The long days travelled slowly, and the sultry nights wore away wearily, but they rolled into weeks ere anything was gained. Then I was carried to Brashear, and placed in a house which had been the mansion3 of an old Louisiana family. In front was a strip of lawn shaded by large oaks moss-hung and spreading. Beneath them the view opened on the waters of the Atchafalaya, which here had widened into Berwick Bay, and beyond, on the little village of Berwick. Around were the remains4 of the finest garden of western Louisiana. There still lingered thickets5 of the fig6 and orange, of lemon and banana; and there still flowered oleanders, and catalpas, and jasmin, with many other specimens8 of tropical fruits and flowers. As I sat observing these remnants 38of other times, an old New York friend and his wife came in. The lady looked around on the grass-grown walks, broken and effaced9; on the long rows of fruit trees to which horses were picketed10; on the rare flowerbeds trampled11 out by droves of mules12; on the smooth grass-plots covered with heaps of rubbish.
“You have been here before,” I said, as I marked the careful looks that travelled so closely over every part of the sad, disordered scene.
“I have passed the most of my life here,” she replied. “This is my mother’s house.”
It was the story of another divided family. All of her own relations were in the Confederate lines, and she had remained with her husband to await the coming of the union army.
The enemy were gathering13 above us on the Teche. Those oath-taking patriots14, whose sons were in the enemy’s army and crops within our lines; who, heretofore, had stood aloof15 and scowled16 sullenly17 at us when we passed, now came into camp, and for once were communicative. They asked us if we knew what was coming, and hinted at Southern conscription, and the damage the Wild Texans would do the growing crop. They feared the rough riders from the prairies, and told many tales of their lawless cruelty. There came in, too, refugees and contrabands, all speaking of the enemy’s increasing strength; of boats collecting for some night attack, and of the reckless fierceness of those Wild Texans. On the opposite side of the river, the Wild Texans 39began to move in open day. They came down in little scouting20 parties, hiding behind houses and bushes, but constantly on the alert. We must have presented tempting21 marks for a long-range Enfield, yet they never fired, but flitted silently about, always observing us, yet never responding to our many shots.
I watched these indications of the gathering storm, with the nervous irritability22 inseparable from convalescence23. But every slight exertion24 brought on a slight relapse, and I was soon forced, so far as I could do so, to abstract myself from these excitements, and try to gather back my strength in time to be of service in the coming trouble. To this end, I took up the contents of some captured mails. There were a few of the ridiculous letters, that once found their way freely into our newspapers, with bad spelling, and false syntax, and bombastic25 rhetoric26, but the most of them were sad. More woeful letters were never read than these Wild Texans wrote. There were such mournful yearnings for home—for peace—for those they had left behind, that, insensibly, the mind changed from exultation27 into pity. There was a slight compunction, too, in running the eye over the secrets of our enemies; a more than reluctance28 to look upon these hidden words, which love and duty had written for loving eyes, and coldly appropriate them as our own. There were tales of want and tales of love—tidings of weddings and of deaths. Here was a letter from a father in Port Hudson, to his “dear little daughters;” and here one from a mother to her “own beloved 40son.” This is a family letter, written by the parents and sisters, to their “two dear boys,” who now are watching us from the other shore. And this one is the reverse, for it is addressed to “father, mother, wife, and sisters.” The rebel soldier has filled his “last sheet” with sad forebodings, with few hopes, much love, and many prayers. A widow’s letter tells me, that her only child fell at Iuka; and a father’s, that his eldest29 son died before Dalton. “What wonder,” each letter asks, “that I wish to die and be at rest?” Among so many, of course a love-letter can be found, breathing a first avowal30. It is written to some village beauty, and hints at rivals, and her sometime smiles and sometime frowns. The village beauty is, I judge, a slight coquette, who has led her lover along with little encouragements and little rebuffs. His letter is written in a manly31 strain, and tells her that he had hoped to gain an honorable name, and come back to win her in an early peace. But the peace has not come. He can bear this suspense32 no longer. He begs her to deal frankly33 and truly with him, and, if she loves him, to answer this letter. The letter will never be answered! I laid it away, and thought that I would send it, by some flag of truce34, to the unknown belle35. But my papers were captured, and this letter, on which so many hopes hung, was lost.
The threatening trouble drew nearer. There were frequent alarms—the cannon36 rung out their warnings often during the night—the long rolls were beaten and the troops assembled and stood on their arms. One 41night I awoke at the call of the cannon near my window, and heard the men assembling and the ammunition37 wagons38 rolling past. To one accustomed to act at such times, such forced inaction is the severest of trials. I watched from habit, expecting the rattling39 small arms of an attack, but the night wore away in unusual silence. The next morning I was told that all our troops save the sick and a few on guard, had gone. The sick men whispered each other that we were defenceless, and it was well that we had the telegraph and railroad, and could call our troops back in case of an attack from across the river. A few hours passed and then the telegraph suddenly ceased its ticking—the railroad was cut and the enemy was between us and our forces at La Fourche.
No relief came, and after three days of suspense, Brashear was carried by assault. Some of our sick men formed a line and behaved well, but they were quickly overpowered. The red flag of our hospital was not understood by the assaulting party, and for a little while it looked as if no quarter would be given by the Wild Texans to our sick and wounded. I had risen and mounted my horse after the attack commenced, and I now dismounted at the hospital, and with Captain Noblet of the 1st Indiana Artillery40 stood awaiting the result. The Captain was full of wrath41, and vowed42 that he would put the two or three charges, still in his revolver, in places where two or three of the murdering villains43 would feel them. A wild-looking squad44, with broad hats and jangling 42spurs, rushed, revolver in hand, upon the building. In no very decided45 mood at the time, and acting46 chiefly from the military habit of looking to some one in authority, I asked sharply if there was an officer among them. They stopped, looked, a trifle disconcerted, and one answered that he was a sergeant47.
“This is a hospital,” I said, authoritatively48. “Sergeant, put two men on guard at the door, and don’t let any but the wounded pass in.”
“Well then, Bill,” said the sergeant, “you and John stand guard here. And now see you don’t let nobody go in unless they be wounded.”
This was the first and last order I ever gave to a Confederate soldier, and it is due to the sergeant to say that he executed it promptly49 and well.
About the same instant another squad rushed to a side window and poked50 their rifles through the sash. Dr. Willets, the surgeon of the 176th, at the moment was operating on a wounded soldier. With professional coolness he turned to the window, and in the decided manner that one would speak to a crowd of small boys, said—
“This is a hospital; you mustn’t come here. Go away from the window and get out of my light.”
The rifles were withdrawn51; the party looked at the window a moment in a somewhat awe-struck manner, and then saying to each other, “You mustn’t go there,” they withdrew.
The wounded of both sides were brought in, and our 43surgeons, with scrupulous52 impartiality53, treated all alike. From beside their operating table I was moved to an upper room with Lieutenant54 Stevenson of the 176th. A minnie ball had torn through the entire length of his foot, leaving a frightful55 wound that threatened lockjaw and amputation56. On the next cot lay a wounded Confederate named Lewis—a plain, simple-hearted man, who, for the next week, proved a useful and trustworthy friend. As we thus lay there, my regimental colors, by some strange chance, were brought into the room. Our conversation stopped—the sick and wounded raised themselves from their cots, and all eyes were fastened upon the inanimate flag as though it were a being of intelligence and life. The Texan soldier first broke the silence.
“That,” he said, in a dreamy way—half to himself and half to us—“that has been the proudest flag that ever floated.”
“And is still, sir,” said my wounded lieutenant, proudly.
The Texan said nothing. I expected an outbreak, for there had been no little defiance58 in the lieutenant’s reply, but none came. Some old emotion had evidently touched his heart and carried him back to earlier and better days.
As he turned away my color-sergeant whispered to me a plan for destroying the colors, which, however, I did not approve. He pleaded that he knew every thread of that flag, and that it would almost kill him to see it borne away by rebel hands. “No, Sergeant,” I was 44obliged to reply, “we must keep our colors by fighting for them, and not by a dirty trick.” The answer satisfied neither the sergeant nor my fellow officers. Yet before my own imprisonment59 was over, I had the great happiness of learning that the undestroyed flag, honorably recaptured, was restored to its regiment57.
An officer soon appeared charged with the duty of paroling our men. His quiet and courteous60 manner said plainly that he was a gentleman, and he introduced himself as Captain Watt61, of Gen. Mouton’s staff. The Captain and I looked at each other as men do who think they have met before. He then informed me that formerly62 he had spent his summers at Saratoga and Newport, and that he thought we must have known each other there. For this slight reason—so slight that many men would have made it a good excuse for dropping an acquaintance, if any had existed—Captain Watt called on me repeatedly, procured63 an order for my being retained in the Brashear hospital, and for several months carefully transmitted to me such letters as found their way through the lines. His family had been one of the wealthiest in New Orleans, and were now refugees in Europe. He had entered the army under the belief that it was a duty to his State, and on the capture of the city had beheld64 the ruin of all who were dearest to him. Yet he made no ill-timed allusions65 to this, and in our conversations always selected pleasant topics and spoke66 kindly67 of the hours he had spent and the acquaintances he had made in the North.
The chief Confederate surgeon (Dr. Hughes, of Victoria, 45Texas,) next arrived, and assumed command at the hospital. It caused at first but little change. Our own surgeons continued in charge of our wounded—our steward69 continued to dispense71 the stores, and the stores continued to be forthcoming. The Confederate surgeons were polite and kind, doing all they could to make us comfortable, and expressing thanks for the treatment previously72 bestowed73 on their own wounded. Thus, in a few hours, our affairs had settled down in their new channels; and we, with a strange, new feeling of restriction74 upon us, set ourselves to wait for the bad news, and fresh reverses likely to come. From our window we could see the Confederate forces crossing the river. They waited not for tardy75 quarter-masters or proper transportation, but, in flat boats and dug-outs, pressed steadily76 across. A little steamer dropped out of one of the narrow bayous, and worked ceaselessly, bringing over artillery. Ere sunset, we estimated that five thousand men and four batteries had crossed, and were moving forward to break our communications on the Mississippi, and compel us to raise the siege of Port Hudson.
From this early day, there was a strong resolve in the minds of most of us, to be cheerful before the enemy, and, whatever we felt, not to let them see us down-cast. When the mind is really roused and in motion, a little effort will turn it into almost any channel. We made the effort, and succeeded. One individual who came in last, and ventured to say, with solemn visage, that this 46calamity was awful, was immediately frowned down, and warned that, if he talked such nonsense here, he should be moved to some other ward70. The effect was magical, and in ten minutes he became rather a merry, careless kind of fellow. This treatment, I believe, saved many lives; and I found that my own convalescence, which had been slow and changeful in the previous quiet, was now rapid and steady.
There were sorrows enough to see, if one chose to look toward them. So many causes never united to depress, and never produced so little effect. Neither the shameful78 loss of the post, nor the presence of the sick and wounded filling every room, nor our unburied dead who lay around the building, nor the prospect79 of a long captivity80, nor the helplessness of disease, nor the suffering of wounds, were sufficient to make us appear sad. I marvelled81 then, and cannot understand now, how the mind was able to throw off these troubles, and how real this enforced cheerfulness became. A sense of duty dictated82 it at the beginning, and redeemed83 it from heartlessness afterward84. Once, indeed, my spirits failed me, as I searched some private letters to find an address. They were so light-hearted and happy, and dwelt on the belief, as on a certainty, that he, to whom they were written, would return crowned with honor. It was a happy and brief illusion. An only sister had given her only brother to the war—the orphan85 pair had made this great sacrifice of separation; and now I had to write to the young girl, and say that he had been my most 47trusted officer, and had fallen for the honor of his flag.[1]
There was a class of captives who saw the loss of Brashear with heavier hearts than those who possessed86 the rights and hopes of “prisoners of war.” The unhappy contrabands were agitated87 before the blow fell, but met it with the tearless apathy88 of their race. “The niggers don’t look as if they wanted to see us,” I heard one Confederate soldier say to another.
“No,” said the other; “but you’ll see a herd89 of fat planters here to-morrow after them. They don’t fight any, but they are always on hand for their niggers.”
It was even so: for days, planter after planter appeared, and party after party of men, women and children, laden90 with their beds and baggage, tramped sorrowfully past our quarters. The hundreds that remained went, I know not whither.
There was one woman, a quadroon, who had been an attendant in our hospital. With her there were an old mother, darker than herself, and a little daughter so fair, that no one ever suspected her of being tainted91 with the blood of the hapless race. This woman, through all the turmoil92 and trial of that time, never lost the little marks of neatness and propriety93 that tell so plainly in woman of innate94 dignity and refinement95. The tasteful simplicity96 of her frequently changed dress; the neat collar and snowy cuffs97; the pretty work-box, and more especially her quiet reserve, indicated rather the lady 48than the slave. During the fight she had been calm and brave, and when a couple of cowards had rushed into the hospital and begged for a place where they could lie down and hide themselves, this woman, while volleys were firing at the hospital, and men and women falling in the passages, had shown these men to a room and closed the door on them, and walked away so quietly that one might have thought her beyond the reach of the danger that threatened them. An hour or two later, as she passed through the ward where we lay, she stopped at the window and looked out on the scene of the Confederates crossing the river. Of all the persons to whom the capture of Brashear boded98 grief and wrong, there probably was not one to whom it threatened so much as to her. With her mother and her child, she had been preparing to seek the surer refuge of the North, and this direful calamity77 had come when the place of safety appeared almost within her reach. Yet she shed no tears, and uttered no complainings. Her large, sad eyes fastened on the river, she stood beside the window and heard the shouts and yells that told of the Confederate triumph. For half an hour she never moved; her face retained its soft composure, and only once the muscles of the lip fluttered and trembled, as though there might be a troubled sea within. Then she turned and went back to her work, as calmly as if she alone had suffered no change. She cheered those men who were struggling for strength to go out on parole; she worked for those officers who 49were to be sent forward into captivity. For herself, she never invited aid or sympathy. We asked her if we might not send for her former master to come and take her back to her old home. But this, for some untold99 reason, she steadfastly100 refused. It was urged that she and her child would be sent far into Texas or Arkansas; and that they might be seized, as so much booty, by some of these half-savage strangers. She answered quietly, that she had thought of this. Ere we parted, we asked her what future help we could give, and what plan she would pursue to regain101 her freedom, or secure some less dangerous home. And she said briefly102, that she did not know, and said no more.
1. Captain John S. Cutter.
The captured officers, able to march, were sent forward to Shreveport, and the men were paroled and marched off to our lines. Three officers of my regiment remained with me—two sick, and one severely103 wounded. Two “citizen prisoners” were also added to our number. One of these, whom I shall call Mr. Stratford, was held as lessee104 of a confiscated105 plantation106. His wife was permitted to remain with him, and she now visited the hospital daily. The other civilian107 was Mr. Dwight Parce, of Chenango County, New York, who had just begun business in Brashear. He now witnessed the destruction of his property with undiminished cheerfulness, and, although an invalid108, fated to fill a prisoner’s grave in Texas, met the discomforts109 that awaited him with a serenity110 and hopefulness that nothing ever disturbed.
We all effected some captures of baggage. Captain 50Watt sent me an order for the delivery of mine if it could be found, and Dr. Hughes, with ever ready kindness, advised me to take his ambulance and search for it at the fort, where some captured property was stored. The guard consisted of a young gentleman in his shirt-sleeves and no shoes, who, when requested to go, whistled violently, and perched himself on the rear of the ambulance, with his face toward the hospital and his back toward me. I asked him, with some surprise, if he was not going to take his rifle; at which he stopped whistling and said, he reckoned not. After whistling a few minutes, he further defined his position by saying, that if I ran away he reckoned he could run after me; and then, that he reckoned the climate had been a heap too much for me. After another whistle his stiffness wore away a trifle, and he manifestly tried to put me at my ease by saying, “Dog gone the Lousanny climate, and the bayous, and the beef, and dog gone the Lousanyans: they’re the meanest set of people ever I see. I’d just as soon shoot one of ’em as a Yank.” This put me quite at my ease, and we then had a very interesting conversation. The etymology111 of “dog gone” my guard was ignorant of; he suggested that it meant pretty much what something else did, but wasn’t quite so bad, in which opinion I coincided. Since then I have learnt that this expressive112 phrase is derived113 from the threat of putting a dog on you, and that it saves annually114, in Texas, an immense amount of swearing, and is found to answer just as well.
51On the morning of the third of July, the Officer of the Day appeared. He was a Captain in Colonel Bates’ Texan Battalion115, and he blandly116 begged that we would prepare to move in the afternoon; the boat would be ready at five, and we would be sent to the hospital at Franklin, where we would be much more comfortable. The boat did not come, however, and we remained to celebrate the “Fourth” at Brashear. We went round among our sick men who remained, to cheer them with the certainty of their early release; we read the Declaration, and we drank a bottle of wine, which Mrs. Stratford, with patriotic117 devotion, smuggled118 in for us. Our friend, the ex-officer of the day, re-appeared to apologize; the boat had been detained—he knew he must have caused us much trouble—he had come to beg us to forgive him—he deeply regretted that he had not known of the delay in time to inform us. To-day he believed that there would be no delay, and he had just requested the new Officer to order the boat up to the hospital, so that we should not have the trouble of walking down to where she lay. Nothing could have been more elegant, chivalric119, and delightful120. If he were one of my own officers and I were the Lieutenant-General, he could not have been more courteous and respectful.
We started on our “Fourth of July excursion” in the afternoon. While the boat was lying at the wharf121, an officer, with long white hair and of imposing122 appearance, came slowly down the saloon. As he drew near I observed a Colonel’s insignia on his collar, and one of 52the guard whispered me, that it was Colonel Bates, the commanding officer at Brashear. The Colonel marched up to me, extended his hand, and with grand solemnity, in keeping with his dignified123 bearing, said:
“Colonel, I have come down now to apologize for not having waited upon you before. I ought to have done so, sir—I ought to have done so. But I have been over-occupied. I pray you to excuse me, sir.”
“When I consider our difference in years, and the different circumstances that surrounded each, I do not know of any incident that could have pleased me more than this stately courtesy of the old Colonel. An interesting conversation followed, in which I learnt that he was an Alabamian by birth. He spoke highly of the Texan character, which, he said, excelled in bravery and simplicity; but he warned me that the country could furnish few comforts, such, he said, as Northerners have at home. Then, when the boat was ready to start, he called up the officer of the guard, and said to him:
“Captain, your orders are strict, I know; but these gentlemen are invalids124; they are too weak to escape, sir. You must construe125 your orders liberally, sir, in favor of the sick. Do not let the guard trouble these gentlemen, and make them as comfortable as you can.”
There was another Colonel who succeeded Colonel Bates, at Brashear; he was a citizen of a New England State, and had been an ice merchant in New Orleans. When the war came, he went, not “with his State” but with his property. All the indignities126, ill-treatment, 53meanness and cruelty that we met with at Brashear and Franklin, came directly from him. While the real Southern officers were showing us unsought kindness and attention—while they were overlooking what they sincerely believed to be the needless ruin of their homes, and the wanton destruction of their property, this miserable127 Northern renegade was bullying128 Northern ladies—“bucking and gagging” unfortunate prisoners, and sending sick and wounded officers out of the hospital by orders as cowardly as they were cruel.
The Franklin Hospital had been the “Franklin House” before the war, and stood close beside the bayou. Lieutenant Stevenson was placed in the wounded ward, and the rest of us were assigned three pleasant rooms in a wing of the building. Our guard consisted of a corporal, named Ingram, and six men of Colonel Bates’ regiment. They bivouacked on the piazza129, and completed our confusion as to what Wild Texans are. They did not drink; they did not swear; they did not gamble. They were watchful130 of us, but did everything kindly and with a willingness that greatly lessened131 our feeling of dependence132.
The surgeon in charge of the hospital, Dr. Marten, was polite and kind. A stylish133 little French lieutenant of the 10th Louisiana, named Solomon, was assiduous in his attentions. He detailed134 a contraband18 as our especial servant; hourly sent us little presents, in the way of fruit and refreshments135, and paid us those easy, chatty visits, that Frenchmen pay so much better than any 54other men. There was a sort of Dutch Major-Domo, one Schneider, who took us under his special protection, blowing up the cook and scolding the waiter, on our behalf, a dozen times a day. There was also a sergeant of the Crescent regiment—a soldier and disciplinarian, but easy and communicative toward us. Lastly, there was our contraband, bearing the name of Ben, and very sharp and shrewd was he, and never wanting in good humor or flourishing obeisances136.
The ladies of Franklin flocked to the hospital, bringing fruit and flowers, and knick-knacks of their own preparing. They differed considerably137 with the doctors on questions of diet; and did about as much damage, in their pretty way, as patriotic young ladies have done in other than Confederate hospitals. They carefully avoided the cot of the solitary138 Yankee prisoner in the wounded ward; the well-bred passing it by as though the slight were casual, and the ill-bred, showing with studied care, that it was intentional139. The Wild Texans who had captured us shared not in these patriotic manifestations140. They, on the contrary, divided with Lieutenant Stevenson whatever they received, looked after him as though he were a brother soldier, and, once or twice, asked their fair visitors rather angrily, why they didn’t give this or that to that gentleman on the fourth cot. Yet it must not be supposed that this conduct of the Franklin fair proceeded entirely141 from their own wicked imaginings. The women, like the men of the South, are all slaves of public opinion. After awhile one lady, giving way to 55the natural kindness of her nature, stopped at the prisoner’s cot, and then the others followed the example. The presents flowed in with a free hand, and the sails once fairly round on this tack19, the wind seemed to blow as strongly from the chivalric quarter as it had previously blown from the patriotic.
This narrative142 would not be truthful143 if I omitted therefrom a statement of the fare, during our fortnight in the Franklin hospital. It was so much better than I had expected; so much better than I had supposed it possible that prisoners could receive at rebel hands; so different from the fare which we knew was to follow, that I carefully noted144 down the bill on several days, and from these select a favorable specimen7.
“Wednesday, July 15. At Sunrise.—French Coffee and Biscuits.
“Breakfast.—Beef Steak, Beef Stew68, Cucumbers, Stewed145 Peaches, Melons, French Bread, Biscuits, Toast and Tea.
“Dinner.—Soup, Roast Beef, Beef a la mode, Cucumbers, Egg Plant, Lima Beans, French Bread, Biscuits, Tea.”
This easy prison-life, however, received a jog, in the shape of an officer of Speight’s Battalion of Texas Cavalry146. He was introduced to us as Lieutenant Geo. C. Duncan, and he bore orders to carry us to Niblett’s Bluff147, on the Sabine. It appeared therefrom that we were to be moved to the southern side of Texas, and not to follow the officers captured with us.
56The orders were, to carry all the prisoners at the hospital to Niblett’s Bluff; but when the officer saw Lieutenant Stevenson, and heard the surgeon’s statement, he sent down a special report from the surgeon, and waited for further orders. In the meanwhile, our polite French friend, Lieutenant Solomon, drove Mrs. Stratford to New Iberia, and we awaited, with some anxiety, our departure, and discussed the probabilities of marching through, or giving out by the way.
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shanty
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| n.小屋，棚屋；船工号子 | |
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hazy
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| adj.有薄雾的，朦胧的；不肯定的，模糊的 | |
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mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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thickets
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| n.灌木丛( thicket的名词复数 )；丛状物 | |
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fig
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| n.无花果(树) | |
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specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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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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effaced
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| v.擦掉( efface的过去式和过去分词 )；抹去；超越；使黯然失色 | |
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picketed
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| 用尖桩围住（picket的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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trampled
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| 踩( trample的过去式和过去分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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mules
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| 骡( mule的名词复数 )； 拖鞋； 顽固的人； 越境运毒者 | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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patriots
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| 爱国者，爱国主义者( patriot的名词复数 ) | |
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aloof
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| adj.远离的；冷淡的，漠不关心的 | |
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scowled
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| 怒视，生气地皱眉( scowl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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sullenly
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| 不高兴地，绷着脸，忧郁地 | |
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contraband
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| n.违禁品，走私品 | |
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tack
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| n.大头钉；假缝，粗缝 | |
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scouting
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| 守候活动，童子军的活动 | |
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tempting
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| a.诱人的, 吸引人的 | |
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irritability
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convalescence
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| n.病后康复期 | |
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exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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bombastic
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| adj.夸夸其谈的，言过其实的 | |
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rhetoric
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| n.修辞学，浮夸之言语 | |
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27
exultation
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| n.狂喜，得意 | |
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reluctance
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| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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29
eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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30
avowal
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| n.公开宣称，坦白承认 | |
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31
manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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32
suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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33
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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34
truce
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| n.休战，(争执，烦恼等的)缓和；v.以停战结束 | |
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35
belle
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| n.靓女 | |
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36
cannon
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| n.大炮，火炮；飞机上的机关炮 | |
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37
ammunition
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| n.军火，弹药 | |
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38
wagons
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| n.四轮的运货马车( wagon的名词复数 )；铁路货车；小手推车 | |
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39
rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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40
artillery
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| n.(军)火炮，大炮；炮兵(部队) | |
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41
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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42
vowed
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| 起誓，发誓（vow的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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43
villains
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| n.恶棍( villain的名词复数 )；罪犯；（小说、戏剧等中的）反面人物；淘气鬼 | |
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44
squad
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| n.班，小队，小团体；vt.把…编成班或小组 | |
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45
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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46
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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47
sergeant
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| n.警官，中士 | |
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48
authoritatively
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| 命令式地，有权威地，可信地 | |
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49
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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50
poked
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| v.伸出( poke的过去式和过去分词 )；戳出；拨弄；与（某人）性交 | |
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51
withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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52
scrupulous
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| adj.审慎的，小心翼翼的，完全的，纯粹的 | |
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53
impartiality
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| n. 公平, 无私, 不偏 | |
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54
lieutenant
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| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
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55
frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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56
amputation
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| n.截肢 | |
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57
regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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58
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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59
imprisonment
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| n.关押，监禁，坐牢 | |
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60
courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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61
watt
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| n.瓦，瓦特 | |
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62
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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63
procured
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| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 )；拉皮条 | |
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64
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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65
allusions
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| 暗指，间接提到( allusion的名词复数 ) | |
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66
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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67
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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68
stew
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| n.炖汤，焖，烦恼；v.炖汤，焖，忧虑 | |
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69
steward
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| n.乘务员，服务员；看管人；膳食管理员 | |
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70
ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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71
dispense
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| vt.分配，分发；配(药)，发(药)；实施 | |
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72
previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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73
bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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74
restriction
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| n.限制，约束 | |
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75
tardy
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| adj.缓慢的，迟缓的 | |
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76
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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77
calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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78
shameful
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| adj.可耻的，不道德的 | |
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79
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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80
captivity
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| n.囚禁；被俘；束缚 | |
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81
marvelled
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| v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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82
dictated
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| v.大声讲或读( dictate的过去式和过去分词 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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83
redeemed
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| adj. 可赎回的，可救赎的 动词redeem的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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84
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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85
orphan
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| n.孤儿；adj.无父母的 | |
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86
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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87
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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88
apathy
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| n.漠不关心，无动于衷；冷淡 | |
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89
herd
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| n.兽群，牧群；vt.使集中，把…赶在一起 | |
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90
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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91
tainted
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| adj.腐坏的；污染的；沾污的；感染的v.使变质( taint的过去式和过去分词 )；使污染；败坏；被污染，腐坏，败坏 | |
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92
turmoil
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| n.骚乱，混乱，动乱 | |
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93
propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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94
innate
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| adj.天生的，固有的，天赋的 | |
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95
refinement
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| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
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96
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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97
cuffs
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| n.袖口( cuff的名词复数 )v.掌打，拳打( cuff的第三人称单数 ) | |
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98
boded
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| v.预示，预告，预言( bode的过去式和过去分词 )；等待，停留( bide的过去分词 )；居住；（过去式用bided）等待 | |
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99
untold
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| adj.数不清的，无数的 | |
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100
steadfastly
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| adv.踏实地，不变地；岿然；坚定不渝 | |
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101
regain
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| vt.重新获得，收复，恢复 | |
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102
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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103
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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104
lessee
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| n.（房地产的）租户 | |
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105
confiscated
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| 没收，充公( confiscate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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106
plantation
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| n.种植园，大农场 | |
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107
civilian
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| adj.平民的，民用的，民众的 | |
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108
invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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109
discomforts
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| n.不舒适( discomfort的名词复数 )；不愉快，苦恼 | |
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110
serenity
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| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
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111
etymology
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| n.语源；字源学 | |
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112
expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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113
derived
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| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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114
annually
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| adv.一年一次，每年 | |
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115
battalion
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| n.营；部队；大队(的人) | |
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116
blandly
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| adv.温和地，殷勤地 | |
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117
patriotic
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| adj.爱国的，有爱国心的 | |
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118
smuggled
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| 水货 | |
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119
chivalric
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| 有武士气概的，有武士风范的 | |
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120
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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121
wharf
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| n.码头，停泊处 | |
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122
imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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123
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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124
invalids
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| 病人，残疾者( invalid的名词复数 ) | |
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125
construe
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| v.翻译，解释 | |
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126
indignities
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| n.侮辱，轻蔑( indignity的名词复数 ) | |
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127
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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128
bullying
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| v.恐吓，威逼( bully的现在分词 )；豪；跋扈 | |
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129
piazza
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| n.广场；走廊 | |
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130
watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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131
lessened
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| 减少的，减弱的 | |
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132
dependence
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| n.依靠，依赖；信任，信赖；隶属 | |
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133
stylish
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| adj.流行的，时髦的；漂亮的，气派的 | |
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134
detailed
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| adj.详细的，详尽的，极注意细节的，完全的 | |
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135
refreshments
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| n.点心,便餐;(会议后的)简单茶点招 待 | |
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136
obeisances
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| n.敬礼，行礼( obeisance的名词复数 )；敬意 | |
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137
considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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138
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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139
intentional
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| adj.故意的，有意（识）的 | |
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140
manifestations
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| n.表示，显示（manifestation的复数形式） | |
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141
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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142
narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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143
truthful
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| adj.真实的，说实话的，诚实的 | |
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144
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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145
stewed
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| adj.焦虑不安的，烂醉的v.炖( stew的过去式和过去分词 )；煨；思考；担忧 | |
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146
cavalry
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| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
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147
bluff
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| v.虚张声势，用假象骗人；n.虚张声势，欺骗 | |
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