A couple of days later, Mr. Zuidhoorn left Santjoemeh. He started for Batavia in one of the Dutch Indian Navigation Company’s ships, intending to take a passage to Singapore in the Emirne. From Singapore he was to go to Marseilles in the Irrawady of the Messageries Maritimes. He was, as we have seen, a thoroughly2 honest man; and he had fully3 made up his mind to let the authorities at Batavia know all that had occurred at the last session in Santjoemeh. He intended to act in this matter as prudently4 as possible; but yet was resolved that the officials at the head-quarters should be fully informed of the shameful6 intrigues7 that were carried on in the interior. But—between the forming of a good resolution and the carrying out of it, there is a vast difference, as Mr. Zuidhoorn was soon to discover.
He had but three days to stay in Batavia, and he found that he could not, in these three days, obtain an interview with the Governor General. Mr. Zuidhoorn had taken the trouble to go all the way to Buitenzorg; but it was only to find that, on the very day of his arrival, his Excellency had, in the early morning, started for Tjipannas. The only thing, therefore, that he could do was to wait till the morrow, and then take a carriage and drive to that place. Mr. Zuidhoorn took the precaution of telegraphing to the adjutant on duty, and as he received no answer to his telegram, he started the next morning for Tjipannas. He was doomed8 to be once again disappointed; for when he arrived, he was told that, unfortunately, His Excellency the Governor was confined to his room by a severe attack of fever, and that no one could be admitted to [335]his presence. The aide-de-camp made this announcement with a profusion9 of excuses, and tried to explain that he had not been able to send a reply to the telegram because His Excellency had not been taken ill until late in the night.
There was no help for it, and Mr. Zuidhoorn had to hurry back, as best he could, to Batavia; cursing his unlucky star. But in these fruitless efforts to gain the Governor’s ears, two precious days had been wasted, and he had but one left.
On the following morning Mr. Zuidhoorn called upon the Chief Justice. This gentleman received him with a cordiality which was somewhat too boisterous10 to be real.
“Here you are at length, my dear Zuidhoorn!” cried he, as, with much outward show of friendship, he grasped his hand. “Indeed, I am delighted to see you! I have been alarming myself so dreadfully about the state of your health, that it is a positive relief to see you as well as you are. I thought your indisposition was much more serious. I am glad to find you are not so very bad after all; but it is getting high time for you to go away for a bit and get a little rest.”
Mr. Zuidhoorn did not know what to make of all this. “You thought me very ill?” he asked in surprise. “What do you mean? I don’t remember, in any of my letters, that I represented my state of health as worse than it really is. And then ‘high time to get away?’ I assure you I do not understand what you mean. I was not at all anxious to leave.”
“I suppose not,” rejoined the Chief Justice, “I suppose not; but I know you are beginning to feel the effect of the climate.”
“Of the climate?” repeated Zuidhoorn still more puzzled.
“Yes! yes! you see, when we Europeans are forced to live in the tropics for any considerable time, then, in some cases, nervous debility begins to set in, frequently accompanied by weakening or softening11 of the brain—”
“My dear sir,” cried Zuidhoorn, “your hints—”
“Are not in the least applicable to you! My dear Zuidhoorn, I know that as well as you do; but pray let me finish what I was going to say. Some men, I observed, begin to suffer from debility and impaired12 brain-power—others grow nervous, excitable, irritable—”
“Chief Justice!” cried Zuidhoorn, “is that the case with me?”
“As a rule,” continued the other without noticing the interruption, “as a rule the patient is, in such cases, wholly unconscious [336]of his condition; and is under the impression that he continues to speak and act precisely13 as he was always wont14 to do.”
“Is such the case with me?” again asked Zuidhoorn, repeating his question.
“Well, yes, my dear colleague, I am sorry to say that, to a certain extent, it is. You yourself are not aware of it, of course: but yet to your friends the style in which you write has, of late, betrayed a degree of irritability15 which you, as an excellent juris peritus, know is scarcely desirable in a high legal functionary16.”
“But my dear sir!” exclaimed Zuidhoorn, “I am not at all aware—”
“Quantum est quod nescimus!” interrupted the other.
“Well,” continued Zuidhoorn, “it is a very curious thing that no one has ever dropped the slightest hint to me of any such infirmity.”
“True enough, my dear colleague; but nevertheless it has been noticed for some little time. At first I looked upon it merely as a result of the extreme interest which we know you take in the discharge of your duties. But it soon became evident to your friends that it was a symptom of failing health: and, as you know perfectly18 well, in our profession especially, it is of the utmost importance that there should be meus sana in corpore sano.”
Mr. Zuidhoorn was utterly20 amazed, as well as fairly disgusted. Was that then the impression which his long and conscientious21 services had made upon his superiors at head-quarters? Was that the reward for the many years of anxious work which he had bestowed22 upon his office?
“But, my dear sir,” said he, “you will, I suppose, not object to give me a single instance in which that supposed infirmity of mine has manifested itself to you?”
“I ask you but for one,” was Zuidhoorn’s reply.
“Very well then,” said the Chief Justice, “look at that recent business of the Santjoemeh sessions.”
“Which sessions?” asked Zuidhoorn.
“Ah, you see! you have a kind of inner consciousness that there are several occasions on which—”
“That is the merest quibble!” cried Zuidhoorn, somewhat testily24, “the merest quibble! I have attended at, and presided [337]over, so many sessions, that my question is, surely, a very natural one.”
“Well, I will tell you,” replied the other, “I am alluding25 to the affair with Resident van Gulpendam.”
“Who would persist in presiding over the trials, which he had no right whatever to do.”
“Come, come, my dear friend,” said the Chief Justice, “you must be losing sight of clause 92 of our Judicial26 regulations. But, I ascribe that want of memory to your mental condition.”
“Pardon me,” interrupted Mr. Zuidhoorn warmly, “the condition of my mind has nothing whatever to do with it. You said clause 92?”
“Precisely so,” replied the Chief Justice, “that clause confers upon the Resident the power of presiding at any session which may be held within his district, should he think it right and proper so to do.”
“I know that,” answered Zuidhoorn, “but pray remember, that when that 92nd clause was in force, there was as yet no thought of appointing specially19 qualified27 lawyers to the presidential office. At that time such a regulation may have been useful and even necessary; but, as matters stand now, it would be an utter absurdity28 for any Resident who is a layman29, to put aside the specially appointed president in order to thrust himself upon a court of justice in the capacity of chairman. Methinks that—”
“Mr. Zuidhoorn, allow me to say, that we judges ought to be the very first to show strict respect to the written law. Certain rules and regulations may appear useless or even mischievous30; but so long as they remain in force, we are bound to abide31 by them. And—pardon me the question—have you in this particular case acted up to that principle?”
“It seems to me then,” said Zuidhoorn, “that you do not approve of my line of conduct?”
“Not only do I disapprove32 of it,” replied the Chief Justice, “but the Governor General also is extremely annoyed at the attitude you have chosen to assume in this case. In his opinion the line of conduct you have thought it right to adopt has seriously impaired the prestige which ought to belong to your position.”
“Oh, indeed! is that his Excellency’s opinion?” asked Mr. Zuidhoorn musingly33. “Now I begin to see why I have not been admitted to an audience.”
“Have you tried to obtain one?” [338]
“Yes, I have,” was the reply. “The day before yesterday I went to Buitenzorg—yesterday I went on to Tjipannas—”
“And—?”
“I was told by the aide-de-camp on duty that his Excellency was ill in bed and could see no one.”
“You see!” exclaimed the Chief Justice. “What did I tell you?”
“But, my dear sir,” interposed Zuidhoorn, “the most scandalous proceedings34 are going on. For the sake of shielding a wealthy opium35 farmer, a poor devil of a Javanese—!”
“Has been falsely accused—and will in all probability, be found guilty in spite of his innocence,” remarked the Chief Justice with a cynical37 smile. “Oh, yes, we know all about it, you have put the whole question most clearly and most circumstantially before us. But what are we to do? We are powerless, and must bend our heads to the storm. You know summum jus, summa injuria.”
Mr. Zuidhoorn was leaning his head on his hand as his colleague spoke38 thus; and was vacantly, almost hopelessly, staring before him.
“Let me give you a friendly piece of advice, my dear colleague,” resumed the Chief Justice kindly39; “the fact is you are not at all well—you are more seriously indisposed than you yourself are aware of. To-morrow you mean to sail in the Emirne, eh? Very well, my advice to you is to leave all these worries and bothers behind you in Batavia; fling off all these anxieties, and go to Europe to recruit your failing strength. In a couple of years’ time you will return with fresh vigour—a new man, in fact, in mind and body—and then you will for many years to come continue to be an ornament40 to a profession in which, allow me to tell you, very few can compete with you. And now you must excuse me. My time is very precious and— Oh, yes, one other recommendation let me give you before taking leave. For the future, pray take the greatest care never to meddle41 in any way, if you can possibly help it, with any of the complications and intrigues of the opium trade. I need hardly tell you that it is an imperium in imperio and, to this I may add, malum malo proximum; in all such matters, he who touches pitch must be defiled42. And now—I can only wish you a quick and pleasant voyage and a happy time in the old country. Good-bye, my dear Zuidhoorn, good-bye. A pleasant journey to you!” [339]
The two cases of opium smuggling43, the one at the Moeara Tjatjing and the other arising out of the discovery in the hut of Pak Ardjan at Kaligaweh, did not come on at once before the court at Santjoemeh. Resident van Gulpendam was delighted when he heard from the Chief Justice at Batavia, that, owing to the scarcity44 of legal men at head quarters, there was no chance whatever of filling up, for some time to come, the vacancy45 caused by Mr. Zuidhoorn’s departure.
The sittings of the court at which the Resident now had to preside, were held, as usual, regularly once a week; but Mr. van Gulpendam found no difficulty, on one pretext46 or another, in putting off the hearing of the opium cases from week to week.
At length, however, the chief djaksa had informed him that the two Chinamen, Than Khan and Liem King, who had been on watch in the djaga monjet, could nowhere be found. Presently it was found that Awal Boep Said, the captain of the schooner47 brig, Kiem Ping Hin, on whose testimony48 Ardjan chiefly relied, had also disappeared without leaving a trace behind him. Then van Gulpendam thought that the proper time had come to bring up the prisoners for trial.
Ardjan had to confess that on the February night in question, he had come ashore49 in very stormy weather; that the boat of the Matamata had chased him and had fired upon him; but he was quite unable to prove that the opium discovered, not far from the spot where his surf-boat was driven ashore, had not been landed by him. Thus all the evidence was against him. Then he called upon Dalima to prove that she was seated with him in the boat. The president, however, assured the court that the girl had not, on that night, left the grounds of the Residence, and that her testimony, therefore, must be a mere17 tissue of falsehood and of no value whatever—that it could not in any case invalidate the evidence already produced. The Resident further drew the court’s attention to the fact that Dalima herself was about to be put on trial for a precisely similar offence—a fact which could not but affect the weight of her testimony. The court thus came to the conclusion that it was perfectly useless to call so tainted50 a witness. Moreover the chief djaksa deposed51 that Pak Ardjan, the prisoner’s father, had confessed that the smuggled52 opium which Singomengolo had found in his cabin, had been supplied to him by his son. Thus the guilt36 of the prisoner was clearly established and Ardjan was, accordingly, found guilty of an attempt at smuggling [340]one and a half pikols of pure opium which was equivalent to about three pikols of raw material. This brought the case under the 23rd clause of the Act, and the court condemned him to three years’ penal53 servitude, and further to pay a fine of three thousand guilders. In default of payment, he was to have three months’ compulsory54 labour on the public works for every hundred guilders. Ardjan was, therefore, doomed to what virtually came to eight years’ penal servitude. The poor victim of this gross miscarriage55 of justice gnashed his teeth with impotent rage when he heard the sentence. Could he have expected more lenient56 treatment at the hands of the white men? Perhaps he had, poor fellow!
After the son, the father—after Ardjan, Pak Ardjan.
His case was treated in a still more off-hand manner if possible, than his son’s.
The prisoner had confessed that he had smuggled opium in his possession. Entrapped57 by artful cross-examination; and without having the slightest suspicion how heavily his testimony would weigh against his son Ardjan, he had admitted that the latter used, from time to time, to supply him with the drug. He had further been forced to confess that he had wrenched58 a sword from one of the oppassers and, in consequence of the fellow’s grossly indecent conduct towards his little daughter, had dealt the wretch59 a couple of slashing60 blows with his own weapon. But hardly any notice whatever was taken of these extenuating61 circumstances—they were, in fact, not inquired into at all. The wretched father was there and then found guilty of having illegally in his possession two katties of opium. As this was his first offence, he could only be sentenced to forfeit62 the captured wares63 and to undergo three months’ hard labour. But on the other charge, that namely, of having offered resistance to the police and of having wounded one of the officers in the execution of his duty, he was sentenced to ten years’ penal servitude.
Thus father and son were both satisfactorily disposed of. The latter, though perfectly innocent, was sent to penal servitude for eight years. The former, for a very simple offence, for which only a trifling64 penalty could be inflicted65, had not the infamous66 conduct of the searchers driven him to resistance, was sent to penal servitude for ten years. The Chief Justice at Batavia fixed67 upon Atjeh as the place where the culprits should serve their time; but—before the order could arrive at Santjoemeh—both Ardjan and his father had managed to make their escape. [341]
It was an awful night, dark as pitch, while a terrible thunderstorm had burst over Santjoemeh. The young native soldier who was on sentry-duty inside the outer wall of the prison, had been driven to seek for shelter within his sentry-box, terrified by the flashes of lightning, the deafening68 claps of thunder, and the torrents69 of rain; when, suddenly, he felt an iron grip upon his throat. Before he had time to utter a sound, a blow from a heavy piece of wood stretched him senseless on the ground. Meanwhile the thunder kept on rattling70 and the rain came splashing down with redoubled fury—such rain as is only seen in the tropics. Of these circumstances, so favourable71 to their flight, the fugitives72 made the best use. Nimble and strong, as a good sailor must be, Ardjan was able to help his father to gain the top of the wall, then he soon managed to clamber up himself. Once firmly seated, he lowered the old man to the ground on the other side, and, in a twinkling, he was at his side. Not one of the sentries73 on duty outside the wall was to be seen, they also, in such dreadful weather, had got under cover. The rain still poured down in torrents, and the water was coursing over the plain beyond and dashing down the streets as if all the rivers in the country had broken their bounds. Outside the prison wall all was darkness. One solitary74 oil-lamp was flickering75 in a lantern; but it only shed a sickly and feeble light in its immediate76 neighbourhood, while its wretched little glimmers77 served but to make more palpable the darkness beyond. Just at the moment when the fugitives had safely reached the foot of the wall, there came a blinding flash of lightning, cleaving78 its zig-zag way through the clouds. The flash was followed immediately by a stunning79 clap of thunder with that peculiar80 crackling sound which tells that the lightning has struck something close by, and then another noise was heard—it was that of a mighty81 cocoa nut palm which split from top to bottom, came crashing to the ground.
The two Javanese then left the shelter of the wall where they knew that the rounds might at any moment discover them; and, taking advantage of the dense82 darkness which followed upon the dazzling flash, they darted83 across the small plain in which the prison stood, and, in a few moments, had reached the edge of the dessa.
Once there, they were perfectly safe, for not one of the inhabitants of the dessa would have thought of betraying the victims of the detested84 opium tyranny to the vengeance85 of the white man. [342]
When Resident van Gulpendam was informed of this escape, he was simply furious.
One of the sentries stated that, after the fall of the palm-tree, he had heard a sound as of something splashing in the water; but the darkness made it impossible for him to distinguish what it was, and he thought it must be some dog who was trying to get away from so dangerous a neighbourhood. The Resident at once ordered the man to be tried by court-martial, and had him punished with fourteen days’ close imprisonment86.
The most careful search was made to discover the fugitives. All the detectives, all the spies, all the creatures of the opium police, were turned out, and used their utmost skill; but all to no purpose. For months the entire district of Banjoe Pahit, especially the dessa Kaligaweh, was carefully watched; the wife and children of Pak Ardjan were not lost sight of for a moment; but without result. At length the police were driven to the conclusion that the criminals could not have returned to Kaligaweh and that they must, in fact, have left the residence of Santjoemeh altogether. Presently men ceased to talk about the matter, and soon the whole business was clean forgotten; when—a couple of months later—an event took place which, while it recalled the occurrence to men’s minds, gave them at the same time ample food for reflection.
On a certain evening Singomengolo had come to Lim Yang Bing and had told him that he thought he had found a trace of the fugitives; but, as he feared some of the information he had gained might leak out, he refused to give any further explanation. He requested, however, that he might, for that evening, have the assistance of two of Lim Yang Bing’s men; and he picked out two Chinese bandoelans to accompany him on his voyage of discovery. The opium farmer tried all he knew to get at Singomengolo’s secret. He questioned and cross-questioned him; but he could get nothing out of him. The bandoelan persisted in saying that he could hope for success only by keeping strictly87 secret the clue he had obtained. He further said that he was not at all certain that the information he had gained was genuine; and that he might very possibly be on a wrong scent88 altogether. The only thing he allowed to slip out was that the field of his operations lay not far from Kaligaweh. As soon as he had obtained the help he required, Singomengolo started off with his two police-spies; but he did not return. When on the following morning, the [343]opium farmer heard that his trusty servant had not yet come home, he began to grow anxious. He was so used to see his bandoelan at a stated hour in the morning, to receive from him a report of all that had occurred during the twenty-four hours, and to give him his further orders, that the man’s want of punctuality on this occasion gave him no little alarm. On that morning especially, he had been impatiently awaiting Singo’s usual visit, as he was extremely curious to know what success had followed the night’s expedition. He waited and waited with still growing impatience89 until noon. Then, the suspense90 becoming intolerable, he called for his carriage, and drove straight off to the Residence.
“What is the matter now, babah?” cried van Gulpendam, greatly surprised at the manner of his visitor, who seemed to have lost all the calmness and composure which are so very characteristic of his nation.
Thereupon he told the Resident what little he knew of Singomengolo’s expedition, and could not hide the anxiety which the bandoelan’s prolonged absence caused him.
For a few moments the Resident sat reflecting on what he had heard. He had received, from one of the landowners at Banjoe Pahit, secret information which was of a very disquieting92 nature. A hint had been conveyed to him from that source, that very probably Banjoe Pahit would be threatened by a visit from certain bands of robbers. The hint was, however, so very vague and had apparently93 so little to support it, that he had not paid much attention to it. The new controller, whom he had appointed in the place of Verstork, and to whom he had imparted the information he had received, assured him that the district was profoundly quiet, that the population was as orderly and contented94 as it could possibly be; and that not a single alarming symptom could be discovered. True it was that the land-tax came in somewhat slowly; but, on the other hand, other sources of revenue were decidedly improving, and, judging from the flourishing state of the opium den5 at Kaligaweh, the bidding at the approaching sale of the monopoly would run unusually high. This report was eminently95 satisfactory to the Resident, and though he knew perfectly well that the foundation upon which the controller had built his pleasant expectations, was an extremely crazy one; for in such matters it was not an easy thing [344]to deceive the keenly practised eye of van Gulpendam, yet he was quite ready to accept it as sufficient, because he reckoned upon the report as a convenient screen under which to hide himself should matters turn out not quite so satisfactory as his subordinate would make them appear. He had, therefore, written to the landowner a most polite letter in which he thanked him for his information; but in which he at the same time told him that he had reason to think his fears were unfounded, adding that for the future, it might perhaps be advisable not to spread such alarming reports. Strange that, as Lim Yang Bing was telling his tale, these vague rumours96 of possible disturbance97 had come up spontaneously to the mind of the Resident, yet so it was. Very probably van Gulpendam could not have explained the fact to himself.
Why should the rather late return of Singomengolo—for, as yet, there was no ground for giving his absence any other name—why should that have any connection with those faint rumours of robber bands which had not shown the slightest symptom of having any substantial foundation? No, no, that was out of the question. Van Gulpendam accordingly tried to calm the Chinaman’s fears.
“But, babah,” said he, “surely you have no reason for all this uneasiness. It must, I should think, be no uncommon98 occurrence for a bandoelan to be delayed for some time on a secret mission—”
“No, kandjeng toean,” was the reply, “not Singomengolo. He always takes his measures so carefully and lays down his plans so accurately99, that he never fails to be with me at the appointed time.”
“Well, babah,” asked the Resident, “in what manner can I assist you?”
“All I want,” replied Lim Yang Bing, “is for you to give me a few oppassers and your written authority to call upon the dessa people to lend the police any assistance they may require.”
“But,” persisted van Gulpendam, “what do you want the oppassers and the dessa people to do?”
“I wish,” said the Chinaman, “thoroughly to search Kaligaweh. I don’t know how to explain it, kandjeng toean; but I have a kind of presentiment100 that Singomengolo has fallen into some trap and has met with foul101 play.”
“Very good,” said van Gulpendam, “so be it, I have no objection.” [345]
A few hours later, a numerous band of men was searching Kaligaweh in every direction; but no discovery was made that could throw any light upon the matter. The dessa people were preparing to go home, and the policemen were getting ready to return to Santjoemeh, when a fisherman came up and told them that at Kali Tjatjing he had seen something which looked like three dead bodies. Thereupon the search was at once resumed, and, under the fisherman’s guidance, the police proceeded to the spot he had mentioned. At length under a thickly tangled102 clump103 of mangrove104, quite close to the river bank, they found the bodies of Singomengolo and of one of his Chinese followers105. Both bodies were covered with wounds; and so fearfully hacked106 about with the kris, that death must have been almost instantaneous. The third Chinaman still showed some signs of life when they found him. He had a dreadful gash107 in the throat; but if it had been attended to at once he might possibly have survived. Loss of blood, however, had now made his recovery hopeless. When the party of searchers reached him he opened his eyes feebly, and muttered some disconnected words. He tried to say something about men with blackened faces, and some of those present thought they could distinguish the name of Ardjan, then, uttering a deep sigh, the man expired.
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condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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prudently
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| adv. 谨慎地，慎重地 | |
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den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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shameful
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| adj.可耻的，不道德的 | |
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intrigues
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| n.密谋策划( intrigue的名词复数 )；神秘气氛；引人入胜的复杂情节v.搞阴谋诡计( intrigue的第三人称单数 )；激起…的好奇心 | |
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doomed
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profusion
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boisterous
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| adj.喧闹的，欢闹的 | |
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softening
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| 变软，软化 | |
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impaired
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| adj.受损的；出毛病的；有（身体或智力）缺陷的v.损害，削弱( impair的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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irritability
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| n.易怒 | |
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functionary
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| n.官员；公职人员 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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conscientious
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| adj.审慎正直的，认真的，本着良心的 | |
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bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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testily
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| adv. 易怒地, 暴躁地 | |
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alluding
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| 提及，暗指( allude的现在分词 ) | |
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judicial
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| adj.司法的，法庭的，审判的，明断的，公正的 | |
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qualified
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| adj.合格的，有资格的，胜任的，有限制的 | |
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absurdity
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| n.荒谬，愚蠢；谬论 | |
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layman
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| n.俗人，门外汉，凡人 | |
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30
mischievous
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| adj.调皮的，恶作剧的，有害的，伤人的 | |
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31
abide
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| vi.遵守；坚持；vt.忍受 | |
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32
disapprove
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| v.不赞成，不同意，不批准 | |
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33
musingly
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| adv.沉思地，冥想地 | |
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34
proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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35
opium
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| n.鸦片；adj.鸦片的 | |
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36
guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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37
cynical
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| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
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38
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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39
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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40
ornament
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| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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41
meddle
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| v.干预，干涉，插手 | |
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42
defiled
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| v.玷污( defile的过去式和过去分词 )；污染；弄脏；纵列行进 | |
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43
smuggling
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| n.走私 | |
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44
scarcity
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| n.缺乏，不足，萧条 | |
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45
vacancy
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| n.（旅馆的）空位，空房，（职务的）空缺 | |
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46
pretext
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| n.借口，托词 | |
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47
schooner
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| n.纵帆船 | |
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48
testimony
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| n.证词；见证，证明 | |
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49
ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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50
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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51
deposed
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| v.罢免( depose的过去式和过去分词 )；（在法庭上）宣誓作证 | |
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52
smuggled
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| 水货 | |
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53
penal
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| adj.刑罚的；刑法上的 | |
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54
compulsory
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| n.强制的，必修的；规定的，义务的 | |
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55
miscarriage
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| n.失败，未达到预期的结果；流产 | |
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56
lenient
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| adj.宽大的，仁慈的 | |
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57
entrapped
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| v.使陷入圈套，使入陷阱( entrap的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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58
wrenched
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| v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的过去式和过去分词 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
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59
wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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60
slashing
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| adj.尖锐的；苛刻的；鲜明的；乱砍的v.挥砍( slash的现在分词 )；鞭打；割破；削减 | |
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extenuating
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| adj.使减轻的，情有可原的v.（用偏袒的辩解或借口）减轻( extenuate的现在分词 )；低估，藐视 | |
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62
forfeit
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| vt.丧失；n.罚金，罚款，没收物 | |
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wares
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| n. 货物, 商品 | |
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trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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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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infamous
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| adj.声名狼藉的，臭名昭著的，邪恶的 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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deafening
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| adj. 振耳欲聋的, 极喧闹的 动词deafen的现在分词形式 | |
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torrents
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| n.倾注；奔流( torrent的名词复数 )；急流；爆发；连续不断 | |
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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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favourable
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| adj.赞成的，称赞的，有利的，良好的，顺利的 | |
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fugitives
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| n.亡命者，逃命者( fugitive的名词复数 ) | |
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sentries
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| 哨兵，步兵( sentry的名词复数 ) | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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76
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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77
glimmers
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| n.微光，闪光( glimmer的名词复数 )v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的第三人称单数 ) | |
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78
cleaving
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| v.劈开，剁开，割开( cleave的现在分词 ) | |
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79
stunning
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| adj.极好的；使人晕倒的 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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81
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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82
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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83
darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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detested
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| v.憎恶，嫌恶，痛恨( detest的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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85
vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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86
imprisonment
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| n.关押，监禁，坐牢 | |
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87
strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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88
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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89
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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90
suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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91
invoke
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| v.求助于(神、法律)；恳求，乞求 | |
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92
disquieting
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| adj.令人不安的，令人不平静的v.使不安，使忧虑，使烦恼( disquiet的现在分词 ) | |
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93
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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94
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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eminently
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| adv.突出地；显著地；不寻常地 | |
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96
rumours
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| n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 )；风闻；谣言；谣传 | |
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disturbance
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| n.动乱，骚动；打扰，干扰；(身心)失调 | |
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98
uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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99
accurately
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| adv.准确地，精确地 | |
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100
presentiment
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| n.预感，预觉 | |
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101
foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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102
tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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103
clump
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| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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104
mangrove
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| n.(植物)红树，红树林 | |
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105
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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106
hacked
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| 生气 | |
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107
gash
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| v.深切，划开；n.(深长的)切(伤)口；裂缝 | |
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