Bronzed faces under white helmets crowded the ports and bulwarks2 of the great white leviathan of the deep—the troop-ship Orontes—as she steamed slowly and cautiously up to the embarkation jetty in Portsmouth harbour.
On the jetty itself a few anxious wives, mothers, and sisters stood eagerly scanning the sea of faces in the almost hopeless endeavour to distinguish those for which they sought. Yet ever and anon an exclamation3 on the jetty, and an answering wave of an arm on the troop-ship, told that some at least of the anxious ones had been successful in the search.
“Don’t they look weather-beaten?” remarked Miles to his companion.
“Sure it’s more like sun-dried they are,” answered a voice at his side. Brown had gone to the shed to prepare his coffee and bread against the landing of the troops, and a stout4 Irishwoman had taken his place. Close to her stood the two ladies from the Institute with baskets on their arms.
“You are right,” returned Miles, with a smile; “they look like men who have seen service. Is your husband among them?”
“Faix, I’d be sorprised if he was,” returned the woman; “for I left him in owld Ireland, in the only landed property he iver held in this world—six futt by two, an’ five deep. He’s been in possession six years now, an’ it wouldn’t be aisy to drive him out o’ that, anyhow. No, it’s my son Terence I’ve come to look afther. Och! there he is! Look, look, that’s him close by the funnel5! Don’t ye see ’im? Blissins on his good-lookin’ face! Hooroo! Terence—Terence Flynn, don’t ye recognise yer owld mother? Sure an’ he does, though we haven’t met for tin year. My! hasn’t he got the hair on his lips too—an’ his cheeks are like shoe-leather—my darlint!”
As the enthusiastic mother spoke6 in the tones of a public orator7, there was a general laugh among those who were nearest to her; but she was forgotten immediately, for all were too deeply intent on their own interests to pay much regard to each other just then.
The great vessel8 was slow in getting alongside and making fast to the jetty—slow at least in the estimation of the impatient—for although she might leap and career grandly in wanton playfulness while on her native billows, in port a careless touch from her ponderous10 sides would have crushed part of the jetty into fragments. Miles therefore had ample time to look about him at the various groups around.
One young woman specially11 attracted his attention, for she stood apart from every one, and seemed scarcely able to stand because of weakness. She was young and good-looking. Her face, which was deadly pale, contrasted strongly with her glossy12 raven-black hair, and the character of her dress denoted extreme poverty.
The ladies from the Institute had also observed this poor girl, and one of them, going to her side, quietly addressed her. Miles, from the position in which he stood, could not avoid overhearing what was said.
“Yes, Miss, I expect my husband,” said the woman in answer to a question. “He’s coming home on sick-leave. I had a letter from him a good while ago saying he was coming home in the Orontes.”
“I hope you will find that the sea air has done him good,” said the lady, in that tone of unobtrusive sympathy which is so powerfully attractive,—especially to those who are in trouble. “A sea voyage frequently has a wonderful effect in restoring invalids14. What is his name?”
“Martin—Fred Martin. He’s a corporal now.”
“You have not recognised him yet, I suppose?”
“Not yet, Miss,” answered Mrs Martin, with an anxious look, and shivering slightly as she drew a thin worn shawl of many patches closer round her shoulders. “But he wouldn’t expect me to meet him, you see, knowing that I’m so poor, and live far from Portsmouth. But I was so anxious, you see, Miss, that our kind Vicar gave me enough money to come down.”
“Where did you spend the night?” asked the lady, quickly.
The poor woman hesitated, and at last said she had spent the night walking about the streets.
“You see, Miss,” she explained apologetically, “I didn’t know a soul in the town, and I couldn’t a-bear to go into any o’ the public-houses; besides, I had no money, for the journey down took nearly all of it.”
“Oh, I am so sorry that you didn’t know of our Institute,” said the lady, with much sympathy in voice and look; “for we provide accommodation for soldiers’ wives who come, like you, to meet their husbands returning from abroad, and we charge little, or even nothing, if they are too poor to pay.”
“Indeed, Miss! I wish I had known of it. But in the morning I had the luck to meet a policeman who directed me to a coffee-tavern in a place called Nobbs Lane—you’ll not know it, Miss, for it’s in a very poor part o’ the town—where I got a breakfast of as much hot pea-soup and bread as I could eat for three-ha’pence, an’ had a good rest beside the fire too. They told me it was kept by a Miss Robinson. God bless her whoever she is! for I do believe I should have been dead by now if I hadn’t got the rest and the breakfast.”
The woman shivered again as she spoke, and drew the thin shawl still closer, for a sharp east wind was blowing over the jetty at the time.
“Come with me; you are cold. I know Nobbs Lane well. We have a shed and fire here on the jetty to shelter people while waiting. There, you need not fear to miss your husband, for the men won’t land for a long time yet.”
“May I follow you, madam?” said Miles, stepping forward and touching16 his cap in what he supposed to be the deferential17 manner of a private soldier. “I am interested in your work, and would like to see the shed you speak of.”
The lady looked up quickly at the tall young soldier who thus addressed her.
“I saw you in the lobby of the Institute this morning, did I not?”
“You did, madam. I was waiting for a friend who is a frequenter of the Institute. One of your own people brought me down here to see the arrival of the Orontes, and the coffee-shed; but I have lost him in the crowd, and know not where the shed is.”
“Here it is,” returned the lady, pointing to an iron structure just behind them. “You will find Mr Brown there busy with the coffee, and that small shed beside it is the shelter-room. You are welcome to inspect all our buildings at any time.”
So saying, the lady led Mrs Martin into the shed last referred to, and Miles followed her.
There was a small stove, in the solitary18 iron room of which the shed consisted, which diffused20 a genial21 warmth around. Several soldiers’ wives and female relatives were seated beside it, engaged in quieting refractory22 infants, or fitting a few woollen garments on children of various ages. These garments had been brought from the Institute, chiefly for the purpose of supplying the wives and children returning from warmer climes to England; and one of them, a thick knitted shawl, was immediately presented to Mrs Martin as a gift, and placed round her shoulders by the lady’s own hands.
“You are very kind, Miss,” she said, an unbidden tear rolling down her cheek as she surveyed the garment and folded it over her breast.
“Have you any children?” asked the lady.
“None. We had one—a dear baby boy,” answered the young wife sadly, “born after his father left England. God took him home when he was two years old. His father never saw him; but we shall all meet again,” she added, brightly, “in the better land.”
“Ah! it makes me glad to hear you say that God took him home. Only the spirit of Jesus could make you regard heaven as the home where you are all to meet again. Now I would advise you to sit here and keep warm till I go and make inquiry23 about your husband. It is quite possible, you know, that he may be in the sick bay, and they won’t let any one on board till the vessel is made fast. You are quite sure, I suppose, that it was the Orontes in which your husband said he was coming?”
“Yes, quite sure.”
The lady had asked the question because a vague fear possessed24 her regarding the cause of the soldier’s not having been seen looking eagerly over the side like the other men.
Hurrying from the shed, with her basket on her arm, she made for the gangway, which had just been placed in position. She was accompanied by her companion, also carrying her basket. Miles took the liberty of following them closely, but not obviously, for he formed only one of a stream of men and women who pushed on board the instant that permission was given.
While one of the ladies went in search of one of the chief officers, the other quietly and unobtrusively advanced among the returning warriors25, and, opening her basket, drew therefrom and offered to each soldier an envelope containing one or two booklets and texts, and a hearty26 invitation to make free use of the Soldiers’ Institute during their stay in Portsmouth.
A most bewildering scene was presented on the deck of that great white vessel. There were hundreds of soldiers in her, returning home after longer or shorter absences in China, India, the Cape27, and other far-away parts of the earth. Some were stalwart and bronzed by the southern sun; others were gaunt, weak, and cadaverous, from the effect of sickness, exposure, or wounds; but all were more or less excited at having once again set eyes on Old England, and at the near prospect28 of once more embracing wives, mothers, and sweethearts, and meeting with old friends. The continual noise of manly29 voices hailing, exclaiming, chaffing, or conversing30, and the general babel of sounds is indescribable. To Miles Milton, who had never before even imagined anything of the sort, it seemed more like a vivid dream than a reality. He became so bewildered with trying to attend to everything at once that he lost sight of the shorter of the ladies, whom he was following, but, pushing ahead, soon found her again in the midst of a group of old friends—though still young soldiers—who had known the Institute before leaving for foreign service, and were eagerly inquiring after the health of Miss Robinson, and Tufnell the manager, and others.
During his progress through this bustling31 scene, Miles observed that the soldiers invariably received the gifts from the lady with respect, and, many of them, with hearty expressions of thanks, while a few stopped her to speak about the contents of the envelopes. So numerous were the men that the work had to be done with business-like celerity, but the visitor was experienced. While wasting no time in useless delay, she never hurried her movements, or refused to stop and speak, or forced her way through the moving throng32. Almost unobserved, save by the men who chanced to be next to her, she glided33 in and out amongst them like a spirit of light—which, in the highest sense, she was—intent on her beneficent mission. Her sole aim was to save the men from the tremendous dangers that awaited them on landing in Portsmouth, and bring them under Christian34 influence.
Those dangers may be imagined when it is told that soldiers returning from abroad are often in possession of large sums of money, and that harpies of all kinds are eagerly waiting to plunder35 them on their arrival. On one occasion a regiment36 came home, and in a few days squandered37 three thousand pounds in Portsmouth. Much more might be said on this point, but enough has been indicated to move thoughtful minds—and our story waits.
Suddenly the attention of Miles, and every one near him, was attracted by the loud Hibernian yell of a female voice exclaiming—
“Oh, Terence, me darlin’ son, here ye are; an’ is it yersilf lookin’ purtier a long way than the day ye left me; an’ niver so much as a scratch on yer face for all the wars ye’ve bin15 in—bad luck to thim!”
Need we say that this was Mrs Flynn? In her anxiety to meet her son she had run against innumerable men and women, who remonstrated38 with her variously, according to temperament39, without, however, the slightest effect. Her wild career was not checked until she had flung herself into the arms of a tall, stalwart trooper with drooping40 moustache, who would have done credit to any nationality under the sun, and whose enthusiasm at the happy meeting with his mother was almost as demonstrative as her own, but more dignified41.
Others there were, however, whose case was very different. One who came there to meet the strong healthy man to whom she had said good-bye at the same spot several years before, received him back a worn and wasted invalid13, upright still with the martial42 air of discipline, but feeble, and with something like the stamp of death upon his brow. Another woman found her son, strong indeed and healthy, as of yore, but with an empty sleeve where his right arm should have been—his days of warfare43 over before his earthly sun had reached the zenith!
Whilst Miles was taking note of these things, and moralising in spite of his distaste just then to that phase of mental occupation, the other lady of the Institute appeared and spoke hurriedly to her companion.
“Go,” she said, “tell Mrs Martin that her husband is not on board the Orontes. Let Tufnell, if he is at the shed, or our missionary44, take her up to the Institute without delay. Let them take this note to Miss Robinson at the same time.”
The younger lady looked inquiringly at her companion, but the latter pushed on hurriedly and was soon lost in the crowd, so she went at once on shore to obey her instructions.
Being thus left to look after himself, Miles went about gazing at the varied45, interesting, and curious scenes that the vessel presented. No one took any notice of him, for he was only one soldier among hundreds, and so many people from the shore had been admitted by that time that strange faces attracted no attention.
We have referred chiefly to soldiers’ friends, but these, after all, formed a small minority of the visitors, many of whom were tradesmen of the town—tailors, shoemakers, and vendors46 of fancy articles—who had come down with their wares47 to tempt48 the returning voyagers to part with their superfluous49 cash. Even in the midst of all the pushing and confusion, one man was seen trying on a pair of boots; near to him was a sailor, carefully inspecting a tailor’s book of patterns with a view to shore-going clothes; while another, more prompt in action, was already being measured for a suit of the same.
Descending50 to the ’tween-decks, our hero found that the confusion and noise there were naturally greater, the space being more limited and the noise confined. There was the addition of bad air and disagreeable smells here; and Miles could not help reflecting on the prospect before him of long voyages under cramped51 circumstances, in the midst of similar surroundings. But, being young and enthusiastic, he whispered to himself that he was not particular, and was ready to “rough it” in his country’s cause!
In a remarkably52 dark region to which he penetrated53, he found himself in the women’s quarters, the disagreeables of which were increased by the cries of discontented children, and the yells of inconsolable infants—some of whom had first seen the light of this world in the sad twilight54 of ’tween-decks! Shrinking from that locality, Miles pursued his investigations55, and gradually became aware that sundry56 parrots and other pets which the soldiers and sailors had brought home were adding their notes of discord57 to the chorus of sounds.
While he was looking at, and attempting to pat, a small monkey, which received his advances with looks of astonished indignation, he became conscious of the fact that a number of eyes were looking down on him through a crevice58 at the top of a partition close to his side.
“Who are these?” he asked of a sailor, who stood near him.
“Why, them are the long-term men.”
“I suppose you mean prisoners?”
“Yes; that’s about it,” replied the tar19. “Soldiers as has committed murder—or suthin’ o’ that sort—an’ got twenty year or more for all I knows. The other fellers further on there, in chains, is short-term men. Bin an’ done suthin’ or other not quite so bad, I suppose.”
Miles advanced “further on,” and found eight men seated on the deck and leaning against the bulkhead. If his attention had not been drawn59 to them, he might have supposed they were merely resting, but a closer glance showed that they were all chained to an iron bar. They did not seem very different from the other men around them, save that they were, most of them, stern and silent.
A powerful feeling of compassion60 rose in our hero’s breast as he looked at these moral wrecks61 of humanity; for their characters and prospects62 were ruined, though their physique was not much impaired63. It seemed to him such an awful home-coming, after, perhaps, long years of absence, thus, in the midst of all the bustle64 and joy of meetings and of pleasant anticipations65, to be waiting there for the arrival of the prison-van, and looking forward to years of imprisonment66 instead of reunion with friends and kindred.
At sight of them a thought sprang irresistibly67 into our hero’s mind, “This is the result of wrong-doing!”
His conscience was uncomfortably active and faithful that morning. Somehow it pointed68 out to him that wrong-doing was a long ladder; that the chained criminals before him had reached the foot; and that he stood on the topmost rung. That was all the difference between them and himself—a difference of degree, not of principle.
Pushing his way a little closer to these men, he found that his was not the only heart that pitied them. His friend, the younger lady, was there speaking to them. He could not hear what she said, for the noise drowned her voice; but her earnest, eager look and her gesticulations told well enough that she was pointing them to the Saviour69 of sinners—with what effect, of course, he could not tell, but it was evident that the prisoners at least gave her their attention.
Leaving her thus engaged, Miles continued for a considerable time his progress through the ship. Afterwards he observed, by a movement among the men, that a detachment was about to land. Indeed he found that some of the soldiers had already landed, and were making their way to the coffee-shed.
Following these quickly to the same place, he found that innumerable cups of hot coffee and solid slices of bread and butter were being served out as fast as they could be filled and cut. A large hole or window opened in the side of the shed, the shutter70 of which was hinged at the bottom, and when let down formed a convenient counter.
Behind this counter stood the two ubiquitous ladies of the Institute acting71 the part of barmaids, as if to the manner born, and with the same business-like, active, yet modest, ready-for-anything air which marked all their proceedings72.
And truly their post was no sinecure73. To supply the demands of hundreds of hungry and thirsty warriors was not child’s-play. Inside the shed, Miles found his friend Brown busy with a mighty74 caldron of hot water, numerous packets of coffee, and immense quantities of sugar and preserved milk. Brown was the fountain-head. The ladies were the distributing pipes—if we may say so; and although the fountain produced can after can of the coveted75 liquid with amazing rapidity, and with a prodigality76 of material that would have made the hair of a private housewife stand on end, it was barely possible to keep pace with the demand.
At a large table one of the missionaries77 of the Institute cut up and buttered loaves at a rate which gave the impression that he was a conjurer engaged in a species of sleight-of-hand. The butter, however, troubled him, for, the weather being cold, it was hard, and would not spread easily. To overcome this he put a pound or so of it on a plate beside the boiler78-fire to soften79. Unfortunately, he temporarily forgot it, and on afterwards going for it, found that it had been reduced to a yellow liquid. However, hungry soldiers, rejoicing in the fact of having at last reached home, are not particular. Some of them, unaccustomed, no doubt, to be served by ladies, asked for their supply deferentially80, accepted it politely, and drank it with additional appreciation81.
“We want more, Brown,” said one of the ladies, glancing back over her shoulder as she poured out the last drop from her large jug82; “and more buns and bread, please.”
“Here you are, Miss,” cried Brown, who was warm by that time in spite of the weather, as he bore his brimming and steaming pitcher83 to the window—or hole in the wall—and replenished84 the jugs85. “The buns are all done, an’ the bread won’t hold out long, but I’ve sent for more; it won’t be long. I see we shall need several more brews,” he added, as he turned again towards the inexhaustible boiler.
“Shall I assist you?” said Miles, stepping into the shed and seizing a loaf and a knife.
“Thank you. Go ahead,” said Brown.
“Put another lump of butter near the fire,” said the missionary to our hero; “not too close. I melted the last lump altogether.”
There was no mistaking the speaker. Some of the men who crowded round the counter laughed, others partially86 choked, when the strapping87 Terence said in a hoarse88 whisper, “Whist, mother, be civil; don’t ye see that it’s ladies, no less, is sarvin’ of us?”
“Please, ma’am, can I ’ave some coffee?” asked a modest soldier’s wife, who looked pale and weary after the long voyage, with three children to look after.
A cup was promptly89 supplied, and three of the newly-arrived buns stopped the mouths of her clamorous90 offspring.
“Can ye give me a cup o’ tea?” demanded another soldier’s wife, who was neither so polite nor so young as the previous applicant91.
It is probable that the ladies did not observe the nature of her demand, else they would doubtless have explained that they had no tea, but a cup of coffee was silently handed to her.
“Ah! this is real home-tea, this is,” she said, smacking92 her lips after the first sip93. “A mighty difference ’tween this an’ what we’ve bin used to in the ship.”
“Yes, indeed,” assented94 her companion. Whether it was tea she had been accustomed to drink on board the troop-ship we cannot tell, but probably she was correct as to the “mighty difference.” It may be that the beverages95 supplied in foreign lands had somewhat damaged the power of discrimination as to matters of taste in these soldiers’ wives. At all events an incident which occurred about the same time justifies96 this belief.
“Mr Miles,” said the missionary, pausing a moment to wipe his brow in the midst of his labours, “will you fetch the butter now?”
Miles turned to obey with alacrity97—with too much alacrity, indeed, for in his haste he knocked the plate over, and sent the lump of butter into the last prepared “brew” of coffee!
“Hallo! I say!” exclaimed Brown, in consternation98. “More coffee, Brown,” demanded the ladies simultaneously99, at that inauspicious moment.
“Yes, Miss, I—I’m coming—directly,” cried Brown.
“Do be quick, please!”
“What’s to be done?” said Brown, making futile100 endeavours to fish out the slippery mass with the stirring-stick.
“Shove it down and stir it well about,” suggested Miles.
Whether conscience was inoperative at that moment we know not, but Brown acted on the suggestion, and briskly amalgamated101 the butter with the coffee, while the crowd at the port-hole politely but continuously demanded more.
“Don’t be in a ’urry, Tom,” cried a corporal, removing his pith helmet in order to run his fingers through his hair; “it’s a ’eavenly state o’ things now to what it was a few years ago, w’en we an’ our poor wives ’ad to sit ’ere for hours in the heat or cold, wet or dry, without shelter, or a morsel102 to eat, or a drop to drink, till we got away up town to the grog-shops.”
“Well, this is civilisation103 at last!” remarked a handsome and hearty young fellow, who had apparently104 been ignorant of the treat in store for him, and who sauntered up to the shed just as the butter-brew was beginning to be served out.
“Why, I declare, it’s chocolate!” exclaimed one of the women, who had been already served with a cup, and had resolved to “go in,” as she said, for another pennyworth.
“So it is. My! ain’t it nice?” said her companion, smacking her lips.
Whether the soldiers fell into the same mistake, or were too polite to take notice of it, we cannot tell, for they drank it without comment, and with evident satisfaction, like men of simple tastes and uncritical minds.
We turn now to a very different scene.
In one of the private sitting-rooms of the Institute sat poor young Mrs Martin, the very embodiment of blank despair. The terrible truth that her husband had died, and been buried at sea, had been gently and tenderly broken to her by Miss Robinson.
At first the poor girl could not—would not—believe it. Then, as the truth gradually forced itself into her brain, she subsided105 into a tearless, expressionless, state of quiescence106 that seemed to indicate a mind unhinged. In this state she remained for some time, apparently unconscious of the kind words of Christian love that were addressed to her.
At last she seemed to rouse herself and gazed wildly round the room.
“Let me go,” she said. “I will find him somewhere. Don’t hinder me, please.”
“But you cannot go anywhere till you have had food and rest, dear child,” said her sympathetic comforter, laying her hand gently on the girl’s arm. “Come with me.”
She sought to lead her away, but the girl shook her off.
“No,” she exclaimed, starting up hastily, so that the mass of her dark hair fell loose upon her shoulders, contrasting forcibly with the dead whiteness of her face and lips. “No. I cannot go with you. Fred will be getting impatient. D’you think I’ll ever believe it? Dead and buried in the sea? Never!”
Even while she spoke, the gasp107 in her voice, and the pressure of both hands on her poor heart, told very plainly that the young widow did indeed believe it.
“Oh! may God Himself comfort you, dear child,” said the lady, taking her softly by the hand. “Come—come with me.”
Mrs Martin no longer refused. Her spirit, which had flashed up for a moment, seemed to collapse108, and without another word of remonstrance109 she meekly110 suffered herself to be guided to a private room, where she was put to bed.
She never rose from that bed. Friendless, and without means, she would probably have perished in the streets, or in one of the dens111 of Portsmouth, had she not been led to this refuge. As it was, they nursed her there, and did all that human skill and Christian love could devise; but her heart was broken. Towards the end she told them, in a faint voice, that her Fred had been stationed at Alexandria, and that while there he had been led to put his trust in the Saviour. She knew nothing of the details. All these, and much more, she had expected to hear from his own lips.
“But he will tell me all about it soon, thank God!” were the last words she uttered as she turned her eyes gratefully on the loving strangers who had found and cared for her in the dark day of her calamity112.
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embarkation
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| n. 乘船, 搭机, 开船 | |
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bulwarks
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| n.堡垒( bulwark的名词复数 )；保障；支柱；舷墙 | |
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exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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funnel
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| n.漏斗；烟囱；v.汇集 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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orator
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| n.演说者，演讲者，雄辩家 | |
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vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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wan
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| (wide area network)广域网 | |
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ponderous
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| adj.沉重的，笨重的，(文章)冗长的 | |
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specially
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glossy
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invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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invalids
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| 病人，残疾者( invalid的名词复数 ) | |
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bin
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| n.箱柜；vt.放入箱内；[计算机] DOS文件名:二进制目标文件 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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deferential
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| adj. 敬意的，恭敬的 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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tar
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| n.柏油，焦油；vt.涂或浇柏油/焦油于 | |
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diffused
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| 散布的，普及的，扩散的 | |
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genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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refractory
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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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possessed
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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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hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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cape
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28
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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29
manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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30
conversing
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| v.交谈，谈话( converse的现在分词 ) | |
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31
bustling
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| adj.喧闹的 | |
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32
throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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33
glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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34
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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35
plunder
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| vt.劫掠财物，掠夺；n.劫掠物，赃物；劫掠 | |
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36
regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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squandered
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| v.（指钱，财产等）浪费，乱花( squander的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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38
remonstrated
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| v.抗议( remonstrate的过去式和过去分词 )；告诫 | |
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39
temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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40
drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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41
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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42
martial
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| adj.战争的，军事的，尚武的，威武的 | |
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43
warfare
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| n.战争(状态)；斗争；冲突 | |
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44
missionary
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| adj.教会的，传教(士)的；n.传教士 | |
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45
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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46
vendors
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| n.摊贩( vendor的名词复数 )；小贩；（房屋等的）卖主；卖方 | |
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47
wares
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| n. 货物, 商品 | |
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48
tempt
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| vt.引诱，勾引，吸引，引起…的兴趣 | |
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49
superfluous
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| adj.过多的，过剩的，多余的 | |
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50
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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51
cramped
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| a.狭窄的 | |
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52
remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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53
penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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investigations
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| （正式的）调查( investigation的名词复数 )； 侦查； 科学研究； 学术研究 | |
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56
sundry
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| adj.各式各样的，种种的 | |
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57
discord
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| n.不和，意见不合，争论，（音乐）不和谐 | |
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58
crevice
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| n.(岩石、墙等)裂缝；缺口 | |
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59
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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61
wrecks
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| n.沉船( wreck的名词复数 )；（事故中）遭严重毁坏的汽车（或飞机等）；（身体或精神上）受到严重损伤的人；状况非常糟糕的车辆（或建筑物等）v.毁坏[毁灭]某物( wreck的第三人称单数 )；使（船舶）失事，使遇难，使下沉 | |
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prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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impaired
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| adj.受损的；出毛病的；有（身体或智力）缺陷的v.损害，削弱( impair的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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bustle
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| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
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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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66
imprisonment
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| n.关押，监禁，坐牢 | |
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irresistibly
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| adv.无法抵抗地，不能自持地；极为诱惑人地 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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saviour
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| n.拯救者，救星 | |
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shutter
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| n.百叶窗；(照相机)快门；关闭装置 | |
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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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73
sinecure
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| n.闲差事，挂名职务 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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75
coveted
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| adj.令人垂涎的；垂涎的，梦寐以求的v.贪求，觊觎(covet的过去分词)；垂涎；贪图 | |
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prodigality
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| n.浪费，挥霍 | |
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77
missionaries
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| n.传教士( missionary的名词复数 ) | |
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78
boiler
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| n.锅炉；煮器(壶，锅等) | |
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79
soften
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| v.(使)变柔软；(使)变柔和 | |
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80
deferentially
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| adv.表示敬意地，谦恭地 | |
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81
appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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82
jug
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| n.(有柄，小口，可盛水等的)大壶，罐，盂 | |
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83
pitcher
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| n.(有嘴和柄的)大水罐；(棒球)投手 | |
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84
replenished
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| 补充( replenish的过去式和过去分词 )； 重新装满 | |
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85
jugs
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| （有柄及小口的）水壶( jug的名词复数 ) | |
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86
partially
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| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
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87
strapping
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| adj. 魁伟的, 身材高大健壮的 n. 皮绳或皮带的材料, 裹伤胶带, 皮鞭 动词strap的现在分词形式 | |
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88
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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89
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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90
clamorous
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| adj.吵闹的，喧哗的 | |
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91
applicant
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| n.申请人，求职者，请求者 | |
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92
smacking
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| 活泼的，发出响声的，精力充沛的 | |
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93
sip
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| v.小口地喝，抿，呷；n.一小口的量 | |
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94
assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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95
beverages
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| n.饮料( beverage的名词复数 ) | |
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96
justifies
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| 证明…有理( justify的第三人称单数 )； 为…辩护； 对…作出解释； 为…辩解（或辩护） | |
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97
alacrity
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| n.敏捷，轻快，乐意 | |
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98
consternation
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| n.大为吃惊，惊骇 | |
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99
simultaneously
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| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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100
futile
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| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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101
amalgamated
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| v.（使）（金属）汞齐化( amalgamate的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）合并；联合；结合 | |
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102
morsel
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| n.一口，一点点 | |
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103
civilisation
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| n.文明，文化，开化，教化 | |
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104
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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105
subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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106
quiescence
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| n.静止 | |
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107
gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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108
collapse
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| vi.累倒；昏倒；倒塌；塌陷 | |
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109
remonstrance
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| n抗议，抱怨 | |
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110
meekly
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| adv.温顺地，逆来顺受地 | |
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111
dens
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| n.牙齿，齿状部分；兽窝( den的名词复数 )；窝点；休息室；书斋 | |
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112
calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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