[The term Brigadier is used throughout in its English and not in its French sense.]
You do very well, my friends, to treat me with some little reverence1, for in honouring me you are honouring both France and yourselves. It is not merely an old, grey-moustached officer whom you see eating his omelette or draining his glass, but it is a fragment of history. In me you see one of the last of those wonderful men, the men who were veterans when they were yet boys, who learned to use a sword earlier than a razor, and who during a hundred battles had never once let the enemy see the colour of their knapsacks. For twenty years we were teaching Europe how to fight, and even when they had learned their lesson it was only the thermometer, and never the bayonet, which could break the Grand Army down. Berlin, Naples, Vienna, Madrid, Lisbon, Moscow — we stabled our horses in them all. Yes, my friends, I say again that you do well to send your children to me with flowers, for these ears have heard the trumpet3 calls of France, and these eyes have seen her standards in lands where they may never be seen again.
Even now, when I doze4 in my arm-chair, I can see those great warriors5 stream before me — the green-jacketed chasseurs, the giant cuirassiers, Poniatowsky’s lancers, the white-mantled dragoons, the nodding bearskins of the horse grenadiers. And then there comes the thick, low rattle6 of the drums, and through wreaths of dust and smoke I see the line of high bonnets7, the row of brown faces, the swing and toss of the long, red plumes8 amid the sloping lines of steel. And there rides Ney with his red head, and Lefebvre with his bulldog jaw9, and Lannes with his Gascon swagger; and then amidst the gleam of brass10 and the flaunting11 feathers I catch a glimpse of him, the man with the pale smile, the rounded shoulders, and the far-off eyes. There is an end of my sleep, my friends, for up I spring from my chair, with a cracked voice calling and a silly hand outstretched, so that Madame Titaux has one more laugh at the old fellow who lives among the shadows.
Although I was a full Chief of Brigade when the wars came to an end, and had every hope of soon being made a General of Division, it is still rather to my earlier days that I turn when I wish to talk of the glories and the trials of a soldier’s life. For you will understand that when an officer has so many men and horses under him, he has his mind full of recruits and remounts, fodder12 and farriers, and quarters, so that even when he is not in the face of the enemy, life is a very serious matter for him. But when he is only a lieutenant13 or a captain he has nothing heavier than his epaulettes upon his shoulders, so that he can clink his spurs and swing his dolman, drain his glass and kiss his girl, thinking of nothing save of enjoying a gallant14 life. That is the time when he is likely to have adventures, and it is often to that time that I shall turn in the stories which I may have for you. So it will be tonight when I tell you of my visit to the Castle of Gloom; of the strange mission of Sub-Lieutenant Duroc, and of the horrible affair of the man who was once known as Jean Carabin, and afterwards as the Baron15 Straubenthal.
You must know, then, that in the February of 1807, immediately after the taking of Danzig, Major Legendre and I were commissioned to bring four hundred remounts from Prussia into Eastern Poland.
The hard weather, and especially the great battle at Eylau, had killed so many of the horses that there was some danger of our beautiful Tenth of Hussars becoming a battalion16 of light infantry17. We knew, therefore, both the Major and I, that we should be very welcome at the front. We did not advance very rapidly, however, for the snow was deep, the roads detestable, and we had but twenty returning invalids18 to assist us. Besides, it is impossible, when you have a daily change of forage19, and sometimes none at all, to move horses faster than a walk. I am aware that in the story-books the cavalry20 whirls past at the maddest of gallops21; but for my own part, after twelve campaigns, I should be very satisfied to know that my brigade could always walk upon the march and trot22 in the presence of the enemy. This I say of the hussars and chasseurs, mark you, so that it is far more the case with cuirassiers or dragoons.
For myself I am fond of horses, and to have four hundred of them, of every age and shade and character, all under my own hands, was a very great pleasure to me. They were from Pomerania for the most part, though some were from Normandy and some from Alsace, and it amused us to notice that they differed in character as much as the people of those provinces. We observed also, what I have often proved since, that the nature of a horse can be told by his colour, from the coquettish light bay, full of fancies and nerves, to the hardy23 chestnut24, and from the docile25 roan to the pig-headed rusty-black. All this has nothing in the world to do with my story, but how is an officer of cavalry to get on with his tale when he finds four hundred horses waiting for him at the outset? It is my habit, you see, to talk of that which interests myself and so I hope that I may interest you.
We crossed the Vistula opposite Marienwerder, and had got as far as Riesenberg, when Major Legendre came into my room in the post-house with an open paper in his hand.
‘You are to leave me,’ said he, with despair upon his face.
It was no very great grief to me to do that, for he was, if I may say so, hardly worthy26 to have such a subaltern. I saluted27, however, in silence.
‘It is an order from General Lasalle,’ he continued; ‘you are to proceed to Rossel instantly, and to report yourself at the headquarters of the regiment28.’
No message could have pleased me better. I was already very well thought of by my superior officers. It was evident to me, therefore, that this sudden order meant that the regiment was about to see service once more, and that Lasalle understood how incomplete my squadron would be without me. It is true that it came at an inconvenient29 moment, for the keeper of the post-house had a daughter — one of those ivory-skinned, black-haired Polish girls — with whom I had hoped to have some further talk. Still, it is not for the pawn30 to argue when the fingers of the player move him from the square; so down I went, saddled my big black charger, Rataplan, and set off instantly upon my lonely journey.
My word, it was a treat for those poor Poles and Jews, who have so little to brighten their dull lives, to see such a picture as that before their doors! The frosty morning air made Rataplan’s great black limbs and the beautiful curves of his back and sides gleam and shimmer31 with every gambade. As for me, the rattle of hoofs32 upon a road, and the jingle33 of bridle34 chains which comes with every toss of a saucy35 head, would even now set my blood dancing through my veins36. You may think, then, how I carried myself in my five-and-twentieth year — I, Etienne Gerard, the picked horseman and surest blade in the ten regiments37 of hussars. Blue was our colour in the Tenth — a sky-blue dolman and pelisse with a scarlet38 front — and it was said of us in the army that we could set a whole population running, the women towards us, and the men away. There were bright eyes in the Riesenberg windows that morning which seemed to beg me to tarry; but what can a soldier do, save to kiss his hand and shake his bridle as he rides upon his way?
It was a bleak39 season to ride through the poorest and ugliest country in Europe, but there was a cloudless sky above, and a bright, cold sun, which shimmered40 on the huge snowfields. My breath reeked41 into the frosty air, and Rataplan sent up two feathers of steam from his nostrils42, while the icicles drooped43 from the side-irons of his bit. I let him trot to warm his limbs, while for my own part I had too much to think of to give much heed44 to the cold. To north and south stretched the great plains, mottled over with dark clumps45 of fir and lighter46 patches of larch47. A few cottages peeped out here and there, but it was only three months since the Grand Army had passed that way, and you know what that meant to a country. The Poles were our friends, it was true, but out of a hundred thousand men, only the Guard had waggons48, and the rest had to live as best they might. It did not surprise me, therefore, to see no signs of cattle and no smoke from the silent houses. A weal had been left across the country where the great host had passed, and it was said that even the rats were starved wherever the Emperor had led his men.
By midday I had got as far as the village of Saalfeldt, but as I was on the direct road for Osterode, where the Emperor was wintering, and also for the main camp of the seven divisions of infantry, the highway was choked with carriages and carts. What with artillery49 caissons and waggons and couriers, and the ever-thickening stream of recruits and stragglers, it seemed to me that it would be a very long time before I should join my comrades. The plains, however, were five feet deep in snow, so there was nothing for it but to plod50 upon our way. It was with joy, therefore, that I found a second road which branched away from the other, trending through a fir-wood towards the north. There was a small auberge at the cross-roads, and a patrol of the Third Hussars of Conflans — the very regiment of which I was afterwards colonel — were mounting their horses at the door. On the steps stood their officer, a slight, pale young man, who looked more like a young priest from a seminary than a leader of the devil-may-care rascals51 before him.
‘Good-day, sir,’ said he, seeing that I pulled up my horse.
‘Good-day,’ I answered. ‘I am Lieutenant Etienne Gerard, of the Tenth.’
I could see by his face that he had heard of me. Everybody had heard of me since my duel53 with the six fencing masters. My manner, however, served to put him at his ease with me.
‘I am Sub-Lieutenant Duroc, of the Third,’ said he.
‘Newly joined?’ I asked.
‘Last week.’
I had thought as much, from his white face and from the way in which he let his men lounge upon their horses. It was not so long, however, since I had learned myself what it was like when a schoolboy has to give orders to veteran troopers. It made me blush, I remember, to shout abrupt54 commands to men who had seen more battles than I had years, and it would have come more natural for me to say, ‘With your permission, we shall now wheel into line,’ or, ‘If you think it best, we shall trot.’ I did not think the less of the lad, therefore, when I observed that his men were somewhat out of hand, but I gave them a glance which stiffened55 them in their saddles.
‘May I ask, monsieur, whether you are going by this northern road?’ I asked.
‘My orders are to patrol it as far as Arensdorf,’ said he.
‘Then I will, with your permission, ride so far with you,’ said I. ‘It is very clear that the longer way will be the faster.’
So it proved, for this road led away from the army into a country which was given over to Cossacks and marauders, and it was as bare as the other was crowded. Duroc and I rode in front, with our six troopers clattering56 in the rear. He was a good boy, this Duroc, with his head full of the nonsense that they teach at St Cyr, knowing more about Alexander and Pompey than how to mix a horse’s fodder or care for a horse’s feet. Still, he was, as I have said, a good boy, unspoiled as yet by the camp. It pleased me to hear him prattle57 away about his sister Marie and about his mother in Amiens. Presently we found ourselves at the village of Hayenau. Duroc rode up to the post-house and asked to see the master.
‘Can you tell me,’ said he, ‘whether the man who calls himself the Baron Straubenthal lives in these parts?’
The postmaster shook his head, and we rode upon our way. I took no notice of this, but when, at the next village, my comrade repeated the same question, with the same result, I could not help asking him who this Baron Straubenthal might be.
‘He is a man,’ said Duroc, with a sudden flush upon his boyish face, ‘to whom I have a very important message to convey.’
Well, this was not satisfactory, but there was something in my companion’s manner which told me that any further questioning would be distasteful to him. I said nothing more, therefore, but Duroc would still ask every peasant whom we met whether he could give him any news of the Baron Straubenthal.
For my own part I was endeavouring, as an officer of light cavalry should, to form an idea of the lay of the country, to note the course of the streams, and to mark the places where there should be fords. Every step was taking us farther from the camp round the flanks of which we were travelling. Far to the south a few plumes of grey smoke in the frosty air marked the position of some of our outposts. To the north, however, there was nothing between ourselves and the Russian winter quarters. Twice on the extreme horizon I caught a glimpse of the glitter of steel, and pointed58 it out to my companion. It was too distant for us to tell whence it came, but we had little doubt that it was from the lance-heads of marauding Cossacks.
The sun was just setting when we rode over a low hill and saw a small village upon our right, and on our left a high black castle, which jutted59 out from amongst the pine-woods. A farmer with his cart was approaching us — a matted-haired, downcast fellow, in a sheepskin jacket.
‘What village is this?’ asked Duroc.
‘It is Arensdorf,’ he answered, in his barbarous German dialect.
‘Then here I am to stay the night,’ said my young companion. Then, turning to the farmer, he asked his eternal question, ‘Can you tell me where the Baron Straubenthal lives?’
‘Why, it is he who owns the Castle of Gloom,’ said the farmer, pointing to the dark turrets60 over the distant fir forest.
Duroc gave a shout like the sportsman who sees his game rising in front of him. The lad seemed to have gone off his head — his eyes shining, his face deathly white, and such a grim set about his mouth as made the farmer shrink away from him. I can see him now, leaning forward on his brown horse, with his eager gaze fixed61 upon the great black tower.
‘Why do you call it the Castle of Gloom?’ I asked.
‘Well, it’s the name it bears upon the countryside,’ said the farmer. ‘By all accounts there have been some black doings up yonder. It’s not for nothing that the wickedest man in Poland has been living there these fourteen years past.’
‘A Polish nobleman?’ I asked.
‘Nay, we breed no such men in Poland,’ he answered.
‘A Frenchman, then?’ cried Duroc.
‘They say that he came from France.’
‘And with red hair?’
‘As red as a fox.’
‘Yes, yes, it is my man,’ cried my companion, quivering all over in his excitement. ‘It is the hand of Providence62 which has led me here. Who can say that there is not justice in this world? Come, Monsieur Gerard, for I must see the men safely quartered before I can attend to this private matter.’
He spurred on his horse, and ten minutes later we were at the door of the inn of Arensdorf, where his men were to find their quarters for the night.
Well, all this was no affair of mine, and I could not imagine what the meaning of it might be. Rossel was still far off, but I determined63 to ride on for a few hours and take my chance of some wayside barn in which I could find shelter for Rataplan and myself. I had mounted my horse, therefore, after tossing off a cup of wine, when young Duroc came running out of the door and laid his hand upon my knee.
‘Monsieur Gerard,’ he panted, ‘I beg of you not to abandon me like this!’
‘My good sir,’ said I, ‘if you would tell me what is the matter and what you would wish me to do, I should be better able to tell you if I could be of any assistance to you.’
‘You can be of the very greatest,’ he cried. ‘Indeed, from all that I have heard of you, Monsieur Gerard, you are the one man whom I should wish to have by my side tonight.’
‘You forget that I am riding to join my regiment.’
‘You cannot, in any case, reach it tonight. Tomorrow will bring you to Rossel. By staying with me you will confer the very greatest kindness upon me, and you will aid me in a matter which concerns my own honour and the honour of my family. I am compelled, however, to confess to you that some personal danger may possibly be involved.’
It was a crafty64 thing for him to say. Of course, I sprang from Rataplan’s back and ordered the groom65 to lead him back into the stables.
‘Come into the inn,’ said I, ‘and let me know exactly what it is that you wish me to do.’
He led the way into a sitting-room66, and fastened the door lest we should be interrupted. He was a well-grown lad, and as he stood in the glare of the lamp, with the light beating upon his earnest face and upon his uniform of silver grey, which suited him to a marvel67, I felt my heart warm towards him. Without going so far as to say that he carried himself as I had done at his age, there was at least similarity enough to make me feel in sympathy with him.
‘I can explain it all in a few words,’ said he. ‘If I have not already satisfied your very natural curiosity, it is because the subject is so painful a one to me that I can hardly bring myself to allude68 to it. I cannot, however, ask for your assistance without explaining to you exactly how the matter lies.
‘You must know, then, that my father was the well-known banker, Christophe Duroc, who was murdered by the people during the September massacres69. As you are aware, the mob took possession of the prisons, chose three so-called judges to pass sentence upon the unhappy aristocrats70, and then tore them to pieces when they were passed out into the street. My father had been a benefactor72 of the poor all his life. There were many to plead for him. He had the fever, too, and was carried in, half-dead, upon a blanket. Two of the judges were in favour of acquitting73 him; the third, a young Jacobin, whose huge body and brutal74 mind had made him a leader among these wretches75, dragged him, with his own hands, from the litter, kicked him again and again with his heavy boots, and hurled77 him out of the door, where in an instant he was torn limb from limb under circumstances which are too horrible for me to describe. This, as you perceive, was murder, even under their own unlawful laws, for two of their own judges had pronounced in my father’s favour.
‘Well, when the days of order came back again, my elder brother began to make inquiries78 about this man. I was only a child then, but it was a family matter, and it was discussed in my presence. The fellow’s name was Carabin. He was one of Sansterre’s Guard, and a noted79 duellist80. A foreign lady named the Baroness81 Straubenthal having been dragged before the Jacobins, he had gained her liberty for her on the promise that she with her money and estates should be his. He had married her, taken her name and title, and escaped out of France at the time of the fall of Robespierre. What had become of him we had no means of learning.
‘You will think, doubtless, that it would be easy for us to find him, since we had both his name and his title. You must remember, however, that the Revolution left us without money, and that without money such a search is very difficult. Then came the Empire, and it became more difficult still, for, as you are aware, the Emperor considered that the 18th Brumaire brought all accounts to a settlement, and that on that day a veil had been drawn83 across the past. None the less, we kept our own family story and our own family plans.
‘My brother joined the army, and passed with it through all Southern Europe, asking everywhere for the Baron Straubenthal. Last October he was killed at Jena, with his mission still unfulfilled. Then it became my turn, and I have the good fortune to hear of the very man of whom I am in search at one of the first Polish villages which I have to visit, and within a fortnight of joining my regiment. And then, to make the matter even better, I find myself in the company of one whose name is never mentioned throughout the army save in connection with some daring and generous deed.’
This was all very well, and I listened to it with the greatest interest, but I was none the clearer as to what young Duroc wished me to do.
‘How can I be of service to you?’ I asked.
‘By coming up with me.’
‘To the Castle?’
‘Precisely.’
‘When?’
‘At once.’
‘But what do you intend to do?’
‘I shall know what to do. But I wish you to be with me, all the same.’
Well, it was never in my nature to refuse an adventure, and, besides, I had every sympathy with the lad’s feelings. It is very well to forgive one’s enemies, but one wishes to give them something to forgive also. I held out my hand to him, therefore.
‘I must be on my way for Rossel tomorrow morning, but tonight I am yours,’ said I.
We left our troopers in snug84 quarters, and, as it was but a mile to the Castle, we did not disturb our horses. To tell the truth, I hate to see a cavalry man walk, and I hold that just as he is the most gallant thing upon earth when he has his saddle-flaps between his knees, so he is the most clumsy when he has to loop up his sabre and his sabre-tasche in one hand and turn in his toes for fear of catching85 the rowels of his spurs. Still, Duroc and I were of the age when one can carry things off, and I dare swear that no woman at least would have quarrelled with the appearance of the two young hussars, one in blue and one in grey, who set out that night from the Arensdorf post-house. We both carried our swords, and for my own part I slipped a pistol from my holster into the inside of my pelisse, for it seemed to me that there might be some wild work before us.
The track which led to the Castle wound through a pitch-black fir-wood, where we could see nothing save the ragged76 patch of stars above our heads. Presently, however, it opened up, and there was the Castle right in front of us, about as far as a carbine would carry. It was a huge, uncouth86 place, and bore every mark of being exceedingly old, with turrets at every corner, and a square keep on the side which was nearest to us. In all its great shadow there was no sign of light save from a single window, and no sound came from it. To me there was something awful in its size and its silence, which corresponded so well with its sinister87 name. My companion pressed on eagerly, and I followed him along the ill-kept path which led to the gate.
There was no bell or knocker upon the great iron-studded door, and it was only by pounding with the hilts of our sabres that we could attract attention. A thin, hawk-faced man, with a beard up to his temples, opened it at last. He carried a lantern in one hand, and in the other a chain which held an enormous black hound. His manner at the first moment was threatening, but the sight of our uniforms and of our faces turned it into one of sulky reserve.
‘The Baron Straubenthal does not receive visitors at so late an hour,’ said he, speaking in very excellent French.
‘You can inform Baron Straubenthal that I have come eight hundred leagues to see him, and that I will not leave until I have done so,’ said my companion. I could not myself have said it with a better voice and manner.
The fellow took a sidelong look at us, and tugged88 at his black beard in his perplexity.
‘To tell the truth, gentlemen,’ said he, ‘the Baron has a cup or two of wine in him at this hour, and you would certainly find him a more entertaining companion if you were to come again in the morning.’
He had opened the door a little wider as he spoke89, and I saw by the light of the lamp in the hall behind him that three other rough fellows were standing90 there, one of whom held another of these monstrous91 hounds. Duroc must have seen it also, but it made no difference to his resolution.
‘Enough talk,’ said he, pushing the man to one side. ‘It is with your master that I have to deal.’
The fellows in the hall made way for him as he strode in among them, so great is the power of one man who knows what he wants over several who are not sure of themselves. My companion tapped one of them upon the shoulder with as much assurance as though he owned him.
‘Show me to the Baron,’ said he.
The man shrugged92 his shoulders, and answered something in Polish. The fellow with the beard, who had shut and barred the front door, appeared to be the only one among them who could speak French.
‘Well, you shall have your way,’ said he, with a sinister smile. ‘You shall see the Baron. And perhaps, before you have finished, you will wish that you had taken my advice.’
We followed him down the hall, which was stone-flagged and very spacious93, with skins scattered94 upon the floor, and the heads of wild beasts upon the walls. At the farther end he threw open a door, and we entered.
It was a small room, scantily95 furnished, with the same marks of neglect and decay which met us at every turn. The walls were hung with discoloured tapestry96, which had come loose at one corner, so as to expose the rough stonework behind. A second door, hung with a curtain, faced us upon the other side. Between lay a square table, strewn with dirty dishes and the sordid97 remains98 of a meal. Several bottles were scattered over it. At the head of it, and facing us, there sat a huge man with a lion-like head and a great shock of orange-coloured hair. His beard was of the same glaring hue99; matted and tangled100 and coarse as a horse’s mane. I have seen some strange faces in my time, but never one more brutal than that, with its small, vicious, blue eyes, its white, crumpled101 cheeks, and the thick, hanging lip which protruded102 over his monstrous beard. His head swayed about on his shoulders, and he looked at us with the vague, dim gaze of a drunken man. Yet he was not so drunk but that our uniforms carried their message to him.
‘Well, my brave boys,’ he hiccoughed. ‘What is the latest news from Paris, eh? You’re going to free Poland, I hear, and have meantime all become slaves yourselves — slaves to a little aristocrat71 with his grey coat and his three-cornered hat. No more citizens either, I am told, and nothing but monsieur and madame. My faith, some more heads will have to roll into the sawdust basket some of these mornings.’
Duroc advanced in silence, and stood by the ruffian’s side.
‘Jean Carabin,’ said he.
The Baron started, and the film of drunkenness seemed to be clearing from his eyes.
‘Jean Carabin,’ said Duroc, once more.
He sat up and grasped the arms of his chair.
‘What do you mean by repeating that name, young man?’ he asked.
‘Jean Carabin, you are a man whom I have long wished to meet.’
‘Supposing that I once had such a name, how can it concern you, since you must have been a child when I bore it?’
‘My name is Duroc.’
‘Not the son of ——?’
‘The son of the man you murdered.’
The Baron tried to laugh, but there was terror in his eyes.
‘We must let bygones be bygones, young man,’ he cried. ‘It was our life or theirs in those days: the aristocrats or the people. Your father was of the Gironde. He fell. I was of the mountain. Most of my comrades fell. It was all the fortune of war. We must forget all this and learn to know each other better, you and I.’ He held out a red, twitching103 hand as he spoke.
‘Enough,’ said young Duroc. ‘If I were to pass my sabre through you as you sit in that chair, I should do what is just and right. I dishonour104 my blade by crossing it with yours. And yet you are a Frenchman, and have even held a commission under the same flag as myself. Rise, then, and defend yourself!’
‘Tut, tut!’ cried the Baron. ‘It is all very well for you young bloods —’
Duroc’s patience could stand no more. He swung his open hand into the centre of the great orange beard. I saw a lip fringed with blood, and two glaring blue eyes above it.
‘You shall die for that blow.’
‘That is better,’ said Duroc.
‘My sabre!’ cried the other. ‘I will not keep you waiting, I promise you!’ and he hurried from the room.
I have said that there was a second door covered with a curtain. Hardly had the Baron vanished when there ran from behind it a woman, young and beautiful. So swiftly and noiselessly did she move that she was between us in an instant, and it was only the shaking curtains which told us whence she had come.
‘I have seen it all,’ she cried. ‘Oh, sir, you have carried yourself splendidly.’ She stooped to my companion’s hand, and kissed it again and again ere he could disengage it from her grasp.
‘Nay, madame, why should you kiss my hand?’ he cried.
‘Because it is the hand which struck him on his vile105, lying mouth. Because it may be the hand which will avenge106 my mother. I am his step-daughter. The woman whose heart he broke was my mother. I loathe107 him, I fear him. Ah, there is his step!’ In an instant she had vanished as suddenly as she had come. A moment later, the Baron entered with a drawn sword in his hand, and the fellow who had admitted us at his heels.
‘This is my secretary,’ said he. ‘He will be my friend in this affair. But we shall need more elbow-room than we can find here. Perhaps you will kindly108 come with me to a more spacious apartment.’
It was evidently impossible to fight in a chamber109 which was blocked by a great table. We followed him out, therefore, into the dimly-lit hall. At the farther end a light was shining through an open door.
‘We shall find what we want in here,’ said the man with the dark beard. It was a large, empty room, with rows of barrels and cases round the walls. A strong lamp stood upon a shelf in the corner. The floor was level and true, so that no swordsman could ask for more. Duroc drew his sabre and sprang into it. The Baron stood back with a bow and motioned me to follow my companion. Hardly were my heels over the threshold when the heavy door crashed behind us and the key screamed in the lock. We were taken in a trap.
For a moment we could not realize it. Such incredible baseness was outside all our experiences. Then, as we understood how foolish we had been to trust for an instant a man with such a history, a flush of rage came over us, rage against his villainy and against our own stupidity. We rushed at the door together, beating it with our fists and kicking with our heavy boots. The sound of our blows and of our execrations must have resounded111 through the Castle. We called to this villain110, hurling112 at him every name which might pierce even into his hardened soul. But the door was enormous — such a door as one finds in mediaeval castles — made of huge beams clamped together with iron. It was as easy to break as a square of the Old Guard. And our cries appeared to be of as little avail as our blows, for they only brought for answer the clattering echoes from the high roof above us. When you have done some soldiering, you soon learn to put up with what cannot be altered. It was I, then, who first recovered my calmness, and prevailed upon Duroc to join with me in examining the apartment which had become our dungeon113.
There was only one window, which had no glass in it, and was so narrow that one could not so much as get one’s head through. It was high up, and Duroc had to stand upon a barrel in order to see from it.
‘What can you see?’ I asked.
‘Fir-woods and an avenue of snow between them,’ said he. ‘Ah!’ he gave a cry of surprise.
I sprang upon the barrel beside him. There was, as he said, a long, clear strip of snow in front. A man was riding down it, flogging his horse and galloping114 like a madman. As we watched, he grew smaller and smaller, until he was swallowed up by the black shadows of the forest.
‘What does that mean?’ asked Duroc.
‘No good for us,’ said I. ‘He may have gone for some brigands115 to cut our throats. Let us see if we cannot find a way out of this mouse-trap before the cat can arrive.’
The one piece of good fortune in our favour was that beautiful lamp. It was nearly full of oil, and would last us until morning. In the dark our situation would have been far more difficult. By its light we proceeded to examine the packages and cases which lined the walls. In some places there was only a single line of them, while in one corner they were piled nearly to the ceiling. It seemed that we were in the storehouse of the Castle, for there were a great number of cheeses, vegetables of various kinds, bins82 full of dried fruits, and a line of wine barrels. One of these had a spigot in it, and as I had eaten little during the day, I was glad of a cup of claret and some food. As to Duroc, he would take nothing, but paced up and down the room in a fever of anger and impatience116. ‘I’ll have him yet!’ he cried, every now and then. ‘The rascal52 shall not escape me!’
This was all very well, but it seemed to me, as I sat on a great round cheese eating my supper, that this youngster was thinking rather too much of his own family affairs and too little of the fine scrape into which he had got me. After all, his father had been dead fourteen years, and nothing could set that right; but here was Etienne Gerard, the most dashing lieutenant in the whole Grand Army, in imminent117 danger of being cut off at the very outset of his brilliant career. Who was ever to know the heights to which I might have risen if I were knocked on the head in this hole-and-corner business, which had nothing whatever to do with France or the Emperor? I could not help thinking what a fool I had been, when I had a fine war before me and everything which a man could desire, to go off on a hare-brained expedition of this sort, as if it were not enough to have a quarter of a million Russians to fight against, without plunging118 into all sorts of private quarrels as well.
‘That is all very well,’ I said at last, as I heard Duroc muttering his threats. ‘You may do what you like to him when you get the upper hand. At present the question rather is, what is he going to do to us?’
‘Let him do his worst!’ cried the boy. ‘I owe a duty to my father.’
‘That is mere2 foolishness,’ said I. ‘If you owe a duty to your father, I owe one to my mother, which is to get out of this business safe and sound.’
My remark brought him to his senses.
‘I have thought too much of myself!’ he cried. ‘Forgive me, Monsieur Gerard. Give me your advice as to what I should do.’
‘Well,’ said I, ‘it is not for our health that they have shut us up here among the cheeses. They mean to make an end of us if they can. That is certain. They hope that no one knows that we have come here, and that none will trace us if we remain. Do your hussars know where you have gone to?’
‘I said nothing.’
‘Hum! It is clear that we cannot be starved here. They must come to us if they are to kill us. Behind a barricade119 of barrels we could hold our own against the five rascals whom we have seen. That is, probably, why they have sent that messenger for assistance.’
‘We must get out before he returns.’
‘Precisely, if we are to get out at all.’
‘Could we not burn down this door?’ he cried.
‘Nothing could be easier,’ said I. ‘There are several casks of oil in the corner. My only objection is that we should ourselves be nicely toasted, like two little oyster120 patés.’
‘Can you not suggest something?’ he cried, in despair. ‘Ah, what is that?’
There had been a low sound at our little window, and a shadow came between the stars and ourselves. A small, white hand was stretched into the lamplight. Something glittered between the fingers.
‘Quick! quick!’ cried a woman’s voice.
We were on the barrel in an instant.
‘They have sent for the Cossacks. Your lives are at stake. Ah, I am lost! I am lost!’
There was the sound of rushing steps, a hoarse121 oath, a blow, and the stars were once more twinkling through the window. We stood helpless upon the barrel with our blood cold with horror. Half a minute afterwards we heard a smothered122 scream, ending in a choke. A great door slammed somewhere in the silent night.
‘Those ruffians have seized her. They will kill her,’ I cried.
Duroc sprang down with the inarticulate shouts of one whose reason has left him. He struck the door so frantically123 with his naked hands that he left a blotch124 of blood with every blow.
Here is the key!’ I shouted, picking one from the floor. ‘She must have thrown it in at the instant that she was torn away.’
My companion snatched it from me with a shriek125 of joy. A moment later he dashed it down upon the boards. It was so small that it was lost in the enormous lock. Duroc sank upon one of the boxes with his head between his hands. He sobbed126 in his despair. I could have sobbed, too, when I thought of the woman and how helpless we were to save her.
But I am not easily baffled. After all, this key must have been sent to us for a purpose. The lady could not bring us that of the door, because this murderous step-father of hers would most certainly have it in his pocket. Yet this other must have a meaning, or why should she risk her life to place it in our hands? It would say little for our wits if we could not find out what that meaning might be.
I set to work moving all the cases out from the wall, and Duroc, gaining new hope from my courage, helped me with all his strength. It was no light task, for many of them were large and heavy. On we went, working like maniacs127, slinging128 barrels, cheeses, and boxes pell-mell into the middle of the room. At last there only remained one huge barrel of vodka, which stood in the corner. With our united strength we rolled it out, and there was a little low wooden door in the wainscot behind it. The key fitted, and with a cry of delight we saw it swing open before us. With the lamp in my hand, I squeezed my way in, followed by my companion.
We were in the powder-magazine of the Castle — a rough, walled cellar, with barrels all round it, and one with the top staved in in the centre. The powder from it lay in a black heap upon the floor. Beyond there was another door, but it was locked.
‘We are no better off than before,’ cried Duroc. ‘We have no key.’
‘We have a dozen!’ I cried.
‘Where?’
I pointed to the line of powder barrels.
‘You would blow this door open?’
‘Precisely.’
‘But you would explode the magazine.’
It was true, but I was not at the end of my resources.
‘We will blow open the store-room door,’ I cried.
I ran back and seized a tin box which had been filled with candles. It was about the size of my busby — large enough to hold several pounds of powder. Duroc filled it while I cut off the end of a candle. When we had finished, it would have puzzled a colonel of engineers to make a better petard. I put three cheeses on the top of each other and placed it above them, so as to lean against the lock. Then we lit our candle-end and ran for shelter, shutting the door of the magazine behind us.
It is no joke, my friends, to be among all those tons of powder, with the knowledge that if the flame of the explosion should penetrate129 through one thin door our blackened limbs would be shot higher than the Castle keep. Who could have believed that a half-inch of candle could take so long to burn? My ears were straining all the time for the thudding of the hoofs of the Cossacks who were coming to destroy us. I had almost made up my mind that the candle must have gone out when there was a smack130 like a bursting bomb, our door flew to bits, and pieces of cheese, with a shower of turnips131, apples, and splinters of cases, were shot in among us. As we rushed out we had to stagger through an impenetrable smoke, with all sorts of débris beneath our feet, but there was a glimmering132 square where the dark door had been. The petard had done its work.
In fact, it had done more for us than we had even ventured to hope. It had shattered gaolers as well as gaol133. The first thing that I saw as I came out into the hall was a man with a butcher’s axe134 in his hand, lying flat upon his back, with a gaping135 wound across his forehead. The second was a huge dog, with two of its legs broken, twisting in agony upon the floor. As it raised itself up I saw the two broken ends flapping like flails136. At the same instant I heard a cry, and there was Duroc, thrown against the wall, with the other hound’s teeth in his throat. He pushed it off with his left hand, while again and again he passed his sabre through its body, but it was not until I blew out its brains with my pistol that the iron jaws137 relaxed, and the fierce, bloodshot eyes were glazed138 in death.
There was no time for us to pause. A woman’s scream from in front — a scream of mortal terror — told us that even now we might be too late. There were two other men in the hall, but they cowered139 away from our drawn swords and furious faces. The blood was streaming from Duroc’s neck and dyeing the grey fur of his pelisse. Such was the lad’s fire, however, that he shot in front of me, and it was only over his shoulder that I caught a glimpse of the scene as we rushed into the chamber in which we had first seen the master of the Castle of Gloom.
The Baron was standing in the middle of the room, his tangled mane bristling140 like an angry lion. He was, as I have said, a huge man with enormous shoulders; and as he stood there, with his face flushed with rage and his sword advanced, I could not but think that, in spite of all his villainies, he had a proper figure for a grenadier. The lady lay cowering141 in a chair behind him. A weal across one of her white arms and a dog-whip upon the floor were enough to show that our escape had hardly been in time to save her from his brutality142. He gave a howl like a wolf as we broke in, and was upon us in an instant, hacking143 and driving, with a curse at every blow.
I have already said that the room gave no space for swordsmanship. My young companion was in front of me in the narrow passage between the table and the wall, so that I could only look on without being able to aid him. The lad knew something of his weapon, and was as fierce and active as a wild cat, but in so narrow a space the weight and strength of the giant gave him the advantage. Besides, he was an admirable swordsman. His parade and riposte were as quick as lightning. Twice he touched Duroc upon the shoulder, and then, as the lad slipped on a lunge, he whirled up his sword to finish him before he could recover his feet. I was quicker than he, however, and took the cut upon the pommel of my sabre.
‘Excuse me,’ said I, ‘but you have still to deal with Etienne Gerard.’
He drew back and leaned against the tapestry-covered wall, breathing in little, hoarse gasps144, for his foul145 living was against him.
‘Take your breath,’ said I. ‘I will await your convenience.’
‘You have no cause of quarrel against me,’ he panted.
‘I owe you some little attention,’ said I, ‘for having shut me up in your store-room. Besides, if all other were wanting, I see cause enough upon that lady’s arm.’
‘Have your way, then!’ he snarled146, and leaped at me like a madman. For a minute I saw only the blazing blue eyes, and the red glazed point which stabbed and stabbed, rasping off to right or to left, and yet ever back at my throat and my breast. I had never thought that such good sword-play was to be found at Paris in the days of the Revolution. I do not suppose that in all my little affairs I have met six men who had a better knowledge of their weapon. But he knew that I was his master. He read death in my eyes, and I could see that he read it. The flush died from his face. His breath came in shorter and in thicker gasps. Yet he fought on, even after the final thrust had come, and died still hacking and cursing, with foul cries upon his lips, and his blood clotting147 upon his orange beard. I who speak to you have seen so many battles, that my old memory can scarce contain their names, and yet of all the terrible sights which these eyes have rested upon, there is none which I care to think of less than of that orange beard with the crimson148 stain in the centre, from which I had drawn my sword-point.
It was only afterwards that I had time to think of all this. His monstrous body had hardly crashed down upon the floor before the woman in the corner sprang to her feet, clapping her hands together and screaming out in her delight. For my part I was disgusted to see a woman take such delight in a deed of blood, and I gave no thought as to the terrible wrongs which must have befallen her before she could so far forget the gentleness of her sex. It was on my tongue to tell her sharply to be silent, when a strange, choking smell took the breath from my nostrils, and a sudden, yellow glare brought out the figures upon the faded hangings.
‘Duroc, Duroc!’ I shouted, tugging149 at his shoulder. ‘The Castle is on fire!’
The boy lay senseless upon the ground, exhausted150 by his wounds. I rushed out into the hall to see whence the danger came. It was our explosion which had set alight to the dry frame-work of the door. Inside the store-room some of the boxes were already blazing. I glanced in, and as I did so my blood was turned to water by the sight of the powder barrels beyond, and of the loose heap upon the floor. It might be seconds, it could not be more than minutes, before the flames would be at the edge of it. These eyes will be closed in death, my friends, before they cease to see those crawling lines of fire and the black heap beyond.
How little I can remember what followed. Vaguely151 I can recall how I rushed into the chamber of death, how I seized Duroc by one limp hand and dragged him down the hall, the woman keeping pace with me and pulling at the other arm. Out of the gateway152 we rushed, and on down the snow-covered path until we were on the fringe of the fir forest. It was at that moment that I heard a crash behind me, and, glancing round, saw a great spout153 of fire shoot up into the wintry sky. An instant later there seemed to come a second crash, far louder than the first. I saw the fir trees and the stars whirling round me, and I fell unconscious across the body of my comrade.
It was some weeks before I came to myself in the post-house of Arensdorf, and longer still before I could be told all that had befallen me. It was Duroc, already able to go soldiering, who came to my bedside and gave me an account of it. He it was who told me how a piece of timber had struck me on the head and laid me almost dead upon the ground. From him, too, I learned how the Polish girl had run to Arensdorf, how she had roused our hussars, and how she had only just brought them back in time to save us from the spears of the Cossacks who had been summoned from their bivouac by that same black-bearded secretary whom we had seen galloping so swiftly over the snow. As to the brave lady who had twice saved our lives, I could not learn very much about her at that moment from Duroc, but when I chanced to meet him in Paris two years later, after the campaign of Wagram, I was not very much surprised to find that I needed no introduction to his bride, and that by the queer turns of fortune he had himself, had he chosen to use it, that very name and title of the Baron Straubenthal, which showed him to be the owner of the blackened ruins of the Castle of Gloom.
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1
reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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trumpet
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| n.喇叭，喇叭声；v.吹喇叭，吹嘘 | |
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doze
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| v.打瞌睡；n.打盹，假寐 | |
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warriors
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| 武士，勇士，战士( warrior的名词复数 ) | |
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rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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bonnets
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| n.童帽( bonnet的名词复数 )；（烟囱等的）覆盖物；（苏格兰男子的）无边呢帽；（女子戴的）任何一种帽子 | |
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plumes
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| 羽毛( plume的名词复数 )； 羽毛饰； 羽毛状物； 升上空中的羽状物 | |
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jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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flaunting
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| adj.招摇的，扬扬得意的，夸耀的v.炫耀，夸耀( flaunt的现在分词 )；有什么能耐就施展出来 | |
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fodder
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| n.草料；炮灰 | |
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lieutenant
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| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
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gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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baron
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| n.男爵；(商业界等)巨头，大王 | |
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battalion
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| n.营；部队；大队(的人) | |
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infantry
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| n.[总称]步兵(部队) | |
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invalids
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| 病人，残疾者( invalid的名词复数 ) | |
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forage
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| n.(牛马的)饲料，粮草；v.搜寻，翻寻 | |
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cavalry
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| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
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gallops
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| （马等）奔驰，骑马奔驰( gallop的名词复数 ) | |
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trot
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| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
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hardy
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| adj.勇敢的，果断的，吃苦的；耐寒的 | |
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chestnut
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| n.栗树，栗子 | |
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docile
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| adj.驯服的，易控制的，容易教的 | |
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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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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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regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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inconvenient
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| adj.不方便的，令人感到麻烦的 | |
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pawn
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| n.典当，抵押，小人物，走卒；v.典当，抵押 | |
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31
shimmer
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| v./n.发微光，发闪光；微光 | |
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hoofs
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| n.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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33
jingle
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| n.叮当声，韵律简单的诗句；v.使叮当作响，叮当响，押韵 | |
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bridle
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| n.笼头，束缚；vt.抑制，约束；动怒 | |
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saucy
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| adj.无礼的；俊俏的；活泼的 | |
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veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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regiments
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| （军队的）团( regiment的名词复数 )； 大量的人或物 | |
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scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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39
bleak
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| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
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shimmered
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| v.闪闪发光，发微光( shimmer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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41
reeked
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| v.发出浓烈的臭气( reek的过去式和过去分词 )；散发臭气；发出难闻的气味 (of sth)；明显带有（令人不快或生疑的跡象） | |
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42
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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43
drooped
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| 弯曲或下垂，发蔫( droop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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44
heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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45
clumps
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| n.（树、灌木、植物等的）丛、簇( clump的名词复数 )；（土、泥等）团；块；笨重的脚步声v.（树、灌木、植物等的）丛、簇( clump的第三人称单数 )；（土、泥等）团；块；笨重的脚步声 | |
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46
lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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47
larch
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| n.落叶松 | |
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waggons
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| 四轮的运货马车( waggon的名词复数 )； 铁路货车； 小手推车 | |
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49
artillery
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| n.(军)火炮，大炮；炮兵(部队) | |
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50
plod
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| v.沉重缓慢地走，孜孜地工作 | |
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51
rascals
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| 流氓( rascal的名词复数 )； 无赖； （开玩笑说法）淘气的人（尤指小孩）； 恶作剧的人 | |
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rascal
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| n.流氓；不诚实的人 | |
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53
duel
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| n./v.决斗；(双方的)斗争 | |
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54
abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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stiffened
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| 加强的 | |
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clattering
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的现在分词形式） | |
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57
prattle
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| n.闲谈；v.（小孩般）天真无邪地说话；发出连续而无意义的声音 | |
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58
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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59
jutted
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| v.（使）突出( jut的过去式和过去分词 )；伸出；（从…）突出；高出 | |
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60
turrets
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| （六角）转台( turret的名词复数 )； （战舰和坦克等上的）转动炮塔； （摄影机等上的）镜头转台； （旧时攻城用的）塔车 | |
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61
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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62
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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63
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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64
crafty
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| adj.狡猾的，诡诈的 | |
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65
groom
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| vt.给（马、狗等）梳毛，照料，使...整洁 | |
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66
sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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67
marvel
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| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
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68
allude
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| v.提及，暗指 | |
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69
massacres
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| 大屠杀( massacre的名词复数 )； 惨败 | |
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70
aristocrats
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| n.贵族( aristocrat的名词复数 ) | |
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71
aristocrat
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| n.贵族，有贵族气派的人，上层人物 | |
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72
benefactor
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| n. 恩人，行善的人，捐助人 | |
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73
acquitting
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| 宣判…无罪( acquit的现在分词 )； 使（自己）作出某种表现 | |
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74
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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75
wretches
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| n.不幸的人( wretch的名词复数 )；可怜的人；恶棍；坏蛋 | |
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76
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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77
hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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78
inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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79
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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80
duellist
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| n.决斗者；[体]重剑运动员 | |
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81
baroness
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| n.男爵夫人，女男爵 | |
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82
bins
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| n.大储藏箱( bin的名词复数 )；宽口箱（如面包箱，垃圾箱等）v.扔掉，丢弃( bin的第三人称单数 ) | |
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83
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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84
snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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85
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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86
uncouth
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| adj.无教养的，粗鲁的 | |
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87
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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88
tugged
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| v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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89
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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90
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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91
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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92
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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93
spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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94
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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95
scantily
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| adv.缺乏地；不充足地；吝啬地；狭窄地 | |
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96
tapestry
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| n.挂毯，丰富多采的画面 | |
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97
sordid
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| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
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98
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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99
hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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100
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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101
crumpled
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| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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102
protruded
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| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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103
twitching
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| n.颤搐 | |
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104
dishonour
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| n./vt.拒付（支票、汇票、票据等）；vt.凌辱，使丢脸；n.不名誉，耻辱，不光彩 | |
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105
vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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106
avenge
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| v.为...复仇，为...报仇 | |
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107
loathe
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| v.厌恶，嫌恶 | |
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108
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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109
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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110
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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111
resounded
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| v.（指声音等）回荡于某处( resound的过去式和过去分词 )；产生回响；（指某处）回荡着声音 | |
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112
hurling
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| n.爱尔兰式曲棍球v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的现在分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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113
dungeon
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| n.地牢，土牢 | |
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114
galloping
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| adj. 飞驰的, 急性的 动词gallop的现在分词形式 | |
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115
brigands
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| n.土匪，强盗( brigand的名词复数 ) | |
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116
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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117
imminent
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| adj.即将发生的，临近的，逼近的 | |
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118
plunging
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| adj.跳进的，突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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119
barricade
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| n.路障，栅栏，障碍；vt.设路障挡住 | |
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120
oyster
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| n.牡蛎；沉默寡言的人 | |
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121
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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122
smothered
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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123
frantically
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| ad.发狂地, 发疯地 | |
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124
blotch
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| n.大斑点；红斑点；v.使沾上污渍，弄脏 | |
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125
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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126
sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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127
maniacs
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| n.疯子（maniac的复数形式） | |
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128
slinging
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| 抛( sling的现在分词 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
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129
penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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130
smack
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| vt.拍，打，掴；咂嘴；vi.含有…意味；n.拍 | |
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131
turnips
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| 芜青( turnip的名词复数 )； 芜菁块根； 芜菁甘蓝块根； 怀表 | |
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132
glimmering
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| n.微光，隐约的一瞥adj.薄弱地发光的v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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133
gaol
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| n.(jail)监狱；(不加冠词)监禁；vt.使…坐牢 | |
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134
axe
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| n.斧子；v.用斧头砍，削减 | |
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135
gaping
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| adj.口的；张口的；敞口的；多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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136
flails
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| v.鞭打( flail的第三人称单数 )；用连枷脱粒；（臂或腿）无法控制地乱动；扫雷坦克 | |
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137
jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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138
glazed
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| adj.光滑的，像玻璃的；上过釉的；呆滞无神的v.装玻璃( glaze的过去式)；上釉于，上光；（目光）变得呆滞无神 | |
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139
cowered
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| v.畏缩，抖缩( cower的过去式 ) | |
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140
bristling
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| a.竖立的 | |
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141
cowering
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| v.畏缩，抖缩( cower的现在分词 ) | |
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142
brutality
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| n.野蛮的行为，残忍，野蛮 | |
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143
hacking
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| n.非法访问计算机系统和数据库的活动 | |
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144
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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145
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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146
snarled
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| v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的过去式和过去分词 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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147
clotting
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| v.凝固( clot的现在分词 )；烧结 | |
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148
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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149
tugging
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| n.牵引感v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的现在分词 ) | |
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150
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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151
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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152
gateway
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| n.大门口，出入口，途径，方法 | |
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153
spout
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| v.喷出，涌出；滔滔不绝地讲；n.喷管；水柱 | |
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