ENGLAND UNDER JAMES THE SECOND
KING JAMES THE SECOND was a man so very disagreeable, that even the best of historians has favoured his brother Charles, as becoming, by comparison, quite a pleasant character. The one object of his short reign1 was to re-establish the Catholic religion in England; and this he doggedly2 pursued with such a stupid obstinacy3, that his career very soon came to a close.
The first thing he did, was, to assure his council that he would make it his endeavour to preserve the Government, both in Church and State, as it was by law established; and that he would always take care to defend and support the Church. Great public acclamations were raised over this fair speech, and a great deal was said, from the pulpits and elsewhere, about the word of a King which was never broken, by credulous4 people who little supposed that he had formed a secret council for Catholic affairs, of which a mischievous5 Jesuit, called FATHER PETRE, was one of the chief members. With tears of joy in his eyes, he received, as the beginning of HIS pension from the King of France, five hundred thousand livres; yet, with a mixture of meanness and arrogance6 that belonged to his contemptible7 character, he was always jealous of making some show of being independent of the King of France, while he pocketed his money. As - notwithstanding his publishing two papers in favour of Popery (and not likely to do it much service, I should think) written by the King, his brother, and found in his strong-box; and his open display of himself attending mass - the Parliament was very obsequious8, and granted him a large sum of money, he began his reign with a belief that he could do what he pleased, and with a determination to do it.
Before we proceed to its principal events, let us dispose of Titus Oates. He was tried for perjury9, a fortnight after the coronation, and besides being very heavily fined, was sentenced to stand twice in the pillory10, to be whipped from Aldgate to Newgate one day, and from Newgate to Tyburn two days afterwards, and to stand in the pillory five times a year as long as he lived. This fearful sentence was actually inflicted11 on the rascal12. Being unable to stand after his first flogging, he was dragged on a sledge13 from Newgate to Tyburn, and flogged as he was drawn14 along. He was so strong a villain15 that he did not die under the torture, but lived to be afterwards pardoned and rewarded, though not to be ever believed in any more. Dangerfield, the only other one of that crew left alive, was not so fortunate. He was almost killed by a whipping from Newgate to Tyburn, and, as if that were not punishment enough, a ferocious16 barrister of Gray's Inn gave him a poke17 in the eye with his cane18, which caused his death; for which the ferocious barrister was deservedly tried and executed.
As soon as James was on the throne, Argyle and Monmouth went from Brussels to Rotterdam, and attended a meeting of Scottish exiles held there, to concert measures for a rising in England. It was agreed that Argyle should effect a landing in Scotland, and Monmouth in England; and that two Englishmen should be sent with Argyle to be in his confidence, and two Scotchmen with the Duke of Monmouth.
Argyle was the first to act upon this contract. But, two of his men being taken prisoners at the Orkney Islands, the Government became aware of his intention, and was able to act against him with such vigour19 as to prevent his raising more than two or three thousand Highlanders, although he sent a fiery20 cross, by trusty messengers, from clan21 to clan and from glen to glen, as the custom then was when those wild people were to be excited by their chiefs. As he was moving towards Glasgow with his small force, he was betrayed by some of his followers22, taken, and carried, with his hands tied behind his back, to his old prison in Edinburgh Castle. James ordered him to be executed, on his old shamefully23 unjust sentence, within three days; and he appears to have been anxious that his legs should have been pounded with his old favourite the boot. However, the boot was not applied24; he was simply beheaded, and his head was set upon the top of Edinburgh Jail. One of those Englishmen who had been assigned to him was that old soldier Rumbold, the master of the Rye House. He was sorely wounded, and within a week after Argyle had suffered with great courage, was brought up for trial, lest he should die and disappoint the King. He, too, was executed, after defending himself with great spirit, and saying that he did not believe that God had made the greater part of mankind to carry saddles on their backs and bridles25 in their mouths, and to be ridden by a few, booted and spurred for the purpose - in which I thoroughly26 agree with Rumbold.
The Duke of Monmouth, partly through being detained and partly through idling his time away, was five or six weeks behind his friend when he landed at Lyme, in Dorset: having at his right hand an unlucky nobleman called LORD GREY OF WERK, who of himself would have ruined a far more promising27 expedition. He immediately set up his standard in the market-place, and proclaimed the King a tyrant28, and a Popish usurper29, and I know not what else; charging him, not only with what he had done, which was bad enough, but with what neither he nor anybody else had done, such as setting fire to London, and poisoning the late King. Raising some four thousand men by these means, he marched on to Taunton, where there were many Protestant dissenters30 who were strongly opposed to the Catholics. Here, both the rich and poor turned out to receive him, ladies waved a welcome to him from all the windows as he passed along the streets, flowers were strewn in his way, and every compliment and honour that could be devised was showered upon him. Among the rest, twenty young ladies came forward, in their best clothes, and in their brightest beauty, and gave him a Bible ornamented31 with their own fair hands, together with other presents.
Encouraged by this homage32, he proclaimed himself King, and went on to Bridgewater. But, here the Government troops, under the EARL OF FEVERSHAM, were close at hand; and he was so dispirited at finding that he made but few powerful friends after all, that it was a question whether he should disband his army and endeavour to escape. It was resolved, at the instance of that unlucky Lord Grey, to make a night attack on the King's army, as it lay encamped on the edge of a morass33 called Sedgemoor. The horsemen were commanded by the same unlucky lord, who was not a brave man. He gave up the battle almost at the first obstacle - which was a deep drain; and although the poor countrymen, who had turned out for Monmouth, fought bravely with scythes34, poles, pitchforks, and such poor weapons as they had, they were soon dispersed35 by the trained soldiers, and fled in all directions. When the Duke of Monmouth himself fled, was not known in the confusion; but the unlucky Lord Grey was taken early next day, and then another of the party was taken, who confessed that he had parted from the Duke only four hours before. Strict search being made, he was found disguised as a peasant, hidden in a ditch under fern and nettles36, with a few peas in his pocket which he had gathered in the fields to eat. The only other articles he had upon him were a few papers and little books: one of the latter being a strange jumble37, in his own writing, of charms, songs, recipes, and prayers. He was completely broken. He wrote a miserable38 letter to the King, beseeching39 and entreating40 to be allowed to see him. When he was taken to London, and conveyed bound into the King's presence, he crawled to him on his knees, and made a most degrading exhibition. As James never forgave or relented towards anybody, he was not likely to soften41 towards the issuer of the Lyme proclamation, so he told the suppliant42 to prepare for death.
On the fifteenth of July, one thousand six hundred and eighty-five, this unfortunate favourite of the people was brought out to die on Tower Hill. The crowd was immense, and the tops of all the houses were covered with gazers. He had seen his wife, the daughter of the Duke of Buccleuch, in the Tower, and had talked much of a lady whom he loved far better - the LADY HARRIET WENTWORTH - who was one of the last persons he remembered in this life. Before laying down his head upon the block he felt the edge of the axe43, and told the executioner that he feared it was not sharp enough, and that the axe was not heavy enough. On the executioner replying that it was of the proper kind, the Duke said, 'I pray you have a care, and do not use me so awkwardly as you used my Lord Russell.' The executioner, made nervous by this, and trembling, struck once and merely gashed45 him in the neck. Upon this, the Duke of Monmouth raised his head and looked the man reproachfully in the face. Then he struck twice, and then thrice, and then threw down the axe, and cried out in a voice of horror that he could not finish that work. The sheriffs, however, threatening him with what should be done to himself if he did not, he took it up again and struck a fourth time and a fifth time. Then the wretched head at last fell off, and James, Duke of Monmouth, was dead, in the thirty-sixth year of his age. He was a showy, graceful47 man, with many popular qualities, and had found much favour in the open hearts of the English.
The atrocities48, committed by the Government, which followed this Monmouth rebellion, form the blackest and most lamentable49 page in English history. The poor peasants, having been dispersed with great loss, and their leaders having been taken, one would think that the implacable King might have been satisfied. But no; he let loose upon them, among other intolerable monsters, a COLONEL KIRK, who had served against the Moors50, and whose soldiers - called by the people Kirk's lambs, because they bore a lamb upon their flag, as the emblem51 of Christianity - were worthy52 of their leader. The atrocities committed by these demons53 in human shape are far too horrible to be related here. It is enough to say, that besides most ruthlessly murdering and robbing them, and ruining them by making them buy their pardons at the price of all they possessed54, it was one of Kirk's favourite amusements, as he and his officers sat drinking after dinner, and toasting the King, to have batches55 of prisoners hanged outside the windows for the company's diversion; and that when their feet quivered in the convulsions of death, he used to swear that they should have music to their dancing, and would order the drums to beat and the trumpets56 to play. The detestable King informed him, as an acknowledgment of these services, that he was 'very well satisfied with his proceedings57.' But the King's great delight was in the proceedings of Jeffreys, now a peer, who went down into the west, with four other judges, to try persons accused of having had any share in the rebellion. The King pleasantly called this 'Jeffreys's campaign.' The people down in that part of the country remember it to this day as The Bloody58 Assize.
It began at Winchester, where a poor deaf old lady, MRS. ALICIA LISLE, the widow of one of the judges of Charles the First (who had been murdered abroad by some Royalist assassins), was charged with having given shelter in her house to two fugitives60 from Sedgemoor. Three times the jury refused to find her guilty, until Jeffreys bullied61 and frightened them into that false verdict. When he had extorted62 it from them, he said, 'Gentlemen, if I had been one of you, and she had been my own mother, I would have found her guilty;' - as I dare say he would. He sentenced her to be burned alive, that very afternoon. The clergy63 of the cathedral and some others interfered64 in her favour, and she was beheaded within a week. As a high mark of his approbation65, the King made Jeffreys Lord Chancellor66; and he then went on to Dorchester, to Exeter, to Taunton, and to Wells. It is astonishing, when we read of the enormous injustice67 and barbarity of this beast, to know that no one struck him dead on the judgment68-seat. It was enough for any man or woman to be accused by an enemy, before Jeffreys, to be found guilty of high treason. One man who pleaded not guilty, he ordered to be taken out of court upon the instant, and hanged; and this so terrified the prisoners in general that they mostly pleaded guilty at once. At Dorchester alone, in the course of a few days, Jeffreys hanged eighty people; besides whipping, transporting, imprisoning69, and selling as slaves, great numbers. He executed, in all, two hundred and fifty, or three hundred.
These executions took place, among the neighbours and friends of the sentenced, in thirty-six towns and villages. Their bodies were mangled70, steeped in caldrons of boiling pitch and tar71, and hung up by the roadsides, in the streets, over the very churches. The sight and smell of heads and limbs, the hissing72 and bubbling of the infernal caldrons, and the tears and terrors of the people, were dreadful beyond all description. One rustic73, who was forced to steep the remains74 in the black pot, was ever afterwards called 'Tom Boilman.' The hangman has ever since been called Jack75 Ketch, because a man of that name went hanging and hanging, all day long, in the train of Jeffreys. You will hear much of the horrors of the great French Revolution. Many and terrible they were, there is no doubt; but I know of nothing worse, done by the maddened people of France in that awful time, than was done by the highest judge in England, with the express approval of the King of England, in The Bloody Assize.
Nor was even this all. Jeffreys was as fond of money for himself as of misery76 for others, and he sold pardons wholesale77 to fill his pockets. The King ordered, at one time, a thousand prisoners to be given to certain of his favourites, in order that they might bargain with them for their pardons. The young ladies of Taunton who had presented the Bible, were bestowed78 upon the maids of honour at court; and those precious ladies made very hard bargains with them indeed. When The Bloody Assize was at its most dismal79 height, the King was diverting himself with horse-races in the very place where Mrs. Lisle had been executed. When Jeffreys had done his worst, and came home again, he was particularly complimented in the Royal Gazette; and when the King heard that through drunkenness and raging he was very ill, his odious80 Majesty81 remarked that such another man could not easily be found in England. Besides all this, a former sheriff of London, named CORNISH, was hanged within sight of his own house, after an abominably82 conducted trial, for having had a share in the Rye House Plot, on evidence given by Rumsey, which that villain was obliged to confess was directly opposed to the evidence he had given on the trial of Lord Russell. And on the very same day, a worthy widow, named ELIZABETH GAUNT, was burned alive at Tyburn, for having sheltered a wretch46 who himself gave evidence against her. She settled the fuel about herself with her own hands, so that the flames should reach her quickly: and nobly said, with her last breath, that she had obeyed the sacred command of God, to give refuge to the outcast, and not to betray the wanderer.
After all this hanging, beheading, burning, boiling, mutilating, exposing, robbing, transporting, and selling into slavery, of his unhappy subjects, the King not unnaturally83 thought that he could do whatever he would. So, he went to work to change the religion of the country with all possible speed; and what he did was this.
He first of all tried to get rid of what was called the Test Act - which prevented the Catholics from holding public employments - by his own power of dispensing84 with the penalties. He tried it in one case, and, eleven of the twelve judges deciding in his favour, he exercised it in three others, being those of three dignitaries of University College, Oxford86, who had become Papists, and whom he kept in their places and sanctioned. He revived the hated Ecclesiastical Commission, to get rid of COMPTON, Bishop87 of London, who manfully opposed him. He solicited88 the Pope to favour England with an ambassador, which the Pope (who was a sensible man then) rather unwillingly89 did. He flourished Father Petre before the eyes of the people on all possible occasions. He favoured the establishment of convents in several parts of London. He was delighted to have the streets, and even the court itself, filled with Monks91 and Friars in the habits of their orders. He constantly endeavoured to make Catholics of the Protestants about him. He held private interviews, which he called 'closetings,' with those Members of Parliament who held offices, to persuade them to consent to the design he had in view. When they did not consent, they were removed, or resigned of themselves, and their places were given to Catholics. He displaced Protestant officers from the army, by every means in his power, and got Catholics into their places too. He tried the same thing with the corporations, and also (though not so successfully) with the Lord Lieutenants92 of counties. To terrify the people into the endurance of all these measures, he kept an army of fifteen thousand men encamped on Hounslow Heath, where mass was openly performed in the General's tent, and where priests went among the soldiers endeavouring to persuade them to become Catholics. For circulating a paper among those men advising them to be true to their religion, a Protestant clergyman, named JOHNSON, the chaplain of the late Lord Russell, was actually sentenced to stand three times in the pillory, and was actually whipped from Newgate to Tyburn. He dismissed his own brother-in- law from his Council because he was a Protestant, and made a Privy94 Councillor of the before-mentioned Father Petre. He handed Ireland over to RICHARD TALBOT, EARL OF TYRCONNELL, a worthless, dissolute knave95, who played the same game there for his master, and who played the deeper game for himself of one day putting it under the protection of the French King. In going to these extremities96, every man of sense and judgment among the Catholics, from the Pope to a porter, knew that the King was a mere44 bigoted97 fool, who would undo98 himself and the cause he sought to advance; but he was deaf to all reason, and, happily for England ever afterwards, went tumbling off his throne in his own blind way.
A spirit began to arise in the country, which the besotted blunderer little expected. He first found it out in the University of Cambridge. Having made a Catholic a dean at Oxford without any opposition99, he tried to make a monk90 a master of arts at Cambridge: which attempt the University resisted, and defeated him. He then went back to his favourite Oxford. On the death of the President of Magdalen College, he commanded that there should be elected to succeed him, one MR. ANTHONY FARMER, whose only recommendation was, that he was of the King's religion. The University plucked up courage at last, and refused. The King substituted another man, and it still refused, resolving to stand by its own election of a MR. HOUGH. The dull tyrant, upon this, punished Mr. Hough, and five-and-twenty more, by causing them to be expelled and declared incapable100 of holding any church preferment; then he proceeded to what he supposed to be his highest step, but to what was, in fact, his last plunge101 head-foremost in his tumble off his throne.
He had issued a declaration that there should be no religious tests or penal85 laws, in order to let in the Catholics more easily; but the Protestant dissenters, unmindful of themselves, had gallantly102 joined the regular church in opposing it tooth and nail. The King and Father Petre now resolved to have this read, on a certain Sunday, in all the churches, and to order it to be circulated for that purpose by the bishops103. The latter took counsel with the Archbishop of Canterbury, who was in disgrace; and they resolved that the declaration should not be read, and that they would petition the King against it. The Archbishop himself wrote out the petition, and six bishops went into the King's bedchamber the same night to present it, to his infinite astonishment104. Next day was the Sunday fixed105 for the reading, and it was only read by two hundred clergymen out of ten thousand. The King resolved against all advice to prosecute106 the bishops in the Court of King's Bench, and within three weeks they were summoned before the Privy Council, and committed to the Tower. As the six bishops were taken to that dismal place, by water, the people who were assembled in immense numbers fell upon their knees, and wept for them, and prayed for them. When they got to the Tower, the officers and soldiers on guard besought107 them for their blessing108. While they were confined there, the soldiers every day drank to their release with loud shouts. When they were brought up to the Court of King's Bench for their trial, which the Attorney-General said was for the high offence of censuring109 the Government, and giving their opinion about affairs of state, they were attended by similar multitudes, and surrounded by a throng110 of noblemen and gentlemen. When the jury went out at seven o'clock at night to consider of their verdict, everybody (except the King) knew that they would rather starve than yield to the King's brewer111, who was one of them, and wanted a verdict for his customer. When they came into court next morning, after resisting the brewer all night, and gave a verdict of not guilty, such a shout rose up in Westminster Hall as it had never heard before; and it was passed on among the people away to Temple Bar, and away again to the Tower. It did not pass only to the east, but passed to the west too, until it reached the camp at Hounslow, where the fifteen thousand soldiers took it up and echoed it. And still, when the dull King, who was then with Lord Feversham, heard the mighty112 roar, asked in alarm what it was, and was told that it was 'nothing but the acquittal of the bishops,' he said, in his dogged way, 'Call you that nothing? It is so much the worse for them.'
Between the petition and the trial, the Queen had given birth to a son, which Father Petre rather thought was owing to Saint Winifred. But I doubt if Saint Winifred had much to do with it as the King's friend, inasmuch as the entirely113 new prospect114 of a Catholic successor (for both the King's daughters were Protestants) determined115 the EARLS OF SHREWSBURY, DANBY, and DEVONSHIRE, LORD LUMLEY, the BISHOP OF LONDON, ADMIRAL RUSSELL, and COLONEL SIDNEY, to invite the Prince of Orange over to England. The Royal Mole116, seeing his danger at last, made, in his fright, many great concessions117, besides raising an army of forty thousand men; but the Prince of Orange was not a man for James the Second to cope with. His preparations were extraordinarily118 vigorous, and his mind was resolved.
For a fortnight after the Prince was ready to sail for England, a great wind from the west prevented the departure of his fleet. Even when the wind lulled119, and it did sail, it was dispersed by a storm, and was obliged to put back to refit. At last, on the first of November, one thousand six hundred and eighty-eight, the Protestant east wind, as it was long called, began to blow; and on the third, the people of Dover and the people of Calais saw a fleet twenty miles long sailing gallantly by, between the two places. On Monday, the fifth, it anchored at Torbay in Devonshire, and the Prince, with a splendid retinue120 of officers and men, marched into Exeter. But the people in that western part of the country had suffered so much in The Bloody Assize, that they had lost heart. Few people joined him; and he began to think of returning, and publishing the invitation he had received from those lords, as his justification121 for having come at all. At this crisis, some of the gentry122 joined him; the Royal army began to falter123; an engagement was signed, by which all who set their hand to it declared that they would support one another in defence of the laws and liberties of the three Kingdoms, of the Protestant religion, and of the Prince of Orange. From that time, the cause received no check; the greatest towns in England began, one after another, to declare for the Prince; and he knew that it was all safe with him when the University of Oxford offered to melt down its plate, if he wanted any money.
By this time the King was running about in a pitiable way, touching124 people for the King's evil in one place, reviewing his troops in another, and bleeding from the nose in a third. The young Prince was sent to Portsmouth, Father Petre went off like a shot to France, and there was a general and swift dispersal of all the priests and friars. One after another, the King's most important officers and friends deserted125 him and went over to the Prince. In the night, his daughter Anne fled from Whitehall Palace; and the Bishop of London, who had once been a soldier, rode before her with a drawn sword in his hand, and pistols at his saddle. 'God help me,' cried the miserable King: 'my very children have forsaken126 me!' In his wildness, after debating with such lords as were in London, whether he should or should not call a Parliament, and after naming three of them to negotiate with the Prince, he resolved to fly to France. He had the little Prince of Wales brought back from Portsmouth; and the child and the Queen crossed the river to Lambeth in an open boat, on a miserable wet night, and got safely away. This was on the night of the ninth of December.
At one o'clock on the morning of the eleventh, the King, who had, in the meantime, received a letter from the Prince of Orange, stating his objects, got out of bed, told LORD NORTHUMBERLAND who lay in his room not to open the door until the usual hour in the morning, and went down the back stairs (the same, I suppose, by which the priest in the wig127 and gown had come up to his brother) and crossed the river in a small boat: sinking the great seal of England by the way. Horses having been provided, he rode, accompanied by SIR EDWARD HALES, to Feversham, where he embarked128 in a Custom House Hoy. The master of this Hoy, wanting more ballast, ran into the Isle59 of Sheppy to get it, where the fishermen and smugglers crowded about the boat, and informed the King of their suspicions that he was a 'hatchet-faced Jesuit.' As they took his money and would not let him go, he told them who he was, and that the Prince of Orange wanted to take his life; and he began to scream for a boat - and then to cry, because he had lost a piece of wood on his ride which he called a fragment of Our Saviour's cross. He put himself into the hands of the Lord Lieutenant93 of the county, and his detention129 was made known to the Prince of Orange at Windsor - who, only wanting to get rid of him, and not caring where he went, so that he went away, was very much disconcerted that they did not let him go. However, there was nothing for it but to have him brought back, with some state in the way of Life Guards, to Whitehall. And as soon as he got there, in his infatuation, he heard mass, and set a Jesuit to say grace at his public dinner.
The people had been thrown into the strangest state of confusion by his flight, and had taken it into their heads that the Irish part of the army were going to murder the Protestants. Therefore, they set the bells a ringing, and lighted watch-fires, and burned Catholic Chapels130, and looked about in all directions for Father Petre and the Jesuits, while the Pope's ambassador was running away in the dress of a footman. They found no Jesuits; but a man, who had once been a frightened witness before Jeffreys in court, saw a swollen131, drunken face looking through a window down at Wapping, which he well remembered. The face was in a sailor's dress, but he knew it to be the face of that accursed judge, and he seized him. The people, to their lasting132 honour, did not tear him to pieces. After knocking him about a little, they took him, in the basest agonies of terror, to the Lord Mayor, who sent him, at his own shrieking133 petition, to the Tower for safety. There, he died.
Their bewilderment continuing, the people now lighted bonfires and made rejoicings, as if they had any reason to be glad to have the King back again. But, his stay was very short, for the English guards were removed from Whitehall, Dutch guards were marched up to it, and he was told by one of his late ministers that the Prince would enter London, next day, and he had better go to Ham. He said, Ham was a cold, damp place, and he would rather go to Rochester. He thought himself very cunning in this, as he meant to escape from Rochester to France. The Prince of Orange and his friends knew that, perfectly134 well, and desired nothing more. So, he went to Gravesend, in his royal barge135, attended by certain lords, and watched by Dutch troops, and pitied by the generous people, who were far more forgiving than he had ever been, when they saw him in his humiliation136. On the night of the twenty-third of December, not even then understanding that everybody wanted to get rid of him, he went out, absurdly, through his Rochester garden, down to the Medway, and got away to France, where he rejoined the Queen.
There had been a council in his absence, of the lords, and the authorities of London. When the Prince came, on the day after the King's departure, he summoned the Lords to meet him, and soon afterwards, all those who had served in any of the Parliaments of King Charles the Second. It was finally resolved by these authorities that the throne was vacant by the conduct of King James the Second; that it was inconsistent with the safety and welfare of this Protestant kingdom, to be governed by a Popish prince; that the Prince and Princess of Orange should be King and Queen during their lives and the life of the survivor137 of them; and that their children should succeed them, if they had any. That if they had none, the Princess Anne and her children should succeed; that if she had none, the heirs of the Prince of Orange should succeed.
On the thirteenth of January, one thousand six hundred and eighty- nine, the Prince and Princess, sitting on a throne in Whitehall, bound themselves to these conditions. The Protestant religion was established in England, and England's great and glorious Revolution was complete.
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reign
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| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
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doggedly
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| adv.顽强地，固执地 | |
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obstinacy
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| n.顽固；（病痛等）难治 | |
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credulous
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| adj.轻信的，易信的 | |
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mischievous
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| adj.调皮的，恶作剧的，有害的，伤人的 | |
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arrogance
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| n.傲慢，自大 | |
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contemptible
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| adj.可鄙的，可轻视的，卑劣的 | |
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obsequious
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| adj.谄媚的，奉承的，顺从的 | |
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perjury
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| n.伪证；伪证罪 | |
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pillory
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| n.嘲弄；v.使受公众嘲笑；将…示众 | |
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inflicted
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| 把…强加给，使承受，遭受( inflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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rascal
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| n.流氓；不诚实的人 | |
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sledge
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| n.雪橇，大锤；v.用雪橇搬运，坐雪橇往 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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villain
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| n.反派演员，反面人物；恶棍；问题的起因 | |
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ferocious
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| adj.凶猛的，残暴的，极度的，十分强烈的 | |
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poke
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| n.刺，戳，袋；vt.拨开，刺，戳；vi.戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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cane
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| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
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19
vigour
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| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
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20
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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21
clan
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| n.氏族，部落，宗族，家族，宗派 | |
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22
followers
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| 追随者( follower的名词复数 )； 用户； 契据的附面； 从动件 | |
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23
shamefully
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| 可耻地； 丢脸地； 不体面地； 羞耻地 | |
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24
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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25
bridles
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| 约束( bridle的名词复数 )； 限动器； 马笼头； 系带 | |
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26
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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27
promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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28
tyrant
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| n.暴君，专制的君主，残暴的人 | |
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29
usurper
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| n. 篡夺者, 僭取者 | |
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30
dissenters
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| n.持异议者，持不同意见者( dissenter的名词复数 ) | |
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31
ornamented
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| adj.花式字体的v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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32
homage
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| n.尊敬，敬意，崇敬 | |
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33
morass
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| n.沼泽，困境 | |
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34
scythes
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| n.（长柄）大镰刀( scythe的名词复数 )v.（长柄）大镰刀( scythe的第三人称单数 ) | |
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35
dispersed
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| adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
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36
nettles
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| n.荨麻( nettle的名词复数 ) | |
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37
jumble
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| vt.使混乱，混杂；n.混乱；杂乱的一堆 | |
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38
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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39
beseeching
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| adj.恳求似的v.恳求，乞求（某事物）( beseech的现在分词 ) | |
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40
entreating
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| 恳求，乞求( entreat的现在分词 ) | |
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41
soften
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| v.(使)变柔软；(使)变柔和 | |
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42
suppliant
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| adj.哀恳的；n.恳求者，哀求者 | |
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43
axe
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| n.斧子；v.用斧头砍，削减 | |
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44
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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45
gashed
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| v.划伤，割破( gash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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46
wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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47
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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48
atrocities
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| n.邪恶，暴行( atrocity的名词复数 )；滔天大罪 | |
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49
lamentable
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| adj.令人惋惜的，悔恨的 | |
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50
moors
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| v.停泊，系泊（船只）( moor的第三人称单数 ) | |
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51
emblem
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| n.象征，标志；徽章 | |
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52
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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53
demons
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| n.恶人( demon的名词复数 )；恶魔；精力过人的人；邪念 | |
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54
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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55
batches
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| 一批( batch的名词复数 )； 一炉； （食物、药物等的）一批生产的量； 成批作业 | |
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56
trumpets
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| 喇叭( trumpet的名词复数 )； 小号； 喇叭形物； （尤指）绽开的水仙花 | |
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57
proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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58
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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59
isle
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| n.小岛，岛 | |
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60
fugitives
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| n.亡命者，逃命者( fugitive的名词复数 ) | |
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61
bullied
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| adj.被欺负了v.恐吓，威逼( bully的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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62
extorted
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| v.敲诈( extort的过去式和过去分词 )；曲解 | |
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63
clergy
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| n.[总称]牧师，神职人员 | |
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64
interfered
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| v.干预( interfere的过去式和过去分词 )；调停；妨碍；干涉 | |
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65
approbation
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| n.称赞；认可 | |
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66
chancellor
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| n.(英)大臣；法官；(德、奥)总理；大学校长 | |
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67
injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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68
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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69
imprisoning
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| v.下狱，监禁( imprison的现在分词 ) | |
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70
mangled
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| vt.乱砍（mangle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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71
tar
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| n.柏油，焦油；vt.涂或浇柏油/焦油于 | |
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72
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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73
rustic
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| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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74
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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75
jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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76
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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77
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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78
bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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79
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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80
odious
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| adj.可憎的，讨厌的 | |
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81
majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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82
abominably
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| adv. 可恶地，可恨地，恶劣地 | |
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83
unnaturally
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| adv.违反习俗地；不自然地；勉强地；不近人情地 | |
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84
dispensing
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| v.分配( dispense的现在分词 )；施与；配（药） | |
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85
penal
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| adj.刑罚的；刑法上的 | |
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86
Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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87
bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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88
solicited
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| v.恳求( solicit的过去式和过去分词 )；（指娼妇）拉客；索求；征求 | |
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89
unwillingly
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| adv.不情愿地 | |
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90
monk
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| n.和尚，僧侣，修道士 | |
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91
monks
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| n.修道士，僧侣( monk的名词复数 ) | |
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92
lieutenants
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| n.陆军中尉( lieutenant的名词复数 )；副职官员；空军；仅低于…官阶的官员 | |
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93
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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94
privy
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| adj.私用的；隐密的 | |
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95
knave
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| n.流氓；（纸牌中的）杰克 | |
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96
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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97
bigoted
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| adj.固执己见的，心胸狭窄的 | |
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98
undo
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| vt.解开，松开；取消，撤销 | |
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99
opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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100
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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101
plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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102
gallantly
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| adv. 漂亮地，勇敢地，献殷勤地 | |
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103
bishops
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| （基督教某些教派管辖大教区的）主教( bishop的名词复数 )； （国际象棋的）象 | |
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104
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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105
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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106
prosecute
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| vt.告发；进行；vi.告发，起诉，作检察官 | |
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107
besought
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| v.恳求，乞求（某事物）( beseech的过去式和过去分词 )；(beseech的过去式与过去分词) | |
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108
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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109
censuring
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| v.指责，非难，谴责( censure的现在分词 ) | |
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110
throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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111
brewer
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| n. 啤酒制造者 | |
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112
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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113
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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114
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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115
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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116
mole
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| n.胎块；痣；克分子 | |
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117
concessions
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| n.（尤指由政府或雇主给予的）特许权( concession的名词复数 )；承认；减价；（在某地的）特许经营权 | |
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118
extraordinarily
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| adv.格外地；极端地 | |
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119
lulled
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| vt.使镇静，使安静（lull的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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120
retinue
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| n.侍从；随员 | |
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121
justification
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| n.正当的理由；辩解的理由 | |
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122
gentry
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| n.绅士阶级，上层阶级 | |
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123
falter
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| vi.(嗓音)颤抖，结巴地说；犹豫；蹒跚 | |
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124
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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125
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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126
Forsaken
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| adj. 被遗忘的, 被抛弃的 动词forsake的过去分词 | |
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127
wig
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| n.假发 | |
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128
embarked
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| 乘船( embark的过去式和过去分词 )； 装载； 从事 | |
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129
detention
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| n.滞留，停留；拘留，扣留；(教育)留下 | |
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130
chapels
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| n.小教堂， （医院、监狱等的）附属礼拜堂( chapel的名词复数 )；（在小教堂和附属礼拜堂举行的）礼拜仪式 | |
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131
swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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132
lasting
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| adj.永久的，永恒的；vbl.持续，维持 | |
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133
shrieking
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| v.尖叫( shriek的现在分词 ) | |
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134
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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135
barge
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| n.平底载货船，驳船 | |
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136
humiliation
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| n.羞辱 | |
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137
survivor
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| n.生存者，残存者，幸存者 | |
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