AFTER Samoa I think the Sandwich Isles1 are the most attractive islands in the Pacific. They are mountainous and the summits of Hawaii—pronounced Ha-wy-ee—rise to fourteen or fifteen thousand feet. All the islands of the group are volcanic3, and rich both in live and extinct craters4. I should not be surprised if some day the bowels5 of the Sandwich Group suddenly exploded and blew the isles to smithereens!
When, from the sea, you sight the coast, its promontories6 covered with coco-palms and gorgeous tropical trees, waving over slopes that lead down to lazy, shore-curling waves, you think of the Biblical Garden of Paradise. Native hut homes, conical-shaped, with tiny verandahs, peep out of the bamboo and clumps7 of bananas beneath mighty8 bread-fruit trees.
I stayed several weeks in the Sandwich Group. The natives are mirthful and well dressed, far in advance of the Marquesan and Solomon islanders. They are all Christians10, but decidedly immoral12 according to European codes. Honolulu is a well-shaded city, with the spires13 of advanced civilisation14 rising. Missionaries15 are there in plenty, and possibly they feel thankful that barbarian16 ideas of virtue17 have given them a profession on islands of tropical beauty, whereon they can live in extreme comfort while they work among, and are kind to, the natives.
While there I saw the palace of the Hawaiian queen, who I think was the widow of King Kale-Conalain. She was as polished as a Parisian prima donna. I also saw the new king, Lunalilo, a fine-looking Hawaiian, six feet high, full-lipped and very majestic-looking. He was dressed in a frock-coat and fashionable felt hat. As he appeared before the people and stood on the palace steps, the crowds waved and cheered as the British do to their King and Queen.
The Hawaiian climate is healthy; but Chinese leprosy attacks the natives and the white population, which consists of French, English, Kanakas negroes, Chinamen and ex-convicts. Swarms18 of mosquitoes find the Sandwich Isles a happy hunting ground for their race, and are one of its drawbacks.
I toured on the island steamer Kilanea to all the various isles, and then stopped near Honolulu with Kooma, who was a Hawaiian. He was an old man, yet straight figured, well tattooed19 and with intelligent eyes. His high brow denoted intellectual qualities which were usually conspicuous20 through their absence from the heads of his race. Hawaiians are like all the South Sea Islanders, and have a deeply rooted hatred21 for work. As they have embraced Christianity, heathen songs have ceased, and now, like caged birds on the polished perches23 of civilisation, they sit and quote, parrot-like, all that the missionaries teach them.
Kooma at that time had no calling. He was aged22, and had reared up a large family, and his athletic24 sons, who worked on shipping25 wharves26 at Honolulu, repaid Kooma for his past kindness. He had several married daughters also. I was not very well off at the time and gladly accepted the old Hawaiian’s offer to let me occupy rooms in his home at a charge that nicely suited the state of my exchequer27.
Kooma had known Father Damien[4] intimately, that heroic leper priest who had devoted28 his life to combating heathenism and nursing the lepers on the Isle2 of Molokai, and had, a year or so before, died of the dreaded30 disease. So I was fortunately able to hear, directly from him, details of deep interest to me concerning the life and character of the celebrated31 priest, who had emigrated from Louvain as a missionary32 to Honolulu, and after a strenuous33 life of self-sacrifice lay in his grave near his stricken children on the lonely lazaretto isle, Molokai.
4. Joseph Damien de Veuster was born at Tremeloo, a small peasant village near Louvain, in 1840; and in peaceful scenes that are now ravaged34 by the relentless35 tramp of materialistic36 battalions37 he, as a boy, dreamed and fed his imagination and intense genius for helping39 humanity. He died on 15th April 1889.
It appeared that my friend had known Damien many years before he went to Molokai; had officiated as his servant, and helped the missionary build some of the extemporised churches and homes at Kohala and elsewhere.
Sitting by his side, by the window of his humble40 homestead, while native children romped41 under the palms out in the hot sunlight, I talked to Kooma of many things, and hearing that he had known Father Damien I at once plied42 him with questions. “Was Damien a kind and good man, Kooma?” I asked, and then, with much pride that he was able to give me information concerning such a popular white man, he blew whiffs of tobacco through his thin, wrinkled lips and answered: “I have cut wood and dug hundreds of post-holes for the great white priest, and he no pay me.”
“Did not pay you?” I said, astonished.
“No,” he answered. “I knew that he was poor and had no money, and so I work for no wages.” After many questions and replies which dealt chiefly with the Hawaiian’s own character and importance, I gathered that Kooma had collected firewood for the lonely priest, and had done many services for him, both as a friend and a servant, out of a good heart, for it appeared that Damien was not by any means an austere44 man or master, but one who worked with those around him in a spirit of good comradeship.
If anyone imposed upon the natives and Damien heard of it, he would hotly resent the imposition, and with flashing eyes shout and fight for their rights as though they were his own children.
Years before Damien went to Molokai a handsome Hawaiian girl, who lived at Kahalo, loved a Society Island youth who had, with his parents, emigrated to the Sandwich Islands. The father of the maid disliked the youth, who was an idle, good-for-nothing fellow, and so would not encourage the lad’s attentions to his daughter. For some time the lovers met in secret, for love laughs at locksmiths in Hawaii as well as elsewhere. One night, as Damien sat by his fireside in his lonely hut having his humble meal, the love-sick maid appeared at his door. Crossing her hands on her breast, she bowed, half frightened, and after much hesitation45 pleaded to the Catholic Father on the youth’s behalf, begging him to help her, for she was in great distress46; and knowing that Damien was a great missionary and priest of the white God, she suddenly fell on her knees and confessed all. She was in trouble through the lad, and, telling Damien this, she laid her head on his knee and cried bitterly; for the kindness of his eyes soothed47 her and made her feel like a little child. Gently bidding her to rise, the Father told her to cease from troubling, and said: “Go, my child, home; tell thy father all; also that thou hast told this thing to me, and I will come and see him.”
The priest did all that he promised; and the next evening the sinful youth who had brought sorrow to Ramao, for that was her name, appeared before the hut door wherein lived Father Damien and, shamefaced, hung his head for a long while. Kooma, who sat telling me all this, added: “And the great white Father put the spirit of Christ in Juno’s (the lad’s) heart; for he became good, and worked hard, and was forgiven for that which he did, and they were happy and had many children; and I learnt to love Juno in his manhood, for he was a good father and kind to the maid who was my daughter!” And, saying all this, he pushed the window higher up and pointed48 to a tall maid who, in her ridi robe, came singing down the track by the jungle ferns. On her bare shoulders she humped baskets of live fish which had been just caught below in the sea. “She,” Kooma said, “is my granddaughter, and was the unborn child of the fallen maid whom Father Damien was kind to”; and there she stood in the doorway49 and gazed on us both with laughing, sparkling eyes, bare from the waist upwards50, excepting for a thread of beads51 hanging at her breast and a Catholic cross, with a tiny figure of the Virgin52 Mary, swinging below. I looked at her with deep interest, and thought of the kindness of the missionary priest, dead in his grave at Molokai.
Kooma showed me a Bible which had been given him by Father Damien. It was well thumb-marked, torn, and pencilled by the priest at those pages where he had made my friend memorise53 different passages. On the front leaf was Damien’s signature. On my handing the sacred gift back to the Hawaiian he carefully placed it at the bottom of his chest; and I knew that it would be no use my attempting to get it from him, however much I might want the book. Many interesting things did I learn from my stay at this native’s house, for night after night I would get him in a reminiscent mood. It appeared that as time wore on the young priest, who was a handsome, healthy-looking man, became somewhat subdued54 and saddened, and aged considerably55 in the space of three or four years. At times he was morose56 and unapproachable, though afterwards he would gaze with kindly57 eyes on those whom he might have spoken to in anger.
“Did he ever go away?” I asked Kooma, and he answered: “Sometimes he would go for one or two days, and often at night-time go off wandering alone in the forestlands about his house; and night after night at sunset he would sit with his chin on his hands and gaze toward the seaward sunset, with eyes that saw far away.” And then Kooma added: “And I would say, ‘Master, shall I get thee more firewood?’ and he would not answer, but would steadily59 gaze on, and I could see the tears in his eyes, and I knew that he sorrowed over that which I knew not of.” So earnest was Kooma’s manner that, as he told me these things, I saw the past, the lonely hut home and the exiled priest gazing into the sunset, sick at heart as he dreamed of his childhood’s home across the world. I wondered somewhat, and thought over the stories Raeltoa of Samoa had told me, which I have written about in my earlier book of reminiscences. For Raeltoa the Samoan had also known Father Damien, as, of course, hundreds of natives did, and had told me, unasked, of his kindness and heart-felt sorrow for those who hid from the leper captors as they searched for the stricken people.
For leprosy had wiped out thousands of the natives of the Sandwich Islands and elsewhere. When once the victims revealed the purplish-yellow patch on their bodies they were doomed61, for no cure was, or is, known for the scourge62 of leprosy.
In Kooma’s house dwelt a chief who lived in Oahu. He had elephantiasis, which had swelled63 his legs to three times their normal size. He used to sit under the pandanus-trees reading his Bible as I talked with Kooma, and I was extremely pleased to hear, on inquiring, that his complaint was not contagious64; for when he squatted65 with his knees up in front of him, so swollen66 were his limbs that his body and head were hidden from view.
But to go back to Kooma’s reminiscences. “What happened before Father Damien went away to the Leper Isle of Molokai?” I asked, and Kooma answered: “He became most sad, and then wished many of my people who had the leper patch good-bye, and promised to go one day and see them, and made them happier with smiles and promises; and often he would go a long way off to comfort those whose relatives had been taken to the dreaded lazaretto.”
“Did you see Father Damien after he had gone to the lazaretto?” I asked. “Yes,” he replied; “and he looked most sad and very, very much older: and I asked him of my sister, whom he had seen at Molokai, for she was stricken with the plague, and he said, ‘Kooma, your sister is happy; the spirit is well, though the flesh, which is nothing, is ill.’”
Then Kooma told me much of the doings of the Flemish priest: how he had toiled67 incessantly68 for the welfare of his native children, ministering to their souls; and how his influence had soothed their hearts, hearts that still half nursed the old traditions; for the Hawaiians were originally a wild race, and still their songs told of heathen mythology69, of mighty warriors70, of love and ravishment, and of cannibalistic times, so Damien’s task of reforming them was no easy one.
For many years the dreadful scourge had crept, with its fatal grip, over the whole of the Sandwich Group, and as time went on it became so prevalent that the Hawaiian Government decided11 that the best step to take to stay the horror of fetid rot which was annihilating71 the race was to isolate72 all those afflicted73 with the disease and send them to Molokai.
Molokai was a lonely, half-barren isle surrounded by rough, beaten shores of crag and fortress74 reef that for ever withstood the charges of the seas as eternally they clashed, broke and moaned through the caves of the death-stricken isle, echoing and mingling75 with the moan of memories and deathly cries that faded on the dying lips of the plague-stricken men, women and children who rotted till they became lipless skeletons, still alive in their tomb—the grey, gloomy lazaretto of the Leper Isle. Terrible was the grief of the natives as those employed to separate the lepers sought out all those who were spotted76 with the livid leper patch. Father Damien’s heart was sick within him as he heard the lamentations of forced farewells, as, standing77 by their captors, helpless men and women, gazing over their shoulders, looked into the eyes of those they loved and went away for ever!
Father Damien, who had devotedly78 administered comfort to the stricken ones who were scattered79 over the isle, saw and felt deeply the grief of those around him; but he was powerless to help the unhappy people; he knew the enforced separation was decreed by the authorities, and was for the best.
It was well known that many of the unfortunate victims were hidden away in the forest-lands, or in caves by the shores: maidens81 secreting82 their lovers, and lovers hiding the pleading maids, husbands their wives, and wives their children. Often in the night, as the dread29 inquisition discovered some trembling, hidden victim, a scream would break the silence of the jungle as the victim was muffled83, gagged and taken away; for the leper-hunters were not the tenderest and most poetical84 of men. Money was their reward for all the lepers they captured, and the men hired for the job were chosen for their evil reputations and the expression of brutality85 on their dark faces. Father Damien’s heart was indeed wretched over the fate of his children.
As Kooma the Hawaiian sat telling me all this, and the shadows fell and the island nightingale sang up in the pandanus-trees, I watched his earnest face and listened attentively86, for I knew that I was hearing the truth of much that was hidden from the world. I learnt that the sad priest would sit at night for hours under the coco-palms, deep in thought, and have no sleep, so troubled was he over the fate of the flock that he loved; and many times did he help the afflicted ones, and long and deeply did he hesitate ere he told the authorities that which he had to tell, and which his tender heart stayed him from telling. As Kooma told me this I saw that his memories of the priest were sincere and loving enough. Then he called out “Pooline! Pooline!” and a native girl came and poked87 her head in at the doorway; it was his granddaughter, whom Father Damien had christened. They had called her after Damien’s sister Pauline (which they pronounced Pooline); for the priest often spoke58 of his sister in Flanders, and told Kooma that some day she would come out to him to share his work and help him in it, and several times he wrote home and asked her to think the matter over.
Few were surprised when at length Father Damien volunteered to go to Molokai and administer faith and comfort to his lost children in exile. He taught them to be patient as he walked amongst them and crept by the lazaretto huts of death, knitting their shrouds88 and gazing with kind eyes on their faces till they ceased to see and feel, and he buried them. Lonely indeed those nights must have been as, alone with grief and silence, his bent89 form hammered and hammered, beating out the muffled notes that drove in coffin90 nails: for he made the last beds of his dead children, digging their graves and burying with his own hands many scores of the stricken dead, until he at last succumbed91 to the scourge himself. He lies buried with those he died for, and has, let us hope, found a reward for his self-sacrifice in heaven.
From Kooma I heard much of Damien’s true character, his love of justice and his impulsiveness92 in hastening to help the weak, regardless of all consequences. Once, while Father Damien was eating his supper, a Hawaiian appeared at the door and said, “Master, trouble has befallen me and my home”; and then told the priest of a tragedy that had occurred. A native girl through jealousy93 had stabbed another who had sought her lover, and was either hiding in the forest or shore caves or had killed herself. All night the native and Father Damien searched, and at length the girl was found almost lifeless, covered in blood, on the shore reefs seaward from Kilanea, her body lying half on the sands and half in the waves. She had slashed94 herself and had nearly bled to death. Damien carried the girl for miles in his arms, bandaged her and saved her life; also the life of the girl she had stabbed so viciously in her jealousy. When they were both well again he brought them together, made them embrace each other and swear to forget all, with the result that they became greater friends through being erstwhile enemies. Each secured a lover to her liking95, and ever blessed the great Father who had befriended them instead of handing them over to the authorities at Honolulu—authorities whom Damien hated, for they moved on material lines and looked upon cruel force as the best means of discouraging crime, and on kindness as insanity96 more dangerous than the crime it forgave.
In a corner of Father Damien’s lonely little homestead he kept the cherished letters that arrived from his homeland across the sea. Night after night he would take those letters out and read them through again, and then tenderly place them in a small pot and hide them beneath his trestle bed. They were letters from his sister Pauline and other relatives in Flanders.
One night he sought them and they were missing. Great was Father Damien’s grief, and even rage flushed his face as he demanded of Kooma if he knew of their whereabouts. For hours he searched, “and never was the Master in so great a temper; he look much fierce and his eyes fire and then cry,” said Kooma, as I listened. “What did he do then?” I asked. “Did he find the letters?” “Yes,” said Kooma, “he did find letters: a dog that Father Damien had been kind to had smelt97 and pawed them up and run off with the pot, which we found in the scrub. The great Father was then good to us and did ask me to forgive him for that which he said; which I did do; and the dog too he forgave; and Father Damien once more smiled, stroked the shaggy thief, and it sat up, looked at the Father’s eyes, wagged its tail and was happy.”
I often heard a lot of discussion about Father Damien’s life and work, sometimes between rough island traders, and sometimes between men of the conventional middle class. A few of the former had met Father Damien, or knew those who were acquainted with him, but most of them expressed opinions from hearsay98 and the low or high order of their own instincts. Robert Louis Stevenson’s celebrated open letter to Dr Hyde had much to do with the popular nature of the controversy99 and the growing enthusiasm for the self-sacrifice of the dead priest.
For those who may not know the exact facts I relate them here.
After Father Damien’s death Robert Louis Stevenson, whilst cruising in the South Seas, happened to read a paper that contained a letter written by Dr Hyde, of Honolulu, to the Rev60. Mr Gage100, of Sydney, who in turn sent it to The Sydney Presbyterian for publication. Here is the letter:
To The Rev. H. B. Gage.
Honolulu, 2nd August 1889.
Dear Brother,—In answer to your inquiries101 about Father Damien, I can only reply that we who knew the man are surprised at the extravagant102 newspaper laudations, as if he was a most saintly philanthropist. The simple truth is, he was a coarse, dirty man, headstrong and bigoted103. He was not sent to Molokai, but went there without orders; did not stay at the leper settlement before he became one himself, but circulated freely over the whole island (less than half the island is devoted to lepers), and he came often to Honolulu. He had no hand in the reforms and improvements inaugurated, which were the work of our Board of Health, as occasion required and means were provided. The leprosy of which he died should be attributed to his vices43 and carelessness.
Others having done much for the lepers, our own ministers, the Government physicians and so forth104, but never with the Catholic idea of meriting eternal life. Yours, etc.,
C. M. Hyde.
(Published in The Sydney Presbyterian, 26th October 1889.)
When Robert Louis Stevenson read the above letter, and the comments upon it, he was deeply incensed105, and wrote a defence of the priest about which the world knows.
Mr Melville, whom I met at Apia, told me an interesting story about Robert Louis Stevenson and his championship of Father Damien. While Mr Melville was a passenger on a ship, the Lubeck, I think, he sat near Stevenson, who was dining in the saloon. The conversation touched on Father Damien and Dr Hyde’s letter, and when a passenger revealed by his remarks that he was half willing to believe Hyde, Stevenson almost shouted and insulted him. The passenger, irritated, persevered106 with his opinions and said something further, whereupon Stevenson said: “Some of you men still make one think of the danger of Christ’s mission and His risks on earth,” or something to that effect. On this the passenger answered: “Mr Stevenson, you forget yourself,” and Stevenson immediately replied: “I would to God that some of you fellows would forget yourselves and remember the virtues108 of others.”
When Mr Melville told me this I smiled, for from my own personal recollections of Robert Louis Stevenson I knew that he did not need a battalion38 of supporters to help him maintain his own opinion when he felt that he upheld a noble purpose: for Stevenson was a fearless, though gentle soul, even apart from his literary life and work. Indeed Damien found in him a kindred and worthy109 champion. Not always are men able so well to express outwardly that which they beautifully write and feel.
As I have said, much rumour110 and discussion followed both Dr Hyde’s letter and Stevenson’s powerful retaliation111, and it was not uncommon112 for Catholic and Protestant divines engaged in arguments on the matter to come even to blows. Now all men admit that Dr Hyde’s letter of denunciation was indirectly113 one incentive114 that drew the attention and praise of the world at large to the heroism115 of the martyr116 priest, and was responsible for Robert Louis Stevenson’s reply and vindication117 of him. Personally I do not think Dr Hyde was as deliberately118 hypocritical as Rumour has painted him. Of course this does not imply that Robert Louis Stevenson’s counter-denunciation of Hyde’s epistle was unjust or too fierce; he wrote as the first champion voice, and wrote from the white-hot intensity119 of indignation over what he felt was a deadly wrong done to the memory of a great man. This can, too, in the consciousness of man’s fallibility, be applied120 to motive121 on the other side, for Dr Hyde, of Honolulu, also wrote to his friend, the Rev. Mr Gage, from a firm belief in his heart that rumour was truth and Father Damien’s memory was not deserving of “extravagant laudation.” Many others of his own denomination122 had devoted their lives to the lepers, both on the islands and at the lazaretto at Molokai, and so Dr Hyde’s great sin was in believing that which he was told and remembering the self-sacrifice of his own brethren who had also toiled on behalf of the lepers.
The voice of Rumour has many forked tongues of envy and the carelessness of thoughtless scandal. Our religion is founded on the sorrow and disastrous123 result of its tongue, for did not Christ suffer crucifixion through this weakness in mankind? Through doubt and envy to this day some nations believe one side, and others the other; and are there not millions now who do not believe in that which our religion is founded on? Was Dr Hyde so wicked? I for one do not think so. Do we know what he thought after he had written that mighty atom of a letter? What were his reflections, misgivings124 and regrets over his first belief and hasty conclusions, and over that celebrated blazing challenge of Stevenson’s to the world, revealing in words of fire the complete vindication of Damien’s life, work and Christ-like heroic virtue? We can imagine what he felt like, for we all make mistakes, but not with such drastic results.
The stern note of intense application to a set purpose reveals in Stevenson’s letter the fact that he felt that Damien needed an immediate107 champion. Stevenson was at heart a Christian9 man, in the full, true sense of the word, and I have not the slightest doubt that after his open letter had fulfilled the purpose which he intended it to fulfil, and the first heat of his just indignation had cooled down, he himself would have withdrawn125 it from publication, if he could have done so, and let the whole matter slumber126; for he of all men would not have wished vindictive127 roots to spread and twine128 about the hearts of men who thus would strangely nourish the very thoughts that their creed80 specially129 preaches against.
Stevenson well knew man’s weakness, and the bigotry130 of men who differ on religious subjects and are opposed to each other by the difference of creed. Certainly the imputations of undeserved praise which were suddenly hurled131 at the self-exiled priest’s reputation only served one end: to bring out, if possible in brighter relief, the splendid heroism of Father Damien’s life, both before and after his going back to Molokai. Even had it been bitterly proved that the Flemish missionary was not a spiritual saint, but fallible flesh and blood flowing through earthly channels, which resisted, but did not always overthrow132, temptation, still he would stand before us a beautiful man (and he was a man); and to do all that he did, and still have the weaknesses of mankind, makes the martyr stand out greater to our eyes than if he did his wonderful life’s work through some effortless, inborn133 virtue of heavenly inheritance.
The sad peasant priest of Louvain has been dead these many years; he lived and died without ambition, and only in heaven may know the earthly fame he achieved. Well may we believe how beautifully he would smile, forgive and touch with his lips the brows of his erring134 detractors, with the same spirit that made him live and die for his fellow-men with the certainty of one final reward—a stricken leper’s grave in far away Kalawao, on Molokai Isle.
Out of grey crags by warder-seas they creep
Dead men—fast rotting on dark shores of sleep,
Their earthly eyes still shape the shadowed sky!
Poor skeletons, they moan, laugh, grin and weep;
Entombed, they curse the sun—Time’s cruel dial
Above that vault—the South Sea Leper Isle.
Hark to the midnight scream! Then silence after
Of desolation voiced by waves that leap
By sepulchres—damp huts of sheltered rafter,
Where dreaming dead men shout thro’ shroudless sleep!
As o’er each wattle hut the night winds sweep,
And dying eyes watch ships out o’er the night,
Pass shores of death with port-holes gleaming bright!
’Twas on that Charnel-isle, with watching eyes
He toiled for dead men who still heard the waves
Beat shoreward: saw the South Sea white moonrise
Bathe their-to-be forgotten flowerless graves!
Exiled pale hero-priest! Full oft their cries
That voice the mournful tone of ocean’s roll,
Lonely as God, he sat: enthroned o’er pain
Brave music made of desolation’s sorrow,
His eyes breathed light—foretelling some bright morrow
Till from their tombs they rose—the dead again!
Life from Molokai’s hero:—men denied
That leper-priest—like Christ—when Damien died.
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isle
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volcanic
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craters
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bowels
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clumps
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mighty
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immoral
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civilisation
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barbarian
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virtue
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tattooed
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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perches
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| 栖息处( perch的名词复数 )； 栖枝； 高处； 鲈鱼 | |
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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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25
shipping
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| n.船运（发货，运输，乘船） | |
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wharves
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| n.码头，停泊处( wharf的名词复数 ) | |
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27
exchequer
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| n.财政部；国库 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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29
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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30
dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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31
celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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32
missionary
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| adj.教会的，传教(士)的；n.传教士 | |
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33
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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34
ravaged
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| 毁坏( ravage的过去式和过去分词 )； 蹂躏； 劫掠； 抢劫 | |
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35
relentless
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| adj.残酷的，不留情的，无怜悯心的 | |
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36
materialistic
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| a.唯物主义的，物质享乐主义的 | |
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37
battalions
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| n.（陆军的）一营（大约有一千兵士）( battalion的名词复数 )；协同作战的部队；军队；（组织在一起工作的）队伍 | |
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38
battalion
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| n.营；部队；大队(的人) | |
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39
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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40
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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41
romped
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| v.嬉笑玩闹( romp的过去式和过去分词 )；（尤指在赛跑或竞选等中）轻易获胜 | |
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42
plied
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| v.使用（工具）( ply的过去式和过去分词 )；经常供应（食物、饮料）；固定往来；经营生意 | |
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43
vices
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| 缺陷( vice的名词复数 )； 恶习； 不道德行为； 台钳 | |
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44
austere
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| adj.艰苦的；朴素的，朴实无华的；严峻的 | |
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45
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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46
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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47
soothed
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| v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
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48
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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49
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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50
upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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51
beads
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| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
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52
virgin
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| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
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53
memorise
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| vt.记住，熟记 | |
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54
subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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55
considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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56
morose
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| adj.脾气坏的，不高兴的 | |
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57
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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58
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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59
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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60
rev
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| v.发动机旋转，加快速度 | |
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61
doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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62
scourge
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| n.灾难，祸害；v.蹂躏 | |
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63
swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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64
contagious
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| adj.传染性的，有感染力的 | |
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65
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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66
swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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67
toiled
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的过去式和过去分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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68
incessantly
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| ad.不停地 | |
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69
mythology
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| n.神话，神话学，神话集 | |
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70
warriors
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| 武士，勇士，战士( warrior的名词复数 ) | |
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71
annihilating
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| v.（彻底）消灭( annihilate的现在分词 )；使无效；废止；彻底击溃 | |
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72
isolate
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| vt.使孤立，隔离 | |
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73
afflicted
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| 使受痛苦，折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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74
fortress
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| n.堡垒，防御工事 | |
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75
mingling
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| adj.混合的 | |
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76
spotted
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| adj.有斑点的，斑纹的，弄污了的 | |
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77
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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78
devotedly
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| 专心地； 恩爱地； 忠实地； 一心一意地 | |
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79
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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80
creed
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| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
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81
maidens
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| 处女( maiden的名词复数 )； 少女； 未婚女子； （板球运动）未得分的一轮投球 | |
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82
secreting
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| v.（尤指动物或植物器官）分泌( secrete的现在分词 )；隐匿，隐藏 | |
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83
muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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84
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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85
brutality
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| n.野蛮的行为，残忍，野蛮 | |
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86
attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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87
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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88
shrouds
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| n.裹尸布( shroud的名词复数 )；寿衣；遮蔽物；覆盖物v.隐瞒( shroud的第三人称单数 )；保密 | |
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89
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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90
coffin
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| n.棺材，灵柩 | |
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91
succumbed
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| 不再抵抗（诱惑、疾病、攻击等）( succumb的过去式和过去分词 )； 屈从； 被压垮； 死 | |
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92
impulsiveness
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| n.冲动 | |
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93
jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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94
slashed
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| v.挥砍( slash的过去式和过去分词 )；鞭打；割破；削减 | |
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95
liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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96
insanity
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| n.疯狂，精神错乱；极端的愚蠢，荒唐 | |
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97
smelt
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| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
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98
hearsay
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| n.谣传，风闻 | |
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99
controversy
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| n.争论，辩论，争吵 | |
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100
gage
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| n.标准尺寸，规格；量规，量表 [=gauge] | |
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101
inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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102
extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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103
bigoted
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| adj.固执己见的，心胸狭窄的 | |
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104
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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105
incensed
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| 盛怒的 | |
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106
persevered
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| v.坚忍，坚持( persevere的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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107
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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108
virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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109
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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110
rumour
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| n.谣言，谣传，传闻 | |
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111
retaliation
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| n.报复，反击 | |
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112
uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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113
indirectly
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| adv.间接地，不直接了当地 | |
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114
incentive
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| n.刺激；动力；鼓励；诱因；动机 | |
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115
heroism
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| n.大无畏精神，英勇 | |
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116
martyr
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| n.烈士，殉难者；vt.杀害，折磨，牺牲 | |
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117
vindication
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| n.洗冤，证实 | |
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118
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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119
intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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120
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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121
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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122
denomination
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| n.命名，取名，(度量衡、货币等的)单位 | |
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123
disastrous
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| adj.灾难性的，造成灾害的；极坏的，很糟的 | |
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124
misgivings
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕；疑虑，担心，恐惧( misgiving的名词复数 )；疑惧 | |
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125
withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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126
slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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127
vindictive
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| adj.有报仇心的，怀恨的，惩罚的 | |
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128
twine
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| v.搓，织，编饰；（使）缠绕 | |
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129
specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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130
bigotry
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| n.偏见，偏执，持偏见的行为[态度]等 | |
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131
hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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132
overthrow
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| v.推翻，打倒，颠覆；n.推翻，瓦解，颠覆 | |
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133
inborn
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| adj.天生的，生来的，先天的 | |
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134
erring
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| 做错事的，错误的 | |
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135
wail
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| vt./vi.大声哀号，恸哭；呼啸，尖啸 | |
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136
wailing
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的现在分词 )；沱 | |
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137
loathsome
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| adj.讨厌的，令人厌恶的 | |
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138
amorous
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| adj.多情的；有关爱情的 | |
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139
smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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140
infinity
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| n.无限，无穷，大量 | |
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141
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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142
woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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