As the eventful day drew near, the excitement and impatience10, and, we may add, anxiety, of the students increased to such a degree that it was all they could do to study. The reason for this state of affairs was found in the fact that it had somehow leaked out—through what source no one seemed able to tell—that an event of unusual interest was to take place during this particular encampment; something that had never occurred before, and might never occur again. Some of the first-class boys who 194were in the secret, had said just enough to put their companions on nettles11, but not enough to give them even the faintest idea of what they might expect.
“I know that boat-riding, and trolling for pickerel, and spearing eels12 by torch-light, are fine sports,” Egan said to Don, one day, “and they are exciting, too, when you have no better way of passing the time; but you very soon forget all about the pleasure you have in that way, don’t you? Well, there’s something going to happen very shortly that you’ll not forget so easily, I tell you. You will remember it as long as you live.”
“Now, sergeant13, what is it?” exclaimed Don, after Egan had talked to him a few times in this way. “Can’t you give me a hint?”
“No. Couldn’t possibly think of it.”
“Well, then, if you were told to keep it to yourself, why don’t you do it? What’s the use of aggravating14 a fellow in this way?”
“I assure you, my dear boy, that no aggravation15 is intended,” replied Egan, in his blandest16 tones. “I only meant to prepare you for something you never dreamed of. If your eyes don’t 195open and your hair stand on end, I—whew! I can’t think of it without a little thrill of excitement.”
Meanwhile the question as to where and how the coming vacation should be spent, had been repeatedly referred to and talked over by Don and his three friends in the first class—Egan, Hopkins and Curtis. The latter was anxious to go home and join his friends in the club-shoot that always came off on Thanksgiving day; Hopkins wanted Don to see him add another “brush” to the numerous trophies18 of the chase that adorned19 the walls of his room; and Don held out strongly in favor of his own shooting-grounds about Diamond Lake. The matter was finally settled by the assistance of General Gordon, who sent each of the boys a cordial invitation to spend at least a small portion of their next vacation at Don’s shooting-box, and made sure of its acceptance by communicating with the fathers of these students, all of whom he had known in the days of his boyhood. This point having been decided20 to his entire satisfaction, Don could have settled down to good hard work, had it not been for the fact that he was continually 196looking forward to that “unusual and interesting event” that was to transpire21 when the boys went into camp. His curiosity had been aroused to the highest pitch, and he could scarcely think about anything else.
The sun rose clear and cloudless on the morning of the first day of August, and before the echoes awakened22 by the roar of the field-piece had fairly died away, the boys were crowding into the drill-room. Breakfast was served immediately after roll-call, and two hours later three hundred students, led by the band and marching with the precision of veteran soldiers, moved through the wide gateway23, and down the principal street of the village toward their camping-ground. Everybody turned out to see them. Flags and handkerchiefs were waved all along their line of march, flowers were showered into their ranks, and when, in obedience24 to the command: “Platoons, right front into line, double time, march!” they broke from column of fours into column of platoons, the cheers that greeted their prompt and soldier-like execution of the manœuvre, which is always an awkward one unless it is well done, were always deafening25.
197The camp was always pitched upon a little rise of ground about three miles from the village. In front of it was the river, on its left arose a range of hills which were almost high enough to be called mountains, and among these hills were located the streams and ponds in which the speckled trout26, pickerel, sunfish and bass27 abounded28. Here too, were found the thieving raccoons that ravaged29 the farmers’ corn-fields, the hawks30 that caught their chickens, and the black and gray squirrels which afforded the boys many an exciting hunt and excellent dinner. Between these hills and the camp ran a wide and deep creek31, whose rapid current often baffled the skill of the young engineers who tried to throw a pontoon-bridge across it.
On reaching the camping ground the arms were stacked, and the tents, which had already arrived, were distributed among the different companies and pitched at the tap of the drum. Then working-parties were detailed32 to grade and ditch the streets, provide fire-wood for the kitchens and to perform various other duties, and when they were relieved at four o’clock in the afternoon, the little camp presented a scene of neatness and 198order with which the most exacting33 officer could not have found a word of fault.
There were several orders read that night on dress-parade, and among them was one that expressly prohibited “foraging34.” Don could not see the necessity for such an order, so he waited for an opportunity to speak to Egan about it.
“It means,” said the latter, in response to Don’s inquiries35, “that we mustn’t steal anything from the farmers hereabouts.”
“So I supposed. But who is there among us who would be mean enough to do such a thing?”
“I don’t know about it’s being mean,” replied the sergeant, in a tone of voice that made Don open his eyes. “We want something good to eat, don’t we?”
“Of course we do; but why can’t we buy what we want? We’ve all got a little pocket-money.”
“That’s very likely; but it is cheaper to forage36.”
“But suppose you are caught at it?”
“That’s your lookout37. You must be sharp enough to get away with your plunder38 after you have secured it.”
“I’ll not try it,” said Don, decidedly. “I’ve 199had trouble enough this term, and I am not going to have any more black marks placed against my name if I can help it. Besides, I don’t see what there is to steal.”
“O, there are lots of things. The farmers hardly ever lock their spring-houses, and it’s the easiest thing in the world to slip into one of them and take a good swig out of a pan of milk that has cream on it an inch thick. Ah!” said the sergeant, smacking39 his lips. “That’s the way Hop17 got himself into a snarl40 last camp.”
“Not Court Hopkins!” exclaimed Don.
“Yes, Courtland Hopkins. He and a party of fellows went down to Hudson’s one day after some eggs and butter—by the way, that same farmer Hudson always has a splendid melon patch, and the melons will begin to ripen41 pretty soon—and while some of the boys were occupying the attention of the farmer’s wife, Hop slipped around to the spring-house, and there he found a five-gallon jar full of fresh buttermilk. That was too much for Hop, who can make way with more buttermilk than any boy I ever saw. He grabbed the jar and made off with it; but just as he was leaving the spring-house, Hudson, who was at work in a field 200close by, caught sight of him and started in pursuit. Hop heard him coming, and knowing that he could not escape with his burden, he put it down, never spilling a drop of the milk, and took to his heels. Fat as he is, he led Hudson a good long chase, but he was collared at last and taken to camp.”
Don was utterly42 amazed. Here was Hopkins, who was looked upon by all his companions as a model of perfection, and yet he had been caught in the act of stealing; and here was Egan, another good scholar and a non-commissioned officer besides, who told the story of his friend’s guilt43 as though it were something well worth relating. Don could not understand it.
“What did they do with him?” he asked, as soon as he had somewhat recovered from his surprise.
“Well, the superintendent44 thought that that was carrying matters a little too far, and so he refused Hop a pass for a week,” was the sergeant’s reply. “But he didn’t gain any black marks by it.”
“How was that?” inquired Don.
“Why, you see, your record for the term is all 201made up, and the hooks are closed; and any mischief you may do here in camp will not count against you in the examination. We come out here to have fun, and the teachers are willing we should have it, so long as we keep within bounds. The farmers around here make lots of money out of us every year, and if we want to go into their orchards45 and melon-patches and help ourselves to what we find there, we are welcome to do it, if we go about it openly and above board; but if we try to forage on them, they enter into the spirit of the matter as fully46 as we do, and make every effort to capture us. If they succeed, they march us to camp, and all the boys laugh at us, and we have to fork over money enough to pay for the articles we took, whatever they are. But after all one don’t lose anything by it, for very likely that same farmer will meet you the next day and give you a peck of peaches, or an armful of green-corn or a water-melon as big as you can carry.”
Don began to understand the matter now, and to see why it was that the students looked forward to their month in camp with so much eagerness and impatience. Here were opportunities 202for him to work off a little of his superabundant energy without violating any rules or doing harm to anybody, and those who are acquainted with him will know that he was not long in making up his mind to improve them.
“But there is one thing we have to keep constantly before us,” continued the sergeant, who did not fail to notice and to rightly interpret the look he saw in Don’s eye. “The teachers do not object to innocent fun, but anything that savors47 of meanness won’t go down. If a boy oversteps the mark, he goes back to the academy and stays there under guard. Duncan went back last camp for trying to rob a hen-roost. The farmer who owned the fowls48 laughed and said it was all right, but the teachers didn’t think so. I never foraged49 so much as an ear of corn; but I am a number one deserter.”
“Deserter!” echoed Don, growing more and more interested.
“Yes. You see, we want to do things here just as they are done in a regular camp, and there is much more fun in working up a case against a real culprit, who will try by every means in his power to hide his guilt, than there is in trumping50 up a 203charge against some innocent boy. I have deserted51 every time I have been in camp.”
“What did they do with you?”
“Nothing, for I got back before I was caught. If I had been captured by any of the scouting52 parties that were sent out in pursuit of me, I should have been court-martialed, and ordered to the guard-tent to await sentence. That’s the way they did with Hop, who was sentenced to be shot. But then he deserted when the camp was supposed to be surrounded by the enemy. Hop always was unlucky. He can’t do any mischief without being caught at it.”
“How did they carry out the sentence?” asked Don.
“They didn’t carry it out. They simply put him in the guard-tent, and about midnight the officer of the day came along and let him out; and that was the last of it. When the members of the Grand Army of the Republic hold their encampments, and capture a deserter or a spy, they go through all the forms—seating the prisoner blindfolded54 on a coffin55 and shooting at him with blank cartridges56. But we don’t believe in that. It is almost too much like the reality. By 204the way, Gordon, that great European seven-elephant railroad show is advertised to pitch its tent in Bridgeport very shortly, and I should really like to see the man who turns a double somerset over three elephants and four camels; wouldn’t you?”
“Of course I would, and I’ll go if you will. Shall we ask for a pass?”
“Certainly not, because we don’t intend to come back until we get ready. The boys all want to get out of the lines for exercise, and nothing would suit them better than tramping about the country in search of us.”
Just then the officer of the day appeared at the door of his tent and beckoned57 to the sergeant, who hurried away, leaving Don to himself. The latter wished most heartily58 that that great European seven-elephant railroad show had been billed to appear at Bridgeport that very night, for he was in just the right humor for an adventure. Like Egan, he had no taste for foraging. It is true that he had joined in raids upon melon-patches when they were closely guarded, and when he knew that speedy punishment would be visited upon him if he were discovered and captured, and 205he might, without a great deal of urging, have been induced to do the same thing over again, if there were any risk to be run; but the thought of plundering59 a good-natured farmer who would freely have given him all the melons he wanted, was not to be entertained for a moment. Desertion, as proposed by Egan, was, according to Don’s way of thinking, a more high-toned proceeding60. Creeping unobserved past the sentries61; visiting an entertainment that would doubtless be witnessed by a majority of the teachers, and fifty or perhaps a hundred of their school-fellows, all of whom would be glad to report them “just for the fun of the thing;” roaming about the country wherever their fancy led them; dodging62 the scouting parties that were sent in pursuit, and at last, when weary of their freedom, making their way back to camp and into their tents without being caught—there was something interesting and exciting in all this, and the longer Don thought of it the more he wished that the show would hasten its coming.
During the first two weeks the students were kept at work at something nearly all the time, and there were but few passes granted. Don and 206Egan were among those who were lucky enough to get out of the lines for an afternoon, and before they came back they had made arrangements for procuring63 citizen’s clothes in which to visit the show when it arrived. After that Don became more impatient and uneasy than ever, and proposed to his friend Egan that they should desert at once, and stay out until the show left town.
“Oh, that would never do,” was the sergeant’s reply. “We want to absent ourselves only on our ‘off’ days—that is, on days when there is no work to be done in surveying, or in artillery64 and rifle-practice. You know I am to complete the course this year, and as I want to pass a good examination, I must be on hand to receive all the practical instruction I can. I wouldn’t like to miss that.”
“But we don’t seem to have any ‘off’ days,” answered Don. “We are kept busy all the time. What’s the use of surrounding the camp with these rifle-pits?”
“There are two reasons for it. In the first place, the enemy may be hovering65 around watching for a chance to make an attack upon us.”
Don laughed outright66.
207“And in the next place, you want to learn just how to go to work to fortify67 a camp in case you should ever have command of one.”
“Which is not at all likely,” interrupted Don. “Why can’t the engineers stake out the works so that we could see the shape of them, and stop at that? I didn’t come here to handle picks and shovels68 for so many hours every day, and I don’t see any sense in it.”
Almost the first thing the superintendent did after the students were fairly settled in their new quarters, was to put the engineers at work laying out a very elaborate system of fortifications with which the entire camp was surrounded. The boys would have made no complaint if he had been satisfied with that; but he wasn’t. When the fortifications had been laid out, he detailed working-parties to build them, just as he would have done if the camp had been located in an enemy’s country. Such a thing had never been done before, and Don Gordon was not the only one who could not see any sense in it. At first the boys laughed at their sergeants70 and corporals, who urged them to greater exertions71 with their picks and shovels, assuring them at the same 208time that an attack might be expected at any moment, and finally they began to get angry with them; but the attack was made all the same.
But these days of toil72 were ended at last, and when the old soldiers who lived in Bridgeport came out and inspected the works, and declared with one voice that, in everything except extent, they were equal to any with which the Confederates had surrounded Vicksburg and Richmond, the boys felt that they were in some measure repaid for their labor69. They made the most of the days of recreation that followed. Passes were freely granted, and every boy who went outside the lines made it a point to bring back something for his mess-table.
One day, while Don was lounging in his tent, Egan appeared at the door and beckoned him to come out. In one hand he carried a huge yellow poster, which he passed over to Don, with the request that the latter would read it at his leisure, and at the same time he held up the forefinger73 of the other hand as if he were listening to something. Don listened also, and presently the breeze bore to his ear the enlivening strains of martial53 music.
209“They’ve come,” said Egan, “and they are now making their street parade. Are you ready?”
“I am,” answered Don.
“Well, say one o’clock, then. I shall be busy with my reports until——”
“Why, man alive,” interrupted Don, “are we going to run the guard in broad daylight?”
“How in the world are we going to help it?” demanded Egan, in reply.
“We ought to have gone out last night when we would have had the darkness to aid us,” said Don, who began to think that his chances for seeing that wonderful leaper were very slim indeed.
“I couldn’t have gone last night, for I was busy; and, as I told you, I don’t want to be out of camp when my class is under instruction. I shall be busy until about one o’clock; but after my work is done, I am going to that show. Are you going with me?”
Don answered, very decidedly, that he was.
“I don’t deny that we shall have a tight squeak74 for it,” continued the sergeant, pulling off his cap and scratching his head in deep perplexity. “You see, there used to be a little 210ridge out there in the upper end of the camp, that ran close by the side of post No. 2. It was thickly lined with bushes, under cover of which a fellow who was at all cautious in his movements, could creep by the sentry75 very easily; but when these earth-works were built that ridge1 was cut away, and I haven’t yet been able to decide how we are going to get out, although I have reconnoitered every part of the camp more than a dozen times.”
“Look here,” said Don. “Perhaps one of the sentries could be prevailed upon to keep his back turned when——”
“No, he couldn’t,” interrupted Egan, who knew very well what Don was about to say. “There isn’t a boy in camp who wouldn’t report his best friend, if he had the chance, just for the sake of getting a joke on him.”
Just then Hopkins and Curtis came hurrying by. Their faces wore a pleased expression, and each held in his hand a piece of paper which he flourished exultantly76 over his head.
“We’re going to see the elephants, and the lions, and tigers, and all the other things,” said Curtis. “I say, boys, if you want passes you’d 211better not be standing77 here. The fellows are packed around the superintendent’s marquée as closely as sardines78 in a box.”
Don and Egan replied that they had concluded not to ask for passes on that particular day, and Hopkins and his friend hurried on to their tents to exchange their fatigue79 suits for their dress uniforms.
“I haven’t yet been able to decide how we are going to get out,” repeated the sergeant, when he and Don were left alone, “but don’t you worry about that. I’ll hit upon something before the time for action arrives.”
“All right,” replied Don. “I’ll be ready when you want me.”
Egan turned toward his tent, and Don went back into his. He spent the time until dinner in reading the poster the sergeant had given him, hundreds of which had that morning been distributed about the camp by village boys who were hired for that purpose, and then he made his toilet and waited for the hands on his watch to travel around to one o’clock. They had scarcely got there before Sergeant Egan put in an appearance, carrying in his hand a small tin pail. 212He seemed somewhat disconcerted when he looked into Don’s tent, for it was full of boys.
“Come in, sergeant,” said Bert, pleasantly.
“Where are you going?” inquired Don. “To the spring after some fresh water, I suppose. Hold on till I get a bucket, and I will go with you.”
“So will I,” said Bert.
That wouldn’t do at all. The sergeant looked perplexed80, but Don was equal to the emergency.
“Bert,” said he, “you stay here till I come back, and I will have something to tell you.”
The confiding81 Bert was good-natured enough to submit without any argument, and Don, having secured a bucket, walked off with the sergeant. To his great surprise Egan led the way directly to the principal gate, and the sentry who was on duty there allowed them to pass without a word of protest. He had no business to do it, and if they had exhibited the least timidity, or been at all uncertain in their movements, they would have been halted on the instant; but, as it was, their audacity82 carried them safely through. 213If Don had been alone he would have been stopped beyond a doubt; but the fact that he was in the company of a non-commissioned officer, who, however, had no more right to go outside the lines than a private had, disarmed83 the sentry of all suspicion.
Running the Guard.
The two deserters, astonished and delighted at the ease with which their escape had been effected, but showing no outward signs of exultation84, walked slowly toward the spring, which bubbled up among the rocks about fifty yards from the gate, their every movement being closely watched by the sentry, who began to wonder if he had done just right in permitting them to pass. They made a great show of washing out their pails, stopping now and then to point out to each other objects of interest on the opposite side of the creek, all of which they had seen a hundred times before; and at last, pretending to discover something at a little distance that they considered to be worthy85 of close examination, they set down their buckets and moved down the bank of the stream. That movement aroused the sentry, who now began to see through the little game that had been so neatly86 played upon him.
214“Halt!” he shouted, bringing his musket87 to “arms port.”
“Now for it, Gordon,” said Egan, in an excited whisper. “Leg bail88 is all that will save us.”
Suiting the action to the word, the sergeant pulled his fatigue cap down over his ears and darted89 through the bushes like a frightened hare, Don following close at his heels.
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1
ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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anticipations
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| 预期( anticipation的名词复数 )； 预测； （信托财产收益的）预支； 预期的事物 | |
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bustle
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| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
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mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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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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overhauling
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| n.大修；拆修；卸修；翻修v.彻底检查( overhaul的现在分词 )；大修；赶上；超越 | |
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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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tiresome
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| adj.令人疲劳的，令人厌倦的 | |
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winked
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| v.使眼色( wink的过去式和过去分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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nettles
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| n.荨麻( nettle的名词复数 ) | |
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eels
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| abbr. 电子发射器定位系统（=electronic emitter location system） | |
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sergeant
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| n.警官，中士 | |
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aggravating
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| adj.恼人的，讨厌的 | |
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aggravation
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| n.烦恼，恼火 | |
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blandest
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| adj.（食物）淡而无味的( bland的最高级 )；平和的；温和的；无动于衷的 | |
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hop
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| n.单脚跳，跳跃；vi.单脚跳，跳跃；着手做某事；vt.跳跃，跃过 | |
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trophies
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| n.（为竞赛获胜者颁发的）奖品( trophy的名词复数 )；奖杯；（尤指狩猎或战争中获得的）纪念品；（用于比赛或赛跑名称）奖 | |
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adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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transpire
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| v.(使)蒸发，(使)排出 ；泄露，公开 | |
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awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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gateway
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| n.大门口，出入口，途径，方法 | |
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obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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deafening
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| adj. 振耳欲聋的, 极喧闹的 动词deafen的现在分词形式 | |
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trout
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| n.鳟鱼；鲑鱼(属) | |
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bass
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| n.男低音(歌手)；低音乐器；低音大提琴 | |
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abounded
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| v.大量存在，充满，富于( abound的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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ravaged
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| 毁坏( ravage的过去式和过去分词 )； 蹂躏； 劫掠； 抢劫 | |
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hawks
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| 鹰( hawk的名词复数 )； 鹰派人物，主战派人物 | |
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creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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detailed
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| adj.详细的，详尽的，极注意细节的，完全的 | |
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exacting
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| adj.苛求的，要求严格的 | |
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foraging
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| v.搜寻（食物），尤指动物觅（食）( forage的现在分词 )；（尤指用手）搜寻（东西） | |
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inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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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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lookout
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| n.注意，前途，瞭望台 | |
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plunder
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| vt.劫掠财物，掠夺；n.劫掠物，赃物；劫掠 | |
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39
smacking
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| 活泼的，发出响声的，精力充沛的 | |
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40
snarl
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| v.吼叫，怒骂，纠缠，混乱；n.混乱，缠结，咆哮 | |
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41
ripen
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| vt.使成熟；vi.成熟 | |
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42
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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43
guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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superintendent
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| n.监督人，主管，总监；(英国)警务长 | |
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45
orchards
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| （通常指围起来的）果园( orchard的名词复数 ) | |
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46
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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savors
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| v.意味，带有…的性质( savor的第三人称单数 )；给…加调味品；使有风味；品尝 | |
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48
fowls
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| 鸟( fowl的名词复数 )； 禽肉； 既不是这； 非驴非马 | |
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foraged
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| v.搜寻（食物），尤指动物觅（食）( forage的过去式和过去分词 )；（尤指用手）搜寻（东西） | |
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50
trumping
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| v.（牌戏）出王牌赢（一牌或一墩）( trump的现在分词 )；吹号公告，吹号庆祝；吹喇叭；捏造 | |
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51
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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52
scouting
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| 守候活动，童子军的活动 | |
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53
martial
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| adj.战争的，军事的，尚武的，威武的 | |
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blindfolded
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| v.（尤指用布）挡住（某人）的视线( blindfold的过去式 )；蒙住（某人）的眼睛；使不理解；蒙骗 | |
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55
coffin
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| n.棺材，灵柩 | |
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56
cartridges
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| 子弹( cartridge的名词复数 )； （打印机的）墨盒； 录音带盒； （唱机的）唱头 | |
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beckoned
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| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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plundering
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| 掠夺，抢劫( plunder的现在分词 ) | |
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proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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61
sentries
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| 哨兵，步兵( sentry的名词复数 ) | |
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62
dodging
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| n.避开，闪过，音调改变v.闪躲( dodge的现在分词 )；回避 | |
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procuring
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| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的现在分词 )；拉皮条 | |
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64
artillery
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| n.(军)火炮，大炮；炮兵(部队) | |
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hovering
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| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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outright
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| adv.坦率地；彻底地；立即；adj.无疑的；彻底的 | |
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fortify
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| v.强化防御，为…设防；加强，强化 | |
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shovels
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| n.铲子( shovel的名词复数 )；锹；推土机、挖土机等的)铲；铲形部份v.铲子( shovel的第三人称单数 )；锹；推土机、挖土机等的)铲；铲形部份 | |
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69
labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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sergeants
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| 警官( sergeant的名词复数 )； （美国警察）警佐； （英国警察）巡佐； 陆军（或空军）中士 | |
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exertions
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| n.努力( exertion的名词复数 )；费力；（能力、权力等的）运用；行使 | |
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72
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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73
forefinger
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| n.食指 | |
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squeak
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| n.吱吱声，逃脱；v.（发出）吱吱叫，侥幸通过；（俚）告密 | |
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sentry
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| n.哨兵，警卫 | |
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exultantly
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| adv.狂欢地，欢欣鼓舞地 | |
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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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78
sardines
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| n. 沙丁鱼 | |
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79
fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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81
confiding
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| adj.相信人的，易于相信的v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的现在分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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82
audacity
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| n.大胆，卤莽，无礼 | |
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83
disarmed
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| v.裁军( disarm的过去式和过去分词 )；使息怒 | |
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84
exultation
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| n.狂喜，得意 | |
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85
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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86
neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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87
musket
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| n.滑膛枪 | |
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88
bail
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| v.舀（水），保释；n.保证金，保释，保释人 | |
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darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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