“He was.”
“Did you often hear him return?”
“Yes; I seldom went to sleep until he came back.”
“Had you any reason to suppose that others returned with him?”
“I never saw any others.”
“But you might have heard them without seeing them. Please tell us if you ever heard voices.”
“Yes, I have heard men's voices,” the clergyman said reluctantly, in a low voice.
“One more question, and I have done. Have you on some occasions heard the sound of horses' hoofs2 in your yard at about the time that your son came in?”
Mr. Bastow said in a low voice: “I have.”
“Had you any suspicion whatever of the character of your son's visitors?”
“None whatever. I supposed that those with him were companions with whom he had been spending the evening.”
Mr. Bastow had to be assisted from the witness box, so overcome was he with the ordeal3. He had not glanced at his son while giving his evidence. The latter and his two fellow prisoners maintained throughout the trial their expression of indifference4. The two highwaymen nodded to acquaintances they saw in the body of the court, smiled at various points in the evidence, and so conducted themselves that there were murmured exclamations5 of approval of their gameness on the part of the lower class of the public. The jury, without a moment's hesitation6, found them all guilty of the offenses8 with which they were charged. Bastow was first sentenced.
“Young man,” the judge said, “young as you are, there can be no doubt whatever in the minds of anyone who has heard the evidence that you have been an associate with these men who have been found guilty of highway robbery accompanied by murder. I consider that a merciful view was taken of your case by the magistrates10 who committed you for trial, for the evidence of your heartbroken father, on whose gray hairs your conduct has brought trouble and disgrace, leaves no doubt that you have for some time been in league with highwaymen, although not actually participating in their crime. The words overheard by Mr. Thorndyke show that you were prepared to hide their booty for them, and it is well for you that you were captured before this was done, and that no proceeds of other robberies were found in the house. The evidence of the Bow Street officers show that it had for some time been suspected that these men had an accomplice11 somewhere in the neighborhood of Reigate, for although arrested several times under circumstances forming a strong assumption of their guilt7, nothing was ever found upon them. There can now be little, doubt who their accomplice was. Had you been an older man I should have sentenced you to transportation for life, but in consideration of your youth, I shall take the milder course of sentencing you to fifteen years' transportation.”
The capital sentence was then passed in much fewer words upon the two highwaymen. As they were leaving the dock Bastow turned, and in a clear voice said to John Thorndyke, who had been accommodated with a seat in the well of the court:
“I have to thank you, Thorndyke, for this. I will pay off my debt some day, you make take your oath.”
“A sad case, Mr. Thorndyke—a sad case,” the judge, who had greatly complimented the Squire12 on his conduct, said to him as he was disrobing afterwards. “I don't know that in all my experience I ever saw such a hardened young villain14. With highwaymen it is a point of honor to assume a gayety of demeanor15 on such occasions; but to see a boy of eighteen, never before convicted, exhibiting such coolness and effrontery16 is quite beyond my experience. I suppose his record is altogether bad?”
“Altogether,” the Squire said. “His father has, during the last two years, been quite broken by it; he owned to me that he was in bodily fear of the lad, who had on several occasions assaulted him, had robbed him of his savings17 by means of forgery18, and was so hopelessly bad that he himself thought with me that the only possible hope for him was to get him to enlist19. I myself recommended the East India Company's service, thinking that he would have less opportunity for crime out there, and that there would be a strong chance that either fever or a bullet would carry him off, for I own that I have not the slightest hope of reformation in such a character.”
“I would have given him transportation for life if I had known all this,” the judge said. “However, it is not likely that he will ever come back again—very few of them do; the hulks are not the most healthy places in the world, and they have a pretty rough way with men who give them trouble, as this young fellow is likely to do.”
Mr. Bastow, as soon as he had given his evidence, had taken a hackney coach to the inn where he and the Squire had put up on their arrival in town the evening before, and here, on his return, John Thorndyke found him. He was lying on his bed in a state of prostration20.
“Cheer up, Bastow,” he said, putting his hand upon the Rector's shoulder. “The sentence is fifteen years, which was the very amount I hoped that he would get. The more one sees of him the more hopeless it is to expect that any change will ever take place in him; and it is infinitely21 better that he should be across the sea where his conduct, when his term is over, can affect no one. The disgrace, such as it is, to his friends, is no greater in a long term than in a short one. Had he got off with four or five years' imprisonment22, he would have been a perpetual trouble and a source of uneasiness, not to say alarm; and even had he left you alone we should always have been in a state of dread23 as to his next offense9. Better that he should be out in the colonies than be hung at Tyburn.”
“How did he take the sentence?”
“With the same bravado24 he had shown all through, and as he went out of the dock addressed a threat to me, that, under the circumstances, I can very well afford to despise. Now, if you will take my advice, you will drink a couple of glasses of good port, and then go to bed. I will see to your being awakened25 at seven o'clock, which will give us time to breakfast comfortably, and to make a start at nine.”
“I would rather not have the wine,” the Rector said feebly.
“Yes, but you must take what is good for you. I have ordered up a bottle of the landlord's best, and must insist upon your drinking a couple of glasses with me. I want it almost as much as you do, for the atmosphere of that court was enough to poison a dog. I have got the taste of it in my mouth still.”
With much reluctance26 the Rector accompanied him to the private sitting room that the Squire had engaged. He sat down almost mechanically in an easy chair. The Squire poured out the wine, and handed him a glass. Mr. Bastow at first put it to his lips without glancing at it, but he was a connoisseur27 in wine, and the bouquet28 of the port appealing to his latent senses, he took a sip29, and then another, appreciatingly.
“The landlord said it was first rate, and he is not far wrong,” John Thorndyke remarked, as he set down his own glass.
“Yes, it is a fine vintage, and in perfect condition,” Mr. Bastow agreed. “I have drunk nothing better for years, though you have some fine bins30.”
“I would take a biscuit, if I were you, before I took another glass,” the Squire said, helping31 himself from a plate on the table. “You have had nothing to eat today, and you want something badly. I have a dish of kidneys coming up in half an hour; they cook them well here.”
The Rector ate a biscuit, mechanically sipped32 another glass of wine, and was even able to eat a kidney when they were brought up. Although September was not yet out, the Squire had a fire lighted in the room, and after the meal was over, and two steaming tumblers of punch were placed upon the table, he took a long pipe from the mantel, filled and lighted it, then filled another, and handed it to the Rector, at the same time holding out a light to him.
“Life has its consolations,” he said. “You have had a lot of troubles one way and another, Bastow, but we may hope that they are all over now, and that life will go more smoothly33 and easily with you. We had better leave the past alone for the present. I call this snug34: a good fire, a clean pipe, a comfortable chair, and a steaming bowl at one's elbow.”
The Rector smiled faintly.
“It seems unnatural—” he began.
“Not at all, not at all,” the Squire broke in. “You have had a tremendous load on your mind, and now it is lifted off; the thundercloud has burst, and though damage has been done, one is thankful that it is no worse. Now I can talk to you of a matter that has been on my mind for the last three weeks. What steps do you think that I ought to take to find a successor for you? It is most important to have a man who will be a real help in the parish, as you have been, would pull with one comfortably, and be a pleasant associate. I don't want too young a fellow, and I don't want too old a one. I have no more idea how to set about it than a child. Of course, I could ask the Bishop35 to appoint, but I don't know that he would appoint at all the sort of man I want. The living is only worth 200 pounds a year and the house—no very great catch; but there is many a man that would be glad to have it.”
“I have been thinking it over, too, Thorndyke, when I could bring my mind to consider anything but my own affairs. How would Greg do? He has been taking duty for me since I could not do it myself. I know that he is a hard working fellow, and he has a wife and a couple of children; his curacy is only 70 pounds a year, and it would be a perfect godsend, for he has no interest in the Church, and he might be years without preferment.”
“I should think he would do very well, Bastow. Yes, he reads well, which I own I care for that a good deal more than for the preaching; not that I have anything to say against that. He gives sound and practical sermons, and they have the advantage of being short, which is a great thing. In the first place, it is good in itself, and in the second, specially36 important in a village congregation, where you know very well every woman present is fidgeting to get home to see that the pot is not boiling over, and the meat in the oven is not burnt. Yes, I will go down tomorrow afternoon and ask him if he would like the living. You were talking of selling the furniture; how much do you suppose it is worth?”
“I don't suppose it will fetch above seventy or eighty pounds; it is solid and good, but as I have had it in use nearly forty years, it would not go for much.”
“Well, let us say a hundred pounds,” the Squire said. “I will give you a check for it. I dare say Greg will find it difficult to furnish, and he might have to borrow the money, and the debt would be a millstone round his neck, perhaps, for years, so I will hand it over with the Rectory to him.”
So they talked for an hour or two on village matters, and the Squire was well pleased, when his old friend went up to bed, that he had succeeded in diverting his thoughts for a time from the painful subject that had engrossed37 them for weeks.
“You have slept well,” he said, when they met at breakfast, “I can see by your face.”
“Yes, I have not slept so soundly for months. I went to sleep as soon as my head touched the pillow, and did not awake until the chambermaid knocked at the door.”
“That second glass of punch did it, Bastow. It is a fine morning; we shall have a brisk drive back. I am very glad that I changed my mind and brought the gig instead of the close carriage.”
In the afternoon the Squire drove into Reigate. He found the curate at home, and astonished and delighted him by asking him if he would like the living of Crowswood. It came altogether as a surprise to him, for the Rector's intentions to resign had not been made public, and it was supposed in the village that he was only staying at the Squire's until this sad affair should be over. Greg was a man of seven or eight and twenty, had graduated with distinction at Cambridge, but, having no influence, had no prospects38 of promotion39, and the offer almost bewildered him.
“I should be grateful indeed, Mr. Thorndyke,” he said. “It would be a boon40 to us. Will you excuse me for a moment?”
And opening a door, he called for his wife, who was trying to keep the two children quiet there, having retired41 with them hastily when Mr. Thorndyke was announced.
“What do you think, Emma?” her husband said excitedly, as she came into the room. “Mr. Thorndyke has been good enough to offer me the living of Crowswood.”
Then he recovered himself. “I beg your pardon, sir, for my unmannerliness in not first introducing my wife to you.”
“It was natural that you should think of telling her the news first of all,” the Squire said courteously42. “Madam, I am your obedient servant, and I hope that soon we shall get to know each other well. I consider it of great importance that the Squire of a parish and the Rector should work well together, and see a great deal of each other. I don't know whether you are aware, Mr. Greg, that the living is worth 200 pounds a year, besides which there is a paddock of about ten acres, which is sufficient for the keep of a horse and cow. The Rectory is a comfortable one, and I have arranged with Mr. Bastow that he shall leave his furniture for the benefit of his successor. It will include linen43, so that you will be put to no expense whatever in moving in. I have known these first expenses to seriously cripple the usefulness of a clergyman when appointed to a living.”
“That is good of you indeed, Mr. Thorndyke,” the curate said. “We have been living in these lodgings44 since we first came here, and it will indeed make matters easy to have the question of furniture so kindly45 settled for us.”
“Will your Rector be able to release you shortly?”
“I have no doubt that he will do that at once. His son has just left Oxford46 and taken deacon's orders; and the Rector told me the other day that he should be glad if I would look out for another curacy, as he wanted to have his son here with him. He spoke47 very kindly, and said that he should make no change until I could hear of a place to suit me. His son has been assisting him for the last month, since I took the services at Crowswood, and I am sure he would release me at once.”
“Then I should be glad if you will move up as soon as possible to the Rectory. I know nothing about the necessary forms, but I suppose that Mr. Bastow will send in his resignation to the Bishop, and I shall write and tell him that I have appointed you, and you can continue to officiate as you have done lately until you can be formally inducted as the Rector. Perhaps you would not mind going round to your Rector at once and telling him of the offer you have had. I have one or two matters to do in the town, and will call again in three quarters of an hour. I shall be glad to tell Mr. Bastow that you will come into residence at once.”
On returning at the appointed time he found that the curate had returned.
“Mr. Pilkington was very kind, and evidently very pleased; he congratulated me most warmly, and I can come up at once. We don't know how to thank you enough, Mr. Thorndyke.”
“I don't want any thanks, I can assure you, Mr. Greg. Tomorrow I will send a couple of women in from the village to get the place in order, and no doubt Mr. Bastow will want to take away a few things. He is going to remain with me as tutor to my son. I am sure you and I will get on very well together, and I only hope that your sermons will be no longer when you are Rector than they have been while you have been assisting us. Long sermons may do for a town congregation, but in my opinion they are a very serious mistake in the case of a village one. By the way, I think it would be as well for you to get a servant here, and that before you go up. Mr. Bastow's servant was an old woman, and in a case like this I always think it is better not to take one's predecessor's servant. She generally resents any change, and is always quoting how her last master had things. I mention this before you go, because she is sure to ask to stay on, and it is much easier to say that you are bringing a servant with you than to have to tell her she is too old or too fat. Don't you think so, Mrs. Greg?”
“Yes, I think it will be much better, Mr. Thorndyke. Even if I cannot hear of one likely to suit us permanently48, I will take someone as a stop gap. One can easily change afterwards.”
“The old woman will do very well,” the Squire said. “She has two married daughters in the village, and with a shilling or two from the parish she will manage comfortably. At any rate we shall look after her, and I have no doubt Mr. Bastow will make her an allowance.”
Never were a pair more delighted than Parson Greg and his wife when two days later they took possession of their new home. Half a dozen women had been at work the day before, and everything was in perfect order. To Mrs. Greg's relief she found that the old servant had already gone, the Squire having himself informed her that Mrs. Greg would bring her own maid with her. Mr. Bastow said that he would allow her half a crown a week as long as she lived, and the Squire added as much more, and as the woman had saved a good deal during her twenty years' service with the Rector, she was perfectly49 satisfied.
“It is a good thing that she should be content,” the Squire said to Mr. Bastow. “She has a lot of connections in the village, and if she had gone away with a sense of grievance50 she might have created a good deal of ill feeling against your successor, and I am very anxious that he should begin well. I like the young fellow, and I like his wife.”
“We are fortunate, indeed, Ernest,” Mrs. Greg said the following morning, as with the children, two and three years old, they went out into the garden; where the trees were laden51 with apples, pears, and plums. “What a change from our little rooms in Reigate. I should think that anyone ought to be happy indeed here.”
“They ought to be, Emma, but you see Mr. Bastow had trouble enough; and it should be a lesson to us, dear, to look very closely after the boys now they are young, and see that they don't make bad acquaintances.”
“From what we hear of the village, there is little fear of that; the mischief52 must have begun before Mr. Thorndyke came down, when by all accounts things had altogether gone to the bad here, and of course young Bastow must have had an exceptionally evil disposition53, Ernest.”
“Yes, no doubt; but his father could not have looked after him properly. I believe, from what I hear, that Bastow was so dispirited at his powerlessness to put a stop to the state of things here, that, except to perform service, he seldom left the house, and the boy no doubt grew up altogether wild. You know that I was in court on the second day of the examination, and the young fellow's insolence54 and bearing astonished and shocked me. Happily, we have the Squire here now to back us up, the village has been completely cleared of all bad characters, and is by all accounts quite a model place, and we must do our best to keep it so.”
The news of the change at the Rectory naturally occasioned a great deal of talk. At first there was a general feeling of regret that Mr. Bastow had gone, and yet it was felt that he could not have been expected to stay; the month's experience that they had had of the new parson had cleared the way for him. He and his wife soon made themselves familiar with the villagers, and being bright young people, speedily made themselves liked. The Squire and Mrs. Cunningham called the first afternoon after their arrival.
“You must always send up if anything is wanted, Mr. Greg; whenever there is any illness in the village we always keep a stock of soups and jellies, and Mrs. Cunningham is almoner in general. Is there anything that we can do for you? If so, let me know without hesitation.”
“Indeed, there is nothing, Mr. Thorndyke. It is marvelous to us coming in here and finding everything that we can possibly want.”
“You will want a boy for your garden; and you cannot do better than take young Bill Summers. He was with me for a bit last year, when the boy I have now was laid up with mumps55 or something of that sort, and he was very favorably reported on as being handy in the garden, able to milk a cow, and so on. By the way, Mrs. Greg, I have taken the liberty of sending down a cow in milk. I expect she is in your meadow now. I have seven or eight of them, and if you will send her back when her milk fails I will send down another.”
“You are too kind altogether, Mr. Thorndyke!” Mrs. Greg exclaimed.
“Not at all. I want to see things comfortable here, and you will find it difficult to get on without a cow. I keep two or three for the special use of the village. I make them pay for it, halfpenny a pint56; it is better to do that than to give it. It is invaluable57 for the children; and I don't think in all England you see rosier58 and healthier youngsters than those in our schools. You will sometimes find milk useful for puddings and that sort of thing for the sick; and they will appreciate it all the more than if they had to look solely59 to us for their supply.”
“How is Mr. Bastow, sir?”
“He is better than could be expected. He himself proposed this morning that my boy Mark should begin his studies at once; and, indeed, now that the worst is over and he has got rid of the load of care on his shoulders, I hope that we shall have him bright and cheerful again before long.”
Such was indeed the case. For some little time Mr. Bastow avoided the village, but John Thorndyke got him to go down with him to call upon Mr. Greg, and afterwards to walk through it with him. At first he went timidly and shrinkingly, but the kindly greetings of the women he met, and the children stopping to pull a forelock or bob a courtesy as of old, gradually cheered him up, and he soon got accustomed to the change, and would of an afternoon go down to the village and chat with the women, after he had ascertained60 that his successor had no objection whatever, and was, indeed, pleased that he still took an interest in his former parishioners. Mark was at first disappointed at the arrangement, for he had looked forward to going to a public school. His father, however, had no great trouble in reconciling him to it.
“Of course, Mark,” he said, “there are advantages in a public school. I was never at one myself, but I believe that, though the discipline is pretty strict, there is a great deal of fun and sport, and you may make desirable acquaintances. Upon the other hand, there are drawbacks. In the first place, the majority of the boys are sons of richer men than I am. I don't know that that would matter much, but it would give you expensive habits, and perhaps make you fonder of London life than I should care about. In the next place, you see, you would be at school when the shooting begins, and you are looking forward to carrying a gun next year. The same with hunting. You know I promised that this year you should go to the meets on your pony61, and see as much of them as you can, and of course when you were at school you would only be able to indulge in these matters during your holidays; and if a hard frost set in, as is the case three times out of four, just as you came home, you would be out of it altogether.
“I must say I should like you to have a real love of field sports and to be a good shot and a good rider. A man, however wide his acres may be, is thought but little of in the country if he is not a good sportsman; and, moreover, there is nothing better for developing health and muscles than riding, and tramping over the fields with a gun on your shoulder; and, lastly, you must not forget, Mark, that one of my objects in making this arrangement is to keep Mr. Bastow with us. I am sure that unless he thought that he was making himself useful he would not be content to remain here; and at his age, you know, it would be hard for him to obtain clerical employment.”
“All right, father. I see that the present plan is the best, and that I should have but little sport if I went away to school. Besides, I like Mr. Bastow very much, and I am quite sure that I shan't get so many whackings from him as I used to do from old Holbrook.”
“I fancy not, Mark,” his father said with a smile. “I am not against wholesome62 discipline, but I think it can be carried too far; at any rate, I hope you will be just as obedient to Mr. Bastow as if he always had a cane63 on the table beside him.”
Mark, therefore, went to work in a cheerful spirit, and soon found that he made more progress in a week under Mr. Bastow's gentle tuition than he had done in a month under the vigorous discipline of his former master. Mr. and Mrs. Greg dined regularly at the Squire's once a week.
“Have you had that Indian servant of yours long, Mr. Thorndyke?” Mrs. Greg asked one day. “He is a strange looking creature. Of course, in the daytime, when one sees him about in ordinary clothes, one does not notice him so much; but of an evening, in that Eastern costume of his, he looks very strange.”
“He was the servant of the Colonel, my brother,” the Squire replied. “He brought him over from India with him. The man had been some years in his service, and was very attached to him, and had saved his life more than once, he told me. On one occasion he caught a cobra by the neck as it was about to strike my brother's hand as he sat at table; he carried it out into the compound, as George called it, but which means, he told me, garden, and there let it escape. Another time he caught a Thug, which means a sort of robber who kills his victims by strangling before robbing them. They are a sort of sect64 who regard strangling as a religious action, greatly favored by the bloodthirsty goddess they worship. He was in the act of fastening the twisted handkerchief, used for the purpose, round my brother's neck, when Ramoo cut him down. The closest shave, though, was when George, coming down the country, was pounced65 upon by a tiger and carried off. Ramoo seized a couple of muskets66 from the men, and rushed into the jungle after him, and coming up with the brute67 killed him at the first shot. George escaped with a broken arm and his back laid open by a scratch of the tiger's claws as it first seized him.
“So at George's death I took Ramoo on, and have found him a most useful fellow. Of course, I was some little time before I became accustomed to his noiseless way of going about, and it used to make me jump when I happened to look round, and saw him standing68 quietly behind me when I thought I was quite alone. However, as soon as I became accustomed to him, I got over all that, and now I would not lose him for anything; he seems to know instinctively69 what I want. He is excellent as a waiter and valet; I should feel almost lost without him now; and the clumping70 about of an English man servant would annoy me as much as his noiseless way of going about did at first. He has come to speak English very fairly. Of course, my brother always talked to him in his own tongue; still, he had picked up enough English for me to get on with; now he speaks it quite fluently. When I have nothing whatever for him to do he devotes himself to my little ward13. She is very fond of him, and it is quite pretty to see them together in the garden. Altogether, I would not part with him for anything.”
For some years life passed uneventfully at Crowswood. It was seldom indeed that the Squire's authority was needed to set matters right in the village. The substitution of good farmers for shiftless ones in some of the farms, and the better cultivation71 generally, had given more employment; and as John Thorndyke preferred keeping two or three cottages shut up rather than have them occupied by men for whom no work could be found, it was rare indeed that there were any complaints of scarcity72 of work, except, indeed, on the part of the Rector, who declared that, what with the healthiness of the village and the absence of want, his occupation, save for the Sunday duty, was a sinecure73. Mr. Bastow was more happy and much brighter than he had been for many years. The occupation of teaching suited him, and he was able to make the work pleasant to his pupil as well as to himself; indeed, it occupied but a small portion of the day, the amount of learning considered necessary at the time not being extensive. A knowledge of Greek was thought quite superfluous74 for a country gentleman. Science was in its infancy75, mathematics a subject only to be taken up by those who wanted to obtain a college fellowship. Latin, however, was considered an essential, and a knack76 of apt quotation77 from the Latin poets an accomplishment78 that every man who was a member of society or aspired79 to enter Parliament was expected to possess. Thus Mark Thorndyke's lessons lasted but two or three hours a day, and the school term was a movable period, according to the season of the year and the engagements of the Squire and Mark. In winter the evening was the time, so that the boy shot with his father, or rode to the hounds, or, as he got older, joined in shooting parties at the houses of neighbors.
In summer the work was done in the morning, but was not unfrequently broken. Mark went off at a very early hour to drive perhaps some twenty miles with his great chum, Dick Chetwynd, for a long day's fishing, or to see a main of cocks fought or a fight between the champions of two neighboring villages, or perhaps some more important battle.
When Millicent Conyers was ten years old she came regularly into the study, sitting curled up in a deep chair, getting up her lessons while Mark did his, and then changing seats with him while he learned his Horace or Ovid by heart. At this time she looked up greatly to him, and was his companion whenever he would allow her to be, fetched and carried for him, and stood almost on a level with his dogs in his estimation. Five years later, when Mark was eighteen, these relations changed somewhat. He now liked to have her with him, not only when about the house and garden, but when he took short rides she cantered along on her pony by his side. She was a bright faced girl, full of life and fun, and rejoicing in a far greater amount of freedom than most girls of her age and time.
“It is really time that she should learn to comport80 herself more staidly, instead of running about like a wild thing,” Mrs. Cunningham said, one day, as she and the Squire stood after breakfast looking out of the open window at Mark and Millicent.
“Time enough, my dear lady, time enough. Let her enjoy life while she can. I am not in favor of making a young kitten behave like an old tabby; every creature in nature is joyful81 and frolicsome82 while it is young. She is as tall and as straight as any of her friends of the same age, and looks more healthy; she will tame down in time, and I dare say walk and look as prim83 and demure84 as they do. I was watching them the other day when there was a party of them up here, and I thought the difference was all to her advantage. She looked a natural, healthy girl; they looked like a set of overdressed dolls, afraid to move or to talk loud, or to stretch their mouths when they smile; very ladylike and nice, no doubt, but you will see Millicent will throw them into the shade when she is once past the tomboy age. Leave her alone, Mrs. Cunningham; a girl is not like a fruit tree, that wants pruning85 and training from its first year; it will be quite time to get her into shape when she has done growing.”
John Thorndyke had occasionally made inquiries86 of Mr. Bastow as to the whereabouts of his son. At the time the sentence was passed transportation to the American colonies was being discontinued, and until other arrangements could be made hulks were established as places of confinement87 and punishment; but a few months later Arthur Bastow was one of the first batch88 of convicts sent out to the penal89 settlement formed on the east coast of Australia. This was intended to be fixed90 at Botany Bay, but it having been found that this bay was open and unsheltered, it was established at Sydney, although for many years the settlement retained in England the name of the original site. As the condition of the prisoners kept in the hulks was deplorable, the Squire had, through the influence of Sir Charles Harris, obtained the inclusion of Bastow's name among the first batch of those who were to sail for Australia. Mr. Bastow obtained permission to see his son before sailing, but returned home much depressed91, for he had been assailed92 with such revolting and blasphemous93 language by him that he had been forced to retire in horror at the end of a few minutes.
“We have done well in getting him sent off,” the Squire said, when he heard the result of the interview. “In the first place, the demoralizing effect of these hulks is quite evident, and it may be hoped that in a new country, where there can be no occasion for the convicts to be pent up together, things may be better; for although escapes from the hulks are not frequent, they occasionally take place, and had he gained his liberty we should have had an anxious time of it until he was re-arrested, whereas out there there is nowhere to go to, no possibility of committing a crime. It is not there as it was in the American colony. Settlements may grow up in time, but at present there are no white men whatever settled in the district; and the natives are, they say, hostile, and were a convict to escape he would almost certainly be killed, and possibly eaten. No doubt by the time your son has served his sentence colonies will be established out there, and he may then be disposed to settle there, either on a piece of land of which he could no doubt take up or in the service of one of the colonists94.”
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2 hoofs | |
n.(兽的)蹄,马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.(兽的)蹄,马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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3 ordeal | |
n.苦难经历,(尤指对品格、耐力的)严峻考验 | |
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4 indifference | |
n.不感兴趣,不关心,冷淡,不在乎 | |
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5 exclamations | |
n.呼喊( exclamation的名词复数 );感叹;感叹语;感叹词 | |
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6 hesitation | |
n.犹豫,踌躇 | |
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7 guilt | |
n.犯罪;内疚;过失,罪责 | |
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8 offenses | |
n.进攻( offense的名词复数 );(球队的)前锋;进攻方法;攻势 | |
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9 offense | |
n.犯规,违法行为;冒犯,得罪 | |
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10 magistrates | |
地方法官,治安官( magistrate的名词复数 ) | |
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11 accomplice | |
n.从犯,帮凶,同谋 | |
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12 squire | |
n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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13 ward | |
n.守卫,监护,病房,行政区,由监护人或法院保护的人(尤指儿童);vt.守护,躲开 | |
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14 villain | |
n.反派演员,反面人物;恶棍;问题的起因 | |
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15 demeanor | |
n.行为;风度 | |
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16 effrontery | |
n.厚颜无耻 | |
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17 savings | |
n.存款,储蓄 | |
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18 forgery | |
n.伪造的文件等,赝品,伪造(行为) | |
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19 enlist | |
vt.谋取(支持等),赢得;征募;vi.入伍 | |
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20 prostration | |
n. 平伏, 跪倒, 疲劳 | |
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21 infinitely | |
adv.无限地,无穷地 | |
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22 imprisonment | |
n.关押,监禁,坐牢 | |
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23 dread | |
vt.担忧,忧虑;惧怕,不敢;n.担忧,畏惧 | |
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24 bravado | |
n.虚张声势,故作勇敢,逞能 | |
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25 awakened | |
v.(使)醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 );(使)觉醒;弄醒;(使)意识到 | |
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26 reluctance | |
n.厌恶,讨厌,勉强,不情愿 | |
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27 connoisseur | |
n.鉴赏家,行家,内行 | |
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28 bouquet | |
n.花束,酒香 | |
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29 sip | |
v.小口地喝,抿,呷;n.一小口的量 | |
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30 bins | |
n.大储藏箱( bin的名词复数 );宽口箱(如面包箱,垃圾箱等)v.扔掉,丢弃( bin的第三人称单数 ) | |
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31 helping | |
n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的,辅助的 | |
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32 sipped | |
v.小口喝,呷,抿( sip的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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33 smoothly | |
adv.平滑地,顺利地,流利地,流畅地 | |
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34 snug | |
adj.温暖舒适的,合身的,安全的;v.使整洁干净,舒适地依靠,紧贴;n.(英)酒吧里的私房 | |
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35 bishop | |
n.主教,(国际象棋)象 | |
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36 specially | |
adv.特定地;特殊地;明确地 | |
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37 engrossed | |
adj.全神贯注的 | |
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38 prospects | |
n.希望,前途(恒为复数) | |
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39 promotion | |
n.提升,晋级;促销,宣传 | |
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40 boon | |
n.恩赐,恩物,恩惠 | |
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41 retired | |
adj.隐退的,退休的,退役的 | |
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42 courteously | |
adv.有礼貌地,亲切地 | |
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43 linen | |
n.亚麻布,亚麻线,亚麻制品;adj.亚麻布制的,亚麻的 | |
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44 lodgings | |
n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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45 kindly | |
adj.和蔼的,温和的,爽快的;adv.温和地,亲切地 | |
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46 Oxford | |
n.牛津(英国城市) | |
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47 spoke | |
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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48 permanently | |
adv.永恒地,永久地,固定不变地 | |
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49 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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50 grievance | |
n.怨愤,气恼,委屈 | |
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51 laden | |
adj.装满了的;充满了的;负了重担的;苦恼的 | |
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52 mischief | |
n.损害,伤害,危害;恶作剧,捣蛋,胡闹 | |
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53 disposition | |
n.性情,性格;意向,倾向;排列,部署 | |
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54 insolence | |
n.傲慢;无礼;厚颜;傲慢的态度 | |
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55 mumps | |
n.腮腺炎 | |
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56 pint | |
n.品脱 | |
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57 invaluable | |
adj.无价的,非常宝贵的,极为贵重的 | |
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58 rosier | |
Rosieresite | |
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59 solely | |
adv.仅仅,唯一地 | |
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60 ascertained | |
v.弄清,确定,查明( ascertain的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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61 pony | |
adj.小型的;n.小马 | |
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62 wholesome | |
adj.适合;卫生的;有益健康的;显示身心健康的 | |
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63 cane | |
n.手杖,细长的茎,藤条;v.以杖击,以藤编制的 | |
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64 sect | |
n.派别,宗教,学派,派系 | |
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65 pounced | |
v.突然袭击( pounce的过去式和过去分词 );猛扑;一眼看出;抓住机会(进行抨击) | |
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66 muskets | |
n.火枪,(尤指)滑膛枪( musket的名词复数 ) | |
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67 brute | |
n.野兽,兽性 | |
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68 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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69 instinctively | |
adv.本能地 | |
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70 clumping | |
v.(树、灌木、植物等的)丛、簇( clump的现在分词 );(土、泥等)团;块;笨重的脚步声 | |
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71 cultivation | |
n.耕作,培养,栽培(法),养成 | |
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72 scarcity | |
n.缺乏,不足,萧条 | |
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73 sinecure | |
n.闲差事,挂名职务 | |
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74 superfluous | |
adj.过多的,过剩的,多余的 | |
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75 infancy | |
n.婴儿期;幼年期;初期 | |
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76 knack | |
n.诀窍,做事情的灵巧的,便利的方法 | |
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77 quotation | |
n.引文,引语,语录;报价,牌价,行情 | |
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78 accomplishment | |
n.完成,成就,(pl.)造诣,技能 | |
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79 aspired | |
v.渴望,追求( aspire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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80 comport | |
vi.相称,适合 | |
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81 joyful | |
adj.欢乐的,令人欢欣的 | |
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82 frolicsome | |
adj.嬉戏的,闹着玩的 | |
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83 prim | |
adj.拘泥形式的,一本正经的;n.循规蹈矩,整洁;adv.循规蹈矩地,整洁地 | |
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84 demure | |
adj.严肃的;端庄的 | |
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85 pruning | |
n.修枝,剪枝,修剪v.修剪(树木等)( prune的现在分词 );精简某事物,除去某事物多余的部分 | |
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86 inquiries | |
n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 );疑问;探究;打听 | |
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87 confinement | |
n.幽禁,拘留,监禁;分娩;限制,局限 | |
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88 batch | |
n.一批(组,群);一批生产量 | |
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89 penal | |
adj.刑罚的;刑法上的 | |
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90 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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91 depressed | |
adj.沮丧的,抑郁的,不景气的,萧条的 | |
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92 assailed | |
v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 );困扰;质问;毅然应对 | |
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93 blasphemous | |
adj.亵渎神明的,不敬神的 | |
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94 colonists | |
n.殖民地开拓者,移民,殖民地居民( colonist的名词复数 ) | |
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