We were obliged to fasten up our horses to prevent them from straying for water, and had, therefore, nothing to do but to saddle them on the morning of the 10th, and started at six. Our journey the day before had been 33 miles: this day we rode about 36, to the little muddy creek the the reader will, I have no doubt, call to mind. In it, contrary to my expectation, we found a small supply of water, though difficult to get; and I halted at it, therefore, for the night, and reached the Strzelecki Creek about half-past ten on the morning of the 11th, in which I was rejoiced to find that the water was far from being exhausted8. Turning northwards up the creek, I halted about half-past one at the upper pool, about seven miles from the first. As far as this point the lay of the sand ridges9 was N.N.E. and S.S.W.
As Mr. Browne had stated to me, the country to the north was much more open from the point at which we now were than to the west. A vast plain, indeed, met the horizon in the first direction, and as we rode up it on the 12th, we observed that it was bounded at irregular distances, varying from three to six miles, on either side of us, by low sand hills. The whole plain was evidently subject to flood, and the travelling in some places was exceedingly heavy. We had ridden from early dawn until the sun had sunk below the horizon, without seeing any apparent termination to this plain, or the slightest indication of water. Just as it was twilight11 we got on a polygonum flat; there being a little sand hill on one side of it, under which I determined12 to stop for the night.
While the men were tethering the horses on the best part of the flat, where there happened to be a little green grass, Mr. Stuart and I walked up the sand hill; but in the obscure light then prevailing13, we could not see any thing distinctly. It appeared, however, that the country before us was traversed by a belt either of forest or of scrub; there was a long dark line running across the country, but we could not make out what it was, so that we descended14 to our little bivouac full of hope, and anxious for the morning dawn to satisfy ourselves as to what we had been looking at. Day had scarcely broke when we were again on the hill; and as objects became clearer, saw a broad belt of gum-trees extending from the southward of east to the north-west. It was bounded on either side by immense plains, on which were here and there ridges of sand, but at a great distance from each other. There was another small sand hill distant four miles, and an apparently15 high and broken chain of mountains was visible to the N.E., distant more than 50 miles. The trees were not more than three miles from us, and were denser16 and seemingly larger than any we had seen; and although we could not see any water glittering amidst the foliage17, yet I could not but hope that we were on the eve of some important discovery. There were likewise mountains in the distance, with broken lofty peaks, exactly resembling the Mount Serle chain, and I ventured to hope that I had at length found a way to escape from the gloomy region to which we had been so long confined. Descending18 from our position we pushed for a dark mass of foliage to the N.E., and shortly after crossing the dry bed of a lagoon19, found ourselves riding through an open box-tree forest, amidst an abundance of grass. At half a mile further we were brought up by our arrival on the banks of a magnificent channel. There was a large sheet of water to our left, covered with wild fowl20. Flooded gum-trees of large size grew on its banks, and its appearance was altogether imposing21. I stood looking in admiration22 on the broad mirror so close to me, and upon a sight so unusual; and I deeply regretted at that moment that Mr. Browne was not with me to enjoy the gratification of such a scene.
We dismounted and turned our horses out to feed on the long grass in the bed of this beautiful creek, and whilst Morgan prepared breakfast, Mr. Stuart and Mack took their guns and knocked over three ducks, that were, I suppose, never used to be so taken in; but the remainder would not stand fire long, and flew off to the eastward23. As they passed, however, I snatched up a carbine, and, without taking any aim, discharged it into the midst of them, and brought one of their number down — the only bird I had shot for many years.
After giving the horses a good feed and a good rest, I crossed the channel of the creek to ascend24 the little hill I had seen from our morning position, that by taking bearings of the distant ranges from both, I might arrive at their approximate distance from me. From this little hill the prospect25 was much the same as from the first, only that the distant ranges seemed to be still higher, and there was a long line either of water or mirage26 at their base, and we now appeared to be in a belt of wood, for the hill on which we stood, rose in the midst of the trees, and our eyes wandered over the tops of them to the distant plains. We descended from it northwards, but had not gone half a mile, when we were again stopped by another creek, still broader and finer than the first. The breadth of its channel was more than 200 yards, its banks were from fifteen to eighteen feet high, and it had splendid sheets of water both above and below us. The natives, whose broad and well beaten paths leading from angle to angle of the creek we had crossed on our approach to it, had fired the grass, and it was now springing up in the bed of the most beautiful green. I determined, therefore, to stay where I was until the following day, to give my animals the food and rest they so much required, and myself time for reflection. We accordingly dismounted, and turned the horses out, and it was really a pleasure to see them in clover.
The whole bed of the creek was of a vivid green, excepting where gravel27 had been deposited in it, but the animals kept on the grass, close to the water’s edge. As we had approached the creek through a belt of wood, so it extended on the other side for a considerable distance into the plains, but the soil was not so good as in the neighbourhood of the first channel we had crossed, since bushes of rhagodia were growing underneath28 the trees, as indicative of a slight mixture of salt in the earth. The appearance of the creek, however, embosomed as it was in wood, was very fine, more especially the upward view of it, where there was a splendid sheet of water, in the centre of which the branches of a huge tree appeared reflected, the trunk being completely hid. About a quarter of a mile above us a tributary29 joins the main branch from the eastward, that when flooded must have a fall of three or four feet, and something of the character of a Canadian rapid.
When I sat down beside the waters of the beautiful channel to which Providence30 in its goodness had been pleased to direct my steps, I felt more than I had ever done in my life, the responsibility of the task I had undertaken. When I left the Depot31 I had determined on keeping a northerly course into the interior, for the reasons I have already assigned; but knowing the state of the country as I did, and the little chance there was of finding water on its parched32 and yawning surface, I now hesitated whether I should persevere33 in my first determination, or proceed in the examination of this new feature, and of the mountain ranges to the N.E. both of which I had every reason to hope would lead me out of the present fearful desert into a better country. Any one perhaps less experienced than myself in the treacherous34 character of the most promising35 river of the Australian Continent, would have acted differently. It would in all probability have occurred to them to trace the creek, either upwards36 or downwards37, in the hope of its leading to something better. It was clear, however, that the first channel I had crossed, was a branch only of that upon which I was resting, and by which the plains I had traversed on approaching it were laid under water, and I felt assured that if my conclusion as to the Stony Desert was correct, I should derive38 no advantage in tracing the creek downwards, since I knew it would either terminate in extensive grassy39 plains as I had found other creeks40 to do, or be lost on the broad surface of the Stony Desert. Taking every thing into consideration, I had resolved on turning to the eastward, to examine the upward course of the creek, believing it more than probable that it would lead me into the hills, but, as I was weighing these things in my mind, the sky became suddenly overcast41 and a thunder-storm passed over us, which for the short half hour it continued was of unusual violence, filling all the little hollows on the plains, and chequering them over with sheets of water. The road northwards being thus thrown open to me, I returned to my original purpose, and determined on the morrow to pursue a northerly course directly into the interior, in the hope that ere the surface water left by the thunder-storm should be dried up, I might reach such another creek as the one I was about to quit, or find some other such permanent place of safety; leaving the examination of the upper branches of the creek, and of the mountain ranges to the period of my return. Accordingly on the morning of the 13th, we left our position, crossing to the proper right bank of the creek, and breaking through the nearer box tree forest, traversed open plains, the soil of which was principally sand, but there was an abundance of grass upon them, and they were somewhat elevated above the more alluvial42 flats near the creek. At 2 1/2 miles we crossed a large tributary from the N.E., the main branch trended to the N.W., and we kept the belt of trees in view as we rode along, during the greater part of the day. At seven miles we descended a little from the grassy plains to a flooded plain of considerable extent, but again rose from it to the sandy level, and finding a small puddle43 of rain water at 36 miles I halted.
As I was about to trust entirely44 to the supply of water left by the recent storm, and knew not to what distance it had extended, I felt it necessary to take every precaution to insure our retreat. We worked, therefore, by the light of the moon, and dug a square pit, into which we drained all the water that remained after the horses had satisfied themselves in the morning, but the quantity was so small that I scarcely hoped to derive any advantage from it on our return; and it was really the zeal45 of Morgan and Mack that induced me to allow them to finish it. Warm as the weather had been at Fort Grey, the night was bitterly cold, with the wind from the S.S.E. We left this, our first well, at early dawn, riding across a continuation of the same grassy and sandy land as that we had journeyed over the day before, only that it had many bare patches upon it full of water, the undersoil being a red clay. The same kind of tree we had seen to the eastward, between the old Depot and the Darling, and which I had there taken to be a species of Juglans, prevailed hereabouts in sheltered places.
The creek line of trees was was still visible to our left, so that it must have come up a little more to the north. We crossed several native paths leading to it: the impression of an enormous foot was on one of them. At eight miles we descended to a flooded plain, scattered46 over with stunted47 box-trees, the greater number being dead, and I may remark that we generally found such to be the case on lands of a similar description; a fact, it appears to me, that can only be accounted for from the long-continued drought to which these unhappy regions are subject. These flooded plains are generally torn to pieces by cracks of four, six, and eight feet deep, of a depth, indeed, far below that at which I should imagine trees draw their support; but the box-tree spreads its roots very near the surface of the ground, having, I suppose, no prominent tap root, and can therefore receive no moisture from such a soil as that in which we so often found it in premature48 decay; the excess of moisture at one time, and the want of it at another, must be injurious to trees and plants of all kinds, and this circumstance may be a principal cause of the deficiency of timber in the interior of Australia.
From the level, we ascended49 to sandy and grassy plains as before, but they were now bounded by sandy ridges of a red colour, and partly covered with spinifex. I really shuddered50 at the re-appearance of those solid waves which I had hoped we had left behind, but such was not the case. At six miles we arrived at the base, and ascending51 one of them, found that it was flanked on both sides by others; the space between the ridges being occupied by the white and dry beds of salt lagoons52. The reader will, I am sure, sympathise with me in these repeated disappointments, for the very aspect of these dreaded53 deposits, if I may so call them, withered54 hope. To whatever point of the compass I turned, whether to the west, to the north, or to the east, these heart-depressing features existed to damp the spirits of my men, and irresistibly55 to depress my own; but it was not for me to repine under such circumstances, I had undertaken a task, and in the performance of it had to take the country as it laid before me, whether a Desert or an Eden. Still whatever moral convictions we may have, we cannot always control our feelings. The direction of the ridges was nearly north and south, somewhat to the westward of the first point, so that at a distance of more than two degrees to the eastward they almost preserved their parallelism. We rode along the base of a ridge10 for about three miles, but as on ascending it to take a survey, I observed that at about a mile beyond, it terminated, and that the dry bed of the lagoon to our right passed into a plain of great breadth immediately in front, the character and appearance of which was very doubtful, and as it was now sunset, and we had journeyed upwards of 34 miles, I halted for the night at another puddle, rather larger than the last, but with sorry feed for the horses. At this place we dug our second well, by moonlight, as we had dug the first, and laid down on the ground to rest, fatigued56, I candidly57 admit, both in mind and body.
The day had been exceedingly cold, as was the night, and on the following morning with the wind at S.S.E., and a clear and cloudless sky, the temperature still continued low. At about a mile from where we had bivouacked, we arrived at the termination of the sandy ridge, and descended into the plain I had been reluctant to traverse in the uncertain light of evening. It proved firm, however, though it was evidently subject to floods. Samphire, salsolae, and mesembryanthemum were growing on it, and one would have supposed from its appearance that it was a sea marsh58. Mr. Stuart shot a beautiful ground parrot as we were crossing it, on a bearing of 345 degrees, or little more than a N. and by W. course. At 6 1/2 miles we ascended some heavy sandy ridges, without any regularity59 in their disposition60, but lying in great confusion. Toiling61 over these, at seven or eight miles farther we sighted a fine sheet of water, bearing N. and distant about two miles. At another mile I altered my course to 325 degrees, to pass to the westward of this new feature, which then proved to be a lake about the size of Lake Bonney, that is to say from 10 to 12 miles in circumference62. The ridge by which we had approached it terminated suddenly and directly over it; to our right there were other ridges terminating in a similar manner, with rushy flats between them; eastward the country was dark and very low; to the north there was a desert of glittering white sand in low hillocks, scattered over with dwarf63 brush, and on it the heat was playing as over a furnace. Immediately beneath me to the west there was a flat leading to the shore of the lake, and on the western side a bright red sand hill, full eighty feet high, shut out the view in that quarter. This ridge was not altogether a mile and a half in length, and behind it there were other ridges of the same colour bounding the horizon with edges as sharp as icebergs64.
I did not yet know whether the waters of the lake were salt or fresh, although I feared they were salt. Looking on it, however, I saw clearly that it was very shallow; a line of poles ran across it, such as are used by the natives for catching65 wild fowl, of which there were an abundance, as well as of hematops on the water. As soon as we descended from the sand ridge we got on a narrow native path, that led us down to a hut, about 100 yards from the shore of the lake.
As we approached the water, the effluvia from it was exceedingly offensive, and the ground became a soft, black muddy sand. On tasting it we found that the water was neither one thing or the other, neither salt or fresh, but wholly unfit for use. Close to its margin66 there was a broad path leading to the eastward, or rather round the lake; and under the sand ridge to the west, were twenty-seven huts, but they had long been deserted67, and were falling to decay. Nevertheless they proved that the waters of the lake were sometimes drinkable, or that the natives had some other supply of fresh water at no great distance, from whence they could easily come to take wild fowl, nor could I doubt such place would be the creek.
Notwithstanding that the water was so bad, I tried several places by digging, but invariably came to salt water, oozing68 through black mud, and I there fore7 presumed that a good deal of rain must have fallen hereabouts, to have tempered the water of the lake so much; which it struck me would otherwise have been quite saline. From the point where we first came down upon it, we traversed a flat beach covered with a short coarse rush, having the high red sand hill, of which I have spoken, to our left; before us a vast extent of low white sand, and to the eastward an extremely dark and depressed69 country. I was really afraid of entering on the scorching70 sands in our front, for we were now full 90 miles from the creek, and it was absolutely necessary, before I should exceed that distance, to find a more permanent supply of water than the wells we had dug on our way out. In order to ascertain71 the nature of the country more satisfactorily, however, I ascended the rugged72 termination of the sandy ridge, close to which we had been riding, and was induced, from what I then saw, to determine on a course somewhat to the west of north, since a due north course was evidently closed upon me; for I now saw that the country in that direction was hopeless, as well as in an easterly direction; but although I stood full 80 feet above the lake, I could not distinguish any thing like a hill on the distant horizon. To the westward, as a medium point, there were a succession of sandy ridges, similar to that on which I stood; but to the S.W. there seemed to be an interval73 of plain. As the thunder storm had reached as far as the place where we last slept, I did not doubt but that it had also reached the lake, and on consideration determined to keep as northerly a course as circumstances would permit, in pushing into a country in which I was meeting new difficulties every hour. Descending, therefore, on a bearing of 340 degrees, I went to a distance of six miles before coming to a small puddle at which I was glad to halt, it being the only drinkable water we had seen. Here we dug a third well, although, like the first, there was but little chance of benefiting by it. It behoved me therefore to be still more careful in increasing my distance from the creek, so that on the morning of the 17th I thought it prudent74 to search for some, and as the country appeared open to the south, I turned to that point in the hope of success.
We crossed some low sand hills to a swamp in which there was a good deal of surface water, but none of a permanent kind. We then crossed the N.W. extremity75 of an extensive grassy plain, similar to those I have already described, but infinitely76 larger. It continued, indeed, for many miles to the south, passing between all the sandy points jutting77 into it; and so closely was the Desert allied78 to fertility at this point, and I may say in these regions, that I stood more than once with one foot on salsolaceous plants growing in pure sand, with the other on luxuriant grass, springing up from rich alluvial soil. At two miles and a quarter from the swamp, striking a native path we followed it up to the S.W., and, at three-quarters of a mile, we reached two huts that had been built on a small rise of ground, with a few low trees near them. Our situation was too precarious79 to allow of my passing these huts without a strict search round about, for I was sure that water was not far off; and at length we found a small, narrow, and deep channel of but a few yards in length, hid in long grass, at a short distance from them. The water was about three feet deep, and was so sheltered that I made no doubt it would last for ten days or a fortnight. Grateful for the success that had attended our search, I allowed the horses to rest and feed on the grass for a time; but it was of the kind from which the natives collect so much seed, and though beautiful to the eye, was not relished80 by our animals. The plains extended for miles to the south and south-east, with an aspect of great luxuriance and beauty; nor could I doubt they owed their existence to the final overflow81 of the large creek we had all along marked trending down to this point. Such, indeed, I felt from the first, even when I looked on its broad and glittering waters, would sooner or later be its termination, or that it would expend82 itself, less usefully, on the Stony Desert. As yet, however, there was no indication of our approach to that iron region. The plains were surrounded on all sides by lofty ridges of sand, and the whole scene bore ample testimony83 to the comparative infancy84, if I may so express myself, of the interior. We next pursued a N.N.W. course into the interior, and soon left the grassy plains, crossing alternate sand ridges and flats on a bearing of 346 degrees, the whole country having a strong resemblance to that between Sydney and Botany Bay in New South Wales. On one of the ridges we surprised a native, who ran from us in great terror, and with incredible speed. About noon we crossed a plain, partly covered with stones and partly bare, and at the further extremity of it passed through a gorge85 between two sand hills into another plain that was barren beyond description, with only salsolaceous herbs. It had large white patches of clay on it, the shallow receptacles of rain water, but they were all dry. The plain was otherwise covered with low salsolae, excepting on the higher ground, on which samphire alone was growing. It was surrounded on all sides by sand hills of a fiery86 red, and not even a stunted hakea was to be seen. From this plain we again crossed alternate sand hills and flats, the former covered with spinifex, the latter being quite denuded87 of all vegetation; but one of the horses at last knocking up, I was obliged to halt in this gloomy region, at the only puddle of rain water we had seen since leaving the grassy plain. I was sure, however, from the change that had taken place, and the character of the country around us, that we were approaching that feature, the continuance of which, in order to elucidate88 its probable origin, it had been a principal object in my present journey to ascertain. I felt so convinced on this point, that I could not have returned to Adelaide without having satisfied my mind on the subject. I might, indeed, have had general ideas as to the past state of the depressed interior, from what I had already seen of it; but the Stony Desert was the key to disclose the whole — and although I feared again to tread its surface, its existence so far away to the eastward of where I had first been on it, would at least tend to confirm my impressions as to what it had been.
It was clear, indeed, from the character of the country through which we had just passed, that we were again approaching the salt formation; more especially when, from the highest ground near us, I observed its generally dark aspect, and that there was the dry bed of a large salt lagoon directly in our course. We here dug a fourth well: the water was extremely muddy and thick, for the basin in which it was contained was very shallow, and the wind constantly playing on its surface raised waves that had stirred up the mud; but as there was more water than usual, I hoped that by deepening, it might settle. This was nothing new to us, for not only on our journey to Lake Torrens and to the N.W., had we subsisted89 on similar beverage90, but the water at the Depot at Fort Grey was half mud, and perfectly91 opaque92. However, it was a matter of necessity to retain it here if possible, and we therefore took the best measures in our power to do so.
On the 19th we resumed our journey on the former bearing, the wind blowing keen from the south. At about a mile and a half we reached the salt lagoon, as it appeared to be in the distance, but which proved to be rather a flooded plain. It was about two miles broad, and three and three-quarters long, and was speckled over rather than covered with salt herbs. At this time, also, we had an immense barren plain to our left, bounded all around, but more particularly to the north, by sand hills; over these we toiled93 for nine miles, when at their termination the centre of the plain bore 176 degrees to the east of north, or nearly south. At five miles and a half further, having previously94 crossed a small stony plain, succeeded by sand ridges and valleys, both covered with spinifex, we ascended a pointed95 hill that lay directly in our course, and from it beheld96 the Stony Desert almost immediately below our feet. I must acknowledge, that coming so suddenly on it, I almost lost my breath. It was apparently unaltered in a single feature: herbless and treeless, it occupied more than one half of the visible horizon, that is to say, from 10 degrees east of north, westward round to south. As to the eastward, so here the ridges we had just crossed abutted97 upon it, and as many of them were lower than the line of the horizon, they looked like sea dunes98, backed by storm clouds, from the dusky colour of the plain.
After surveying this gloomy expanse of stoneclad desert we looked for some object on the N.W. horizon upon which to move across it, but none presented itself, excepting a very distant sand hill bearing 308 degrees, towards which I determined to proceed. We accordingly descended to the plain, and soon found ourselves on its uneven99 surface. There was a narrow space destitute100 of stones at the base of the sand hill, stamped all over with the impressions of natives’ feet. From eighty to one hundred men, women, and children must have passed along there; and it appeared to me that this had been a migration101 of some tribe or other during the wet weather, but it was very clear those poor people never ventured on the plain itself.
Descended from our high position, we could no longer see the sand hill just noticed, but held on our course by compass like a ship at sea, being two hours and forty minutes in again sighting it; and reaching it in somewhat less than an hour afterwards, calculated the distance at thirteen miles. As we approached, it looked like an island in the midst of the ocean; but we found a large though shallow sheet of water amongst the stones under it, for which we were exceedingly thankful. From this point we crossed to another sand hill that continued northerly further than we could see, having the Desert on either hand. Our horses beginning to flag, I halted at five on the side of the ridge, near a small puddle that had only water enough for them to drink off at once.
The morning of the 20th was bitterly cold, with the wind at S.S.E., and I cannot help thinking that there are extensive waters in some parts of the in terior, over which it came: the thermometer stood at 42 degrees. We started on a course of 335 degrees for a distant sandy peak rising above the general line of the horizon. At a mile, one of the horses fortunately got bogged102 in a little narrow channel just like that in the grassy plain; I say fortunately, for we might otherwise have passed the water it contained without knowing it, so completely was it shaded. In looking along the channel more closely, we discovered a little pool about three yards long and one broad, but deep. At this we breakfasted and watered the horses, and then pushed on. The lodgment of this water had been caused by local drainage, and was evident from the green feed round about. Here again it appeared we had occasion to be thankful, for on this supply I hoped we might safely calculate for a week at least, so that we still held on our course with more confidence, keeping at the base of the ridge, and passing an extent of five miles through an open box-tree forest, every tree of which was dead. The whole scene being one of the most profound silence and marked desolation, for here no living thing was to be seen.
At nine miles we ascended the ridge, and from it the Desert appeared to be interminable from N. to N.E., but a few distant sand hills now shewed themselves to the eastward of the last mentioned point. We then descended into a valley of sand and spinifex, and at four miles and a half ascended an elevated peak in a sandy ridge lying in our way. From this, the view to the north-west was over a succession of sand hills. The point we stood upon, as well as the ridge, was flanked southwards by an immense plain of red sand and clay, and to the N.E. by a similar but smaller plain. Crossing a portion of the great plain, at four miles and a half we ascended another peak, and then traversed a narrow valley crossing from it into a second valley, down which we travelled for six miles.
At that distance it was half a mile in breadth, and there was a little verdure near some gum-trees, but no water. As we were searching about, a cockatoo, (Cacatua Leadbeateri) flew over the sand hill to our right, and pitched in the trees; we consequently crossed to the opposite side and halted for the night, where there was a good deal of green grass for the horses, but no water in the contiguous valley.
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advert
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| vi.注意，留意，言及；n.广告 | |
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stony
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| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
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creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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westward
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| n.西方，西部；adj.西方的，向西的；adv.向西 | |
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gaseous
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| adj.气体的，气态的 | |
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phenomena
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| n.现象 | |
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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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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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ridges
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| n.脊( ridge的名词复数 )；山脊；脊状突起；大气层的)高压脊 | |
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ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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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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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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prevailing
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| adj.盛行的；占优势的；主要的 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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denser
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| adj. 不易看透的, 密集的, 浓厚的, 愚钝的 | |
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foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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lagoon
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| n.泻湖，咸水湖 | |
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fowl
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| n.家禽，鸡，禽肉 | |
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imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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23
eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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ascend
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| vi.渐渐上升，升高；vt.攀登，登上 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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mirage
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| n.海市蜃楼，幻景 | |
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gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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29
tributary
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| n.支流；纳贡国；adj.附庸的；辅助的；支流的 | |
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providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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depot
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| n.仓库，储藏处；公共汽车站；火车站 | |
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parched
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| adj.焦干的；极渴的；v.（使）焦干 | |
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persevere
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| v.坚持，坚忍，不屈不挠 | |
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34
treacherous
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| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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36
upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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37
downwards
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| adj./adv.向下的（地），下行的（地） | |
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38
derive
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| v.取得；导出；引申；来自；源自；出自 | |
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grassy
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| adj.盖满草的；长满草的 | |
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creeks
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| n.小湾( creek的名词复数 )；小港；小河；小溪 | |
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41
overcast
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| adj.阴天的，阴暗的，愁闷的；v.遮盖，（使）变暗，包边缝；n.覆盖，阴天 | |
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42
alluvial
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| adj.冲积的；淤积的 | |
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43
puddle
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| n.(雨)水坑，泥潭 | |
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44
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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45
zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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stunted
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| adj.矮小的；发育迟缓的 | |
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premature
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| adj.比预期时间早的；不成熟的，仓促的 | |
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49
ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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ascending
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| adj.上升的，向上的 | |
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52
lagoons
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| n.污水池( lagoon的名词复数 )；潟湖；（大湖或江河附近的）小而浅的淡水湖；温泉形成的池塘 | |
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53
dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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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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fatigued
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| adj. 疲乏的 | |
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candidly
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| adv.坦率地，直率而诚恳地 | |
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58
marsh
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| n.沼泽，湿地 | |
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regularity
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| n.规律性，规则性；匀称，整齐 | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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61
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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circumference
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| n.圆周，周长，圆周线 | |
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dwarf
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| n.矮子，侏儒，矮小的动植物；vt.使…矮小 | |
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icebergs
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| n.冰山，流冰( iceberg的名词复数 ) | |
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catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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margin
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| n.页边空白；差额；余地，余裕；边，边缘 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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oozing
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| v.（浓液等）慢慢地冒出，渗出( ooze的现在分词 )；使（液体）缓缓流出；（浓液）渗出，慢慢流出 | |
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depressed
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| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
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scorching
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| adj. 灼热的 | |
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71
ascertain
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| vt.发现，确定，查明，弄清 | |
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72
rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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73
interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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74
prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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75
extremity
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| n.末端，尽头；尽力；终极；极度 | |
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infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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77
jutting
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| v.（使）突出( jut的现在分词 )；伸出；（从…）突出；高出 | |
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78
allied
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| adj.协约国的；同盟国的 | |
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79
precarious
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| adj.不安定的，靠不住的；根据不足的 | |
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80
relished
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| v.欣赏( relish的过去式和过去分词 )；从…获得乐趣；渴望 | |
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81
overflow
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| v.(使)外溢，(使)溢出；溢出，流出，漫出 | |
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82
expend
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| vt.花费，消费，消耗 | |
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83
testimony
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| n.证词；见证，证明 | |
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84
infancy
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| n.婴儿期；幼年期；初期 | |
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85
gorge
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| n.咽喉，胃，暴食，山峡；v.塞饱，狼吞虎咽地吃 | |
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86
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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denuded
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| adj.[医]变光的，裸露的v.使赤裸( denude的过去式和过去分词 )；剥光覆盖物 | |
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88
elucidate
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| v.阐明，说明 | |
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89
subsisted
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| v.（靠很少的钱或食物）维持生活，生存下去( subsist的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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90
beverage
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| n.(水，酒等之外的)饮料 | |
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91
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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opaque
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| adj.不透光的；不反光的，不传导的；晦涩的 | |
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93
toiled
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的过去式和过去分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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94
previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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95
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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96
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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97
abutted
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| v.（与…）邻接( abut的过去式和过去分词 )；（与…）毗连；接触；倚靠 | |
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98
dunes
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| 沙丘( dune的名词复数 ) | |
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99
uneven
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| adj.不平坦的，不规则的，不均匀的 | |
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100
destitute
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| adj.缺乏的；穷困的 | |
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101
migration
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| n.迁移，移居，（鸟类等的）迁徙 | |
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102
bogged
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| adj.陷于泥沼的v.（使）陷入泥沼， （使）陷入困境( bog的过去式和过去分词 )；妨碍，阻碍 | |
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