At length I decided9 on my course: I would go northward till daylight, and thus be some miles ahead; then I would turn eastward, and thus place myself on one side of their probable line of march. During the next day I hoped to meet a contraband10, and, obtaining information, then decide whether to continue eastward, toward Fort Henry, or turn northward again to Paducah.
Thus deciding, I took out my handkerchief and tied my pistol round my waist, and then rose from the tree to begin my journey. The broken ribs11 made it painful to breathe, and my right arm had to be supported constantly by my left. Around me, all was beautiful and serene12. The calm moon shone, in peaceful contrast with the exciting scene I had lately witnessed, and lighted my steps and pointed13 my way. No sound disturbed the stillness of the woods, save that from a distant farm there came the tinkle14 of a cow-bell. It was in the direction I wished to go, and toward it I slowly made my way. A friend had brought me down the April number of the "Atlantic" before leaving camp, and I had read Whittier's "Mountain Pictures." A line of it came to my mind:
"The pastoral curfew of the cow-bell rung;"
and I wondered whether any other reader would ever thus apply it.
[Pg 137]
I had to walk slowly through the silvery-lighted woods; but at last drew near the ringing noise, and climbed the hill, on the top of which were the farm and barnyard of the cows. A road ran along the brow of the hill, and on the other side of it appeared some wide fields. To the left was a clump15 of apple-trees, and the hoarse16 bark of a dog told me they covered a house. I stopped a few moments to rest and listen, and then stepped cautiously into the road. On the opposite side was a large tree, and in its shadow I tried to climb the high rail fence. I was weaker than I had supposed. My limbs refused at first to lift my weight, and my one arm could not keep me from swinging round against the fence. Twice I thought I must give it up; but, after several efforts, I mounted it, and then, holding my breath, I let myself drop down on the other side.
Across the wide field there was another road. I had not gone far when I heard a noise in the woods, and, fearing it might be a picket17 of the enemy, I lay down beside the fence. The moon was then near the horizon, and I deemed it most prudent18 to wait till she had set.
Soon after this I came upon some cows, and these I drove before me. I thought that if there should be a picket in the road the cows would turn off, and there would be less likelihood of my being seen or heard. After going, I should think, a mile, we came to a broad road. This the cows crossed; and I was about to follow, when a large dog came from a house beyond, and, after barking furiously at the cows, came toward me.[Pg 138] I took my pistol out, and was prepared to fire, when the dog stopped barking. It was well for me he did so, for within a few yards I heard horses coming up the road. I looked, and saw the outline of some horsemen. There was no time to fly. I sank quietly down upon the ground, and lay still. The horsemen came on. They seemed a picket. One rode in front, who seemed a sergeant19, and the others followed. They passed close by me—so close, I could hear the jingling20 of their spurs.
When they had passed I rose, and determined21 that thereafter I would not go upon any road or cross any field, or spare any pains. I entered the woods. They were now thick, with underbrush, and I had not the moon to guide me. Frequently I had wanted the North star on night marches, but it had always been hidden by clouds. Now, however, on this night, when I needed it above all others, it shone out beautiful and bright. As I watched it, it seemed an old friend, reappearing to aid me, and again and again as I emerged from some thick underwood, and turned toward its constant blaze, I felt as if it were the companion of my flight. But even with its aid, I encountered difficulties. Sometimes the trees would hide it, and often I had to keep my eyes fixed22 on my path or strained on suspicious objects around me. My plan was to take some distant hill for a land-mark, and on reaching it, to look for another, and make toward it. Yet fallen trees and deep hollows often made me change my course, and sometimes made me lose it, and then I had to search the sky,[Pg 139] and refind the star before I could go on. As I could not use my hands, I was forced to push my way through the brush with my left shoulder. I had lost my hat, too, in the fall, and my hair often caught in the branches. So my progress was slow and wearisome, with no help around me, but with hope before.
I should think it was about three o'clock in the morning, when, from the top of a little hill, there appeared just before me the smoking, smouldering fires of a camp. I knew if it were a camp, that I was within the lines. I turned, therefore, and made my way back as a burglar might glide23 through a house—sliding my feet along the ground, lest I should tread upon some crackling branch—choosing the thickest wood and the darkest shade. About an hour later, I saw, as I thought, some tents, but knew it was most improbable there should be any there; so I stopped to examine, and then saw they were but the grey light of morning breaking through the trees. It was a welcome sight; yet I confess the night had not seemed long, and that I was surprised to find the morning come.
I now changed my course, and turned toward the east. The woods changed too. There were small trees, with little underbrush, and the ground was a smooth, descending24 plain. I kept on over this for miles. The sky brightened; the sun rose, and mounted higher and higher. I heard the barking of dogs, the lowing of cattle, and occasionally the voices of men and children. I came, too, upon roads, and these had to be crossed[Pg 140] with great caution, coming out step by step, looking carefully up and down, listening anxiously, and they hurrying across and plunging25 into the woods on the other side. Whence these roads came or where they went, I neither knew nor cared. I was ignorant of the country, but not compelled to ask my way. For once, I was strangely independent, and needed only to look toward the sun and travel east.
Later I came upon fields and farms, and round these I had to make long circuits. One chain of farms, I thought I never should get through. Again and again I was forced to go back and try again. The temptation to break through my resolution, and cross just this one, or that one, was very strong; and I found that making one's escape, like any other success, depends on his resolution and perseverance26.
Toward noon, as I was approaching a road, I heard children's voices. I looked, and saw, or thought I saw, a man on horseback. He sat still as though on guard, and I supposed he was one of the enemy's picket. The woods were thin, so I lay down and drew the bushes over me. I watched him, but he did not move, and I soon decided I must stay there as long as he did. Notwithstanding my anxiety, I fell into a doze28, probably not for a minute, yet when I opened my eyes, the man was gone, and a tree stood in his place. It was an optical illusion. My eyes had been over-worked for three nights, and for the last twenty hours, constantly strained in examining objects far and near. The[Pg 141] moment's rest had dispelled29 the apparition30. I remembered that as the sun was rising that morning, I had long doubted whether a clump of bushes was not a group of my own men—that trees and stumps31 had several times been changed to sentinels and guards; and I remembered, also, the tents in the morning, and the camp-fires during the night.
I now began to suffer from thirst, for I could only drink by dipping up water with one hand. The sun, too, beat down through the half-leaved trees, and became painful. I twisted some leaves into a sort of cap, but it was often brushed off, and at best made but a poor shelter. I had been disappointed also in not meeting a contraband. Some I had seen in fields, but always with white men, and them I must shun32; and as I did so, I asked myself whether this was the United States, and these Americans, that I should be time skulking33 like a hunted criminal.
Feeling now and then a little faint, I decided on going to a house for something to eat, and again plunging into the woods. Yet here great caution was necessary. I wanted a small house, because it would probably contain but one man, and I must have it out of sight of neighbors and near woods. I passed several, but none of them complied with my conditions—one was too large, another too far back in an open field, and a third was overlooked by a fourth.
It was perhaps three o'clock, and I was growing more and more faint, when I saw an opening through the[Pg 142] trees and the corner of a house. I approached it slowly. There was a field beyond, but no houses in sight, and the woods came up to the yard behind. "It is just the house I need," I said to myself, "and now I must risk it and go in." I slipped my pistol round, so that I could draw it quickly from under my coat, and pushed open the gate. All was quiet; I walked round to the door, and saw a woman inside, who looked startled at seeing me. She said she would call her husband, who was in the field, and went out. I watched her, and in a few minutes was satisfied by seeing them returning. I went back, and narrowly inspected the house. A shot gun hung over the window, but it was unloaded and rusted34. As I finished, they came in. He was a young man, with a bright, happy face—far too cheerful a face for a secessionist. We looked at each other, and he said:
"You are a union soldier."
"Yes," I answered; "and what are you?"
"I am a union citizen," he replied.
James Mills (for such was my new-found friend's name) was the first of several suffering and devoted36 union men, who refused all pay and reward for the services they rendered to me, and whose kindness I cannot sufficiently37 praise. He told me I was in a dangerous neighborhood, and must neither stay, nor travel by the road. His wife hurried for me a dinner, and then he went with me through some fields and woods,[Pg 143] and placed me upon a path leading to a second union man's, named Henry Chunn. It was something like three miles to Mr. Chunn's, but I felt quite fresh and equal to a dozen, if necessary.
Arriving there, I was most kindly38 received by his wife. She told me that her husband would cheerfully take me on toward Paducah. She made me lie down; she bathed my shoulder; and she did everything for me that womanly kindness could suggest. This was the first bed I had lain upon for more than three months. It produced an old effect, for in a few moments I was sound asleep. I slept till after dark, and then awoke by hearing the children cry that father had come. He came in, and walking up to me, said, in a cordial, honest voice:
"My friend, I am truly glad to see you; you are truly welcome to my house."
I went to sleep again and slept till morning. There was bad news then: his mules39 had disappeared from the barnyard during the night. But I must wait; his boys would find them by the time we finished breakfast. At breakfast a little circumstance occurred which may give you an idea of the different life we lead on the border. Across some fields, and beyond some woods, we heard a gun. It was no cannon—a mere40 shot-gun, such as a boy might fire anywhere on a spring morning—yet we all stopped talking.
"What does that mean?" I asked, after the silence had continued a few moments.
[Pg 144]
"I don't know," said Mr. Chunn.
"Have your neighbors guns and powder?"
"No."
"Then," said I, "it may mean a great deal for us."
We all rose from the table, and looked anxiously across the fields; but nothing was to be seen. The family looked troubled, and Mr. Chunn said something about the mules being gone, and this being strange. We waited some time, but all continued quiet. But the boys had not found the mules, and Mr. Chunn accordingly walked on with me toward the house of Mr. Edward Magness, who was likewise a good union man, and would willingly help me on.
I took leave of these kind, simple-minded people, whose plain and honest goodness is rare in the great world, from which they live apart, and went slowly along the little wood road. I soon came to a field in which were two or three men and several children, planting corn. I must here explain to you that in the South corn is the one great crop on which everybody lives. The bread is all made of corn; the horses are fed on corn; the pigs are fattened41 on corn; and if the corn should fail there would be a famine. There were fears that it would fail. The spring had been cold and wet, and the planting was not half done, which always had been over a week before. All hands were working early and late on every plantation42, seizing on this fine weather for hurrying in the corn. As Mr. Magness came down a furrow43, near me, I stepped out of the[Pg 145] bushes, and told him briefly44 who I was, and what I wanted. It must have been an unwelcome tale; yet he never, by a look or word, gave a disagreeable sign. Promptly45 he stopped his plough and unhitched his horses. Unwillingly46 I saw the planting cease. But when I spoke47 of it, he said pleasantly, they would try and make up the lost time when he came back. We went to his house, the saddles were soon put on, and we started. My companion was more than usually intelligent, and gave me much information. He also understood the danger of being seen by secessionists, and picked his way with great care by unused roads.
A ride of several miles brought us to the house of Mr. Wade48. A very shrewd and cautious man was Mr. Wade, yet a staunch union man, who had spoken, and suffered for the cause. He had spent the previous eight months chiefly at Paducah, stealing up occasionally in the dark of evening to see his family, and leaving before daylight the next morning. Once he had been arrested, and twice his house had been searched and robbed. He knew well the woods and by-paths, and had tried the difficulties and dangers of escaping from guerrillas. He and I, therefore, had much more in common than the others, and in him I felt I had a trusty and experienced friend; yet strange to tell, he was—a South Carolinian.
We went into the house. On a couch lay a very aged49 woman, who, I thought, was childish. Mr. Wade and Mr. Magness were old friends, and talked as country[Pg 146] neighbors talk, of crops, and roads, and men, and places. At last Mr. Magness said: "I saw Edward Jones yesterday, and he told me they had had a letter from Joel, and that he wrote they were leaving Corinth, and had been attacked. His regiment50 was defeated, and he had to run for his life."
The old lady, at this, rose up and said: "Say that over, sir."
Mr. Magness repeated it.
"He is my own grandson," said the old lady. "The night before he went he came here, and I told him never to fight against his country—the country his forefathers51 fought for. He said, 'Grandmother, they will call me a coward if I don't go.' A coward! I would let them call me anything, I told him, before I would fight against my country. But he went. And, now, what do you tell me? He is my own grandson—my own flesh and blood—so I can't wish him killed," said the old lady, with great feeling; "but, I thank God—I thank God he has had to run for his life!"
Our early dinner finished, Mr. Magness took his departure, and we started.
"We will stop at my brother-in-law's, captain," said Mr. Wade, "and get you a better saddle. It is only a mile from here." So we rode quietly along.
"We will pass our member of Assembly," said Mr. Wade. "It is about a mile from my brother-in-law's. He is a true man, I tell you. The secesh would give anything to get him."
[Pg 147]
By this time we reached his brother-in-law's. A little girl was in the yard, and, as we stopped, came to the gate.
"Well, uncle," said the little girl, "are you running away again from the rebel soldiers?"
"No," said Mr. Wade, cheerfully, "—oh no: there are no rebels round now."
"Yes, there are," said the girl. "Father has just come from Farmington, and there are four hundred there."
"What! four hundred in Farmington!"
"It is so, brother," said a woman who had come out—"it is so. They came there this morning; and husband hurried back to tell the neighbors."
"Captain," said Mr. Wade, "the sooner you and I get out of this country the better for us."
"How far is it back to Farmington?"
"Only four miles."
"Is there any reason for their coming down this road?"
"Yes: Hinckley, the member we elected, lives on it, and Jones, who helped elect him, lives on it, and I live on it. They would like to arrest us all. But about half a mile from Hinckley's there is a little side-path we can take for five or six miles."
Could we have ridden on a gallop52, the side-path would have been reached before the threatening danger could have reached us; but, unfortunately, the pain in my side had increased so that we could not go faster[Pg 148] than a walk. I tried a trot53 for a moment, but could not bear it, and reined54 up. "Do you ride on, Mr. Wade," I said: "there is no need of our both being taken." But Mr. Wade refused.
It was an anxious ride. We knew that Farmington was not far behind, and they might come clattering55 after us at every moment. We looked back often—at every turn of the road—from the top of every knoll56 and hill, but nothing was seen.
Soon we came to Hinckley's. Two men were seated on the porch, and the flag was flying in front of the house. I rode on; but Mr. Wade stopped, and said, "Pull down your flag, boys, and take to the woods." It was quietly said, but the two men sprang up. I looked back, and saw them exchange a few words with Mr. Wade, and then one pulled down the flag as the other ran toward the stable. There was another anxious interval57, and then we reached the side-road. We went past it, so as to leave no trail, and first one, and then the other, struck off through the woods until we came to it. A very intricate and narrow little road it was; so that the enemy could not have travelled much faster than we. Yet there were some settlers, "but all good union men," Mr. Wade said. At the first we stopped; and he borrowed a butternut coat, and, with some difficulty, helped me off with my soldier's blouse, and on with it; so that to any person in a neighboring house or field we must have seemed like two farmers riding along.
[Pg 149]
After six or seven miles, our bridle-path came back to the main road. "There is a nasty, secesh tavern58 down the road a mile or so," said Mr. Wade, "and if they are in this part of the country, they will be sure to go down there for the news and a drink. If we can only get across the road and over to old Washam's, we shall be safe."
Slowly we came out to the road. We stopped and listened—we held our breath, and bent59 down to catch the trampling of their horses. We moved on where the bushes grew thickest, and stopped again. Then Mr. Wade rode out and looked up and down. "There is no one in sight," he said; "come on quickly." I hurried my horse, and in a moment was across. On the other side were great trees and but little underbrush to hide us. We hurried on until we were hidden from the road, and then Mr. Wade drew a long breath, and said: "They won't come down this road; we are safe now."
The danger past, there came a great increase of pain. Each step of the horse racked me, and I felt myself grow weaker and weaker. At last came the refreshing words: "Old Washam's is the next house," and soon the next house appeared. "A true union man," said Mr. Wade, and true he seemed, for the flag was displayed before the door. We stopped, but I was too exhausted60 to dismount, and had to slide off into Mr. Wade's arms. As I did so, an old lady with silver spectacles upon her nose and knitting in her hand, came out. "What is the matter with that poor man?" she cried;[Pg 150] and then catching61 sight of my uniform under the butternut coat, "Why, it is a union soldier; bring him into the house—bring him in immediately." So I was brought in and laid upon a bed, and tenderly cared for.
I lay there watching the knitting and listening to the old lady and her daughter's talk. They had a consultation62 upon my safety, and it was decided that I should go to the daughter's house for the night. "It is off the road," they said, "and if they make an attack, we can send you word across the fields." But later, we learnt that two spies had passed the house that day, and it was decided I should be sent on that night.
We were to start from the house of a son-in-law of Mr. Washam's, and he and his brother-in-law were to drive me. I walked up to the house, and found the wagon63 nearly ready. His wife was a young girl, with a sweet and gentle voice and manner. "It is too bad," she said, "too bad that you should go away so wounded and wearied. In peace, we would not let any one leave our home thus." Soon the wagon came to the door. "Mother," she said, "let us make up a bed in it."
"Oh, no," I interposed, "I am not used to a bed; I have not had one in three months, and cannot put you to such trouble."
"It is no trouble to us," she replied, so earnestly and kindly, that I could not doubt it; "do not think that of us."
"But," I went on, "I assure you, some hay in the[Pg 151] wagon is all I want, and much more than I am accustomed to. Besides, I am dusty and dirty, and shall certainly spoil your bed clothes."
"If it had not been for you union soldiers fighting for us," she answered, "there would be nothing in this house to spoil; and whatever we have, you shall have."
Against such goodness and patriotism64, who could raise objections? The bed was made in the wagon; they helped me up, and blessed by many good wishes and kind farewells, we started. For me it was so much more safe and comfortable than usual, that I soon fell asleep; but to my two young friends, it was an unusual and an anxious drive. Frequently I was roused by the wagon stopping. Sometimes they heard dogs barking—sometimes voices, and once a gun. At length I woke, to find the wagon standing27 in front of a house, and young Washam thumping65 on the door. Soon a man came out.
"Why, boys," he said, "what on earth are you doing here this time o' night?"
"Why you see, Mr. Derringer," said one of the "boys," "here's a wounded union officer, hurt in the fight on the Obion. Joel Wade brought him to our house, and we've brought him here; and now we want you to take him to Paducah."
"I'm really sorry," said Mr. Derringer, "that I've lent my wagon; but my neighbor, Purcell, is a good union man, and he will do it. All of you come in, and I will go over and see him."
[Pg 152]
I told Mr. Derringer to wait till morning; but he would not hear of it; and after seeing us comfortably in bed, he started off to walk a mile or two and wake his neighbor in the dead of night, to tell him he must come at break of day and carry on a stranger, of whom he had never even heard, for no other reason than that he was a wounded union officer.
Before daylight, Mr. Derringer roused us. It was all right, he said; his neighbor Purcell would be there; and now his wife was up, and had breakfast ready. As breakfast finished, Mr. Purcell arrived; I bade my good friends good-bye, and started on the last stage of my journey. As we reached the main road, we saw numbers of men mounted on jaded66 mules, and clad in sombre butternut, with sad and anxious faces. Unhappy refugees flying from the invading foe67! Some who had journeyed through the night, rode with us toward Paducah; others who had reached it the day before, rode anxiously out in quest of news. As many caught sight of me, they recognized the marks of recent service.
"Are you from the Obion?" they asked; "how far off is the enemy now? Will he dare to come here?"
We drew nearer to the town, and the signs of alarm increased. The crowd of refugees grew greater—the cavalry68 patrolled the roads—the infantry69 was under arms, and the artillery70 was planted so as to sweep the approaches. At last some houses appeared.
"This is Paducah," said Mr. Purcell; "you are there at last."
[Pg 153]
We stopped at headquarters, and I went in to report.
"Is the adjutant in?" I asked of an officer who was writing.
"I am the adjutant, sir," he answered, without looking up.
"I have come to report myself as arriving at this post."
"What name, sir?"
I gave my name. The adjutant looked up, and with some surprise, said:
"Why, you are reported killed, sir; two of your men saw you lying dead under your horse!"
"How many of my men have come in?"
"About half; they are at the Provost Marshal's."
"Any officers?"
"Yes; one of your lieutenants71 was taken, but escaped, and came down from Mayfield by railroad. And now," said the adjutant, "don't stay here any longer; go at once to the hospital, and I will send an order to the medical director to give you a good surgeon."
A few moments more, and I caught sight of a group of my men. Then came the painful questions: Who have come in? Who are missing? Who last saw this one? Who knows anything of that one? Where does K's family live? and who will write to tell them how he fell? And then came a surgeon—a quiet room—a tedious time—an old friend—and a journey home.
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1
trampling
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| 踩( trample的现在分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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trickled
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| v.滴( trickle的过去式和过去分词 )；淌；使)慢慢走；缓慢移动 | |
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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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stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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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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swarming
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| 密集( swarm的现在分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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northward
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| adv.向北；n.北方的地区 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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contraband
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| n.违禁品，走私品 | |
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ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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tinkle
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| vi.叮当作响；n.叮当声 | |
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clump
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| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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picket
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| n.纠察队；警戒哨；v.设置纠察线；布置警卫 | |
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prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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sergeant
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| n.警官，中士 | |
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jingling
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| 叮当声 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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glide
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| n./v.溜，滑行；(时间)消逝 | |
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descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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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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perseverance
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| n.坚持不懈，不屈不挠 | |
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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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doze
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| v.打瞌睡；n.打盹，假寐 | |
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dispelled
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| v.驱散，赶跑( dispel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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apparition
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| n.幽灵，神奇的现象 | |
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stumps
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| （被砍下的树的）树桩( stump的名词复数 )； 残肢； （板球三柱门的）柱； 残余部分 | |
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shun
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| vt.避开，回避，避免 | |
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skulking
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| v.潜伏，偷偷摸摸地走动，鬼鬼祟祟地活动( skulk的现在分词 ) | |
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rusted
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| v.（使）生锈( rust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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talisman
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| n.避邪物，护身符 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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mules
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| 骡( mule的名词复数 )； 拖鞋； 顽固的人； 越境运毒者 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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fattened
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| v.喂肥( fatten的过去式和过去分词 )；养肥（牲畜）；使（钱）增多；使（公司）升值 | |
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plantation
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| n.种植园，大农场 | |
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furrow
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| n.沟；垄沟；轨迹；车辙；皱纹 | |
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briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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unwillingly
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| adv.不情愿地 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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wade
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| v.跋涉，涉水；n.跋涉 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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forefathers
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| n.祖先，先人；祖先，祖宗( forefather的名词复数 )；列祖列宗；前人 | |
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gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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trot
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| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
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reined
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| 勒缰绳使（马）停步( rein的过去式和过去分词 )； 驾驭； 严格控制； 加强管理 | |
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clattering
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的现在分词形式） | |
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knoll
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| n.小山，小丘 | |
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interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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tavern
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| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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consultation
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| n.咨询；商量；商议；会议 | |
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wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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patriotism
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| n.爱国精神，爱国心，爱国主义 | |
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thumping
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| adj.重大的，巨大的；重击的；尺码大的；极好的adv.极端地；非常地v.重击(thump的现在分词)；狠打；怦怦地跳；全力支持 | |
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jaded
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| adj.精疲力竭的；厌倦的；（因过饱或过多而）腻烦的；迟钝的 | |
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foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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cavalry
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| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
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infantry
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| n.[总称]步兵(部队) | |
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artillery
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| n.(军)火炮，大炮；炮兵(部队) | |
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lieutenants
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| n.陆军中尉( lieutenant的名词复数 )；副职官员；空军；仅低于…官阶的官员 | |
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