Every day, the breach8 widened between the French and Irish, and the discontent caused by the king's exactions was wide and general; and if William, at this time, had offered favourable9 terms to the Catholics, it is probable that an arrangement could have been arrived at.
But William was busily at work, preparing an army for the conquest of the country. Had Ireland stood alone, it is probable that England would, at any rate for a time, have suffered it to go its own way; but its close alliance with France, and the fact that French influence was all powerful with James, rendered it impossible for England to submit to the establishment of what would be a foreign and hostile power, so close to her shores. Besides, if Ireland remained under the dominion10 of James, the power of William on the throne of England could never have been consolidated11.
Although he had met with no resistance on his assumption of the throne, he had the hearty12 support of but a mere13 fraction of the English people, and his accession was the work of a few great Whig families, only. His rule was by no means popular, and his Dutch favourites were as much disliked, in England, as were James' French adherents14 in Ireland.
In Scotland, the Jacobite party were numerous and powerful, and were in open rebellion to his authority. Thus, then, if William's position on the throne of England was to be consolidated, it was necessary that a blow should be struck in Ireland.
Torn by dissension, without plan or leading, the Irish army remained, for months, inactive; most of the regiments having, after the northern campaign, returned to the districts in which they were raised; and thus, no preparation was made to meet the army which was preparing to invade the country.
This, ten thousand strong, under the command of General Schomberg, who, although eighty years of age, was still an able, active, and spirited commander, embarked15 on the 8th of August at Chester, and on the 13th landed near Bangor, in Carrickfergus Bay. There was no force there of sufficient strength to oppose him.
Schomberg found Antrim and Belfast deserted16; but the garrison17 at Carrickfergus, consisting of two regiments, prepared vigorously for a siege. Schomberg at once prepared to invest it, and in a short time attacked it by land and sea. The siege was pressed with vigour18, but the garrison, under M'Carty Moore, defended themselves with the greatest skill and bravery. As fast as breaches20 were battered21 in their walls, they repaired them, and repulsed22 every attempt of the besiegers to gain a footing in the town. The garrison were badly supplied with ammunition23, but they stripped the lead from the roofs of the castle and church to make bullets.
But all this time, no attempt whatever was made to relieve them. The French and Irish generals were disputing as to what was the best plan of campaign. The king was busy making money with his trade with France; and, after holding out until they had burned their last grain of powder, the gallant24 garrison were forced to capitulate. Schomberg was too glad to get the place to insist on hard terms, and the garrison marched out with all the honours of war--drums beating, and matches alight--and were conveyed, with all their stores, arms, and public and private property, to the nearest Irish post.
The effect of this determined25 resistance, on the part of the little garrison at Carrickfergus, was to impress Schomberg with the fact that the difficulty of the task he had undertaken was vastly greater than he had supposed. The success with which Londonderry had defended itself against the Irish army had impressed him with the idea that the levies26 of King James were simply contemptible27; but the fighting qualities of the garrison of Carrickfergus had shown him that they were a foe28 by no means to be despised, and convinced him that the force at his command was altogether inadequate29 to his necessities.
He therefore moved south with extreme caution. He found the country altogether wasted and deserted. The Protestants had long since fled, and were gathered round Derry and Enniskillen. The Catholics had now deserted their homes, at his approach; and the troops, in their retreat, had burned and wasted everything, so that he had no means of subsistence for his army, and was obliged to rely upon the fleet, which he ordered to follow him down the coast.
Schomberg was soon joined by three regiments of Enniskillen horse. The appearance of these troops astonished the English. They resembled rather a horde30 of Italian banditti than a body of European cavalry31. They observed little order in their military movements, and no uniformity of dress or accoutrement. Each man was armed and clad according to his own fancy, and accompanied by a mounted servant, carrying his baggage. But, like the Cossacks, whom they closely resembled, they were distinguished32 by an extreme rapidity of movement, and a fierceness and contempt of all difficulty and danger. They calculated neither chances nor numbers, but rushed to the attack of any foe with a ferocity and fanaticism33 which almost ensured success, and they regarded the slaughter34 of a Papist as an acceptable service to the Lord. They plundered35 wherever they went, and were a scourge36 to the Irish Protestants as well as Catholics.
The troops furnished by Derry were similar in character to those from Enniskillen. They could not endure the restraints of discipline, and were little use in acting37 with the regular army, and, like the Cossacks, were formidable only when acting by themselves. Schomberg and his successor, and, indeed, the whole of the English officers, soon came to abhor38 these savage39 and undisciplined allies.
Still, the Irish army made no move. Report had magnified Schomberg's strength to more than twice its real numbers, and the military leaders could not believe that, after so many months of preparation, William had despatched so small an army for the conquest of Ireland.
Confusion and dismay reigned40 in Dublin. The French Marshal, De Rosen, advised that Dublin and Drogheda should be abandoned, and that the Irish army should be concentrated at Athlone and Limerick; but Tyrconnell went to Drogheda, where the council of war was sitting, and strenuously41 opposed this, promising42 that by the next night twenty thousand men should be assembled there. Expresses were sent out in all directions; and by forced marches, the Irish troops stationed in Munster directed their course to Drogheda, in high spirits and anxious to meet the enemy.
Schomberg, although he had been reinforced by six thousand men from England, fell back at the news of the gathering43, and formed an intrenched camp in a strong position between Dundalk and the sea. His approaches were covered by mountains, rivers, and morasses44; his communication was open to the sea, and here he resolved to wait for reinforcements.
Captain Davenant became more and more despondent45 as to the cause in which he had embarked.
"Without the king, and without his French allies," he said bitterly to his wife, "we might hope for success; but these are enough to ruin any cause. Were the king's object to excite discontent and disgust among his subjects, he could not act otherwise than he is now doing. His whole thoughts are devoted46 to wringing47 money out of the people, and any time he has to spare is spent upon superintending the building of the nunneries, in which he is so interested. As to the French, they paralyse all military operations. They regard us as an inferior race, and act as if, with their own five or six thousand troops, they could defeat all the power of England. It is heartbreaking seeing our chances so wasted.
"Had advantage been taken of the enthusiasm excited when King James landed; had he himself been wise and prudent48, disinterested49 for himself, and desirous of obtaining the affections of all classes; and had he brought with him none of these French adventurers, he would, long ere this, have been undisputed King of Ireland from end to end, and we should have stood as one people in arms, ready to oppose ourselves to any force that England could send against us. Never were chances so frittered away, never such a succession of blunders and folly51. It is enough to break one's heart."
"I do hope, father, that when the troop marches again you will take me as cornet. I am six months older than I was, and have learned a lot in the last campaign. You have not filled up the place of Cornet O'Driscoll. I did think, when he was killed in that last fight you had before Derry, you would have appointed me."
"In some respects I am less inclined than ever, Walter," Captain Davenant said; "for I begin to regard success as hopeless."
"It will make no difference, father, in that way, for if we are beaten they are sure to hand all our land over to the Protestants. Besides, things may turn out better than you think; and whether or no, I should certainly like to do my best for Ireland."
"Well, we will think about it," Captain Davenant said; and Walter was satisfied, for he felt sure that his father would finally accede52 to his wishes.
It was late at night, when the mounted messenger dashed up to the door of the castle and handed in an order. Captain Davenant opened it.
"We are to march, in half an hour's time, to Drogheda. The whole army is to assemble there."
"Hurray!" Walter shouted. "Something is going to be done, at last."
A man was sent down to the village at once, to order the twenty men quartered there to saddle and mount instantly, and ride up to the castle; while another, on horseback, started for Bray53 to get the main body under arms. Mrs. Davenant busied herself in packing the wallets of her husband and son. She was very pale, but she said little.
"God bless you both," she said, when all was finished, "and bring you back again safely. I won't ask you to take care of yourselves, because, of course, you must do your duty, and with all my love I should not wish you to draw back from that. When home and religion and country are at stake, even we women could not wish to keep those we love beside us."
There was a last embrace, and then Captain Davenant and his son sprang on their horses, which were waiting at the door, took their place at the head of the party which had come up from the village, and rode away into the darkness, while the two Mrs. Davenants gave free vent50 to the tears which they had hitherto so bravely restrained.
At Bray, Captain Davenant found the rest of his troop drawn54 up in readiness, and after a brief inspection55, to see that all were present with their proper arms and accoutrements, he started with them for Dublin, and after a few hours' rest there continued his way towards Drogheda.
The army then proceeded north to Dundalk, and bitter was the disappointment of the troops when, on arriving there, they found that Schomberg, instead of advancing to give battle, had shut himself up in the intrenchments he had formed, and could not be induced to sally out.
In vain King James, who accompanied his army, formed it up in order of battle within sight of the invaders56' lines. Schomberg was not to be tempted57 out, and, as the position appeared to be too strong to be attacked, the Irish were forced to endeavour to reduce it by the slow process of starvation. The English army was soon reduced to pitiable straits--not from hunger, for they were able to obtain food from the ships, but from disease. The situation of the camp was low and unhealthy. Fever broke out, and swept away vast numbers of the men.
The Dutch and Enniskilleners suffered comparatively little--both were accustomed to a damp climate. But of the English troops, nearly eight thousand died in the two months that the blockade lasted. Had James maintained his position, the whole of the army of Schomberg must have perished; but, most unfortunately for his cause, he insisted on personally conducting operations, and when complete success was in his grasp he marched his army away, in the middle of November, to winter quarters; thereby58 allowing Schomberg to move, with the eight thousand men who remained to him, from the pest-stricken camp to healthier quarters.
The disgust, of those of James's officers who understood anything of war, at this termination of the campaign was extreme. The men, indeed, were eager to return to their homes, but would gladly have attempted an assault on the English camp before doing so; and, as the defenders59 were reduced to half their original strength, while most of the survivors60 were weakened by disease, the attack would probably have been successful. James himself was several times on the point of ordering an attack, but his own vacillation61 of character was heightened by the conflicting counsels of his generals, who seemed more bent62 on thwarting63 each other than on gaining the cause for which they fought.
The cavalry were not idle, while the blockade of Schomberg's camp continued, frequently making excursions over the country to bring in cattle for the army; for the villagers had, for the most part, deserted their homes, and herds64 of cattle were grazing without masters. One day, Captain Davenant's troop had ridden some thirty miles out of camp, and had halted for the night in a village. In the morning, they broke up into small parties and scattered65 round the country. Walter, with fifteen of the troopers, had collected some cattle and stopped for an hour, to feed and rest the horses, in a deserted village. He took the precaution to place two or three men on sentry66 round it.
The men were sitting on the doorsteps, eating the food they had brought with them, when one of the outposts dashed in at full gallop67, shouting that the enemy were upon them; but his warning came too late, for, close behind him, came a body of wild-looking horsemen, shouting and yelling. There was a cry of "The Enniskilleners!" and the men ran to their horses.
They had scarcely time to throw themselves in the saddle, when the Enniskilleners charged down. For a minute or two there was a confused medley68, and then three or four of the troopers rode off at full speed, hotly pursued by the Enniskilleners.
Walter had discharged his pistols and drawn his sword, but before he had time to strike a blow, his horse was rolled over by the rush of the enemy, and, as he was falling, he received a blow on the head from a sabre which stretched him insensible on the ground. He was roused by two men turning him over and searching his pockets. A slight groan69 burst from his lips.
"The fellow is not dead," one of the men said.
"We will soon settle that," the other replied.
"Don't kill him," the first speaker said. "Wait till the captain has spoken to him. We may be able to get some information from him. We can finish him afterwards."
Walter lay with his eyes closed. He well knew that the Enniskilleners took no prisoners, but killed all who fell into their hands, and he determined to show no signs of returning consciousness. Presently, he heard the sound of a party of horsemen returning, and by the exclamations70 of disappointment which greeted the news they gave, he learned that some, at least, of his men had made their escape.
Some time later, several men came up to him. One leaned over him, and put his hand to his heart.
"He is alive."
"Very well," another voice said. "Then we will take him with us. He is an officer, and will be able to tell us all about their strength.
"Watkins, you have a strong beast, and do not weigh much. Do you mount, and then we will tie him to your back."
A minute later Walter was lifted up, and felt that he was placed on a horse with his back to that of the rider. A rope was wound several times round his body. He remained perfectly71 passive, with his head hanging down on his breast. Then a word of command was given, and the troop set off.
For a time, there was no need for him to pretend insensibility, for the pain of his wound and the loss of blood overpowered him, and for some time he was unconscious. After two hours' riding, the troop was halted. Walter felt the rope taken off him. Then he was lifted down, dragged a short distance, and thrown down on some straw. Then a door shut, and he heard a key turned. He felt sure that he was alone, but for some time lay perfectly quiet, as it was possible that one of the men might have remained to watch him.
After a quarter of an hour, hearing not the slightest sound, he opened his eyes and looked round. He was, as he supposed, alone. The place in which he was lying was a stable, lighted only by a small opening high up in the wall. Certain, therefore, that he was not overlooked, he made an effort to rise to his feet, but he was so weak and giddy that he was obliged, for some time, to remain leaning against the wall. Seeing a bucket in one corner, he made to it, and found, to his delight, that it was half full of water, for he was parched72 with a devouring73 thirst.
After taking a deep draught74 he felt greatly revived, and then made a thorough survey of his prison. It evidently formed part of the house of a well-to-do man, for it was solidly built of stone, and the door was strong and well fitted.
The opening in the wall was out of his reach. He could, at ordinary times, by standing75 on the upturned bucket, have reached it with a spring, and pulled himself up to it, but at present he was wholly incapable76 of such exertion77. He thought, however, that after a night's rest he would be able to do it.
The door was so strong that he had no hope of escape in that direction. As he might at any moment be disturbed, he returned to the straw on which he had at first been thrown, laid himself down, and in a very short time dropped off to sleep.
It was dark, before he was awoke by the turning of the key in the lock, and two men entered, one of them bearing a horn lantern.
"Where am I?" Walter asked, in a feeble tone, as they approached him.
"Never mind where you are," one said roughly. "Get up."
Walter seemed to make an effort, and then fell back with a groan.
The man repeated his order, emphasizing it with a kick. Walter again made an effort, and, as before, sank back.
"Here, catch hold of him," the man said, impatiently, "it's no use fooling here with him."
The men took Walter under the arms and lifted him up, and half dragged, half carried him out of the stable and into the house adjoining. He was taken into a room where four or five men were sitting.
Walter looked stupidly at his questioner, but made no answer.
"Answer my question," the man said, levelling a pistol at him, "or I will blow out your brains at once."
Still Walter stared at him stupidly, and made no reply, except to mutter, "Water."
"It's no use," one of the other men said. "He hasn't got his right senses yet. It's no use shooting him now, after we have had the trouble of bringing him here. In the morning, he will be able to answer you."
"He had better," the other said savagely79, "or we will light a fire and roast him over it. There, take him back to the stable, and give him a drink of water. I don't want him to slip through our fingers, after the trouble we have had with him."
Walter was taken back, as before, to the stable, and one of the men brought him a mug of water, and held it to his lips. He drank eagerly, and then the man placed the mug down beside him, the door was again closed and locked, and Walter was alone. He rose at once to his feet, and felt that his sleep had greatly refreshed and strengthened him.
"I will have another sleep, before I try," he said to himself. "It will not be light till six, and it must be eight or nine o'clock now. I must make up my mind, before I doze80 off, to wake in about three or four hours; but first, I must see what I can find, here."
He felt round the walls, but failed to find anything like a rope.
"I must trust to luck," he said; "I don't suppose they will post many sentries81. These fellows are not real soldiers, and no doubt they will all be sound asleep in a couple of hours."
So saying, he again lay down, and was speedily asleep. When he woke, he felt sure that he had not exceeded the time he had given himself. He listened intently. He could hear a low, confused sound, which he knew was made by horses feeding, but he could hear no human voices. He drank the rest of the water in the mug, then he turned up the bucket, placed it under the opening, and mounted on it.
His first spring failed to reach the sill, and he stood for a few minutes, before making another attempt. He knew that it was a matter of life or death, for he had no doubt whatever that, even if he gave the required information, which he was determined not to do, however much he might suffer, he would be shot afterwards. He braced82 himself to the utmost, took a long breath, and then sprang. His fingers caught on the ledge83 of stonework, and, with a desperate effort, he drew himself up, aided by his feet. He had, before making the attempt, removed his boots, partly to avoid the scraping noise which these would make, partly to enable him the better to avail himself of the inequalities in the stonework.
It was a desperate struggle; and when he got his shoulders in the opening, which was just wide enough to admit them, he lay for three or four minutes, panting heavily, with the perspiration84 streaming down his face. The aperture85 was too small to admit of his turning in any way, and there was nothing for it, as he knew, but to drop head foremost.
Gradually, he drew himself through the opening, lowering himself as much as he could by holding on to the upper edge by his feet. Then, stretching out his arms to save himself, he let go. Fortunately, the ground was soft, for a garden adjoined the stable; but the shock was a heavy one, and he lay for a minute or two without moving, having some doubt whether he had not broken his neck. Then he got up, and listened.
Everything was still and quiet, and, indeed, his fall had been almost noiseless. He rose to his feet, felt along the wall until he encountered a low paling, climbed over it, and was in the road.
He had, when he jumped for the window, tied his boots to his back, and now carried them in his hand. The night was very dark; but his eyes, accustomed to the greater darkness of the stable, had no difficulty in following the road. He walked slowly, for the exertion he had undergone and the shock of the fall had drawn greatly from his small stock of strength.
After going a quarter of a mile, he put on his boots, and, climbing a wall of sods which bordered the road, struck across country. There were no stars to guide him, and a slight mist had begun to fall. There was but little wind, but this was sufficient to give a direction to the rain. Walter noticed this, and at once struck out in a direction which kept the rain falling upon the right side of his face; and he knew that, by so continuing, he was going in a tolerably straight line. As near as he could tell he walked for two hours, and then, utterly86 exhausted87, lay down on the lee side of a turf wall.
There was, as yet, no gleam of light in the sky, and in a very few minutes he was again sound asleep. He woke up with a feeling of bitter cold, and, on rising, found that his limbs were completely stiffened88 by the wet. It was morning now, the wind had got up, and a driving rain shut out the view on all sides. Walter stamped his feet and swung his arms for some time to restore the circulation.
He had no idea in which direction he had been travelling, for he did not know whether the road from which he had started ran north, south, east, or west. He noticed that the wind had changed; for, whereas he had lain down under the lee of the wall, it was now the weather side. He walked in the same direction as before for two hours, and could then go no farther. He had seen no signs of human habitation, and had not crossed a road or even a footpath89. Since starting in the morning he had passed no more walls or fences, and, as far as his eye could reach through the driving rain, nothing was to be seen save a desolate90 expanse of moor19 and bog91. He was, at any rate, free from pursuit for the time, and he thought more of obtaining food and shelter than of the Enniskilleners.
It was useless pushing further on, even had he been able to do so, while the rain lasted; for he might have passed within a quarter of a mile of a habitation without seeing it. He accordingly threw himself down beside some low bushes, which afforded him some slight protection from the rain.
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1
jealousies
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n.妒忌( jealousy的名词复数 );妒羡 | |
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2
entirely
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ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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3
affected
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adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
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4
arrogance
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n.傲慢,自大 | |
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5
insolence
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n.傲慢;无礼;厚颜;傲慢的态度 | |
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6
regiments
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(军队的)团( regiment的名词复数 ); 大量的人或物 | |
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7
superseded
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[医]被代替的,废弃的 | |
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8
breach
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n.违反,不履行;破裂;vt.冲破,攻破 | |
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9
favourable
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adj.赞成的,称赞的,有利的,良好的,顺利的 | |
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10
dominion
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n.统治,管辖,支配权;领土,版图 | |
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11
consolidated
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a.联合的 | |
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12
hearty
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adj.热情友好的;衷心的;尽情的,纵情的 | |
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13
mere
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adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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14
adherents
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n.支持者,拥护者( adherent的名词复数 );党羽;徒子徒孙 | |
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15
embarked
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乘船( embark的过去式和过去分词 ); 装载; 从事 | |
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16
deserted
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adj.荒芜的,荒废的,无人的,被遗弃的 | |
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17
garrison
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n.卫戍部队;驻地,卫戍区;vt.派(兵)驻防 | |
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18
vigour
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(=vigor)n.智力,体力,精力 | |
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19
moor
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n.荒野,沼泽;vt.(使)停泊;vi.停泊 | |
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20
breaches
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破坏( breach的名词复数 ); 破裂; 缺口; 违背 | |
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21
battered
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adj.磨损的;v.连续猛击;磨损 | |
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22
repulsed
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v.击退( repulse的过去式和过去分词 );驳斥;拒绝 | |
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23
ammunition
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n.军火,弹药 | |
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24
gallant
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adj.英勇的,豪侠的;(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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25
determined
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adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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26
levies
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(部队)征兵( levy的名词复数 ); 募捐; 被征募的军队 | |
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27
contemptible
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adj.可鄙的,可轻视的,卑劣的 | |
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28
foe
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n.敌人,仇敌 | |
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29
inadequate
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adj.(for,to)不充足的,不适当的 | |
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30
horde
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n.群众,一大群 | |
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31
cavalry
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n.骑兵;轻装甲部队 | |
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32
distinguished
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adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
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33
fanaticism
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n.狂热,盲信 | |
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34
slaughter
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n.屠杀,屠宰;vt.屠杀,宰杀 | |
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35
plundered
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掠夺,抢劫( plunder的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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36
scourge
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n.灾难,祸害;v.蹂躏 | |
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37
acting
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n.演戏,行为,假装;adj.代理的,临时的,演出用的 | |
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38
abhor
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v.憎恶;痛恨 | |
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savage
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adj.野蛮的;凶恶的,残暴的;n.未开化的人 | |
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40
reigned
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vi.当政,统治(reign的过去式形式) | |
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41
strenuously
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adv.奋发地,费力地 | |
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42
promising
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adj.有希望的,有前途的 | |
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43
gathering
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n.集会,聚会,聚集 | |
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44
morasses
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n.缠作一团( morass的名词复数 );困境;沼泽;陷阱 | |
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despondent
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adj.失望的,沮丧的,泄气的 | |
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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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wringing
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淋湿的,湿透的 | |
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prudent
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adj.谨慎的,有远见的,精打细算的 | |
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disinterested
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adj.不关心的,不感兴趣的 | |
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vent
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n.通风口,排放口;开衩;vt.表达,发泄 | |
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51
folly
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n.愚笨,愚蠢,蠢事,蠢行,傻话 | |
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accede
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v.应允,同意 | |
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53
bray
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n.驴叫声, 喇叭声;v.驴叫 | |
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54
drawn
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v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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inspection
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n.检查,审查,检阅 | |
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invaders
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入侵者,侵略者,侵入物( invader的名词复数 ) | |
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tempted
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v.怂恿(某人)干不正当的事;冒…的险(tempt的过去分词) | |
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thereby
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adv.因此,从而 | |
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59
defenders
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n.防御者( defender的名词复数 );守卫者;保护者;辩护者 | |
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survivors
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幸存者,残存者,生还者( survivor的名词复数 ) | |
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61
vacillation
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n.动摇;忧柔寡断 | |
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62
bent
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n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的 | |
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63
thwarting
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阻挠( thwart的现在分词 ); 使受挫折; 挫败; 横过 | |
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herds
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兽群( herd的名词复数 ); 牧群; 人群; 群众 | |
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65
scattered
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adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
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66
sentry
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n.哨兵,警卫 | |
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67
gallop
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v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔;飞速发展 | |
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68
medley
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n.混合 | |
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69
groan
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vi./n.呻吟,抱怨;(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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exclamations
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n.呼喊( exclamation的名词复数 );感叹;感叹语;感叹词 | |
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71
perfectly
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adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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72
parched
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adj.焦干的;极渴的;v.(使)焦干 | |
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73
devouring
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吞没( devour的现在分词 ); 耗尽; 津津有味地看; 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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74
draught
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n.拉,牵引,拖;一网(饮,吸,阵);顿服药量,通风;v.起草,设计 | |
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75
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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76
incapable
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adj.无能力的,不能做某事的 | |
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77
exertion
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n.尽力,努力 | |
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78
corps
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n.(通信等兵种的)部队;(同类作的)一组 | |
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79
savagely
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adv. 野蛮地,残酷地 | |
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80
doze
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v.打瞌睡;n.打盹,假寐 | |
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81
sentries
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哨兵,步兵( sentry的名词复数 ) | |
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82
braced
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adj.拉牢的v.支住( brace的过去式和过去分词 );撑牢;使自己站稳;振作起来 | |
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83
ledge
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n.壁架,架状突出物;岩架,岩礁 | |
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84
perspiration
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n.汗水;出汗 | |
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85
aperture
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n.孔,隙,窄的缺口 | |
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86
utterly
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adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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87
exhausted
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adj.极其疲惫的,精疲力尽的 | |
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88
stiffened
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加强的 | |
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89
footpath
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n.小路,人行道 | |
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90
desolate
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adj.荒凉的,荒芜的;孤独的,凄凉的;v.使荒芜,使孤寂 | |
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91
bog
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n.沼泽;室...陷入泥淖 | |
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