Ah! ’tis Rata; he is felling
Yet we cry, and lo, upspring [77]
Chips and splinters quivering.
Leap together—life will hold you!
Cling together—strength will fold you!
Now by living bark around.
Yes—the trembling wood is seen,
Standing straight and growing green.
THE RETURN OF THE WAR CANOE
And, surely enough, as they sang, the severed10 trunk rose and reunited, and every flake11 and chip of bark and wood flew together straightway. Then Rata, calling out to them, followed the injunctions given him. They talked with him, and in the end he was told to go away and return next morning. When he came back, lo! in the sunshine lay a new war-canoe, glorious with black and red painting, and tufts of large white feathers, and with cunning spirals on prow13 and tall stern-post, carved as no human hand could carve them. In this canoe he sailed over the sea to attack and destroy the murderer of his father.
Lovers of the New Zealand forest, who have to live in an age when axe2 and fire are doing their deadly work so fast, must regret that the fairies, defenders15 of trees, have now passed away. Of yore when the Maori were about to fell a tree they made propitiatory16 offerings to Tané and his elves, at any rate when the tree was one of size. For, so Tregear tells us, they distinguished17 between the aristocracy of the forest and the common multitude. Totara and rimu were rangatira, or gentlemen to whom sacrifice must be offered, while underbrush might be hacked18 and slashed19 [78]without apology. So it would seem that when Cowley was writing the lines—
he was echoing a class distinction already hit upon by the fancy of tattooed24 savages25 in an undiscovered island. Now all things are being levelled. Great Tané is dead, and the children of the tree-god have few friends. Perhaps some uncommercial botanist26 or misliked rhymester may venture on a word for them; or some much-badgered official may mark out a reserve in fear and trembling. Canon Stack, who knew the Maori of the South Island so well, says that half a century ago the belief in fairies was devout27, and that he often conversed28 with men who were certain that they had seen them. One narrator in particular had caught sight of a band of them at work amid the curling mists of a lofty hill-top where they were building a stockaded village. So evident was the faith of the man in the vision he described that Canon Stack was forced to think that he had seen the forms of human builders reflected on the mountain-mist, after the fashion of the spectre of the Brocken.
OKAHUMOKO BAY, WHANGAROA
For myself, I could not have the heart to apply scientific analysis to our Maori fairy-tales, all too brief and scanty29 as they are. It is, doubtless, interesting to speculate on the possible connections of these with the existence of shadowy tribes who may have inhabited parts of New Zealand in the distant centuries, and been [79]driven into inaccessible30 mountains and entangled31 woods by the Maori invader32. To me, however, the legends seem to indicate a belief, not in one supernatural race, but in several. In Europe, of course, the Northern traditions described beings of every sort of shape, from giants and two-headed ogres to minute elves almost too small to be seen. And in the same continent, under clearer skies, were the classic myths of nymphs and woodland deities33, human in shape, but of a beauty exceeding that of mankind. So Keats could dream of enchanting34 things that happened
Upon a time before the fa?ry broods
Drove nymph and satyr from the prosperous woods,
Frightened away the dryads and the fauns
From rushes green and brakes and cowslipp’d lawns.
In much the same way do the Maori stories vary. One tells us of giant hunters attended by two-headed dogs. Another seems to indicate a tiny race of wood elves or goblins. Elsewhere the Maori story-teller explains that fairies were much like human beings, but white-skinned, and with red or yellow hair, nearly resembling the Pakeha. They haunted the sea-shore and the recesses38 of the hill-forests, whither they would decoy the incautious Maori by their singing. The sound of their cheerful songs was sweet and clear, and in the night-time the traveller would hear their voices among the trees, now on this side, now on that; or the notes would seem to rise near at hand, and then recede39 and [80]fall, dying away on the distant hill-sides. Their women were beautiful, and more than one Maori ancestral chief possessed40 himself of a fairy wife. On the other hand, the fairies would carry off the women and maidens41 of the Maori, or even, sometimes, little children, who were never seen again, though their voices were heard by sorrowing mothers calling in the air over the tree-tops.
MAORI FISHING PARTY
Sir George Grey was the first, I think, to write down any of the Maori fairy-tales; at any rate, two of the best of them are found in his book. One concerns the adventure of the chief Kahukura, who, walking one evening on the sea-shore in the far north of the North Island, saw strange footprints and canoe marks on the sands. Clearly fishermen had been there; but their landing and departure must have taken place in the night, and there was something about the marks they had left that was puzzling and uncanny. Kahukura went his way pondering, and “held fast in his heart what he had seen.” So after nightfall back he came to the spot, and after a while the shore was covered with fairies. Canoes were paddled to land dragging nets full of mackerel, and all were busy in securing the fish. Kahukura mingled42 with the throng43, and was as busy as any, picking up fish and running a string of flax through their gills. Like many Maori chiefs, he was a light-complexioned man, so fair that in the starlight the fairies took him for one of themselves. Morning approached, and the fishermen were anxious to finish their work; but Kahukura contrived44 [81]by dropping and scattering45 fish to impede47 and delay them until dawn. With the first streaks48 of daylight the fairies discovered that a man was among them, and fled in confusion by sea and land, leaving their large seine net lying on the shore. It is true that the net was made of rushes; but the pattern and knotting were so perfect and ingenious that the Maori copied them, and that is how they learned to make fishing-nets.
Another chief, Te Kanawa, fell in with the fairies high up on a wooded mountain near the river Waikato. This encounter also, we are assured, took place long ago, before the coming of white men. Te Kanawa had been hunting the wingless kiwi, and, surprised by night, had to encamp in the forest. He made his bed of fern among the buttresses49 at the foot of a large pukatea-tree, and, protected by these and his fire, hoped to pass the night comfortably. Soon, however, he heard voices and footsteps, and fairies began to circle round about, talking and laughing, and peeping over the buttresses of the pukatea at the handsome young chief. Their women openly commented on his good looks, jesting with each other at their eagerness to examine him. Te Kanawa, however, was exceedingly terrified, and thought of nothing but of how he might propitiate his inquisitive50 admirers and save himself from some injury at their hands. So he took from his neck his hei-tiki, or charm of greenstone, and from his ears his shark’s-tooth ornaments51, and hung them upon a wand which he held out as an [82]offering to the fairy folk. At once these turned to examine the gifts with deep interest. According to one version of the story they made patterns of them, cut out of wood and leaves. According to another, they, by enchantment52, took away the shadows or resemblances of the prized objects. In either case they were satisfied to leave the tangible53 ornaments with their owner, and disappeared, allowing Te Kanawa to make his way homeward. That he did with all possible speed, at the first glimpse of daylight, awe-struck but gratified by the good nature of the elves.
CARVED HOUSE, OHINEMUTU
A third story introduces us to a husband whose young wife had been carried off and wedded54 by a fairy chief. For a while she lived with her captor in one of the villages of the fairies into which no living man has ever penetrated55, though hunters in the forest have sometimes seen barriers of intertwined wild vines, which are the outer defences of an elfin pa. The bereaved57 husband at last bethought himself of consulting a famous tohunga, who, by powerful incantations, turned the captured wife’s thoughts back to her human husband, and restored the strength of her love for him. She fled, therefore, from her fairy dwelling, met her husband, who was lurking58 in the neighbourhood, and together they regained59 their old home. Thither60, of course, the fairies followed them in hot pursuit. But the art of the tohunga was equal to the danger. He had caused the escaped wife and the outside of her house to be streaked61 and plastered with red ochre. [83]He had also instructed the people of the village to cook food on a grand scale, so that the air should be heavy with the smell of the cooking at the time of the raid of the fairies. The sight of red ochre and the smell of cooked food are so loathsome62 to the fairy people that they cannot endure to encounter them. So the baffled pursuers halted, fell back and vanished, and the wife remained peacefully with her husband, living a happy Maori life.
The Maori might well worship Tané, the tree-god, who held up the sky with his feet and so let in light upon the sons of earth. For the forest supplied them with much more than wood for their stockades64, canoes, and utensils65. It sheltered the birds which made such an important part of the food of the Maori, living as they did in a land without four-footed beasts. Tame as the birds were, the fowlers, on their side, were without bows and arrows, and knew nothing of the blow-gun, which would have been just the weapon for our jungles. They had to depend mainly on snaring66 and spearing, and upon the aid of decoys. Though the snaring was ingenious enough, it was the spearing that needed especial skill and was altogether the more extraordinary. The spears were made of the tawa-tree, and while they were but an inch in thickness, were thirty feet long or even longer. One tree could only supply two of these slim weapons, which, after metals became known to the Maori, were tipped with iron. When not in use they were lashed20 or hung in a tree. Taking one in hand the fowler would climb up to a platform [84]prepared in some tree, the flowers or berries of which were likely to attract wild parrots or pigeons. Then the spear was pushed upwards69, resting against branches. All the fowler’s art was next exerted to draw down the birds by his decoys to a perch70 near the spear-point. That accomplished71, a quick silent stab did the rest. Many living white men have seen this dexterous72 feat12 performed, though it must be almost a thing of the past now. As soon as the Maori began to obtain guns, and that is ninety years ago, they endeavoured to shoot birds with them. Having a well-founded distrust of their marksmanship, they would repeat as closely as possible the tactics they had found useful in spearing. Climbing silently and adroitly73 into the trees and as near their pigeon or kaka as possible, they waited until the muzzle74 of the gun was within a foot or two of the game, and then blew the unfortunate bird from the branch. Major Cruise witnessed this singular performance in the year 1820. Birds were among the delicacies75 which the Maori preserved for future use, storing them in tightly-bound calabashes, where they were covered with melted fat. Their favourite choice for this process was a kind of puffin or petrel, the mutton-bird, which goes inland to breed, and nests in underground burrows77.
A BUSH ROAD
Though no great traveller, I have seen beautiful landscapes in fourteen or fifteen countries, and yet hold to it that certain views of our forest spreading round lakes and over hills and valleys, peaceful and unspoiled, [85]are sights as lovely as are to be found. Whence comes their complete beauty? Of course, there are the fine contours of mountain and vale, cliff and shore. And the abundance of water, swirling78 in torrents79, leaping in waterfalls, or winding80 in lakes or sea-gulfs, aids greatly. But to me the magic of the forest—I speak of it where you find it still unspoiled—comes first from its prodigal81 life and continual variety. Why, asks a naturalist82, do so many of us wax enthusiastic over parasites83 and sentimental85 over lianas? Because, I suppose, these are among the most striking signs of the astonishing vitality86 and profusion87 which clothe almost every yard of ground and foot of bark, and, gaining foothold on the trees, invade the air itself. Nature there is not trimmed and supervised, weeded out, swept and garnished88, as in European woods. She lets herself go, expelling nothing that can manage to find standing room or breathing space. Every rule of human forestry89 and gardening appears to be broken, and the result is an easy triumph for what seems waste and rank carelessness. Trees tottering90 with age still dispute the soil with superabundant saplings, or, falling, lean upon and are held up by undecaying neighbours. Dead trunks cumber91 the ground, while mosses92, ferns, and bushes half conceal94 them. Creepers cover matted thickets, veiling their flanks and netting them into masses upon which a man may sit, and a boy be irresistibly95 tempted96 to walk. Aloft, one tree may grow upon another, and itself bear the burden of a third. Parasites twine56 round parasites, dangle97 in purposeless ropes, or [86]form loops and swings in mid-air. Some are bare, lithe98 and smooth-stemmed; others trail curtains of leaves and pale flowers. Trees of a dozen species thrust their branches into each other, till it is a puzzle to tell which foliage99 belongs to this stem, which to that; and flax-like arboreal100 colonists101 fill up forks and dress bole and limbs fantastically. Adventurous102 vines ramble103 through the interspaces, linking trunk to trunk and complicating104 the fine confusion. All around is a multitudinous, incessant105 struggle for life; but it goes on in silence, and the impression left is not regret, but a memory of beauty. The columnar dignity of the great trees contrasts with the press and struggle of the undergrowth, with the airy lace-work of fern fronds106, and the shafted107 grace of the stiffer palm-trees. From the moss93 and wandering lycopodium underfoot, to the victorious108 climber flowering eighty feet overhead, all is life, varied109 endlessly and put forth110 without stint111. Of course there is death at work around you, too; but who notes the dying amid such a riot of energy? The earth itself smells moist and fresh. What seems an odour blended of resin112, sappy wood, damp leaves, and brown tinder, hangs in the air. But the leafy roof is lofty enough, and the air cool and pure enough, to save you from the sweltering oppressiveness of an equatorial jungle. The dim entanglement113 is a quiet world, shut within itself and full of shadows. Yet, in bright weather, rays of sunshine shoot here and there against brown and grey bark, and clots114 of golden light, dripping through the foliage, dance on vivid mosses and the root-enlacement of the earth.
[87]
“The forest rears on lifted arms
Shakes through the shady depths and warms
There where those cruel coils enclasp
The trees they strangle in their grasp.”
When the sky is overcast116 the evergreen117 realm darkens. In one mood you think it invitingly118 still and mysterious; in another, its tints119 fade to a common dulness, and gloom fills its recesses. Pattering raindrops chill enthusiasm. The mazy paradise is filled with “the terror of unending trees.” The silence grows unnatural120, the rustle121 of a chance bird startles. Anything from a python to a jaguar122 might be hidden in labyrinths123 that look so tropical. In truth there is nothing there larger than a wingless and timid bird; nothing more dangerous than a rat poaching among the branches in quest of eggs; nothing more annoying than a few sandflies.
The European’s eye instinctively124 wanders over the foliage in search of likenesses to the flora125 of northern lands. He may think he detects a darker willow126 in the tawa, a brighter and taller yew127 in the matai, a giant box in the rata, a browner laburnum in the kowhai, a slender deodar in the rimu, and, by the sea, a scarlet128-flowering ilex in the pohutu-kawa. The sub-alpine beech129 forests are indeed European, inferior though our small-leaved beeches130 are to the English. You see in them wide-spreading branches, an absence of underbrush and luxuriant climbers, and a steady repetition of the [88]same sort and condition of tree, all recalling Europe. Elsewhere there is little that does this. In the guide-books you constantly encounter the word “pine,” but you will look round in vain for anything like the firs of Scotland, the maritime131 pines of Gascony, or the black and monotonous132 woods of Prussia. The nikau-palm, tree-fern, and palm-lily, the serpentine133 and leafy parasites, and such extraordinary foliage as that of the lance-wood, rewa-rewa, and two or three kinds of panax, add a hundred distinctive134 details to the broad impression of difference.
AMONG THE KAURI
I suppose that most New Zealanders, if asked to name the finest trees of their forest, would declare for the kauri and the totara. Some might add the puriri to these. But then the average New Zealander is a practical person and is apt to estimate a forest-tree in terms of sawn timber. Not that a full-grown kauri is other than a great and very interesting tree. Its spreading branches and dark crown of glossy135-green leaves, lifted above its fellows of the woodland, like Saul’s head above the people, catch and hold the eye at once. And the great column of its trunk impresses you like the pillar of an Egyptian temple, not by classic grace, but by a rotund bulk, sheer size and weight speaking of massive antiquity136. It is not their height that makes even the greatest of the kauri tribe remarkable137, for one hundred and fifty feet is nothing extraordinary. But their picked giants measure sixty-six feet in circumference138, with a diameter that, at least in one case, has reached twenty-four. [89]Moreover, the smooth grey trunks rise eighty or even a hundred feet without the interruption of a single branch. And when you come to the branches, they are as large as trees: some have been measured and found to be four feet through. Then, though the foliage is none too dense139, each leaf is of a fair size. From their lofty roof above your head to the subsoil below your feet, all is odorous of resin. Leaves and twigs140 smell of it; it forms lumps in the forks, oozes141 from the trunk and mixes with the earth—the swelling142 humus composed of flakes143 of decayed bark dropped through the slow centuries. There are still kauri pines in plenty that must have been vigorous saplings when William the Norman was afforesting south-western Hampshire. The giants just spoken of are survivors144 from ages far more remote. For they may have been tall trees when cedars145 were being hewn on Lebanon for King Solomon’s temple. And then the kauri has a pathetic interest: it is doomed147. At the present rate of consumption the supply will not last ten years. Commercially it is too valuable to be allowed to live undisturbed, and too slow of growth to make it worth the while of a money-making generation to grow it. Even the young “rickers” are callously148 slashed and burned away. Who regards a stem that may be valuable a quarter of a century hence, or a seedling149 that will not be worth money during the first half of the twentieth century? So the kauri, like the African elephant, the whale, and the bison, seems likely to become a rare [90]survival. It will be kept to be looked at in a few State reserves. Then men may remember that once upon a time virtually all the town of Auckland was built of kauri timber, and that Von Hochstetter, riding through a freshly burned kauri “bush,” found the air charged with a smell as of frankincense and myrrh.
Nor is the totara other than a king of the woods, albeit150 a lesser151 monarch152 than the giant. Its brown shaggy trunk looks best, to my thinking, when wrapped in a rough overcoat of lichens153, air-lilies, climbing ferns, lianas, and embracing rootlets. Such a tree, from waist to crown, is often a world of shaggy greenery, where its own bristling155, bushy foliage may be lit up by the crimson156 of the florid rata, or the starry157 whiteness of other climbers. The beauty of the totara is not external only. Its brown wood is handsome, and a polished piece of knotty158 or mottled totara almost vies with mottled kauri in the cabinet-maker’s esteem159.
For utility no wood in the islands, perhaps, surpasses that of the puriri, the teak of the country. One is tempted to say that it should be made a penal160 offence to burn a tree at once so serviceable and so difficult to replace. A tall puriri, too, with its fresh-green leaves and rose-tinted flowers, is a cheering sight, especially when you see, as you sometimes do, healthy specimens162 which have somehow managed to survive the cutting down and burning of the other forest trees, and stand in fields from which the bush has been cleared away.
POHUTUKAWA IN BLOOM, WHANGAROA HARBOUR
Yet none of the three trees named seems to me to [91]equal in beauty or distinction certain other chieftains of the forest. Surely the cedar-like rimu—silv? filia nobilis,—with its delicate drooping163 foliage and air of slender grace, and the more compact titoki with polished curving leaves and black-and-crimson berries, are not easily to be matched. And surpassing even these in brilliance164 and strangeness are a whole group of the iron-heart family, ratas with flowers blood-red or white, and their cousin the “spray-sprinkled” pohutu-kawa. The last-named, like the kauri, puriri, tawari, and tarairi, is a northerner, and does not love the South Island, though a stray specimen161 or two have been found in Banks’ Peninsula. But the rata, though shunning165 the dry mid-eastern coast of the South Island, ventures much nearer the Antarctic. The variety named lucida grows in Stewart Island, and forms a kind of jungle in the Auckland Isles166, where, beaten on its knees by the furious gales168, it goes down, so to speak, on all fours, and, lifting only its crown, spreads in bent169 thickets in a climate as wet and stormy as that of the moors170 of Cumberland.
The rata of the south would, but for its flowers, be an ordinary tree enough, very hard, very slow in growing, and carrying leaves somewhat like those of the English box-tree. But when in flower in the later summer, it crowns the western forests with glory, and lights up mountain passes and slopes with sheets of crimson. The splendour of the flower comes not from its petals171, but from what Kirk the botanist calls “the fiery172 crimson filaments173 of its innumerable stamens,” standing [92]as they do in red crests175, or hanging downward in feathery fringes. To win full admiration176 the rata must be seen where it spreads in profusion, staining cliffs, sprinkling the dark-green tree-tops with blood, and anon seeming in the distance to be massed in cushions of soft red. Trees have been found bearing golden flowers, but such are very rare.
The rata lucida does not climb other trees. Another and even brighter species, the florid rata, is a climbing plant, and so are two white-flowered kinds named albiflora and scandens, both beautiful in their way, but lacking the distinction of the blood-hued species, for white is only too common a colour in our forest flora. The florid rata, on the other hand, is perhaps the most brilliant of the tribe. Winding its way up to the light, it climbs to the green roof of the forest, and there flaunts178 a bold scarlet like the crest174 of some gay bird of the Tropics. It is a snake-like vine, and, vine like, yields a pale rose-tinted drink, which with a little make-believe may be likened to rough cider. Rata wine, however, is not crushed from grapes, but drawn179 from the vine-stem. Mr. Laing states that as much as a gallon and a half of liquid has dripped from a piece of the stem four feet long, after it had been cut and kept dry for three weeks.
But the most famous rata is neither the vine nor the tree of the south. It is the tree-killing tree of the North Island, the species named robusta. Its flowers are richer than the southerner’s, and whereas the latter is not often more than fifty feet high, robusta is [93]sometimes twice as tall as that. And it is as strong as tall, for its hard, heavy logs of reddish wood will lie on the ground year after year without decaying. But its fame comes from its extraordinary fashion of growing. Strong and erect180 as it is, and able to grow from the ground in the ordinary way, it prefers to begin life as an epiphyte, springing from seed dropped in a fork or hollow of a high tree. At any rate the tallest and finest specimens begin as seedlings181 in these airy nests. Thence without delay they send down roots to earth, one perhaps on one side of the tree trunk, one on the other. These in their turn, after fixing themselves in the ground, send out cross-roots to clasp each other—transverse pieces looking like the rungs of a rope-ladder. In time oblique182 rootlets make with these a complete net-work. Gradually all meet and solidify183, forming a hollow pipe of living wood. This encloses the unhappy tree and in the end presses it to death. Many and many a grey perished stick has been found in the interior of the triumphant184 destroyer. In one tree only does the constrictor meet more than its match. In the puriri it finds a growth harder and stouter185 than itself. Iron is met by steel. The grey smooth trunk goes on expanding, indifferent to the rata’s grasp, and even forcing its gripping roots apart; and the pleasant green of the puriri’s leaves shows freshly among the darker foliage of the strangler.
The rata itself, on gaining size and height, does not escape the responsibilities of arboreal life. Its own [94]forks and hollows form starting-points for the growth of another handsome tree-inhabitant, the large or shining broadleaf. Beginning sometimes thirty feet from the ground, this last will grow as much as thirty feet higher, and develop a stem fourteen inches thick. Not satisfied with sending down roots outside the trunk of its supporter it will use the interior of a hollow tree as a channel through which to reach earth. The foliage which the broadleaf puts forth quite eclipses the leaves of most of the trees upon which it rides, but it does not seem to kill these last, if it kills them at all, as quickly as the iron-hearted rata.
NIKAU PALMS
Our wild flowers, say the naturalists186, show few brilliant hues187. Our fuschias are poor, our violets white, our gentians pallid—save those of the Auckland isles. Our clematis is white or creamy, and our passion-flower faint yellow and green. Again and again we are told that our flowers, numerous as they are, seldom light up the sombre greens of the forest. This complaint may be pushed much too far. It is true that pale flowers are found in the islands belonging to families which in other countries have brightly coloured members. Though, for instance, three or four of our orchids188 are beautiful, and one falls in a cascade189 of sweet-scented190 blooms, most of the species are disappointing. But the array of our more brilliant flowers is very far from contemptible191. Over and above the gorgeous ratas and their spray-sprinkled cousins are to be reckoned the golden-and-russet kowhai, the crimson parrot’s-beak, veronicas wine-hued or purple, the red mistletoe, the yellow [95]tarata, and the rosy192 variety of the manuka. The stalks of the flax-lily make a brave show of red and yellow. The centre of the mountain-lily’s cup is shining gold. And when speaking of colour we may fairly take count of the golden glint or pinkish tinge193 of the toé-toé plumes194, the lilac hue177 of the palm-flower, the orange-coloured fruit of the karaka, and the purples of the tutu and wineberry. Nor do flowers lack beauty because they are white,—witness the ribbon-wood loaded with masses of blooms, fine as those of the double cherry, and honey-scented to boot; witness the tawari, the hinau, the rangiora, the daisy-tree, the whau, and half a score more. For myself, I would not change the purity of our starry clematis for the most splendid parasite of the Tropics. Certainly the pallid-greenish and chocolate hues of some of our flowers are strange; they seem tinged195 with moonlight and meant for the night hours, and in the dusky jungle carry away one’s thoughts to “Rappaccini’s Daughter” and “Les Fleurs du Mal.”
For a bit of New Zealand colour you may turn to Colenso’s description of a certain morning in early October when he found himself on a high hill-top in face of Mount Ruapehu. Snow had fallen in the night and the volcano was mantled196 heavily therewith. The forest and native village on the hill on which Colenso stood were sprinkled with white, and, though the rising sun was shining brightly, a few big flakes continued to flutter down. Outside the village a grove197 of kowhai was covered with golden-and-russet blossoms, all the [96]more noticeable because the young leaves were only on the way. Suddenly from the evergreen forest a flock of kakas descended198 on the kowhais, chattering200 hoarsely201. The great parrots, walking out on the underside of the boughs202 to the very end of the branches, began to tear open the flowers, piercing them at the side of their base and licking out the honey with their brush-tipped tongues. Brown-skinned Maori boys climbing the trees brought to the naturalist specimens of the blossoms thus opened by the big beaks203. The combination of the golden-brown flowers and green forest; the rough-voiced parrots, olive-brown and splashed with red, swaying on the slender branch-tips; and the sunlight gleaming on the white snow, made, with the towering volcano in the background, a picture as brilliant as curious.
Whatever the dim flowers, purple fruit, and glossy leaves of many of our plants might lead the imaginative to expect, the number that are poisonous is very small. Only two examples are conspicuous204, and but one does any damage to speak of. Of the noxious205 pair the karaka, a handsome shrub206, is a favourite garden plant, thanks to its large polished leaves and the deep orange colour of its fruit. It has been a favourite, too, with the Maori from time immemorial. They plant it near their villages, and they claim to have brought it in their canoes from Polynesia. Botanists207 shake their heads over this assertion, however, the explanation of which is somewhat similar to a famous statement by a certain undergraduate on the crux208 of the Baconian controversy209. [97]“The plays of Shakespeare,” said this young gentleman, “were not written by him, but by another fellow of the same name.” It seems that there is a Polynesian karaka in the islands where the Maori once dwelt, but that it is no relation of the New Zealand shrub. The affection of the Maori for the latter was based on something more practical than an ancestral association. They were extremely fond of the kernel210 of its fruit. When raw, this is exceedingly bitter and disagreeable—fortunately so, for it contains then a powerful poison. Somehow the Maori discovered that by long baking or persistent211 steaming the kernels212 could be freed from this, and they used to subject them to the process in a most patient and elaborate fashion. Now and then some unlucky person—usually a child—would chew a raw kernel and then the result was extraordinary. The poison distorted the limbs and then left them quite rigid213, in unnatural postures214. To avoid this the Maori would lash21 the arms and legs of the unfortunate sufferer in a natural position, and then bury him up to his shoulders in earth. Colenso once saw a case in which this strong step had not been taken, or had failed. At any rate the victim of karaka poison, a well-grown boy, was lying with limbs stiff and immovable, one arm thrust out in front, one leg twisted backwards215; he could neither feed himself nor beat off the swarm216 of sandflies that were pestering217 him. White children must be more cautious than the Maori, for though the karaka shines in half the gardens of the North Island, one never hears of any harm coming from it. The other plant with noxious [98]properties is the tutu, and this in times past did much damage among live-stock, sheep especially. Much smaller than the karaka, it is still an attractive-looking bush, with soft leaves and purple-black clusters of berries. Both berries and shoots contain a poison, powerful enough to interest chemists as well as botanists. Sheep which eat greedily of it, especially when tired and fasting after a journey, may die in a few hours. It kills horned cattle also, though horses do not seem to suffer from it. Its chief recorded achievement was to cause the death of a circus elephant many years ago, a result which followed in a few hours after a hearty218 meal upon a mixture of tutu and other vegetation. So powerful is the poison that a chemist who handles the shoots of the plant for an hour or two with his fingers will suffer nausea219, pain, and a burning sensation of the skin. An extremely minute internal dose makes the nausea very violent indeed. Of course, so dangerous a plant does not get much quarter from the settlers, and for this and other reasons the losses caused by tutu among our flocks and herds220 are far less than was the case forty or fifty years ago. Strangely enough the Maoris could make a wine from the juice of the berries, which was said to be harmless and palatable221, though I venture to doubt it. White men are said to have tried the liquor, though I have never met any of these daring drinkers. Though the most dangerous plant in the islands, it does not seem to have caused any recorded death among white people for more than forty years.
ON THE PELORUS RIVER
Our flora has oddities as well as beauties. Some of [99]its best-known members belong to the lily tribe. Several of these are as different from each other and as unlike the ordinary man’s notion of a lily as could well be. One of the commonest is a lily like a palm-tree, and another equally abundant is a lily like a tall flax. A third is a tree-dweller, a luxuriant mass of drooping blades, resembling sword-grass. A fourth is a black-stemmed wild vine, a coiling and twining parasite of the forest, familiarly named supplejack, which resembles nothing so much as a family of black snakes climbing about playfully in the foliage. Another, even more troublesome creeper, is no lily but a handsome bramble, known as the bush-lawyer, equipped with ingenious hooks of a most dilatory222 kind. When among trees, the lawyer sticks his claws into the nearest bark and mounts boldly aloft; but when growing in an open glade223, he collapses224 into a sort of huddled225 bush, and cannot even propagate his species, though, oddly enough, in such cases, he grows hooks even more abundantly than when climbing.
Members of very different families, the pen-wiper plant and the vegetable sheep are excellently described by their names. That is more than can be said for many of our forest trees. One of these, the aké, has leaves so viscous226 that in sandy or dusty spots these become too thickly coated with dirt to allow the tree to grow to any size. As a variation the para-para tree has normal leaves, but the skin of its fruit is so sticky that not only insects but small birds have been found glued thereto. A rather common trick of our trees is to change the form of their leaves as they grow old. The slim, [100]straight lance-wood, for instance, will for many years be clothed with long, narrow, leathery-looking leaves, armed with hooks, growing from the stem and pointing stiffly downwards227. So long, narrow, and rigid are they that the whole plant stands like an inverted228 umbrella stripped of its covering. Later in life the leaves lose both their hooks and their odd shape, and the lance-wood ceases to look like a survival from the days of the pterodactyl. At no time can it look much stranger than two species of dracophyllum, the nei-nei and the grass-tree. Save for the extremities229, the limbs of these are naked. They reserve their energies for tufts at the tips. In one species these are like long wisps of grass; in the other they curve back like a pine-apple’s, and from among them springs a large red flower having the shape of a toy tree. Even the nei-nei is eclipsed by the tanekaha, or celery pine, which contrives230 to be a very handsome tree without bearing any leaves whatever; their place is taken by branchlets, thickened and fan-shaped. The raukawa has leaves scented so sweetly that the Maori women used to rub their skins with them as a perfume. Another more eccentric plant is scentless231 by day, but smells agreeably at night-time. Indeed, both by day and night the air of the forest is pleasant to the nostrils232. A disagreeable exception among our plants is the coprosma, emphatically called f?tidissima, concerning which bushmen, entangled in its thickets, have used language which might turn bullock-drivers green with envy.
AUCKLAND
The navigators who discovered or traded with our [101]islands while they were still a No Man’s Land have recorded their admiration of the timber of our forests. The tall sticks of kauri and kahikatea, with their scores of feet of clean straight wood, roused the sailors’ enthusiasm. It seemed to them that they had chanced upon the finest spars in the world. And for two generations after Captain Cook, trees picked out in the Auckland bush, and roughly trimmed there, were carried across on the decks of trading schooners233 to Sydney, and there used by Australian shipbuilders. In the year 1819 the British Government sent a store-ship, the Dromedary, to the Bay of Islands for a cargo234 of kauri spars. They were to be suitable for top-masts, so to be from seventy-four to eighty-four feet long and from twenty-one to twenty-three inches thick. After much chaffering with the native chiefs the spars were cut and shipped, and we owe to the expedition an interesting book by an officer on board the Dromedary. Our export of timber has always been mainly from Auckland, and for many years has been chiefly of kauri logs or sawn timber. There has been some export of white pine to Australia for making butter-boxes; but the kauri has been the mainstay of the timber trade oversea. Other woods are cut and sawn in large quantities, but the timber is consumed within the colony. How large the consumption is may be seen from the number of saw-mills at work—411—and their annual output, which was 432,000,000 superficial feet last year. Add to this a considerable amount cut for firewood, fences, and rough carpentering, which [102]does not pass through the mills. And then, great as is the total quantity made use of, the amount destroyed and wasted is also great. Accidental fires, sometimes caused by gross carelessness, ravage235 thousands of acres. “A swagger will burn down a forest to light his pipe,” said Sir Julius Vogel, and the epigram was doubtless true of some of the swag-carrying tribe. But the average swagger is a decent enough labourer on the march in search of work, and not to be classed with the irreclaimable vagrant236 called tramp in Britain. In any case the swagger was never the sole or main offender237 where forest fires were concerned. It would be correct to say that gum-diggers sometimes burn down a forest in trying to clear an acre of scrub. But bush fires start up from twenty different causes. Sparks from a saw-mill often light up a blaze which may end in consuming the mill and its surroundings. I have heard of a dogmatic settler who was so positive that his grass would not burn that he threw a lighted match into a tuft of it by way of demonstration238. A puff76 of wind found the little flame, and before it was extinguished it had consumed four hundred acres of yellow but valuable pasture.
And then there is the great area deliberately239 cut and burned to make way for grass. Here the defender14 of tree-life is faced with a more difficult problem. The men who are doing the melancholy240 work of destruction are doing also the work of colonisation. As a class they are, perhaps, the most interesting and deserving in colonial life. They are acting241 lawfully242 and in good [103]faith. Yet the result is a hewing243 down and sweeping244 away of beauty, compared with which the conquests of the Goths and Vandals were conservative processes. For those noted245 invaders246 did not level Rome or Carthage to the ground: they left classic architecture standing. To the lover of beautiful Nature the work of our race in New Zealand seems more akin67 to that of the Seljuk Turks in Asia Minor247, when they swept away population, buildings and agriculture, and Byzantine city and rural life together, in order to turn whole provinces into pasture for their sheep. Not that my countrymen are more blind to beauty than other colonists from Europe. It is mere248 accident which has laid upon them the burden of having ruined more natural beauty in the last half-century than have other pioneers. The result is none the less saddening. When the first white settlers landed, the islands were supposed still to contain some thirty million acres of forest. The Maori had done a share of destruction by reckless or accidental burning. Other causes, perhaps, had helped to devastate249 such tracts250 as the Canterbury plains and the kauri gum-fields. But enough, and more than enough, was left; indeed the bush seemed the chief barrier to rapid settlement. The havoc251 wrought252 by careless savages was a trifle compared with the wholesale253 destruction brought about by our utilising of the forests and the soil. Quod non fecerunt Barbari fecere Barberini. To-day we are told that the timber still standing cannot last our saw-mills more than two generations, and that a supply which was estimated at [104]forty-three thousand million feet in 1905 had shrunk to thirty-six thousand million feet in 1907. The acreage of our forests must be nearer fifteen than twenty millions now. Some of this, covering, as it does, good alluvial254 soil, must go; but I am far from being alone in believing that four-fifths of it should be conserved255, and that where timber is cut the same precautions should be insisted on as in Germany, France, India, and some intelligent portions of North America. Within the last two years great floods in Auckland and Hawke’s Bay, and, farther south, two summers hot and dry beyond precedent256, seem to point the moral and strengthen the case for making a courageous257 stand on behalf of the moiety258 we have left of the woods that our fathers thought illimitable.
MOUNT EGMONT
Something has already been done. Forty years ago Thomas Potts, naturalist and politician, raised his voice in the parliamentary wilderness259; and in the next decade a Premier260, Sir Julius Vogel, came forward with an official scheme of conservation which would have been invaluable261 had he pressed it home. Since then enlightened officials, like the late Surveyor-General, Mr. Percy Smith, have done what they could. From time to time reserves have been made which, all too small as they are, now protect some millions of acres. In the rainier districts most of this is not in great danger from chance fires. Nor is it always and everywhere true that the forest when burned does not grow again. It can and will do so, if cattle and goats are kept out of it. The lavish262 beauty of the primeval forest may not return, [105]but that is another matter. The cry that Government reservation only saves trees from the axe to keep them for the fire may be dismissed as a counsel of despair, or—sometimes—as inspired by the saw-miller and land-grabber. Of late years, too, both Government and public are waking up to the wisdom of preserving noted and beautiful scenes. Many years ago the settlers of Taranaki set an example by reserving the upper and middle slopes of their Fusiyama, Mount Egmont. Long stretches of the draped cliffs of Wanganui River have been made as safe as law can make them, though some still remain in danger, and I am told that at Taumaranui, on the upper river, the hum of the saw-mills is ever in your ears. Societies for preserving scenery are at work elsewhere, and the Parliament has passed an Act and established a Board for the purpose of making scenic263 reserves. Twenty-five thousand acres have lately been set aside on the Board’s advice, and the area will, I assume, be added to yearly.
Now and again, in dry, windy summers, the forest turns upon its destroyers and takes revenge. Dying, it involves their works and possessions in its own fiery death. A bush-fire is a fine sight when seen on windy nights, burning whole hill-sides, crawling slowly to windward, or rushing with the wind in leaping tongues and flakes that fly above the tree-tops. The roar, as of a mighty264 gale167, the spouting265 and whirling of golden sparks, the hissing266 of sap and resin, and the glowing heat that may be felt a mile away, join grandly in furious energy. Nothing can be finer than the spectacle, just as nothing [106]can be more dreary267 than the resulting ruin. A piece of bush accidentally burned has no touch of dignity in its wreck268. It becomes merely an ugly and hateful jumble269, begrimed, untidy, and unserviceable. A tract68 that has been cut down and fired deliberately is in a better case. Something more like a clean sweep has been made, and the young grass sprouting270 up gives promise of a better day. But bush through which fire has run too quickly is often spoiled as forest, without becoming of use to the farmer. The best that can be done when trees are thus scorched271 is for the saw-miller to pick out the larger timber and separate with his machinery272 the sound inside from the burned envelope. This he does skilfully273 enough, and much good wood—especially kauri—is thus saved. The simple-minded settler when selling scorched timber sometimes tries to charge for sound and injured portions alike; but the average saw-miller is a man of experience.
TAREI-PO-KIORE
As I have said, fire sometimes sweeps down upon the forest’s enemies and carries all before it: saw-mills and their out-buildings are made into bonfires, and the stacks of sawn planks274 and litter of chips and sawdust help the blaze. The owner and his men are lucky if they save more than their portable belongings275. Nor does the fire stop there. After making a mouthful of mills and woodcutters’ huts, it may set out for some small township not yet clear of stumps276, dead trunks, and inflammable trash. All depends upon the wind. If the flames are being borne along upon the wings of a strong north-west wind—the [107]“regular howling nor’-wester” of up-country vernacular—very little can be done except to take to flight, driving live-stock, and taking such furniture as can be piled on carts and driven away. Fences, house, machinery, garden, and miles of grass may be swept away in a few hours, the labour of half a lifetime may be consumed, and the burnt-out settler may be thankful if the Government comes to his aid with a loan to enable him to buy grass seed to scatter46 on his blackened acres after the long-desired rains have come.
In an exceptionally dry summer—such an extraordinary season as came in January and February of this year—the fire goes to work on a grand scale. In a tract a hundred miles long, thirty or forty outbreaks may be reported within a week. Settlers looking out from their homesteads may see smoke and glowing skies in half-a-dozen directions at once. Now the blaze may approach from this direction, now from that, just as the wind freshens or shifts. Sheep are mustered277, and, if possible, driven away. Threatened householders send their furniture away, or dig holes in the ground and bury it. When the danger comes too suddenly to give time for anything more, goods are hastily piled on some bare patch and covered with wet blankets. I have read of a prudent278 settler who had prepared for these risks of fire by excavating279 a cave almost large enough to house a band of prophets. After three years the fire came his way, and he duly stored away his possessions in the repository. But just as rain does not fall when you take out a large umbrella, so our provident280 [108]friend found that the fire would not touch his house. He lost nothing but a shed.
MORNING ON THE WANGANUI RIVER
If there appears any fair chance of beating back the flames, the men join together, form a line, and give battle. They do not lightly surrender the fruits of years of toil, but will fight rolling smoke, flying sparks, and even scorching281 flame, hour after hour. Strips of grass are burned off in advance, and dead timber blown up with dynamite282. Buckets of water are passed from hand to hand, or the flames are beaten out with sacks or blankets. Seen at night on a burning hill-side, the row of masculine fighting figures stands out jet-black against the red glow, and the wild attitudes and desperate exertions284 are a study for an artist. Among the men, boys work gleefully; there is no school for them when a fire has to be beaten. Very young children suffer greatly from the smoke with which the air they breathe is laden285, perhaps for days together. Even a Londoner would find its volumes trying. Now and again a bushman in the thick of the fight reels half-suffocated, or falls fainting and has to be carried away. But his companions work on; and grass-fires are often stopped and standing crops saved. But fire running through thick bush is a more formidable affair. The heat is terrific, the very soil seems afire; and indeed the flames, after devouring286 trunks and branches, will work down into the roots and consume them for many feet. Sparks and tongues of flame shoot across roads and streams and start a blaze on the farther side. Messengers riding for help, or settlers trying to reach [109]their families, have often to run the gauntlet perilously287 on tracks which the fire has reached or is crossing. They gallop288 through when they can, sometimes with hair and beard singed289 and clothes smelling of the fire. Men, however, very seldom lose their lives. For one who dies by fire in the bush, fifty are killed by falling timber in the course of tree-felling. Sheep have occasionally to be left to their fate, and are roasted, or escape with wool half-burnt. Wild pigs save themselves; but many native birds perish with their trees, and the trout290 in the smaller streams die in hundreds.
Many stories are told of these bush fires, and of the perils291, panics, or displays of courage they have occasioned. Let me repeat one. In a certain “bush township,” or small settlement in the forest, lived a clergyman, who, in addition to working hard among the settlers in a parish half as large as an English county, was a reader of books. He was, I think, a bachelor, and I can well believe that his books were to him something not far removed from wife and children. The life of a parson in the bush certainly deserves some consolations292 in addition to those of religion. Well, a certain devastating293 fire took a turn towards the township in which a wooden roof sheltered our parson and his beloved volumes. Some householders were able to drive off with their goods; others stood their ground. The minister, after some reflection, carried his books out of doors, took a spade and began to dig a hole in the earth, meaning to bury them therein. Just as the interment was beginning, a neighbour rode up with the news that [110]the house of a widow woman, not far away, had caught fire and that friends were trying to extinguish the burning or at least save her goods. Whether the book-lover gave “a splendid groan” I do not know; but leaving his treasures, off he ran, and was soon among the busiest of the little salvage294 corps295, hauling and shouldering like a man. When all was done that could be done he hastened back, blackened and perspiring296, to his own dwelling. Alas297! the fire had outflanked him. Sparks and burning flakes had dropped upon his books and the little collection was a blazing pile. I have forgotten the parson’s name and do not know what became of him. But if any man deserved, in later life, a fine library at the hands of the Fates, he did. I hope that he has one, and that it includes a copy of Mr. Blades’s entertaining treatise298 on the Enemies of Books. With what gusto he must read chapter i., the title of which is “Fire.”
ON THE UPPER WANGANUI
Just as a burning forest is a magnificent scene with a dismal299 sequel, so the saw-miller’s industry, though it finds a paradise and leaves a rubbish-yard, is, while it goes on, a picturesque300 business. Like many forms of destruction, it lends itself to the exertion283 of boldness, strength, and skill. The mill itself is probably too primitive301 to be exactly ugly, and the complicated machinery is interesting when in action, albeit its noises, which at a distance blend into a humming vibration302, rise near at hand to tearing and rending303, clattering304 and howling. But the smell of the clean wood is fresh and resinous305, and nothing worse than sawdust loads [111]the air. The strong teeth of the saws go through the big logs as though they were cheese. The speed of the transformation306, the neatness and utility of the outcome, are pleasing enough. Then the timber-scows, those broad, comfortable-looking craft that go plodding307 along the northern coasts, may be said, without irony308, to have a share of “Batavian grace.” But the more absorbing work of the timber trade begins at the other end, with the selecting and felling of the timber. After that comes the task of hauling or floating it down to the mill. Tree-felling is, one supposes, much the same in all countries where the American pattern of axe is used. With us, as elsewhere, there are sights worth watching. It is worth your while to look at two axemen at work on the tree, giving alternate blows, one swinging the axe from the right, the other from the left. Physically309, bush-fellers are among the finest workmen in the islands, and not only in wood-chopping contests, but when at work, under contract in the bush, they make the chips fly apace. Some of them seem able to hew146 almost as well with one arm as with two; indeed, one-armed men have made useful fellers. Sometimes they attack a tree from the ground; but into the larger trunks they may drive stakes some few feet from the soil, or may honour a giant by building a platform round it. Upon this they stand, swinging their axes or working a large cross-cut saw. Skill, of course, is required in arranging the direction in which the tree shall fall, also in avoiding it when it comes down. Even a broken limb is a serious matter enough in the bush, far from surgical310 [112]aid. Men thus struck down have to be carried on rough litters to the nearest surgeon. In one case the mates of an injured bush-feller carried him in this way fully63 sixty miles, taking turns to bear the burden. Even when a man has been killed outright311 and there is no longer question of surgical aid, the kindliness312 of the bushmen may still be shown. Men have been known to give up days of remunerative313 work in order to carry the body of a comrade to some settlement, where it can be buried in consecrated314 ground. Accidents are common enough in the bush. Only last year an “old hand” fell a victim to mischance after forty years of a bushman’s life. Slipping on a prostrate315 trunk he fell on the sharp edge of his axe, and was discovered lying there dead in solitude316.
WAIRUA FALLS
When the tree has been felled and cross-cut and the branches lopped off, the log may be lying many miles from the mill. Hills and ravines may have to be crossed or avoided. Orpheus with his lute317 would be invaluable to the New Zealand saw-miller. The local poet, though fond enough of addressing his stanzas318 to the forest trees, does not pretend to draw them to follow in his footsteps. Nor are our poets on the side of the saw-mills. So bushmen have to fall back upon mechanical devices and the aid of water-power. Long narrow tracks are cut, and floored with smooth skids319. Along these logs are dragged—it may be by the wire rope of a traction320 machine, it may be by a team of bullocks. Over very short distances the logs are shifted by the men themselves, who “jack” them with a dexterity321 [113]astonishing to the townsmen. Mainly, the journey to the mill is made either by tramway or water. Where a deep river is at hand, floating timber is a comparatively simple business. But more often the logs have to slide, be rolled or be hauled, into the beds of streams or creeks322 that may be half dry for months together. To obtain the needful depth of water, dams are often built, above which the logs accumulate in numbers and stay floating while their owners wait patiently for a fresh. Or the timber may remain stranded323, in shallow creeks or in the reeds or stones of dwindled324 rivers. At length the rain-storm bursts, the sluices325 of the dams are hastily opened, and the logs in great companies start on their swim for the sea-coast. A heavy flood may mean loss to farmer and gardener, and be a nuisance to travellers; but to the saw-millers of a province it may be like the breaking-up of a long drought. They rub their hands and tell you that they have not had such a turn of luck for a twelvemonth,—“millions of feet were brought down yesterday!” As the rains descend199 and the floods come, their men hurry away to loosen barriers, start logs on their way, or steer326 them in their course. Wild is the rush of the timber as it is thus swept away, not in long orderly rafts such as one sees zigzagging327 along on the Elbe or St. Lawrence, but in a frantic328 mob of racing154 logs, spinning round, rolled over and over, colliding, plunging329 and reappearing in the swirling water. Rafts you may see in the ordinary way being towed down the Wairoa River to the Kaipara harbour by steam tugs330. [114]But in flood-time, when thousands of logs are taking an irresponsible course towards the ocean, the little steamers have a more exciting task. It is theirs to chase the logs, which, rolling and bobbing like schools of escaping whales, have to be caught and towed to some boom or harbourage near the saw-mill for which they are destined331. Otherwise they may become imbedded in tidal mud, or may drift away to sea and be lost. Logs bearing the marks of Auckland saw-millers have been found ere now stranded on distant beaches after a voyage of several hundred miles.
Like axemen and log-rollers, the river hands who look after dams and floating logs have their accidents and hairbreadth escapes. They have to trust to courage and to an amphibious dexterity, of which they exhibit an ample share. Watch a man standing upright on a log huge enough to be a mast, and poling it along as though it were a punt. That looks easier than it is. But watch the same man without any pole controlling a rolling log and steering332 it with feet alone. That does not even look easy. Some years ago, it is said, a mill hand, when opening a dam in a rain-storm, fell into the flood and was swept down among the released timber. Amid the crash of tumbling logs he was carried over the dam and over a waterfall farther down stream. Yet he reached the bank with no worse injury than a broken wrist! I tell the tale as it was printed in an Auckland newspaper.
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rambling
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| adj.[建]凌乱的，杂乱的 | |
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axe
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| n.斧子；v.用斧头砍，削减 | |
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toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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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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perplexed
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propitiate
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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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dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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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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severed
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| v.切断，断绝( sever的过去式和过去分词 )；断，裂 | |
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flake
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| v.使成薄片；雪片般落下；n.薄片 | |
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feat
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| n.功绩；武艺，技艺；adj.灵巧的，漂亮的，合适的 | |
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13
prow
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| n.(飞机)机头，船头 | |
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14
defender
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| n.保卫者，拥护者，辩护人 | |
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defenders
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| n.防御者( defender的名词复数 )；守卫者；保护者；辩护者 | |
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propitiatory
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| adj.劝解的；抚慰的；谋求好感的；哄人息怒的 | |
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17
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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18
hacked
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| 生气 | |
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19
slashed
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| v.挥砍( slash的过去式和过去分词 )；鞭打；割破；削减 | |
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lashed
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| adj.具睫毛的v.鞭打( lash的过去式和过去分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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21
lash
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| v.系牢；鞭打；猛烈抨击；n.鞭打；眼睫毛 | |
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22
patrician
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| adj.贵族的，显贵的；n.贵族；有教养的人；罗马帝国的地方官 | |
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23
plebeian
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| adj.粗俗的；平民的；n.平民；庶民 | |
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24
tattooed
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| v.刺青，文身( tattoo的过去式和过去分词 )；连续有节奏地敲击；作连续有节奏的敲击 | |
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25
savages
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| 未开化的人，野蛮人( savage的名词复数 ) | |
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26
botanist
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| n.植物学家 | |
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27
devout
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| adj.虔诚的，虔敬的，衷心的 (n.devoutness) | |
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28
conversed
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| v.交谈，谈话( converse的过去式 ) | |
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29
scanty
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| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
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30
inaccessible
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| adj.达不到的，难接近的 | |
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31
entangled
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| adj.卷入的；陷入的；被缠住的；缠在一起的v.使某人（某物/自己）缠绕，纠缠于（某物中），使某人（自己）陷入（困难或复杂的环境中）( entangle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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32
invader
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| n.侵略者，侵犯者，入侵者 | |
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33
deities
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| n.神，女神( deity的名词复数 )；神祗；神灵；神明 | |
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34
enchanting
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| a.讨人喜欢的 | |
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35
diadem
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| n.王冠，冕 | |
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36
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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gem
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| n.宝石，珠宝；受爱戴的人 [同]jewel | |
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recesses
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| n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 )；（工作或业务活动的）中止或暂停期间；学校的课间休息；某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 )；将（墙）做成凹形，在（墙）上做壁龛；休息，休会，休庭 | |
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39
recede
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| vi.退(去)，渐渐远去；向后倾斜，缩进 | |
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40
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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41
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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42
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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43
throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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44
contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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45
scattering
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| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
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46
scatter
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| vt.撒，驱散，散开；散布/播；vi.分散，消散 | |
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47
impede
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| v.妨碍，阻碍，阻止 | |
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48
streaks
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| n.（与周围有所不同的）条纹( streak的名词复数 )；（通常指不好的）特征（倾向）；（不断经历成功或失败的）一段时期v.快速移动( streak的第三人称单数 )；使布满条纹 | |
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49
buttresses
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| n.扶壁，扶垛( buttress的名词复数 )v.用扶壁支撑，加固( buttress的第三人称单数 ) | |
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50
inquisitive
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| adj.求知欲强的，好奇的，好寻根究底的 | |
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51
ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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52
enchantment
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| n.迷惑，妖术，魅力 | |
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53
tangible
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| adj.有形的，可触摸的，确凿的，实际的 | |
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54
wedded
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| adj.正式结婚的；渴望…的，执著于…的v.嫁，娶，（与…）结婚( wed的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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55
penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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56
twine
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| v.搓，织，编饰；（使）缠绕 | |
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57
bereaved
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| adj.刚刚丧失亲人的v.使失去（希望、生命等）( bereave的过去式和过去分词)；（尤指死亡）使丧失（亲人、朋友等）；使孤寂；抢走（财物） | |
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58
lurking
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| 潜在 | |
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59
regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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60
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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61
streaked
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| adj.有条斑纹的，不安的v.快速移动( streak的过去式和过去分词 )；使布满条纹 | |
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62
loathsome
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| adj.讨厌的，令人厌恶的 | |
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63
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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64
stockades
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| n.（防御用的）栅栏，围桩( stockade的名词复数 ) | |
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65
utensils
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| 器具，用具，器皿( utensil的名词复数 )； 器物 | |
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66
snaring
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| v.用罗网捕捉，诱陷，陷害( snare的现在分词 ) | |
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67
akin
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| adj.同族的，类似的 | |
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68
tract
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| n.传单，小册子，大片(土地或森林) | |
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69
upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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70
perch
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| n.栖木，高位，杆；v.栖息，就位，位于 | |
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71
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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72
dexterous
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| adj.灵敏的；灵巧的 | |
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73
adroitly
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| adv.熟练地，敏捷地 | |
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74
muzzle
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| n.鼻口部；口套；枪(炮)口；vt.使缄默 | |
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75
delicacies
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| n.棘手( delicacy的名词复数 )；精致；精美的食物；周到 | |
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76
puff
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| n.一口(气)；一阵(风)；v.喷气，喘气 | |
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77
burrows
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| n.地洞( burrow的名词复数 )v.挖掘（洞穴），挖洞( burrow的第三人称单数 )；翻寻 | |
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78
swirling
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| v.旋转，打旋( swirl的现在分词 ) | |
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79
torrents
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| n.倾注；奔流( torrent的名词复数 )；急流；爆发；连续不断 | |
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80
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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81
prodigal
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| adj.浪费的，挥霍的，放荡的 | |
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82
naturalist
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| n.博物学家(尤指直接观察动植物者) | |
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83
parasites
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| 寄生物( parasite的名词复数 )； 靠他人为生的人； 诸虫 | |
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84
parasite
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| n.寄生虫；寄生菌；食客 | |
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85
sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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86
vitality
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| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
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87
profusion
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| n.挥霍；丰富 | |
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88
garnished
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| v.给（上餐桌的食物）加装饰( garnish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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89
forestry
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| n.森林学；林业 | |
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90
tottering
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| adj.蹒跚的，动摇的v.走得或动得不稳( totter的现在分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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91
cumber
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| v.拖累，妨碍；n.妨害；拖累 | |
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92
mosses
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| n. 藓类, 苔藓植物 名词moss的复数形式 | |
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93
moss
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| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
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94
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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95
irresistibly
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| adv.无法抵抗地，不能自持地；极为诱惑人地 | |
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96
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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97
dangle
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| v.(使)悬荡，(使)悬垂 | |
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98
lithe
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| adj.(指人、身体)柔软的，易弯的 | |
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99
foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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100
arboreal
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| adj.树栖的；树的 | |
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101
colonists
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| n.殖民地开拓者，移民，殖民地居民( colonist的名词复数 ) | |
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102
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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103
ramble
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| v.漫步，漫谈，漫游；n.漫步，闲谈，蔓延 | |
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104
complicating
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| 使复杂化( complicate的现在分词 ) | |
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105
incessant
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| adj.不停的，连续的 | |
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106
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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107
shafted
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| 有箭杆的，有柄的，有羽轴的 | |
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108
victorious
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| adj.胜利的，得胜的 | |
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109
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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110
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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111
stint
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| v.节省，限制，停止；n.舍不得化，节约，限制；连续不断的一段时间从事某件事 | |
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112
resin
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| n.树脂，松香，树脂制品；vt.涂树脂 | |
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113
entanglement
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| n.纠缠，牵累 | |
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114
clots
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| n.凝块( clot的名词复数 )；血块；蠢人；傻瓜v.凝固( clot的第三人称单数 ) | |
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115
dome
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| n.圆屋顶，拱顶 | |
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116
overcast
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| adj.阴天的，阴暗的，愁闷的；v.遮盖，（使）变暗，包边缝；n.覆盖，阴天 | |
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117
evergreen
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| n.常青树；adj.四季常青的 | |
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118
invitingly
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| adv. 动人地 | |
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119
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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120
unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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121
rustle
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| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
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122
jaguar
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| n.美洲虎 | |
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123
labyrinths
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| 迷宫( labyrinth的名词复数 )； （文字，建筑）错综复杂的 | |
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124
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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125
flora
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| n.(某一地区的)植物群 | |
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126
willow
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| n.柳树 | |
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127
yew
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| n.紫杉属树木 | |
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128
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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129
beech
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| n.山毛榉；adj.山毛榉的 | |
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130
beeches
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| n.山毛榉( beech的名词复数 )；山毛榉木材 | |
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131
maritime
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| adj.海的，海事的，航海的，近海的，沿海的 | |
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132
monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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133
serpentine
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| adj.蜿蜒的，弯曲的 | |
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134
distinctive
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| adj.特别的，有特色的，与众不同的 | |
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135
glossy
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| adj.平滑的；有光泽的 | |
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136
antiquity
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| n.古老；高龄；古物，古迹 | |
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137
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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138
circumference
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| n.圆周，周长，圆周线 | |
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139
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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140
twigs
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| 细枝，嫩枝( twig的名词复数 ) | |
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141
oozes
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| v.（浓液等）慢慢地冒出，渗出( ooze的第三人称单数 )；使（液体）缓缓流出；（浓液）渗出，慢慢流出 | |
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142
swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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143
flakes
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| 小薄片( flake的名词复数 )； （尤指）碎片； 雪花； 古怪的人 | |
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144
survivors
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| 幸存者，残存者，生还者( survivor的名词复数 ) | |
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145
cedars
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| 雪松，西洋杉( cedar的名词复数 ) | |
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146
hew
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| v.砍；伐；削 | |
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147
doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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148
callously
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149
seedling
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| n.秧苗，树苗 | |
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150
albeit
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| conj.即使；纵使；虽然 | |
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151
lesser
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| adj.次要的，较小的；adv.较小地，较少地 | |
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152
monarch
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| n.帝王，君主，最高统治者 | |
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153
lichens
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| n.地衣( lichen的名词复数 ) | |
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154
racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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155
bristling
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| a.竖立的 | |
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156
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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157
starry
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| adj.星光照耀的, 闪亮的 | |
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158
knotty
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| adj.有结的，多节的，多瘤的，棘手的 | |
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159
esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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160
penal
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| adj.刑罚的；刑法上的 | |
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161
specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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162
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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163
drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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164
brilliance
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| n.光辉，辉煌，壮丽，（卓越的）才华，才智 | |
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165
shunning
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| v.避开，回避，避免( shun的现在分词 ) | |
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166
isles
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| 岛( isle的名词复数 ) | |
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167
gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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168
gales
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| 龙猫 | |
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169
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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170
moors
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| v.停泊，系泊（船只）( moor的第三人称单数 ) | |
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171
petals
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| n.花瓣( petal的名词复数 ) | |
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172
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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173
filaments
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| n.（电灯泡的）灯丝( filament的名词复数 )；丝极；细丝；丝状物 | |
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174
crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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175
crests
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| v.到达山顶（或浪峰）( crest的第三人称单数 )；到达洪峰，达到顶点 | |
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176
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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177
hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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178
flaunts
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| v.炫耀，夸耀( flaunt的第三人称单数 )；有什么能耐就施展出来 | |
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179
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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180
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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181
seedlings
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| n.刚出芽的幼苗( seedling的名词复数 ) | |
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182
oblique
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| adj.斜的，倾斜的，无诚意的，不坦率的 | |
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183
solidify
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| v.(使)凝固，(使)固化，(使)团结 | |
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184
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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185
stouter
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| 粗壮的( stout的比较级 )； 结实的； 坚固的； 坚定的 | |
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186
naturalists
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| n.博物学家( naturalist的名词复数 )；（文学艺术的）自然主义者 | |
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187
hues
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| 色彩( hue的名词复数 )； 色调； 信仰； 观点 | |
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188
orchids
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| n.兰花( orchid的名词复数 ) | |
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189
cascade
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| n.小瀑布，喷流；层叠；vi.成瀑布落下 | |
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190
scented
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| adj.有香味的；洒香水的；有气味的v.嗅到(scent的过去分词) | |
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191
contemptible
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|
| adj.可鄙的，可轻视的，卑劣的 | |
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192
rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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193
tinge
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| vt.(较淡)着色于，染色；使带有…气息；n.淡淡色彩，些微的气息 | |
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194
plumes
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| 羽毛( plume的名词复数 )； 羽毛饰； 羽毛状物； 升上空中的羽状物 | |
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195
tinged
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| v.（使）发丁丁声( ting的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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196
mantled
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| 披着斗篷的，覆盖着的 | |
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197
grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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198
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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199
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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200
chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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201
hoarsely
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| adv.嘶哑地 | |
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202
boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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203
beaks
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| n.鸟嘴( beak的名词复数 )；鹰钩嘴；尖鼻子；掌权者 | |
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204
conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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205
noxious
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| adj.有害的，有毒的；使道德败坏的，讨厌的 | |
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206
shrub
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| n.灌木，灌木丛 | |
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207
botanists
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| n.植物学家，研究植物的人( botanist的名词复数 ) | |
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208
crux
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| adj.十字形；难事，关键，最重要点 | |
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209
controversy
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| n.争论，辩论，争吵 | |
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210
kernel
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| n.(果实的)核，仁；(问题)的中心，核心 | |
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211
persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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212
kernels
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| 谷粒( kernel的名词复数 )； 仁； 核； 要点 | |
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213
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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214
postures
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| 姿势( posture的名词复数 )； 看法； 态度； 立场 | |
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215
backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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216
swarm
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| n.(昆虫)等一大群；vi.成群飞舞；蜂拥而入 | |
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217
pestering
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| 使烦恼，纠缠( pester的现在分词 ) | |
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218
hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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219
nausea
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| n.作呕，恶心；极端的憎恶(或厌恶) | |
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220
herds
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| 兽群( herd的名词复数 )； 牧群； 人群； 群众 | |
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221
palatable
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| adj.可口的，美味的；惬意的 | |
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222
dilatory
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| adj.迟缓的，不慌不忙的 | |
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223
glade
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| n.林间空地，一片表面有草的沼泽低地 | |
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224
collapses
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| 折叠( collapse的第三人称单数 )； 倒塌； 崩溃； （尤指工作劳累后）坐下 | |
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225
huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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226
viscous
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| adj.粘滞的，粘性的 | |
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227
downwards
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| adj./adv.向下的（地），下行的（地） | |
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228
inverted
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| adj.反向的，倒转的v.使倒置，使反转( invert的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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229
extremities
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| n.端点( extremity的名词复数 )；尽头；手和足；极窘迫的境地 | |
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230
contrives
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| （不顾困难地）促成某事( contrive的第三人称单数 )； 巧妙地策划，精巧地制造（如机器）； 设法做到 | |
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231
scentless
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| adj.无气味的，遗臭已消失的 | |
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232
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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233
schooners
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| n.（有两个以上桅杆的）纵帆船( schooner的名词复数 ) | |
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234
cargo
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| n.(一只船或一架飞机运载的)货物 | |
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235
ravage
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| vt.使...荒废，破坏...；n.破坏，掠夺，荒废 | |
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236
vagrant
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| n.流浪者，游民；adj.流浪的，漂泊不定的 | |
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237
offender
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| n.冒犯者，违反者，犯罪者 | |
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238
demonstration
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| n.表明，示范，论证，示威 | |
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239
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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240
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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241
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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242
lawfully
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| adv.守法地，合法地；合理地 | |
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243
hewing
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| v.（用斧、刀等）砍、劈( hew的现在分词 )；砍成；劈出；开辟 | |
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244
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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245
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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246
invaders
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| 入侵者，侵略者，侵入物( invader的名词复数 ) | |
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247
minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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248
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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249
devastate
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| v.使荒芜，破坏，压倒 | |
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250
tracts
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| 大片土地( tract的名词复数 )； 地带； （体内的）道； （尤指宣扬宗教、伦理或政治的）短文 | |
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251
havoc
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| n.大破坏，浩劫，大混乱，大杂乱 | |
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252
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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253
wholesale
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| n.批发；adv.以批发方式；vt.批发，成批出售 | |
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254
alluvial
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| adj.冲积的；淤积的 | |
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255
conserved
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| v.保护，保藏，保存( conserve的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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256
precedent
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| n.先例，前例；惯例；adj.在前的，在先的 | |
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257
courageous
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| adj.勇敢的，有胆量的 | |
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258
moiety
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| n.一半；部分 | |
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259
wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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260
premier
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| adj.首要的；n.总理，首相 | |
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261
invaluable
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| adj.无价的，非常宝贵的，极为贵重的 | |
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262
lavish
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| adj.无节制的；浪费的；vt.慷慨地给予，挥霍 | |
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263
scenic
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| adj.自然景色的，景色优美的 | |
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264
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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265
spouting
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| n.水落管系统v.（指液体）喷出( spout的现在分词 )；滔滔不绝地讲；喋喋不休地说；喷水 | |
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266
hissing
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| n. 发嘶嘶声, 蔑视 动词hiss的现在分词形式 | |
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267
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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268
wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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269
jumble
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| vt.使混乱，混杂；n.混乱；杂乱的一堆 | |
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270
sprouting
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| v.发芽( sprout的现在分词 )；抽芽；出现；（使）涌现出 | |
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271
scorched
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| 烧焦，烤焦( scorch的过去式和过去分词 )； 使（植物）枯萎，把…晒枯； 高速行驶； 枯焦 | |
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272
machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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273
skilfully
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| adv. (美skillfully)熟练地 | |
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274
planks
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| （厚）木板( plank的名词复数 )； 政纲条目，政策要点 | |
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275
belongings
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| n.私人物品，私人财物 | |
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276
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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277
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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278
prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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279
excavating
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| v.挖掘( excavate的现在分词 )；开凿；挖出；发掘 | |
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280
provident
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| adj.为将来做准备的，有先见之明的 | |
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281
scorching
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| adj. 灼热的 | |
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282
dynamite
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| n./vt.(用)炸药(爆破) | |
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283
exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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284
exertions
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| n.努力( exertion的名词复数 )；费力；（能力、权力等的）运用；行使 | |
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285
laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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286
devouring
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| 吞没( devour的现在分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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287
perilously
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| adv.充满危险地，危机四伏地 | |
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288
gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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289
singed
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| v.浅表烧焦( singe的过去式和过去分词 )；（毛发）燎，烧焦尖端[边儿] | |
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290
trout
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| n.鳟鱼；鲑鱼(属) | |
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291
perils
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| 极大危险( peril的名词复数 )； 危险的事（或环境） | |
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292
consolations
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| n.安慰，慰问( consolation的名词复数 )；起安慰作用的人（或事物） | |
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293
devastating
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| adj.毁灭性的，令人震惊的，强有力的 | |
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294
salvage
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| v.救助，营救，援救；n.救助，营救 | |
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295
corps
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| n.(通信等兵种的)部队；(同类作的)一组 | |
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296
perspiring
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| v.出汗，流汗( perspire的现在分词 ) | |
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297
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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298
treatise
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| n.专著；(专题)论文 | |
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299
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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300
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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301
primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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302
vibration
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| n.颤动，振动；摆动 | |
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303
rending
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| v.撕碎( rend的现在分词 )；分裂；（因愤怒、痛苦等而）揪扯（衣服或头发等）；（声音等）刺破 | |
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304
clattering
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的现在分词形式） | |
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305
resinous
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| adj.树脂的，树脂质的，树脂制的 | |
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306
transformation
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| n.变化；改造；转变 | |
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307
plodding
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| a.proceeding in a slow or dull way | |
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308
irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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309
physically
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| adj.物质上，体格上，身体上，按自然规律 | |
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310
surgical
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| adj.外科的，外科医生的，手术上的 | |
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311
outright
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| adv.坦率地；彻底地；立即；adj.无疑的；彻底的 | |
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312
kindliness
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| n.厚道，亲切，友好的行为 | |
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313
remunerative
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| adj.有报酬的 | |
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314
consecrated
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| adj.神圣的，被视为神圣的v.把…奉为神圣，给…祝圣( consecrate的过去式和过去分词 )；奉献 | |
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315
prostrate
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| v.拜倒，平卧，衰竭；adj.拜倒的，平卧的，衰竭的 | |
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316
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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317
lute
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| n.琵琶，鲁特琴 | |
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318
stanzas
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| 节，段( stanza的名词复数 ) | |
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319
skids
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| n.滑向一侧( skid的名词复数 )；滑道；滚道；制轮器v.（通常指车辆） 侧滑( skid的第三人称单数 )；打滑；滑行；（住在）贫民区 | |
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320
traction
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| n.牵引；附着摩擦力 | |
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321
dexterity
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| n.(手的)灵巧，灵活 | |
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322
creeks
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| n.小湾( creek的名词复数 )；小港；小河；小溪 | |
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323
stranded
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| a.搁浅的，进退两难的 | |
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324
dwindled
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| v.逐渐变少或变小( dwindle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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325
sluices
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| n.水闸( sluice的名词复数 )；（用水闸控制的）水；有闸人工水道；漂洗处v.冲洗( sluice的第三人称单数 )；（指水）喷涌而出；漂净；给…安装水闸 | |
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326
steer
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| vt.驾驶，为…操舵；引导；vi.驾驶 | |
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327
zigzagging
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| v.弯弯曲曲地走路，曲折地前进( zigzag的现在分词 )；盘陀 | |
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328
frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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329
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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330
tugs
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| n.猛拉( tug的名词复数 )；猛拖；拖船v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的第三人称单数 ) | |
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331
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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332
steering
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| n.操舵装置 | |
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