But victory does not always crown the efforts of our lifeboats. Sometimes we have to tell of partial failure or defeat, and it is due to the lifeboat cause to show that our coast heroes are to the full as daring, self-sacrificing, and noble, in the time of disaster as they are in the day of victory.
A splendid instance of persevering1 effort in the face of absolutely insurmountable difficulty was afforded by the action of the Constance lifeboat, belonging to Tynemouth, on the night of the 24th November, 1864.
On that night the coast of Northumberland was visited by one of the severest gales3 that had been experienced for many years, and a tremendous sea was dashing and roaring among the rocks at the mouth of the Tyne. Many ships had sought refuge in the harbour during the day, but, as the shades of evening began to descend5, the risk of attempting an entrance became very great. At last, as the night was closing in, the schooner6 Friendship ran on the rocks named the Black Middens.
Shortly afterwards a large steamer, the Stanley, of Aberdeen, with thirty passengers (most of whom were women), thirty of a crew, a cargo7 of merchandise, and a deckload of cattle, attempted to take the river. On approaching she sent up rockets for a pilot, but none dared venture out to her. The danger of putting out again to sea was too great. The captain therefore resolved to attempt the passage himself. He did so. Three heavy seas struck the steamer so severely9 as to divert her from her course, and she ran on the rocks close to the Friendship, so close that the cries of her crew could be heard above the whistling winds and thundering waves. As soon as she struck, the indescribable circumstances of a dread10 disaster began. The huge billows that had hitherto passed onward11, heaving her upwards12, now burst over her with inconceivable violence and crushed her down, sweeping13 the decks continuously—they rocked her fiercely to and fro; they ground her sides upon the cruel rocks; they lifted her on their powerful crests14, let her fall bodily on the rocks, stove in her bottom, and, rushing into the hold, extinguished the engine fires. The sound of her rending15 planks16 and timbers was mingled17 with the piercing cries of the female passengers and the gruff shouting of the men, as they staggered to and fro, vainly attempting to do something, they knew not what, to avert19 their doom20.
It was pitch dark by this time, yet not so dark but that the sharp eyes of earnest daring men on shore had noted21 the catastrophe22. The men of the coastguard, under Mr Lawrence Byrne, their chief officer, got out the rocket apparatus23 and succeeded in sending a line over the wreck24. Unfortunately, however, owing to mismanagement of those on board the steamer, it proved ineffective. They had fastened the hawser25 of the apparatus to the forecastle instead of high up on the mast, so that the ropes became hopelessly entangled26 on the rocks. Before this entanglement27 occurred, however, two men had been hauled ashore28 to show the possibility of escape and to give the ladies courage. Then a lady ventured into the sling-lifebuoy, or cradle, with a sailor, but they stuck fast during the transit29, and while being hauled back to the wreck, fell out and were drowned. A fireman then made the attempt. Again the cradle stuck, but the man was strong and went hand over hand along the hawser to the shore, where Mr Byrne rushed into the surf and caught hold of him. The rescuer nearly lost his life in the attempt. He was overtaken by a huge wave, and was on the point of being washed away when he caught hold of a gentleman who ran into the surf to save him.
The rocket apparatus having thus failed, owing to the simple mistake of those in the wreck having fastened the hawser too low on their vessel30, the crew attempted to lower a boat with four seamen31 and four ladies in it. One of the davits gave way, the other swung round, and the boat was swamped. Three of the men were hauled back into the steamer, but the others perished. The men would not now launch the other boats. Indeed it would have been useless, for no ordinary boat could have lived in such a sea. Soon afterwards all the boats were washed away and destroyed, and the destruction of the steamer itself seemed about to take place every moment.
While this terrible fight for dear life was going on, the lifeboat-men were not idle. They ran out their good boat, the Constance, and launched her. And what a fearful launching that was! This boat belonged to the Institution, and her crew were justly proud of her.
According to the account given by her gallant32 coxswain, James Gilbert, they could see nothing whatever at the time of starting but the white flash of the seas as they passed over boat and crew, without intermission, twelve or thirteen times. Yet, as quickly as the boat was filled, she emptied herself through her discharging-tubes. Of these tubes I shall treat hereafter. Gilbert could not even see his own men, except the second coxswain, who, I presume, was close to him. Sometimes the boat was “driven to an angle of forty or forty-five degrees in clearing the rocks.” When they were in a position to make for the steamer, the order was given to “back all oars33 and keep her end-on to the sea.” The men obeyed; they seemed to be inspired with fresh vigour34 as they neared the wreck. Let Gilbert himself tell the rest of the story as follows.
“When abreast35 of the port bow, two men told us they had a rope ready on the starboard bow. We said we would be there in a moment. I then ordered the bow-man to be ready to receive the rope. As soon as we were ready we made two dashing strokes, and were under the bowsprit, expecting to receive the rope, when we heard a dreadful noise, and the next instant the sea fell over the bows of the Stanley, and buried the lifeboat. Every oar4 was broken at the gunwale of the boat, and the outer ends were swept away. The men made a grasp for the spare oars. Three were gone; two only remained. We were then left with the rudder and two oars. The next sea struck the boat almost over end on board the Friendship, the boat at the time being nearly perpendicular36. We then had the misfortune to lose four of our crew. As the boat made a most fearful crash, and fell alongside the vessel, James Grant was, I believe, killed on the spot, betwixt the ship and the boat; Edmund Robson and James Blackburn were thrown out, Joseph Bell jumped as the boat fell. My own impression is that the men all jumped from the boat on to the vessel. We saw them no more. There were four men standing37 in a group before the mainmast of the schooner. We implored38 them to come into the boat, but no one answered.”
Little wonder at that, James Gilbert! The massive wreck must have seemed—at least to men who did not know the qualities of a lifeboat—a surer foothold than the tossed cockleshell with “only two oars and a rudder,” out of which four of her own gallant crew had just been lost. Even landsmen can perceive that it must have required much faith to trust a lifeboat in the circumstances.
“The next sea that struck the lifeboat,” continues the coxswain, “landed her within six feet of the foundation-stone of Tynemouth Dock, with a quickness seldom witnessed. The crew plied39 the remaining two oars to leeward40 against the rudder and boathook. We never saw anything till coming near the three Shields lifeboats. We asked them for oars to proceed back to the Friendship, but they had none to spare.”
Thus the brave Constance was baffled, and had to retire, severely wounded, from the fight. She drove, in her disabled and unmanageable condition, into the harbour. Of the four men thrown out of her, Grant and Robson, who had found temporary refuge in the wrecked41 schooner, perished. The other two, Bell and Blackburn, were buoyed42 up by their cork43 lifebelts, washed ashore, and saved. The schooner itself was afterwards destroyed, and her crew of four men and a boy were lost.
Meanwhile the screams of those on board of her and the Stanley were borne on the gale2 to the vast crowds who, despite darkness and tempest, lined the neighbouring cliffs, and the Shields lifeboats just referred to made gallant attempts to approach the wrecks44, but failed. Indeed, it seemed to have been a rash attempt on the part of the noble fellows of the Constance to have made the venture at all.
The second cabin of the Stanley was on deck, and formed the bridge, or outlook. On this a number of the passengers and crew had taken refuge, but a tremendous sea carried it, and all its occupants, bodily away. After this the fury of the sea increased, and about an hour before midnight the steamer, with a hideous45 crash, broke in two amidships. The after part remained fast; the fore8 part swung round. All the people who remained on the after part were swept away and drowned. The new position into which the fore part of the wreck had been forced was so far an advantage to those who still clung to it, that the bows broke the first violence of the waves, and thus partially46 protected the exhausted47 people, thirty-five of whom still remained alive out of the sixty souls originally on board. Ten of these were passengers—two being ladies.
Meanwhile fresh preparations were being made by the rocket-men. Messengers had been sent in hot haste to Cullercoats for more rockets, those at Tynemouth having been exhausted. They arrived at five o’clock in the morning. By that time the tide had fallen considerably48, admitting of a nearer approach to the wreck, and once more a gleam of hope cheered the hearts of the perishing as they beheld49 the fiery50 messenger of mercy rush fiercely towards them from the shore. But hope was still delayed. Four of the rockets missed. The fifth passed right over them, dropping the lifeline on the wreck, and drawing from the poor sufferers a feeble cheer, which was replied to lustily from the shore. This time, fortunately, no mistakes were made by those on board. The blocks and tackle were drawn51 out, the hawser on which the sling-lifebuoy traversed was fastened high up on the foremast to prevent the ropes fouling52 the rocks, as they had done on the first attempt; then the lifebuoy was run out, and, eventually, every soul was drawn in safety to the shore.
Thus did that battle end, with much of disaster and death to regret, indeed, but with upwards of thirty-five rescued lives to rejoice over.
I have now shown the action and bearing of our coast heroes, both in circumstances of triumphant53 victory and of partial success. Before proceeding54 to other matters it is well to add that, when intelligence of this disaster was telegraphed to the Lifeboat Institution, a new lifeboat was immediately forwarded to Tynemouth, temporarily to replace the damaged Constance. Instructions were given for the relief of the widows and children of the two lifeboat-men who had perished, and 26 pounds was sent to the crew of the boat. At their next meeting the committee of the Institution, besides recording55 their deep regret for the melancholy56 loss of life, voted 100 pounds in aid of a fund raised locally for the widows and seven children of the two men. They likewise bestowed57 their silver medal and a vote of thanks, inscribed58 on vellum, to Mr Lawrence Byrne, of the coastguard, in testimony59 of his gallant services on the occasion. Contributions were also raised by a local committee for the relief of the sufferers by these disasters, and a Volunteer Corps60 was formed to assist in working the rocket apparatus on future occasions of shipwreck61.
Let me at this point earnestly request the reader who dwells in an inland home, and who never hears the roaring of the terrible sea, carefully to note that in this case it was men of the coast who did the work, and people of the coast town who gave subscriptions62, who sympathised with sufferers, and raised a Volunteer Corps. Ponder this well, good reader, and ask yourself the question, “Is all as it should be here? Have I and my fellow-inlanders nothing to do but read, admire, and say, Well done?” A hint is sufficient at this point. I will return to the subject hereafter.
Sometimes our gallant lifeboat-men when called into action go through a very different and not very comfortable experience. They neither gain a glorious victory nor achieve a partial success, but, after all their efforts, risks, and exposure, find that their services are not required, and that they must return meekly63 home with nothing to reward them but an approving conscience!
One such incident I once had the opportunity of observing. I was living at the time—for purposes of investigation64, and by special permission—on board of the Gull65 Lightship, which lies directly off Ramsgate Harbour, close to the Goodwin Sands. It was in the month of March. During the greater part of my two weeks’ sojourn66 in that lightship the weather was reasonably fine, but one evening it came on to blow hard, and became what Jack67 styles “dirty.” I went to rest that night in a condition which may be described as semi-sea-sick. For some time I lay in my bunk68 moralising on the madness of those who choose the sea for a profession. Suddenly I was roused—and the seasickness69 instantly cured—by the watch on deck shouting down the hatchway to the mate, “South Sand Head Light is firing, sir, and sending up rockets!”
The mate sprang from his bunk—just opposite to mine—and was on the cabin floor before the sentence was well finished. Thrusting the poker70 with violence into the cabin fire, he rushed on deck. I jumped up and pulled on coat, nether71 garments, and shoes, as if my life depended on my speed, wondering the while at the poker incident. There was unusual need for clothing, for the night was bitterly cold.
On gaining the deck I found the two men on duty actively72 at work, one loading the lee gun, the other fitting a rocket to its stick. A few hurried questions by the mate elicited73 all that it was needful to know. The flash of a gun from the South Sand Head Lightship, about six miles distant, had been seen, followed by a rocket, indicating that a vessel had got upon the fatal sands in her vicinity. While the men were speaking I saw the flash of another gun, but heard no report, owing to the gale carrying the sound to leeward. A rocket followed, and at the same moment we observed the distress74 signal of the vessel in danger flaring75 on the southern tail of the sands, but very faintly; it was so far away, and the night so thick.
By this time our gun was charged and the rocket in position.
“Look alive, Jack; fetch the poker!” cried the mate, as he primed the gun.
I was enlightened as to the poker! Jack dived down the hatchway and next moment returned with that instrument red-hot. He applied76 it in quick succession to gun and rocket. A grand flash and crash from the first was followed by a blinding blaze and a whiz as the second sprang with a magnificent curve far away into surrounding darkness. This was our answer to the South Sand Head Lightship. It was, at the same time, our signal-call to the lookout77 on the pier18 of Ramsgate Harbour.
“That’s a beauty!” said our mate, referring to the rocket. “Get up another, Jack. Sponge her well out, Jacobs; we’ll give ’em another shot in a few minutes.”
Loud and clear were both our signals, but four and a half miles of distance and a fresh gale neutralised their influence on that dark and dismal78 night. The lookout did not see them. In a few minutes the gun and rocket were fired again. Still no answering signal came from Ramsgate.
“Load the weather gun!” said the mate.
Jacobs obeyed, and I sought shelter under the lee of the weather bulwarks79, for the wind seemed to be made of pen-knives and needles! The sturdy Gull straining and plunging80 wildly at her huge cables, trembled as our third gun thundered forth81 its summons, but the rocket struck the rigging and made a low, wavering flight. Another was therefore sent up, but it had scarcely cut its bright line across the sky when we observed the answering signal—a rocket from Ramsgate pier.
“That’s all right now, sir; our work is done,” said the mate to me, as he went below and quietly turned in, while the watch, having sponged out and re-covered the gun, resumed their active perambulations of the deck.
I confess that I felt somewhat disappointed at the sudden termination of the noise and excitement. I was told that the Ramsgate lifeboat could not well be out in less than an hour. There was nothing for it, therefore, but patience, so I turned in, “all standing,” as sailors have it, with a request that I should be called when the lights of the tug82 should come in sight. Scarcely had I lain down, however, when the voice of the watch was heard shouting hastily, “Lifeboat close alongside, sir! Didn’t see it till this moment. She carries no lights.”
Out I bounced, minus hat, coat, and shoes, and scrambled83 on deck just in time to see a boat close under our stern, rendered spectrally85 visible by the light of our lantern. It was not the Ramsgate but the Broadstairs lifeboat, the men of which had observed our first rocket, had launched their boat at once, and had run down with the favouring gale.
“What are you firing for?” shouted the coxswain of the boat.
“Ship on the sands bearing south,” replied Jack, at the full pitch of his stentorian86 voice.
The boat which was under sail, did not pause, and nothing more was said. With a magnificent rush it passed us, and shot away into the darkness. Our reply had been heard, and the lifeboat, steering87 by compass, went straight as an arrow to the rescue.
It was a thrilling experience to me! Spectral84 as a vision though it seemed, and brief almost as the lightning flash, its visit was the real thing at last. Many a time had I heard and read of our lifeboats, and had seen them reposing88 in their boat-houses, as well as out “for exercise,” but now I had seen a lifeboat tearing before the gale through the tormented89 sea, sternly bent90 on the real work of saving human life.
Once again all became silent and unexciting on board the Gull, and I went shivering below with exalted91 notions of the courage, endurance, and businesslike vigour of our coast heroes. I now lay wakeful and expectant. Presently the shout came again.
“Tug’s in sight, sir!”
And once more I went on deck with the mate.
The steamer was quickly alongside, heaving wildly in the sea, with the Ramsgate lifeboat “Bradford” in tow far astern. She merely slowed a little to admit of the same brief question and reply, the latter being repeated, as the boat passed, for the benefit of the coxswain. As she swept by us I looked down and observed that the ten men who formed her crew crouched92 flat on the thwarts93. Only the steersman sat up. No wonder. It must be hard to sit up in a stiff gale with freezing spray, and sometimes heavy seas sweeping over one. I knew that the men were wide awake and listening, but, as far as vision went that boat was manned only by ten oilskin coats and sou’-westers!
A few seconds carried them out of sight, and thus, as regards the Gull Lightship, the drama ended. There was no possibility of the dwellers94 in the floating lights hearing anything of the details of that night’s work until the fortnightly visit of their “tender” should fall due, but next morning at low tide, far away in the distance, we could see the wreck, bottom up, high on the Goodwin Sands.
Afterwards I learned that the ship’s crew had escaped in one of their own boats, and taken refuge in the South Sand Head Lightship, whence they were conveyed next day to land, so that the gallant men of Ramsgate and Broadstairs had all their toil95 and trouble for nothing!
Thus, you see, there are not only high lights and deep shadows, but also neutral tints96 in the various incidents which go to make up the grand picture of lifeboat work.
There is a Fund connected with the Broadstairs Lifeboat which deserves passing notice here. It was raised by the late Sir Charles Reed, in 1867, the proceeds to be distributed annually97 among the seamen who save life on that coast. The following particulars of this fund were supplied by Sir Charles Reed himself:—
“Eight boatmen of Broadstairs were interested in a lugger—the Dreadnought—which had for years done good service on the Goodwins. One night they went off in a tremendous sea to save a French barque; but though they secured the crew, a steam-tug claimed the prize and towed her into Ramsgate Harbour. The Broadstairs men instituted proceedings98 to secure the salvage99, but they were beaten in a London law court, where they were overpowered by the advocacy of a powerful company. In the meantime they lost their lugger off the coast of Normandy, and in this emergency the lawyers they had employed demanded their costs. The poor men had no means, and not being able to pay they were taken from their homes and lodged100 in Maidstone Gaol101. He (Sir Charles) was then staying in Broadstairs, and an appeal being made to him, he wrote to the ‘Times’, and in one week received nearly twice the amount required. The bill was paid, the men were liberated102 and brought home to their families, and the balance of the amount, a considerable sum, was invested, the interest to be applied to the rewarding of boatmen who, by personal bravery, had distinguished103 themselves by saving life on the coast.”
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1
persevering
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| a.坚忍不拔的 | |
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gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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gales
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| 龙猫 | |
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oar
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| n.桨，橹，划手；v.划行 | |
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descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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schooner
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| n.纵帆船 | |
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cargo
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| n.(一只船或一架飞机运载的)货物 | |
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fore
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| adv.在前面；adj.先前的；在前部的；n.前部 | |
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severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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crests
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| v.到达山顶（或浪峰）( crest的第三人称单数 )；到达洪峰，达到顶点 | |
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rending
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| v.撕碎( rend的现在分词 )；分裂；（因愤怒、痛苦等而）揪扯（衣服或头发等）；（声音等）刺破 | |
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planks
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| （厚）木板( plank的名词复数 )； 政纲条目，政策要点 | |
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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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pier
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| n.码头；桥墩，桥柱；[建]窗间壁，支柱 | |
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avert
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| v.防止，避免；转移(目光、注意力等) | |
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doom
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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apparatus
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| n.装置，器械；器具，设备 | |
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wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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hawser
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| n.大缆；大索 | |
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entangled
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| adj.卷入的；陷入的；被缠住的；缠在一起的v.使某人（某物/自己）缠绕，纠缠于（某物中），使某人（自己）陷入（困难或复杂的环境中）( entangle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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entanglement
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ashore
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transit
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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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seamen
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| n.海员 | |
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gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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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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vigour
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abreast
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| adv.并排地；跟上(时代)的步伐，与…并进地 | |
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perpendicular
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| adj.垂直的，直立的；n.垂直线，垂直的位置 | |
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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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implored
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| 恳求或乞求（某人）( implore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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leeward
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| adj.背风的；下风的 | |
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wrecked
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| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
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buoyed
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| v.使浮起( buoy的过去式和过去分词 )；支持；为…设浮标；振奋…的精神 | |
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cork
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| n.软木，软木塞 | |
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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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hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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partially
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| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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49
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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50
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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51
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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52
fouling
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| n.（水管、枪筒等中的）污垢v.使污秽( foul的现在分词 )；弄脏；击球出界；（通常用废物）弄脏 | |
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53
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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54
proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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55
recording
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| n.录音，记录 | |
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56
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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57
bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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58
inscribed
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| v.写，刻( inscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；内接 | |
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59
testimony
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| n.证词；见证，证明 | |
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60
corps
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| n.(通信等兵种的)部队；(同类作的)一组 | |
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61
shipwreck
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| n.船舶失事，海难 | |
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62
subscriptions
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| n.（报刊等的）订阅费( subscription的名词复数 )；捐款；（俱乐部的）会员费；捐助 | |
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63
meekly
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| adv.温顺地，逆来顺受地 | |
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64
investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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65
gull
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| n.鸥；受骗的人；v.欺诈 | |
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66
sojourn
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| v./n.旅居，寄居；逗留 | |
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67
jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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68
bunk
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| n.(车、船等倚壁而设的)铺位；废话 | |
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69
seasickness
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| n.晕船 | |
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70
poker
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| n.扑克；vt.烙制 | |
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71
nether
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| adj.下部的，下面的；n.阴间；下层社会 | |
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actively
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| adv.积极地，勤奋地 | |
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elicited
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| 引出，探出( elicit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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74
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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flaring
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| a.火焰摇曳的，过份艳丽的 | |
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76
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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lookout
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| n.注意，前途，瞭望台 | |
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78
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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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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plunging
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| adj.跳进的，突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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81
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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82
tug
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| v.用力拖(或拉)；苦干；n.拖；苦干；拖船 | |
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83
scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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84
spectral
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| adj.幽灵的，鬼魂的 | |
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85
spectrally
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| adv.幽灵似地，可怕地 | |
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86
stentorian
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| adj.大声的，响亮的 | |
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87
steering
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| n.操舵装置 | |
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88
reposing
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| v.将（手臂等）靠在某人（某物）上( repose的现在分词 ) | |
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89
tormented
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| 饱受折磨的 | |
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90
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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92
crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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93
thwarts
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| 阻挠( thwart的第三人称单数 )； 使受挫折； 挫败； 横过 | |
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94
dwellers
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| n.居民，居住者( dweller的名词复数 ) | |
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95
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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96
tints
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| 色彩( tint的名词复数 )； 带白的颜色； （淡色）染发剂； 痕迹 | |
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97
annually
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| adv.一年一次，每年 | |
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98
proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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99
salvage
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| v.救助，营救，援救；n.救助，营救 | |
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100
lodged
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| v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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101
gaol
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| n.(jail)监狱；(不加冠词)监禁；vt.使…坐牢 | |
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102
liberated
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| a.无拘束的，放纵的 | |
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103
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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