On the beach about a mile from Apia, in our ramblings together, we came across Robert Louis Stevenson. He was paddling in a shallow by the shore, his pants tucked up to his knees, his legs sun-scorched and browned. It was fearfully hot, and at first he did not recognise me, for I was as brown as a nut, and had on a tremendous umbrella hat; the rim1 was a foot wide and dipped downwards2. I had told him when I last saw him that I was going away to South America, as at the time I thought I had secured a berth3 on a “Frisco” schooner4 that lay in the Bay, and so he was somewhat surprised to see me.
I had just caught a monster sea-eel5, and as he gazed upon it I offered it to him. He would not take it till I convinced him that I did not want it. His friend plucked a palm leaf and gingerly grabbed the slippery victim, and as he did so, we were all suddenly startled by hearing shouts and the sounds of pistol shots along the shore.
“What’s that?” said R.L.S. He seemed pleasurably excited at the idea of some adventure coming, 185and we all went off together in the direction of the noise. At that time there was often a feud6 between the various native tribes who differed on some political matter; also there were often fights between the natives, some who were adherents7 to King Malieatoa Laupepa, and others who swore by Mataafa. It so happened that it was only a squabble of a minor8 kind, and when we arrived near the scene of the conflict, the ambushed9 natives bolted.
Stevenson seemed somewhat disappointed. I gathered from his manner that he would have loved to have seen a real native battle, for his eyes flashed with excitement at the prospect11 of what might be happening as we went up the steep shore, and his friend, who was a careful and jovial-looking man, about Stevenson’s own age, warned him to be careful as he heedlessly went forward.
Out came the native children rushing excitedly from among the forest trees; Stevenson spoke12 to them half in pigeon-English and half in Samoan, as they excitedly pointed10 toward the direction in which the guilty natives had gone. All being quiet, and the prospect of more excitement from that quarter disappearing, we went back to the shore, and searching about found the eel which Stevenson’s friend had dropped at the sound of the pistol firing. Having found it, we all went off into a native homestead some distance away from the shore, wherein lived a family who appeared to be on very good terms with R.L.S.
They were all dressed in the “upper ten” native fashion of Samoa. One of them was wearing an 186old American naval13 officer’s cast-off suit. The women had their hair done in fashionable style with red and white blossoms stuck in at the bunched sides, also on their native girdles, and what with their plump handsome faces and intelligent eyes, looked strikingly attractive. There were several children, and they all welcomed him and rolloped around us with delight.
Stevenson was soon engaged with the elder, who, I think, was a Mataafa chief, who could not speak English; but R.L.S. seemed to understand all he said, and by the way he made him repeat phrases over and over again, I should think the chief was correcting Stevenson’s pronunciation of some Samoan words.
The native boys and girls were dressed neatly14 in ridis, and tappu-cloth blouses, their hair parted and combed smoothly15, and very polite, too, they were, as they brought Stevenson their school-books, wherein they had written their English lessons. Stevenson seemed to take a deep interest in their efforts, patted them on the heads approvingly as he examined their books and this greatly delighted them. In the corner of the large shed-like place, wherein we all stood, the youngest son of about six years of age, quite naked, stood on his head singing with gusto, as R.L.S. gave him a lead pencil as a gift, for he seemed to be very fond of children and greatly enjoyed seeing their delight. Lifting the little girls up, he held them high over his head, as the parents smiled approval at his antics to make 187them laugh, and Samoan children are never so pleasing and pretty as when their cheery little brown faces laugh, as their mouths stretch, and all their pearly teeth are exposed to view.
As we said good-bye to the chief and his wife, Stevenson put the youngest girl on his back as though to take her away with him. Although she was only a mite17 of about three years old, she seemed to see the joke, and waved her hands towards the homestead as we all walked away: then when he put her to the ground she scampered18 off so fast homeward that you couldn’t see her tiny legs going!
I am telling you all this so as to attempt to give an idea of Stevenson’s character, as he appeared to my eyes as a lad. It was then evening time, and the sun was setting over the hills as we all went down the forest track, and in the distance two white women and a native were coming up towards us. It was R.L.S.’s wife and a friend. Mrs Stevenson affectionately greeted him with a loud kiss! And then started to give him a dressing-down for going off and not keeping some domestic appointment.
She was a vivacious19 amiable20 lady, without any side whatever; dressed like an Australian squatter’s wife, and bare throated like Stevenson himself, and they both wore white shoes without wearing socks, in sandal fashion.
As we walked along the track Stevenson was very observant and asked the natives the names of various tropical trees. He had a cheery musical 188laugh, and a pronounced habit of gazing abstractedly in front of him while anyone was talking to him, a habit which was especially noticeable when his wife was with him, for he seemed to look upon her as a sort of helpmate to relieve him and take the burden off his shoulders, by answering and apologising to those who interrupted his meditations21. At other times he was just the reverse and strangely talkative, and could not talk fast enough to his friends, whom he seemed very much attached to, as he took down notes in a pocket-book. He had the appearance of a man of very strong character, affectionate and tender to children and all those about him.
I should think he was one of those who would show great courage if he were called on to do so, for once on Apia beach a white man was thrashing a Samoan boy who had been stealing fruit and fish from a basket which he had left outside a grog saloon. Stevenson, who happened to be strolling down the beach to take a boat out to a schooner anchored in the bay, caught sight of the coward blows being inflicted22 on the frightened lad, and as the trader did not cease, Stevenson went straight up to him and pushed him aside, and heatedly expostulated with him about his brutality23. The ruffian stared astonished at R.L.S. and then used some offensive epithet24, at which Stevenson’s face went rigid25 as he stared at him with flashing eyes, and almost lost control of himself. I saw that had not the man had the instinct to see that Stevenson was not the slightest bit frightened of him and 189gone away muttering to himself, Stevenson would have knocked him down.
I think it was that same evening that I went to a native feast at Satoa village. The guests were mostly of the Samoan best-class natives. It was a lovely night. Overhead sailed the full moon in the dark blue vault26 of a cloudless heaven, as by the huddled27 native village homes the assembled privileged guests squatted28 around, forming a ring of dark bodies as they watched the weird29 fantastic dance which celebrated30 the birth of a child to a celebrated chief. The stage of the forest floor was adorned31 with the Samoan professional dancers and singers. I shall always remember the weird beauty of that romantic scene as they swayed and danced, chanting strange ear-haunting melodies, all their faces alight with animation32 and the joy of being alive as they sang old South Sea love songs, suddenly stopping in their wild dances as the words of the choruses breathed thoughts of love and impassioned vows33 of plighted34 lovers. They would stop perfectly35 still and gaze for a few moments, staring in each other’s eyes like statues, or the figures of romantic love pictures, only their lips moving as they sang the words of delight into the listening maids’ ears, then once more suddenly start off whirling round with their arms, swaying rhythmically36, their faces gazing upwards37, and sometimes over their shoulders.
I can truly say that I have never seen anything so really romantic, or heard music that so truly expressed human emotions, excepting perhaps 190when, some years after, I was troubadouring on the frontier of Spain, and played the violin, accompanying the Spanish peasants as they sang in parts the romantic “Estudiantina.” The Spanish maids gazed into their lovers’ eyes, as they sang, much the same as the savages38 of the South Seas did on that night of which I am now telling you.
A day or so after the preceding incidents, I made the acquaintance of a Mr Powell, who was a friend of Stevenson’s. I was playing the violin on an American ship that had put into Apia harbour, and he was on board. He was one of the head missionaries39, and struck me as a very pleasant gentleman. I was trying to get a berth on the boat, which was going to San Francisco, but I did not succeed. The night before she left I was in the fo’c’sle, playing the fiddle40, with the sailors who had accordions41 and banjos, and as we were playing “Down by the Swanee River” R.L.S. peeped in at the door. I could just see him by the dim oil lamp, as he gazed over the shoulder of Mr Powell, his friend, who was with him. His face lit up with a gleam of pleasure as he listened to the rough sailor concert as one of the crew danced a jig42.
Though Stevenson at the time must have been in consumption, he never struck me as delicate, but, on the other hand, looked one of the thin wiry kind, always alert, and boyishly curious in all that was going on around him; when he laughed it was as though to himself over some pleasant memory, and his eyes gazed with a feminine gleam, half 191revealing the emotional strain of the woman and the firmness of the man in his intellectual face—the mixture that all brave men are made up of. I was unusually observant at that time through my increased knowledge that he was a writer far above the average, and I also noticed the respect with which he was treated by those around him, and especially the natives, who were comical in their unconcealed pride when he spoke to them.
If I had seen and spoken to R.L.S. without knowing who he was, I should have thought he was a skipper or mate of some American or English ship; his manner was easy, in fact, almost rollicking at times.
I met Mrs Stevenson again later, and she asked me to come up to their home and bring the violin, and chided me for not keeping an appointment I had made before. I promised to go, but never went; unfortunately I went off in the morning of the appointed day, on a cruise with my comrade. A hurricane came and blew us out to sea, several times we nearly turned upside down and once a sea went right over the boat, and away went my comrade. I leaned over the side to drag him back, and he grabbed hold of me and over I went also. We could both swim, but I went under, came up and found I was under the boat. It was a terrible feeling of despair and fright that went through me as my head bobbed under the keel; the universe seemed to be a tremendous black grip that had got me into its death-clutch. All the life in my body seemed to wrench43 my 192bones apart as I swallowed water and gave a desperate plunge44 downward in my last bit of consciousness, and came up to the surface just by the boat’s side.
My comrade clutched my head by the hair, and when I was in the boat again safe I almost hugged him with affection, the wind and the flying clouds overhead, all sunlit, made me feel delirious45 as I thought how near I had been to never seeing them again! At last, after a terrible struggle, we landed some miles round the coast. Our hands were bleeding and blistered46 through straining at the oars47 to keep the boat’s head to the seas, and desperate bailing48 to stop us from being swamped.
As we landed on the beach and pulled our boat safely up the shore, an old native man came running down from the palm patch and offered us shelter, which we gladly accepted. He turned out to be an old servant of some Mataafa chief, full of spite for being out of favour with his late illustrious master, but proud of being a late vassal49 to Samoan royal blood. He had a nice roomy homestead, two large rooms. Though he was old, his wife looked only twenty. They had one child, a few months old. My chum and I kissed it affectionately and drank bowls of kava which our host kindly50 gave us. We stayed the night, slept on sleeping mats. All night torrents51 of rain fell, the hurricane and wind nearly blew the house down and lifted me off my mat, for the room was open three feet from the ground all round in the Samoan style. It was a warm wind; with the moan of the seas breaking on the shore below, the moaning 195of the bending coco-palms and the wailing53 cry of the baby at regular intervals54, I had no sleep.
Para Rubber-tree
In the morning we went down to the boat; our fishing tackle, revolver and my coat had vanished from the locker55. I had my suspicions about our host, and we felt very much annoyed, for we could not go back and accuse him after his hospitality, as we were only absolutely certain in our suspicions, and had no witnesses to prove we had been betrayed—like the astute56 Fijian maids about whom I told you some pages back. I deeply regretted the incidents of that cruise, which caused my not being able to keep the appointment with Mrs Stevenson.
When I arrived back I went to their home, but they were all away on a cruising trip, I think. I stayed with Holders57, my comrade, for some little time after that, long enough to teach him to play simple melodies on the fiddle, and on those nights I composed some of the melodies of my “Entr’actes,” “Song of the Night,” “The Monk’s Dream” and many others which have since been embodied58 in my compositions for pianoforte, orchestra and military bands.[5] I also composed at that time my waltz, “A Soldier’s Dream,” which was played at Government House, Sydney. I received a letter of praise from Sir Henry Parkes and felt very pleased; that waltz became popular all over New South Wales, although it was unpublished, and played from manuscript.
5. Published by Boosey & Co., London.
Holders was not one of the polished kind, but he was better, being a brave good-hearted fellow, and I 196liked his companionship all the more because he did not drink. Though I found drunken men amusing in my travels of the South Seas, my instincts secretly detested59 them, and gave me a kind of sorrow akin52 to sympathy for men so affflicted.
Eventually we both secured berths60 on a large schooner, bound for Fiji. On board was an American missionary61 who had not been long out from Home. He became very friendly with me, and I liked him very well, and there was a link of comradeship between us for we were both homesick. The crew were nearly all Samoans who cheerily sang the whole day and night. I slept in the deck-house with them as there was no room aft, where I should have slept, as we had four passengers. The skipper was never sober, and came to the deck-house one night and continued to sing. I think he had got the delirium62 tremens. He made us crowd sail on when it was blowing a gale63 and take sail in when a four-knot breeze was on; swore that he saw spirits dancing on the deck, and that the natives had put evil spirits and demons64 on his track. He went off to sleep at last, and I and the mate took charge of the ship and the passengers were much relieved, and the Samoans started off on their old idol65 songs ad libitum.
Two of them had fine voices; their songs were old folk-lore chants telling of South Sea heroes. I would get them to sing to me and so learnt them off by heart and played them on the violin, but the melodies all seemed to lose their wild atmosphere 197when played as simple strains and divided into bars, unwedded to the Samoan words and the intonation66 of the wild childlike voices of the Islanders. Most of the South Sea strains are in minor keys; I give you here as near as possible my own impression of the melodies as I heard them sung.
When we arrived at Viti-Levu, I went ashore67 and stayed for several days and had the pleasure of hearing a Fijian princess sing native songs. She was a granddaughter of King Thakambau, and resided in one of the best houses in Suva, was a good hand at playing the guitar and took an interest in me, as I was a musician; her husband, a Fijian chief, had a deep mellow68 voice which was astonishingly musical for a Fijian, and they sang together to me in their native home, squatting69 on their mats side by side. The princess was a beautiful-looking woman for a full-blooded native, and I spent a good deal of time with them, and really appreciated her songs and playing. Some of the melodies she sang had the Western note in them. As near as I can I reproduce here one of my own impressions of a characteristic Samoan song’s note.
When we arrived at Viti-Levu, I went ashore67 and stayed for several days and had the pleasure of hearing a Fijian princess sing native songs. She was a granddaughter of King Thakambau, and resided in one of the best houses in Suva, was a good hand at playing the guitar and took an interest in me, as I was a musician; her husband, a Fijian chief, had a deep mellow68 voice which was astonishingly musical for a Fijian, and they sang together to me in their native home, squatting69 on their mats side by side. The princess was a beautiful-looking woman for a full-blooded native, and I spent a good deal of time with them, and really appreciated her songs and playing. Some of the melodies she sang had the Western note in them. As near as I can I reproduce here one of my own impressions of a characteristic Samoan song’s note.
6. “Mia Talofa”: Samoan waltz, for pianoforte and as a song. Also for orchestra and military band. Published in London.
I could not stand the skipper of the boat which we had come across by (I think the name of the schooner was the Nelson) and so I left, and my friend Holders with me. We got into pretty low water in about a week, and both eventually secured a berth on another ship, a small barque, which was going to the Marquesas Islands. The mate was ill, and went into hospital at Suva, and I secured the berth. She was not sailing for two or three days, and so we were still stranded70, beachcombers and cashless, but I met a Mr Fisher, who was a wealthy trader and had settled on the Islands. I went up to his house with 199my comrade and took the violin for an evening’s pleasure. We arrived a few minutes before the dining hour (in the true poet and musician style of the South Seas and Western Seas) because we had not a cent between us and on the Islands it was a great breach71 of etiquette72 not to treat the host before the meal hour. Mr and Mrs Fisher were on the look-out for us and our programme went off well, for we sat down to dinner almost immediately. We had a splendid time, received some cash in hand, warmly shook our host’s hand, and departed late at night in a misty73 dream, for we were not used to the strong wine which our host was so liberal with, and seemed to walk on air as our legs went up the white moonlit forest track as we tramped along together merrily singing years ago.
Next morning we were aboard the boat and stopped on her till she sailed, and I think we put in about six weeks of cruising, calling at Samoa and then going to the Marquesas Islands. I went ashore at nearly all the old places. In Hiva-oa, my comrade and I saw the old cannibal courts wherein the grand “Long Pig” feasts had taken place as the natives ate the bodies of their dead who had been slain74 in battle. It was sunset as we stood by the big banyans gazing on the terrible arena75 and the sacrificial altar, whereon the mortally wounded, still lingering, received the last club smash, that sent their souls to Eternity76 and their bodies to the stomachs of mortality, and as I watched the natives, who with childlike eyes stood by us cadging77 for money, sunset blazed on the 200primeval ruins of that terrible amphitheatre and before my eyes the vision of the dying sun-fused twilight78 lay over everything. I saw the tiers of long-ago cannibal guests arise in the mist, with their hideous79 faces aglow80 with hunger as the mangled81 victims fizzed on the cannibalistic spits. I heard the sounds of the long-dead laughter as the coco-palms and banyans around sighed into silence as a gust16 of wind came in from the sea, and with the horror of what must have been, I kicked the native and pushed him away as he clambered, begging for money all the time that I was watching and dreaming.
We then went to the native village, and became acquainted with a half-caste Marquesan. He was a convivial82 old fellow and followed us wherever we went. We could not get rid of him; we gave him many hints, and even told him at last that we wanted to kneel and pray together and would he please depart and leave us to our devotion; but no, he was as relentless83 as Fate and immovable, and so, not being able to kill him, we put up with him. He took us miles away to show us another old arena where the Marquesans had in the past fought their historic duels84, till the victim fell and was eaten.
Tired out we slept in a little stone house till daybreak; it was a snug85 little room, with stone shelves in it. On one of these I slept, out of the reach of tropical lizards86 and other odious87 insects. In the morning I asked our “old man of the sea” what the house was, and found that it was an old dead-house, a kind of cooling place where the bodies had been kept 201before they were cooked. I had slept soundly on that shelf. I didn’t even dream! And how many thousands of dead men, dead girls, dead mothers and children had slept their last cold sleep on the spot whereon I had innocently lay, breathing and warm? I had a cold chill on me the whole morning as I thought of the dead of the past, and how I had warmed that last bed. At last we were rid of the half-caste and rambled88 about on our own, and saw hundreds of natives at a village near Taapauku. It was a beautiful spot by the mountain. Banyans, tropic palms, coco-nuts and gorgeous-coloured flowers swarmed89 everywhere, as between the patches of trees, across tracks passed the natives, almost naked, singing and carrying loads of fruit, etc., as they stooped and went into their native dens90 that stood in the cleared spaces.
That night we saw two Marquesans fighting with clubs. They were jealous over a woman; there were no other whites (excepting some Chinamen) near at the time, and we could do nothing. The fight did not last long. They held their clubs in a firm grip, and swayed and ran round each other seeking a weak spot. They were swarthy men, and very powerful-looking, and as we watched under the verandah of a native house, down came the club on the head of the smaller man and the blood and brain matter splashed all over the place as the skull91 flattened92 like an egg-shell: I will say no more, excepting that I felt sick for some days. On the way back we met our “old man of the sea” again, 202but managed to give him the slip as we ran down a side forest track as fast as we could go.
Telling you of him reminds me of an experience I had in Sydney once. I had met by chance, in a saloon in George Street, an old man who had been a sailor. He had been drinking, and I treated him, as he kept imploring93 me to do so, and at length he became very confidential94. I gathered from all he said that he was a social outcast; but nevertheless I liked him. He was really a most queer character and in the end became an intolerable nuisance. He managed to know where I lived, and wherever I would go he would go, and if I got ahead of him, and was remorsefully95 pleased that I was at last rid of him, up he would come! He had the instinct of a bloodhound, I think.
I lived in a little two-roomed wooden house near the bush beyond Leichardt, off the Paramatta Road, Sydney. He was homeless, and so I took him in and gave him a bed on the floor, but I was down on him if he was drunk. His name was Naylor and I think he was a Welshman; he had a beautiful voice, and though he was an old villain96, he would sing most pathetically as I played the violin by night in our little home. He was so drunk repeatedly, and caused me such sorrow, that at last I turned him out. I thought I had got rid of him, but as I lay asleep at midnight I was suddenly awakened97 by hearing the sound of singing coming toward my home, down the road—it was Naylor! for I recognised the voice. He was singing “Barney, take me Home again!” 203and, notwithstanding my stern resolution to have no more to do with him, my heart was touched and made me follow my impulses as the silence of the night was broken by the song of appeal. I crept to my window and peeped through a chink; there he stood white bearded and drunk in the moonlight, appealing to me with his song over and over again. Of course I let him in, and night after night I was disturbed by that old song.
One night the crisis arrived. I was suddenly awakened by a terrible crash at my front door, and the old “Barney Dear” was being sung with ferocious98 energy. I had overslept; he was outside terribly drunk, imploring to be let in. I was obdurate99; and would not stir. At last his voice as he shouted, “Dear old Middy, let me in, I’ve got a roasted fowl100 here for you,” woke my curiosity, so anguish-stricken and appealing was his voice that I jumped up at once and looked out of the window. A large fire was blazing in my yard, and over it, spluttering and fizzling on an extemporised spit, was a fowl cooking! Unplucked, entrails and all, there it steamed, just as he had stolen it off the roost of my neighbour’s fowl-house, a hundred yards off.
As I opened the door I gazed sternly at him. He seemed surprised that I was not as pleased as he was with himself. I positively101 refused to eat of the fowl, and at this he got into a fearful rage, and kicked it as it hung on the spit. Well, I even forgave him for that night’s work. He’s dead now, and I always feel a bit sad when anyone sings, “Barney, take me 204Home again.” I remember years after, when in England, I sat by the fire telling my mother and sisters of old Naylor, and how relieved they seemed when I told them I had let the old man in, when he had sung, “Barney, take me Home again.”
It is strange how secretly in our hearts we have a world of sympathy for the villain, especially old ones, and had Naylor been a good pious102 old man he would have never been heard of.
A very strange thing happened some years after, when I was mate on a Clipper boat. A Welsh sailor by the name of Naylor, a member of my crew, showed a strong resemblance to the old Naylor of my Sydney experience, so much so that, one night while I was on the poop, I called him up and said, “Are you any relation to a Lloyd Naylor, an old man whom I had the pleasure of knowing in Australia?”
“That must have been my father,” he said, and he was delighted to know that I had known his father. I did not tell him of my experiences with his father, but said, “Naylor, your father was a fine man, a great friend of mine,” and sneaking103 the fellow into my cabin, I opened a bottle of whisky, poured him out a tumbler full to the brim, and by the way he smacked104 his lips I perceived that he was a real chip of the old block.
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| n.(圆物的)边，轮缘；边界 | |
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downwards
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| adj./adv.向下的（地），下行的（地） | |
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berth
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| n.卧铺，停泊地，锚位；v.使停泊 | |
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schooner
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| n.纵帆船 | |
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eel
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| n.鳗鲡 | |
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feud
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| n.长期不和；世仇；v.长期争斗；世代结仇 | |
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adherents
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| n.支持者，拥护者( adherent的名词复数 )；党羽；徒子徒孙 | |
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minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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ambushed
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| v.埋伏( ambush的过去式和过去分词 )；埋伏着 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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naval
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| adj.海军的，军舰的，船的 | |
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neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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smoothly
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gust
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mite
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| n.极小的东西；小铜币 | |
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scampered
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| v.蹦蹦跳跳地跑，惊惶奔跑( scamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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vivacious
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| adj.活泼的，快活的 | |
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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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meditations
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| 默想( meditation的名词复数 )； 默念； 沉思； 冥想 | |
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inflicted
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brutality
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epithet
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| n.（用于褒贬人物等的）表述形容词，修饰语 | |
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25
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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26
vault
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| n.拱形圆顶，地窖，地下室 | |
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huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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squatted
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| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的过去式和过去分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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animation
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| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
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33
vows
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| 誓言( vow的名词复数 )； 郑重宣布，许愿 | |
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plighted
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| vt.保证，约定（plight的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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36
rhythmically
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| adv.有节奏地 | |
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37
upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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38
savages
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| 未开化的人，野蛮人( savage的名词复数 ) | |
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39
missionaries
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| n.传教士( missionary的名词复数 ) | |
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40
fiddle
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| n.小提琴；vi.拉提琴；不停拨弄，乱动 | |
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41
accordions
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| n.手风琴( accordion的名词复数 ) | |
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42
jig
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| n.快步舞（曲）；v.上下晃动；用夹具辅助加工；蹦蹦跳跳 | |
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43
wrench
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| v.猛拧；挣脱；使扭伤；n.扳手；痛苦，难受 | |
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44
plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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delirious
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| adj.不省人事的，神智昏迷的 | |
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blistered
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| adj.水疮状的，泡状的v.（使）起水泡( blister的过去式和过去分词 )；（使表皮等）涨破，爆裂 | |
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47
oars
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| n.桨，橹( oar的名词复数 )；划手v.划（行）( oar的第三人称单数 ) | |
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48
bailing
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| （凿井时用吊桶）排水 | |
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49
vassal
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| n.附庸的；属下；adj.奴仆的 | |
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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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torrents
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| n.倾注；奔流( torrent的名词复数 )；急流；爆发；连续不断 | |
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52
akin
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| adj.同族的，类似的 | |
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53
wailing
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的现在分词 )；沱 | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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locker
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| n.更衣箱，储物柜，冷藏室，上锁的人 | |
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astute
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| adj.机敏的，精明的 | |
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holders
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| 支持物( holder的名词复数 )； 持有者； （支票等）持有人； 支托（或握持）…之物 | |
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embodied
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| v.表现( embody的过去式和过去分词 )；象征；包括；包含 | |
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detested
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| v.憎恶，嫌恶，痛恨( detest的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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berths
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| n.（船、列车等的）卧铺( berth的名词复数 )；（船舶的）停泊位或锚位；差事；船台vt.v.停泊( berth的第三人称单数 )；占铺位 | |
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missionary
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| adj.教会的，传教(士)的；n.传教士 | |
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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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gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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demons
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| n.恶人( demon的名词复数 )；恶魔；精力过人的人；邪念 | |
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idol
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| n.偶像，红人，宠儿 | |
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intonation
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| n.语调，声调；发声 | |
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ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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68
mellow
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| adj.柔和的；熟透的；v.变柔和；(使)成熟 | |
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69
squatting
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| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的现在分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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stranded
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| a.搁浅的，进退两难的 | |
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71
breach
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| n.违反，不履行；破裂；vt.冲破，攻破 | |
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72
etiquette
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| n.礼仪，礼节；规矩 | |
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73
misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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74
slain
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| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去分词 )； (slay的过去分词) | |
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arena
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| n.竞技场，运动场所；竞争场所，舞台 | |
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76
eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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77
cadging
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| v.乞讨，乞得，索取( cadge的现在分词 ) | |
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78
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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79
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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80
aglow
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| adj.发亮的；发红的；adv.发亮地 | |
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81
mangled
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| vt.乱砍（mangle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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82
convivial
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| adj.狂欢的，欢乐的 | |
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83
relentless
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| adj.残酷的，不留情的，无怜悯心的 | |
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84
duels
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| n.两男子的决斗( duel的名词复数 )；竞争，斗争 | |
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85
snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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86
lizards
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| n.蜥蜴( lizard的名词复数 ) | |
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87
odious
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| adj.可憎的，讨厌的 | |
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88
rambled
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| （无目的地）漫游( ramble的过去式和过去分词 )； （喻）漫谈； 扯淡； 长篇大论 | |
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89
swarmed
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| 密集( swarm的过去式和过去分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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dens
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| n.牙齿，齿状部分；兽窝( den的名词复数 )；窝点；休息室；书斋 | |
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91
skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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92
flattened
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| [医]（水）平扁的，弄平的 | |
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93
imploring
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| 恳求的，哀求的 | |
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94
confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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remorsefully
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| adv.极为懊悔地 | |
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96
villain
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| n.反派演员，反面人物；恶棍；问题的起因 | |
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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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98
ferocious
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| adj.凶猛的，残暴的，极度的，十分强烈的 | |
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99
obdurate
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| adj.固执的，顽固的 | |
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100
fowl
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| n.家禽，鸡，禽肉 | |
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101
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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102
pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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103
sneaking
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| a.秘密的，不公开的 | |
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104
smacked
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| 拍，打，掴( smack的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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