One of those great calamities1 which visit us once or twice, it may be, in a century, descended2 upon London on Saturday, the 22nd of June, 1861. It was the sudden, and for the time, overwhelming, attack of an old and unconquerable enemy, who found us, as usual, inadequately3 prepared to meet him.
Fire has fought with us and fed upon us since we became a nation, and yet, despite all our efforts, its flames are at this day more furious than ever. There are more fires daily in London now than there ever were before. Has this foe4 been properly met? is a question which naturally arises out of this fact. Referring to the beautiful organisation5 of the present Fire Brigade, the ability of its chiefs and the courage of its men, the answer is, Yes, decidedly. But referring to the strength of the brigade; to the munitions6 of war in the form of water; to the means of conveyance7 in the form of mains; to the system of check in the shape of an effective Act in reference to partition-walls and moderately-sized warehouses9; to the means of prevention in the shape of prohibitions10 and regulations in regard to inflammable substances—referring to all these things, the answer to the question, “Has the foe been properly met?” is emphatically, No.
It is not sufficient to reply that a special inquiry11 has been made into this subject; that steps are being actually taken to remedy the evils of our system (or rather of our want of system) of fire prevention. Good may or may not result from this inquiry: that is yet to be seen. Meanwhile, the public ought to be awakened12 more thoroughly13 to the fact that an enemy is and always has been abroad in our land, who might be, if we chose, more effectively checked; who, if he has not yet attacked our own particular dwelling14, may take us by surprise any day when we least expect him, and who does at all times very materially diminish our national wealth and increase our public burdens. Perhaps we should not style fire an enemy, but a mutinous15 servant, who does his work faithfully and well, except when neglected or abused!
About five o’clock on Saturday afternoon intelligence of the outbreak of fire in Tooley Street reached the headquarters of the brigade in Watling Street.
Fire in Tooley Street! The mere16 summons lent energy to the nerves and spring to the muscles of the firemen. Not that Tooley Street in itself is more peculiarly dangerous in regard to fire than are the other streets of shops in the City. But Tooley Street lies in dangerous neighbourhood. The streets between it and the Thames, and those lying immediately to the west of it, contain huge warehouses and bonded17 stores, which are filled to suffocation18 with the “wealth of nations.” Dirty streets and narrow lanes here lead to the fountain-head of wealth untold—almost inconceivable. The elegant filigree-work of West End luxury may here be seen unsmelted, as it were, and in the ore. At the same time the rich substances on which fire feeds and fattens19 are stored here in warehouses which (as they are) should never have been built, and in proximities which should never have been permitted. Examine the wharves20—Brooks’ Wharf21, Beal’s Wharf, Cotton’s Wharf, Chamberlain’s Wharf, Freeman’s Wharf, Griffin’s Wharf, Stanton’s Wharf, and others. Investigate the lanes—Hay’s Lane, Mill Lane, Morgan’s Lane; and the streets—Bermondsey, Dockhead, Pickle22 Herring Street, Horsleydown, and others—and there, besides the great deposit and commission warehouses which cover acres of ground, and are filled from basement to ridge-pole with the commodities and combustibles of every clime, you will find huge granaries and stores of lead, alum, drugs, tallow, chicory, flour, rice, biscuit, sulphur, and saltpetre, mingled23 with the warehouses of cheese-agents, ham-factors, provision merchants, tarpaulin-dealers, oil and colour merchants, etcetera. In fact, the entire region seems laid out with a view to the raising of a bonfire or a pyrotechnic display on the grandest conceivable scale.
Little wonder, then, that the firemen of Watling Street turned out all their engines, including two of Shand and Mason’s new land-steam fire-engines, which had at that time just been brought into action. Little wonder that the usual request for a man from each station was changed into an urgent demand for every man that could possibly be spared.
The fire began in the extensive wharves and warehouses known as Cotton’s Wharf, near London Bridge, and was first observed in a warehouse8 over a counting-room by some workmen, who at once gave the alarm, and attempted to extinguish it with some buckets of water. They were quickly driven back, however, by the suffocating25 smoke, which soon filled the various floors so densely26 that no one could approach the seat of the fire.
Mr Braidwood, who was early on the spot, saw at a glance that a pitched battle was about to be fought, and, like a wise general, concentrated all the force at his command. Expresses were sent for the more distant brigade engines, and these came dashing up, one after another, at full speed. The two powerful steam floating-engines which guard the Thames from fire were moored28 off the wharf, two lengths of hose attached to them, and led on shore and brought to bear on the fire. A number of land-engines took up a position in Tooley Street, ready for action, but these were compelled to remain idle for nearly an hour before water was obtainable from the fire-plugs. O London! with all your wealth and wisdom, how strange that such words can be truly written of you!
The vessels29 which were lying at the wharf discharging and loading were hauled out of danger into the stream.
In course of time the engines were in full play, but the warehouse burst into flames from basement to roof in spite of them, and ere long eight of the great storehouses were burning furiously. The flames made rapid work of it, progressing towards the line of warehouses facing the river, and to the lofty building which adjoined on the Tooley Street side.
Dale and his men were quickly on the scene of action, and had their engine soon at work. Before long, Frank Willders joined them. They were playing in at the windows of a large store, which was burning so furiously that the interior appeared to be red-hot.
“Relieve Corney, lad,” said Dale, as Frank came forward.
“Och, it’s time!” cried Corney, delivering up the branch to Frank and Moxey; “sure Baxmore and me are melted intirely.”
Frank made no reply. He and Moxey directed the branch which the others resigned, turning their backs as much as possible on the glowing fire, and glancing at it over their shoulders; for it was too hot to be faced.
Just then the Chief of the brigade came up.
“It’s of no use, sir,” said Dale; “we can’t save these.”
“True, Dale, true,” said Mr Braidwood, in a quick, but quiet tone; “this block is doomed30. Take your lads round to the nor’-east corner; we must try to prevent it spreading.”
As he surveyed the progress of the fire, with a cool, practical eye, and hurried off to another part of the battle-field to post his men to best advantage, little did the leader of the forces think that he was to be the first to fall that day!
Engines were now playing on the buildings in all directions; but the flames were so fierce that they made no visible impression on them, and even in the efforts made to check their spreading, little success appeared to attend them at first. Warehouse after warehouse ignited.
To make matters worse, a fresh breeze sprang up, and fanned the flames into redoubled fury; so that they quickly caught hold of vast portions of the premises31 occupied by the firm of Scovell and Company.
“There’s not a chance,” said Frank to Dale, while he wiped the perspiration32 from his forehead, and sat down for a few seconds to recover breath; for he had just issued from a burning building, driven back by heat and smoke—
“There’s not a chance of saving that block; all the iron doors that were meant to keep the fire from spreading have been left open by the workmen!”
“Chance or no chance, we must do our best,” said Dale. “Come, lad, with me; I think we may get at a door inside the next warehouse, through which we might bring the branch to bear. Are you able?”
“All right,” exclaimed Frank, leaping up, and following his leader through the smoke.
“Have a care!” cried Frank, pausing as a tremendous explosion caused the ground to tremble under their feet.
“It’s sulphur or saltpetre,” said Dale, pushing on; “there are tons upon tons of that stuff in the cellars all round.”
This was indeed the case. It was said that upwards33 of 2,000 tons of saltpetre were in the vaults34 at the time; and several explosions had already taken place, though fortunately, without doing injury to any one.
Dale had already partially35 examined the warehouse, into which he now led Frank; and, therefore, although it was full of smoke, he moved rapidly along the narrow and intricate passages between the bales of goods, until he reached an iron door.
“Here it is; we’ll open this and have a look,” he said, grasping the handle and swinging the heavy door open.
Instantly, a volume of black smoke drove both the men back, almost suffocating them. They could not speak; but each knew that the re-closing of that iron door was all-important, for the fire had got nearer to it than Dale had imagined.
They both darted36 forward; but were again driven back, and had to rush to the open air for breath. Frank recovered before his comrade, in consequence of the latter having made a more strenuous37 and prolonged effort to close the door which he had so unfortunately opened.
Without a moment’s hesitation38, he sprang into the warehouse again; regained39 and partially closed the door, when the stifling40 smoke choked him, and he fell to the ground. A few seconds later, Dale followed him, and found him there. Applying his great strength with almost superhuman energy to the door, it shut with a crash, and the communication between the buildings was cut off! Dale then seized Frank by the collar, and dragged him into the open air, when he himself almost sank to the ground. Fresh air, however, soon restored them both, and in a few minutes they were actively41 engaged at another part of the building.
Bravely and perseveringly42 though this was done, it availed not, for nothing could withstand the fury of the fire. The warehouse caught, and was soon a glowing mass like the others, while the flames raged with such violence that their roaring drowned the shouting of men, and the more distant roar of the innumerable multitude that densely covered London Bridge, and clustered on every eminence43 from which a safe view of the great fire could be obtained.
The floating fire-engines had now been at work for some time, and the men in charge of their branches were suffering greatly from the intense heat. About this time, nearly seven o’clock in the evening, Mr Braidwood went to these men to give them a word of encouragement. He proceeded down one of the approaches to the river from Tooley Street, and stopped when nearly half way to give some directions, when a sudden and tremendous explosion, took place, shaking the already tottering44 walls, which at this place were of great height. A cry was raised, “Run! the wall is falling!” Every one sprang away at the word. The wall bulged45 out at the same time; and one of the firemen, seeing that Mr Braidwood was in imminent46 danger, made a grasp at him as he was springing from the spot; but the heavy masses of brick-work dashed him away, and, in another moment, the gallant47 chief of the Fire Brigade lay buried under at least fifteen feet of burning ruin.
Any attempt at rescue would have been impossible as well as unavailing, for death must have been instantaneous. The hero’s warfare48 with the flames, which had lasted for upwards of thirty-eight years, was ended; and his brave spirit returned to God Who gave it.
That a man of no ordinary note had fallen was proved, before many hours had passed, by the deep and earnest feeling of sorrow and sympathy which was manifested by all classes in London, from Queen Victoria downwards49, as well as by the public funeral which took place a few days afterwards, at which were present the Duke of Sutherland, the Earl of Caithness, the Reverend Doctor Cumming, and many gentlemen connected with the insurance offices; the committee and men of the London Fire Brigade; also those of various private and local brigades; the secretary and conductors of the Royal Society for the Protection of Life from Fire; the mounted Metropolitan50 and City police; the London Rifle Brigade (of which Mr Braidwood’s three sons were members); the superintendents51 and men of the various water companies; and a long string of private and mourning carriages: to witness the progress of which hundreds of thousands of people densely crowded the streets and clustered in the windows and on every available eminence along the route; while in Cheapside almost all the shops were shut and business was suspended; and in the neighbourhood of Shoreditch toiling54 thousands of artisans came forth55 from factory and workshop to “see the last of Braidwood,” whose name had been so long familiar to them as a “household word.” The whole heart of London seemed to have been moved by one feeling, and the thousands who thronged56 the streets “had” (in the language of one of the papers of the day) “gathered together to witness the funeral, not of a dead monarch57, not of a great warrior58, not of a distinguished59 statesman, not even of a man famous in art, in literature, or in science, but simply of James Braidwood, late superintendent52 of the London Fire-Engine Establishment”—a true hero, and one who was said, by those who knew him best, to be an earnest Christian60 man.
But at the moment of his fall his men were engaged in the thick of battle. Crushing though the news of his death was, there was no breathing time to realise it.
The fierce heat had not only driven back the firemen on shore, but had compelled the floating fire-engines to haul off, in consequence of the flaming matter which poured over the wharf wall and covered the surface of the river the entire length of the burning warehouses; while the whole of the carriageway of Tooley Street was ankle deep in hot oil and tallow. After the fall of their Chief, Messrs Henderson and Fogo, two of the principal officers of the brigade, did their utmost to direct the energies of the men.
Night closed in, and the flames continued to rage in all their fury and magnificence. News of this great fire spread with the utmost rapidity over the metropolis61. Indeed, it was visible at Hampstead while it was yet daylight. When darkness set in, one of the most extraordinary scenes that London ever produced was witnessed. From all quarters the people came pouring in, on foot, in omnibus, cab, pleasure-van, cart, and waggon—all converging62 to London Bridge. At nine o’clock the bridge and its approaches presented all the appearance of the Epsom Road on the Derby Day. Cabs and ’buses plied63 backwards64 and forwards on the bridge all night, carrying an unlimited65 number of passengers at 2 pence and 3 pence each, and thousands of persons spent the night in thus passing to and fro. The railway terminus, Billingsgate Market, the roof of the Coal Exchange, the Monument, the quays66, the windows, the house-tops, the steeples, and the chimney-stalks—all were crowded with human beings, whose eager upturned faces were rendered intensely bright against the surrounding darkness by the fierce glare of the fire. But the Thames presented the most singular appearance of all—now reflecting on its bosom67 the inky black clouds of smoke; anon the red flames, as fresh fuel was licked up by the devouring68 element, and, occasionally, sheets of silver light that flashed through the chaos69 when sulphur and saltpetre explosions occurred. Mountains of flame frequently burst away from the mass of burning buildings and floated upward for a few moments, and the tallow and tar24 which flowed out of the warehouses floated away blazing with the tide and set the shipping70 on fire, so that land and water alike seemed to be involved in one huge terrific conflagration71.
The utmost consternation72 prevailed on board the numerous craft on the river in the vicinity of the fire, for thick showers of sparks and burning materials fell incessantly73. Gusts75 of wind acted on the ruins now and then, and at such moments the gaunt walls, cracked and riven out of shape, stood up, glowing with intense white heat in the midst of a sea of fire from which red flames and dark clouds of smoke were vomited76, as from the crater77 of some mighty78 volcano, with a roar that mingled with the shouts of excited thousands, and drowned even the dull incessant74 thumpings of the engines that worked in all directions.
Moored alongside of Chamberlain’s Wharf was a small sloop79. Little blue blisters80 of light broke out on her rigging; soon these increased in size, and in a few minutes she was on fire from stem to stern. Immediately after, there came a barge81 with flowing sails, borne on the rising tide. She passed too near to the conflagration. Her crew of three men became panic-stricken and lost control of her. At sight of this a great shout was raised, and a boat put off and rescued the crew; but almost before they were landed their barge was alight from stem to stern. The tremendous cheer that burst from the excited multitude at sight of this rescue rose for a moment above the roaring of the conflagration. Then another barge was set on fire by the blazing tallow which floated out to her, but she was saved by being scuttled82.
In the midst of such a scene it was to be expected that there would be damage to life and limb. The firemen, besides being exposed to intense heat for hours, were almost blinded and choked by the smoke emitted from the burning pepper—more especially the cayenne—of which there was a large quantity in the warehouses. Some of the men who were working the engines fell into the river and were drowned. A gentleman who was assisting the firemen had his hand impaled83 on an iron spike84. A poor Irishman had his neck broken by the chain of the floating-engine, and several of the police force and others were carried to hospital badly burned and otherwise injured.
Some of the casualties occurred in places where only a few persons were there to witness them, but others were enacted85 on the river, and on spots which were in full view of the vast multitudes on London Bridge. A boat containing five men put off to collect the tallow which floated on the water, but it got surrounded by tallow which had caught fire, and the whole of its occupants were either burned to death or drowned. Later in the night a small skiff rowed by a single man was drawn86 by the tide into the vortex of the fire. Another boat ran out and saved the man, but a second boat which was pulled off by a single rower for the same purpose was drawn too near the fire, and its brave occupant perished. So eager were the multitude on the bridge to witness these scenes that some of themselves were forced over the parapet into the river and drowned.
Comical incidents were strangely mingled with these awful scenes, although it is but justice to say the prevailing87 tone of the crowd was one of solemnity. Itinerant88 vendors89 of ginger-beer, fruit, cakes, and coffee ranged themselves along the pavements and carried on a brisk trade—especially after the public-houses were closed, many of which, however, taking advantage of the occasion, kept open door all night.
Among these last was the “Angel,” belonging to Gorman.
That worthy90 was peculiarly active on this occasion. He never neglected an opportunity of turning an honest penny, and, accordingly, had been engaged from an early hour in his boat collecting tallow; of which plunder91 a considerable amount had been already conveyed to his abode92.
Besides Gorman, several of the other personages of our tale found their way to the great centre of attraction, London Bridge, on that night. Among them was John Barret, who, on hearing of the fire, had left his snug93 little villa94 and pretty little wife to witness it.
He had already made one or two cheap trips on one of the omnibuses, and, about midnight, got down and forced his way to a position near the south side of the bridge. Here he was attracted to a ginger-beer barrow which an unusually adventurous95 man had pushed through the crowd into a sheltered corner. He forced his way to it, and, to his amazement96, found the owner to be his former friend Ned Hooper.
“Hallo! Barret.”
“This is a strange occupation,” said Barret with a smile.
“Ah, it may seem strange to you, no doubt, but it’s familiar enough to me,” replied Ned, with a grin.
The demand for beer was so great at this time that Ned could not continue the conversation.
“Here, boy,” he said to an urchin99 who stood near, “you draw corks100 as fast as you can and pour out the beer, and I’ll give you a copper101 or two and a swig into the bargain.”
The boy accepted the post of salesman with alacrity102, and Ned turned to his friend and seized his hand.
“Barret,” said he, in a low, earnest voice, “if I succeed in holding out, I own my salvation103, under God, to you. I’ve tasted nothing but ginger-beer for many a long day, and I really believe that I have got my enemy down at last. It’s not a lucrative104 business, as you may see,” he added with a sad smile, glancing at his threadbare garments, “nor a very aristocratic one.”
“My dear Ned,” cried Barret, interrupting, and suddenly thrusting his hand into his pocket.
“No, Barret, no,” said Ned firmly, as he laid his hand on the other’s, arm; “I don’t want money; I’ve given up begging. You gave me your advice once, and I have taken that—it has been of more value to me than all the wealth that is being melted into thin air, John, by yonder fire—”
Ned was interrupted at this point by a burst of laughter from the crowd. The cause of their mirth was the appearance of a tall, thin, and very lugubrious-looking man who had come on the bridge to see the fire. He had got so excited that he had almost fallen over the parapet, and a policeman had kindly105 offered to escort him to a place of safety.
“Why, what d’ye mean?—what d’ye take me for?” cried the tall man angrily; “I’m an honest man; my name is David Boone; I’ve only come to see the fire; you’ve no occasion to lay hold o’ me!”
“I know that,” said the policeman; “I only want to get you out of danger. Come along now.”
Just then a thickset man with a red handkerchief tied round his head came forward to the stall and demanded a glass of beer. The moment his eyes encountered those of Boone he became pale as death and staggered back as if he had received a deadly blow.
“Is that you, Gorman?” cried David, in a voice and with an expression of amazement.
Gorman did not reply, but gazed at his former friend with a look of intense horror, while his chest heaved and he breathed laboriously106. Suddenly he uttered a loud cry and rushed towards the river.
Part of the crowd sprang after him, as if with a view to arrest him, or to see what he meant to do. In the rush Barret and Boone were carried away.
A few moments later a deep murmur107 of surprise rose from the thousands of spectators on the bridge, for a boat was seen to dash suddenly from the shore and sweep out on the river. It was propelled by a single rower—a man with a red kerchief tied round his head. The murmur of the crowd suddenly increased to a shout of alarm, for the man was rowing, his boat straight towards a mass of tallow which floated and burned on the water.
“Hold on!” “Lookout ahead!” shouted several voices, while others screamed “Too late!” “He’s gone!” and then there arose a wild cry, for the man rowed straight into the centre of the burning mass and was enveloped108 in the flames. For one moment he was seen to rise and swing his arms in the air—then he fell backwards over the gunwale of his boat and disappeared in the blazing flood.
Fiercer and fiercer raged the fire. The night passed—the day came and went, and night again set in—yet still the flames leaped and roared in resistless fury, and still the firemen fought them valiantly109. And thus they fought, day and night, hand to hand, for more than a fortnight, before the battle was thoroughly ended and the victory gained.
How the firemen continued to do their desperate work, day and night, almost without rest, it is impossible to tell. Frank Willders said that, after the first night, he went about his work like a man in a dream. He scarcely knew when, or how, or where he rested or ate. He had an indistinct remembrance of one or two brief intervals110 of oblivion when he supposed he must have been asleep, but the only memory that remained strong and clear within him was that of constant, determined111 fighting with the flames. And Willie Willders followed him like his shadow! clad in a coat and helmet borrowed from a friend in the Salvage112 Corps113. Willie fought in that great fight as if he had been a trained fireman.
On the fourth day, towards evening, Frank was ordered down into a cellar where some tar-barrels were burning. He seized the branch, and was about to leap down the stair when Dale stopped him.
“Fasten the rope to your belt,” he said.
Frank obeyed without speaking and then sprang forward, while Dale himself followed, ordering Corney, Baxmore, and one or two others, to hold on to the ropes. Willie Willders also ran in, but was met by such a dense27 cloud of smoke that he was almost choked. Rushing back, he shouted, “Haul on the ropes!”
The men were already hauling them in, and in a few seconds Dale and Frank were dragged by their waist-belts into the open air, the former nearly, and the latter quite, insensible.
In a few minutes they both recovered, and another attempt was made to reach the fire in the cellar, but without success.
The public did not witness this incident. The firemen were almost surrounded by burning ruins, and none but comrades were there.
Indeed, the public seldom see the greatest dangers to which the fireman is exposed. It is not when he makes his appearance on some giddy height on a burning and tottering house, and is cheered enthusiastically by the crowd, that his courage is most severely114 tried. It is when he has to creep on hands and knees through dense smoke, and hold the branch in the face of withering115 heat, while beams are cracking over his head, and burning rubbish is dropping around, and threatening to overwhelm him—it is in such circumstances, when the public know nothing of what is going on, and when no eye sees him save that of the solitary116 comrade who shares his toil53 and danger, that the fireman’s nerve and endurance are tested to the uttermost.
After leaving the cellar, Dale and his men went to attempt to check the fire in a quarter where it threatened to spread, and render this—the greatest of modern conflagrations—equal to the great one of 1666.
“We might reach it from that window,” said Dale to Frank, pointing to a house, the sides of which were already blistering117, and the glass cracking with heat.
Frank seized the branch and gained the window in question, but could not do anything very effective from that point. He thought, however, that from a window in an adjoining store he might play directly on a house which was in imminent danger. But the only means of reaching it was by passing over a charred118 beam, thirty feet beneath which lay a mass of smouldering ruins. For one moment he hesitated, uncertain whether or not the beam would sustain his weight. But the point to be gained was one of great importance, so he stepped boldly forward, carrying the branch with him. As he advanced, the light of the fire fell brightly upon him, revealing his tall figure clearly to the crowd, which cheered him heartily119.
At that moment the beam gave way. Willie, who was about to follow, had barely time to spring back and gain a firm footing, when he beheld120 his brother fall headlong into the smoking ruins below.
In another moment he had leaped down the staircase, and was at Frank’s side. Baxmore, Dale, Corney, and others, followed, and, in the midst of fire and smoke, they raised their comrade in their arms and bore him to a place of safety.
No one spoke121, but a stretcher was quickly brought, and Frank was conveyed in a state of insensibility to the nearest hospital, where his manly122 form—shattered, burned, and lacerated—was laid on a bed. He breathed, although he was unconscious and evinced no sign of feeling when the surgeons examined his wounds.
A messenger was despatched for Mrs Willders, and Willie remained to watch beside him while his comrades went out to continue the fight.
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calamities
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| n.灾祸，灾难( calamity的名词复数 )；不幸之事 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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inadequately
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| ad.不够地；不够好地 | |
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foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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organisation
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| n.组织，安排，团体，有机休 | |
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munitions
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| n.军火，弹药；v.供应…军需品 | |
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conveyance
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| n.(不动产等的)转让，让与；转让证书；传送；运送；表达；（正）运输工具 | |
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warehouse
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| n.仓库；vt.存入仓库 | |
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warehouses
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| 仓库，货栈( warehouse的名词复数 ) | |
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prohibitions
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| 禁令，禁律( prohibition的名词复数 )； 禁酒； 禁例 | |
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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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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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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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mutinous
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| adj.叛变的，反抗的；adv.反抗地，叛变地；n.反抗，叛变 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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bonded
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| n.有担保的，保税的，粘合的 | |
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suffocation
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fattens
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| v.喂肥( fatten的第三人称单数 )；养肥（牲畜）；使（钱）增多；使（公司）升值 | |
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wharves
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| n.码头，停泊处( wharf的名词复数 ) | |
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wharf
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| n.码头，停泊处 | |
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pickle
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| n.腌汁，泡菜；v.腌，泡 | |
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mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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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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suffocating
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| a.使人窒息的 | |
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densely
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| ad.密集地；浓厚地 | |
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dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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moored
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| adj. 系泊的 动词moor的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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29
vessels
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| n.血管( vessel的名词复数 )；船；容器；（具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的）人 | |
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30
doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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31
premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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32
perspiration
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| n.汗水；出汗 | |
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33
upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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34
vaults
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| n.拱顶( vault的名词复数 )；地下室；撑物跳高；墓穴 | |
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35
partially
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| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
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36
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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37
strenuous
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| adj.奋发的，使劲的；紧张的；热烈的，狂热的 | |
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38
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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39
regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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40
stifling
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| a.令人窒息的 | |
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41
actively
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| adv.积极地，勤奋地 | |
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42
perseveringly
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| 坚定地 | |
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43
eminence
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| n.卓越，显赫；高地，高处；名家 | |
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44
tottering
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| adj.蹒跚的，动摇的v.走得或动得不稳( totter的现在分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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45
bulged
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| 凸出( bulge的过去式和过去分词 )； 充满； 塞满（某物） | |
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46
imminent
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| adj.即将发生的，临近的，逼近的 | |
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47
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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48
warfare
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| n.战争(状态)；斗争；冲突 | |
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49
downwards
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| adj./adv.向下的（地），下行的（地） | |
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50
metropolitan
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| adj.大城市的，大都会的 | |
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51
superintendents
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| 警长( superintendent的名词复数 )； （大楼的）管理人； 监管人； （美国）警察局长 | |
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52
superintendent
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| n.监督人，主管，总监；(英国)警务长 | |
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53
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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54
toiling
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的现在分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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55
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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56
thronged
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| v.成群，挤满( throng的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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57
monarch
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| n.帝王，君主，最高统治者 | |
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58
warrior
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| n.勇士，武士，斗士 | |
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59
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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60
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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61
metropolis
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| n.首府；大城市 | |
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62
converging
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| adj.收敛[缩]的，会聚的，趋同的v.（线条、运动的物体等）会于一点( converge的现在分词 )；（趋于）相似或相同；人或车辆汇集；聚集 | |
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63
plied
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| v.使用（工具）( ply的过去式和过去分词 )；经常供应（食物、饮料）；固定往来；经营生意 | |
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64
backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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65
unlimited
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| adj.无限的，不受控制的，无条件的 | |
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66
quays
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| 码头( quay的名词复数 ) | |
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67
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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68
devouring
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| 吞没( devour的现在分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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69
chaos
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| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
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70
shipping
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| n.船运（发货，运输，乘船） | |
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71
conflagration
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| n.建筑物或森林大火 | |
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72
consternation
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| n.大为吃惊，惊骇 | |
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73
incessantly
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| ad.不停地 | |
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74
incessant
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| adj.不停的，连续的 | |
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75
gusts
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| 一阵强风( gust的名词复数 )； （怒、笑等的）爆发； （感情的）迸发； 发作 | |
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76
vomited
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77
crater
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| n.火山口，弹坑 | |
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78
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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79
sloop
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| n.单桅帆船 | |
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80
blisters
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| n.水疱( blister的名词复数 )；水肿；气泡 | |
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81
barge
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| n.平底载货船，驳船 | |
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82
scuttled
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| v.使船沉没( scuttle的过去式和过去分词 )；快跑，急走 | |
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83
impaled
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| 钉在尖桩上( impale的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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84
spike
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| n.长钉，钉鞋；v.以大钉钉牢，使...失效 | |
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85
enacted
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| 制定（法律），通过（法案）( enact的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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86
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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87
prevailing
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| adj.盛行的；占优势的；主要的 | |
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88
itinerant
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| adj.巡回的；流动的 | |
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89
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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90
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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91
plunder
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| vt.劫掠财物，掠夺；n.劫掠物，赃物；劫掠 | |
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92
abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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93
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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94
villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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95
adventurous
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| adj.爱冒险的；惊心动魄的，惊险的，刺激的 | |
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96
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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97
exclamations
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| n.呼喊( exclamation的名词复数 )；感叹；感叹语；感叹词 | |
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98
simultaneously
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| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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99
urchin
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| n.顽童；海胆 | |
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100
corks
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| n.脐梅衣；软木( cork的名词复数 )；软木塞 | |
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101
copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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102
alacrity
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| n.敏捷，轻快，乐意 | |
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103
salvation
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| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
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104
lucrative
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| adj.赚钱的，可获利的 | |
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105
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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106
laboriously
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| adv.艰苦地；费力地；辛勤地；（文体等）佶屈聱牙地 | |
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107
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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108
enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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109
valiantly
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| adv.勇敢地，英勇地；雄赳赳 | |
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110
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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111
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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112
salvage
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| v.救助，营救，援救；n.救助，营救 | |
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113
corps
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| n.(通信等兵种的)部队；(同类作的)一组 | |
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114
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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115
withering
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| 使人畏缩的，使人害羞的，使人难堪的 | |
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116
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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117
blistering
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| adj.酷热的；猛烈的；使起疱的；可恶的v.起水疱；起气泡；使受暴晒n.[涂料] 起泡 | |
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118
charred
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| v.把…烧成炭( char的过去式)；烧焦 | |
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119
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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120
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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121
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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122
manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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