The end drew near of the longest siege that was ever in any of the three Americas. More than a year ago the red field of Ayacucho had crowned the triumph of the rebel colonies. The mother-nation that found the New World, and tamed it and gave it to her sons, no longer had sons there, for the very last had disowned her. Mexico, the first great Spanish kingdom in America, had turned republic; and so had the neighbor provinces. South America had followed suit; for the cry of “Independence,” premature1 as it was among these peoples, then and still so unripe2 for self-government, carried contagion3, and Peru itself, the gem4 of the conquest, the land of riches and romance, had thrown off the merciful “yoke5” of home to stagger for generations under the ten-fold worse yoke of her own corrupt6 sons. Of all the Americas that had been Spain’s by discovery, by conquest and by settlement, there now remained to her on the continent only the[220] space boxed by the four walls of Callao[38]—a space a mile and a half square. There the red-yellow-and-red flag still flaunted7 defiance8 to the victorious9 insurgents11; for there Rodil,[39] “the second Leonidas,” was making the last heroic stand for Spain.
It was hopeless odds—this fiery12 loyalist against all rebel South America. There was no possibility of reinforcements from anywhere; no chance of retreat. Cooped up in what was then the largest fort in the New World, he saw the land fenced with the flushed armies of Bolívar,[40] the bay blocked by the allied13 fleets. For twenty-one months he had repulsed14 their almost daily attacks and outwitted their ceaseless stratagems15; and for twenty-one months, too, had baffled the still more dangerous foes17 within his walls. Of the two thousand eight hundred men at his hand when the siege began, March 1, 1824, over seven hundred had been killed and more than twice as many had died of the pestilence18. Of the eight thousand citizens first within the fort—for all Callao was included by those huge ramparts—two thousand four hundred had been sent out to avoid famine, and over five[221] thousand had fallen by the plague. The survivors19 had no heart left. Almost daily some new plot to betray the fort was discovered, and almost daily the “iron general” gave a row of conspirators20 to the musketeers. To war, disease and treachery, famine added its terrors. Horse meat and rats were already delicacies21; and only yesterday, a noble invalid22 had given a plate heaped up with gold for three lemons.
It was New Year’s eve. That, down here, twelve degrees below the equator, meant high summer. All day long the tropic heat had beaten mercilessly upon Callao, and now the wan23 defenders24 lay sprawled25 along the ramparts beside their guns, drinking the grateful dusk. Here and there sounded the uneven26 tramp of the patrol down the cobble-paved streets, and their sharp challenge, “Alto! Quien vive?” to every one they met. It rang out now, and the soldiers crossed their muskets27 before a tall, gray-robed figure.
“It is I, my children,” was the quiet answer. “Delay me not, for I go to the sick.”
“Pass, father,” said the sargento, and all lifted their caps, stepping from the narrow sidewalk to make room for the priest.
[222]
“But what is this?” cried the officer, suddenly thrusting out his long arm and clutching something which was about to fly right between them. It was a thin, pale girl of ten, hooded29 in the black manta of her people.
“Que es esto?” repeated the sargento more gently. “Dost thou not know the orders that none shall move upon the street after dark, since so many drop letters over the walls to the rebels? Get thee in, for even children are not exempt,” and he pushed her back into the doorway30 from which she had just burst.
But the child made no motion to obey. “The padre!” she panted. “The padre! For my brother is very sick.”
“Si, pues? Well, go thou and catch the fraile, then. But much eye that thou come not near the walls.” And the kindly32 old Spaniard led his men off down the street.
By this time the priest had turned the corner; and when the child came flying to that street, lo! he was far ahead. But she kept running breathlessly and at last, where the dark bulk of the castle of San Felipe overhung them, she plucked the gray robe from behind. Her bare feet had drawn33 no noise from the stones, and the priest started[223] violently, choking back what sounded like the beginning of a cry.
He wheeled sharply about with a stern “What is this?”—but his voice was pinched.
“My brother—very sick—padre! Please, your grace, come!” she panted.
“To the devils with your brother!” he growled34, flinging her off. “Váyate!” and he was gone before the dumbfounded child could speak again. She stood a moment looking stupidly after him, and then, sobbing35, limped wearily homeward.
II.
The house, like most of Callao in those ill days, was little better than a wreck36 after twenty-one months of the rebel cannonading. The dark stairway teetered and groaned38 dismally39 as she scrambled40 up, and overhead the Southern Cross blinked hazily41 at her through a tattered42 frame—the insurgent10 shells had left little of the flimsy roofs of the city where it never rains. Long, ragged43 strips of bamboo lathing44 dangled45 here and there, and at her childish tread dribbles46 of the gravel47 covering came pattering about her like uncanny footfalls. She was trembling all over when she pushed open a broken door and entered the room,[224] the rude Moorish48 balcony of which overhung the street. There was a hole in the roof here, too, and the doors of the balcony had been splintered by a cannon37 ball. A twisted rag flared49 smokily in an iron plate of grease on a broken chair, and where the vagrant50 shadows began to stand their ground against its feeble rays, some one was bending over a tattered mattress51 upon the floor.
“No hay cuidado,” said a strange voice as she stopped short, in alarm. “The sargento bade me bring a cup of caldo for thy brother, seeing thee so much a woman. For now that there is nothing to eat, he said, perhaps that would be the best medicine.”
“He drank the broth31 as one greedy, and in a moment fell asleep. How many days makes it that he is sick?”
“Two, se?or. Since four days there was nothing to eat but two crusts of bread, and those he made me eat.”
“Pobrecito! He has no more than hunger. To-morrow I will bring another caldo—for even broth of horse gives strength—that ye may not starve. But have ye no fathers?”
[225]
“Papa fell in San Felipe; and our mother was sent from the city with many. But us she hid in the house, saying that the enemy had no mercy even to the weak. And so it was; for the women that tried to pass to Lima the insurjentes fired upon. And she never came back.”
“Dogs of rebels! But now I go, little one. Have heart, for I will look to you. Hásta luego.”
When he was gone the child crouched53 down by her brother and slipped her trembling hand into his. The shadows were so crawly! They seemed to draw back and then come stealing at her. And it was so still—only the hail of the sentries54, breaking across such a silence as if they stood guard over a city of the dead.
“Que hay, little sister?” said the boy, starting up wide awake with the suddenness of those that are fevered. “The father? Couldst not find one? But it is all the same, for God sent us a friend with food.”
“And he comes to-morrow also,” she added eagerly. Then she told how she had followed the priest, but he had shaken her off with rough words.
[226]
“Ea? How is that? For the fathers do not so. And how is it thou followedst him even to the castillo?”
“Pues, for that he went very fast and I could not catch him. He was at the corner even when the sargento let me pass; but when I came running there he was almost at the next cuadra, as if he too had run.”
Vicente suddenly sat up on the squalid mattress. The smoky wick flung deep shadows in his hollow cheeks, and he looked so pale and wild that Lina almost cried out at him.
“I tell thee, ’manita,” he whispered earnestly, “I believe not in that priest! Running so, and so rough to thee! And thou sayest that at touch of thy hand to his robe he started and was to call out? There is a danger, I tell thee!” he repeated vehemently55, striking his thin fist upon the floor till the impish shadows danced again. “All is crooked56 now, when they say the very captains wait to sell our general. And if the priests be traitors57 too——”
“Ay! What to do? For we know nothing. But something there is, my heart tells me. Oyez! Wouldst thou know the padre again, seeing him?”
[227]
“And his voice, too—no? Come, then, and we will see who is this father that curses his children!” And the boy rose eagerly, though his legs shook under him.
“But how canst thou go out, hermano, being so sick?”
“No hay cuidado. For now it is for our king against the rebels, and strength I shall have for that. The caldo also gives me new life. Vamos!”
III.
Weak as he was, he drew her down the tottering60 stairs and into the dark street; and there they stood a moment, not knowing whither to turn. “Claro!” exclaimed Vicente, “we will follow as he went—perchance we may meet him returning.”
But at the very corner some one turning in hastily from the next street stumbled fairly over them; and Vicente and Lina and the stranger went down in a heap.
“Little animals!” snarled61 an angry voice. “Are you blind? For a so-little I would break your bones. Eh? He is who?” he hissed62, catching63 them by the arms—for he had heard Lina’s excited whisper, “Es él.”
[228]
“She says you are the priest that would not go to her sick brother,” answered Vicente in a steady voice, “and I believe it, for you are rough to the weak. But we will find a padre who is not so.”
“Márchanse, brats64!” said the stranger in a tone of relief. “But,” he added, turning and shaking his finger at them, “no more running after me, or I throw you over the wall.”
“Have no care, se?or padre,” said Vicente, with sarcastic65 politeness; and taking Lina by the hand he hurried around the corner. In a moment he turned his head and caught a glimpse of some dark object peering past the wall. “Es!” he whispered, squeezing the slender fingers, and a few rods farther on drew Lina into a recess66 of the wall. He was trembling all over.
“Es!” he repeated. “Canst thou not see that he is no fraile, though he wears the habit? It is the voice of a soldier and not of the church. And here! This fell to my very hand when we all went to the ground together”—and he held up a crumpled67 paper. “But first it is to see whither goes this father of rebels. Come so far as the house and there wait me, for it is better that I go alone.”
[229]
“But, Vicente—I—I’m afraid of the duéndes!”
“Epa! Fear not, sisterling, for the goblins touch not those that are true. Remember, it is for Spain!” And pushing her gently inside their own doorway, and stooping to kiss her, he hurried down the street.
Lina dared not climb the noisy stairs to the deserted68 rooms. She crouched in the hall, shivering, drawing the manta about her shoulders as if with cold, but shutting her teeth bravely. The shuffle69 of Vicente’s broken shoes had already died away; and it seemed as if the whole world had slipped past with him. Ages and ages she waited, till she was ready to scream with fear; and then she sprang nervously to the door at a sound in the street. It was only a patrol shambling over the crazy cobblestones, but as it drew nigh she was seized with a sudden access of fear. Between them stumbled Vicente, a heavy hand on either shoulder.
“Let him go!” she cried, rushing upon the soldiers as if to strike them down. “He is my little brother, and has done nothing. Only we found the——”
“Cállete, Lina!” spoke70 up Vicente sharply. “If only the se?or official will be[230] so good as to take her with me to the general—for she is quite alone, se?or.”
“It is well—come on, little Amazon!” said the officer, from whom war and starvation had not dried up all Andalusian humor. “Snails! But I thought she was to capture us! March!”
IV.
General Rodil pushed back his chair from the table, and his grave face took on a puzzled look as the officer and his odd prisoners were ushered71 into the room. “The general who never sleeps,” they called him—for at whatever hour of day or night, he was always appearing suddenly here, there, everywhere. Well masked was the faint heart into whose depths those gray eyes did not bore; tiny indeed the slackness that escaped them. Well might the ignorant invest him with a superstitious72 terror—this man who was really the garrison73 of Callao.
“Que cosa?” he demanded in a low, clear voice.
“Pues, se?or generál,” said the officer, still standing74 at “salute.” “This boy we found in the Street of the Pelicans75, as if waiting for some one. And when we searched him this was in his shirt.”
[231]
Rodil uncrumpled the paper and bent76 to read it by the flickering77 candle. Suddenly his haggard face turned even paler, and then a dark flush rose as he sprang to his feet and took two steps forward. As suddenly he stopped, and threw at the children a glance that seemed fairly to burn them.
“Are there none but traitors?” he cried, with a choke. “Even to the babies! And now, my Ponce de Leon!” for the smuggled78 note read:
“Todo listo. No mas se espera al comandante rúbio. Arregla todo de San Rafael.”
[All ready. Only waiting the blonde commander. Fix everything in the castle of San Rafael.]
The “blonde commander” could be none other than Rodil’s dear friend and trusted officer, in charge of one of the twin castles—a man whom he had “made” in rank and fortune. The general’s face seemed of stone as he demanded:
“Boy! From where is this letter?”
“Vueséncia, I picked it up from a fraile who fell over us in the street; and because he had been rough to my little sister, I followed to see where he would go.”
“Carefully! For when it is between the king’s honor and traitors, even youth counts[232] not! What should a fraile be doing with letters of the insurgents?”
“For that, I think he was no fraile,” answered Vicente sturdily, holding his head erect79, though his knees wavered; and he told all the happenings of the evening, while Lina nodded an earnest corroboration80. Before he was done, something of the hardness had faded from Rodil’s face.
“Your cuenta runs well,” he said at last. “Give me proof and I will fill your hat with gold. But if not—if you are old enough to be a traitor58, you are old enough to die one!”
Vicente’s ragged shoulders squared still straighter. “When I ask you for money, se?or generál!” he replied proudly. “We are of Spain, and for that I do it. He that made as priest went not to the convento, but into the house 74, Street of the Viceroy.”
“Hola! Se?or teniente, take twenty men in the instant and round-up that house, bringing hither all that are in it; and that everything be searched. And send the teniente Ochoa with another file to bring hither prisoner the Comandante Ponce de Leon. Corriendo!”
For twenty minutes “the sleepless81 general” walked the room—sometimes apparently82 unconscious of the children, and suddenly flinging at them some question,[233] sharp and searching as a javelin83. Then there were reluctant feet upon the stairs.
“It has to report, your Excellency,” said Lieutenant84 Ochoa, “that the Se?or Comandante Ponce de Leon is not to be found. Since the first dusk no one has seen him.”
Rodil struck his forehead; but before he seemed able to command his voice, there was another commotion85 outside, and a group of officers bustled86 into the room.
“What is this, mi generál?” cried one of them angrily. “Here we are dragged from the house like criminals! What means this rat-catcher of a lieutenant?”
“Little by little, gentlemen mine!” answered Rodil in a suspiciously quiet tone. “You will excuse the molestation87 for my sake, since I ordered it. And now, I beg you, have the goodness to tell me of a fraile who entered your house half an hour ago.”
“Fraile, se?or generál? No priest has entered the house,” answered the first speaker, sharply. He was a tall, handsome officer, upon whom even the shabbiness of a uniform that had seen twenty-one months’ fighting sat becomingly. “I think your Excellency might have asked the question with less violence to us.”
“Ill it fits me to show discourtesy to such loyal gentlemen,” Rodil replied, with[234] an added dryness. “And I am glad to learn that no priest has been among you—for I fancied, my Se?or Captain Baca, that he might be converting you to the brotherhood88. You would half pass for a fraile yourself, now that I see”—and in spite of himself the general’s voice rose ever so little—“the moustache which was the pride of the company is shorn off since midday.”
“Pues—your Excellency,” stammered89 the tall captain. “For the heat—and—and—since time hangs heavily on our hands, I shaved for a joke.”
“Well edged is thy humor, captain mine!” The ironic90 respect had given place to the contemptuous tu. “ójala we had earlier guessed thy wit, to ease the weariness of the siege. Tell me, boy—is this thy fraile?” The question came like a bullet.
“I know not, Excellency,” said Vicente, hesitatingly. “Of that size he was, but his face I saw not well.”
“But it is his voice!” cried Lina impetuously. “And had he the hood, I would know if it is his face—for the capucho covered him well.”
“Little animals!” growled the captain, starting as if to spring at them. But then, commanding himself, he said sullenly91: “Until[235] what will your Excellency carry this farce92? Am I to be burlado by lying brats of the street? With these gentlemen I have passed the time since I came off duty.”
“It is true, se?or generál,” declared the others, who had nervously watched their spokesman, the ranking officer among them. “We have all been together since——”
“Alto!” interrupted Rodil sternly. “You must bring me better witnesses than your tongues. For by my faith, I would see this joke of the moustache played through. Sargento, search this captain of the wits.”
“For pity, mi generál! Shame me not thus!” And the officer fell on his knees.
For answer, Rodil only stretched his lean finger grimly. The sergeant93, awkward at disrespectful approach to his superior, laid his hand upon the arm of the risen captain, and in another moment lay sprawling94 upon the floor. Baca was a young and muscular man; and almost in the same motion with the blow he sprang at the window.
The dumbfounded privates had no time to reach him; but Vicente, in a flash of rage, flung himself at his legs, and the tall officer crashed upon the floor. Before he could rise a dozen soldiers were upon him, and[236] Rodil, his slender sword quivering at half-arm, faced the four other officers.
“There is nothing in his pockets, Excellency,” announced the sergeant.
“Claro! For he who changes his face so soon can as well change his clothing. In his shoes, then.”
There was a renewed scuffle; but in a moment a cry of exultation—and the sergeant dragged a thin, soiled paper from Baca’s stocking.
“Still given to jests, capitan mio—that you walk on the mines which are to blow the rebels up at the next assault. It is a clever diagram, and Salom would have paid thee well for it, I warrant. Hola!”
For the door let in four soldiers and their petty officer; and over the arm of the latter hung the long gray-brown habit of a Franciscan friar.
“It was between the mattresses95 of the se?or capitan Baca,” announced the sergeant. “And as for these little ones, I am their witness—for to my patrol passed first a tall fraile, and soon came running this womanling after him for her brother, who was very sick.”
“And the boy is he to whom I carried a cup of broth—and I found him well fevered,” spoke up one of the soldiers, scared[237] at his own thick voice before the grim general.
“It is enough,” interrupted Rodil. “I give thanks to God that there are patriots96 yet—and eyes in them, too. These children stay with me. For the Se?or Captain Baca, and for these gentlemen who ‘were with him all the time,’” he continued with grim terseness97, “sunrise against the wall of San Felipe. Until then, your heads answer for theirs!”
That is all there is to tell of the habit of the fraile—except that it served for a shroud98 to the traitor who had masqueraded in it.
But already was the beginning of the end. The desertion of the Comandante Ponce de Leon, who had dropped over the wall and fled to the enemy, gave to the insurgents plans and information of fatal importance. Then Riera, the other comandante, turned traitor too, and delivered to the foe16 the castle of San Rafael.
Resistance was no longer possible, even to “the Spartan99 of Peru.” On the 11th of January he entered into correspondence which ended with the honorable and advantageous100 capitulation of Callao, January 23, 1826. Of the original 2,800 soldiers only[238] three hundred and seventy-six remained, and a scant101 seven hundred citizens of all the former thousands. There was little left save glory—but of that so proud a share as was earned by no other man of either side in the war of the colonial rebellion. For that matter, history has few pages like the resistance of Spain’s last fort in America.
When Rodil, in full uniform, boarded the English frigate102 “Briton” to sail away to the long years and high honors that awaited him in Spain, he carried with the banners of his favorite regiments103 a boy and girl who seemed less embarrassed by their fine new dress than by the attention which everywhere greeted “the little orphans104 of Callao.”
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1
premature
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| adj.比预期时间早的；不成熟的，仓促的 | |
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unripe
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| adj.未成熟的；n.未成熟 | |
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3
contagion
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| n.(通过接触的疾病)传染；蔓延 | |
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4
gem
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| n.宝石，珠宝；受爱戴的人 [同]jewel | |
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yoke
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| n.轭；支配；v.给...上轭，连接，使成配偶 | |
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6
corrupt
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| v.贿赂，收买；adj.腐败的，贪污的 | |
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7
flaunted
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| v.炫耀，夸耀( flaunt的过去式和过去分词 )；有什么能耐就施展出来 | |
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defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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victorious
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| adj.胜利的，得胜的 | |
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insurgent
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| adj.叛乱的，起事的；n.叛乱分子 | |
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insurgents
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| n.起义，暴动，造反( insurgent的名词复数 ) | |
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fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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allied
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| adj.协约国的；同盟国的 | |
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repulsed
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| v.击退( repulse的过去式和过去分词 )；驳斥；拒绝 | |
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stratagems
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| n.诡计，计谋( stratagem的名词复数 )；花招 | |
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foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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foes
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| 敌人，仇敌( foe的名词复数 ) | |
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pestilence
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| n.瘟疫 | |
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survivors
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| 幸存者，残存者，生还者( survivor的名词复数 ) | |
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conspirators
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| n.共谋者，阴谋家( conspirator的名词复数 ) | |
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delicacies
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| n.棘手( delicacy的名词复数 )；精致；精美的食物；周到 | |
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invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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wan
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| (wide area network)广域网 | |
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defenders
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| n.防御者( defender的名词复数 )；守卫者；保护者；辩护者 | |
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sprawled
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| v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的过去式和过去分词)；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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uneven
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| adj.不平坦的，不规则的，不均匀的 | |
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muskets
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| n.火枪，（尤指）滑膛枪( musket的名词复数 ) | |
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hood
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| n.头巾，兜帽，覆盖；v.罩上，以头巾覆盖 | |
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hooded
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| adj.戴头巾的；有罩盖的；颈部因肋骨运动而膨胀的 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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broth
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| n.原(汁)汤(鱼汤、肉汤、菜汤等) | |
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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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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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sobbing
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wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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cannon
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| n.大炮，火炮；飞机上的机关炮 | |
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groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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dismally
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| adv.阴暗地，沉闷地 | |
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scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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41
hazily
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| ad. vaguely, not clear | |
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42
tattered
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| adj.破旧的，衣衫破的 | |
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43
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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44
lathing
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| 覆以板条，板条 | |
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45
dangled
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| 悬吊着( dangle的过去式和过去分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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46
dribbles
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| n.涓滴( dribble的名词复数 )；细滴；少量（液体）v.流口水( dribble的第三人称单数 )；（使液体）滴下或作细流；运球，带球 | |
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47
gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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48
moorish
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| adj.沼地的，荒野的，生[住]在沼地的 | |
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49
Flared
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| adj. 端部张开的, 爆发的, 加宽的, 漏斗式的 动词flare的过去式和过去分词 | |
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50
vagrant
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| n.流浪者，游民；adj.流浪的，漂泊不定的 | |
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51
mattress
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| n.床垫，床褥 | |
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52
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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53
crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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54
sentries
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| 哨兵，步兵( sentry的名词复数 ) | |
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55
vehemently
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| adv. 热烈地 | |
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56
crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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57
traitors
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| 卖国贼( traitor的名词复数 )； 叛徒； 背叛者； 背信弃义的人 | |
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58
traitor
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| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
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59
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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tottering
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| adj.蹒跚的，动摇的v.走得或动得不稳( totter的现在分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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61
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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62
hissed
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| 发嘶嘶声( hiss的过去式和过去分词 )； 发嘘声表示反对 | |
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catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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brats
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| n.调皮捣蛋的孩子( brat的名词复数 ) | |
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sarcastic
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| adj.讥讽的，讽刺的，嘲弄的 | |
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recess
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| n.短期休息，壁凹（墙上装架子，柜子等凹处） | |
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67
crumpled
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| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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69
shuffle
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| n.拖著脚走，洗纸牌；v.拖曳，慢吞吞地走 | |
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70
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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71
ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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superstitious
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| adj.迷信的 | |
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73
garrison
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| n.卫戍部队；驻地，卫戍区；vt.派(兵)驻防 | |
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74
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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pelicans
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| n.鹈鹕( pelican的名词复数 ) | |
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76
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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77
flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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78
smuggled
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| 水货 | |
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79
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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corroboration
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| n.进一步的证实，进一步的证据 | |
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81
sleepless
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| adj.不睡眠的，睡不著的，不休息的 | |
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82
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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83
javelin
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| n.标枪，投枪 | |
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84
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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85
commotion
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| n.骚动，动乱 | |
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86
bustled
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| 闹哄哄地忙乱，奔忙( bustle的过去式和过去分词 )； 催促 | |
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87
molestation
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| n.骚扰，干扰，调戏；折磨 | |
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88
brotherhood
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| n.兄弟般的关系，手中情谊 | |
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89
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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90
ironic
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| adj.讽刺的，有讽刺意味的，出乎意料的 | |
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91
sullenly
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| 不高兴地，绷着脸，忧郁地 | |
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92
farce
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| n.闹剧，笑剧，滑稽戏；胡闹 | |
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93
sergeant
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| n.警官，中士 | |
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94
sprawling
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| adj.蔓生的，不规则地伸展的v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的现在分词 )；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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95
mattresses
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| 褥垫，床垫( mattress的名词复数 ) | |
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96
patriots
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| 爱国者，爱国主义者( patriot的名词复数 ) | |
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97
terseness
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| 简洁，精练 | |
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98
shroud
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| n.裹尸布，寿衣；罩，幕；vt.覆盖，隐藏 | |
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99
spartan
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| adj.简朴的，刻苦的；n.斯巴达；斯巴达式的人 | |
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100
advantageous
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| adj.有利的；有帮助的 | |
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101
scant
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| adj.不充分的，不足的；v.减缩，限制，忽略 | |
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102
frigate
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| n.护航舰，大型驱逐舰 | |
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103
regiments
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| （军队的）团( regiment的名词复数 )； 大量的人或物 | |
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104
orphans
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| 孤儿( orphan的名词复数 ) | |
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