The Penhale brothers harvested a record crop that season—but so did everybody else. The market was glutted5 and prices negligible. Except that their own staple6 needs were provided for, they were no better off than previously7. Eli did not greatly care—he had done what he had set out to do, bring a good crop home—but Ortho fell into a state of profound gloom; it was money that he wanted.
It seemed to make little difference in agriculture whether you harvested a bumper8 yield or none at all. He had no capital to start in the second-hand9 horse trade again—even did he wish to—and he had no knowledge of any other business. He was on the desperate point of enlisting10 in the army on the chance of being sent abroad and gathering11 in a little loot, when opportunity rapped loudly on his door.
He had run down towards Tol-Pedn-Penwith with Jacky’s George one afternoon in late September. It was a fine afternoon, with a smooth sea, and all the coves13 between Merther Point and Carn Scathe14 were full of whitebait. They crowded close inshore in dense15 shoals, hiding from the mackerel. When the mackerel charged them they stampeded in panic, frittering the surface like wind-flaws. The gig’s crew attacked the attackers and did so well that they did not notice the passage of time.
Jacky’s George came to his senses as the sun slipped under, and clapped on all sail for home. He appeared in a hurry. By the time they were abreast16 of the Camper, the wind, which had been backing all the afternoon, was a dead-muzzler. Jacky’s George did what he was seldom known to do; he blasphemed, ported his helm and ran on a long leg out to sea. By ten o’clock they had leveled Boscawen Point, but the wind fell away altogether and they were becalmed three miles out in the Channel. Jacky’s George blasphemed again and ordered oars18 out. The gig was heavy and the tide against them. It took Ortho and three young Baragwanaths an hour and a half to open Monks19 Cove12.
Ortho could not see the reason of it, of wrenching20 one’s arms out, when in an hour or two the tide would carry them in. However, he knew better than to question Jacky’s George’s orders. Even when Monks Cove was reached the little man did not go in, but pointed21 across for Black Carn. As they paddled under the lee of the cape22 there came a peculiar23 whistle from the gloom ahead, to which the bow-oar17 responded, and Ortho made out a boat riding to a kedge. They pulled alongside and made fast. It was the second Baragwanath gig, with the eldest24 son, Anson, and the remainder of the brothers aboard.
“Who’s that you got wid ’e?” came the hushed voice of Anson.
“Ortho Penhale,” his father replied. “Hadn’t time to put en ashore25—becalmed way out. Has a showed up yet?”
“Naw, a’s late.”
“Ess. Wind’s felled away. All quiet in Cove?”
“Ess, sure. Every road’s watched and Ma’s got a furze stacked up to touch off if she gets warning.”
“All right . . . well, keep your eye peeled for his signal.”
Light suddenly broke on Ortho. There was a run on and he was in it—thrilling! He leaned towards Jacky’s George and whispered, “Who’s coming? Roscoff boat?”
Jacky’s George uttered two words which sent an electric quiver through him:
“King Nick.”
King Nick. Captain Nicholas Buzza, prince of Free Traders, the man who had made more runs than all the rest put together, who owned a fleet of armed smugglers and cheated the Revenue of thousands a year. Who had fooled the riding officers times out of number and beaten off the Militia27. Who had put to sea after a big privateer sent to suppress him, fought a running fight from Godrevy to Trevose and sent her diving down the deep sea. The mercurial28, dare-devil King Nick who was said to be unable to sleep comfortably unless there was a price on his head; who had raided Penzance by the light of the moon and recaptured a lost cargo29; who had been surprised by the gaugers off Cawsand, chopped to bits with cutlasses, left for dead—and then swam ashore; who was reported to walk through Peter Port with all the Guernsey merchants bowing low before him, was called “Duc de Roscoff” in Brittany, and commanded more deference30 in Schiedam than its own Burgomaster. King Nick, the romantic idol31 of every West Country boy, coming to Monks Cove that very night, even then moving towards them through the dark. Ortho felt as if he were about to enter the presence of Almighty32 God.
“Is it a big run?” he whispered to Jacky’s George, trembling with excitement.
“Naw, main run was at Porthleven last night. This is but the leavings. A few trifles for the Kiddlywink to oblige me.”
“Is King Nick a friend of yours, then?” said Ortho, wide-eyed.
“Lord save you, yes! We was privateering together years ago.”
Ortho regarded the fisherman with added veneration34.
“He’ll come, tide or no tide,” snapped his father. “Hold tongue, will ’e? Dost want whole world to hear?”
There was a faint mist clouding the sea, but overhead rode a splendor37 of stars, an illimitable glitter of silver dust. Nothing was to be heard but the occasional scrape of sea-boots as one cramped38 boy or other shifted position, the wail39 of a disturbed sea bird from the looming40 rookeries above them, the everlasting41 beat of surf on the Twelve Apostles a mile away to the southwest and the splash and sigh of some tired ninth wave heaving itself over the ledges42 below Black Carn.
An hour went by. Ashore a cock crowed, and a fisherman’s donkey, tethered high up the cliff-side, roared asthmatically in reply. The boats swung round as the tide slackened and made. The night freshened. Ripples43 lapped the bows. The land wind was blowing. Ortho lay face-down on the stroke thwart44 and yawned. Adventure—if adventure there was to be—was a long time coming. He was getting cold. The rhythmic45 lift and droop46 of the gig, the lisp and chuckle47 of the water voices had a hypnotic effect on him. He pillowed his cheek on his forearms and drowsed, dreamt he was swaying in gloomy space, disembodied, unsubstantial, a wraith48 dipping and soaring over a bottomless void. Clouds rolled by him big as continents. He saw the sun and moon below him no bigger than pins’ heads and world upon glittering world strewn across the dark like grains of sand. He could not have long lain thus, could not have fallen fully49 asleep, for Anson’s first low call set him wide awake.
“Sail ho!”
Both boats’ crews sat up as one man.
“Where away?”
“Sou’-east.”
Ortho’s eyes bored into the hollow murk seawards, but could distinguish nothing for the moment. Then, as he stared, it seemed to him that the dark smudge that was the corner of the Carn was expanding westwards. It stretched and stretched until, finally, a piece detached itself altogether and he knew it was a big cutter creeping close inshore under full sail. Never a wink33 of light did the stranger show.
“Hast lantern ready?” hissed Jacky’s George.
“Aye,” from Anson.
“Aye, aye!”
The blur51 that was the cutter crept on, silent as a shadow, almost indistinguishable against the further dark, a black moth52 on black velvet53. All eyes watched her. Suddenly a green light glowed amidships, stabbing the inky waters with an emerald dagger54, glowed steadily55, blinked out, glowed again and vanished. Ortho felt his heart bound into his throat.
“Now,” snapped Jacky’s George. “Show lantern . . . four times, remember.”
Anson stood up and did as he was bid.
The green lantern replied, the cutter rounded up in the wind and drifted towards them, tide-borne.
“Out oars and pull,” said Jacky’s George.
They swept within forty yards of the cutter.
“?’Vast pulling,” came a voice from her bows.
“Back water, all!” Jacky’s George commanded.
“Is that George Baragwanath?” came the voice again, a high-pitched, kindly56 voice, marvelously clear.
“Aye, aye!”
“What’s the word then, my dear?”
“Hosannah!”
“What’s that there boat astern of ’e?”
“Mine—my second boat.”
“Well, tell him to keep off a cable’s length till I’ve seen to ’e,” the amiable57 voice continued. “If he closes ’fore I tell en I’ll blow him outer the water as God is my salvation58. No offense59 meant, but we can’t take chances, you understand. Come ahead, you.”
“One at a time,” said the voice somewhere in the darkness above them, mild as a ringdove. “George, my dear soul, step up alone, will ’e, please?”
Jacky’s George went over the rail and out of sight.
Ortho heard the voice greet him affectionately and then attend to the helmsman.
“Back fore-sail, Zebedee; she’ll jam ’tween wind and tide. No call to anchor. We’ll have this little deck load off in ten minutes, please God, amen! There it is all before you, George—low Hollands proof, brandy, sugar, and a snatch of snuff. Tally60 it, will you, please. We’re late, I’m afraid. I was addressing a few earnest seekers after grace at Rosudgeon this afternoon and the word of the Lord came upon me and I spake overlong, I fear, trembling and sweating in my unworthiness—and then the wind fell very slight. I had to sweep her along till, by God’s infinite mercy, I picked up this shore draught61. Whistle up your second boat and we’ll load ’em both sides to once. You haven’t been washed in the blood of the Lamb as yet, have you, George? Ah, that it might be vouchsafed62 this unworthy vessel63 to purge64 you with hyssop! I must have a quiet talk with you. Steady with them tubs, Harry65; you’ll drop ’em through the gig.”
For the next quarter of an hour Ortho was busy stowing casks lowered by the cutter’s crew, but all the time the sweet voice went on. It seemed to be trying to persuade Jacky’s George into something he would not do. He could hear the pair tramping the deck above him side by side—one, two, three, four and roundabout, one, two, three, four and roundabout—the voice purling like a melodious66 brook67; Jacky’s George’s gruff negatives, and the brook purling on again unruffled. Nobody else on the cutter uttered a sound; it might have been manned by a company of mutes.
Anson called from the port side that he was loaded. Jacky’s George broke off his conversation and crossed over.
“Pull in then. Soon’s you’ve got ’em stowed show a spark and I’ll follow.”
Anson’s gig disappeared shorewards, wallowing deep. Jacky’s George gripped a stay with his hook and swung over the rail into his own boat.
“I can’t do it, cap’n,” he called. “Good night and thank ’e kindly all the same. Cast off!”
They were away. It burst upon Ortho that he had not seen his hero—that he never would. In a minute the tall cutter would be fading away seawards as mysteriously as she had come and the great King Nick would be never anything to him but a voice. He could have cried out with disappointment.
“Push off,” said Jacky’s George.
Ortho leant on his oar and pushed and, as he did so, somebody sprang from the cutter’s rail, landed on the piled casks behind him as lightly as a cat, steadied himself with a hand on his shoulder and dropped into the stern-sheets beside the fisherman.
“Coming ashore wid ’e, George,” said the voice, “and by God’s grace I’ll persuade ’e yet.”
King Nick was in the boat!
“Mind what I bade ’e, Zebedee,” he hailed the cutter. “Take she round to once and I’ll be off to-morrow night by God’s providence68 and loving kindness.” The cutter swung slowly on her heel, drifted beam on to the lapping tide, felt her helm and was gone, blotted69 out, swallowed up, might never have been.
But King Nick was in the boat! Ortho could not see him—he was merely a smudged silhouette—but he was in the stern-sheets not a yard distant. Their calves70 were actually rubbing! Could such things be?
They paddled in and hung a couple of cables’ length off shore waiting Anson’s signal. The smuggler began his argument again, and this time Ortho heard all; he couldn’t help it.
“Think of the money in it, George. You’ve got a growing family. Think o’ your duty to them.”
“I reckon they won’t starve—why won’t the bay men do ’e?”
“?’Cos there’s a new collector coming to Penzance and a regiment71 o’ dragoons, and you know what they rogues72 are—‘their mouth is full of cursing and bitterness, their feet are swift to shed blood’—nothing like they poor lambs the militia. Won’t be able to move a pack horse between Mousehole and Marazion wid they lawless scum about—God ha’ mercy on ’em and pardon ’em!”
“Who told ’e new collector and sojers is coming?”
“The old collector, Mr. Hawkesby. Took him a pin o’ crafty73 old Jamaica with my respects only last Tuesday and he showed me the letter signed and sealed. An honorable Christian74 gentleman is Mr. Hawkesby; many a holy discourse75 have I had with him. He wouldn’t deceive me. No, George, ‘Strangers are risen up against me and tyrants76.’ . . . ‘Lo, the ungodly bend their bow.’?”
“Umph! Well, why don’t ’e run it straight on north coast, handy to market?”
King Nick’s voice took on a slightly pained tone. “George, George, my dear life, ponder, will ’e? Consider where between St. Ives and Sennen can I run a cargo. And how many days a week in winter can I land at Sennen—eh? Not one. Not one in a month hardly. ‘He gathereth the waters of the sea together, as it was upon a heap.’ Psalm77 thirty-three. And it’s in winter that the notable hard drinking’s done, as thou well knowest. What else is the poor dear souls to do in the long bitter evenings? Think o’ they poor St. Just tinners down in the damp and dark all day. ’Tis the duty of any man professing78 Christian love and charity to assist they poor souls to get a drop of warm liquor cheap. What saith the Book? ‘Blessed is he that considereth the poor and needy79.’ Think on that, George.” There were tears in the melodious brook.
Jacky’s George grunted80. “Dunno as I’ve got any turrible love for tinners. The last pair o’ they mucky toads81 as comed here pretty nigh clawed my house down. Why not Porgwarra or Penberth?”
“?’Cos there aren’t a man there I’d trust, George. I wouldn’t put my trust en nobody but you—‘The faithful are minished from among the sons o’ men.’ You run a bit for yourself; why can’t ’e run a bit more and make a fortune? What’s come over ’e, my old and bold? ’Fraid, are ’e, all to once? What for? You’ve got a snug82 landing and a straight track over the moors83, wid never a soul to see ’e pass. Riders can’t rush ’e here in this little crack o’ the rocks; they’d break their stiff necks. ‘Let their way be dark and slippery and let the angel of the Lord persecute84 them: and we shall wash our footsteps in the blood of the ungodly.’ What makes ’e hold back, old shipmate?”
“Horses,” said Jacky’s George. “Lookee, Cap’n Nick, the money’s good and I do respect it as much as the next man. I aren’t ’fraid of riders nor anything else—save tumors—and if it were only a matter of landing, why, I’d land ’s much stuff as you’ve a mind to. But carry goods to St. Just for ’e, I won’t, for that means horses, and horses means farmers. I’m bred to the sea myself and I can’t abide85 farmers. I’ve tried it before and there’s always trouble. It do take a week walking round the earth collecting ’em, and then some do show up and some don’t, and where are we then? Why, where the cat was—in the tar-barrel. Paul farmers won’t mix wid Gwithian, and Sancreed can’t stomach neither. And, what is more, they do eat up all your profits—five shillings here, ten shillings there—and that ain’t the end of it. When you think you’ve done paying a farmer, slit86 me, you’ve only just begun. I won’t be plagued wid ’em, so that’s the finish.”
“Listen to me a minute,” King Nick purled on, quite undeterred. “I’ll tell ’e. . . .”
“T’eddn no manner of use, cap’n,” said Jacky’s George, standing up. “There’s the light showing. Way all! Bend to it!”
The gig shot shorewards for the slip.
The manner in which the Baragwanath family disposed of a run contained the elements of magic. It was a conjuring87 trick, no less—“now you see it, now you don’t.” At one moment the slip-head was chockablock with bales and barrels; at the next it was bare. They swooped88 purposefully out of nowhere, fell upon the goods and—hey, presto89!—spirited themselves back into nowhere, leaving the slip wiped clean.
Including one son and two daughters-in-law, the tribe mustered90 fourteen in all, and in the handling of illicit91 merchandise the ladies were as gifted as the gentlemen. Ortho was laboriously92 trundling a cask up the slip when he encountered one of the Misses Baragwanath, who gave him a push and took the matter out of his hands. By the time he had recovered his balance she had gone and so had the cask. It was too dark to see which way she went. Not that he was interested; on the contrary, he wanted to think. He had a plan forming in his head, a money-making plan.
He strode up and down the bare strip by the boat capstan getting the details clear. It did not take him long, being simplicity93 itself. He hitched94 his belt and marched up the little hamlet hot with inspiration.
Subdued95 mysterious sounds came from the surrounding darkness, whispering thuds, shovel96 scrapings, sighs as of men heaving heavy weights. A shed suddenly exploded with the clamour of startled hens. In another a sow protested vocally97 against the disturbance98 of her bed. There was a big bank running beside the stream in front of “The Admiral Anson.” As Ortho passed by the great mass of earth and bowlders became articulate. A voice deep within its core said softly, “Shift en a bit further up, Zack; there’s three more to come.”
Ortho saw a thin chink of light between two of the bowlders, grinned and strode into the kitchen of the Kiddlywink. There was a chill burning on the table and a kettle humming on the hearth99. Jacky’s George sat before the fire, stirring a mug of grog which he held between his knees. Opposite him sat a tall old man dressed in unrelieved black from neck to toe. A wreath of snowy hair circled his bald pate100 like a halo. A pair of tortoise-shell spectacles jockeyed the extreme tip of his nose, he regarded Jacky’s George over their rims101 with an expression benign102 but pained.
Jacky’s George looked up at Ortho’s entrance.
“Hallo, what is it?”
“Where’s King Nick? I want to see him.”
The tortoise-shell spectacles turned slowly in his direction.
“There is but one King, my son, omnipotent103 and all-merciful. One King—on High . . . but my name is certainly Nicholas.”
Ortho staggered. This the master-smuggler, the swashbuckling, devil-may-care hero of song and story! This rook-coated, bespectacled, white-headed old Canorum [Methodist] local preacher, King Nick! His senses reeled. It could never be, and yet he knew it was. It was the same voice, the voice that had blandly104 informed Anson he would blow him out of the water if he pulled another stroke. He felt for the door post and leaned against it goggling105.
“Well?”
Ortho licked his lips.
Ortho drew a long breath, hesitated and let it out with a rush.
“I can find the horses you’re wanting. I can find thirty horses a night any time after Twelfth Night, and land your goods in St. Just under four hours.”
King Nick screwed round in his chair, turning the other side of his face to the light, and Ortho saw, with a shock of revulsion, that the ear had been sheared107 off and his face furrowed108 across and across with two terrible scars—relics of the Cawsand affair. It was as though the old man was revealing the other side of him, spiritual as well as physical.
“Come nearer, lad. How do ’e knaw I want horses?”
“I heard you. I was pulling stroke in boat.”
“Son o’ yourn, George? He don’t favor ’e, seem me.”
“You knaw en?”
“Since he were weaned.”
“Ah, ha! Ah, ha!” The smuggler’s blue eyes rested on Ortho, benevolent110 yet probing. “And where can you find thirty horses, my son? ’Tis a brear passell.”
“Gypsy Herne rests on my land over winter; he has plenty.”
“An Egyptian! An idolater! A worshiper after false gods! Put not thy trust in such, boy—though I do hear many of the young ones is baptized and coming to the way of Light. Hum! Ha! . . . But how do ’e knaw he’ll do it!”
“?’Cos he wants the money bad. He lost three parts of his stock in Wales this summer. I was with en.”
“Oh, wid en, were ’e? So you knawn en well. And horse leaders?”
“There’s seven Romanies and three of us up to farm.”
“You knaw the country, s’pose?”
“Day or night like my own yard.”
King Nick turned on Jacky’s George, a faint smile curling the corners of his mouth. “What do ’e say now, George? Can this young man find the horses, think you?”
“Ess, s’pose.”
“Do ’e trust en?”
A nod.
“Then what more ’ave ’e got to say, my dear?”
King Nick rose to his feet, rubbing his hands together.
“?‘Now let Jacob rejoice and Israel be glad.’ That’s settled. Welcome back to the fold, George, my old soul. ‘This is my brother that was dead but is alive again.’ Soon’s you give me word the Romany is agreeable I’ll slip ’e the cargoes112, so shall the poor tinner be comforted at a reasonable price and the Lord be praised with cymbals—‘yea, with trumpets113 also and shawms.’ Gather in all the young men and maidens114, George, that we may ask a blessing115 on our labors116! Fetch ’em in to once, for I can feel the word of the Lord descending117 upon me!”
Dawn peering through the bottle-panes of Jacky’s George’s Kiddlywink saw the entire Baragwanath family packed shoulder to shoulder singing lustily, while before them, on a chair, stood a benevolent old gentleman in black beating time with one of John Wesley’s hymnals, white hair wreathing his head like a silver glory.
“Chant, my dear beauties!” he cried. “Oh, be cheerful! Be jubilant! Lift up your voices unto the Lord! ‘Awake up, my glory, Awake lute118 and harp119!’ Now all together!”
I ask in faith His promised aid;
The waves an awful distance keep
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1
daunt
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| vt.使胆怯，使气馁 | |
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promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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glutted
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| v.吃得过多( glut的过去式和过去分词 )；（对胃口、欲望等）纵情满足；使厌腻；塞满 | |
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staple
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| n.主要产物，常用品，主要要素，原料，订书钉，钩环；adj.主要的，重要的；vt.分类 | |
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previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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bumper
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| n.(汽车上的)保险杠；adj.特大的，丰盛的 | |
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second-hand
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| adj.用过的，旧的，二手的 | |
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enlisting
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| v.（使）入伍， （使）参军( enlist的现在分词 )；获得（帮助或支持） | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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cove
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| n.小海湾，小峡谷 | |
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coves
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| n.小海湾( cove的名词复数 )；家伙 | |
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scathe
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| v.损伤；n.伤害 | |
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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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abreast
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| adv.并排地；跟上(时代)的步伐，与…并进地 | |
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oar
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| n.桨，橹，划手；v.划行 | |
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oars
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| n.桨，橹( oar的名词复数 )；划手v.划（行）( oar的第三人称单数 ) | |
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monks
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| n.修道士，僧侣( monk的名词复数 ) | |
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wrenching
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| n.修截苗根，苗木铲根（铲根时苗木不起土或部分起土）v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的现在分词 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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cape
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| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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smuggler
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| n.走私者 | |
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militia
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| n.民兵，民兵组织 | |
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mercurial
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| adj.善变的，活泼的 | |
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cargo
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| n.(一只船或一架飞机运载的)货物 | |
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deference
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| n.尊重，顺从；敬意 | |
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idol
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| n.偶像，红人，宠儿 | |
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almighty
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| adj.全能的，万能的；很大的，很强的 | |
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wink
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| n.眨眼，使眼色，瞬间；v.眨眼，使眼色，闪烁 | |
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veneration
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| n.尊敬，崇拜 | |
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hissed
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| 发嘶嘶声( hiss的过去式和过去分词 )； 发嘘声表示反对 | |
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36
subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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37
splendor
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| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
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38
cramped
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| a.狭窄的 | |
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39
wail
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| vt./vi.大声哀号，恸哭；呼啸，尖啸 | |
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40
looming
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| n.上现蜃景（光通过低层大气发生异常折射形成的一种海市蜃楼）v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的现在分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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41
everlasting
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| adj.永恒的，持久的，无止境的 | |
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42
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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43
ripples
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| 逐渐扩散的感觉( ripple的名词复数 ) | |
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44
thwart
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| v.阻挠，妨碍，反对；adj.横(断的) | |
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45
rhythmic
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| adj.有节奏的，有韵律的 | |
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46
droop
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| v.低垂，下垂；凋萎，萎靡 | |
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47
chuckle
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| vi.／n.轻声笑，咯咯笑 | |
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48
wraith
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| n.幽灵；骨瘦如柴的人 | |
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49
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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50
hoist
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| n.升高，起重机，推动；v.升起，升高，举起 | |
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51
blur
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| n.模糊不清的事物；vt.使模糊，使看不清楚 | |
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52
moth
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| n.蛾，蛀虫 | |
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53
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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54
dagger
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| n.匕首，短剑，剑号 | |
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55
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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56
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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57
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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58
salvation
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| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
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59
offense
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| n.犯规，违法行为；冒犯，得罪 | |
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60
tally
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| n.计数器，记分，一致，测量；vt.计算，记录，使一致；vi.计算，记分，一致 | |
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61
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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62
vouchsafed
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| v.给予，赐予( vouchsafe的过去式和过去分词 )；允诺 | |
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63
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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64
purge
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| n.整肃，清除，泻药，净化；vt.净化，清除，摆脱；vi.清除，通便，腹泻，变得清洁 | |
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65
harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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66
melodious
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| adj.旋律美妙的，调子优美的，音乐性的 | |
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67
brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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68
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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69
blotted
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| 涂污( blot的过去式和过去分词 )； （用吸墨纸）吸干 | |
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70
calves
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| n.(calf的复数)笨拙的男子，腓；腿肚子( calf的名词复数 )；牛犊；腓；小腿肚v.生小牛( calve的第三人称单数 )；（冰川）崩解；生（小牛等），产（犊）；使（冰川）崩解 | |
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71
regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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72
rogues
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| n.流氓( rogue的名词复数 )；无赖；调皮捣蛋的人；离群的野兽 | |
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73
crafty
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| adj.狡猾的，诡诈的 | |
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74
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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75
discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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76
tyrants
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| 专制统治者( tyrant的名词复数 )； 暴君似的人； （古希腊的）僭主； 严酷的事物 | |
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77
psalm
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| n.赞美诗，圣诗 | |
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78
professing
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| 声称( profess的现在分词 )； 宣称； 公开表明； 信奉 | |
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79
needy
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| adj.贫穷的，贫困的，生活艰苦的 | |
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80
grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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81
toads
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| n.蟾蜍，癞蛤蟆( toad的名词复数 ) | |
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82
snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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83
moors
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| v.停泊，系泊（船只）( moor的第三人称单数 ) | |
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84
persecute
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| vt.迫害，虐待；纠缠，骚扰 | |
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85
abide
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| vi.遵守；坚持；vt.忍受 | |
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86
slit
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| n.狭长的切口；裂缝；vt.切开，撕裂 | |
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87
conjuring
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| n.魔术 | |
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88
swooped
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| 俯冲，猛冲( swoop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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89
presto
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| adv.急速地；n.急板乐段；adj.急板的 | |
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90
mustered
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| v.集合，召集，集结（尤指部队）( muster的过去式和过去分词 )；（自他人处）搜集某事物；聚集；激发 | |
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91
illicit
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| adj.非法的，禁止的，不正当的 | |
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92
laboriously
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| adv.艰苦地；费力地；辛勤地；（文体等）佶屈聱牙地 | |
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93
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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94
hitched
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| （免费）搭乘他人之车( hitch的过去式和过去分词 )； 搭便车； 攀上； 跃上 | |
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95
subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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96
shovel
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| n.铁锨，铲子，一铲之量；v.铲，铲出 | |
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97
vocally
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| adv. 用声音, 用口头, 藉著声音 | |
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98
disturbance
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| n.动乱，骚动；打扰，干扰；(身心)失调 | |
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99
hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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100
pate
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| n.头顶；光顶 | |
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101
rims
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| n.（圆形物体的）边( rim的名词复数 )；缘；轮辋；轮圈 | |
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102
benign
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| adj.善良的，慈祥的；良性的，无危险的 | |
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103
omnipotent
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| adj.全能的，万能的 | |
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104
blandly
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| adv.温和地，殷勤地 | |
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105
goggling
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| v.睁大眼睛瞪视， （惊讶的）转动眼珠( goggle的现在分词 ) | |
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106
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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107
sheared
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| v.剪羊毛( shear的过去式和过去分词 )；切断；剪切 | |
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108
furrowed
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| v.犁田，开沟( furrow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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109
squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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110
benevolent
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| adj.仁慈的，乐善好施的 | |
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111
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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112
cargoes
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| n.（船或飞机装载的）货物( cargo的名词复数 )；大量，重负 | |
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113
trumpets
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| 喇叭( trumpet的名词复数 )； 小号； 喇叭形物； （尤指）绽开的水仙花 | |
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114
maidens
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| 处女( maiden的名词复数 )； 少女； 未婚女子； （板球运动）未得分的一轮投球 | |
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115
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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116
labors
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| v.努力争取(for)( labor的第三人称单数 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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117
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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118
lute
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| n.琵琶，鲁特琴 | |
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119
harp
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| n.竖琴；天琴座 | |
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120
watery
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| adj.有水的，水汪汪的；湿的，湿润的 | |
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121
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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