In now reproducing the three series of notes on the Indian Mutiny written by De Quincey for me in Titan, I must advert1 briefly2 to the agony of apprehension3 under which the two earlier chapters were written. I can never forget the intense anxiety with which he studied daily the columns of The Scotsman and The Times, looking wistfully for tidings from Roorkhee where his daughter Florence was shut up. The father’s heart was on the rack until news arrived that the little garrison4 was saved.
The following paragraph from a letter written to his daughter Emily on Sunday, December 1st, 1857, will give some idea of the tension of that terrible suspense:—
‘India.—Up to the last mail but one (or briefly in its Latin form, up to the penultimate mail), I suffered in my nervous system to an extent that (except once, in 1812) had not experimentally been made known to me as a possibility. Every night, oftentimes all night long, I had the same dream—a vision of children, most of them infants, but not all, the first rank being girls of five and six years old, who were standing5 in the air outside, but so as to touch the window; and I heard, or perhaps fancied that I heard, always the same dreadful word Delhi, not then knowing that a word even more dreadful—- Cawnpore—was still in arrear6. This fierce shake to my nerves caused almost from the beginning a new symptom to expose itself (of which previously7 I never had the faintest outline), viz. somnambulism; and now every night, to my great alarm, I wake up to find myself at the window, which is sixteen feet from the nearest side of the bed. The horror was unspeakable from the hell-dog Nena or Nana; how if this fiend should get hold of Florence or her baby (now within seventeen days of completing her half year)? What first gave me any relief was a good firm-toned letter, dated Rourkee,1 in the public journals, from which it was plain that Rourkee had found itself able to act aggressively.’
De Quincey had reason to be proud of his son-in-law, Colonel Baird Smith, whose varied8 and brilliant services, culminating at the siege of Delhi, are written in the pages of Sir John Kaye’s and Colonel Malleson’s History of the Sepoy War.
On that fateful day at Delhi, when so much hung upon the decision as to whether the British should hold the ground they had won in the first assault, it is not too much to say that ‘the splendid obstinacy9’ of Baird Smith practically saved India.
I throw together a few passages from the thrilling pages where the story is told—sufficient to enable the reader who comes fresh to the subject, to understand what manner of man this gallant10 engineer was who made his mark on British India.
Rúrki (or Roorkhee) was the head-quarters of the Engineering Science of the country. When the news came of the Delhi massacre11, Baird Smith instantly made ‘admirable arrangements for the defence of the great engineering depot12, in which he took such earnest and loving interest. Officially, he was superintendent13 of irrigation in the north-western provinces—a most useful functionary14, great in all the arts of peace, and with a reputation which any man might be proud to possess. But the man of much science now grew at once into the man of war, and Rúrki became a garrison under his command. Not an hour was lost.’
His timely express to Major Charles Reid to bring his men on by the Ganges Canal route instead of by forced marches was an early evidence of his combination of dash and sound judgment15. Reid said, that it saved the place and the lives of the ladies and children.
From the hour that he made his appearance before Delhi as Chief Engineer, a succession of incidents stand on record which show his skill and courage. On the first occasion of Brigadier-General Wilson consulting him professionally, ‘he threw all the earnestness of his nature into a great remonstrance17 against the project of withdrawal18. He told the General that to raise the siege would be fatal to our national interests. ‘It is our duty,’ he said, ‘to retain the grip which we now have upon Delhi, and to hold on like Grim Death until the place is our own.’ He argued it ably. Wilson listened, and was convinced.
In that supreme19 moment at the storming of Delhi, when the repulse20 of two columns, the heavy losses, and the great strength of the place caused the General to hesitate whether to continue the operations, England had cause to feel thankful for the tenacity21 and daring of two of her sons:—
‘From this fatal determination General Wilson was saved by the splendid obstinacy of Baird Smith, aided by the soldier-like instincts of Neville Chamberlain. . . . The General undoubtedly22 believed that the safety of the army would be compromised by the retention23 of the positions they had gained. Fortunately, Baird Smith was at his elbow. Appealed to by General Wilson as to whether he thought it possible for the army to retain the ground they had won, his answer was short and decisive, “We must do so!” That was all. But the uncompromising tone, the resolute25 manner, the authority of the speaker, combined to make it a decision against which there was no appeal. General Wilson accepted it. . . . It is not too much to affirm, that a retrograde movement would, for the time, have lost India.’
In spite of the sufferings attendant on a severe wound, the indomitable spirit of this brave soldier carried him through all trials until India was practically saved. Then, shattered by his many exertions26, the breathing time came too late. His career is thus summed up in the following inscription27 on his tomb in Calcutta Cathedral:—
‘Colonel Richard Baird Smith of the Bengal Engineers, Master of the Calcutta Mint, C.B. and A.D.C. to the Queen, whose career, crowded with brilliant service, cut short at its brightest, was born at Lasswade on the 31st of December, 1818. He went to India in 1836. Already distinguished28 in the two Sikh wars, his conduct on the outbreak of revolt in 1857 showed what a clear apprehension, a stout29 heart, and a hopeful spirit could effect with scanty30 means in crushing disorder31. Called to Delhi as chief engineer, his bold and ready judgment, his weighty and tenacious32 counsels, played a foremost part in securing the success of the siege and England’s supremacy33. The gathered wisdom of many years spent in administering the irrigation of Upper India, trained him for his crowning service—the survey of the great famine of 1861, the provision of relief, and the suggestions of safeguards against such calamities34. Broken by accumulated labours, he died at sea, Dec. 13, 1861, aged35 scarcely 43 years. At Madras, where his Indian career began, his body awaits the resurrection.’
His great work, the Report on Italian Irrigation, published with maps and plans in 1852, remains36 a monument of his engineering ability. Colonel Baird Smith also published:—
(1) Agricultural Resources of the Punjab. London: 1849. 8vo.
(2) The Cauvery, Kistnah, and Godavery; being a report on the works constructed on these rivers for the Irrigation of the provinces of Tanjore, Guntoor, Masulipatam, and Rajahmundry, in the Presidency37 of Madras. London: 1856. 8vo.
(3) A Short Account of the Ganges Canal, with a description of some of the Principal Works. 40 pp. Thomason College Press, Roorkee: 1870. 8vo.—H
1 Anglo-Indian authorities seem to spell this word in four different ways.—H.
1. Hurried Notices of Indian Affairs.
(September, 1857.)
From the foundations of the earth, no case in human action or suffering has occurred which could less need or less tolerate the aid of artificial rhetoric38 than that tremendous tragedy which now for three months long has been moving over the plains of Hindostan. What in Grecian days were called aporreta (απορῥητα), things not utterable in human language or to human ears—things ineffable39—things to be whispered—things to dream of, not to tell2—these things amongst high-caste Brahmims, and amongst the Rajapoots, or martial40 race of heroes; have been the common product of the passing hour.3 Is this well? Is this a fitting end for the mighty41 religious system that through countless42 generations has overshadowed India? Yes, it is well: it is a fitting end for that man-destroying system, more cruel than the bloody43 religions of Mexico, which, for the deification of the individual, made hopeless Helots of the multitude. Henceforward CASTE must virtually be at an end. Upon caste has our Bengal army founded a final treason bloodier44 and larger than any known to human annals. Now, therefore, mere45 instincts of self-preservation—mere shame—mere fiery46 stress of necessity, will compel our East India Directory (or whatsoever47 power may now under parliamentary appointment inherit their responsibilities) to proscribe48, once and for ever, by steadfast49 exclusion50 from all possibility of a martial career—to ruin by legal degradation51 and incapacities, all Hindoo pretensions52 to places of trust, profit, or public dignity which found themselves upon high caste, as Brahmins or Rajapoots. Yes, it is well that the high-caste men, who existed only for the general degradation of their own Hindoo race in humbler stations, have themselves severed54 the links which connected them with the glory (so unmerited for them) of a nobler Western nationality. Bought though it is by earthly ruin, by torment55, many times by indignities56 past utterance57 inflicted59 upon our dear massacred sisters, and upon their unoffending infants, yet for that very reason we must now maintain the great conquest so obtained. There is no man living so base—no, there is not a felon60 living amongst us, who could be persuaded to repeat the act of the Grecian leader Agamemnon—namely, to sacrifice his innocent daughter, just entering the portals of life in its most golden stage, on the miserable61 pretence62 of winning a public benefit; masking a diabolical63 selfishness by the ostentation64 of public spirit. Yet if some calamity65, or even some atrocity67, had carried off the innocent creature under circumstances which involved an advantage to her country, or to coming generations, the most loving father might gradually allow himself to draw consolation68 from the happy consequences of a crime which he would have died to prevent. Even such a mixed necessity of feeling presses upon ourselves at present. From the bloody graves of our dear martyred sisters, scattered69 over the vast plains of India, rises a solemn adjuration70 to the spiritual ear of Him that listens with understanding. Audibly this spiritual voice says: O dear distant England! mighty to save, were it not that in the dreadful hour of our trial thou wert far away, and heardest not the screams of thy dying daughters and of their perishing infants. Behold71! for us all is finished! We from our bloody graves, in which all of us are sleeping to the resurrection, send up united prayers to thee, that upon the everlasting72 memory of our hell-born wrongs, thou, beloved mother, wouldst engraft a counter-memory of everlasting retribution, inflicted upon the Moloch idolatries of India. Upon the pride of caste rests for its ultimate root all this towering tragedy, which now hides the very heavens from India. Grant, therefore, O distant, avenging75 England—grant the sole commensurate return which to us can be granted—us women and children that trod the fields of carnage alone—grant to our sufferings the virtue76 and lasting73 efficacy of a lutron (λυτρον), or ransom77 paid down on behalf of every creature groaning78 under the foul79 idol74 of caste. Only by the sufferance of England can that idolatry prosper80. Thou, therefore, England, when Delhi is swept by the ploughshare and sown with salt, build a solitary81 monument to us; and on its base inscribe82 that the last and worst of the murderous idolatries which plagued and persecuted83 the generations of men was by us abolished; and that by women and children was the pollution of caste cleansed84 from the earth for ever!
Now let us descend85 into the circumstantialities of the case, explaining what may have been obscure to the general reader. By which term general reader is meant, that reader who has had no reason for cultivating any acquaintance whatever with India; to whom, therefore, the whole subject is unbroken ground; and who neither knows, nor pretends to know, the merest outline of our British connection with India; what first carried us thither86; what accidents of good luck and of imminent87 peril88 raised us from a mere commercial to a political standing; how we improved this standing by prodigious89 energy into the position of a conquering state; prospered90 rapidly by the opposition91 which we met; overthrew92 even our European competitors, of whom the deadliest were the French; pursued a difficult war with an able Mahometan upstart, Hyder Ali—a treacherous93 and cruel prince; next with his son, Tippoo Sahib, a still more ferocious94 scoundrel, who, in his second war with us, was settled effectually by one thrust of a bayonet in the hands of an English soldier. This war, and the consequent division of Tippoo’s dominions95, closed the eighteenth century. About 1817 we undertook the great Mahratta war; the victorious96 termination of which placed us, after sixty years of struggle, in the supreme rank amongst Indian potentates97. All the rest of our power and greatness accrued98 to us by a natural and spontaneous evolution of consequences, most of which would have followed us as if by some magnetic attraction, had we ourselves been passive. No conquering state was ever yet so mild and beneficent in the spirit of its government, or so free from arrogance99 in its demeanour. An impression thoroughly100 false prevails even amongst ourselves, that we have pursued a systematic101 course of usurpations, and have displaced all the ancient thrones of Hindostan. Unfortunately for this representation, it happens that all the leading princes of India whose power and rank brought them naturally into collision with ourselves, could not be ancient, having been originally official dependants103 upon the great Tartar prince, whose throne was usually at Agra or Delhi, and whom we called sometimes the Emperor, or the Shah, or more often the Great Mogul. During the decay of the Mogul throne throughout the eighteenth century, these dependent princes had, by continual encroachments on the weakness of their sovereign, made themselves independent rulers; but they could not be older than the great Mogul Shah himself, who had first created them. Now the Mogul throne was itself a mere modern creation, owing its birth to Baber, the great-grandson of Tamerlane. But Baber, the eldest104 of these Tartar princes, synchronised with our English Henry VIII. In reality, there was nothing old in India that could be displaced by us; at least amongst the Mahometan princes. Some ancient Hindoo Rajahs there were in obscure corners, but without splendour of wealth or military distinction; and the charge of usurpation102 was specially105 absurd, since we pre-eminently106 were the king-makers, the king-supporters, the king-pensioners, in Hindostan; and excepting the obscure princes just mentioned, almost every Indian prince, at the time of our opening business in the political line, happened to be a usurper108. We ourselves made the Rajah of Oude into a king; we ourselves more than once saved the supreme Shah (i. e. the Great Mogul) from military ruin, and for many a year saved him and his from the painful condition of insolvency109. But all this is said in the way of parenthesis110. In another number, a sketch111 of our Indian Empire, in its growth and early oscillations, may be presented to the reader, specially adapted to the use of those whose reading has not lain in that direction. Now let us return to the great domineering question of the hour—the present tremendous revolt on the part of seventy or eighty thousand men in our Bengal Presidency.
This mutiny we propose to notice briefly but searchingly under three heads—first, in its relation to the mutineers themselves; next, in its relation to ourselves; but, subdividing112 that question, we will assign the second head to the consideration of its probable bearing on our political credit and reputation; whilst the third head may be usefully given to the consideration of its bearing on our pecuniary113 interests, and our means of effectual reparation for the ruins left behind by rebellion, and by the frantic114 spasms115 of blind destruction.
First, then, let us look for a moment at this great tumultuary movement, as it points more or less obscurely to the ulterior purposes of the mutineers, and the temper in which they pursue those purposes. In a newspaper of Saturday, August 15, we observe the following sentence introductory to a most unsatisfactory discussion of the Indian revolt:—‘The mutiny in India, from the uninterrupted nature of its progress, and its rapid spread through every considerable station, shows a power of combination and determination which has never before been given credit for to the native Indian mind.’ This passage is cited by us, not for anything plausible116 in its views, but for the singular felicity of contradiction which fortunately it offers to every indication of the true disposable ability that is now, or ever has been, at the service of the insurgents117. This, indeed, is rapidly becoming of very subordinate importance; since the ablest rebel, without an army, must be contemptible118 enough. But with a view to the larger question—What quality of opposition is ever likely to be brought into play against us, not in merely military displays, but in the secret organisation119 of plots and local tumults120, propagated over extensive provinces? Some degree of anxiety is reasonable under any possible condition of the army; and this being so, it is satisfactory to observe, now in 1857, the same childishness and defect of plan and coherent purpose as have ever characterised the oriental mind. No foresight121 has been exhibited; no concert between remote points; no preparation; no tendency towards combined action. And, on the other hand, it is most justly noticed by a new London paper, of the same date—namely, the People—that it is perfectly122 dazzling to the mind to review over the whole face of India, under almost universal desertion, the attitude of erectness123 and preparation assumed by the scattered parties of our noble countrymen—‘everywhere’ (says the People) ‘driven to bay, and everywhere turning upon and scattering124 all assailants. From all parts is the same tale. No matter how small the amount of the British force may be, if it were but a captain’s company, it holds its own.’ On the other hand, what single success have the rebels achieved? Most valiant126, no doubt, they have shown themselves in hacking127 to pieces poor fugitive128 women, most intrepid129 in charging a column of infants. Else, what have they to show? Delhi is the solitary post which they have for the moment secured; but even that through the incomprehensible failure of the authorities at Meerut, and not through any vigour130 manifested by themselves. Any uneasiness which still possesses the minds of close observers fastens upon these two points—first, upon the disarmings, as distinguished from the desertions; secondly132, upon the amount, and probable equipment, and supposed route of stragglers. It is now said that the mutiny has burned itself out from mere defect of fuel; there can be no more revolts of sepoys, seeing that no sepoys now remain to revolt; that is, of the Bengal force. But in this general statement a great distinction is neglected. Regiments133 once disarmed135, if also stripped of their private arms, whether deserters or not, are of slight account; but the grave question is this—how many of (say seventy) regiments have gone off previously to the disarming131. Even in that case, the most favourable136 for them where arms are secured, it is true that ammunition137 will very soon fail them; but still their bayonets will be available; and we believe that the East India infantry138 carry swords. A second anxiety connects itself with the vast number of vagrant139 marauding soldiers, having power to unite, and to assail125 small detached stations or private bungalows140. Yet, again, in cases known specially to ourselves, the inhabitants of such small insulated stations had rapidly fortified141 the buildings best fitted for defence. Already, by the 18th of May, in a station not far from Delhi, this had been effected; every native servant, male or female, had been discharged instantly; and perhaps they would be able to strengthen themselves with artillery142. The horrors also of the early murders at Delhi would be likely to operate beneficially, by preventing what otherwise is sure to happen—namely, the disposition143 to relax in vigilance as first impressions wear off. Considering, upon the whole, the amount of regiments that may be assumed as absolutely disarmed and neutralised; and, on the other hand, counting the 5000 and upwards144 of troops intercepted145 on their route to Hong-Kong, and adding these to at least 25,000 of Queen’s troops previously in the country, counting also the faithful section of the Sikhs, the Ghoorkas, and others that could be relied on, the upshot must be, that at least 40,000 troops of the best quality are scattered between the Hoogly and the Sutlege (or, in other words, between Calcutta and Loodiana4). Beyond a few casual outrages148 on some small scale, we hope that no more of bloody tragedies can be now (August 25) apprehended149. But we, that have dear friends in Bengal, must, for weeks to come, feel restless and anxious. Still, this is a great mitigation of the horror that besieged151 our anticipations152 six weeks ago.
But, having thrown a glance at the shifting aspects of the danger, now let us alight for a moment on the cause of this dreadful outbreak. We have no separate information upon this part of the subject, but we have the results of our own vigilant154 observations upon laying this and that together; and so much we will communicate. From the first, we have rejected incredulously the immoderate effects ascribed to the greased cartridges156; and not one rational syllable157 is there in the pretended rumours158 about Christianising the army. Not only is it impossible that folly159 so gross should maintain itself against the unremitting evidence of facts, all tending in the opposite direction; but, moreover, under any such idle solution as this, there would still remain another point unaccounted for, and that is the frantic hatred160 borne towards ourselves by many of the rebellious161 troops. Some of our hollow friends in France, Belgium, &c., profess16 to read in this hatred an undeniable inference that we must have treated the sepoys harshly, else how explain an animosity so deadly. To that argument we have a very brief answer, such as seems decisive. The Bengalese sepoy,5 when most of all pressed for some rational explanation of his fury, never once thought of this complaint; besides which, it is too notorious that our fault has always lain the other way. Heavily criminal, in fact, we had been by our lax discipline; and in particular, the following most scandalous breach162 of discipline must have been silently connived163 at for years by British authorities. Amongst the outward forms of respect between man and man, there is none that has so indifferently belonged to all nations, as the act of rising from a sedentary posture164 for the purpose of expressing respect. Most other forms of respect have varied with time and with place. The ancient Romans, for instance, never bowed; and amongst orientals, you are thought to offer an insult if you uncover your head. In this little England of ours, who could fancy two stout men curtseying to each other? Yet this they did, and so recently as in Shakspere’s days. To use his words, they ‘crook’d the pregnant hinges of the knee.’ Sometimes they curtseyed with the right knee singly, sometimes with both, as did Romeo to the fiery Tybalt. Many and rapid, therefore, were the changes in ceremonial forms, at least with us, the changeable men of Christendom; else how could it happen that, two hundred and fifty years back, men of rank in England should have saluted165 each other by forms that now would be thought to indicate lunacy? And yet, violent as the spirit of change might otherwise be, one thing never changed—the expression of respect between man and man by rising from their seats.
‘Utque viro sancto chorus assurrexerit omnis’
is a record belonging to the eldest of days; and that it belonged not to the eldest times only, but also to the highest rank, is involved in a memorable166 anecdote167 from the last days of Julius Cæsar. He, the mighty dictator—
‘Yes, he, the foremost man of all this world’—
actually owed his assassination168, under one representation, to the burning resentment169 of his supposed aristocratic hauteur170 in a public neglect of this very form. A deputation of citizens, on a matter of business, had found him seated, and to their immeasurable disgust, he had made no effort even to rise. His friends excused him on the allegation, whether true or not, that at the moment he was physically171 incapacitated from rising by a distressing172 infirmity. It might be so: as Shakspere elsewhere observes, the black silk patch knows best whether there is a wound underneath173 it. But, if it were not so, then the imperial man paid the full penalty of his offence, supposing the rancorous remembrance of that one neglect were truly and indeed what armed the Ides of March against his life. But, were this story as apocryphal174 as the legends of our nurseries, still the bare possibility that ‘the laurelled majesty’6 of that mighty brow should have been laid low by one frailty175 of this particular description—this possibility recalls us clamorously to the treasonable character of such an insolence176, when practised systematically177 for the last eighteen months by a Pagan hound, by a sepoy from Lucknow or Benares, towards his British commanding officer. Shall it have been possible that the founder178 of the Roman empire died for having ignored the decencies of human courtesy, perhaps through momentary179 inattention, by wandering of thoughts, or by that collapse180 of energy which sometimes steps between our earnest intentions and their fulfilment—this man, so august, shall he have expiated182 by a bloody death one fleeting183 moment of forgetfulness? and yet, on the other hand, under our Indian government, the lowest of our servants, a mass of carrion184 from a brotherhood185 of Thugs, shall have had free license186 to insult the leaders of the army which finds bread for him and his kindred? That the reader may understand what it is that we are talking of—not very long ago, in one of the courts-martial occasioned by some explosions of tentative insubordination preliminary to the grand revolt, a British officer, holding the rank of lieutenant187, made known to the court, that through the last twelve or eighteen months he had been struck and shocked by one alarming phenomenon within the cantonments of the sepoys: formerly188, on his entering the lines, the men had risen respectfully from their seats as he walked along; but since 1854, or thereabouts, they had insolently189 looked him in the face, whilst doggedly191 retaining their seats. Now this was a punishable breach of discipline, which in our navy would be punished without fail. Even a little middy, fresh from the arms of his sisters or his nurse, and who does not bear any royal commission, as an ensign or cornet in the army, is thus supported in the performance of his duty, and made respectable in the eyes of his men, though checked in all explosions of childish petulance—even to this child, as an officer in command, respect is exacted; and on the finest arena192 of discipline ever exhibited to the world, it is habitually193 felt that from open disrespect to the ruin of all discipline the steps of descent are rapid. This important fact in evidence as to the demeanour of the sepoy, throws a new light upon the whole revolt. Manifestly it had been moulding and preparing itself for the last two years, or more. And those authorities who had tolerated Colonel Wheler for months, might consistently tolerate this presumption194 in the sepoy for a year.
We had, in reliance upon receiving fuller materials for discussion by the Eastern mail arriving in the middle of August, promised by anticipation153 two heads for our review, which, under the imperfect explanations received, we are compelled to defer195. Meantime, upon each of these two heads we shall point the attention of our readers to one or two important facts, First, as regards the sepoy revolt considered in relation to the future pecuniary burdens on the Bengal exchequer196, it ought to be remembered, that, if (according to a very loose report) the Company shall finally be found to have lost twenty millions of rupees, or two millions sterling197, by the looting of many local treasuries198, it will, on the other hand, have saved, upon forfeited199 pay, and (which is much more important) upon, forfeited pensions, in coming years, a sum nearly corresponding. Secondly, this loot or plunder200 must have served the public interest in a variety of ways. It must have cramped201 the otherwise free motions of the rebels; must have given multiplied temptations to desertion; must have instilled202 jealousies203 of each other, and want of cordial co-operation in regard to the current plans, and oftentimes murderous animosities in regard to past transactions—divisions of spoil, or personal competitions. Thus far, if nothing had been concerned more precious than money, it is by no means clear that the public service (as distinct from the interest of private individuals, whose property has been destroyed) will be found to have very seriously suffered.
The other head, which concerns the probable relation of this astonishing revolt to the wisdom of our late Indian administration, finds us, for the present, enveloped204 in a mystery the most impenetrable that history, in any of its darkest chapters, has offered. We have a war on foot with Southern China, or rather with Canton; and what may be the Chinese object in that war, is hitherto an impenetrable mystery. But darker and more unfathomable is the mystery which invests the sepoy insurrection. Besides the notorious fact that no grievances205, the very slightest, have been alleged206, it must also be remembered that we first and solely207 made a provision for the invalided208 and for the superannuated209 soldier—a thing unheard of throughout Asia. And this golden reversion, the poor infatuated savages210 have wilfully212 renounced213! The sole sure result, from this most suicidal of revolts, is—that unpitied myriads214 of sepoys will be bayonetted, thousands will be hanged, and nearly all will lose their pensions.
2 'A sight to dream of, not to tell.'—Coleridge.
3 Twenty-three and twenty-eight thousand of these two orders we have in our Bengal army.
4 'Loodiana:'—The very last station in Bengal, on going westwards to the Indus. In Runjeet Singh's time this was for many years the station at which we lodged215 our Affghan pensioner107, the Shah Soojah—too happy, had he never left his Loodiana lodgings216.
5 For the sake of readers totally unacquainted with the subject, it may be as well to make an explanation or two. The East India regiments generally run to pretty high numbers—1000 or 1200. The high commissioned officers, as the captain, lieutenant, &c., are always British; but the non-commissioned officers are always native Hindoos—that is, sepoys. For instance, the naïk, or corporal; the havildar, or serjeant:—even of the commissioned officers, the lowest are unavoidably native, on account of the native private. Note that sepoy, as colloquially217 it is called, but sipahee, as in books it is often written, does not mean Hindoo or Hindoo soldier, but is simply the Hindoo word for soldier.
6 'The laurelled majesty,' &c.:—A flying reference to a grand expression—majestas laurea frontis—which occurs in a Latin supplement to the Pharsalia by May, an English poet, contemporary with the latter days of Shakspere.
2. Passing Notices of Indian Affairs.
(October, 1857.)
An English historian—one amongst many—of our British India, having never happened to visit any part of that vast region, nor, indeed, any part of the East, founded upon that accident a claim to a very favourable distinction. It was, Mr. Mill argued, desirable—it was a splendid advantage—NOT to have seen India. This advantage he singly, amongst a crowd of coming rivals and precursors218, might modestly plead; and to that extent he pretended to a precedency amongst all his competitors.
The whole claim, and the arguments which supported it, wore the aspect of a paradox219; and a paradox it certainly was—but not, therefore, a falsehood. A paradox, as I have many times explained, or proposition contradicting the doxa or public opinion, not only may be true, but often has been the leading truth in capital struggles of opinion. Not only the true doctrine220, but also, in some branches of science, the very fundamental doctrine, that which at this day furnishes a foundation to all the rest, originally came forward as a violent and revolting, paradox.7 It is possible enough, therefore, that the Indian historiographer may have been right, and not merely speciously221 ingenious. It is something of a parallel case, which we may all have known through the candid222 admissions of the Duke of Wellington, that the battle of Waterloo might by possibility have been reported as satisfactorily, on the 18th of June, 1815, from the centre of London smoke, as from the centre of that Belgian smoke which sat in heavy clouds throughout the day upon the field of battle. Now and then, it is true, these Belgian clouds drew up in solemn draperies, and revealed the great tragic223 spectacle lying behind them for a brief interval224. But they closed up again, and what the spectator saw through these fugitive openings would have availed him little indeed, unless in so far as it was extended and interpreted by information issuing from the British staff. But this information would have been not less material and effectual towards a history of the mighty battle, if furnished to a man sitting in a London drawing-room, than if furnished to a reporter watching as an eye-witness at Hougoumont.
This one Waterloo illustration, if thoughtfully applied225, might yield a justification226 for the paradoxical historian. Much more, therefore, might it yield a justification for us at home, who, sitting at ten thousand miles’ distance, take upon us to better the Indian reports written on the spot, to correct their errors of haste, or to improve them by showing the inferences which they authorise. We, who write upon the awful scenes of India at far-distant stations, do not so truly enjoy unequal advantages, as we enjoy varying and dissimilar advantages.
According to the old proverb, the bystander sees more of the game than those who share too closely in its passions. And assuredly, if it were asked, what it is that we who write upon Indian news aspire227 to effect, I may reply frankly228, that, if but by a single suggestion any one of us should add something to the illumination of the great sepoy conspiracy229—whether as to its ultimate purpose, or as to its machinery230, or as to its wailing231 hopes, or if but by the merest trifle any one of us should take away something from the load of anxious terrors haunting the minds of all who have relations in India—that man will have earned his right to occupy the public ear. For my own part, I will not lose myself at present, when so much darkness prevails on many leading questions, in any views too large and theoretic for our present condition of light. And that I may not be tempted232 into doing so, I will proceed without regard to any systematic order, taking up, exactly as chance or preponderant interest may offer them, any urgent questions of the hour, before the progress of events may antiquate them, or time may exhale233 their flavour. This desultory234 and moody235 want of order has its attractions for many a state of nervous distraction236. Every tenth reader may happen to share in the distraction, so far as it has an Indian origin. The same deadly anxiety on behalf of female relatives, separated from their male protectors in the centre of a howling wilderness237, now dedicated238 as an altar to the dark Hindoo goddess of murder, may, in the reader also, as well as in the writer on Indian news, periodically be called on to submit to the insurmountable aggravation239 of delay. In such a case, what is good for one may be good for another. The same inexpressible terrors, so long as Nena Sahibs and other miscreant240 sons of hell are roaming through the infinite darkness, may prompt the same fretfulness of spirit; the same deadly irritation241 and restlessness, which cannot but sharpen the vision of fear, will sharpen also that of watching hope, and will continually read elements of consolation or trust in that which to the uninterested eye offers only a barren blank.
7 This truth, for the sake of making it more impressive, I threw long ago into this antithetic form; and I will not scruple242, out of any fear that I may be reproached with repeating myself, to place it once again on record:—'Not that only is strictly243 a paradox, which, being false, is popularly regarded as true;' but that also, and in a prodigiously244 greater extent, which, being true, is popularly regarded as false.
Europeans.
I am not sorry that the first topic, which chance brings uppermost, is one which overflows245 with the wrath246 of inexhaustible disgust. What fiend of foolishness has suggested to our absurd kinsmen247 in the East, through the last sixty years, to generalise themselves under the name of Europeans? As if they were ashamed of their British connections, and precisely248 at that moment when they are leaving England, they begin to assume continental249 airs; when bidding farewell to Europe, they begin to style themselves Europeans, as if it were a greater thing to take up a visionary connection with the Continent, than to found a true and indestructible nobility upon their relationship to the one immortal250 island of this planet. There is no known spot of earth which has exerted upon the rest of the planet one-thousandth part of the influence which this noble island has exercised over the human race—exercised through the noblest organs; and yet, behold! these coxcombs of our own blood have no sooner landed on Indian soil, than they are anxious to disclaim251 the connection. Such at least is the apparent construction of their usage. But mark the illogical consequences which follow. A noble British regiment134 suddenly, and for no rational purpose, receives a new baptism, and becomes a European regiment. The apologist for this folly will say, that a British regiment does not necessarily exclude Germans, for instance. But I answer that it does. The British Government have, during this very month of September, 1857, declared at Frankfort (in answer to obstinate252 applications from puppies who fancy that we cannot tame our rebels without their assistance), ‘that the British army, by its constitution, does not admit foreigners.’ But suppose that accidents of aristocratic patronage253 have now and then privately254 introduced a few Germans or Swedes into a very few regiments, surely this accident, improbable already, was not more probable when the regiment was going away for twenty years (the old term of expatriation) to a half-year’s distance from the Rhine and the Danube. The Germanism of the regiment might altogether evaporate in the East, but could not possibly increase. Next, observe this; if we must lose our nationality, and transmute255 ourselves into Europeans, for the very admirable reason that we were going away to climates far remote from Germany, then, at least, we ought not to call our native troops sepoys, but Asiatics. In this way only will there be any logical parity256 of antithesis257. Scripturally, we are the children of Japheth; and, as all Asiatics are the sons of Shem, then we shall be able to mortify258 their conceit259, by calling to their knowledge our biblical prophecy, that the sons of Japheth shall sit down in the tents of Shem. But, thirdly, even thus we should find ourselves in a dismal260 chaos261 of incoherences; for what is to become of ‘Jack262’? Must our sailors be re-baptised? Must Jack also be a European? Think of Admiral Seymour reporting to the Admiralty as a leader of Europeans! and exulting263 in having circumvented264 Yeh by Her Majesty’s European crews! And then, lastly, come the Marines: must they also qualify for children of Europe? Was there ever such outrageous265 folly? One is sure, in the fine picturesque266 words of Chaucer, that, ‘for very filth267 and shame,’ neither admiral nor the youngest middy would disgrace himself by such ridiculous finery from the rag-fair of cosmopolitan268 swindling. The real origin of so savage211 an absurdity269 is this:—Amongst the commercial bodies of the three presidencies270 in all the leading cities, it became a matter of difficulty often to describe special individuals in any way legally operative. Your wish was to distinguish him from the native merchant or banker; but to do this by calling him a British merchant, &c., was possibly not true, and legally, therefore, not safe. He might be a Dane, a Russian, or a Frenchman; he was described, therefore, in a more generalising way, as a European. But a case so narrow as that—a case for pawnbrokers271 and old clothesmen—ought not to regulate the usage of great nations. Grand and spirit-stirring (especially in a land far distant from home) are the recollections of towns or provinces connected with men’s nativities. And poisonous to all such ancestral inspirations are the rascally272 devices of shroffs and money-changers.
Delhi.
That man—I suppose we are all agreed—who commanded in Meerut on Sunday the tenth day of May, in the year of Christ one thousand eight hundred and fifty-seven, a day which will furnish an epoch273 for ever to the records of civilisation—that man who could have stopped the bloody kennel274 of hounds, but did not, racing275 in full cry to the homes of our unsuspecting brothers and sisters in Delhi—it were good for that man if he had not been born. He had notice such as might have wakened the dead early in the afternoon (2 or 3 o’clock P.M., I believe), and yet, at the end of a long summer day, torchlight found him barely putting his foot into the stirrup. And why into the stirrup at all? For what end, on what pretence, should he ever have played out the ridiculous pantomime and mockery of causing the cavalry276 to mount? Two missions there were to execute on that fatal night—first, to save our noble brothers and sisters at Delhi from a ruin that was destined277 to be total; secondly, to inflict58 instant and critical retribution upon those who had already opened the carnival278 of outrage147, before they left Meerut. Oh, heaven and earth! heart so timid was there in all this world, sense of wrong so callous279, as not to leap with frenzy280 of joy at so sublime281 a summons to wield282 the most impassioned functions of Providence—namely, hell-born destroyers to destroy in the very instant of their fancied triumph, and suffering innocence283 to raise from the dust in the very crisis of its last despairing prostration284. Reader! it is not exaggeration—many a heart will bear witness in silence that it is not—if I should say that men exist, who would gladly pay down thirty years of life in exchange for powers so heavenly for redressing285 earthly wrongs. To the infamous286 torpor287 on that occasion, and the neglect of the fleeting hour that struck the signal for delivery and vengeance288, are due many hundreds of the piteous outrages that have since polluted Bengal. Do I mean that, if the rebel capture of Delhi had been prevented, no subsequent outrages would have followed? By no means. Other horrors would have been perpetrated; but that first and greatest (always excepting the case of Cawnpore) would by all likelihood have been intercepted.8
But perhaps his military means were inadequate289 to the crisis? He had duties to Meerut, not less than duties of vengeance and of sudden deliverance for Delhi. True: he had so; and he had means for meeting all these duties. He had a well-mounted establishment of military force, duly organized in all its arms. Three-and-twenty hundreds he had of British, suitably proportioned as to infantry, cavalry, and artillery—a little army that would have faced anything that Delhi could at that time have put forward. Grant that Delhi could have mustered291 5000 men: these are three propositions having no doubtful bearing upon such a fact:—
1. That cheerfully would this little British force have faced any Asiatic force of 5000 men, which, indeed, it can hardly be necessary to say, in the face of so large and so transcendent an experience.
2. That the Delhi force, could have reached the amount supposed of 5000 only after a junction292 with the Meerut mutineers; which junction it was the main business of the Meerut commander to intercept146.
3. That this computation assumes also the whole of the Delhi garrison to be well affected293 to the mutineers; an assumption altogether unwarrantable on the outside of Delhi during the 10th and 11th of May.
Such were (1) the motives294 of the commander at Meerut towards a noble and energetic resolution; such were (2) his means.9
Thinking of that vile296 lacheté, which surrendered, with a girl’s tameness, absolutely suffered to lapse181, without effort, and as if a bauble297, this great arsenal298 and magazine into the hands of the revolters, involuntarily we have regarded it all along as a deadly misfortune; and, upon each periodic mail, the whole nation has received the news of its non-capture as a capital disappointment.
But, on steadier consideration, apparently299 all this must be regarded as a very great error. Not that it could be any error to have wished for any course of events involving the safety of our poor slaughtered300 compatriots. That event would have been cheap at any price. But that dismal catastrophe301 having happened, to intercept that bitter wo having been already ripened302 into an impossibility by the 11th and 12th of May, seven-and-forty days before our thoughts at home began to settle upon India, thenceforwards it became a very great advantage—a supreme advantage—that Delhi should have been occupied by the mutineers. Briefly, then, why?
First of all, because this movement shut up within one ring fence the élite of the rebels (according to some calculations, at least three-and-twenty thousand of well-armed and well-disciplined men), that would otherwise have been roaming over the whole face of Bengal as marauders and murderers. These men, left to follow their own vagrant instincts, would, it is true, in some not inconsiderable proportion, have fallen victims to those fierce reactions of rustic303 vengeance which their own atrocities304 would very soon have provoked. But large concentrated masses would still have survived in a condition rapidly disposable as auxiliary305 bodies to all those towns invested by circumstances with a partisan306 interest, such as Lucknow, Benares, Cawnpore, Agra, Gwalior, and Allahabad.
Secondly, Delhi it was that opened the horrors of retribution; mark what chastisement307 it was that alighted from the very first upon all the scoundrels who sought, and fancied they could not fail to find, an asylum308 in Delhi. It is probable that hardly one in twenty of the mutineers came to Delhi without plunder, and for strong reasons this plunder would universally assume the shape of heavy metallic309 money. For the public treasuries in almost every station were rifled; and unhappily for the comfort of the robbers under the Bengal sun of June and July, very much of the East Indian money lies in silver—namely, rupees; of which, in the last generation, eight were sufficient to make an English pound; but at present ten are required by the evil destiny of sepoys. Everybody has read an anecdote of the painter Correggio, that, upon finishing a picture for some monastery310, the malicious311 monks312 paid him for it in copper313. The day of payment was hot, and poor Correggio was overweighted; he lay down under his copper affliction; and whether he died or not, is more than I remember. But doubtless, to the curious in Correggiosity, Pilkington will tell. For the sepoys, although their affliction took the shape of silver, and not of copper, virtually it was not less, considering the far more blazing sun. Mephistopheles might have arranged the whole affair. One could almost hear him whispering to each separate sepoy, as he stood amongst the treasury314 burglars, the reflection that those pensions, which the kind and munificent315 English Government granted to their old age or their infirmities, all over India, raising up memorial trophies316 of public gratitude317 or enlightened pity, never more would be heard of. All had perished, the justice that gave, the humble53 merit that received, the dutiful behaviour that hoped; and henceforwards of them and of their names, as after the earliest of rebellions, in the book of life ‘was no remembrance.’
Under these miserable thoughts the vast majority of the sepoys robbed largely, as opportunities continually opened upon them. Then, and chiefly through their robberies, commenced their chastisement in good earnest. Every soldier by every comrade was viewed with hatred and suspicion; by the common labourer with the scrutiny318 of deep self-interest. The popular report of their sudden wealth travelled rapidly; every road, village, house, whether ahead or on their flanks, became a place of distrust and anxious jealousy319; and Delhi seemed to offer the only safe asylum. Thither, as to a consecrated320 sanctuary321, all hurried; and their first introduction to the duties of the new home they had adopted, would be a harsh and insolent190 summons to the chances of a desperate sortie against men in whose presence their very souls sank. On reviewing the circumstances which must have surrounded this Delhi life, probably no nearer resemblance to a hell of apostate322 spirits has ever existed. Money, carried in weighty parcels of coin, cannot be concealed323. Swathed about the person, it disfigures the natural symmetries of the figure. The dilemma325, therefore, in which every individual traitor326 stood was, that, if he escaped a special notice from every eye, this must have been because all his crimes had failed to bring him even a momentary gain. Having no money, he had no swollen327 trousers. For ever he had forfeited the pension that was the pledge of comfort and respectability to his family and his own old age. This he had sacrificed, in exchange for—nothing at all. But, on the other hand, if his robberies had been very productive and prosperous, in that proportion he became advertised to every eye, indicated and betrayed past all concealment328 to every ruffian less fortunate as a pillager329. Delhi must in several points have ripened his troubles, and showed them on a magnifying disk. To have no confidential330 friend, or adviser331, or depositary of a secret, is an inevitable332 evil amongst a population constitutionally treacherous. But now in Delhi this torment takes a more fearful shape. Every fifth or sixth day, when he is sternly ordered out upon his turn of duty, what shall he do with his money? He has by possibility 40 lbs. weight of silver, each pound worth about three guineas. In the very improbable case of his escaping the gallows333, since the British Government will endeavour to net the whole monstrous334 crew that have one and all broken the sacramentum militare, for which scourging335 with rods and subsequent strangulation is the inevitable penalty, what will remain to his poor family? His cottage, that once had been his pride, will now betray him, as soon as ever movable columns are formed, and horse-patrols begin to inspect the roads. But, as to his money, in nineteen cases out of twenty, he will find himself obliged to throw it away in his flight, and will then find that through three months of intolerable suffering he has only been acting336 as steward337 for some British soldier.
The private letters and the local newspapers from many parts of India having now come in, it is possible through the fearful confusion to read some facts that would cause despair, were it not for two remembrances: first, what nation it is that supports the struggle; secondly, that of the six weeks immediately succeeding to the 10th of September, no two days, no period of forty-eight hours, can pass without continued successions of reinforcements reaching Calcutta. It should be known that even the worst sailers among the transports—namely, exactly those which were despatched from England through the course of July (not of August)—are all under contract to perform the voyage in seventy days; whereas many a calculation has proceeded on the old rate of ninety days. The small detachments of two and three hundreds, despatched on every successive day of July, are already arriving at their destination; and the August detachments, generally much stronger (800 or 900), all sailed in powerful steamers. Lord Elgin arrived at Calcutta in time to be reported by this mail, with marines (300) and others (300), most seasonably to meet the dangers and uproars339 of the great Mahometan festival. The bad tidings are chiefly these:—
1. The failure of a night-attack upon the Dinapore mutineers by detachments from two of our British regiments, with a loss of ‘200 killed‘; in which, however, there must be a mistake; for the total number of our attacking party was only 300. On the other hand, there may have been some call for a consciously desperate effort; and the enemy, having two regiments, would muster290, probably, very nearly 2000 men; for the sepoy regiments are always strong in numbers, and these particular regiments had not suffered.
2. Much more ominous340 than these reports, is an estimate of our main force before Delhi at less than 2000 men. This, unhappily, is not intrinsically improbable. The force was, by many persons, never reckoned at more than 6000 or 7000 men; and this, when reduced by three-and-twenty conflicts (perhaps more), in which the enemy had the advantage of artillery more powerful than ours, and (what is worse) of trained artillerymen more numerous, might too naturally come down to the small number stated.
3. The doubtful condition of Lucknow, Benares, and Agra comes in the rear of all this to strike a frost into the heart, or would do so, again I say, if any other nation were concerned.
4. Worse still, because reluctantly unfolding facts that had previously been known and kept back, is the state of Bombay. When retreats on board the shipping341 are contemplated342, or at least talked of, the mere insulated case of Kolapore becomes insignificant343.
5. I read a depressing record in the very quarter whence all our hopes arise. In summing up the particular transports throughout July whose destination was Calcutta, I find that the total of troops ordered to that port in the thirty-one days of July was just 6500, and no more. Every place was rapidly becoming of secondary importance in comparison of the area stretching with a radius344 of 150 miles in every direction from the centre of Allahabad. And the one capital danger is too clearly this—that, being unable to throw in overwhelming succours, those inadequate succours, matched against the countless resources of Hindoo vagrant ruffianism, may, at the utmost, enable us to keep a lingering hold, whilst endless successions of incomparably gallant men fall before our own rifles, our own guns, and that discipline of a cowardly race which we ourselves have taught. We are true to ourselves, and ever shall be so: that is a rock to build upon. Yet, if it should appear by January next that no deep impression has then been made upon revolting India, it will probably appear the best course to send no more rivulets345 of aid; but to combine measures energetically with every colony or outpost of the empire; to call up even the marines and such sections of our naval346 forces as have often co-operated with the land forces (in the Chinese war especially); and to do all this with a perfect disregard of money. Lord Palmerston explained very sufficiently347 why it is that any powerful squadrons of ships, which would else have rendered such overwhelming succour against the towns along the line of the Ganges and Jumna, were unhappily disqualified for action, by the shallows and sand-banks on those great rivers. But this apology does not stand good as regards flotillas of gunboats or rafts with a very light draught348 of water; still less as regards the seamen349 and marines.
I conclude with these notices—too painfully entitled to some attention. Would to heaven they were not!
1. Calcutta itself is not by any means in a state of security, either in the English sense of that word (namely, freedom from danger), or in its old Latin sense of freedom from the anxieties of danger. All depends upon the prosperity of our affairs at Delhi, Lucknow, Agra, Cawnpore, and Allahabad. The possibility of a fanatical explosion, such as that which occurred recently at Patna, shows the inefficiency350 of our precautions and pretended police. I believe that the native associations formed in Calcutta will be of little use. Either the members will be sleeping at the moment of outbreak, or will be separated from their arms. We are noble in our carelessness; our enemy is base, but his baseness, always in alliance with cunning and vigilance, tells cruelly against us.
2. It may be feared that the Governor-General has in the following point lamentably351 neglected a great duty of his place. It must have been remarked with astonishment352, as a matter almost inexplicable353, how it has arisen that so many gallant men, at the head of every regiment, should have suffered themselves to be slaughtered like sheep in a butcher’s shambles354. Surely five-and-twenty or thirty men, in youthful vigour, many of them capital shots, could easily have shot down 150 of the cowardly sepoys. So much work they could have finished with their revolvers. More than one amongst the ladies, in this hideous355 struggle, have shot down their two brace356 of black scoundrels apiece. But the officers, having the advantage of swords, would have accounted for a few score more. Why, then, have they not done this?—an act of energy so natural to our countrymen when thus roused to unforgiving vengeance. Simply because they have held themselves most nobly, and in defiance357 of their own individual interest, to be under engagements of fidelity358 to the Company, and obligations of forbearance to the dogs whom they commanded, up to the last moment of possible doubt. Now, from these engagements of honour the Governor-General should, by one universal act (applicable to the three Presidencies) have absolved359 them. For it cannot be alleged now for an instant, that perhaps the regiments might mean to continue faithful. If they do mean this, no harm will come to any party from the official dispensing360 order; the sepoys could suffer by it only in the case of treachery. And, in the meantime, there has emerged amongst them a new policy of treason, which requires of us to assume, in mere self-defence, that all sepoys are meditating361 treason. It is this: they now reserve their final treason until the critical moment of action in the very crisis of battle. Ordered to charge the revolters, they discharge their carbines over their heads; or, if infantry, they blaze away with blank cartridge155. This policy has been played off already eight or nine times; and by one time, as it happens, too many; for it was tried upon the stern Havelock, who took away both horses and carbines from the offenders362. Too late it is now for Bengal to baffle this sharper’s trick. But Bombay and Madras, should their turn come after all, might profit by the experience.
3. For years it has been our nursery bugbear, to apprehend150 a Russian invasion on the Indus. This, by testimony363 from every quarter (the last being that of Sir Roderick Murchison, who had travelled over most of the ground), is an infinitely364 impossible chimera365; or at least until the Russians have colonized366 Khiva and Bokhara. Meantime, to those who have suffered anxiety from such an anticipation, let me suggest one consolation at least amongst the many horrors of the present scenes in Bengal—namely, that this perfidy367 of our troops was not displayed first in the very agony of conflict with Russia, or some more probable invader368.
4. A dismal suggestion arises from the present condition of Bengal, which possibly it is too late now to regard as a warning. Ravaged369 by bands of marauders, no village safe from incursion, the usual culture of the soil must have been dangerously interrupted. Next, therefore, comes Famine (and note that the famines of India have been always excessive, from want of adequate carriage), and in the train of famine, inaudibly but surely, comes cholera370; and then, perhaps, the guiltiest of races will pay down an expiation371 at which centuries will tremble. For in the grave of famishing nations treason languishes372; the murderer has no escape; and the infant with its mother sleeps at last in peace.
P.S.—The following memoranda373, more or less connected with points noticed in the preceding paper, but received later, seem to merit attention:—
1. As to the strength of our army before Delhi, it seems, from better accounts, to be hardly less than 5000 men, of which one-half are British infantry; and the besieged seem, by the closest inquiries374, to reach at the least 22,000 men.
2. Colonel Edwardes, so well known in connection with Moultan, has published an important fact—namely, that the sepoys did rely, in a very great degree, upon the whole country rising, and that their disappointment and despair are consequently proportionable.
3. A great question arises—How it was possible for the sepoys—unquestionably not harbouring the smallest ill-will to the British—suddenly and almost universally to assail them with atrocities arguing the greatest. Even their own countrymen, with all their childish credulity, would not be made to believe that they really hated people with whom they had never had any but the kindest and most indulgent intercourse375. I should imagine that the solution must do sought in two facts—first, in the deadly ennui376 and tædium of sepoy life, which disposes them to catch maniacally377 at any opening for furious excitement; but, secondly, in the wish to forward the ends of the conspiracy under Mahometan misleading. Hence, in particular, the cruelties practised on women and children: for they argued that, though the British men would face anything in their own persons before they would relax their hold on India, they would yet be appalled378 by the miseries379 of their female partners and children.
4. It is most unfair, undoubtedly, to attack any man in our present imperfect state of information. But some neglects are unsusceptible of after excuse. One I have noticed, which cannot be denied or varnished380, in Lord Canning. Another is this:—Had he offered 10,000 rupees (£1000 sterling) for the head of Nena Sahib, he would have got it in ten days, besides inflicting381 misery382 on the hell-kite.
8 Here observe there were 2300 admirable British troops, and about 700 men of the mutineers, who might then have been attacked at a great advantage, whilst dispersed383 on errands of devastation384. Contrast with these proportions the heroic exertions of the noble Havelock—fighting battle after battle, with perhaps never more than 1700 or 1800 British troops; and having scarcely a gun but what he captured from the enemy. And what were the numbers of his enemy? Five thousand in the earlier actions, and 10,000 to 12,000 in the last.
9 Mr. D. B. Jones comes forward to defend the commandant of Meerut. How? The last sentence only of his letter has any sort of reference to the public accusation385; and this sentence replies, but not with any mode of argument (sound or unsound), to a charge perfectly irrelevant386, if it had ever existed—namely, an imaginary charge against the little army assembled on May 10 at Meerut. The short and summary answer is, that no such imaginary charge, pure and absolute moonshine, was ever advanced against the gallant force at Meerut.
Secondly, if it had, such a charge could have no bearing whatever upon that charge, loudly preferred against the commander of that district.
Thirdly, the charge has been (I presume) settled as regards its truth, and any grounds of disputation, this way or that, by the Governor-General. The newspapers have told us, and have not been contradicted, that Lord Canning has dismissed this functionary for 'supineness.'
3. Suggestions Upon the Secret of the Mutiny.
(January, 1858.)
The first question arises upon the true originators, proximate and immediate338, of the mutiny—who were they? This question ploughs deeper than any which moves under an impulse of mere historic curiosity; and it is practically the main question. Knowing the true, instant, operative cause, already we know something of the remedy;—having sure information as to the ringleaders, we are enabled at once to read their motives in the past, to anticipate their policy in the future;—having the persons indicated, those who first incited387 or encouraged the felonious agents, we can shorten the course of public vengeance; and in so vast a field of action can give a true direction from the first to the pursuit headed by our Indian police. For that should never be laid out of sight—that against rebels whose least offence is their rebellion, against men who have massacred by torture women and children, the service of extermination388 belongs of right to executioners armed with whips and rods, with the lassos of South America for noosing389 them, and, being noosed390, with halters to hang them.10 It should be made known by proclamation to the sepoys, that de jure, in strict interpretation391 of the principle concerned, they are hunted by the hangman; and that the British army, whilst obliged by the vast scale of the outrages to join in this hangman’s chase, feel themselves dishonoured392, and called to a work which properly is the inheritance of the gallows; and yet, again, become reconciled to the work, as the purgation of an earth polluted by the blood of the innocent.
Who then, again I ask—who are those that, after seven months’ watching of the revolt, appeared, by any plausible construction of events, to have been the primal393 movers in this hideous convulsion? Individual opinions on this question, and such as could plead a weight of authority in regard to experience, to local advantages for conjecture394, and to official opportunities for overlooking intercepted letters, there have been many; and at first (say from May 10 to the end of June), in the absence of any strong counter-arguments, some of these were entitled to the full benefit of their personal weight (such weight, I mean, as could be drawn395 from the position or from the known character of him who announced the opinion). But now—namely, on the 15th of December (or, looking to India, say the 10th of November)—we are entitled to something weightier. And what is there which generally would be held weightier? First, there are the confessions396 of dying criminals;—I mean, that, logically, we must reserve such a head, as likely to offer itself sooner or later. Tempers vary as to obduracy397, and circumstances vary. All men will not share in the obstinacy of partisan pride; or not, by many degrees, equally. And again, some amongst the many thousands who leave families will have favours to ask. They all know secretly the perfect trustworthiness of the British Government. And when matters have come to a case of choice between a wife and children, in the one scale, and a fraternity consciously criminal, in the other, it may be judged which is likely to prevail. What through the coercion398 of mere circumstances—what through the entreaties399 of wife and children, co-operating with such circumstances—or sometimes through weakness of nature, or through relenting of compunction—it is not to be doubted that, as the cohesion400 of party begins rapidly to relax under approaching ruin, there will be confessions in abundance. For as yet, under the timid policy of the sepoys—hardly ever venturing out of cover, either skulking401 amongst bushy woodlands, or sneaking402 into house-shelter, or slinking back within the range of their great guns—it has naturally happened that our prisoners have been exceedingly few. But the decisive battle before Lucknow will tell us another story. There will at last be cavalry to reap the harvest when our soldiery have won it. The prisoners will begin to accumulate by thousands; executions will proceed through week after week; and a large variety of cases will yield us a commensurate crop of confessions. These, when they come, will tell us, no doubt, most of what the sepoys can be supposed to know. But, meantime, how much is that? Too probably, except in the case of here and there some specially intelligent or specially influential403 sepoy officer, indispensable as a go-between to the non-military conspirators404 moving in darkness behind the rebel army, nothing at all was communicated to the bulk of the privates, beyond the mere detail of movements required by the varying circumstantialities of each particular case. But of the ultimate purpose, of the main strategic policy, or of the transcendent interests over-riding the narrow counsels that fell under the knowledge of the illiterate405 soldier, since no part was requisite406 to the fulfilment of each man’s separate duty, no part would be communicated. It is barely possible that so much light as may be won from confessions, combined with so much further light as may be supposed to lurk407 amongst the mass of unexamined papers left behind them by the rebels at Delhi, might tell us something important. But any result to be expected from the Delhi papers is a doubtful contingency408. It is uncertain whether they will ever be brought under the review of zeal409 united to sagacity sufficient for sustaining a search purely410 disinterested411. Promising24 no great triumph for any literary purpose, proving as little, perhaps, one way or other, as the mathematician412 in the old story complained that the Æneid proved—these papers, unless worked by an enamoured bookworm (or paperworm), will probably be confiscated413 to some domestic purpose, of singeing414 chickens or lighting415 fires.
But, in any case, whether speaking by confessions or by the varied memoranda (orders to subaltern officers, resolutions adopted by meetings, records of military councils, petitions, or suggestions on the public service, addressed to the king, &c.), abandoned in the palace at Delhi, the soldier can tell no more than he knew, which, under any theory of the case, must have been very little. Better, therefore, than all expectations fixed416 on the vile soldiery, whom, in every sense, and in all directions, I believe to have been brutally417 ignorant, and through their ignorance mainly to have been used as blind servile instruments—better and easier it would be to examine narrowly whether, in the whole course and evolution of this stupendous tragedy, there may not be found some characterising feature or distinguishing incident, that may secretly report the agency, and betray, by the style and character of the workmanship, who might be the particular class of workmen standing at the centre of this unparalleled conspiracy. I think that we stand in this dilemma: either, on the one hand, that the miserable sepoys, who were the sole acting managers, were also the sole contrivers of the plot—in which case we can look for further light only to the judicial418 confessions; or, on the other hand, that an order of agents far higher in rank than any subaltern members of our army, and who were enabled by this rank and corresponding wealth to use these soldiers as their dupes and tools, stood in the background, holding the springs of the machinery in their hands, with a view to purposes transcending419 by far any that could ever suggest themselves to persons of obscure station, having no prospect420 of benefiting by their own fullest success. In this case, we shall learn nothing from the confessions of those who must, upon a principle of mere self-preservation, have been excluded from all real knowledge of the dreadful scheme to which they were made parties, simply as perpetrators of its murders and outrages. Here it is equally vain to look for revelations from the mercenary workers, who know nothing, or from the elevated leaders, who know all, but have an interest of life and death in dissembling their knowledge. Revelations of any value from those who cannot, and from those who will not, reveal the ambitious schemes communicated to a very few, are alike hopeless. In default of these, let us examine if any one incident, or class of incidents, in the course of these horrors, may not have made a self-revelation—a silent but significant revelation, pointing the attention of men to the true authors, and simultaneously421 to the final purposes, of this mysterious conspiracy.
Now, it has not escaped the notice of many people that two most extraordinary classes of outrages, perpetrated or attempted, have marked a very large majority of the mutinous422 explosions; outrages that were in the last degree unnatural423, as out of harmony with the whole temper and spirit of intercourse generally prevailing424 between the sepoys and their British officers. The case is peculiarly striking. No reproach on the character of their manners was ever alleged against their British officers by any section or subdivision of the sepoy soldiery. Indeed, the reproach, where any existed, ran in the very opposite channel. Too great indulgence to the sepoy, a spirit of concession425 too facile to their very whims426 and caprices, and generally too relaxed a state of discipline—these features it was of the British bearing towards the native soldiery which too often, and reasonably, provoked severe censures427 from the observing. The very case11 which I adduced some months back, where an intelligent British officer, in the course of his evidence before some court-martial, mentioned, in illustration of the decaying discipline, that for some considerable space of time he had noticed a growing disrespect on the part of the privates; in particular, that, on coming into the cantonments of his own regiment, the men had ceased to rise from their seats, and took no notice of his presence—this one anecdote sufficiently exemplified the quality of the errors prevailing in the deportment of our countrymen to their native soldiery; and that it would be ludicrous to charge them with any harshness or severity of manner. Such being too notoriously the case, whence could possibly arise the bloody carnage by which, in almost every case, the sepoys inaugurated, or tried to inaugurate, their emancipation428 from British rule? Our continental neighbours at first grossly misinterpreted the case; and more excusably than in many other misinterpretations. Certainly it was unavoidable at first to read, in this frenzy of bloodshed, the vindictive429 retaliations of men that had suffered horrible and ineffable indignities at our hands. It was apparently the old case of African slaves in some West Indian colony—St. Domingo, for instance—breaking loose from the yoke430, and murdering (often with cruel torments) the whole households of their oppressors. But a month dissipated these groundless commentaries. The most prejudiced Frenchman could not fail to observe that no sepoy regiment ever alluded431 to any rigour of treatment, or any haughtiness432 of demeanour. His complaints centred in the one sole subject of religion; even as to which he did not generally pretend to any certain knowledge, but simply to a very strong belief or persuasion433 that we secretly meditated434, not that we openly avowed435 or deliberately436 pursued, a purpose of coercing437 him into Christianity. This, were it even true, though a false and most erroneous policy, could not be taxed with ill-will. A man’s own religion, if it is sincerely such, is that which he profoundly believes to be the truth. Now, in seeking to inoculate438 another with that which sincerely he believes to be eminently the truth, though proceeding439 by false methods, a man acts in a spirit of benignity440. So that, on all hands, the hellish fury of the sepoy was felt to be unnatural, artificially assumed, and, by a reasonable inference, was held to be a mask for something else that he wished to conceal324. But what? What was that something else which he wished to conceal? The sepoy simulated, in order that he might dissimulate441. He pretended a wrong sustained, that he might call away attention from a wrong which he designed. At this point I (and no doubt in company with multitudes beside that had watched the case) became sensible of an alien presence secretly intruding442 into this pretended quarrel of the native soldier. It was no sepoy that was moving at the centre of this feud443: the objects towards which it ultimately tended were not such as could by possibility interest the poor, miserable, idolatrous native. What was he to gain by the overthrow444 of the British Government? The poor simpleton, who had been decoyed into this monstrous field of strife445, opened the game by renouncing446 all the vast advantages which he and his children to the hundredth generation might draw from the system of the Company, and entered upon a career towards distant objects that for him have absolutely no meaning or intelligible447 existence. At this point it was that two enigmas448, previously insoluble, suddenly received the fullest explanation:—
1. What was the meaning of that hellish fury suddenly developed towards officers with whom previously the sepoy had lived on terms of reciprocal amity66?
2. What cause had led to that incomprehensible enmity manifested, in the process of these ferocious scenes, towards the wives and children of the officers? Surely, if his wish were to eliminate their families from the Indian territory, that purpose was sufficiently secured by the massacre of him whose exertions obtained a livelihood449 for the rest of the household.
It was tolerably certain that the widows and their children would not remain much longer in the Indian territory, when it no longer offered them an asylum or a livelihood. Now, since personally, and viewed apart from their husbands, these ladies could have no interest for the murdering sepoys, it became more and more unintelligible450 on what principle, steady motive295, or fugitive impulse, these incarnate451 demons452 could persist in cherishing any feeling whatever to those poor, ruined women, who, when their anchorage should be cut away by the murder of their husbands, would become mere waifs and derelicts stranded453 upon the Indian shores.
These had seemed at first two separate mysteries not less hard to decipher than the primal mystery of the mutiny itself. But now all became clear; whatsoever might be the composition, or character, or final objects of that tyranny which had decoyed the sepoys under its yoke, one thing was certain—namely, that the childishness and levity454 of the Hindoo sepoy made it difficult in excess to gain any lasting hold over his mind, or consequently to count upon his lasting services. But to this general difficulty there had now supervened one signal aggravation, in a shape hateful to those who encountered it—namely, the attractions of the British service, which service would be no sooner abjured455 than it would be passionately456 regretted. Here lay the rock which threatened the free movement of the insurrection. It was evidently determined457 by those who meant to appropriate the services of the sepoys, that they should have no retreat, no opening for recovering a false step, in the well-known mercy of the British Government. For them it was resolved that there should be no locus458 penitentiæ left open. In order to close for ever that avenue to all hope of forgiveness, the misleaders of the soldiery urged them into those atrocities which every nation upon earth has heard of with horror. The mere fact of these atrocities indicates at once the overruling influence of such men as Nena Sahib, determined to place a bar of everlasting separation between the native army and that government which might else have reclaimed459 the erring460 men, had their offences lain within the reach of lawful461 forgiveness. The conspirators having thus divorced the ruling power, as they idly flattered themselves, from all martial resources, doubtless assumed the work of revolution already finished by midsummer-day of this present year. And this account of the course through which that attempted revolution travelled—according to which, not the sepoys, who could have had no ambition such as is implied in that attempt, but Indian princes and rajahs, standing in the background, were the true originators of the movement—finds an indirect justification of its own accuracy in the natural solution which it furnishes to those infernal massacres462, which else, as they must remain for ever without a parallel, will also remain for ever without an intelligible motive. These atrocities were exacted from the sepoys by the conclave463 of princes as tests of their sincerity464. Such doubtless was the argument for this exaction465, the ostensible466 plea put forward to the miserable reptiles467 who were seduced469 into this treason, by the promise no doubt of sharing in the fruits of the new and mighty revolution. Such pleas were for the sepoy. But for himself and his own secret benefit the princely seducer470 needed all that he could obtain of such accursed acts, as the means sure and sudden of making the separation between the soldier and the government more and more irreparable.
So much for the massacre of his officers: but a different reason availed for the more diabolical outrages upon women and their children. The murder of the men was extorted471 from the sepoy as a kind of sacrifice. With them the reptile468 had lived upon terms of humanising intercourse; and, vile as he was, in many cases this must have slowly ripened into some mode of regard and involuntary esteem472; so that, in murdering the man, oftentimes a sepoy was making a real (if trifling) sacrifice. But for females he cared nothing at all. And in my opinion they perished on a very different principle. The male murders were levied473 as pledges for the benefit of the princes, and very distinctly understood to be levied against the wishes of the sepoy. But in the female sacrifice all parties concurred—sepoy and prince, tempted and tempter alike. I require you to murder this officer, as a pledge of your real hostility474 (which else might be a pure pretence) to the government. But the murder of the officer’s wife and child rested on a motive totally different—namely, this:—Throughout Hindostan no feature in the moral aspects of the British nature could have been so conspicuous475 or so impressive as the tenacity of purpose, the persistency476, and the dogged resolution never to relax a grasp once taken. Consequently, had the men of our nation, and they separately from the women, scattered themselves here and there over the land (as they have long done in China, for instance), then, perhaps, the natives, when finding themselves in conflict with this well-known principle of imperishable tenacity, would be liable to a sentiment of despair, as in a contest with fate. And that sentiment would paralyse the Hindoos when entering upon a struggle for unrooting the British from Hindostan. But here suddenly, Woman steps in to aid the Hindoo. For the Briton, it is notorious, would never loosen his hold, more than his compatriot the bull-dog. But that scene which a man had faced steadily477 upon his own account, he shrinks from as a husband or a father. Hence the sepoy attacks upon women and children.
From hurried writing, it is to be feared that I may have done slight justice to my own views. Let me conclude this head therefore by briefly resuming.
The argument for tracing back the great conspiracy to the discontented rajahs is—that otherwise, and supposing the mutiny raised for objects specially affecting the sepoys, they would not have massacred their officers. They must have desired to leave an opening for pardon in the event of failure. That crime was exacted to compromise the native army effectually with the government. But this in many ways was sure to operate ruinously for the sepoy interests, and could therefore have found a sufficient motive only with the native princes.
But the female sacrifice was welcome to all parties. For no doubt they represented the British officer as saying:—So long as the danger affected only myself, I would never have relaxed my hold on India; but now, when the war threatens our women and children, India can no longer be a home for us.
Another urgent question concerns the acts of the Bengal Government. Many unfounded charges, as in a case of infinite confusion and hourly pressure, must be aimed at the Governor-General: the probability of such charges, and the multiplied experience of such charges, makes reasonable men cautious—in fact, unduly478 so; and the excess of caution reacts upon Lord Canning’s estimation too advantageously. Lord Dalhousie is missed; his energy would have shown itself conspicuously479 by this time. For surely in such a case as the negotiation480 with Bahadoor Jung of Nepaul, as to the Ghoorkas, there can be no doubt at present, though a great doubt, unfairly indulgent to Lord Canning, was encouraged at first, that most imbecile oscillation governed the Calcutta counsels. And it is now settled that this oscillation turned entirely481 upon a petty personal motive. A subordinate officer had accepted the Nepaul offer, and by that unauthorised acceptance had intruded482 upon the prerogative483 of Lord Canning. The very same cause—this jealous punctiliousness484 of exacting485 vanity, and not any wish to enforce the severities of public justice—interfered to set aside the proclamation of Mr. Colvin at Agra. The insufficiency again of the steps taken as to Nena Sahib speaks the same language. In this very journal, full six weeks earlier than in the Calcutta proclamation, the offer of a large sum12 for this man’s head had been suggested. That offer was never kept sufficiently before the public eye. But a grosser neglect than this, as affecting the condition of many thousands, and not of any single villain486, was the non-employment of the press in pursuing the steps of the mutineers. Everywhere, as fast as they appeared in any strength, brief handbills should have been circulated—circumstantially relating their defeats, exposing their false pretences487, and describing their prospects488. Once only the government attempted such a service; and blundered so far as to urge against the sepoys a reproach which must have been unintelligible both to them and to all native readers.
Again, a question even more practical and instant arises as to the modes of public vengeance.
1. If, when finally defeated, and in a military sense destroyed, on some signal field of battle, the mutineers should fly to the hills in the great ranges, or the jungle, the main fear would arise not from them, but from the weak compromising government, that would show itself eager to treat, and make what the Roman law calls a transactio, or half-and-half settlement with any body of sepoys that showed a considerable strength. But, in such a case, besides that the rebels, having now no Delhi, will have scanty ammunition, our best resource would be found in the Spanish bloodhounds of Cuba, which we British used fifty years back for hunting down the poor negro Maroons489 in Jamaica, who were not by a thousand degrees so criminal as the sepoys.
2. That no wrong is done to the Bengal Government by this anticipation of an eventual490 compromise, may be judged by the assertion (resting apparently on adequate authority), that even at this hour that government are making it a subject for deliberation and doubt—whether the sepoys have forfeited their pensions! Doubtless, the Delhi and Cawnpore exploits merit good-service pensions for life!
3. Others by millions, who come to these questions in a far nobler spirit, fear that at any rate, and with every advantage for a righteous judgment, too many of the worst sepoys laden491 with booty may find means to escape. To these I would suggest that, after all, the appropriate, worst, and most hellish of punishments for hellish malefactors, is mortification492 and utter ruin in every one of their schemes. What is the thrust of a bayonet or the deepest of sabre-cuts? These are over in a few moments. And I with others rejoiced therefore that so many escaped from Delhi for prolonged torment. That torment will be found in the ever-rankling deadly mortification of knowing that in all things they and their wicked comrades have failed; and that in the coming spring, and amongst the resurrections of spring, when all will be finished, and the mighty storm will have wheeled away, there remains for the children of hell only this surviving consciousness—that the total result has been the awakening493 of our Indian Government, and the arming it for ever against a hideous peril, that might else have overwhelmed it unprepared in an hour of slumbering494 weakness. Such a game is played but once; and, having failed, never again can it be repeated.
点击收听单词发音
1 advert | |
vi.注意,留意,言及;n.广告 | |
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2 briefly | |
adv.简单地,简短地 | |
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3 apprehension | |
n.理解,领悟;逮捕,拘捕;忧虑 | |
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4 garrison | |
n.卫戍部队;驻地,卫戍区;vt.派(兵)驻防 | |
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5 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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6 arrear | |
n.欠款 | |
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7 previously | |
adv.以前,先前(地) | |
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8 varied | |
adj.多样的,多变化的 | |
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9 obstinacy | |
n.顽固;(病痛等)难治 | |
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10 gallant | |
adj.英勇的,豪侠的;(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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11 massacre | |
n.残杀,大屠杀;v.残杀,集体屠杀 | |
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12 depot | |
n.仓库,储藏处;公共汽车站;火车站 | |
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13 superintendent | |
n.监督人,主管,总监;(英国)警务长 | |
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14 functionary | |
n.官员;公职人员 | |
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15 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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16 profess | |
v.声称,冒称,以...为业,正式接受入教,表明信仰 | |
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17 remonstrance | |
n抗议,抱怨 | |
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18 withdrawal | |
n.取回,提款;撤退,撤军;收回,撤销 | |
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19 supreme | |
adj.极度的,最重要的;至高的,最高的 | |
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20 repulse | |
n.击退,拒绝;vt.逐退,击退,拒绝 | |
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21 tenacity | |
n.坚韧 | |
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22 undoubtedly | |
adv.确实地,无疑地 | |
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23 retention | |
n.保留,保持,保持力,记忆力 | |
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24 promising | |
adj.有希望的,有前途的 | |
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25 resolute | |
adj.坚决的,果敢的 | |
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26 exertions | |
n.努力( exertion的名词复数 );费力;(能力、权力等的)运用;行使 | |
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27 inscription | |
n.(尤指石块上的)刻印文字,铭文,碑文 | |
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28 distinguished | |
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
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30 scanty | |
adj.缺乏的,仅有的,节省的,狭小的,不够的 | |
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31 disorder | |
n.紊乱,混乱;骚动,骚乱;疾病,失调 | |
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32 tenacious | |
adj.顽强的,固执的,记忆力强的,粘的 | |
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33 supremacy | |
n.至上;至高权力 | |
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34 calamities | |
n.灾祸,灾难( calamity的名词复数 );不幸之事 | |
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35 aged | |
adj.年老的,陈年的 | |
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36 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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37 presidency | |
n.总统(校长,总经理)的职位(任期) | |
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38 rhetoric | |
n.修辞学,浮夸之言语 | |
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39 ineffable | |
adj.无法表达的,不可言喻的 | |
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40 martial | |
adj.战争的,军事的,尚武的,威武的 | |
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41 mighty | |
adj.强有力的;巨大的 | |
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42 countless | |
adj.无数的,多得不计其数的 | |
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43 bloody | |
adj.非常的的;流血的;残忍的;adv.很;vt.血染 | |
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44 bloodier | |
adj.血污的( bloody的比较级 );流血的;屠杀的;残忍的 | |
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45 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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46 fiery | |
adj.燃烧着的,火红的;暴躁的;激烈的 | |
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47 whatsoever | |
adv.(用于否定句中以加强语气)任何;pron.无论什么 | |
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48 proscribe | |
v.禁止;排斥;放逐,充军;剥夺公权 | |
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49 steadfast | |
adj.固定的,不变的,不动摇的;忠实的;坚贞不移的 | |
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50 exclusion | |
n.拒绝,排除,排斥,远足,远途旅行 | |
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51 degradation | |
n.降级;低落;退化;陵削;降解;衰变 | |
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52 pretensions | |
自称( pretension的名词复数 ); 自命不凡; 要求; 权力 | |
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53 humble | |
adj.谦卑的,恭顺的;地位低下的;v.降低,贬低 | |
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54 severed | |
v.切断,断绝( sever的过去式和过去分词 );断,裂 | |
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55 torment | |
n.折磨;令人痛苦的东西(人);vt.折磨;纠缠 | |
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56 indignities | |
n.侮辱,轻蔑( indignity的名词复数 ) | |
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57 utterance | |
n.用言语表达,话语,言语 | |
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58 inflict | |
vt.(on)把…强加给,使遭受,使承担 | |
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59 inflicted | |
把…强加给,使承受,遭受( inflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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60 felon | |
n.重罪犯;adj.残忍的 | |
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61 miserable | |
adj.悲惨的,痛苦的;可怜的,糟糕的 | |
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62 pretence | |
n.假装,作假;借口,口实;虚伪;虚饰 | |
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63 diabolical | |
adj.恶魔似的,凶暴的 | |
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64 ostentation | |
n.夸耀,卖弄 | |
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65 calamity | |
n.灾害,祸患,不幸事件 | |
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66 amity | |
n.友好关系 | |
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67 atrocity | |
n.残暴,暴行 | |
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68 consolation | |
n.安慰,慰问 | |
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69 scattered | |
adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
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70 adjuration | |
n.祈求,命令 | |
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71 behold | |
v.看,注视,看到 | |
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72 everlasting | |
adj.永恒的,持久的,无止境的 | |
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73 lasting | |
adj.永久的,永恒的;vbl.持续,维持 | |
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74 idol | |
n.偶像,红人,宠儿 | |
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75 avenging | |
adj.报仇的,复仇的v.为…复仇,报…之仇( avenge的现在分词 );为…报复 | |
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76 virtue | |
n.德行,美德;贞操;优点;功效,效力 | |
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77 ransom | |
n.赎金,赎身;v.赎回,解救 | |
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78 groaning | |
adj. 呜咽的, 呻吟的 动词groan的现在分词形式 | |
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79 foul | |
adj.污秽的;邪恶的;v.弄脏;妨害;犯规;n.犯规 | |
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80 prosper | |
v.成功,兴隆,昌盛;使成功,使昌隆,繁荣 | |
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81 solitary | |
adj.孤独的,独立的,荒凉的;n.隐士 | |
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82 inscribe | |
v.刻;雕;题写;牢记 | |
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83 persecuted | |
(尤指宗教或政治信仰的)迫害(~sb. for sth.)( persecute的过去式和过去分词 ); 烦扰,困扰或骚扰某人 | |
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84 cleansed | |
弄干净,清洗( cleanse的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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85 descend | |
vt./vi.传下来,下来,下降 | |
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86 thither | |
adv.向那里;adj.在那边的,对岸的 | |
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87 imminent | |
adj.即将发生的,临近的,逼近的 | |
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88 peril | |
n.(严重的)危险;危险的事物 | |
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89 prodigious | |
adj.惊人的,奇妙的;异常的;巨大的;庞大的 | |
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90 prospered | |
成功,兴旺( prosper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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91 opposition | |
n.反对,敌对 | |
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92 overthrew | |
overthrow的过去式 | |
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93 treacherous | |
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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94 ferocious | |
adj.凶猛的,残暴的,极度的,十分强烈的 | |
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95 dominions | |
统治权( dominion的名词复数 ); 领土; 疆土; 版图 | |
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96 victorious | |
adj.胜利的,得胜的 | |
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97 potentates | |
n.君主,统治者( potentate的名词复数 );有权势的人 | |
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98 accrued | |
adj.权责已发生的v.增加( accrue的过去式和过去分词 );(通过自然增长)产生;获得;(使钱款、债务)积累 | |
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99 arrogance | |
n.傲慢,自大 | |
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100 thoroughly | |
adv.完全地,彻底地,十足地 | |
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101 systematic | |
adj.有系统的,有计划的,有方法的 | |
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102 usurpation | |
n.篡位;霸占 | |
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103 dependants | |
受赡养者,受扶养的家属( dependant的名词复数 ) | |
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104 eldest | |
adj.最年长的,最年老的 | |
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105 specially | |
adv.特定地;特殊地;明确地 | |
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106 eminently | |
adv.突出地;显著地;不寻常地 | |
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107 pensioner | |
n.领养老金的人 | |
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108 usurper | |
n. 篡夺者, 僭取者 | |
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109 insolvency | |
n.无力偿付,破产 | |
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110 parenthesis | |
n.圆括号,插入语,插曲,间歇,停歇 | |
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111 sketch | |
n.草图;梗概;素描;v.素描;概述 | |
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112 subdividing | |
再分,细分( subdivide的现在分词 ) | |
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113 pecuniary | |
adj.金钱的;金钱上的 | |
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114 frantic | |
adj.狂乱的,错乱的,激昂的 | |
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115 spasms | |
n.痉挛( spasm的名词复数 );抽搐;(能量、行为等的)突发;发作 | |
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116 plausible | |
adj.似真实的,似乎有理的,似乎可信的 | |
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117 insurgents | |
n.起义,暴动,造反( insurgent的名词复数 ) | |
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118 contemptible | |
adj.可鄙的,可轻视的,卑劣的 | |
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119 organisation | |
n.组织,安排,团体,有机休 | |
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120 tumults | |
吵闹( tumult的名词复数 ); 喧哗; 激动的吵闹声; 心烦意乱 | |
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121 foresight | |
n.先见之明,深谋远虑 | |
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122 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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123 erectness | |
n.直立 | |
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124 scattering | |
n.[物]散射;散乱,分散;在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的;分散在不同范围的;广泛扩散的;(选票)数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式);散布;驱散 | |
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125 assail | |
v.猛烈攻击,抨击,痛斥 | |
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126 valiant | |
adj.勇敢的,英勇的;n.勇士,勇敢的人 | |
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127 hacking | |
n.非法访问计算机系统和数据库的活动 | |
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128 fugitive | |
adj.逃亡的,易逝的;n.逃犯,逃亡者 | |
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129 intrepid | |
adj.无畏的,刚毅的 | |
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130 vigour | |
(=vigor)n.智力,体力,精力 | |
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131 disarming | |
adj.消除敌意的,使人消气的v.裁军( disarm的现在分词 );使息怒 | |
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132 secondly | |
adv.第二,其次 | |
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133 regiments | |
(军队的)团( regiment的名词复数 ); 大量的人或物 | |
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134 regiment | |
n.团,多数,管理;v.组织,编成团,统制 | |
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135 disarmed | |
v.裁军( disarm的过去式和过去分词 );使息怒 | |
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136 favourable | |
adj.赞成的,称赞的,有利的,良好的,顺利的 | |
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137 ammunition | |
n.军火,弹药 | |
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138 infantry | |
n.[总称]步兵(部队) | |
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139 vagrant | |
n.流浪者,游民;adj.流浪的,漂泊不定的 | |
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140 bungalows | |
n.平房( bungalow的名词复数 );单层小屋,多于一层的小屋 | |
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141 fortified | |
adj. 加强的 | |
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142 artillery | |
n.(军)火炮,大炮;炮兵(部队) | |
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143 disposition | |
n.性情,性格;意向,倾向;排列,部署 | |
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144 upwards | |
adv.向上,在更高处...以上 | |
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145 intercepted | |
拦截( intercept的过去式和过去分词 ); 截住; 截击; 拦阻 | |
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146 intercept | |
vt.拦截,截住,截击 | |
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147 outrage | |
n.暴行,侮辱,愤怒;vt.凌辱,激怒 | |
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148 outrages | |
引起…的义愤,激怒( outrage的第三人称单数 ) | |
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149 apprehended | |
逮捕,拘押( apprehend的过去式和过去分词 ); 理解 | |
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150 apprehend | |
vt.理解,领悟,逮捕,拘捕,忧虑 | |
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151 besieged | |
包围,围困,围攻( besiege的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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152 anticipations | |
预期( anticipation的名词复数 ); 预测; (信托财产收益的)预支; 预期的事物 | |
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153 anticipation | |
n.预期,预料,期望 | |
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154 vigilant | |
adj.警觉的,警戒的,警惕的 | |
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155 cartridge | |
n.弹壳,弹药筒;(装磁带等的)盒子 | |
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156 cartridges | |
子弹( cartridge的名词复数 ); (打印机的)墨盒; 录音带盒; (唱机的)唱头 | |
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157 syllable | |
n.音节;vt.分音节 | |
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158 rumours | |
n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 );风闻;谣言;谣传 | |
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159 folly | |
n.愚笨,愚蠢,蠢事,蠢行,傻话 | |
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160 hatred | |
n.憎恶,憎恨,仇恨 | |
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161 rebellious | |
adj.造反的,反抗的,难控制的 | |
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162 breach | |
n.违反,不履行;破裂;vt.冲破,攻破 | |
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163 connived | |
v.密谋 ( connive的过去式和过去分词 );搞阴谋;默许;纵容 | |
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164 posture | |
n.姿势,姿态,心态,态度;v.作出某种姿势 | |
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165 saluted | |
v.欢迎,致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 );赞扬,赞颂 | |
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166 memorable | |
adj.值得回忆的,难忘的,特别的,显著的 | |
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167 anecdote | |
n.轶事,趣闻,短故事 | |
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168 assassination | |
n.暗杀;暗杀事件 | |
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169 resentment | |
n.怨愤,忿恨 | |
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170 hauteur | |
n.傲慢 | |
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171 physically | |
adj.物质上,体格上,身体上,按自然规律 | |
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172 distressing | |
a.使人痛苦的 | |
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173 underneath | |
adj.在...下面,在...底下;adv.在下面 | |
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174 apocryphal | |
adj.假冒的,虚假的 | |
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175 frailty | |
n.脆弱;意志薄弱 | |
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176 insolence | |
n.傲慢;无礼;厚颜;傲慢的态度 | |
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177 systematically | |
adv.有系统地 | |
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178 Founder | |
n.创始者,缔造者 | |
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179 momentary | |
adj.片刻的,瞬息的;短暂的 | |
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180 collapse | |
vi.累倒;昏倒;倒塌;塌陷 | |
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181 lapse | |
n.过失,流逝,失效,抛弃信仰,间隔;vi.堕落,停止,失效,流逝;vt.使失效 | |
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182 expiated | |
v.为(所犯罪过)接受惩罚,赎(罪)( expiate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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183 fleeting | |
adj.短暂的,飞逝的 | |
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184 carrion | |
n.腐肉 | |
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185 brotherhood | |
n.兄弟般的关系,手中情谊 | |
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186 license | |
n.执照,许可证,特许;v.许可,特许 | |
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187 lieutenant | |
n.陆军中尉,海军上尉;代理官员,副职官员 | |
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188 formerly | |
adv.从前,以前 | |
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189 insolently | |
adv.自豪地,自傲地 | |
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190 insolent | |
adj.傲慢的,无理的 | |
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191 doggedly | |
adv.顽强地,固执地 | |
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192 arena | |
n.竞技场,运动场所;竞争场所,舞台 | |
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193 habitually | |
ad.习惯地,通常地 | |
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194 presumption | |
n.推测,可能性,冒昧,放肆,[法律]推定 | |
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195 defer | |
vt.推迟,拖延;vi.(to)遵从,听从,服从 | |
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196 exchequer | |
n.财政部;国库 | |
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197 sterling | |
adj.英币的(纯粹的,货真价实的);n.英国货币(英镑) | |
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198 treasuries | |
n.(政府的)财政部( treasury的名词复数 );国库,金库 | |
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199 forfeited | |
(因违反协议、犯规、受罚等)丧失,失去( forfeit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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200 plunder | |
vt.劫掠财物,掠夺;n.劫掠物,赃物;劫掠 | |
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201 cramped | |
a.狭窄的 | |
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202 instilled | |
v.逐渐使某人获得(某种可取的品质),逐步灌输( instill的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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203 jealousies | |
n.妒忌( jealousy的名词复数 );妒羡 | |
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204 enveloped | |
v.包围,笼罩,包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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205 grievances | |
n.委屈( grievance的名词复数 );苦衷;不满;牢骚 | |
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206 alleged | |
a.被指控的,嫌疑的 | |
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207 solely | |
adv.仅仅,唯一地 | |
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208 invalided | |
使伤残(invalid的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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209 superannuated | |
adj.老朽的,退休的;v.因落后于时代而废除,勒令退学 | |
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210 savages | |
未开化的人,野蛮人( savage的名词复数 ) | |
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211 savage | |
adj.野蛮的;凶恶的,残暴的;n.未开化的人 | |
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212 wilfully | |
adv.任性固执地;蓄意地 | |
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213 renounced | |
v.声明放弃( renounce的过去式和过去分词 );宣布放弃;宣布与…决裂;宣布摒弃 | |
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214 myriads | |
n.无数,极大数量( myriad的名词复数 ) | |
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215 lodged | |
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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216 lodgings | |
n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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217 colloquially | |
adv.用白话,用通俗语 | |
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218 precursors | |
n.先驱( precursor的名词复数 );先行者;先兆;初期形式 | |
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219 paradox | |
n.似乎矛盾却正确的说法;自相矛盾的人(物) | |
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220 doctrine | |
n.教义;主义;学说 | |
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221 speciously | |
adv.似是而非地;外观好看地,像是真实地 | |
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222 candid | |
adj.公正的,正直的;坦率的 | |
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223 tragic | |
adj.悲剧的,悲剧性的,悲惨的 | |
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224 interval | |
n.间隔,间距;幕间休息,中场休息 | |
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225 applied | |
adj.应用的;v.应用,适用 | |
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226 justification | |
n.正当的理由;辩解的理由 | |
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227 aspire | |
vi.(to,after)渴望,追求,有志于 | |
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228 frankly | |
adv.坦白地,直率地;坦率地说 | |
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229 conspiracy | |
n.阴谋,密谋,共谋 | |
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230 machinery | |
n.(总称)机械,机器;机构 | |
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231 wailing | |
v.哭叫,哀号( wail的现在分词 );沱 | |
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232 tempted | |
v.怂恿(某人)干不正当的事;冒…的险(tempt的过去分词) | |
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233 exhale | |
v.呼气,散出,吐出,蒸发 | |
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234 desultory | |
adj.散漫的,无方法的 | |
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235 moody | |
adj.心情不稳的,易怒的,喜怒无常的 | |
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236 distraction | |
n.精神涣散,精神不集中,消遣,娱乐 | |
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237 wilderness | |
n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等,荒漠 | |
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238 dedicated | |
adj.一心一意的;献身的;热诚的 | |
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239 aggravation | |
n.烦恼,恼火 | |
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240 miscreant | |
n.恶棍 | |
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241 irritation | |
n.激怒,恼怒,生气 | |
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242 scruple | |
n./v.顾忌,迟疑 | |
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243 strictly | |
adv.严厉地,严格地;严密地 | |
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244 prodigiously | |
adv.异常地,惊人地,巨大地 | |
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245 overflows | |
v.溢出,淹没( overflow的第三人称单数 );充满;挤满了人;扩展出界,过度延伸 | |
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246 wrath | |
n.愤怒,愤慨,暴怒 | |
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247 kinsmen | |
n.家属,亲属( kinsman的名词复数 ) | |
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248 precisely | |
adv.恰好,正好,精确地,细致地 | |
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249 continental | |
adj.大陆的,大陆性的,欧洲大陆的 | |
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250 immortal | |
adj.不朽的;永生的,不死的;神的 | |
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251 disclaim | |
v.放弃权利,拒绝承认 | |
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252 obstinate | |
adj.顽固的,倔强的,不易屈服的,较难治愈的 | |
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253 patronage | |
n.赞助,支援,援助;光顾,捧场 | |
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254 privately | |
adv.以私人的身份,悄悄地,私下地 | |
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255 transmute | |
vt.使变化,使改变 | |
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256 parity | |
n.平价,等价,比价,对等 | |
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257 antithesis | |
n.对立;相对 | |
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258 mortify | |
v.克制,禁欲,使受辱 | |
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259 conceit | |
n.自负,自高自大 | |
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260 dismal | |
adj.阴沉的,凄凉的,令人忧郁的,差劲的 | |
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261 chaos | |
n.混乱,无秩序 | |
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262 jack | |
n.插座,千斤顶,男人;v.抬起,提醒,扛举;n.(Jake)杰克 | |
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263 exulting | |
vi. 欢欣鼓舞,狂喜 | |
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264 circumvented | |
v.设法克服或避免(某事物),回避( circumvent的过去式和过去分词 );绕过,绕行,绕道旅行 | |
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265 outrageous | |
adj.无理的,令人不能容忍的 | |
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266 picturesque | |
adj.美丽如画的,(语言)生动的,绘声绘色的 | |
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267 filth | |
n.肮脏,污物,污秽;淫猥 | |
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268 cosmopolitan | |
adj.世界性的,全世界的,四海为家的,全球的 | |
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269 absurdity | |
n.荒谬,愚蠢;谬论 | |
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270 presidencies | |
n.总统的职位( presidency的名词复数 );总统的任期 | |
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271 pawnbrokers | |
n.当铺老板( pawnbroker的名词复数 ) | |
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272 rascally | |
adj. 无赖的,恶棍的 adv. 无赖地,卑鄙地 | |
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273 epoch | |
n.(新)时代;历元 | |
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274 kennel | |
n.狗舍,狗窝 | |
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275 racing | |
n.竞赛,赛马;adj.竞赛用的,赛马用的 | |
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276 cavalry | |
n.骑兵;轻装甲部队 | |
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277 destined | |
adj.命中注定的;(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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278 carnival | |
n.嘉年华会,狂欢,狂欢节,巡回表演 | |
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279 callous | |
adj.无情的,冷淡的,硬结的,起老茧的 | |
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280 frenzy | |
n.疯狂,狂热,极度的激动 | |
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281 sublime | |
adj.崇高的,伟大的;极度的,不顾后果的 | |
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282 wield | |
vt.行使,运用,支配;挥,使用(武器等) | |
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283 innocence | |
n.无罪;天真;无害 | |
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284 prostration | |
n. 平伏, 跪倒, 疲劳 | |
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285 redressing | |
v.改正( redress的现在分词 );重加权衡;恢复平衡 | |
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286 infamous | |
adj.声名狼藉的,臭名昭著的,邪恶的 | |
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287 torpor | |
n.迟钝;麻木;(动物的)冬眠 | |
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288 vengeance | |
n.报复,报仇,复仇 | |
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289 inadequate | |
adj.(for,to)不充足的,不适当的 | |
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290 muster | |
v.集合,收集,鼓起,激起;n.集合,检阅,集合人员,点名册 | |
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291 mustered | |
v.集合,召集,集结(尤指部队)( muster的过去式和过去分词 );(自他人处)搜集某事物;聚集;激发 | |
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292 junction | |
n.连接,接合;交叉点,接合处,枢纽站 | |
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293 affected | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
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294 motives | |
n.动机,目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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295 motive | |
n.动机,目的;adv.发动的,运动的 | |
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296 vile | |
adj.卑鄙的,可耻的,邪恶的;坏透的 | |
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297 bauble | |
n.美观而无价值的饰物 | |
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298 arsenal | |
n.兵工厂,军械库 | |
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299 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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300 slaughtered | |
v.屠杀,杀戮,屠宰( slaughter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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301 catastrophe | |
n.大灾难,大祸 | |
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302 ripened | |
v.成熟,使熟( ripen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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303 rustic | |
adj.乡村的,有乡村特色的;n.乡下人,乡巴佬 | |
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304 atrocities | |
n.邪恶,暴行( atrocity的名词复数 );滔天大罪 | |
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305 auxiliary | |
adj.辅助的,备用的 | |
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306 partisan | |
adj.党派性的;游击队的;n.游击队员;党徒 | |
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307 chastisement | |
n.惩罚 | |
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308 asylum | |
n.避难所,庇护所,避难 | |
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309 metallic | |
adj.金属的;金属制的;含金属的;产金属的;像金属的 | |
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310 monastery | |
n.修道院,僧院,寺院 | |
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311 malicious | |
adj.有恶意的,心怀恶意的 | |
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312 monks | |
n.修道士,僧侣( monk的名词复数 ) | |
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313 copper | |
n.铜;铜币;铜器;adj.铜(制)的;(紫)铜色的 | |
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314 treasury | |
n.宝库;国库,金库;文库 | |
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315 munificent | |
adj.慷慨的,大方的 | |
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316 trophies | |
n.(为竞赛获胜者颁发的)奖品( trophy的名词复数 );奖杯;(尤指狩猎或战争中获得的)纪念品;(用于比赛或赛跑名称)奖 | |
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317 gratitude | |
adj.感激,感谢 | |
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318 scrutiny | |
n.详细检查,仔细观察 | |
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319 jealousy | |
n.妒忌,嫉妒,猜忌 | |
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320 consecrated | |
adj.神圣的,被视为神圣的v.把…奉为神圣,给…祝圣( consecrate的过去式和过去分词 );奉献 | |
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321 sanctuary | |
n.圣所,圣堂,寺庙;禁猎区,保护区 | |
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322 apostate | |
n.背叛者,变节者 | |
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323 concealed | |
a.隐藏的,隐蔽的 | |
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324 conceal | |
v.隐藏,隐瞒,隐蔽 | |
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325 dilemma | |
n.困境,进退两难的局面 | |
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326 traitor | |
n.叛徒,卖国贼 | |
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327 swollen | |
adj.肿大的,水涨的;v.使变大,肿胀 | |
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328 concealment | |
n.隐藏, 掩盖,隐瞒 | |
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329 pillager | |
n.掠夺者 | |
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330 confidential | |
adj.秘(机)密的,表示信任的,担任机密工作的 | |
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331 adviser | |
n.劝告者,顾问 | |
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332 inevitable | |
adj.不可避免的,必然发生的 | |
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333 gallows | |
n.绞刑架,绞台 | |
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334 monstrous | |
adj.巨大的;恐怖的;可耻的,丢脸的 | |
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335 scourging | |
鞭打( scourge的现在分词 ); 惩罚,压迫 | |
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336 acting | |
n.演戏,行为,假装;adj.代理的,临时的,演出用的 | |
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337 steward | |
n.乘务员,服务员;看管人;膳食管理员 | |
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338 immediate | |
adj.立即的;直接的,最接近的;紧靠的 | |
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339 uproars | |
吵闹,喧嚣,骚乱( uproar的名词复数 ) | |
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340 ominous | |
adj.不祥的,不吉的,预兆的,预示的 | |
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341 shipping | |
n.船运(发货,运输,乘船) | |
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342 contemplated | |
adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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343 insignificant | |
adj.无关紧要的,可忽略的,无意义的 | |
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344 radius | |
n.半径,半径范围;有效航程,范围,界限 | |
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345 rivulets | |
n.小河,小溪( rivulet的名词复数 ) | |
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346 naval | |
adj.海军的,军舰的,船的 | |
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347 sufficiently | |
adv.足够地,充分地 | |
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348 draught | |
n.拉,牵引,拖;一网(饮,吸,阵);顿服药量,通风;v.起草,设计 | |
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349 seamen | |
n.海员 | |
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350 inefficiency | |
n.无效率,无能;无效率事例 | |
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351 lamentably | |
adv.哀伤地,拙劣地 | |
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352 astonishment | |
n.惊奇,惊异 | |
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353 inexplicable | |
adj.无法解释的,难理解的 | |
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354 shambles | |
n.混乱之处;废墟 | |
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355 hideous | |
adj.丑陋的,可憎的,可怕的,恐怖的 | |
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356 brace | |
n. 支柱,曲柄,大括号; v. 绷紧,顶住,(为困难或坏事)做准备 | |
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357 defiance | |
n.挑战,挑衅,蔑视,违抗 | |
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358 fidelity | |
n.忠诚,忠实;精确 | |
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359 absolved | |
宣告…无罪,赦免…的罪行,宽恕…的罪行( absolve的过去式和过去分词 ); 不受责难,免除责任 [义务] ,开脱(罪责) | |
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360 dispensing | |
v.分配( dispense的现在分词 );施与;配(药) | |
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361 meditating | |
a.沉思的,冥想的 | |
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362 offenders | |
n.冒犯者( offender的名词复数 );犯规者;罪犯;妨害…的人(或事物) | |
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363 testimony | |
n.证词;见证,证明 | |
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364 infinitely | |
adv.无限地,无穷地 | |
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365 chimera | |
n.神话怪物;梦幻 | |
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366 colonized | |
开拓殖民地,移民于殖民地( colonize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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367 perfidy | |
n.背信弃义,不忠贞 | |
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368 invader | |
n.侵略者,侵犯者,入侵者 | |
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369 ravaged | |
毁坏( ravage的过去式和过去分词 ); 蹂躏; 劫掠; 抢劫 | |
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370 cholera | |
n.霍乱 | |
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371 expiation | |
n.赎罪,补偿 | |
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372 languishes | |
长期受苦( languish的第三人称单数 ); 受折磨; 变得(越来越)衰弱; 因渴望而变得憔悴或闷闷不乐 | |
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373 memoranda | |
n. 备忘录, 便条 名词memorandum的复数形式 | |
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374 inquiries | |
n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 );疑问;探究;打听 | |
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375 intercourse | |
n.性交;交流,交往,交际 | |
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376 ennui | |
n.怠倦,无聊 | |
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377 maniacally | |
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378 appalled | |
v.使惊骇,使充满恐惧( appall的过去式和过去分词)adj.惊骇的;丧胆的 | |
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379 miseries | |
n.痛苦( misery的名词复数 );痛苦的事;穷困;常发牢骚的人 | |
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380 varnished | |
浸渍过的,涂漆的 | |
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381 inflicting | |
把…强加给,使承受,遭受( inflict的现在分词 ) | |
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382 misery | |
n.痛苦,苦恼,苦难;悲惨的境遇,贫苦 | |
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383 dispersed | |
adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
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384 devastation | |
n.毁坏;荒废;极度震惊或悲伤 | |
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385 accusation | |
n.控告,指责,谴责 | |
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386 irrelevant | |
adj.不恰当的,无关系的,不相干的 | |
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387 incited | |
刺激,激励,煽动( incite的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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388 extermination | |
n.消灭,根绝 | |
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389 noosing | |
v.绞索,套索( noose的现在分词 ) | |
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390 noosed | |
v.绞索,套索( noose的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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391 interpretation | |
n.解释,说明,描述;艺术处理 | |
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392 dishonoured | |
a.不光彩的,不名誉的 | |
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393 primal | |
adj.原始的;最重要的 | |
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394 conjecture | |
n./v.推测,猜测 | |
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395 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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396 confessions | |
n.承认( confession的名词复数 );自首;声明;(向神父的)忏悔 | |
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397 obduracy | |
n.冷酷无情,顽固,执拗 | |
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398 coercion | |
n.强制,高压统治 | |
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399 entreaties | |
n.恳求,乞求( entreaty的名词复数 ) | |
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400 cohesion | |
n.团结,凝结力 | |
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401 skulking | |
v.潜伏,偷偷摸摸地走动,鬼鬼祟祟地活动( skulk的现在分词 ) | |
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402 sneaking | |
a.秘密的,不公开的 | |
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403 influential | |
adj.有影响的,有权势的 | |
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404 conspirators | |
n.共谋者,阴谋家( conspirator的名词复数 ) | |
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405 illiterate | |
adj.文盲的;无知的;n.文盲 | |
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406 requisite | |
adj.需要的,必不可少的;n.必需品 | |
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407 lurk | |
n.潜伏,潜行;v.潜藏,潜伏,埋伏 | |
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408 contingency | |
n.意外事件,可能性 | |
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409 zeal | |
n.热心,热情,热忱 | |
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410 purely | |
adv.纯粹地,完全地 | |
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411 disinterested | |
adj.不关心的,不感兴趣的 | |
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412 mathematician | |
n.数学家 | |
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413 confiscated | |
没收,充公( confiscate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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414 singeing | |
v.浅表烧焦( singe的现在分词 );(毛发)燎,烧焦尖端[边儿];烧毛 | |
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415 lighting | |
n.照明,光线的明暗,舞台灯光 | |
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416 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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417 brutally | |
adv.残忍地,野蛮地,冷酷无情地 | |
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418 judicial | |
adj.司法的,法庭的,审判的,明断的,公正的 | |
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419 transcending | |
超出或超越(经验、信念、描写能力等)的范围( transcend的现在分词 ); 优于或胜过… | |
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420 prospect | |
n.前景,前途;景色,视野 | |
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421 simultaneously | |
adv.同时发生地,同时进行地 | |
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422 mutinous | |
adj.叛变的,反抗的;adv.反抗地,叛变地;n.反抗,叛变 | |
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423 unnatural | |
adj.不自然的;反常的 | |
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424 prevailing | |
adj.盛行的;占优势的;主要的 | |
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425 concession | |
n.让步,妥协;特许(权) | |
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426 WHIMS | |
虚妄,禅病 | |
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427 censures | |
v.指责,非难,谴责( censure的第三人称单数 ) | |
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428 emancipation | |
n.(从束缚、支配下)解放 | |
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429 vindictive | |
adj.有报仇心的,怀恨的,惩罚的 | |
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430 yoke | |
n.轭;支配;v.给...上轭,连接,使成配偶 | |
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431 alluded | |
提及,暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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432 haughtiness | |
n.傲慢;傲气 | |
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433 persuasion | |
n.劝说;说服;持有某种信仰的宗派 | |
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434 meditated | |
深思,沉思,冥想( meditate的过去式和过去分词 ); 内心策划,考虑 | |
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435 avowed | |
adj.公开声明的,承认的v.公开声明,承认( avow的过去式和过去分词) | |
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436 deliberately | |
adv.审慎地;蓄意地;故意地 | |
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437 coercing | |
v.迫使做( coerce的现在分词 );强迫;(以武力、惩罚、威胁等手段)控制;支配 | |
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438 inoculate | |
v.给...接种,给...注射疫苗 | |
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439 proceeding | |
n.行动,进行,(pl.)会议录,学报 | |
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440 benignity | |
n.仁慈 | |
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441 dissimulate | |
v.掩饰,隐藏 | |
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442 intruding | |
v.侵入,侵扰,打扰( intrude的现在分词);把…强加于 | |
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443 feud | |
n.长期不和;世仇;v.长期争斗;世代结仇 | |
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444 overthrow | |
v.推翻,打倒,颠覆;n.推翻,瓦解,颠覆 | |
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445 strife | |
n.争吵,冲突,倾轧,竞争 | |
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446 renouncing | |
v.声明放弃( renounce的现在分词 );宣布放弃;宣布与…决裂;宣布摒弃 | |
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447 intelligible | |
adj.可理解的,明白易懂的,清楚的 | |
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448 enigmas | |
n.难于理解的问题、人、物、情况等,奥秘( enigma的名词复数 ) | |
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449 livelihood | |
n.生计,谋生之道 | |
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450 unintelligible | |
adj.无法了解的,难解的,莫明其妙的 | |
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451 incarnate | |
adj.化身的,人体化的,肉色的 | |
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452 demons | |
n.恶人( demon的名词复数 );恶魔;精力过人的人;邪念 | |
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453 stranded | |
a.搁浅的,进退两难的 | |
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454 levity | |
n.轻率,轻浮,不稳定,多变 | |
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455 abjured | |
v.发誓放弃( abjure的过去式和过去分词 );郑重放弃(意见);宣布撤回(声明等);避免 | |
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456 passionately | |
ad.热烈地,激烈地 | |
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457 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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458 locus | |
n.中心 | |
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459 reclaimed | |
adj.再生的;翻造的;收复的;回收的v.开拓( reclaim的过去式和过去分词 );要求收回;从废料中回收(有用的材料);挽救 | |
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460 erring | |
做错事的,错误的 | |
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461 lawful | |
adj.法律许可的,守法的,合法的 | |
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462 massacres | |
大屠杀( massacre的名词复数 ); 惨败 | |
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463 conclave | |
n.秘密会议,红衣主教团 | |
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464 sincerity | |
n.真诚,诚意;真实 | |
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465 exaction | |
n.强求,强征;杂税 | |
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466 ostensible | |
adj.(指理由)表面的,假装的 | |
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467 reptiles | |
n.爬行动物,爬虫( reptile的名词复数 ) | |
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468 reptile | |
n.爬行动物;两栖动物 | |
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469 seduced | |
诱奸( seduce的过去式和过去分词 ); 勾引; 诱使堕落; 使入迷 | |
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470 seducer | |
n.诱惑者,骗子,玩弄女性的人 | |
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471 extorted | |
v.敲诈( extort的过去式和过去分词 );曲解 | |
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472 esteem | |
n.尊敬,尊重;vt.尊重,敬重;把…看作 | |
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473 levied | |
征(兵)( levy的过去式和过去分词 ); 索取; 发动(战争); 征税 | |
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474 hostility | |
n.敌对,敌意;抵制[pl.]交战,战争 | |
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475 conspicuous | |
adj.明眼的,惹人注目的;炫耀的,摆阔气的 | |
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476 persistency | |
n. 坚持(余辉, 时间常数) | |
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477 steadily | |
adv.稳定地;不变地;持续地 | |
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478 unduly | |
adv.过度地,不适当地 | |
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479 conspicuously | |
ad.明显地,惹人注目地 | |
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480 negotiation | |
n.谈判,协商 | |
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481 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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482 intruded | |
n.侵入的,推进的v.侵入,侵扰,打扰( intrude的过去式和过去分词 );把…强加于 | |
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483 prerogative | |
n.特权 | |
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484 punctiliousness | |
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485 exacting | |
adj.苛求的,要求严格的 | |
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486 villain | |
n.反派演员,反面人物;恶棍;问题的起因 | |
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487 pretences | |
n.假装( pretence的名词复数 );作假;自命;自称 | |
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488 prospects | |
n.希望,前途(恒为复数) | |
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489 maroons | |
n.逃亡黑奴(maroon的复数形式)vt.把…放逐到孤岛(maroon的第三人称单数形式) | |
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490 eventual | |
adj.最后的,结局的,最终的 | |
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491 laden | |
adj.装满了的;充满了的;负了重担的;苦恼的 | |
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492 mortification | |
n.耻辱,屈辱 | |
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493 awakening | |
n.觉醒,醒悟 adj.觉醒中的;唤醒的 | |
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494 slumbering | |
微睡,睡眠(slumber的现在分词形式) | |
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