I HAVE been almost everything in my travels. Stow-away, sailor before the mast, bandmaster on a mail steamer, wet-nurse to Samoan twins,[13] bushman, boundary rider, woodcutter, sundowner, post-digger, snow-sweeper in North America, painter, deck-hand, “shilling-a-monther” in a liner’s stokehold, messroom steward1, native overseer, private grave-digger, author, violinist to South Sea kings and chiefs, solo violinist and orchestral violinist in the large cities of the world, music teacher, song-writer, cornet-player, composer of music for military bands, actor and singer, trader, canvasser2 for crank patents and medicine, banana planter in Jamaica, nut planter in the South Sea Islands, gold miner in Australia, violinist to Geisha girls in Japan, and the leader of numerous splendid schemes that mostly failed. Glorious schemes they were; but you can never be sure of anything except that you will be certain to attend your own funeral.
13. Their mother, a native woman, was drowned by the upsetting of a canoe. A Norwegian sailor and I found the infants, screaming, in a hut on the coast. We secured a ripe coco-nut, and opening the eye-hole in the shell, we placed it in turns at the mouths. They both tugged3 away and pressed the shell with their hands as though they were at the breast! and soon went off fast asleep. In the morning we gave them into the charge of a native girl, who took them both away to the dead mother’s relations.
I have also been a poet. I wrote a little volume of Australian lyrics5 which are all burnt now. I was so pleased with the first proofs that I put them on my bedroom mantelpiece, so that I could see them ere I slept and directly I awoke at daybreak. The reviews in the newspapers and journals thrilled me. “Full of sincerity7, spirit and impulse.” “Marvellous descriptive ability.” “A real barbarian8 poet of the South Seas.” I thought my fortune was made, and I could not sleep through thinking of coming fame and fortune. I thought surely such reviews in the newspapers will sell thousands of copies of my book, and I was very happy over my bright outlook. It was summer-time. I became restless, and with the reviews in my pocket I went off, walking very fast in my excitement. I soon arrived in the country at a beautiful spot.
A windmill on the hill-top whirled its big black hands as though trying to catch the winged music of skylarks in the deep blue morning sky. By the lane-side stood a cottage for sale. The very place for me, I thought. I will buy it and write there. What glorious poems of Australia and the South Seas they will be! The bird singing in a clump9 of firs just by my future front door rippled10 out notes as though its little body would burst with joy. I took an old envelope from my pocket and started to write a lyric4—how happy I was—even the lyric was good!
A month later I wrote to the publisher and said:
“Dear Sir—Will you kindly11 send me a cheque in settlement for copies of my Australian Lyrics sold. I would not trouble you before the quarter, but unexpected calls on my purse have arrived at an inopportune moment.”
Two weeks later I received this reply:
“Dear Sir—In reply to yours of the 16th, no copies of your book have been sold, and we would call your kind attention to balance of ￡2, 10s. overdue12 for binding13, and ￡1, 18s. for corrections in proof, etc., and 9s. 4d. for postage in sending out review copies.”
So ended my volume of poetry, though I must add that the publisher turned out a good sort. I would sooner deal with publishers, some of them, than with stokehold bosses and concert managers. Music and book publishers cannot publish authors’ inspirations that do not sell and keep the author as well. I wish they could. As for the reviewers of my poetry, they made me feel the happiest of aspirants14 for four weeks, and I feel grateful for that four weeks of greatness.
I think it was after a voyage to the Cape15 that I stayed in London for a week, and then secured a berth16 on board the s.s. Port Adelaide, a tramp steamer. We called at Las Palmas, and then went slap, bang across the world for Sydney. It was a monotonous17 voyage. We had a stowaway18 on board; they sent him down into the stokehold. He had been a London street arab and street singer, was a jolly youth and sang The Ivy19 and the Myrtle were in Bloom. Then he came round with the hat and got tobacco from the amused crew. The sailors encouraged him to tell his experiences and were delighted to hear how he carried parcels for passengers at the railway stations, and often bolted with the parcel if it looked valuable! He would finish, and then take his tin whistle out and blow it, do a jig20 and sing some mournful street prayer.
We had very bad weather after rounding the Cape, “running the Easter down.” There were four passengers on board, and one died of consumption. He lay on the hatchway for two days and nights: the weather was so bad that we couldn’t stop the ship and decently bury “It.” He was canvassed21 up and weighted with lead, and seas came over the body all night long; we crept by it on deck like frightened shadows. When it was calmer the captain said the burial service, and then all the crew, standing22 round the tied canvas length, said “Amen.” Then gently, with the chief mate, I pushed it forward into the grave of wandering waters and heard the awful plomp as it touched the sea. At once the bell in the engine-room rang full speed ahead, the engines started banging and we were off again.
About a week after that we sighted a full-rigged sailing ship bound for New Zealand, a Shaw Saville boat painted with white squares. She was doing about twelve knots and coming right across our bows. The main-mast was snapped off by the main-yard and two of the boats were gone; she had been through some terrible weather. She came dipping and rolling by, so close that as we looked over the side we saw the apprentices23 wave their hands; we all waved back as she passed by, dipping her flag to us, and we saluted24 back with ours. I felt a choky feeling as I watched her pass, with her broken spars and torn sails, flying away towards the mist of the sunset, the figure-head with hands stretched in prayer at the bows. The white-crested, curling waves lifted their arms and plucked at her sides as she went rolling and pitching by. There was something in the sight of that beaten ship that inspired me with more tenderness than anything I have ever seen at sea.
I would often sit in the dim, oil-lit fo’c’sle as we swayed and dipped along. The tiny round port-holes lifted to the fall and rise of the bows, revealing the tossing blue moonlit seas outside. In that roaming home of merchant sailormen, at regular intervals25, came the steady-drawn, thundering music of the steamer’s onward26 plunge27 as the screw urged her across the world. From the middle of the deck roof swung the oil lamp, its faint beams showing the outlines of the huddled28 sea-chests on the deck floor and, all around, the narrow coffin-sized bunks29 wherein lay the sleeping or wakeful crew. Some snored, their bearded mouths wide open; others smoked and made ribald remarks, as Jim English the boatswain, a typical sailor of the old school, yarned31 of long-ago voyages on windjammers. A real old shellback he was, and the only sailor whom I ever heard use the expressions “Shiver my timbers!” and “Avast there!” I had voyaged in many sailing ships and tramp steamers, and mixed with many crews in foreign seaports32, but never till then had I heard a living mouth utter those ancient nautical33 phrases so familiar to me in my old sea novels. “Stow yer gab,” “Holy Moses,” “Who the hell?”, “Gawd lummy” and “Gorblimy” were almost the only typical remarks in which sailors of my experience expressed their various moods.
This old shellback, Jim English, was about sixty-five years of age, and had sailed the seas before most of the crew were born. Sitting on his huge brown sea-chest, he would half close his eyelids34 as I played.
“Give us that again, matey; my old mother sang that to me when I was a nipper,” he would say as I scraped some old melody out of the carpenter’s cheap fiddle35, and his thin, wrinkled lips smiled as though he dreamed pleasantly in sleep. I never tired of listening to his yarns36 as he sat and took bites from his tobacco plug, his kind grey eyes moving quickly as he brought his fist down with a crash to emphasise37 the main facts of his wonderful tales. At night, when the wind was blowing and you could only just see the outlined forms of the watch tramping to and fro on the bridge, he would sit and tell us eerie38 things—how he had seen the phantom39 ship off the Cape on moonlight nights, dead shipmates climbing aloft among the grey sails, singing chanteys.
“Chummy,” he would say, “my wife’s been dead these ’ere twenty years, but often at night she sits on that old sack by my bunk30 there, looks at me in the old way and sez: ‘Jim, keep off the booze, and don’t make the round trip a dead ’orse.’ And never a drop have I touched these ten years; and the old girl comes with me and sits there and looks at me with her laughing grey eyes on every trip now.”
So earnest was he that our heads instinctively40 turned as we looked at the sack in the dark corner. We half expected to see his dead wife sitting there staring. He believed implicitly41 in dreams, for all the dire6 disasters of his life had been foretold42 in them. He was a kind of old priest of the sea; he wore an oilskin skull-cap and looked upon all of us as mere43 children; and we felt like children as we listened to his advice and experiences. He had cures for all our ailments44, and was most superstitious45. Once while he was yarning46 and sewing his socks he put one of them on inside out. Suddenly discovering it, he whipped it off, then turned almost purple to the centre of his bald head and said: “Now I’ve done it, mates! Some cursed thing’s sure to happen before the trip’s over. I’ve lost four shipmates overboard and all through them putting their socks on inside out!” As he said this anguish47 wrinkled his sea-beaten face, and I too almost cursed the unfortunate mistake. The sailors shuffling48 cards at the fo’c’sle table looked over their shoulders through wreaths of tobacco smoke and wondered. As for me, I believed all he said. My awestruck eyes watched him as he yarned on and fed my imagination till I was a child again. His personality filled me with admiration49; I almost worshipped him. I really think if he had mutinied, and secured the old tramp steamer, I should have followed him, as a son his father, and thrown in my lot with him.
Nor do I exaggerate in saying this, for his weird50 personality took me out of myself and away back. He refired the magic blaze, the still smouldering embers of my boyhood’s romance, and I was romantic, almost to madness, as a boy. Old bearded heroes, with unflinching eyes, stared through my memories, and fell, striking that last brave blow for right! Beautiful women, running by the magic moonlit sea-foams of undiscovered shores, stretched their arms seaward as the wooden galleons51 with reefed topsails stood inland for the shore. Forlorn, lovelit eyes shone like stars through the dead sunsets on the sky-lines of vanished yesterdays, till I heard the windy poplar-trees wailing52 in the lanes outside my bedroom window and the robin53 singing on the leafless apple-tree. Once more the stolen candle shone, and the light never seen on sea or land blazed through my eyes as I travelled across magic seas and enchanted54 distant lands, lands peopled with warriors55 and the beautiful creations of the torn novel by my bedside.
That old sea priest loved hymns57. He was truly religious, and often sat turning the leaves of his well-fingered Bible. Abide58 with me, fast falls the eventide was a favourite hymn56 of his. I think I must have played it to him a hundred times, so that now the melody to me suggests ships far out at sea; and the old shellback, whom I loved, used to sit on his sea-chest telling us boys of the wooden ships that went down the seas and came back from other lands laden59 with scented60 cargoes61, and that have faded away into the romantic dreams of this generation.
The remainder of the crew were a mixed lot, not very different from the usual run of sailors on tramp steamers. They were quiet men, and had little to do with the firemen and trimmers, who inhabited that half-fo’c’sle that was portioned off for them. I remember one of them was a “shilling-a-monther,” working his passage to the Colonies for his health. He was a fine, broad-chested fellow, but in consumption, and whenever he was off duty he seemed to be busy rubbing his chest with oils. He had quite a dozen bottles at the foot of his bunk, which he had purchased in London from quacks62: each bottle held oil that was a certain cure for consumption! We were very friendly with each other. I often helped him and, following his instructions, rubbed his back with the oils till the flesh was red. His little hacking63 cough would disappear for several days and he would be quite cheerful; then the cough would return and blood-spitting follow, and I felt very sorry for him, especially as, when he felt better, he would hit his chest with his fist and show me that he was at last cured.
Playing cards or dominoes, sleeping and smoking were the usual excitements of the crew. On duty, they washed the decks down with the hose, tramped their watches, rolled ropes, cleaned brass64 work, and followed the most monotonous life under the sun. After rounding the Cape to run the Easter down they became busy with the sails, which helped the engines, when the wind was fair, to urge the vessel65 on the lonely voyage. A trip across the world on a sailing ship is very different from a voyage on a tramp steamer. She rides the waves and seeks the winds, and like a mammoth66 bird thing, with men singing chanteys climbing along the bones of her spread wings, she races the clouds that fly overhead, and seems to sway the moon, stars or sun as she rolls and pitches along.
The crews of sailing ships when I was a boy were a different type of men from the crews of tramp boats. They were real sailors, or young fellows who had taken to sea life to learn to be sailors. A few of the old-time men among them, with their weather-beaten faces and old sea ways, gave that atmosphere to the fo’c’sle that has now gone for ever.
It must have been the romantic dreamer’s paradise to go down to the sea in sailing ships before the world was worldly. I can imagine those old sailors, uneducated and superstitious, on the great ocean waters, watching the sky-lines and the dying sunsets as they dreamed of undiscovered shores, or by night on deck fancied they could hear the breakers beating against the starlit sky-line where loomed67 the shores of Eternity68. Time and science have swept all that away from the sea for ever. To-day the seaman69 stands on the deck and thinks of the latest trade union grievance70.
The ways of the ocean no longer suggest eternity behind the stars, or undiscovered lands afar inhabited by strange peoples. To him the ocean tracks are simply the main highways to New York, London and the Colonial cities, and to ports that are like railway stations of the high seas. Passengers get off at Suez, Colombo, Sydney or Apia and catch the next boat or train as the quartermaster shouts: “All aboard! Make haste, ladies and gentlemen.” Rich puffing71 ladies and gentlemen with their daughters reship with their touring luggage for the next port, and they drag their deck-chairs and pet poodles behind them.
Old-time romance of thought has hardened and petrified72 into our stone carved, grey terraced cities; but the blue horizons of dreams sparkle on for ever! Yet withal, I have enjoyed two blessings73 in life. One is to have been born civilised, for I have never wanted to hurt a man or do anything really outrageous74. The other is to have been born in civilised times that have enabled me to wander the world unarmed and safe; to have sniffed75 the tropical winds, seas and flowers of far-off countries, and gazed across primeval plains or on the mountain peaks of lonely isles76; to have heard the mighty77 silence of vast forests and peered into the eyes of semi-savage peoples.
The cook of that tramp steamer was a strange old seaman, who drank gin and seldom spoke78. He had a gnarled, stolid-looking face and expressionless eyes, very deep set. The green and flower of his youth had left him for ever; not a sentimental79 leaf or faded flower lingered in his memory.
He reminded me of the mummified, blackened face of an old native I saw once, who still stood erect80, just as he had died, in the hollow of a huge tree trunk in a forest of New Caledonia, a tree wherein he had taken shelter just before it was struck by lightning! Heat had blistered81 the dead face till it resembled gnarled bark. There was still a glassy gleam deep in the eye-sockets, for though the eyes had gone ants had eaten the back of the head away, and so light crept through from behind, where there was a small decayed hole in the tree trunk. It was very faint though, and as I stood a little way off that awful facial expression reminded me of some hideous82 living mortal, whose soul slept, mole-like, in the cold, winter sleep of age, dead, yet still alive long after the real owner had committed suicide by strangling all his passions.
It is strange how such sights impress us and cling to our memory, for we meet dead men daily, whose faculties83 are fungus84 growths; we see their moving lips, shake their dead hands and wonder on the stony85 expression of their eyes, eyes that have not even the light of heaven behind them, as it lit up that Caledonia mummy’s eye-sockets.
Our captain was a Naval86 Reserve man who carried himself with incurable87 haughtiness88. He saw life’s great drama and the light of creation only by being awestruck at himself and measuring all vastness from the soles of his feet to the crown of his head. The chief engineer was a jolly Scotsman, who tipped the convivial89 chief steward and so always had a bottle of whisky under his bunk. When he was “half-seas-over” he sang Ye Banks and Braes and Will Ye No’ Come Back Again? as the engines thumped90 and the tramp steamer rolled and pitched along the highway of the world. We ran into terrifically bad weather, and with the sails set, for the wind was fair, the old engines crashed away as she pitched and the screw blades bobbed up behind.
I have never followed the sea directly as a profession, but I have lived and communed with the hearts of sailors, held their hands in warm comradeship, as well as shared their hardships at sea and ashore91. And so I have read them as they cannot read the sea or themselves. To the majority of sailors to have been to sea, say for twenty years, simply means to them, “I’ve been to sea for twenty years,” and means nothing more. To have been able to go to sea mentally, as well as physically92, and to have been thrilled by the wild poetry of the wind’s songs and the romance of the sea, is to be in a strong sense a sailor of sailors. While the average sailor can still chew tobacco and tell you the names of ropes, women and grog shanties93 in distant seaports, I cannot even chew tobacco; but I can sit in my little room and watch the thundering seas tossing by my bedside, ablaze94 with the true light of sea romance, while sailing ships, with their crews aloft singing chanteys full of joy, pass and repass through my bedroom door, outbound for the seaports of the world.
About a week later the albatross that sailed the winds with restless eyes behind us night and day wheeled round and put out for the open sea, for we were nearing the coast of Australia. I went ashore in Adelaide and got two shillings’ worth of tomatoes for a treat. The man on the wharf95 helped my chum carry them. They gave me half-a-hundredweight for two shillings!
Adelaide is a real old Colonial seaboard town. I bought a good violin there and a lot of strings96. We left next day for Melbourne, and I played the violin the whole way. In Melbourne the stowaway bolted, and the donkeyman swore all the way to Sydney, for the careful London arab started life in the new land with his “go-ashore boots” and shirts, as well as taking, in case of emergency, about forty plugs of the crew’s allowance tobacco. We did not feel sorry for the stowaway in his venture in a new life; he had the annexing97 instincts of the old British stock, and we all felt he would do well in Australia.
I very seldom made a round trip and so, bidding the old boatswain good-bye, after taking him ashore to hear him mutter for the last time “Shiver my timbers,” I left the ship.
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1
steward
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| n.乘务员，服务员；看管人；膳食管理员 | |
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canvasser
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| n.挨户推销商品的推销员 | |
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tugged
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| v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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lyric
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| n.抒情诗，歌词；adj.抒情的 | |
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lyrics
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| n.歌词 | |
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dire
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| adj.可怕的，悲惨的，阴惨的，极端的 | |
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sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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barbarian
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| n.野蛮人；adj.野蛮(人)的；未开化的 | |
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clump
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| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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rippled
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| 使泛起涟漪（ripple的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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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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overdue
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| adj.过期的，到期未付的；早该有的，迟到的 | |
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binding
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| 有约束力的，有效的，应遵守的 | |
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aspirants
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| n.有志向或渴望获得…的人( aspirant的名词复数 )v.渴望的，有抱负的，追求名誉或地位的( aspirant的第三人称单数 )；有志向或渴望获得…的人 | |
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cape
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| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
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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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monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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stowaway
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| n.（藏于轮船，飞机中的）偷乘者 | |
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ivy
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| n.常青藤，常春藤 | |
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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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canvassed
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| v.（在政治方面）游说( canvass的过去式和过去分词 )；调查（如选举前选民的）意见；为讨论而提出（意见等）；详细检查 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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apprentices
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| 学徒，徒弟( apprentice的名词复数 ) | |
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saluted
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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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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onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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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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bunks
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| n.（车、船等倚壁而设的）铺位( bunk的名词复数 )；空话，废话v.（车、船等倚壁而设的）铺位( bunk的第三人称单数 )；空话，废话 | |
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bunk
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| n.(车、船等倚壁而设的)铺位；废话 | |
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yarned
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| vi.讲故事（yarn的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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seaports
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| n.海港( seaport的名词复数 ) | |
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nautical
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| adj.海上的，航海的，船员的 | |
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eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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fiddle
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| n.小提琴；vi.拉提琴；不停拨弄，乱动 | |
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yarns
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| n.纱( yarn的名词复数 )；纱线；奇闻漫谈；旅行轶事 | |
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emphasise
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| vt.加强...的语气，强调，着重 | |
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eerie
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| adj.怪诞的；奇异的；可怕的；胆怯的 | |
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phantom
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| n.幻影，虚位，幽灵；adj.错觉的，幻影的，幽灵的 | |
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instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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implicitly
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| adv. 含蓄地, 暗中地, 毫不保留地 | |
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42
foretold
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| v.预言，预示( foretell的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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ailments
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| 疾病（尤指慢性病），不适( ailment的名词复数 ) | |
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superstitious
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| adj.迷信的 | |
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yarning
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| vi.讲故事（yarn的现在分词形式） | |
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anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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48
shuffling
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| adj. 慢慢移动的, 滑移的 动词shuffle的现在分词形式 | |
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49
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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50
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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51
galleons
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| n.大型帆船( galleon的名词复数 ) | |
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52
wailing
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的现在分词 )；沱 | |
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53
robin
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| n.知更鸟，红襟鸟 | |
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54
enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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55
warriors
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| 武士，勇士，战士( warrior的名词复数 ) | |
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56
hymn
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌 | |
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57
hymns
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌( hymn的名词复数 ) | |
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58
abide
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| vi.遵守；坚持；vt.忍受 | |
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59
laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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60
scented
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| adj.有香味的；洒香水的；有气味的v.嗅到(scent的过去分词) | |
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61
cargoes
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| n.（船或飞机装载的）货物( cargo的名词复数 )；大量，重负 | |
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62
quacks
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| abbr.quacksalvers 庸医，骗子(16世纪习惯用水银或汞治疗梅毒的人)n.江湖医生( quack的名词复数 )；江湖郎中；（鸭子的）呱呱声v.（鸭子）发出嘎嘎声( quack的第三人称单数 ) | |
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63
hacking
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| n.非法访问计算机系统和数据库的活动 | |
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64
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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65
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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66
mammoth
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| n.长毛象；adj.长毛象似的，巨大的 | |
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67
loomed
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| v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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68
eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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seaman
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| n.海员，水手，水兵 | |
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grievance
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| n.怨愤，气恼，委屈 | |
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71
puffing
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| v.使喷出( puff的现在分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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72
petrified
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| adj.惊呆的；目瞪口呆的v.使吓呆，使惊呆；变僵硬；使石化(petrify的过去式和过去分词) | |
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73
blessings
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| n.（上帝的）祝福( blessing的名词复数 )；好事；福分；因祸得福 | |
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outrageous
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| adj.无理的，令人不能容忍的 | |
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75
sniffed
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| v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的过去式和过去分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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76
isles
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| 岛( isle的名词复数 ) | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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78
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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sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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80
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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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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82
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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83
faculties
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| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
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84
fungus
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| n.真菌，真菌类植物 | |
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85
stony
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| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
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86
naval
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| adj.海军的，军舰的，船的 | |
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87
incurable
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| adj.不能医治的，不能矫正的，无救的；n.不治的病人，无救的人 | |
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88
haughtiness
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| n.傲慢；傲气 | |
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89
convivial
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| adj.狂欢的，欢乐的 | |
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90
thumped
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| v.重击， （指心脏）急速跳动( thump的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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91
ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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92
physically
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| adj.物质上，体格上，身体上，按自然规律 | |
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93
shanties
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| n.简陋的小木屋( shanty的名词复数 )；铁皮棚屋；船工号子；船歌 | |
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94
ablaze
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| adj.着火的，燃烧的；闪耀的，灯火辉煌的 | |
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95
wharf
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| n.码头，停泊处 | |
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96
strings
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| n.弦 | |
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97
annexing
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| 并吞( annex的现在分词 )； 兼并； 强占； 并吞（国家、地区等） | |
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