At ten o’clock at, night the king went down to the shore. The boat which was to take him across had not reached the rendezvous10, but this time there was not the slightest fear that it would fail; the bay had been reconnoitred during the day by three men devoted11 to the fallen fortunes of the king—Messieurs Blancard, Langlade, and Donadieu, all three naval12 officers, men of ability and warm heart, who had sworn by their own lives to convey Murat to Corsica, and who were in fact risking their lives in order to accomplish their promise. Murat saw the deserted13 shore without uneasiness, indeed this delay afforded him a few more moments of patriotic14 satisfaction.
On this little patch of land, this strip of sand, the unhappy exile clung to his mother France, for once his foot touched the vessel15 which was to carry him away, his separation from France would be long, if not eternal. He started suddenly amidst these thoughts and sighed: he had just perceived a sail gliding16 over the waves like a phantom17 through the transparent18 darkness of the southern night. Then a sailor’s song was heard; Murat recognised the appointed signal, and answered it by burning the priming of a pistol, and the boat immediately ran inshore; but as she drew three feet of water, she was obliged to stop ten or twelve feet from the beach; two men dashed into the water and reached the beach, while a third remained crouching19 in the stern-sheets wrapped in his boat-cloak.
“Well, my good friends,” said the king, going towards Blancard and Langlade until he felt the waves wet his feet “the moment is come, is it not? The wind is favourable20, the sea calm, we must get to sea.”
“Yes,” answered Langlade, “yes, we must start; and yet perhaps it would be wiser to wait till to-morrow.”
“Why?” asked Murat.
Langlade did not answer, but turning towards the west, he raised his hand, and according to the habit of sailors, he whistled to call the wind.
“That’s no good,” said Donadieu, who had remained in the boat. “Here are the first gusts21; you will have more than you know what to do with in a minute.... Take care, Langlade, take care! Sometimes in calling the wind you wake up a storm.”
Murat started, for he thought that this warning which rose from the sea had been given him by the spirit of the waters; but the impression was a passing one, and he recovered himself in a moment.
“All the better,” he said; “the more wind we have, the faster we shall go.”
“Yes,” answered Langlade, “but God knows where it will take us if it goes on shifting like this.”
“Don’t start to-night, sire,” said Blancard, adding his voice to those of his two companions.
“But why not?”
“You see that bank of black cloud there, don’t you? Well, at sunset it was hardly visible, now it covers a good part of the sky, in an hour there won’t be a star to be seen.”
“Are you afraid?” asked Murat.
“Afraid!” answered Langlade. “Of what? Of the storm? I might as well ask if your Majesty22 is afraid of a cannon-ball. We have demurred23 solely24 on your account, sire; do you think seadogs like ourselves would delay on account of the storm?”
“Then let us go!” cried Murat, with a sigh.
“Good-bye, Marouin.... God alone can reward you for what you have done for me. I am at your orders, gentlemen.”
At these words the two sailors seized the king end hoisted26 him on to their shoulders, and carried him into the sea; in another moment he was on board. Langlade and Blancard sprang in behind him. Donadieu remained at the helm, the two other officers undertook the management of the boat, and began their work by unfurling the sails. Immediately the pinnace seemed to rouse herself like a horse at touch of the spur; the sailors cast a careless glance back, and Murat feeling that they were sailing away, turned towards his host and called for a last time—
“You have your route as far as Trieste. Do not forget my wife!... Good-bye-good-bye——!”
“God keep you, sire!” murmured Marouin.
And for some time, thanks to the white sail which gleamed through the darkness, he could follow with his eyes the boat which was rapidly disappearing; at last it vanished altogether. Marouin lingered on the shore, though he could see nothing; then he heard a cry, made faint by the distance; it was Murat’s last adieu to France.
When M. Marouin was telling me these details one evening on the very spot where it all happened, though twenty years had passed, he remembered clearly the slightest incidents of the embarkation27 that night. From that moment he assured me that a presentiment28 of misfortune seized him; he could not tear himself away from the shore, and several times he longed to call the king back, but, like a man in a dream, he opened his mouth without being able to utter a sound. He was afraid of being thought foolish, and it was not until one o’clock that is, two and a half hours after the departure of the boat-that he went home with a sad and heavy heart.
The adventurous29 navigators had taken the course from Toulon to Bastia, and at first it seemed to the king that the sailors’ predictions were belied30; the wind, instead of getting up, fell little by little, and two hours after the departure the boat was rocking without moving forward or backward on the waves, which were sinking from moment to moment. Murat sadly watched the phosphorescent furrow31 trailing behind the little boat: he had nerved himself to face a storm, but not a dead calm, and without even interrogating32 his companions, of whose uneasiness he took no account, he lay down in the boat, wrapped in his cloak, closing his eyes as if he were asleep, and following the flow of his thoughts, which were far more tumultuous than that of the waters. Soon the two sailors, thinking him asleep, joined the pilot, and sitting down beside the helm, they began to consult together.
“You were wrong, Langlade,” said Donadieu, “in choosing a craft like this, which is either too small or else too big; in an open boat we can never weather a storm, and without oars33 we can never make any way in a calm.”
“‘Fore God! I had no choice. I was obliged to take what I could get, and if it had not been the season for tunny-fishing I might not even have got this wretched pinnace, or rather I should have had to go into the harbour to find it, and they keep such a sharp lookout35 that I might well have gone in without coming out again.”
“At least it is seaworthy,” said Blancard.
“Pardieu, you know what nails and planks36 are when they have been soaked in sea-water for ten years. On any ordinary occasion, a man would rather not go in her from Marseilles to the Chateau37 d’If, but on an occasion like this one would willingly go round the world in a nutshell.”
“Hush!” said Donadieu. The sailors listened; a distant growl38 was heard, but it was so faint that only the experienced ear of a sailor could have distinguished39 it.
“Yes, yes,” said Langlade, “it is a warning for those who have legs or wings to regain40 the homes and nests that they ought never to have left.”
“Are we far from the islands?” asked Donadieu quickly.
“About a mile off.”
“Steer for them.”
“What for?” asked Murat, looking up.
“To put in there, sire, if we can.”
“No, no,” cried Murat; “I will not land except in Corsica. I will not leave France again. Besides, the sea is calm and the wind is getting up again—”
“Down with the sails!” shouted Donadieu. Instantly Langlade and Blancard jumped forward to carry out the order. The sail slid down the mast and fell in a heap in the bottom of the boat.
“What are you doing?” cried Murat. “Do you forget that I am king and that I command you?”
“Sire,” said Donadieu, “there is a king more powerful than you—God; there is a voice which drowns yours—the voice of the tempest: let us save your Majesty if possible, and demand nothing more of us.”
Just then a flash of lightning quivered along the horizon, a clap of thunder nearer than the first one was heard, a light foam41 appeared on the surface of the water, and the boat trembled like a living thing. Murat began to understand that danger was approaching, then he got up smiling, threw his hat behind him, shook back his long hair, and breathed in the storm like the smell of powder—the soldier was ready for the battle.
“Sire,” said Donadieu, “you have seen many a battle, but perhaps you have never watched a storm if you are curious about it, cling to the mast, for you have a fine opportunity now.”
“What ought I to do?” said Murat. “Can I not help you in any way?”
“No, not just now, sire; later you will be useful at the pumps.”
During this dialogue the storm had drawn42 near; it rushed on the travellers like a war-horse, breathing out fire and wind through its nostrils43, neighing like thunder, and scattering44 the foam of the waves beneath its feet.
Donadieu turned the rudder, the boat yielded as if it understood the necessity for prompt obedience45, and presented the poop to the shock of wind; then the squall passed, leaving the sea quivering, and everything was calm again. The storm took breath.
“No, your Majesty, that was the advance-guard only; the body of the army will be up directly.”
“What could we do?” said Donadieu. “We have not an inch of canvas to catch the wind, and as long as we do not make too much water, we shall float like a cork47. Look out-sire!”
Indeed, a second hurricane was on its way, bringing rain and lightning; it was swifter than the first. Donadieu endeavoured to repeat the same manoeuvre48, but he could not turn before the wind struck the boat, the mast bent49 like a reed; the boat shipped a wave.
“To the pumps!” cried Donadieu. “Sire, now is the moment to help us—”
Blancard, Langlade, and Murat seized their hats and began to bale out the boat. The position of the four men was terrible—it lasted three hours.
At dawn the wind fell, but the sea was still high. They began to feel the need of food: all the provisions had been spoiled by sea-water, only the wine had been preserved from its contact.
The king took a bottle and swallowed a little wine first, then he passed it to his companions, who drank in their turn: necessity had overcome etiquette50. By chance Langlade had on him a few chocolates, which he offered to the king. Murat divided them into four equal parts, and forced his companions to take their shares; then, when the meal was over, they steered51 for Corsica, but the boat had suffered so much that it was improbable that it would reach Bastia.
The whole day passed without making ten miles; the boat was kept under the jib, as they dared not hoist25 the mainsail, and the wind was so variable that much time was lost in humouring its caprices.
By evening the boat had drawn a considerable amount of water, it penetrated52 between the boards, the handkerchiefs of the crew served to plug up the leaks, and night, which was descending53 in mournful gloom, wrapped them a second time in darkness. Prostrated54 with fatigue55, Murat fell asleep, Blancard and Langlade took their places beside Donadieu, and the three men, who seemed insensible to the calls of sleep and fatigue, watched over his slumbers56.
The night was calm enough apparently57, but low grumblings were heard now and then.
The three sailors looked at each other strangely and then at the king, who was sleeping at the bottom of the boat, his cloak soaked with sea-water, sleeping as soundly as he had slept on the sands of Egypt or the snows of Russia.
Then one of them got up and went to the other end of the boat, whistling between his teeth a Provencal air; then, after examining the sky, the waves; and the boat, he went back to his comrades and sat down, muttering, “Impossible! Except by a miracle, we shall never make the land.”
The night passed through all its phases. At dawn there was a vessel in sight.
“A sail!” cried Donadieu,—“a sail!”
At this cry the king—awoke; and soon a little trading brig hove in sight, going from Corsica to Toulon.
Donadieu steered for the brig, Blancard hoisted enough sail to work the boat, and Langlade ran to the prow58 and held up the king’s cloak on the end of a sort of harpoon59. Soon the voyagers perceived that they had been sighted, the brig went about to approach them, and in ten minutes they found themselves within fifty yards of it. The captain appeared in the bows. Then the king hailed him and offered him a substantial reward if he would receive them on board and take them to Corsica. The captain listened to the proposal; then immediately turning to the crew, he gave an order in an undertone which Donadieu could not hear, but which he understood probably by the gesture, for he instantly gave Langlade and Blancard the order to make away from the schooner60. They obeyed with the unquestioning promptitude of sailors; but the king stamped his foot.
“What are you doing, Donadieu? What are you about? Don’t you see that she is coming up to us?”
“Yes—upon my soul—so she is.... Do as I say, Langlade; ready, Blancard. Yes, she is coming upon us, and perhaps I was too late in seeing this. That’s all right—that’s all right: my part now.”
Then he forced over the rudder, giving it so violent a jerk that the boat, forced to change her course suddenly, seemed to rear and plunge61 like a horse struggling against the curb62; finally she obeyed. A huge wave, raised by the giant bearing down on the pinnace, carried it on like a leaf, and the brig passed within a few feet of the stern.
“Ah!.... traitor63!” cried the king, who had only just begun to realise the intention of the captain. At the same time, he pulled a pistol from his belt, crying “Board her! board her!” and tried to fire on the brig, but the powder was wet and would not catch. The king was furious, and went on shouting “Board her! board her!”
“Yes, the wretch34, or rather the imbecile,” said Donadieu, “he took us for pirates, and wanted to sink us—as if we needed him to do that!”
Indeed, a single glance at the boat showed that she was beginning to make water.
The effort—to escape which Donadieu had made had strained the boat terribly, and the water was pouring in by a number of leaks between the planks; they had to begin again bailing64 out with their hats, and went on at it for ten hours. Then for the second time Donadieu heard the consoling cry, “A sail! a sail!” The king and his companions immediately left off bailing; they hoisted the sails again, and steered for the vessel which was coming towards them, and neglected to fight against the water, which was rising rapidly.
From that time forth65 it was a question of time, of minutes, of seconds; it was a question of reaching the ship before the boat foundered66.
The vessel, however, seemed to understand the desperate position of the men imploring67 help; she was coming up at full speed. Langlade was the first to recognise her; she was a Government felucca plying68 between Toulon and Bastia. Langlade was a friend of the captain, and he called his name with the penetrating69 voice of desperation, and he was heard. It was high time: the water kept on rising, and the king and his companions were already up to their knees; the boat groaned70 in its death-struggle; it stood still, and began to go round and round.
Just then two or three ropes thrown from the felucca fell upon the boat; the king seized one, sprang forward, and reached the rope-ladder: he was saved.
Blancard and Langlade immediately followed. Donadieu waited until the last, as was his duty, and as he put his foot on the ladder he felt the other boat begin to go under; he turned round with all a sailor’s calm, and saw the gulf71 open its jaws72 beneath him, and then the shattered boat capsized, and immediately disappeared. Five seconds more, and the four men who were saved would have been lost beyond recall! [These details are well known to the people of Toulon, and I have heard them myself a score of times during the two stays that I made in that town during 1834 and 1835. Some of the people who related them had them first-hand from Langlade and Donadieu themselves.]
Murat had hardly gained the deck before a man came and fell at his feet: it was a Mameluke whom he had taken to Egypt in former years, and had since married at Castellamare; business affairs had taken him to Marseilles, where by a miracle he had escaped the massacre of his comrades, and in spite of his disguise and fatigue he had recognised his former master.
His exclamations73 of joy prevented the king from keeping up his incognito74. Then Senator Casabianca, Captain Oletta, a nephew of Prince Baciocchi, a staff-paymaster called Boerco, who were themselves fleeing from the massacres75 of the South, were all on board the vessel, and improvising76 a little court, they greeted the king with the title of “your Majesty.” It had been a sudden embarkation, it brought about a swift change: he was no longer Murat the exile; he was Joachim, the King of Naples. The exile’s refuge disappeared with the foundered boat; in its place Naples and its magnificent gulf appeared on the horizon like a marvellous mirage77, and no doubt the primary idea of the fatal expedition of Calabria was originated in the first days of exultation78 which followed those hours of anguish79. The king, however, still uncertain of the welcome which awaited him in Corsica, took the name of the Count of Campo Melle, and it was under this name that he landed at Bastia on the 25th August. But this precaution was useless; three days after his arrival, not a soul but knew of his presence in the town.
Crowds gathered at once, and cries of “Long live Joachim!” were heard, and the king, fearing to disturb the public peace, left Bastia the same evening with his three companions and his Mameluke. Two hours later he arrived at Viscovato, and knocked at the door of General Franceschetti, who had been in his service during his whole reign80, and who, leaving Naples at the same time as the king, had gone to Corsica with his wife, to live with his father-in-law, M. Colonna Cicaldi.
He was in the middle of supper when a servant told him that a stranger was asking to speak to him—he went out, and found Murat wrapped in a military greatcoat, a sailor’s cap drawn down on his head, his beard grown long, and wearing a soldier’s trousers, boots, and gaiters.
The general stood still in amazement81; Murat fixed82 his great dark eyes on him, and then, folding his arms:—
“Franceschetti,” said he, “have you room at your table for your general, who is hungry? Have you a shelter under your roof for your king, who is an exile?”
Franceschetti looked astonished as he recognised Joachim, and could only answer him by falling on his knees and kissing his hand. From that moment the general’s house was at Murat’s disposal.
The news of the king’s arrival had hardly been handed about the neighbourhood before officers of all ranks hastened to Viscovato, veterans who had fought under him, Corsican hunters who were attracted by his adventurous character; in a few days the general’s house was turned into a palace, the village into a royal capital, the island into a kingdom.
Strange rumours83 were heard concerning Murat’s intentions. An army of nine hundred men helped to give them some amount of confirmation84. It was then that Blancard, Donadieu, and Langlade took leave of him; Murat wished to keep them, but they had been vowed85 to the rescue of the exile, not to the fortunes of the king.
We have related how Murat had met one of his former Mamelukes, a man called Othello, on board the Bastia mailboat. Othello had followed him to Viscovato, and the ex-King of Naples considered how to make use of him. Family relations recalled him naturally to Castellamare, and Murat ordered him to return there, entrusting86 to him letters for persons on whose devotion he could depend. Othello started, and reached his father-in-law’s safely, and thought he could confide87 in him; but the latter was horror-struck, and alarmed the police, who made a descent on Othello one night, and seized the letters.
The next day each man to whom a letter was addressed was arrested and ordered to answer Murat as if all was well, and to point out Salerno as the best place for disembarking: five out of seven were dastards enough to obey; the two remaining, who were two Spanish brothers, absolutely refused; they were thrown into a dungeon88.
However, on the 17th September, Murat left Viscovato; General Franceschetti and several Corsican officers served as escort; he took the road to Ajaccio by Cotone, the mountains of Serra and Bosco, Venaco and Vivaro, by the gorges89 of the forest of Vezzanovo and Bogognone; he was received and feted like a king everywhere, and at the gates of the towns he was met by deputations who made him speeches and saluted90 him with the title of “Majesty”; at last, on the 23rd September, he arrived at Ajaccio. The whole population awaited him outside the walls, and his entry into the town was a triumphal procession; he was taken to the inn which had been fixed upon beforehand by the quartermasters. It was enough to turn the head of a man less impressionable than Murat; as for him, he was intoxicated91 with it. As he went into the inn he held out his hand to Franceschetti.
“You see,” he said, “what the Neapolitans will do for me by the way the Corsicans receive me.”
It was the first mention which had escaped him of his plans for the future, and from that very day he began to give orders for his departure.
They collected ten little feluccas: a Maltese, named Barbara, former captain of a frigate92 of the Neapolitan navy, was appointed commander-in-chief of the expedition; two hundred and fifty men were recruited and ordered to hold themselves in readiness for the first signal.
Murat was only waiting for the answers to Othello’s letters: they arrived on the afternoon of the 28th. Murat invited all his officers to a grand dinner, and ordered double pay and double rations93 to the men.
The king was at dessert when the arrival of M. Maceroni was announced to him: he was the envoy94 of the foreign powers who brought Murat the answer which he had been awaiting so long at Toulon. Murat left the table and went into another room. M. Maceroni introduced himself as charged with an official mission, and handed the king the Emperor of Austria’s ultimatum95. It was couched in the following terms:
“Monsieur Maceroni is authorised by these presents to announce to
King Joachim that His Majesty the Emperor of Austria will afford him
shelter in his States on the following terms:—
“1. The king is to take a private name. The queen having adopted
that of Lipano, it is proposed that the king should do likewise.
“2. It will be permitted to the king to choose a town in Bohemia,
Moravia, or the Tyrol, as a place of residence. He could even
inhabit a country house in one of these same provinces without
inconvenience.
“3. The king is to give his word of honour to His Imperial and Royal
Majesty that he will never leave the States of Austria without the
express-permission of the Emperor, and that he is to live like a
private gentleman of distinction, but submitting to the laws in force
in the States of Austria.
“In attestation96 whereof, and to guard against abuse, the undersigned
has received the order of the Emperor to sign the present
declaration.
“(Signed) PRINCE OF METTERNICH
“PARIS, 1st Sept. 1815.”
Murat smiled as he finished reading, then he signed to M. Maceroni to follow him:
He led him on to the terrace of the house, which looked over the whole town, and over which a banner floated as it might on a royal castle. From thence they could see Ajaccio all gay and illuminated97, the port with its little fleet, and the streets crowded with people, as if it were a fete-day.
Hardly had the crowd set eyes on Murat before a universal cry arose, “Long live Joachim, brother of Napoleon! Long live the King of Naples!”
Maceroni did not know how to believe his own eyes and ears.
When the king had enjoyed his astonishment99, he invited him to go down to the drawing-room. His staff were there, all in full uniform: one might have been at Caserte or at Capo di Monte. At last, after a moment’s hesitation100, Maceroni approached Murat.
“Sir,” he said, “what is my answer to be to His Majesty the Emperor of Austria?”
“Sir,” answered Murat, with the lofty dignity which sat so well on his fine face, “tell my brother Francis what you have seen and heard, and add that I am setting out this very night to reconquer my kingdom of Naples.”
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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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gust
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| n.阵风，突然一阵（雨、烟等），（感情的）迸发 | |
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proscribed
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| v.正式宣布（某事物）有危险或被禁止( proscribe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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outlaw
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| n.歹徒，亡命之徒；vt.宣布…为不合法 | |
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assassination
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| n.暗杀；暗杀事件 | |
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massacre
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| n.残杀，大屠杀；v.残杀，集体屠杀 | |
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hospitable
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| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
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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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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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naval
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| adj.海军的，军舰的，船的 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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patriotic
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| adj.爱国的，有爱国心的 | |
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vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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gliding
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| v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
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phantom
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| n.幻影，虚位，幽灵；adj.错觉的，幻影的，幽灵的 | |
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transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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crouching
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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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gusts
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| 一阵强风( gust的名词复数 )； （怒、笑等的）爆发； （感情的）迸发； 发作 | |
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majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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demurred
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| v.表示异议，反对( demur的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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solely
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hoist
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| n.升高，起重机，推动；v.升起，升高，举起 | |
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hoisted
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embarkation
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| n. 乘船, 搭机, 开船 | |
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presentiment
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| n.预感，预觉 | |
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adventurous
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| adj.爱冒险的；惊心动魄的，惊险的，刺激的 | |
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belied
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| v.掩饰( belie的过去式和过去分词 )；证明（或显示）…为虚假；辜负；就…扯谎 | |
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furrow
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| n.沟；垄沟；轨迹；车辙；皱纹 | |
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32
interrogating
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| n.询问技术v.询问( interrogate的现在分词 )；审问；（在计算机或其他机器上）查询 | |
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33
oars
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| n.桨，橹( oar的名词复数 )；划手v.划（行）( oar的第三人称单数 ) | |
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34
wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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lookout
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| n.注意，前途，瞭望台 | |
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36
planks
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| （厚）木板( plank的名词复数 )； 政纲条目，政策要点 | |
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chateau
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| n.城堡，别墅 | |
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growl
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| v.（狗等）嗥叫，（炮等）轰鸣；n.嗥叫，轰鸣 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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40
regain
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| vt.重新获得，收复，恢复 | |
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41
foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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42
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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43
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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44
scattering
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| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
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45
obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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47
cork
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| n.软木，软木塞 | |
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48
manoeuvre
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| n.策略，调动；v.用策略，调动 | |
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49
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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50
etiquette
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| n.礼仪，礼节；规矩 | |
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51
steered
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| v.驾驶( steer的过去式和过去分词 )；操纵；控制；引导 | |
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52
penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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prostrated
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| v.使俯伏，使拜倒( prostrate的过去式和过去分词 )；（指疾病、天气等）使某人无能为力 | |
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fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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slumbers
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| 睡眠，安眠( slumber的名词复数 ) | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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prow
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| n.(飞机)机头，船头 | |
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harpoon
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| n.鱼叉；vt.用鱼叉叉，用鱼叉捕获 | |
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schooner
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| n.纵帆船 | |
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plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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curb
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| n.场外证券市场，场外交易；vt.制止，抑制 | |
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traitor
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| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
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64
bailing
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| （凿井时用吊桶）排水 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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foundered
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| v.创始人( founder的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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imploring
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| 恳求的，哀求的 | |
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plying
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| v.使用（工具）( ply的现在分词 )；经常供应（食物、饮料）；固定往来；经营生意 | |
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penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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exclamations
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| n.呼喊( exclamation的名词复数 )；感叹；感叹语；感叹词 | |
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incognito
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| adv.匿名地；n.隐姓埋名；adj.化装的，用假名的，隐匿姓名身份的 | |
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massacres
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| 大屠杀( massacre的名词复数 )； 惨败 | |
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improvising
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| 即兴创作（improvise的现在分词形式） | |
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mirage
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| n.海市蜃楼，幻景 | |
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exultation
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| n.狂喜，得意 | |
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79
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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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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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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82
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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83
rumours
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| n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 )；风闻；谣言；谣传 | |
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84
confirmation
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| n.证实，确认，批准 | |
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85
vowed
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| 起誓，发誓（vow的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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86
entrusting
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| v.委托，托付( entrust的现在分词 ) | |
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87
confide
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| v.向某人吐露秘密 | |
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88
dungeon
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| n.地牢，土牢 | |
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gorges
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| n.山峡，峡谷( gorge的名词复数 )；咽喉v.（用食物把自己）塞饱，填饱( gorge的第三人称单数 )；作呕 | |
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saluted
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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intoxicated
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| 喝醉的，极其兴奋的 | |
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92
frigate
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| n.护航舰，大型驱逐舰 | |
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93
rations
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| 定量( ration的名词复数 )； 配给量； 正常量； 合理的量 | |
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envoy
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| n.使节，使者，代表，公使 | |
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95
ultimatum
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| n.最后通牒 | |
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96
attestation
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| n.证词 | |
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illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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98
garrison
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| n.卫戍部队；驻地，卫戍区；vt.派(兵)驻防 | |
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99
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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100
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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