We felt that Skye was not the safest place for us after my brush with Creach, for, with such a creature in leash1 with Allan Knock, no decent man's liberty was worth a rush in days when a whisper was sufficient to secure his arrest, so we made our trip a short one and returned to the main-land.
We and all felt relieved that the Prince had returned from the Islands, whither he had gone much against the wishes of his best friends, and his escape might have been effected long since had he not taken wrong advice from those who knew nothing of the country. And if I may criticize, without blame however, His Royal Highness, perhaps from too great an openness in his own temper, was not a discerning judge of those about him, many of whom were men of no character whatever, and to-day I can see the truth of Father O'Rourke's words which I had resented so heartily2 in Rome.
But such advantage as he now gained from being amongst his friends was in a measure balanced by the nearness of his enemies, and he was obliged to lie exceeding close, and at times ran narrow chances of capture. This was the more evident as but few now knew his whereabouts, and while on the Islands his movements were known so wide that at times I have been tempted3 to think it was possible the English were not in truth over anxious for his capture. Indeed, I cannot think what they would have done with him had he fallen into their hands. To execute him would be an impossibility, for we felt such a murder as that of King Charles was something the civilized5 world would never see again, and the horrid6 crimes of the French in these last days were as then undreamed of; and to imprison7 him would have been to place him on the highest possible pinnacle8 of martyrdom, the last thing his enemies could desire.
Be this as it may, we found the activity of the troops had been greatly increased, and it was only with the greatest caution we could visit Crowlin; so we kept moving about the country, seldom passing two nights in the same place, keeping as near the coast as possible to be on the outlook for friendly ships.
We soon had evidence, too, that Creach was at work, for even before we left Skye it was clear we were spied upon, and now it was only the scarcity9 of troops that prevented him and Allan Knock from carrying out their private revenge. We were dogged night and day, and knew an attempt would be made upon us the moment the necessary men could be spared for such service.
It was on the first of September that we got news of a vessel10 off the coast, near Loch Carron, where we were then hiding on a property which belonged to our family, and we forthwith sent word to Glenaladale—Alexander McDonald—who had just left the Prince in charge of Cluny Macpherson among the hills, that all was ready. We made a night visit to Crowlin and bade good-bye to my father, whom I never expected to see again on earth, while over the sleeping children Father O'Rourke said a prayer in Irish, and left his blessing12 on the house. We slipped out into the night again and made our way to the coast to find that the vessel had gone out to sea, but had signalled she would stand in again after dark the next day.
This we spent most anxiously among the hills. We knew we were watched in every movement and an attempt would be made to prevent our embarking13, if possible; and, to add to our anxiety, word was brought from Glenaladale saying he had no knowledge of where the Prince was, as Cluny had moved away from the hiding-place he last knew, but that we were all to be aboard and lie to until the last possible hour in the morning, and then, if he did not appear with the Prince, to sail without him, instructing any other vessel spoken, to stand in farther to the south near Arisoig, so he might prepare and get word into the hills in time.
Shortly before midnight we saw the signal of a red light low on the water shewn twice for a moment, and made our way to the beach, where the boats met us, and we embarked15 without molestation16. We found her to be the Alerte privateer, and her Captain fully18 prepared to run any reasonable risk to bring off the Prince. We met with a numerous company of gentlemen and some ladies on board, who had been picked up at different points along the coast, and together we watched in the greatest anxiety for some signal from the shore; but our hopes vanished as the dawn grew stronger in the east, until we could not justify19 a longer delay, and made ready to return in our boat, which we had kept alongside. Such was their devotion that some, when they heard of our resolution, were only deterred20 from joining us by my assurance that I was charged with a special commission by the Duke, and their presence would only endanger the safety of the Prince as well as our own; on this they allowed us to depart, with many a prayer both in Gaelic and English. With dull anger in our hearts we climbed the hills, eying all the cover whence we knew false eyes were following us; but not a bush moved, nor was there a sound, as we lay on the open hill-top and from our old hiding-place saw the sun redden the sails of the privateer as she stood on her way towards France and safety.
Our first thought was to get back to Crowlin, for, now the Prince had failed to appear, we held our duty was to my father until another opportunity offered.
We were quite unable to approach the house in daylight, as it lay in the hollow well open to observation; and when we at last made our way down and entered, we were shocked at the change that had taken place in my father's condition.
"It was a kind Providence21 that led us back, Giovannini," said Father O'Rourke, as we knelt beside the plainly dying man, "for these hours will mean much to him and to you afterwards."
When my father recovered from the shock of seeing us, it was with the greatest thankfulness I saw Father O'Rourke go into him alone, and when he appeared again his face was that of the holy man he was.
"SHE STOOD ON HER WAY TOWARDS FRANCE AND SAFETY"
"Now, Giovannini," he said, "I am going to your cousin"—this was Dr. McDonald, of Kylles—"for I have done all that is in my power for your father. He wants you now, my son, and he wants such relief as the Doctor may perhaps give him."
"But, Father," I said, "that is impossible; you do not know the road over the hills well enough, and the country is alive with troops you can never pass."
"Nonsense," he said, with a short laugh, "I can pass anything on a night such as this. Let me take Neil with me, and we will be back before daybreak."
Knowing that argument was useless, I sent for Neil, as good and safe a man as there was in the country, and who spoke14 English perfectly22, gave him his directions to go by the Ghlach Dubh—the Black Pass—saw they both were well armed and supplied with cakes and whiskey, bade them god-speed, and then turned back into the dark house.
The poor little ones, soon to be fatherless for a second time, were sleeping quietly, knowing nothing of the great sorrow creeping over them, and I passed on into the chamber23 of death, sending old Christie, the servant, to keep her lonely watch in the kitchen.
That last night alone with my father is as distinct to me to-day as if it were but just passed; it is full of things that are sacred—too sacred to be written about—and at the change of the night into day, I closed his eyes and prayed over his remains24 in peace.
When I could, I rose, and, calling Christie, opened the door softly and stole out into the cool, clearing morning air. It was so still that a great peace seemed over everything, and only the cheep of distant birds came to me; but soon I made out a moving figure on the hill-side, and, remembering Father O'Rourke with a start, I set off and hurried to meet him. But as I drew nearer I could make out that it was Neil alone, and hurried forward much alarmed, and, as I saw him better, my fears grew.
He was running at his best, without plaid or bonnet25, and when we met all he could gasp26 out was, "Oh! the Soldier Priest! the Soldier Priest!"
"Stop, man!" I said, sternly. "Neil, Neil! What new trouble do you bring?"
"He is dead!" he cried, with a groan27. "No, not dead, God forgive me! but dying there alone, and him the finest swordsman I ever stood beside."
"Come!" I said, and he turned with me, and as we went he gave out his story in gasps28:
"The Doctor was not at home. Skulking29 in the hills again. We left our message and started back. Just at the top of the Black Pass they met us, and he never thinking of them at all! An officer and six men. We were too quick for them, though, and had our swords out and our backs to the hill-side before they could stop us.
"They called to him to surrender, taking him to be you.
"'Come, come, Mr. McDonell!' says the officer. 'Give up your sword like a gentleman!'
"And oh! Master John! With his death before him he laughed. And what do you think were the words he said? 'Sir,' says he, 'I never knew a McDonell yet who could give up his sword like a gentleman!'
"And then he warned the officer to be off and leave such work to the likes of Allan Knock and Creach, and the hot words flew back and forth11 between them till we were all at it together.
"He ran the officer through as cool as if he was at practice; he put two others down, and we were making grand play, when there was a flash, and down he went, shot like a dog!
"'Neil! Neil!' he shouted, 'go, for the love of God!' and I broke through and rolled over the side of the cliff; but by God's help I caught and held myself just when I thought I was lost. And I held there while they crawled to the edge and threw a torch down—making sure I had gone with the stones that rolled till they struck the black water below—and until I heard them gather up their wounded and tramp. Then I climbed to the top again, and left him only when I found he was still breathing, and remembered he meant I was to carry his message to you.
"Oh, Master John! never, never did man fight better, and you may comfort your heart with the name he made for you this night."
"'GIVE UP YOUR SWORD LIKE A GENTLEMAN'"
I could see it all clearly: that scoundrel, Allan Knock, set on by Creach, had been on our track ever since we left Skye, and knowing of our return from the ship through his spies, had thought to have taken me, or both of us, at Crowlin; the rest was plain from Neil's story, and it was only through the mistake of the English captain that my father had closed his eyes in my arms.
By the goodness of God, when I knelt beside the man so dear to me, I found him still alive, though wounded so that at the first sight, I saw even to raise him meant a quicker death.
The moment I spoke he opened his eyes. "Ah, Giovannini, my son," he said, in a voice surprisingly strong, "it was a grand fight!" And then, after a moment, "It was a pretty fight until they put an end to it with their shooting. But, poor creatures, I drove them to it. They couldn't get in at me in any other way."
"Oh, Father," I cried, "why didn't you tell them who you were?"
"I've been borrowing names all along," he said, drowsily30; "tell Lynch I kept his. I didn't make a bad use of yours either," he said, very slowly, and seemed to doze31.
We raised his head more and covered him with the plaids.
In a little while he woke up quite clear. "Giovannini, lad, what of things at home?"
I told him, and he muttered a short prayer to himself, and then went on: "I am thankful I have neither kith nor kin4, and not a soul to give a thought to my going to-night save yourself. But that is much—is dear to me. What claim has a wandering priest save on his God, and your being with me is the excess of His goodness.
"Now don't be fretting32 about the way my end has come; it was as much God's work to bar the door by my sword, and keep the father in peace with the son, as to stand beside His Altar."
And then the drowsiness33 began to steal on him again, but he roused himself to say, as if in answer to my sorrow, "Courage, lad, courage; the sun has not gone because a rushlight is snuffed out."
It was a long time before he spoke again, and then it was in the same quiet voice.
"'Tis a strange pass to come to a man who a few years ago thought of nothing more dangerous than the sunny side of a street! But, do you know, I always believed I had a bit of the soldier in me. Many a time have my fingers itched34 for a sword-hilt when I thought I might have done more than praying, and now it has been given to me, and I have done it well. I can say with St. Paul, 'I have fought a good fight' (Bonum certamen certavi)"—and these were the last words that brave heart said on earth.
We bore him home to Crowlin on our shoulders, and laid him and my father side by side in the one grave, where my tears and those of the children fell on both alike.
Broken as I was in every way, I had to think and act, for the same necessities were before me. So after seeing my uncles, Allan and Alexander, the nearest relations left to the children, and making some provision for their safety, I returned again to the coast near Loch Carron, for I could now move with greater freedom until such time as the real facts of my supposed death at the Black Pass might be discovered.
Not more than ten days went by before I had news of two ships hanging off the land, and I arranged to board them should they come close enough to signal. This they did, and I found them to be the Princesse de Conti and L'Hereux, from St. Maloes, under command of Colonel Warren, of Dillon's Regiment35, expressly come and determined36 to carry the Prince back with him at all hazards.
I told him of our disappointment of the Alerte, and, in accordance with the instructions from Glenaladale, we stood south for Arisoig, and I was put on shore near Loch-na-Neugh. I found Glenaladale without difficulty, but to our uneasiness there was still the same uncertainty37 about the Prince; and at first the search brought no result, but by chance he got the information necessary, and the joyful38 news of the vessels39' arrival was carried in all haste to the "Wanderer."
It was late at night—the night of the nineteenth of September—when we came to Borodale, where a numerous company had gathered awaiting him. He was accompanied by Lochiel, now nearly recovered, his brother the Doctor, and others; but my heart was sore when I heard of the condition he was in, although far better than what he had known for months. However, Glenaladale said he was in grand health and spirits, and clean linen40, a tailor, and a barber, would soon change him into as gallant41 a looking gentleman as ever stepped in the Three Kingdoms.
I could not go near the house, and begged Glenaladale not to mention my name to the Prince until they sailed, and then only that the Duke might know I had at least kept my promise not to leave Scotland while the Prince was in danger. My trouble was too heavy upon me for the drinking of healths, and I had no heart for the framing of encouragements.
From where I sate42 I could see the lighted windows in the house darken as figures crossed them. I could even catch faint snatches of song, and with some envy in my heart for those who could so rejoice, when behind them was ruin and before only the uncertain safety of the two ships I could faintly make out against the dark waters of the Loch. As for me, the whole world seemed closing down in the darkness, and I could see no cheer and no light beyond. My thoughts were the formless thoughts of a hopeless man, and they were my only companions till the dawn broke and the embarkation43 began.
Then my broken thoughts took shape. What place had I among these men? They had fought, and, if they had lost, had lost gallantly44, without reproach, and were still about their leader, while I had never even drawn45 my sword for the Cause I loved as truly as any of them all, and my efforts had only ended in failure in every particular. I was a broken man, and the best friend I had in the world was lying, murdered for my sake, in his unconsecrated grave at Crowlin.
Those were the blackest hours that ever had come to me, and I would not wish my worst enemy to pass through the like.
I counted over one hundred who passed to the ships until the Prince, Lochiel, and their immediate46 following appeared. Then I rose and stood bareheaded, and I remember it was in the Gaelic my mother had taught me that the words came when I prayed aloud for his safety. Poor, ill-fated, Bonnie, Bonnie Prince Charlie! All the gallantry, all the fortitude47, all the sensibility with which God Almighty48 ever dowered human creature had been shewn forth by him from the hour his misfortune came upon him, in a measure that redeemed49 his former faults, and should blot50 out all that followed the day he sailed from Loch-na-Neugh.
Bareheaded I stood and watched L'Hereux and the Princesse de Conti get under weigh, until I could not bear to look at them longer and threw myself face downwards51 amid the heather.
At length sleep came to me, and when I awoke the quiet of the night was again about me, and I rose and took my way alone.
I now settled myself at Loch Carron, and was visited by such as knew of my whereabouts, who did what they could to raise my spirits, and, amongst others, by Dr. McDonald, of Kylles.
One afternoon, when out fishing with him at the entrance of the Loch, we were surprised by the appearance round a headland of a sloop52 of war, which we at once recognized as the Porcupine53, Captain Ferguson, well known on the coast for his activity in the apprehension54 of suspected Jacobites.
To attempt to escape was only to invite pursuit and ensure certain capture, so we put a bold face on the matter, and the Doctor, without hesitation55, stood up and signalled to her with his hat.
"Ferguson will not molest17 me, if he has any bowels56 at all, for I did him a good turn this summer when I set his arm for him in Knoidart," said the Doctor.
"That is all very well, but what of me?" I asked. "I am in no state to go on board. I am dressed like a ploughman."
"Well! what better would you wish? You have nothing to do but hold your tongue, for you don't know a word of English. I'll tell Ferguson I am short of lemons and sugar, and appeal to him not to drive me to drinking my whiskey pure. I know the idea of a rebel coming on board a King's ship on such an errand will tickle57 his fancy, for he is not such a monster as they report. In any case, we can do nothing else."
There was nothing for it but to go on, and in truth the matter did not appear in any way serious, so I rowed on towards the sloop, which was coming up smartly, and before many minutes we were alongside, the Doctor shouting out his instructions to me in Gaelic.
It turned out much as he had said, for Captain Ferguson laughed heartily when he whispered his message, and invited him into his cabin to have a glass together, whilst I waited on deck.
Now, unfortunately, the Doctor had a strong taste for conviviality58, which was part reason why his story of the lemons was so easily swallowed, and one glass followed another, until I could see that he was getting well into his cups.
I was anxious to be away, and so ventured to speak to him at the door, saying, by way of excuse, that the weather looked threatening; but he only pooh-poohed the matter, and I saw he was further gone than I supposed, and so spoke with more sharpness than I intended.
"That's a pretty kind of servant, 'pon my word!" said the Captain.
"Servant, indeed!" snorted the Doctor, to my dismay. "Servant, indeed! He's as good a gentleman as I am!" and then, sobered at once, as it flashed across his fuddled brain what his words might mean, he went on, earnestly: "You know, Captain, in the Highlands service does not necessarily mean that a man is not a gentleman. Why I have known—" but the Captain cut him short with: "Come, come, Doctor, you can't throw dust in my eyes. 'Tis bad enough to have you here imposing59 on me on your own account, but I will have no tricks with unknown gentlemen who choose to run their necks into the noose60."
The poor Doctor was completely overwhelmed with his blunder, and only made matters worse with every word he uttered; but I refused to open my mouth, and was not sorry when they put him over the side of the ship and we saw him drifting fast astern, still lamenting61.
The Captain then turned to me. "Now, sir," said he, "'tis an unpleasant duty to detain you, but I will make your detention62 as easy as may be. Of course, if you care to explain who you are, and can prove to me that you are innocent and your representations correct, I will put you on shore; if not, you will go with us to Skye, where I will certainly obtain information, so you will gain little by your silence."
However, I did not see fit to answer him, and only stared as if I did not understand a word.
"Very well," said he, "if you will play the servant you will live forward; when you choose to declare yourself a gentleman, I will treat you as leniently63 as I may."
So forward I went, and gained but little by my obstinacy64 except uncomfortable quarters and rough company, for we made for Sleat, and there were boarded by Allan Knock. The Captain was convinced he had secured Barisdale in my person, but Knock was forced to declare that he was wrong in this, though he could not name me; but the next day he returned with Creach, before whom I was paraded like a beast on market-day.
The game was up now, but I did not care to speak; indeed, I had nothing to say before such a scoundrel. Words were not what I counted on to settle my reckoning with him.
After they left, Ferguson came up to where I was sitting on deck.
"You are my prisoner, Mr. McDonell," said he.
"On what authority, sir?" said I.
"Oh, ho! You can talk English, I find," he laughed.
"Yes, and perhaps more than you may relish65, Captain Ferguson," I replied; "and if English be not sufficient, I have one or two other tongues beside. Now, there is no use in trying to frighten me; I have gone through too much for that. I am an officer in the Spanish service, and have not drawn sword in this quarrel, and if you detain me without any authority or warrant beyond the words of this creature who has just left, I warn you your action is unjustifiable and will be most strictly66 inquired into."
"Now, now, Mr. McDonell, don't try any of your hectoring with me," he returned. "You can make your complaints when you see London."
"Well, then, London let it be. I have always had a mind to visit it," I answered, shortly, and thereupon our talk ended.
I will do him justice to say he treated me with much civility during the four weeks I was on board the Porcupine—very different treatment from what I received at the hands of Captain Gardner, to whom he handed me over in the Sound of Mull. But this he apologized for before I left him, saying he had only acted under orders, as otherwise, could he have followed his inclination67, I would have been of his mess.
However, I will not dwell on these personal inconveniences, and only record a kindness received from Mr. Maitland, a midshipman on board. When orders were received from Edinburgh to land me at Fort William, I took leave of Captain Gardner without any hard feeling on either side, and placed myself in the boat ordered to convey me on shore. The sailors, who were Irish, pitying my situation, said, in that language, if I broke away when I was landed, they would take good care no balls would reach me. But I thanked them, in the same tongue, and assured them I was in no danger.
On taking leave of Mr. Maitland he said, in French, "I suppose you know, Mr. McDonell, to whom you are indebted for this? To Allan McDonald Knock."
"Thank you a thousand times for your interest," I returned, "but I know that already."
I was accordingly imprisoned68 in Fort William, but suffered little, save from the confinement69, which lasted over four months, when, by the exertions70 of my sister Margaret and her protector, Lady Jane Drummond, I was released.
I then returned to Knoidart, but shortly after, hearing that Allan Knock was at Glenelg, I took Neil and Duncan, his half-brother, and started for that place.
Things fell out better than I had expected, for, by what I have always held to be a direct Providence, no less an enemy than Creach himself was delivered into my hands when I least looked for it. I was on my way to Glenelg, as I say, to meet with Knock, and never thought to meet with the greater villain71, Creach, in the country, as I knew he must be aware of my release, and that he would not be safe within my reach. But, by what I am not impious enough to name a chance, when in the house of one of our own people I heard of him being in the neighborhood, and so laid wait in a place by which I knew he must pass, safe from interruption or observation.
When he and his three men came up, we rose, and, planting ourselves in the way, called a halt.
I have spoken before of his address, and even now it did not fail him, for I could mark no sign of surprise on his white face; he might have come to a rendezvous72 for all he shewed.
I spoke at once to his men in Gaelic, who held themselves ready for attack the moment we appeared.
"Skye men! I am a McDonell, of Glengarry. I and mine have no quarrel with you, but this gentleman and I have a matter of blood between us. Take no part in it, then, for it is no affair of yours, and it will not be stayed in any case."
Then, either because they had small stomach for useless fighting, or, what is the more likely, that they saw it was a private matter and did not touch their honour, they drew to one side in silence with Neil and Duncan.
Creach understood what I was at, and as I threw off my coat and vest he did the like.
A fierce joy was rising in me. "Come, sir!" I said, and he fell into position.
He was a good swordsman enough, but my wrist was of iron and my heart of fire, and the tinkle73 and grate of the steel was like music to my ear.
He was fighting for time, waiting to see my play, and parried with great judgment74, but at last I reached in at him and touched him above the right breast.
"That is for Aquapendente!" I cried, in satisfaction, as I saw the stain grow and redden on his shirt.
In a little I touched him again, on the opposite side. "That is for Rome!" and I was completely master of myself, for I held his life in my hands, like a ball, to throw away when I pleased.
He said not a word, but fought on with the same courage, but it was hopeless. Again I got in at him just where I had planned, and shouted in my joy, "That is for Loch Broom!"
"HE WAS FIGHTING FOR TIME"
Up to this time he had not shewn the slightest sign of faltering75, but now in a sudden move backwards76 he struck his heel sharply and staggered wide. I could have run him through with the greatest ease, but I was not ready for that as yet. He regained77 his feet, but to my dismay and surprise the shock had broken his courage, like a glass that is shattered, and he fenced so wildly that I withheld78 from attack, hoping he would recover. Instead of this he only grew worse, until, losing hope of any betterment, I locked his sword, and with a sudden turn broke it short off. With a groan, the first sound he had uttered, he fell, and covered his face with his hands.
I stood over him, and had he screamed or made a move I would have ended it then and there. But I could not kill the creature lying, waiting his fate in mute terror at my feet, though for months I had longed for this moment above all things else in the world.
"Get up, you coward!" I said, but he made no move. Suddenly I threw my sword down, and, stepping towards him, drew my dirk, at which he screamed and prayed for mercy with shrieks79 of terror.
"Have no fear, you dog! I am not going to put murder on my soul for a wretch80 such as you! But I will mark you so that you will be a by-word amongst men for the rest of your days!"
Whereupon I seized him, and, despite his screams and struggles, with two clean sweeps I cut off his ears close to his head.
Leaving him rolling on the ground, I called Neil and bade him bind81 up his wounds. Then, placing his ears in my silver snuff-box, I threw it to him. "Take these to your fellow-spy, and tell him whose hand did this! Tell him, too, that his own run much danger of a like fate if they hear aught he may ever be tempted to repeat to the harm of me or mine!"
My story is told. I did meet with Allan Knock, and I did not cut off his ears; but I poured into them words that made him wish he had been born without.
Because I have lived on into a time that has changed much from what I knew in those days, I have sometimes felt I should have killed Creach, instead of taking a revenge which may now be looked on as barbarous. But those who know will understand, and those who do not, I must leave to their prejudice. I have tried to tell things as they were, without excuse.
FINIS
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leash
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| n.牵狗的皮带，束缚；v.用皮带系住 | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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kin
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| n.家族，亲属，血缘关系；adj.亲属关系的，同类的 | |
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civilized
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| a.有教养的，文雅的 | |
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horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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imprison
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| vt.监禁，关押，限制，束缚 | |
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pinnacle
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scarcity
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vessel
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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embarking
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| 乘船( embark的现在分词 )； 装载； 从事 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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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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molestation
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| n.骚扰，干扰，调戏；折磨 | |
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molest
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| vt.骚扰，干扰，调戏 | |
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18
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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deterred
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| v.阻止，制止( deter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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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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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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28
gasps
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| v.喘气( gasp的第三人称单数 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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29
skulking
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| v.潜伏，偷偷摸摸地走动，鬼鬼祟祟地活动( skulk的现在分词 ) | |
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drowsily
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| adv.睡地，懒洋洋地，昏昏欲睡地 | |
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doze
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| v.打瞌睡；n.打盹，假寐 | |
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fretting
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| n. 微振磨损 adj. 烦躁的, 焦虑的 | |
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drowsiness
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| n.睡意；嗜睡 | |
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34
itched
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| v.发痒( itch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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joyful
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| adj.欢乐的，令人欢欣的 | |
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vessels
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| n.血管( vessel的名词复数 )；船；容器；（具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的）人 | |
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linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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sate
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| v.使充分满足 | |
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embarkation
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| n. 乘船, 搭机, 开船 | |
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gallantly
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| adv. 漂亮地，勇敢地，献殷勤地 | |
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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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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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fortitude
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| n.坚忍不拔；刚毅 | |
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almighty
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| adj.全能的，万能的；很大的，很强的 | |
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redeemed
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| adj. 可赎回的，可救赎的 动词redeem的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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blot
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| vt.弄脏（用吸墨纸）吸干；n.污点，污渍 | |
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downwards
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| adj./adv.向下的（地），下行的（地） | |
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sloop
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| n.单桅帆船 | |
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53
porcupine
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| n.豪猪， 箭猪 | |
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apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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bowels
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| n.肠，内脏，内部；肠( bowel的名词复数 )；内部，最深处 | |
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tickle
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| v.搔痒，胳肢；使高兴；发痒；n.搔痒，发痒 | |
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conviviality
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| n.欢宴，高兴，欢乐 | |
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imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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noose
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| n.绳套，绞索（刑）；v.用套索捉；使落入圈套；处以绞刑 | |
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lamenting
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| adj.悲伤的，悲哀的v.（为…）哀悼，痛哭，悲伤( lament的现在分词 ) | |
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detention
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| n.滞留，停留；拘留，扣留；(教育)留下 | |
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leniently
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| 温和地，仁慈地 | |
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obstinacy
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| n.顽固；（病痛等）难治 | |
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relish
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| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
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strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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imprisoned
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| 下狱，监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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confinement
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| n.幽禁，拘留，监禁；分娩；限制，局限 | |
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exertions
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| n.努力( exertion的名词复数 )；费力；（能力、权力等的）运用；行使 | |
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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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rendezvous
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| n.约会，约会地点，汇合点；vi.汇合，集合；vt.使汇合，使在汇合地点相遇 | |
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73
tinkle
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| vi.叮当作响；n.叮当声 | |
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74
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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faltering
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| 犹豫的，支吾的，蹒跚的 | |
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76
backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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77
regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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78
withheld
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| withhold过去式及过去分词 | |
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79
shrieks
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| n.尖叫声( shriek的名词复数 )v.尖叫( shriek的第三人称单数 ) | |
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80
wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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81
bind
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| vt.捆，包扎；装订；约束；使凝固；vi.变硬 | |
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