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127
leech
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| n.水蛭，吸血鬼，榨取他人利益的人；vt.以水蛭吸血；vi.依附于别人 | |
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128
considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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129
hampered
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| 妨碍，束缚，限制( hamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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130
lyric
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| n.抒情诗，歌词；adj.抒情的 | |
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131
muse
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| n.缪斯（希腊神话中的女神），创作灵感 | |
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132
denomination
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| n.命名，取名，(度量衡、货币等的)单位 | |
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133
bass
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| n.男低音(歌手)；低音乐器；低音大提琴 | |
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134
animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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135
glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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136
volcanic
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|
| adj.火山的；象火山的；由火山引起的 | |
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137
isle
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| n.小岛，岛 | |
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138
loomed
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| v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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139
isolated
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|
| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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140
promenaded
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| v.兜风( promenade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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141
monopolized
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| v.垄断( monopolize的过去式和过去分词 )；独占；专卖；专营 | |
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142
mutual
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|
| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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143
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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144
slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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145
saucy
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| adj.无礼的；俊俏的；活泼的 | |
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146
fervently
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| adv.热烈地，热情地，强烈地 | |
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147
capered
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| v.跳跃，雀跃( caper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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148
mincingly
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149
poked
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| v.伸出( poke的过去式和过去分词 )；戳出；拨弄；与（某人）性交 | |
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150
racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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151
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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152
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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153
adjourning
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| （使）休会， （使）休庭( adjourn的现在分词 ) | |
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154
parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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155
vibrations
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| n.摆动( vibration的名词复数 )；震动；感受；（偏离平衡位置的）一次性往复振动 | |
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156
condescend
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| v.俯就，屈尊；堕落，丢丑 | |
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157
gilt
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| adj.镀金的；n.金边证券 | |
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158
plaque
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| n.饰板，匾，(医)血小板 | |
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159
scouts
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| 侦察员[机，舰]( scout的名词复数 )； 童子军； 搜索； 童子军成员 | |
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160
detailed
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| adj.详细的，详尽的，极注意细节的，完全的 | |
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161
tapers
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| （长形物体的）逐渐变窄( taper的名词复数 )； 微弱的光； 极细的蜡烛 | |
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162
nave
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| n.教堂的中部；本堂 | |
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163
purgatory
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| n.炼狱；苦难；adj.净化的，清洗的 | |
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164
rebellious
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| adj.造反的，反抗的，难控制的 | |
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165
loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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166
conversed
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| v.交谈，谈话( converse的过去式 ) | |
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167
reminder
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| n.提醒物，纪念品；暗示，提示 | |
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168
corps
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| n.(通信等兵种的)部队；(同类作的)一组 | |
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169
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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170
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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171
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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172
questionable
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| adj.可疑的，有问题的 | |
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173
metropolis
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| n.首府；大城市 | |
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174
plentiful
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| adj.富裕的，丰富的 | |
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175
fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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176
brilliance
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| n.光辉，辉煌，壮丽，（卓越的）才华，才智 | |
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177
compensating
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| 补偿，补助，修正 | |
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178
scantiness
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| n.缺乏 | |
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179
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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180
cavalry
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| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
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181
shipwreck
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| n.船舶失事，海难 | |
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182
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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183
hull
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| n.船身；(果、实等的)外壳；vt.去(谷物等)壳 | |
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184
collapsed
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| adj.倒塌的 | |
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185
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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186
defiantly
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| adv.挑战地，大胆对抗地 | |
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187
ribs
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|
| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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188
boiler
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| n.锅炉；煮器(壶，锅等) | |
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189
marine
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| adj.海的；海生的；航海的；海事的；n.水兵 | |
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190
mariners
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| 海员，水手（mariner的复数形式） | |
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191
bluff
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| v.虚张声势，用假象骗人；n.虚张声势，欺骗 | |
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192
stunted
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| adj.矮小的；发育迟缓的 | |
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193
freckles
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| n.雀斑，斑点( freckle的名词复数 ) | |
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194
tattooed
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| v.刺青，文身( tattoo的过去式和过去分词 )；连续有节奏地敲击；作连续有节奏的敲击 | |
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persuasion
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| n.劝说；说服；持有某种信仰的宗派 | |
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196
lodger
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| n.寄宿人，房客 | |
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197
foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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shanty
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| n.小屋，棚屋；船工号子 | |
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bullies
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| n.欺凌弱小者, 开球 vt.恐吓, 威胁, 欺负 | |
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athletic
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| adj.擅长运动的，强健的；活跃的，体格健壮的 | |
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gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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202
hitch
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| v.免费搭(车旅行)；系住；急提；n.故障；急拉 | |
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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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caressing
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| 爱抚的，表现爱情的，亲切的 | |
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climax
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| n.顶点；高潮；v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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drenched
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| adj.湿透的；充满的v.使湿透( drench的过去式和过去分词 )；在某人（某物）上大量使用（某液体） | |
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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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descry
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| v.远远看到；发现；责备 | |
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209
lotions
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| n.洗液，洗剂，护肤液( lotion的名词复数 ) | |
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qualified
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| adj.合格的，有资格的，胜任的，有限制的 | |
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confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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poetical
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| adj.似诗人的；诗一般的；韵文的；富有诗意的 | |
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ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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elevation
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| n.高度；海拔；高地；上升；提高 | |
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valedictories
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| n.（尤在正式场合）告别的，告辞的( valedictory的名词复数 ) | |
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Ford
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| n.浅滩，水浅可涉处；v.涉水，涉过 | |
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galloping
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| adj. 飞驰的, 急性的 动词gallop的现在分词形式 | |
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runaway
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| n.逃走的人，逃亡，亡命者；adj.逃亡的，逃走的 | |
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steamship
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| n.汽船，轮船 | |
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221
brigand
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| n.土匪，强盗 | |
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222
vomiting
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| 吐 | |
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frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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224
infested
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| adj.为患的，大批滋生的（常与with搭配）v.害虫、野兽大批出没于( infest的过去式和过去分词 )；遍布于 | |
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225
smuggler
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| n.走私者 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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