And perished in the tracing.”
J. G. Whittier.
S
IXTY miles in a southerly direction from the place where Inspector1 Puttis met with the adventure related in our last chapter, the figure of a man is reposing2 beside a silent rocky pool, in the heart of a dense3 jungle. The tropic vegetation around him is part of the same straggling line of “scrub-country” that covers the great, rugged4 shoulders of the coast range of Northern Queensland with a soft green mantle5 of indescribable grandeur6 and beauty. Enormous fig-trees (Ficus), with gigantic, buttressed7 stems, tower on all sides into the hanging gardens of climbing ferns, orchids10, and creepers that swing above in mid-air, and provide the dark, moist 185 soil beneath with a perennial11 shelter from the sun’s rays.
Save where a brawling12 brooklet13 has cut a rugged pathway for itself through the dense undergrowth, or a hoary14 monarch15 of the forest has succumbed16 to age and insect foes17 and fallen to the ground, no road through the matted growths around seems passable but for the smallest animals. Yet it is in these gloomy wilds that some of the tribes of Queensland aboriginals19 find their only safe sanctuary21 to-day, from the white settlers who have driven them from their old homes in the open country at the foot of the mountain chain. It is midday, but the green shadows of the leafy canopy22 overhead would render the reading of a newspaper difficult work. But although so dark, the forest is not silent. Its great pulses throb23 and murmur24 with the pleonastic signs of tropic life. There comes upon the ear the thousand tiny voices of insects and of birds, swelling25 and dying in a soft-toned lullaby chorus, which, like the murmur of the coast-waves ten miles to the eastward26, is never ceasing.
It does not require a second glance at the lonely figure at the little rocky pool to ascertain27 that it is that of an aboriginal20. He is dressed in the ragged28 remains29 of a coarse woollen shirt and trousers, both of which garments are so torn with the thousand thorns of the thickets30 their wearer has just traversed that the wonder is that they still cling to his thin and emaciated31 body.
Presently the black raises himself from the ground, where he has been reposing at full length upon his back, with his arms extended at right angles to his186 body, after the fashion of aboriginals who have undergone excessive fatigue32, and totters33 towards the little water-hole. First examining the sand upon its banks for footmarks, he next proceeds to bathe his bruised34 and bleeding limbs. The man before us is Billy, the late Dr. Dyesart’s “boy,” and he is almost in as bad a plight35 as when we saw him on the eventful morning by Paree River’s side, when the explorer saved the wounded child from the uplifted axe36 of the squatter37’s tracker. Billy is now a young man of twenty-four years of age, well-built, active, and handsome for an aboriginal; but the privations and trouble he has lately undergone have pulled him down considerably38. After refreshing39 himself at the pool, he sits down on a fallen tree, and, feeling in his pockets, smiles to himself as he finds that he still possesses a pipe, tobacco, and matches. He is too fatigued40 to search for food yet awhile, and here is something to stave off the feeling of hunger for a time. Odd as it may appear to those of our readers who do not know Australia intimately, Billy, although a native, and born a warragal, or wild native, was almost as helpless as a white man in this “scrub” country, as regards finding the means of sustenance41. Take an aboriginal from the semi-desert interior of Australia, and place him in the coastal42 jungles of the north-eastern shores of the great island, and he is hardly more capable of getting his living there than a European, who then saw the “bush” for the first time, would be under similar circumstances. The fauna43 and flora44 were all new to Billy; even the snakes were different. This was bad enough, but, in addition, he had only just escaped from remorseless enemies, who might even now be187 again upon his tracks. The dependent life he had led for sixteen years with his old master was much against him, now that he was thrown upon his own resources. Much of his late life had of course been in the “wilds,” but they were very different to those that now formed his hiding-place. And, besides, there had generally been flour galore for “damper” and “Johnnie-cake” making, and always plenty of powder and shot as a dernier ressort with which to procure46 a meal.
The young man sits smoking and thinking for a while, and then falls to digging away at the rotten wood upon which he is seated,—a small, toothsome luncheon47 of fat, oily grubs rewarding his operations. Suddenly he stops, and withdrawing the pipe from his mouth listens intently. His marvellous powers of hearing have detected a distant sound that, falling on the tympanum of a European’s ear, would have become jumbled48 up and lost amidst the confusing buzz of flies and other myriads49 of tiny noises around him. What the sound is caused by Billy cannot tell, but it is a stationary50 one, and in a different direction from that by which any of his pursuers are likely to approach. It may be natives chopping down a tree for honey, but it is almost too sharp in tone for that. After listening awhile the young man rises, and, having determined51 to ascertain the cause of the phenomenon, begins to crawl down the bed of the little rocky creek52 nearby in the direction of the curious sounds.
Ragged fragments of basalt, straggling tendrils of sharp-toothed lawyer-vines, and other impediments, make his progress slow and painful; but after creeping along the half-dried-up course of the torrent53 about a quarter of a mile, where hundreds of mosquitoes and188 leeches54 combined, in a sort of guerilla warfare55, to attack the black’s arms, legs, and face, he at last finds himself on the edge of a cliff, above one of those curious, circular, crater56-lakes that abound57 in one part of the great uplands of the wild coast range.
Black walls of basalt rise more or less perpendicularly58 around the dark, indigo59 water at their feet. Here and there the ancient lava60 has crystallized into prismatic columns, or weathered into picturesque61 battlements and projections62, which stand up, like the ruins of some old abbey, above the feathery palms and undergrowth that struggles down the precipitous cliffs in places in avalanches63 of sunlit emerald or shady o’erhangings of brown and purple.
The dark mountain tarn64 is some two hundred yards across, and opposite to where the stream, whose bed has hitherto been Billy’s road through the jungle, joins it, the surrounding wall of cliffs seems to fall away, as far as one can make out in the shadows, as if the waters of the lake there found a means of exit.
Cautiously peering through the prickly palms and brushwood, our black friend endeavours to find an open space through which he can proceed on his way; but so dense is the mass of vegetation on all sides that there appears but one road to take, that offered to him by the lake itself.
It speaks well for the superstitionless training Billy had received at his late master’s hands that he at last determined to take water, as a means of continuing his journey towards the sounds that still, intermittently65, make themselves heard above the various voices of the forest. For little in nature can surpass 189 the awful, supernatural look of these black, silent jungle lakes, and there was something particularly “uncanny” about the appearance of this one. And when, in addition to this, there was the certainty of those dark waters being the abode66 of more or less numerous swimming snakes, also the grim possibility of some frightful68 veengnaan—the local Australian edition of a Scotch69 “water-kelpie”—lurking in those gloomy depths, we may safely say that it showed Billy to be possessed70 of a cool courage of no ordinary sort when he determined on trusting his fatigued and wounded body to its inky bosom71.
Quickly making up his mind, he wriggles72 through the springy mass of steaming vegetation upon the edge of the cliff before him,—losing quite a number of square inches of his fast-disappearing garments in the process,—and emerges from the shadows into the fierce midday heat of a tropical winter day.
A drop of twenty feet only has to be made to reach the silent waters at this point, for the storm creek has cut through the brim of the crater basin a dozen feet or more; and Billy is just about to make the necessary dive—as the prickly vines around offer no friendly chance of descending73 by their means—when he pauses to listen once more.
There are two sounds now audible above the ordinary murmurings of the forest. The clink! clink! of the noise he has followed now comes clearly upon the ear, and he recognizes it as proceeding74 from the pick of some prospector75 or miner working a creek or gully below, and beyond the lake. There is a cheerful ring about it that strikes a pleasant chord of remembrance in the mind of the poor, hunted 190 wretch76 who now hears it; for it reminds him of happy, hopeful days with his old master. But the other sound that is upon the air, and whose purport77 Billy recognizes as easily as that of the unseen worker’s blows,—there is no mistaking those musical whisperings that are just audible, and seem to come from that broken mass of piled-up grey and purple rock that towers above the scrub a little distance off upon his right hand. The “banked-up fires” of Billy’s savage78 nature burst up into an energetic blaze as he hears the voices of a party of natives arranging themselves into a half circle, with the intention of surrounding and capturing some prey79 they have discovered. Billy correctly guesses the purport of these signals, but does not understand the exact meaning of the words, for he knows little or nothing of the coastal languages. What the natives on the rocky hill have in view is evident: it is the busy worker in the gully beyond. Billy forgets his fatigue as he glances round and satisfies himself that he has the start of the hunters, and then plunging80 into the water, with marvellously little noise considering the height from which he has descended81, swims after the manner of a dog rapidly round the lake, keeping close to the cliffs on the side nearest to the approaching blacks.
The natives of most countries situated82 in the southern hemisphere, ere foreign civilization has crushed them in her deadly embrace, are good swimmers, but some of the inland tribes of Australian aborigines are perhaps able to produce the best of these,—men who can beat even the marvellous aquatic83 feats84 of Tongan, Samoan, and Maoris. The blacks of some portions of the central wilds have a fish-like proclivity85 for191 swimming and remaining for a long time under water that is simply marvellous.
In the muddy water-holes of the great, intermittently-flowing rivers of Northern Australia, we have seen aborigines successfully chase the finny denizens86 of the deep pools, and bring them otter-like to the shore in their white-toothed jaws87. And many a hunted black has saved himself from the cruel rifle of squatter invaders88 of his native land by pretending to fall as if shot into a river or water-hole, and remaining, apparently89, at the bottom. They manage this artifice90 in various ways: sometimes by swimming an incredible distance under water to a sheltering weedy patch or bed of rushes, where they can remain hidden; but more often by plastering their heads and faces with mud, and remaining, sometimes for hours, with only their nose above water, in some corner where floating leaves, grass, or the like, afford a temporary blind to baffle their relentless91 foes.
Billy, although by no means as perfect a swimmer as some of his countrymen, showed great skill in the way in which he noiselessly moved through the water to the opposite side of the black lake, and hardly a ripple92 disturbed its placid93 surface, above which his dark, glistening94 head only thrice briefly95 appeared during his swim.
Arrived at the point he had started for, the young man slowly raises his face again into the hot sunshine behind the leafy cover of a fallen mass of enormous stagshorn ferns, and carefully reconnoitres the summit of the opposite cliffs for any enemies who may be watching him.
None are in sight, so Billy leaves the water and 192 proceeds to climb the rough side of the old volcano crater, and as the rocks are lower and less precipitous than at the place where he dived into the lake, he soon reaches the shelter of the scrub once more. A kind of rugged giants’ staircase, which the overflow96 from the lake has cut in the ancient lava covering of the mountain, now leads Billy down into a wide, wild-looking gorge97, about two hundred feet below the surface of the dark tarn above. Through the centre of this deep gully, and flanked with a dense growth of gracefully99 festooned trees, runs a clear, silver stream, with a cool, refreshing, rushing voice, amongst the smooth, rounded bounders in its course. Taking its rise in some limestone100 formation in the unknown depths of the jungles beyond, it has painted its rocky bed of a pine white with a calcareous deposit, that stands out in strong relief to the sombre hues101 of the overhanging cliffs that here and there jut102 out boldly from the verdure on either side.
Each recurring103 wet season sees the whitened boulders104 swept off towards the sea-coast by the angry brown waters of the “flushed” river, in company with the like that has collected during the interval106 since the previous rains, and then the fierce torrent, gradually settling down once more into the bubbling little stream as we now have it, sets to work again to paint a fresh strip of white through the twilight107 forest glades108.
Kneeling by the side of one of the chain of snowy pools that stretches into the misty109 vista110 of graceful98 palms and dark-leaved trees, beneath the afternoon shadows of the gorge, is a strange-looking figure, quite in keeping with the wild surroundings,—a thin,193 elderly man, with a ragged, unkempt beard and deeply bronzed and furrowed111 face, shaded by the most dilapidated of soft felt hats. The spare figure that Billy is now watching is covered with clothes so old, patched, and repatched that one would hesitate to pronounce an opinion as to which of the frowsy fragments formed part of the original garments. A certain yellow tone of colour, something between that of a nicely browned loaf and the lighter112 tints114 of a Cheddar cheese, pervades115 the “altogether” of the old man, for the iron-rust and clay-stains of years of lonely toil116 amongst the mountains have dyed both skin and rags of one common colour.
A thin but muscular left hand holds the outer rim67 of a brown, circular iron pan,—called by miners a “prospecting117 dish,”—and presses its other edge against the ancient’s open-bosomed shirt, so as to keep the vessel118 firmly in position, as the keen old eyes examine its contents for the cheering yellow specks119 with a small pocket-lens.
Billy stands looking at the old prospector for a minute, and rightly guesses that he is one of those mining recluses120, called “hatters” in Australia, some specimens121 of which class our dark friend has met before. In fact, Billy’s curiosity as a miner himself makes him nearly forget the approaching natives, in his eagerness to ascertain if the dish now being “panned off” shows the presence of the precious metal in the locality. But this hesitation122 on his part is not for long. Billy has retained his European raiment at some considerable inconvenience in his flight through the scrub, for the same reason that chiefly prompts Australian aboriginals to put such 194 value upon the sartorial123 signs of civilization, and now he is to reap the fruits of his forethought.
Many an Australian bushman will shoot a native at sight, without compunction, if in puris naturalibus, and it is a fact that many make it a rule to do so when meeting a “nigger” alone in the bush; but the same individuals would hesitate to pay this attention to a black sheltered in that badge of servitude, an old shirt or ragged pair of inexpressibles whose wearer may possibly belong to a neighbouring squatter or police inspector.
Billy trusts now implicitly124 to his torn clothes to serve as a flag of truce125 till he can get a hearing from the man whose life he is probably about to save; and careless of the fact that the old miner has a revolver hanging in the open pouch126 at his belt, and that a fowling-piece lies by the pick within a yard of the thin, hairy right arm, he girds up his tatters and commences to whistle loudly as he makes his way over the hot boulders towards the curious, propensic figure by the stream-side.
The old prospector turns suddenly as the shrill127 notes of Billy’s musical trilling echo along the rocky sides of the glen, and, dropping his dish, snatches up the brown old “Manton” by his side.
“Hold on, boss!” shouts Billy, thinking for the instant that perhaps he had been too rash after all, in leaving his shelter amongst the rocks before holding a parley128 with the stranger.
“Hold on, boss; you’ll want your powder for warragal blacks directly, and better not waste it on ‘good fellow’ like me.”
“Who the devil are you? Move a step an’ I blow 195 your brains out,” responds the old man, lowering the piece, however, from his shoulder.
“I’m white fellow’s boy,” explains Billy, sitting down on a boulder105 in order to show his faith in the miner’s good sense, and also to give that dangerously excited old individual a chance to examine him and cool down. “I’m white fellow’s boy, and I see black fellow coming after you. They make a circle to catch you. See, I have swum the lake to bring to you this news. I was hidden when I saw them first. They will try to get me now as well as you; you must let me go with you.”
“Where’s your boss?” asks the old miner, glancing round on all sides for any signs of approaching foes.
“My boss is dead. His name was Dr. Dyesart, Dyesart the explorer. Perhaps you’ve heard of him? But you had better clear before the Kurra (vermin) reach us.”
The old “hatter’s” eyes gleam suspiciously at Billy as he speaks again.
“Yer may be a good nigger. But yer too durned well spoken fur a nigger fur my thinkin’. I knew Dyesart once, and I’ll soon find out if ye’re trying ter fool me. But here, take the pick an’ dish, and go on ahead of me down past the rock there.”
Billy picks up the utensils129 mentioned, and, summoning up all the remainder of his strength, totters along the bed of the stream in the direction indicated by the skinny finger of the dirty old solitary130, who comes shuffling131 along after him.
The part of the ravine the two men are now entering is even wilder than that where they first became196 acquainted with each other. The ground sinks rapidly, as the increasing noisiness of the brawling streamlet indicates, as it leaps from rock to rock on its way, as if rejoicing upon its approach to freedom and the sea. Some way down the gorge, the steamy haze132 of a cataract133 climbs up the cliff sides and blots134 out further view in that direction, and the soft thunderings of falling waters come up the gully at intervals135, as the evening breeze begins to stir the topmost branches of the stately trees.
Great black cliffs tower skywards on the left-hand side, and their grim fronts yawn with numerous caves, the cold husks of what were once enormous air-bubbles in that awful flood of molten rock that in the far-off past poured down these mountain slopes from the Bellenden Ker group of ancient volcanoes.
A few more words have passed between Billy and the ancient “hatter,” which have apparently fairly satisfied the latter as to the goodness of the dark-skinned younger man, when the clamour of shouting voices behind them makes both turn round.
The sight that meets their eyes is by no means a pleasant one. Halfway136 down a part of the cliffs that the two men had passed only a minute or so before, a party of natives has just arrived, all of them naked, and carrying long spears, probably with the intention of cutting off the old digger’s escape down the gully. These sable18 hunters, seeing that their quarry137 has, for the time, escaped them, are shouting to their friends up the gorge to join them, for a fresh effort to surround the object of their hatred138 and suspicion.
“Only just in time, boss!” exclaims Billy, his white eyeballs glowing like coals from their dark setting of 197 swarthy skin, as he watches the rapid movements of the enemy, who are moving along the summit of the cliff towards them. “Those devils got you safe enough, ’spose they’d kept you up there till dark,” pointing to the open part of the gorge.
“But where will you camp? I’m tired. In fact, just ’bout done. I have walked many miles to-day, and have eaten little since three days.”
“This is my camp,” answers the “hatter,” climbing up to one of the aforementioned caves with an agility139 that a far younger man might have envied. “We can keep out of the niggers’ way here.” And the old man coolly began to collect some sticks and leaves that lay about the entrance to the cavern140, in order to start a fire, just as if two or three score of howling savages141, all thirsting for his destruction, within a couple of hundred yards of him, was a matter of every-day occurrence to him, and therefore one of no importance.
Night falls quickly, and outside the cave the darkening forest begins its night chorus of many voices, day-choristers retiring one by one. The mountain teal whistle and “burr” in answer to each other; owls142 and night-jars scream and gurgle in the trees; boon-garies (tree-kangeroos) squeak143 and bark to their mates, as they leave the branches for a night stroll in the scrub; and every crevice144 of the caves gives forth145 its dark legions of flitting bats, some of enormous size, who vociferate shrilly146, with ear-piercing notes, as if thousands of ghostly slate147 pencils were squeaking148 in mid-air on an equal number of spectre slates149.
Inside the cave, which is much larger than its small, porthole-like entrance might lead one to imagine, the 198 two men speedily make themselves as comfortable as they can under the circumstances. There is ample room for the fire that soon lights up the concave roof, of the cavern with a cheerful, ruddy glow, and the smoke rolling out of the doorway150 keeps the place clear of mosquitoes, who are getting pretty lively outside already.
The old “hatter” has used this retreat as his camping ground for the last few days, whilst prospecting this part of the upper waters of the unnamed creek, that can be heard in the darkness flowing past his temporary abode, and a small but sufficient supply of flour, tea, and sugar is to be seen carefully suspended from the stalactite-like projections from the ceiling of the cave. This provender151, with the remains of a couple of pigeons, half a dozen wild turkeys’ eggs and some coohooy nuts give promise of a good “square meal,” at last, to the exhausted152 and half-famished Billy.
“Yer’ve done me a good turn, and though yer are a nigger, yer welcome ter what I’ve got here,” remarks the grey-headed old gold-seeker after a long silence, during which he has disinterred some of the aforementioned viands153 from an anti-wild dog pyramid of stones in one corner of the cave.
“Them blarmed devils outside hain’t seen a white face up here afore I’m thinking, and I guess they’ll not bother us till morning. What do you think, Charlie, or Jackie, or whatever yer name is?”
“My name’s Billy, boss,” replies our dark friend, who is endeavouring to keep himself awake by frantically154 chewing some of the sodden155 tobacco he has discovered in his pocket. “I think these fellows throw199 spear into cave by-an-by, p’r’aps. I think best keep up here,” pointing to a buttress9 of rock that, projecting from the walls of the cavern, provides a substantial shield against any missiles flung in at the cave entrance. “But I know little of these fellow-blacks. I come from the flat country, this time, out by the Einsleigh River way.”
“Ugh,” grunts156 the old man in reply, and telling Billy to “have a ‘doss’ (sleep),” whilst his namesake, the billy, is boiling, the “hatter” proceeds to cut up a pipe-full of very foul-smelling tobacco, looking thoughtfully at the fire meanwhile.
Billy, on his part, is not slow to avail himself of his host’s invitation, and sinking down upon the cold rock floor goes immediately to sleep.
If it should appear, to any of our readers to border upon the incredible, that two men should thus calmly sleep and smoke in the face of danger, that to one inexperienced in the wilder phases of bush-life would appear to demand the utmost vigilance, we can only reply by offering as our defence, firstly, the old saying that “truth is oftentimes stranger than fiction;” and, secondly157, that in this scene, as in each of our main incidents, we have endeavoured to sketch158 from memory a faithful if humble159 representation of an actual occurrence, in preference to indulging what latent talents we may possess in the walks of imaginative scene-painting.
Mais revenons à nos moutons. The old “hatter” sits silently smoking; sometimes glancing upwards160 towards the roof of the cave, where the almost obliterated161 representations of white and red hands—the work of previous aboriginal occupants of the retreat—are 200 still discernible, and at others fixing his ferret-like, bloodshot eyes upon the dark, hardship-lined face of the slumbering162 Billy, as the firelight dances upon its swarthy surface. Nothing appears to disturb the well-earned repose163 of the two men, save a small black snake that comes wriggling164 in to enjoy the warmth of the blazing branches, and meets with a warmer reception than it had anticipated. Then the billy at last splutters out its welcome signal, and the old digger and his companion proceed to indulge that taste that has made Australians the greatest consumers of tea, per head, in the world.
“Them Myalls (wild natives) don’t seem to mean business to-night,” observes Billy’s host, when the silent meal is finished, as he hands our black friend a piece of “nailrod” with which to charge his evening pipe.
“I think they wait, boss. Watch an hour, perhaps two or three, then throw spears.” Billy leans forward as he speaks to heat a piece of tobacco in the embers, in order to soften165 the flinty morsel45, and thereby166 facilitate the operation of cutting it into shreds167.
“I think those beggars,” jerking his black thumb towards the darkness outside the cave entrance, “I think those beggars come by-and-by. Urraurruna (take care); I think they come presently.”
Then both men relapse again into silence, each engaged with his own unpleasant thoughts. The “hatter,” although somewhat favourably168 prepossessed with Billy’s appearance, and glad of a companion for the time being, has that instinctive169 distrust of a “nigger” common to most Australian bushmen. He does not care altogether for the presence of his new201 acquaintance in the cave, and even considers, for a moment, what would be the easiest way of getting rid of him, and making him seek another shelter for the night. But the feeling of gratitude170 to Billy for the service he has rendered that day finally prevails, and the old man determines to hear the “boy” further explain his appearance in the gorge before he acts.
Billy, on his part, although naturally of a sanguine171 turn of mind (as indeed all his race are), and little given to ruminating172 upon the sorrows of to-morrow, is trying to puzzle out a plan of future operations, whose main object is to discover the nephew of his late employer. He notices the half-concealed, suspicious glances of his dirty old host, and is almost tempted173 to offer to seek other lodgings174, when the latter breaks the silence once more.
“Yes, boss, I’m a runaway. But I’ve never worked on station. Always with the doctor. All my time mining and cooking for the old man.”
“Thought yer was,” grunts the old prospector, taking his pipe from between his yellow teeth for an instant; “noticed the way yer carried the pick, and guessed yer knew something about ‘breaking down a face.’”
“Yes, I can do that much, anyhow,” remarks Billy quietly.
“Well, that bein’ so, lad, I ain’t the man as would turn dog on a poor beggar, let alone a miner, be he black or white. I ain’t built that way.” The old man stops speaking to listen to a slight noise outside the cave for a moment, and then continues: “If yer 202 like to camp here longer me till I’ve done this gully, yer can. But just sling176 me a yarn177 about how yer came to this hole in the ranges.” The speaker turns towards the fire, that has burnt itself low, and commences to rake it into renewed brightness. As he does so, his head and right arm leave the shelter of the projecting rock before-mentioned, and come between the luminous178 background of flames and the cave entrance.
Then Billy’s prognostications are fulfilled; for some natives, who have been silently watching for an opportunity to attack the occupants of the cavern, immediately take advantage of the appearance of the old digger, and the fire embers are scattered179 right and left by three spears, which, however, luckily all miss their human target.
The two men leap to their feet, and Billy, snatching up the old “hatter’s” shot-gun, without waiting a moment to ask the permission of its owner, glides180 noiselessly into the darkness, and is lost to the view of his startled host. Presently the latter proceeds to collect the scattered fire-sticks, and adding to them the spears, which he breaks up into pieces, he relights his pipe and waits for the return of his guest. Half an hour passes in silence, and then two loud reports, followed by the rain-like pattering of bouncing shot about the entrance to the cave, and the screams of a number of agonized181 voices, proclaim the successful accomplishment182 of Billy’s plucky183 plan of retaliation184 upon the enemy outside.
“No more trouble to-night,” observes that individual, with a complaisant185 grin, as he presently returns into the cavern, striking the butt8 of the gun203 he carries, as he walks, so as to give a jangling signal of his approach to the man by the fire, who, revolver in hand, might otherwise mistake him for an enemy. “Shot guns better at night than a rifle for this kind of work. The beggars have all cleared. None killed, I think.”
“All the better, lad. All the days I’ve knocked about the bush, I’ve never shot a black yet, though I’ve seen a many bowled over. But they warn’t bad in the old days, as they are now. These beggars here, though, are a bit koolie (fierce); and I don’t blame them. They don’t like to see a white face,”—the old man’s countenance186 was about the tone of colour of a new pig-skin saddle,—“they don’t like to see a white face hereabouts, for the scrub’s the only place in this part of Queensland where the poor beggars ain’t hunted.”
The night passes without further cause for alarm, and next day, and the one after, and for several weeks Billy remains with the old prospector. And the latter, being a sensible man, and finding himself thus brought into contact with a mind in no ways inferior to his own,—albeit housed in corporal surroundings of that dark tint113 that has hitherto placed the unfortunate aborigines beyond the pale of civilized187 law in Australia,—soon makes a companion and partner of Billy, instead of treating him as a mere188 animal, as has hitherto been his custom with those black “boys” he has had occasion to employ.
Moreover, in our dark friend the ancient “hatter” finds his ideal of what a model “mate” should be,—strong, cheerful, plucky, frugal189, and, above all, lucky. And sometimes, as the strange pair smoke their204 evening pipes together in the firelit cave, and the thoughts of the “boss” go flying back into the dim vistas190 of memory, and the cruel swindles perpetrated upon him by this and that white partner of his younger days are re-enacted in his mind’s eye, he cannot help contrasting them unfavourably with his present mate, whose coming departure, although he is “only a nigger,” the old man begins to dread191 with a fear that surprises himself.
“Swelp me,” the poor old solitary soul sometimes ejaculates to himself, as the chilling thought of once more being a lonely “hatter” in these awful wilds goes like an ague-shiver through his spare and bended form, “I suppose I’m getting too old for this kind of work; and if I had had a mate like Billy when I was young I would have been doing the ‘toff’ in Sydney by this time, like that rascal192 Canoona Bill that swindled me on the Crocodile, and not have had to work up to my knees in water, with the pan and shovel193, at my time of life.”
But it is not approaching age or failing bodily strength that is the cause of this change in the old miner’s feelings, as he tries to persuade himself it is, for he cannot find it in his mind to confess he feels any attachment194 or affection for a “nigger.” It is something very different that begins to make him feel disgusted with the idea of a return to his solitary mode of life.
Billy’s new friend, like most of his class of old “hatters,” became disgusted with the world owing to having been unfortunate in his choice of partners, and now that he at last finds one to suit him, his view of life becomes correspondingly fairer than heretofore.
205
“Billy!” one evening said the old man,—who has lately informed our black friend that he is known at Geraldtown and Herberton by his patronymic of Weevil,—“Billy! you ain’t told me yet how you come to clear out from the station where you left the doctor’s letter. What station was it?”
Billy, who is shaping a new pick-handle by the light of the fire, does not reply for a minute or two. When he does look up at the lean figure on the other side of the flames, he betrays a little of that sulky, spoilt-child demeanour generally exhibited by members of his race when recounting any occurrence that has been a source of annoyance195 to them.
“I ran away, boss, because they try and get me to show them the way back to where I planted the doctor. Mister Giles, who owns the station——”
“Who?” Old Weevil leans across the smoke towards Billy. “It warn’t Wilson Giles, were it?” he asks in a low, hoarse196 voice, looking at the black with ill-concealed anxiety.
“Yes, Wilson was his front name. D’you know him?”
The old man withdraws into the semi-obscurity of a shadowy pile of firewood against which he is standing197 at the question, much like a sea-anemone shrinks into its rock cleft198 before an obtrusive199 human finger.
“Yes, I know him,” growls200 the old man in the darkness, exhibiting an amount of hatred in the tone of his voice that makes Billy look in the direction of the wood stack with open eyes and mouth. Weevil, however, does not appear likely to be communicative, so Billy presently continues: “The doctor’s last words almost were, ‘Don’t let any one know where206 you left me save my nephew,’ and so it wasn’t likely I was going to tell the first man as asked me. Was it likely?”
“Burn him! No!” ejaculated Mr. Weevil, in parenthesis201.
“Giles tried me with one thing and then another. Offered me anything I liked, at last, to take him to the grave. Thought I was only like a station black, I suppose!” and the speaker scrapes angrily at the wooden handle between his knees, with a black splinter of obsidian202 (volcanic203 glass) that he is using as a ready-made draw-knife.
“Then Giles has a talk with his niece,—she bosses it at ‘Government House’” (is mistress at the head-station),—“and she says ‘Flog the nigger! flog him!’ And a house-gin who belongs to my Mordu Kapara (class-family), which is Kalaru, hears all this as she sets cloth in the parlour. She come and tells me. Then me run away. Then me turn wild beggar again!”
Billy, who by this time is gesticulating excitedly with his hands, curiously204 relapses, slightly,—as he always does when highly agitated,—into the remarkable205 “station-jargon” to which we have already had occasion to refer.
“Me run and run. An’ Giles, he borrow the big dogs with the red eyes and thin flanks (bloodhounds) from Bulla Bulla station.”
“I know ’em,” interrupts old Weevil; “that fellow on the Mulgrave’s made a good thing out of breeding them for the squatters.”
“Well, boss, I made for the scrub. But I get tired, and the stinging-tree blind me, all but. The 207 dogs come up close. I hear them howl, and the men calling to them. But the big dogs badly trained; they go after young cassowary, and I drown my tracks in a creek, and then ‘possum’ (hide in a tree) all the day.”
After Billy has thus graphically206 given his account of his marvellous escape from the clutches of Mr. Giles, the conversation turns upon the subject of going down the creek to the nearest township, which we will christen Meesonton, after a well-known Australian explorer living in the district.
“We’ll both go as far as the low scrub range, over the Beatrice creek,” observes old Weevil, “and yer can work the old sluice207 there I was telling yer of yesterday if them cursed Chinkies ain’t found it. I won’t be more nor a week or so away. I wouldn’t advise yer,” continues the old man, “ter show yer face near the store yet awhile. That beggar Giles is well in with the perlice, and they’d knab yer like enough.”
So very early next morning Billy and the old miner set out; just about the time when that earliest of early birds, the crow, has begun to think it time to commence his matutinal robberies, and long ere the sun has risen to dry the fern and scrub sufficiently208 for any natives to be out hunting who might notice the two men’s departure. By midday our friends have followed for eight miles that only road possible through the dense jungle,—the rough, white bed of the merry little creek. Here, after a rest and a smoke, the men left the stream and clambered up the dark, clayey banks, when they found themselves on a broken, open piece of country, across which they 208 steered209, Weevil leading, in a north-easterly direction, passing numerous little trickling210 creeks211 trending eastwards212 on their way. Here and there the recent footprints of aborigines were to be seen in the rich, volcanic soil; and once Billy detected the voices of natives, but said nothing to his companion about it. Late in the afternoon, after crossing some level tablelands, thinly covered with scrub, several large gunyahs (native dwellings) were discovered, and, as the evening began to look stormy, the two men took possession of one of the largest of them. These huts were similar to beehives in shape, like those of the village on the Paree river that we described in Chapter VIII., and were substantially thatched with fern fronds213 and that coarse kind of grass that grows in the open spaces in the scrub called “pockets” by northern bushmen. These “pockets” are treeless spots circular in form, and generally half an acre in extent, and are used by the aborigines for boorers (native tournaments) and dances. One of these native Champs de Mars, on the upper Barron river, covers quite fifteen acres, and is also a perfect circle.
It was still dark, the next morning, when Billy and old Weevil started once more on their journey; and the latter, in consequence, fell into a two-foot hole near the gunyah in which they had slept, and found himself lying on a mass of loose, rattling214 objects, which his sense of touch quickly told him were human skulls,—the remains, doubtless, of by-gone picnics of the good people whose village the two men had appropriated during the previous night.
Pushing onwards, our friends spent the first half of the day in climbing rocky peaks, and crossing the 209 dark, rugged sources of creeks, wrapped in their primeval gloom of frizzled, intricate masses of thorny215 vines and dangerous stinging-trees; and, after making only three miles in six hours, were forced to rest awhile in a ragged gully, walled in by grey slate cliffs, and strewn with glistening blocks of white and “hungry” quartz216.
The stinging-tree, which we have twice mentioned in this chapter, is worthy217 of a few remarks, for it is perhaps the most terrible of all vegetable growths, and is found only in the scrub-country through which Billy and his friend are now forcing their way.
This horrible guardian218 of the penetralia of the Queensland jungle stands from five to fifteen feet in height, and has a general appearance somewhat similar to that of a small mulberry-tree; but the heart-shaped leaves of the plant before us differ from those of the European fruit just mentioned in that they are larger, and because they look as if manufactured from some light-green, velvety219 material, such as plush. Their peculiarly soft and inviting220 aspect is caused by an almost invisible coating of microscopic221 cilia, and it is to these that the dangerous characteristics of the plant are due. The unhappy wanderer in these wilds, who allows any part of his body to come in contact with those beautiful, inviting tongues of green, soon finds them veritable tongues of fire, and it will be weeks, perhaps months, ere the scorching222 agony occasioned by their sting is entirely223 eradicated224. Nor are numerous instances wanting of the deaths of men and animals following the act of contact with this terrible lusus natur?.
Billy and Weevil make more progress during the 210 afternoon, the country being more level and the scrub less thick; but, although both men are inured225 to fatigue and discomfort226 of all sorts, they are forced to camp early, after doing another six miles. Ragged, weary, and barefooted,—for even the most imaginative mind could hardly recognize the flabby pieces of water-logged leather that still adhere to the men’s feet as boots,—the two travellers fling themselves down on the dry, sandy bed of a mountain torrent, and scrape the clusters of swollen227 leeches from their ankles, which are covered with clotted228 blood, and pick the bush-ticks and scrub-itch insects from their flesh with the point of the long scrub-knife the old digger carries.
As our friends are engaged in this painful but necessary toilet of a voyager through the Queensland scrub, a wild turkey comes blundering by in all the glories of her glossy229, blue-black feathers and brilliant red and yellow head,—not the Otis Australasianus which is known to southern settlers as a “wild turkey” and is in reality a bustard, but a true scrub turkey (Telegallus).
Billy is not long in tracking the footprints of the bird back to its enormous mound230 nest. For this ingenious feathered biped, like her smaller contemporary the scrub hen (Megapodius tumulus), saves herself from the monotonous231 duty of sitting on her eggs by depositing them in a capital natural incubator, formed of rotting and heated leaves, which she collects into a pile, and arranges so as to do the hatching part of the business for her.
A meal of turkey eggs and roasted “cozzon” berries, whose red clusters are to be seen hanging211 from parasitic232 vines upon the great stems around in plentiful233 profusion234, and then the men retire to rest upon their wet blankets, beneath a great ledge235 of granite236, upon whose surface some aboriginal artist has delineated in different colours the admirable representations of immense frogs in various attitudes.
But trouble commences with the morrow; and when old Weevil raises his stiff and patchwork237 form from the hard couch upon which he has passed the night, he finds Billy, gun in hand, watching something on the dim summit of the cliffs opposite their camp.
“Sh!” observes that individual, without turning his head; “plenty black fellow all about here. D’you see that beggar’s head?”
“Bust ’em!” yawns the old digger, stretching; “they won’t interfere238 with us. Let’s have tucker, and ‘break camp’ as soon as we can.”
The frugal repast is soon silently completed, but half a mile down the creek, where the aborigines have constructed an ingenious weir239, armed with conical baskets in which to catch what fish may pass that way, Billy and his companion find a small army of copper-coloured natives collected on the opposite side of the stream, who wave and beckon240 to the two travellers to return whence they came. Their gesticulations and fierce yells not having the desired effect, a series of signals are given by them to other natives in ambush241 on the jungle-fringed precipices243 that rise with lycopodium-tasselled ledges244 above the heads of the intruders.
“We’re in fur it now!” grunts the older man, who has done some prospecting in New Guinea, amongst 212 other places. “Them yellow niggers is Kalkadoones, and as like Papuans as may be; and they’re devils to fight. Keep close under the cliff.”
Billy guesses the mode of attack which the old digger’s experience teaches him to anticipate, and which prompts his advice to his mate to seek the shelter of the rocks as much as possible. The wiseness of this precaution is soon seen. For when our friends are fairly started on their way past the rapids in the gloomy gorge, the natives commence hurling245 down great boulders of conglomerate246. These would speedily have crushed the adventurous247 twain below, had they not been sheltered by the overhanging base of the precipice242, which was worn concave by the river’s action during floods. As it was many of the rocks bounded horribly close to the men’s heads.
“I can’t use my gun here, that’s sartin,” presently observes the old man, as he puts fresh caps upon his old companion of many years. “We’ll have to clear them beggars off before we go any further.” Then springing from his shelter with his rags and tangled248 grey locks flying in the air, Weevil makes for a rocky reef that juts249 out into the river, which is deep at this place, with the idea of peppering the enemy from this point of vantage.
But the Fates are against him, and sable Sister Atropos snaps her weird250 scissors on poor old Weevil’s thread of existence. A shower of stones descends251 upon the wild-looking figure as it hurries towards the river, and the old miner falls an uncouth252, bleeding object upon the strand253, groaning254 heavily.
Happily, the gun has escaped destruction, and by its aid Billy, who rushes forward to defend his friend,213 performs prodigies255 of valour that on a field of civilized warfare would certainly have gained him some such coveted256 distinction as the Victoria Cross.
A hurried shot at the yelling figures that are clinging to the trees overhanging the edge of the cliff in an appalling257 manner, and one of them comes spinning down with a sickening thud upon the rocks below. A second wire cartridge258 sent in the same direction is equally successful, and another of the enemy tumbles forward on to a jagged rock that projects from the precipice; while his friends, horrified259 at the sudden illness that has thus overtaken two of their number, stop short in the middle of a diabolical260 yell of triumph, and clearing off are seen no more.
Billy bathes the crushed features of the old man, whose stentorious breathing shows how badly he is injured, and the cold water revives him somewhat.
“I’m busted261 in my inside, lad,” he murmurs262 raspily. “Gimme me pipe. I can’t see to——How blind I’m gettin’!”
After a pause, during which he has tried to smoke in vain, he asks to be raised in a sitting posture263.
“Billy,” he says, when this is effected, “you’re a good boy. I’m goin’ fast. Listen ter me afore I chuck it up altogether. Me legs is dead already.”
The dying man has a crime upon his soul, and dreads264 to take the secret of it with him into the unknown which he is about to enter, so he fights gamely against the dissolution that is fast approaching till he has told it to Billy.
“Remember what I tell ye, lad. ’Twas I as stole Wilson Giles’s only son. Giles had ruined my life, and (gasp) I tuck revenge. I marked the boy blue214 star an’ W. G. on near shoulder. Then I cleared out an’ tuck him (gasp) ter Sydney.”
Silence for a time follows, after which the expiring flame of life flickers265 up, and the last words Weevil speaks on earth are gasped266 out.
“God furgive me! Intended to return boy after a bit. Lost him in Sydney. God furgive me! (gasp). Goo’-bye, ole man. Let’s have ’nother——(gasp). Oh God! Jane! Jane! come back ter me!”
The old man stretches out his wounded hands as he wails267 the last sentence in tone of wild entreaty268, and Billy feels, by the suddenly-increased weight in his arms, that he is holding a corpse269.
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收听单词发音
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1
inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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reposing
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| v.将（手臂等）靠在某人（某物）上( repose的现在分词 ) | |
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dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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5
mantle
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| n.斗篷，覆罩之物，罩子；v.罩住，覆盖，脸红 | |
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grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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buttressed
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| v.用扶壁支撑，加固( buttress的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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butt
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| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
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buttress
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| n.支撑物；v.支持 | |
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orchids
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| n.兰花( orchid的名词复数 ) | |
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perennial
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| adj.终年的；长久的 | |
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brawling
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| n.争吵，喧嚷 | |
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brooklet
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| n. 细流, 小河 | |
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14
hoary
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| adj.古老的；鬓发斑白的 | |
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monarch
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| n.帝王，君主，最高统治者 | |
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succumbed
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| 不再抵抗（诱惑、疾病、攻击等）( succumb的过去式和过去分词 )； 屈从； 被压垮； 死 | |
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foes
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| 敌人，仇敌( foe的名词复数 ) | |
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18
sable
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| n.黑貂；adj.黑色的 | |
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aboriginals
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| （某国的）公民( aboriginal的名词复数 )； 土著人特征； 土生动物（或植物） | |
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aboriginal
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| adj.（指动植物）土生的，原产地的，土著的 | |
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sanctuary
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| n.圣所，圣堂，寺庙；禁猎区，保护区 | |
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canopy
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| n.天篷，遮篷 | |
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throb
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| v.震颤，颤动；(急速强烈地)跳动，搏动 | |
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murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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ascertain
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| vt.发现，确定，查明，弄清 | |
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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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thickets
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| n.灌木丛( thicket的名词复数 )；丛状物 | |
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emaciated
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| adj.衰弱的，消瘦的 | |
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32
fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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totters
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| v.走得或动得不稳( totter的第三人称单数 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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plight
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| n.困境，境况，誓约，艰难；vt.宣誓，保证，约定 | |
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axe
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| n.斧子；v.用斧头砍，削减 | |
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squatter
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| n.擅自占地者 | |
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considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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refreshing
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| adj.使精神振作的，使人清爽的，使人喜欢的 | |
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fatigued
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| adj. 疲乏的 | |
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sustenance
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| n.食物，粮食；生活资料；生计 | |
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42
coastal
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| adj.海岸的，沿海的，沿岸的 | |
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43
fauna
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| n.(一个地区或时代的)所有动物，动物区系 | |
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flora
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| n.(某一地区的)植物群 | |
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morsel
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| n.一口，一点点 | |
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46
procure
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| vt.获得，取得，促成；vi.拉皮条 | |
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47
luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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jumbled
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| adj.混乱的；杂乱的 | |
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49
myriads
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| n.无数，极大数量( myriad的名词复数 ) | |
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stationary
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| adj.固定的，静止不动的 | |
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51
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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52
creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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54
leeches
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| n.水蛭( leech的名词复数 )；蚂蟥；榨取他人脂膏者；医生 | |
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55
warfare
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| n.战争(状态)；斗争；冲突 | |
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56
crater
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| n.火山口，弹坑 | |
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57
abound
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| vi.大量存在；(in，with)充满，富于 | |
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perpendicularly
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| adv. 垂直地, 笔直地, 纵向地 | |
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59
indigo
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| n.靛青，靛蓝 | |
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60
lava
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| n.熔岩，火山岩 | |
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61
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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projections
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| 预测( projection的名词复数 )； 投影； 投掷； 突起物 | |
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avalanches
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| n.雪崩( avalanche的名词复数 ) | |
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64
tarn
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| n.山中的小湖或小潭 | |
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intermittently
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| adv.间歇地；断断续续 | |
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abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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rim
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| n.(圆物的)边，轮缘；边界 | |
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68
frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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69
scotch
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| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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70
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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71
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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72
wriggles
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| n.蠕动，扭动( wriggle的名词复数 )v.扭动，蠕动，蜿蜒行进( wriggle的第三人称单数 )；（使身体某一部位）扭动；耍滑不做，逃避（应做的事等） | |
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73
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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74
proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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75
prospector
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| n.探矿者 | |
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76
wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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77
purport
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| n.意义，要旨，大要；v.意味著，做为...要旨，要领是... | |
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78
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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79
prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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80
plunging
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| adj.跳进的，突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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81
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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82
situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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83
aquatic
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| adj.水生的，水栖的 | |
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84
feats
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| 功绩，伟业，技艺( feat的名词复数 ) | |
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85
proclivity
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| n.倾向，癖性 | |
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86
denizens
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| n.居民，住户( denizen的名词复数 ) | |
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87
jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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88
invaders
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| 入侵者，侵略者，侵入物( invader的名词复数 ) | |
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89
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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90
artifice
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| n.妙计，高明的手段；狡诈，诡计 | |
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91
relentless
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| adj.残酷的，不留情的，无怜悯心的 | |
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92
ripple
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| n.涟波，涟漪，波纹，粗钢梳；vt.使...起涟漪，使起波纹； vi.呈波浪状，起伏前进 | |
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93
placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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94
glistening
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| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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95
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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96
overflow
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| v.(使)外溢，(使)溢出；溢出，流出，漫出 | |
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97
gorge
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| n.咽喉，胃，暴食，山峡；v.塞饱，狼吞虎咽地吃 | |
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98
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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99
gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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100
limestone
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| n.石灰石 | |
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101
hues
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| 色彩( hue的名词复数 )； 色调； 信仰； 观点 | |
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102
jut
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| v.突出；n.突出，突出物 | |
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103
recurring
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| adj.往复的，再次发生的 | |
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104
boulders
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| n.卵石( boulder的名词复数 )；巨砾；（受水或天气侵蚀而成的）巨石；漂砾 | |
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105
boulder
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| n.巨砾；卵石，圆石 | |
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106
interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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107
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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108
glades
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| n.林中空地( glade的名词复数 ) | |
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109
misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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110
vista
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| n.远景，深景，展望，回想 | |
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111
furrowed
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| v.犁田，开沟( furrow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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112
lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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113
tint
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| n.淡色，浅色；染发剂；vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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114
tints
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| 色彩( tint的名词复数 )； 带白的颜色； （淡色）染发剂； 痕迹 | |
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115
pervades
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的第三人称单数 ) | |
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116
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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117
prospecting
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| n.探矿 | |
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118
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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119
specks
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| n.眼镜；斑点，微粒，污点( speck的名词复数 ) | |
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120
recluses
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| n.隐居者，遁世者，隐士( recluse的名词复数 ) | |
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121
specimens
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| n.样品( specimen的名词复数 )；范例；（化验的）抽样；某种类型的人 | |
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122
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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123
sartorial
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| adj.裁缝的 | |
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124
implicitly
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| adv. 含蓄地, 暗中地, 毫不保留地 | |
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125
truce
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| n.休战，(争执，烦恼等的)缓和；v.以停战结束 | |
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126
pouch
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|
| n.小袋，小包，囊状袋；vt.装...入袋中，用袋运输；vi.用袋送信件 | |
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127
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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128
parley
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| n.谈判 | |
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129
utensils
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| 器具，用具，器皿( utensil的名词复数 )； 器物 | |
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130
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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131
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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132
haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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133
cataract
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| n.大瀑布，奔流，洪水，白内障 | |
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134
blots
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| 污渍( blot的名词复数 )； 墨水渍； 错事； 污点 | |
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135
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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136
halfway
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| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
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137
quarry
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| n.采石场；v.采石；费力地找 | |
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138
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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139
agility
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| n.敏捷，活泼 | |
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140
cavern
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| n.洞穴，大山洞 | |
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141
savages
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| 未开化的人，野蛮人( savage的名词复数 ) | |
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142
owls
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| n.猫头鹰( owl的名词复数 ) | |
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143
squeak
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| n.吱吱声，逃脱；v.（发出）吱吱叫，侥幸通过；（俚）告密 | |
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144
crevice
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| n.(岩石、墙等)裂缝；缺口 | |
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145
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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146
shrilly
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| 尖声的； 光亮的，耀眼的 | |
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147
slate
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| n.板岩，石板，石片，石板色，候选人名单；adj.暗蓝灰色的，含板岩的；vt.用石板覆盖，痛打，提名，预订 | |
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148
squeaking
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| v.短促地尖叫( squeak的现在分词 )；吱吱叫；告密；充当告密者 | |
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149
slates
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| （旧时学生用以写字的）石板( slate的名词复数 )； 板岩； 石板瓦； 石板色 | |
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150
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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151
provender
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| n.刍草；秣料 | |
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152
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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153
viands
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| n.食品，食物 | |
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154
frantically
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| ad.发狂地, 发疯地 | |
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155
sodden
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| adj.浑身湿透的；v.使浸透；使呆头呆脑 | |
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156
grunts
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的第三人称单数 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说； 石鲈 | |
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157
secondly
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| adv.第二，其次 | |
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158
sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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159
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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160
upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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161
obliterated
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| v.除去( obliterate的过去式和过去分词 )；涂去；擦掉；彻底破坏或毁灭 | |
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162
slumbering
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| 微睡，睡眠（slumber的现在分词形式） | |
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163
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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164
wriggling
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| v.扭动，蠕动，蜿蜒行进( wriggle的现在分词 )；（使身体某一部位）扭动；耍滑不做，逃避（应做的事等）；蠕蠕 | |
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165
soften
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| v.(使)变柔软；(使)变柔和 | |
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166
thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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167
shreds
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| v.撕碎，切碎( shred的第三人称单数 )；用撕毁机撕毁（文件） | |
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168
favourably
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| adv. 善意地，赞成地 =favorably | |
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169
instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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170
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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171
sanguine
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| adj.充满希望的，乐观的，血红色的 | |
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172
ruminating
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| v.沉思( ruminate的现在分词 )；反复考虑；反刍；倒嚼 | |
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173
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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174
lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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175
runaway
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| n.逃走的人，逃亡，亡命者；adj.逃亡的，逃走的 | |
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176
sling
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| vt.扔；悬挂；n.挂带；吊索，吊兜；弹弓 | |
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177
yarn
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| n.纱，纱线，纺线；奇闻漫谈，旅行轶事 | |
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178
luminous
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| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
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179
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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180
glides
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| n.滑行( glide的名词复数 )；滑音；音渡；过渡音v.滑动( glide的第三人称单数 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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181
agonized
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| v.使（极度）痛苦，折磨( agonize的过去式和过去分词 )；苦斗；苦苦思索；感到极度痛苦 | |
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182
accomplishment
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| n.完成，成就，（pl.）造诣，技能 | |
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183
plucky
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| adj.勇敢的 | |
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184
retaliation
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| n.报复，反击 | |
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185
complaisant
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| adj.顺从的，讨好的 | |
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186
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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187
civilized
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| a.有教养的，文雅的 | |
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188
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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189
frugal
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| adj.节俭的，节约的，少量的，微量的 | |
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190
vistas
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| 长条形景色( vista的名词复数 )； 回顾； 展望； （未来可能发生的）一系列情景 | |
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191
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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192
rascal
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| n.流氓；不诚实的人 | |
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193
shovel
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| n.铁锨，铲子，一铲之量；v.铲，铲出 | |
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194
attachment
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| n.附属物，附件；依恋；依附 | |
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195
annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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196
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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197
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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198
cleft
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| n.裂缝；adj.裂开的 | |
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199
obtrusive
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| adj.显眼的；冒失的 | |
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200
growls
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的第三人称单数 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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201
parenthesis
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| n.圆括号，插入语，插曲，间歇，停歇 | |
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202
obsidian
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| n.黑曜石 | |
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203
volcanic
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| adj.火山的；象火山的；由火山引起的 | |
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204
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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205
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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206
graphically
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| adv.通过图表；生动地，轮廓分明地 | |
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207
sluice
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| n.水闸 | |
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208
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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209
steered
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| v.驾驶( steer的过去式和过去分词 )；操纵；控制；引导 | |
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210
trickling
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| n.油画底色含油太多而成泡沫状突起v.滴( trickle的现在分词 )；淌；使)慢慢走；缓慢移动 | |
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211
creeks
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| n.小湾( creek的名词复数 )；小港；小河；小溪 | |
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eastwards
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| adj.向东方（的），朝东（的）；n.向东的方向 | |
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fronds
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| n.蕨类或棕榈类植物的叶子( frond的名词复数 ) | |
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214
rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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215
thorny
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| adj.多刺的，棘手的 | |
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216
quartz
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| n.石英 | |
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217
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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218
guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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219
velvety
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| adj. 像天鹅绒的, 轻软光滑的, 柔软的 | |
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inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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221
microscopic
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| adj.微小的，细微的，极小的，显微的 | |
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222
scorching
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| adj. 灼热的 | |
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223
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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224
eradicated
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| 画着根的 | |
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inured
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| adj.坚强的，习惯的 | |
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discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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228
clotted
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| adj.凝结的v.凝固( clot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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229
glossy
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| adj.平滑的；有光泽的 | |
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230
mound
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| n.土墩，堤，小山；v.筑堤，用土堆防卫 | |
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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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232
parasitic
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| adj.寄生的 | |
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233
plentiful
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| adj.富裕的，丰富的 | |
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234
profusion
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| n.挥霍；丰富 | |
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235
ledge
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| n.壁架，架状突出物；岩架，岩礁 | |
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granite
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| adj.花岗岩，花岗石 | |
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237
patchwork
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| n.混杂物；拼缝物 | |
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238
interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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239
weir
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| n.堰堤，拦河坝 | |
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240
beckon
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| v.(以点头或打手势)向...示意，召唤 | |
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241
ambush
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| n.埋伏(地点)；伏兵；v.埋伏；伏击 | |
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242
precipice
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| n.悬崖，危急的处境 | |
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243
precipices
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| n.悬崖，峭壁( precipice的名词复数 ) | |
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244
ledges
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| n.（墙壁，悬崖等）突出的狭长部分( ledge的名词复数 )；（平窄的）壁架；横档；（尤指）窗台 | |
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245
hurling
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| n.爱尔兰式曲棍球v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的现在分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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246
conglomerate
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| n.综合商社，多元化集团公司 | |
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247
adventurous
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| adj.爱冒险的；惊心动魄的，惊险的，刺激的 | |
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248
tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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249
juts
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| v.（使）突出( jut的第三人称单数 )；伸出；（从…）突出；高出 | |
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250
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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251
descends
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| v.下来( descend的第三人称单数 )；下去；下降；下斜 | |
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252
uncouth
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| adj.无教养的，粗鲁的 | |
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253
strand
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| vt.使（船）搁浅，使（某人）困于（某地） | |
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254
groaning
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| adj. 呜咽的, 呻吟的 动词groan的现在分词形式 | |
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255
prodigies
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| n.奇才，天才（尤指神童）( prodigy的名词复数 ) | |
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256
coveted
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| adj.令人垂涎的；垂涎的，梦寐以求的v.贪求，觊觎(covet的过去分词)；垂涎；贪图 | |
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257
appalling
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| adj.骇人听闻的，令人震惊的，可怕的 | |
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258
cartridge
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| n.弹壳，弹药筒；(装磁带等的)盒子 | |
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259
horrified
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| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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260
diabolical
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| adj.恶魔似的，凶暴的 | |
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261
busted
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| adj. 破产了的，失败了的，被降级的，被逮捕的，被抓到的 动词bust的过去式和过去分词 | |
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262
murmurs
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| n.低沉、连续而不清的声音( murmur的名词复数 )；低语声；怨言；嘀咕 | |
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263
posture
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| n.姿势，姿态，心态，态度；v.作出某种姿势 | |
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264
dreads
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| n.恐惧，畏惧( dread的名词复数 )；令人恐惧的事物v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的第三人称单数 ) | |
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265
flickers
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| 电影制片业； （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的名词复数 ) | |
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266
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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267
wails
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| 痛哭，哭声( wail的名词复数 ) | |
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268
entreaty
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| n.恳求，哀求 | |
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269
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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