A two-mile tramp brought me to the Walkerville cattle-barns, where thousands of gaunt calves10 are rounded up each autumn to come forth11 in the summer plump bulls and steers12, ready for the markets of old England. From the long rows of low, brick buildings sounded now and then a deep bellow13 or the song or whistle of a stock feeder at his labor6. I had arranged for my passage some days before, and, dropping my bag at the office, I joined the crew in the yard.
Months of well-fed inactivity had not tamed the spirits of the sleek14 animals that were set loose and driven one by one out of the various stables. The racing15, bellowing16 cattle, urged slowly up the shute into the waiting cars by blaspheming stockmen, waving lancelike poles above their heads, gave to the scene the aspect of a riotous17 corrida de toros. The sun had set and darkness had fallen in the alleyways between the endless stables before the last bull was tied and the last car door locked. The shunting engine gave a warning whistle. We, who were to attend the stock en route raced to the office for our bundles, and, tossing them on top of the freight cars, climbed after them.
There were no formal leave-takings between the little stock-yard community on the shute platform and those who were “crossin’ the 4pond wi’ the bullocks.” The cars began to move amid such words of farewell as might have been exchanged with one setting out for the nearby village:
“So long, Jim, keep sober.”
“Don’t fergit me that tin o’ Wills’ Smokin’, Bob.”
“Give me best to Molly down on the Broomielaw, Jim,” with an overdrawn18 wink20 at that worthy21 standing22 stolidly23 on the last car.
Jim and Bob were “boss cattle men,” each of whom, though still young, had made scores of trips between the barns and the principal ports of Great Britain.
A short run down the spur brought us to the main line of the Canadian Pacific; our cars were joined to a train that was making up, and we made our way to the caboose that had been rammed25 on behind. Though the companies permit it, train men look with no kindly26 eye on the intrusion of traveling “cow-punchers” into their home and castle. As we emerged into the glare of the tail-lights, carrying our bundles and poles, a surly growl27 gave us greeting:
“Huh! ’Nother bloody28 bunch o’ cattle stiffs!”
A steady run of thirty-six hours, enlivened by changes of caboose at unseemly hours, crews of increasing surliness, and a tramp along the cars at every halt to “punch ’em up” brought us to Montreal. The feeders at the railroad pens took charge of the shipment and we repaired to the “Stockyards Hotel,” a hostelry pervaded29 from bar-room to garret by the odor of cattle. Thus far our destination had been uncertain, but, not long after our arrival, information leaked out that we were to sail for Glasgow on the Sardinian two days later.
On that second evening, I reported at a wharf30 peopled by a half-hundred men whose only basis of fellowship, apparently31, was pennilessness and riotous desire to secure passage to the British Isles33. Twelve hundred cattle, collected from several Canadian feeding centers, were to be shipped and, besides the bosses, twenty cattle men were needed. A few, like myself, had come overland with the stock trains; but the throng34 was made up chiefly of those who had paid a Montreal agency $2.50 for the privilege of shipping35.
Over these we were given precedence. “Farnsworth’s gang” was summoned first and under the lead of our boss we filed into the shipping-office, to be greeted by a blustering36 officer seated before the ship’s log:
“What’s yer name?”
5“H. Franck.”
“Ever been over before?”
“Yes, sir, on the Manchester Importer.”
The name was recorded and I touched the pen to make binding37 the contract I had signed by proxy38.
“All right! Fi’ bob fer the run. Next!”
Our boss was entitled to eight men, four of whom he had already chosen. The last of these had barely given his name, when the “agency stiffs” swept aside the policeman who had held them back, and surged screaming into the office. We left them to fight for the coveted39 places and, stepping out into the night, groped our way on board the Sardinian. Even while we wandered among the empty cattle pens, built on her four decks, we clung jealously to our bundles, for the skill of the Montreal wharf-rat in “lifting bags” is proverbial among seafaring men.
Towards midnight several loads of baled straw were sent on board, and those of us who had not succeeded in hiding “turned to” to bed down the pens. Like many another transatlantic liner, the Sardinian, homeward bound, carried cattle in the spaces allotted40 to third-class passengers on the outward journey. It was not, however, for this reason, as one of my new acquaintances was convinced, that this section of the ship was known as the steerage.
The bedding completed, we threw ourselves down in the stalls and fell asleep. Long before the day broke, the entire ship’s company, from the first mate to the sleepiest “stiff,” was rudely awakened42 by a stampede of excited cattle and the blatant43 curses of their drivers. The stock-yard tenders had tied up alongside. In three hours our cargo44 was complete; the panting animals were securely tied in their stanchions; the winch had yanked up on deck the three or four bulls that, having been killed in the rush, were to be dumped in the outer bay; and we were off down the St. Lawrence. The crew fell to coiling up the shore-lines and joined the cattle men in a rousing chorus:—
“We’re homeward bound, boys, for Glasgow town,
Good-by, fare thee well! good-by, fare thee well!
We’ll soon tread the Broomielaw now, my belle,
Good-by, fare thee well; good-by.”
Our passage varied45 little from the ordinary trip of a cattle boat. A few quarrels and an occasional free-for-all mélée were to be expected, for the “stiffs’ fo’c’stle” housed a heterogeneous46 company. 6Some of our mates were skilled workmen of industry and good habits, bound on a visit to their old homes. Contrasted with them were several incorrigible47 wharf-rats, bred on the docks of the United Kingdom, who had somehow contrived48 to cross the Atlantic to what had been pictured to them as a land “where a bloke c’n live like a gent at ’ome widout wavin’ ’is bleedin’ flipper49.” The western hemisphere had proved no such ideal loafing-place. Bound back now to their accustomed haunts, the disillusioned50 rowdies spent their energies in heaping curses on America and those who had painted it in such glowing colors. They were not pleasant messmates.
The work on the Sardinian was, as we had anticipated, hard, the food unfit to eat, and the forecastle unfit to live in. But there were no “first trippers” among us and all had shipped with some knowledge of the treatment meted51 out to “cattle stiffs.”
On the tenth day out, the second of July, we came on deck to find, a few miles off to starboard, the sloping coast of Ireland, patches of growing and ripening52 grain giving the island the appearance of a huge, tilted53 checkerboard. Before night fell, we had left behind Paddy’s Mile-stone and the Mull o’ Kintyre, and it was near the mouth of the Clyde that we completed our last feeding.
A mighty54 uproar55 awakened us at dawn. Urged on by the bellows56 of Glasgow longshoremen, the cattle were slipping and sliding down the gangway into the wharf paddock. Unrestrained joy burst forth in the feeders’ quarters. Enmities were quickly forgotten, the few razors passed quickly from hand to hand, beards of two weeks’ growth disappeared as if by magic, bags were snatched open, the rags and tatters that had done duty as clothing on the voyage were poked57 in endless stream through the porthole into the already poisonous Clyde, and an hour later the “stiffs,” looking almost respectable, were scattering58 along the silent streets of Sunday-morning Glasgow.
Strange it seemed next morning to find business moving as usual, with no sounds of celebration, for it was the Fourth, “Independence” or “Rebellion” day, according to the nationality of the speaker. At noon we gathered on board the Sardinian to receive our “fi’ bob” and our discharges from the Board of Trade. These latter were good for the return trip on the same steamer, but few besides the bosses intended to avail themselves of the privilege. As for myself, I found another use for the document. One who is moving about Europe in the garb of a laborer must be ever ready to declare his station in life. The answer of the American tramp that he is “just a’ travelin’” will not pass muster59 across the water. To have called myself a carpenter or a teamster without corroborating60 testimonials would have been as foolish as to have told the truth. The discharge from the Sardinian, though issued to a cattle man, did not differ materially from that of an able seaman61. My corduroy suit and cloth cap gave me the appearance of a Jack62 ashore63. I decided64 to pose henceforth as a sailor.
A boss cattleman of the Walkerville barns who has crossed the Atlantic scores of times
Upon arrival in Montreal I put up at the “Stock Yards Hotel” and get a preliminary hair-cut in anticipation65
7Tucking my kodak into an inside coat pocket, I sold my bag for the price of a ticket on the night steamer to Belfast. A two days’ tramp along the highways of the Emerald Isle was a pleasant “limbering up” for more extended journeys to come. It might have been longer but for an incessant66 rain that drove me back to Scotland.
On the afternoon of my return to Glasgow I struck out along the right bank of the Clyde towards the Highlands. An overladen highway led through Dumbarton, a town of factories, that poured its waste products into the sluggish69 river of poison, and brought me at evening to Alexandria. A band was playing. I joined the recreating throng and stretched out on the village green. What a strange fellow is the Scotchman! In a few short hours he runs through the whole gamut71 of emotions, gloomy and despondent72 when things go wrong, romping73 and joking a moment after.
The sun was still well above the horizon when the concert ended, though the hour of nine had already sounded from the church spire74.
Not far beyond the town the hills died away on the left and disclosed the unruffled surface of Loch Lomond, its western end aglow75 with the light of the drowning sun. By and by the moon rose to cast a phosphorescent shimmer76 over the Loch and its little wooded islands. On the next hillside stood a field of wheat shocks. I turned into it, giving the owner’s house a wide berth77. The straw was fresh and clean, just the thing for a soft bed. But wheat sheaths do not offer substantial protection against the winds of the Scottish Highlands, and it was not with a sense of having slept soundly that I rose at daybreak and pushed on.
Two hours of tramping brought me to Luss, a cozy78 little village on the edge of the Loch. I hastened to the principal street in quest of a restaurant, but the hamlet was everywhere silent and asleep. Down on the beach of the Loch a lone79 fisherman, preparing his tackle for the day’s labor, took umbrage80 at my suggestion that his fellow-townsmen were late risers.
“Why mon, ’tis no late!” he protested, “’tis no more nor five, an’ 8a bonny mornin’ it is, too. But there’s a mist in it,” he added pessimistically.
I glanced at the bright morning sun and the unclouded sky and set down both statements for fiction. But a clock-maker’s window down the beach confirmed the first, and the second proved as true before the day was done. Stifling81 my premature82 hunger, I stretched out on the sands to await the morning steamer; for Ben Lomond, the ascent83 of which I had planned, stood just across the Loch.
About six a heavy-eyed shopkeeper sold me a roll of bologna, concocted84 of equal parts of pepper and meat, and a loaf of day-before-yesterday’s bread. The steamer whistle sounded before I had regained85 the beach. I purchased a ticket at the shore-end of the distorted wooden wharf and hurried out to board the craft. My way was blocked by a burly Scot who demanded “tu p’nce.”
“But I’ve paid my fare,” I protested, holding up the ticket.
“Aye, mon, ye hov,” rumbled86 the native, straddling his legs and setting his elbows akimbo. “Ye hov, mon. But ye hovna paid fer walkin’ oot t’ yon boat on oor wharf.”
Ten minutes later I paid a similar sum for the privilege of walking off the boat at Renwardenen.
Plodding87 across a half-mile of heath and morass88, I struck into the narrow, white path that zigzagged89 up the face of the Ben, and soon overtook three Glasgow firemen, off for a day’s vacation in the hills. The mist that the fisherman had foreseen began to settle down and turned soon to a drenching92 rain. For five hours we scrambled93 silently upward in Indian file, slipping and falling on wet rocks and into deep bogs94, to come at last to a broad, flat boulder95 where the path vanished. It was the summit of old Ben Lomond, a tiny island in a sea of whirling grey mist, into which the wind bowled us when we attempted to stand erect96. My companions fell to cursing their luck in expressive97 Scotch70. The remnants of a picnic lunch under the shelter of a cairn tantalized98 us with the thought of how different the scene would have been on a day of sunshine. I was reminded, too, of the bread and bologna that had been left over from my breakfast, and I thrust a hand hopefully into my pocket. My fingers plunged99 into a floating pulp100 of pepper, dough101, and bits of meat and paper that it would have been an insult to offer to share with the hungriest mortal; and I fell to munching102 the mess alone.
Two of the firemen decided to return the way we had come. With the third I set off down the opposite slope towards Inversnaid. In 9the first simultaneous stumble down the mountain side, we lost all sense of direction and, fetching up in a boggy104 meadow, wandered for hours over knolls105 and through swift streams, now and then scaring up a flock of shaggy highland67 sheep that raced away down primeval valleys. Well on in the afternoon, as we were telling ourselves for the twentieth time that Inversnaid must be just over the next ridge106, we came suddenly upon a hillside directly above the landing stage of Renwardenen. On this side of the Loch was neither highway nor footpath107. For seven miles we dragged ourselves, hand over hand, through the thick undergrowth, and even then must each take a header into an icy mountain river before we reached our goal.
Here a new disappointment awaited me. Instead of the town I had expected, Inversnaid consisted of a landing stage and a hotel of the millionaire-club variety in which my worldly wealth would scarcely have paid a night’s lodging109, even should the house dogs have permitted so bedraggled a being to approach the establishment. The fireman wandered down to the wharf and I turned towards a cluster of board shanties110 at the roadside.
“Can you sell me something to eat?” I inquired of the sour-faced mountaineer who opened the first door.
“I can no!” he snapped, “go to the hotel.”
There were freshly baked loaves plainly in sight in the next hovel, but I received a similar rebuff.
“Have you nothing to eat in the house?” I demanded.
“No, mon, I’m no runnin’ a shop.”
“But you can sell me a loaf of that bread?”
“No!” bellowed111 the Scot, “we hovna got any. Go to the hotel. Yon’s the place for tooreests.”
The invariable excuse was worn threadbare before I reached the last hut, and, though I had already covered twenty-five miles, I struck off through the sea of mud that passed for a highway, towards Aberfoyle, fifteen miles distant.
The rain continued. An hour beyond, the road skirted the shore of Loch Katrine and stretched away across a desolate112 moorland. Fatigue113 drove away hunger and was in turn succeeded by a drowsiness114 in which my legs moved themselves mechanically, carrying me on through the dusk and into the darkness. It was past eleven when I splashed into Aberfoyle, too late to find an open shop in straight-laced Scotland, and, routing out a servant at a modest inn, I went supperless to bed. Months afterward115, when I was in training for such undertakings116, 10a forty-mile tramp left no evil effects; at this early stage of the journey the experience was not quickly forgotten.
The attraction of the open road was lacking when, late the next morning, I hobbled out into the streets of Aberfoyle, and, my round of sight-seeing over, I wandered down to the station and took train for Stirling. Long before the journey was ended, there appeared, far away across the valleys, that most rugged117 of Scotland’s landmarks119, the castle of Stirling. Like the base of some giant pillar erected120 by nature and broken off by a mightier121 Sampson, it stands in solemn isolation122 in a vast, rolling plain, the very symbol of staunch independence and sturdy defiance123.
My imagination far back in the days of Wallace and Bruce, I made my way up to the monument from the city below, half expecting, as I entered the ancient portal, to find myself surrounded by those bold and fiery124 warriors125 of past ages. And surely, there they were! That group of men in bonnets126 and kilts, gazing away across the parapets. Cautiously I approached them. What pleasure it would be to hear the old Scottish tongue and, perhaps, the story of some feud127 among the fierce clans128 of the Highlands! Suddenly one of the group strode away across the courtyard. As he passed me, he began to sing. A minstrel lay of ancient days, in the old Gaelic tongue? No, indeed. He had broken forth in the rasping voice of a Liverpool bootblack, juggling129 his H’s, as only a Liverpool bootblack can, in “The Good Old Summer Time.”
An hour afterward I faced the highway again, bound for Edinburgh. The route led hard by the battle-field of Bannockburn, to-day a stretch of waving wheat, distinguished130 from the surrounding meadows, that history does not know, only by the flag of Britain above it. With darkness I found lodging in a wheat field overlooking the broad thoroughfare.
The next day was Sunday and the weather calorific. For all that, the highroad had its full quota131 of tramps. I passed the time of day with any number of these roadsters,—they call them “moochers” in the British Isles. Some were sauntering almost aimlessly along the shimmering132 route, others were stretched out at apathetic133 ease in shady glens carpeted with freshly-blossomed bluebells134. The “moocher” is a being of far less activity and initiative than the American tramp. He is content to stroll a few miles each day, happy if he gleans135 a meager136 fare from the kindly disposed. He would no more think of “beating his way” on the railroads than of building an air-ship for his aimless and endless wanderings. It is always walk with him, day after day, week after week; and if, by chance, he hears of the swift travel by “blind-baggage” and the full meals that fall to his counterpart across the water, he stamps them at once “bloody lies.”
Women laborers137 in the linen-mills of Belfast, Ireland
S.S. Sardinian. “Lamps does a bit of painting above the temporary cattle-pens”
11In stranger contrast to the American, the British tramp is quite apt to be a family man. As often as not he travels with a female companion whom he styles, within her hearing and apparently with her entire acquiescence138, “me Moll” or “me heifer.” But whatever his stamping ground the tramp is essentially139 the same fellow the world over. Buoyant of spirits for all his pessimistic grumble140, generous to a fault, he eyes the stranger with deep suspicion at the first greeting, as uncommunicative and noncommittal as a bivalve. Then a look, a gesture suggests the world-wide question, “On the road, Jack?” Answer it affirmatively and, though your fatherland be on the opposite side of the earth, he is ready forthwith to open his heart and to divide with you his last crust.
I reached Edinburgh in the early afternoon, and, following the signs that pointed141 the way to the poor man’s section, brought up in Haymarket Square. A multitude of unemployed142, in groups and in pairs, sauntering back and forth, lounging about the foot of the central statue, filled the place. Here a hooligan, ragged108 and unkempt as his hearers, was holding forth, to as many as cared to listen, on the subject of governmental iniquities143. There another, less fortunate than his unfortunate fellows, wandered from group to group in his shirt-sleeves, vainly trying to sell his coat for a “tanner” to pay a night’s lodging.
High above towered the vast bulk of Edinburgh castle. A royal infant lowered from its windows, as happened, ’tis said, in the merry days of Queen Bess, would land to-day in a most squalid lodging house. Indeed, this is one point that the indigent144 wanderer gains over the wealthy tourist. The cheap quarters, the slums of to-day are, in many a European city, the places where the history of yesterday was made. The great man of a century ago did not dwell in a shaded suburb; he made his home where now the hooligan and the laborer eke145 out a precarious146 existence.
The sorry-looking building at the foot of the castle rock bore the sign:—
“Edinburgh Castle Inn. Clean, Capacious Beds, 6d.”
I had too often been misled by similar self-assertive adjurations to expect any serious striving on the part of the proprietor147 to keep 12anything but the sign in any marked degree of cleanliness. I was not prepared, however, to find the place as filthy148 as it proved. The cutting satire149 of the ensign was doubly apparent when I escaped again into the square. A “Bobby” marched pompously150 up and down not far from the brazen-voiced speaker, whose power of endurance should have won him a livelihood151 somewhere.
“Where shall I find a fairly cheap lodging house?” I inquired.
“Try the Cawstle Inn h’over there,” replied “Bobby,” with a majestic152 wave of his Sunday gloves towards the hostelry I had just inspected.
“But that place is not clean!” I protested.
“Not clean! Certainly it’s clean! There’s a bloomin’ law makes ’em keep ’em clean,” and “Bobby” glared at me as if I had libeled the King’s Parliament and the Edinburgh police-force into the bargain.
I entered another inn facing the square, but was thankful to escape from it to the one I had first visited. Paying my “tanner” at a misshapen wicket, I received a stub bearing the number of my sty and passed into the main room. It was furnished with benches, tables, and a cooking establishment. For four pence the guest might have set before him an unappetizing, though fairly abundant, supper. By far the greater number of the inmates153, however, were crowded around several cooking stoves at the back of the room. Water, fuel, and utensils154 were provided gratis155 to all who had paid their lodging. On the stoves was sputtering156 or boiling every variety of cheap food, tended by tattered157 men who handled frying-pans with their coat-tails as holders158, and cut up cabbages or peeled potatoes with knives on the blades of which were half-inch deposits of tobacco. Each ate his concoction159 with the greatest relish160 as soon as it showed the least sign of approaching an edible161 condition, generally without any allowance of time for boiling messes to cool, thereby162 suffering more than once dire103 injury.
Three days later I took passage for London and on the afternoon following my arrival embarked163 at Gravesend on the Batavien II, bound for Rotterdam. The steerage fare was five shillings; in view of the accommodations, an extravagant164 price. My only companions amid the chaos165 of so-called mattresses167 strewn about the hold were a German Hufschmied and his bedraggled spouse168, joint169 possessors of a bundle of rags containing a most distressingly170 powerful pair of lungs. The odor of the mattresses and the stench from the bundle turned the night 13into a walking nightmare, which I spent in congratulating myself that the voyage was to be of short duration.
I climbed on deck at sunrise to find the ship steaming at half speed through a placid171 canal. Far down below us were clusters of squat172 cottages, the white smoke of kindling173 fires curling slowly upward from their chimneys. Here and there a peasant, looking quite tiny from the height of our deck, crawled along across the flat meadows. Away in the distance several stocky windmills were turning slowly yet ceaselessly in the morning breeze.
The canal opened out into the teeming174 harbor of Rotterdam. A custom’s officer inquired my profession, slapped me paternally175 on the back with a warning in German to beware the “schlechte Leute” who lay in wait for seamen176 ashore, and dismissed me, while the well-dressed tourist still fumed177 over the uninspected luggage in his cabin.
I quickly tired of the confines of the city and turned out along the flat highway to Delft. The route skirted a great canal; at intervals178 it crossed branch waterways, all half-hidden by cumbersome179 cargo-boats. Heavily laden68 boats toiled180 slowly by on their way to market, empty boats glided181 easily homeward. On board, stocky men, bowed double over heavy pike-poles, marched laboriously182 from bow to stern. Along the graveled tow-paths that checkered183 the flat landscape, buxom184 women strained like over-burdened oxen at the tow-ropes about their shoulders. Wherever one met him the boating Dutchman shared most fairly with his wife the labor of propelling his unwieldy craft, except that the wife walked and the Dutchman rode.
In the early afternoon I briefly185 visited Delft, and pushed on towards the Hague. No wayfarer186, obviously, could in a single day become accustomed to the national clatter187 of wooden shoes. Beyond Delft I turned into a narrow roadway paved in cobblestones and flanked by two canals. It was a quiet route even for Holland. In serene188 contentment I pursued my lonely way, gazing off across the unbroken landscape. Suddenly a galloping189 “rat-a-tat” sounded close behind me. What else but a runaway190 horse could produce such a devil’s tattoo191? To pause and glance behind might cost me my life, for the frenzied192 brute193 was almost upon me. With a swiftness born of fear I took to my heels. A few yards beyond was a luckily-placed foot-bridge over one of the canals. I made a flying leap at the structure and gained it in safety, just as there dashed by me at full speed—a Hollander of some six summers, bound to market with a basket on his arm!
14“S-Gravenhage,” as the Dutchman calls his capital, was a city teeming with interest; but Holland was one of those countries which I purposed to “do” in orthodox tourist fashion and, after a few short hours in the royal borough194, I sought out the highway to Leiden. My seeking was not particularly successful. The mongrel commixture of German, English, and pantomime in which I carried on conversation with the natives was a delectable195 language, but it did not always gain me lucid196 directions. Sharply prosecuted197 inquiries198 brought me to a road to Leiden, right enough, but it was not the public highway. Thanks to some misconstruction of the native dactylology, I set out for the stamping ground of Rembrandt along the old royal driveway.
It was a pleasure, of course, to travel by the Queen’s own promenade199, especially as it led through a fragrant200 forest park. Unfortunately, a royal demesne201 is no place in which to find an inn when hunger and darkness come on. This one had not even a cross-road to lead me back to the main highway, and I plodded202 on into the night amid unbroken solitude203. Just what hour it was when I reached Leiden I know not. Beyond question it was late, for the good people, and even the bad, except a few drowsy204 policemen, were sound asleep; and with a painful number of miles in my legs I went to bed on a pile of lumber205.
The warming sun rose none too early, though long before the first shopkeeper. Still fasting I set off towards Haarlem. On these flat lowlands this Sabbath day was oppressively hot. Yet how dolorously206 devout207 appeared the peasants who plodded for miles along the dusty highway to the village church! The men, those same men so comfortably picturesque208 in their work-a-day clothes, marched in their cumbersome Sunday garments like converts doing penance209 for their sins. The women, buxom always, but painfully awkward in stiffly starched210 gowns, tramped swelteringly behind the males. Even the children, the rollicking youngsters of the day before, were imprisoned211 in homemade straight-jackets and suffered martyrdom in uncomplaining silence. But one and all had a cheery word for the passerby212 and never that sour look which one “on the road” encounters on British highways.
Often, since leaving Rotterdam, I had wondered at the absence of wells in the rural districts. Surely these peasants’ cottages were not connected by water-mains! Pondering the question, I had thus far quenched213 my thirst only in the villages. But towards noon on this 15hot Sunday an imperative214 call for water drove me to turn in at an isolated215 cottage. Beside the road ran the omnipresent canal. A narrow foot-bridge crossed it to the gate before the dwelling216, around which flowed a branch of the main waterway, giving a mooring217 for the peasant’s canal-boat. The gate proved impregnable and it required much shouting to attract the attention of the householder. At last, from around a corner of the building, a Vrouw of the most buxom type hove into view and bore down upon me as an ocean liner sails into a calm harbor. My knowledge of Dutch being nil32, I followed my usual method of coining a language by a process of elimination218. Perhaps the lady spoke219 some German.
“Ein Glas Wasser, bitte.”
“Vat?”
It could do no harm to give my mother tongue a trial.
“A glass of water.”
“Eh!”
I tried a mixture of the two languages. For what is Dutch after all than a jumble220 of badly spelled English and German words with the endings lopped off?
“Ein glass of vater.” It was the open sesame.
“Vater?” shrieked221 the lady with such vehemence223 that the rooster in the back yard leaped sideways a distance of six feet. “Vater!”
“Ja, vater, bitte.”
A profound silence succeeded, a silence so absolute that one could have heard a fly pass by a hundred feet above. Slowly the lady placed a heavy hand on the intervening gate. A shadow passed over her face, as though she were mentally calculating the strength of resistance of the barrier against a madman. Then, with a bovine224 snort, she wheeled about and waddled225 towards the house. Close under the eaves of the cottage hung a tin basin. Snatching it down without a pause, the human steamship226 set a course for the family anchorage, stooped, dipped up a basinful of that selfsame weed-clogged water that flowed by in abundance at my feet, and tacked227 back across the yard to offer it to me with a magnanimous sigh of resignation. I quenched my thirst thereafter, in rural Holland, at roadside canals, after the manner of beasts of the field—and Hollanders.
Miles away from Haarlem appeared the great flower-farms for which this region is famous and, growing more and more frequent, continued into the very suburbs of the city itself. Across the ultra-fertile plain beyond, the broad highway to Amsterdam ran as straight 16as a geometrical line. From the city of tulips to where it disappeared in the fog of rising heat waves, the thoroughfare was thronged228 with vehicles, riders, and, above all, with wheelmen, who, refusing to swerve229 a hair’s breadth for my convenience, drove me ever and anon into the wayside ditch. The Hollander is, ordinarily, an obliging fellow, and in the main the humble230 workman or pedestrian is fairly treated. Yet that distinct line of demarkation between the “commoner” and the “upper class” is never obliterated231. The American laborer may spend some time in the British Isles without noting this discrimination; he will not be long on the continent before the advantage of his status at home is shown forth in plain relief.
There is not that gradual shading off from the professional man to the coal-heaver that exists in the United States. One can no more conceive of a Hollander who looks forward to a career in the gentler walks of life “beginning at the bottom” than of one who aspires232 to the papacy taking a wife. He whose appearance stamps him as of those who live by the sweat of the brow cannot complain of any overt91 act of oppression. Yet he is early reminded that, as a worker with his hands, he has a distinct place in society and that he must keep to it. Among his fellow workmen, in his own caste, he lives and moves and has his being as in our own land. But in other ranks he catches here and there a glance, a gesture, a protesting silence, that brings home to him his lowly status.
My zigzag90 tramp ended late in the afternoon, and, after a deal of wandering in and out among the canals of the metropolis233, I took a garret lodging overhanging a sluggish waterway. The proverbial cleanliness of Holland is no mere234 figure of speech. Few cities of the same size have as little of the slum district within their confines as Amsterdam. The Dutch laborer is, in many ways, far better off than those of the same class across the channel. In the city there is always a Koffie Huis close at hand, where eggs, milk, cheeses, and dairy products in general are served at small cost and in cleanly surroundings. Compare this diet with that of the British workman, who subsists235 often, not on food, but on the waste products of those places where food is prepared. One can identify a Briton of the lower classes by his teeth. At twenty he has a dozen, perhaps, that are neither broken off, crumbling236, black, nor missing. At thirty he shows a few yellow fangs237. But one cannot determine the class of the Hollander by the same sign. His diet is too wholesome238.
Parks, museums, laborers’ quarters, and the necessity of a protracted239 17search each evening for my canalside garret kept me three days in Amsterdam. On the fourth I drifted on board one of the tiny steamers of the Zuidersee and journeyed to Hoorn. Hoorn is one of Holland’s dead cities, one of the many from which prosperity and wealth departed to come no more as the shifting sands of the North Sea blocked up their channels and drove away the rich commerce that was their fortune. Now they are dead indeed. A tiny remnant of a great population clatters240 along their deserted241 streets, a few of the ancient mansions242 house humbler inmates, and all about is ruin.
By no means regretting the whim243 that had carried me away to this land of yesterday, I set back along the See towards Amsterdam. The typical Hollander is nowhere seen to better advantage than in this district. The population plies two vocations244. Along the shores and on the adjoining islands the stolid24, picturesque fisherman is predominant. In the great, flat meadows the care of his cattle occupies the no less stolid, if less quaint41, peasant.
There are wheat shocks even in Holland. As night was falling over the vast plain I withdrew to a roadside field and retired245. A Dutchman spied me out in my resting-place at some silent hour, but sped away across the country like a firm believer in ghosts when I offered to share my bed. I awoke at daybreak to find myself within sight of the much maligned246 island of Marken, with an unobstructed view of the quaint old church of Monnickendam, a once populous247 city that has shrunk to a baggy-trousered hamlet of fisherfolk. Beyond the town there rattled248 by occasionally a milk or baker’s cart, drawn19, now by one dog, now by a team of two or three, harnessed together with utter disregard to size, breed, or disposition249. Sometimes, indeed, a canine250 and a human team-mate tugged251 together at the traces.
There ran a rumor252 in my favorite Koffie Huis soon after my arrival at Amsterdam in the afternoon, that a cargo-boat which carried passengers for a song was to leave at four for Arnheim on the Rhine. I thrust a lunch into a pocket and hurried down to the mooring-place of the international liner. She was a canal-boat some twenty-five feet long and eight wide, as black as a coal-barge, though by no means as clean; her uncovered deck piled high with boxes, barrels, and crates253 ranging in contents from beer mugs to protesting live stock. I scrambled over the cargo and found a seat on a barrel of oil. It was already after four, but there was really no reason for my anxious haste. No Dutch cargo-boat was ever known to depart at the hour set.
It turned out that the overburdened craft was not yet loaded. From 18time to time lethargic254 longshoremen wandered down to the wharf with more bales, crates, and boxes, and stacked them high about us. It was long after dark when their task was done, and, what with quarrels between the captain and the crew as to the proper channel, we were scarcely out of the harbor when dawn broke.
A long day we spent in jumping about the cargo like jack-rabbits, in a vain attempt to keep out of the way of the crew searching for a bale to set ashore at each wayside village. That alone would have been endurable. But our lives were made miserable255 by two Hungarians, owners of a barrel organ, who insisted that the infernal squawk which the machine emitted was “moosik,” and who had the audacity256 to invite us periodically to pay for the torture.
I left the cargo-boat at Arnheim and, halting at the principal cities on its banks, made my way up the Rhine by steamer and on foot in a few days to Mainz. From there I turned eastward257 along the highway to Frankfurt. Strange and varied had been my sleeping-places in Germany. The innkeepers of the Fatherland, fearful of punishment for lodging those who turn out to be “wanted” by His Majesty’s officers, are chary258 of offering accommodations to strangers. Whether it was due to the garb that stamped me as a wanderer or to a foreign accent, it was my fate to be treated in the Kaiser’s realm as an extremely suspicious member of society.
It was late at night when I reached Frankfurt. The highway ended among the palatial259 edifices260 of the business section, and I wandered long in search of the poorer quarters. At last, in a dingy261 side street a tavern262, offering logieren at one mark, drew my attention. Truly it was a high price to pay for a bed, but the hour was late and the night stormy. I entered the drinking-room, and waiting until the Kellner could catch a moment’s respite263 from his strenuous264 task of silencing the shouts of “Glas Bier” that rose above the tumult265, made my wants known.
“Beds?” cried the Kellner, too busy with his glasses to look up at me, “To be sure. We have always plenty of beds. One mark.”
But mein Herr the proprietor was staring at me from the back of the hall. Slowly he shuffled266 forward, cocked his head on one side, and scrutinized267 me intently from out his bleary eyes.
“What does he want?” he demanded, turning to the tapster.
I answered the query268 myself and the customary inquisition began.
“Woher kommen Sie?”
A baker’s cart of Holland on the morning round
A public laundry on the Rhine at Mainz, Germany
Knowing from experience the order of the questions, I launched 19forth into the story of my life, past, present, and future, or as much of it as was in keeping with the assertion that I was an American sailor on a sight-seeing expedition in the Fatherland. Plainly my hearers regarded it as a clumsy tale. Long before I had ended, the proprietor, the Kellner, and those clients of the house that had clustered around us, fell to nudging each other with grimaces269 of incredulity. The Wirt, harassed270 by the conflicting emotions of greed and fear, blinked his pudgy eyes and glanced for inspiration into the faces about him. The temptation to add another mark to his coffers was strong within him. Yet what would the police inspector271 say in the morning to the name of a foreigner on his register? He scratched his grizzly272 poll with a force that suggested that he was going clear down through it to extract an idea with his stubby fingers, glanced once more at the tipplers, and surrendered to fear.
“Es tut mir leid, Junge,” he puffed273, with a prolonged blink, “I am sorry, but we have not a bed left in the house.”
I wandered out into the night and told my story to a second, a third, and even a fourth innkeeper with the same result. In despair I turned in at the fifth house resolved to try a strange plan—to tell the truth. In carefully chosen words I explained my identity and my purpose in visiting Germany in laborer’s garb. Never before since leaving Detroit had I resorted to such an expedient274, and I took good care not to repeat the experiment during my subsequent travels. I had barely elucidated275 my situation when the landlord informed me in no uncertain terms that I was a liar276 and an ass9 into the bargain; and that a hasty retreat from his establishment was the surest way of preserving my good health. He was a creature of awe-inspiring proportions, and I followed his suggestion promptly277. At midnight a policeman directed me to an inn where suspicious characters were less of a novelty, and I was soon asleep.
I had not yet well learned the lesson, begun in the British Isles, that the homes of the famous of a century ago are the slums of to-day. Next morning I turned back to the brilliant thoroughfares, expecting to find somewhere along them the birthplace of Goethe. Once amid such surroundings as the greatest of the Germans might fittingly have graced by his presence, I addressed myself to a policeman. Goethe? Why, yes, the name seemed familiar. He was not sure, but he fancied the fellow lived in the eastern part of the city, and directed me accordingly. The way led through narrow, winding278 streets. Now and then I went astray, to be set right again by other 20minions of the law. The quest cost me a goodly amount of shoe-leather and most of the morning, but I found at last the landmark118 I was seeking—exactly across the street from the inn in which I had slept.
There was in Frankfurt after all a lodging house where wanderers free from the burden of wealth were welcome. I came across it during the day’s roaming and took care not to forget its location. Several disreputable humans were wending their way thither279 as twilight280 fell and, joining them, I entered a great, dingy hall, low of ceiling, and poorly served in the matter of windows. A cadaverous female, established behind a rust-eaten wicket, was dealing281 out Schlafmarken at thirty Pfennig (7 cents) each. I pocketed one and hastened to find a place on one of the wooden benches; for the hall was rapidly filling with members of the Brotherhood282 of the Great Unwashed.
Drowsiness came quickly in the stifling atmosphere. I stepped to the wicket and asked to be shown to my quarters.
“What!” croaked283 the hollow-eyed matron, “bed? You can’t sleep yet. Wait till you hear the bell at ten-thirty.”
I turned back to the bench only to find that another squatter284 had jumped my claim. Too sleepy to stand unaided, I hung myself up against the wall and waited. If the dreams from which I was aroused were not much shorter than they seemed, several days passed before there sounded the sudden clang of an iron-voiced bell. The resulting stampede carried me to the second floor.
In an evilly-ventilated room, lower of ceiling than the hall below, I found that cot thirty-seven, to which I had been assigned, could be reached only by climbing over several of the sixty which as many men in varying stages of insobriety were preparing to occupy. By a series of contortions285, in the execution of which I often thumped286 with my elbows the man behind me and displaced my cot sufficiently287 to cause the downfall of my opposite neighbor, whose equilibrium288 was far from stable, I succeeded in removing my shoes and coat. To venture further in the disrobing process seemed undesirable289. I spread my germ-proof jacket across the animated290 coverlet and lay down. Before the last sot had ceased his maudlin291 grumbling292 there broke out here and there in the room a dialogue of snores. Rapidly it increased to a chorus. In ten minutes the ensemble293 would have put to shame the most atrocious steam calliope ever inflicted295 upon a defenceless public. Reiterated296 kicks and punches reduced to comparative 21silence the few slumberers within reach; by shying one shoe at a distant sleeper297 whose specialty298 was a nerve-racking falsetto and the other at a fellow whose deep bass299 set the cots to trembling in sympathy, I brought a moment’s respite. But the dread300 of going forth in the morning unshod drove me on an expedition across the bodies of my roommates and, by the time I had recovered my footwear, the chorus was again swelling301 forth in Wagnerian volume. I gave up in despair and settled down on the hill and dale mattress166 to convince myself that I was sleeping in spite of the infernal bedlam302.
There runs a proverb, the origin of which is lost among the traditions of hoar antiquity303, to the effect that misfortunes travel in bands. That it is true I have never doubted since the day following that broken-backed night in Frankfurt. It was curiosity that called down upon my head this new adversity, for naught304 else could have moved me to investigate the secrets hidden behind a fourth-class ticket to Weimar. In all the countries of Europe there is nothing that compares with the fourth-class railway service of Germany. The necessity of providing some mode of transportation cheaper than walking may be an excuse for its perpetration, but woe305 betide the unsuspecting traveler who, for mere matter of economy, abandons for this system that of our ancient forebears.
Intending to take the nine o’clock train, I purchased a ticket about eight-forty and stepped out upon the platform just in time to hear a guard bellow the German variation of “all aboard.” The Weimar train stood close at hand. As I stepped towards it, four policemen, strutting306 about the platform, let out simultaneous war-whoops, and sprang after me.
“Wo gehen Sie hin?” shrieked the first to reach me.
“Ich gehe nach Weimar.”
“Aber, the train to Weimar is gone!” shouted the second officer.
As I had a hand on the carriage door, I made so bold as to deny the assertion.
“Aber, ja, er ist fort!” gasped307 the sergeant308 who brought up the rear of the constabulary deluge309. “It is gone! The guard has already said ‘all aboard.’”
The train stood at the edge of the platform long enough to have emptied and filled again; but, as it was gone ten minutes before it started, I was forced to wait for the next one at ten-thirty.
The fourth-class carriage, unlike other European cars, was built on the American plan, with a door at each end. In reality it was 22nothing more than a box car with wooden benches around the sides and a few apologies for windows. Almost before we were under way, the most unkempt couple aboard stood up and turned loose what they evidently thought was a song. Many of the passengers seemed to be victims of the same auricular illusion, for the pair gleaned310 a handful of Pfennige before descending311 at the first station. The bawl312 of cracked voices, however, was but a prelude313 to worse visitations, for, as no train man enters the cars while they are in motion, fourth-class travelers are the prey314 of every grafter315 who chooses to inflict294 himself upon them.
We stopped at a station at least every four miles during that day’s journey. At the first hamlet beyond Frankfurt the car slowly filled with peasants and laborers in heavy boots and rough smocks, who carried sundry316 farm implements317 ranging from pitchforks to young plows318. Sunburned women, on whose backs were strapped319 huge baskets stuffed with every product of the countryside from cabbages to babies, packed into the center of the car, turned their backs upon those of us who occupied the benches, and serenely320 leaned themselves and their loads against us. The carriage filled at last to its utmost limits, and its capacity passed belief, a guard outside closed the heavy door with a bang, and uttered a mighty shout of “Vorsicht”! (look out), evidently to inform those near the portal that they were lucky to have “looked out” before it was slammed. The station master on the platform, a man boasting a uniform no American rear-admiral could afford, or dare to appear in, raised a hunting-horn to his lips and gave as a signal of departure such a blast as echoed through the ravines of Roncesvalles. The head-guard drew his whistle and shrilly321 seconded the command of his superior. The engineer whistled back to inform the guard that he was ready to do his duty. The guard repeated his sibilant order. The driver liberated322 another pent-up shriek222 to show how easily his engine could reach high C, or to imply that he was fast nerving himself up to open the throttle323; the man on the platform whistled again to cheer him on; a heroic squeal324 came from the cab in answer; and, with a jerk that sent peasants, baskets, farm-tools, lime-pails, cabbages, and babies into a conglomerate325, struggling mass at the back end of the car, we were off. To celebrate which auspicious326 event the engineer emitted a final shriek and gave a second yank, lest some sure-footed individual had by any chance retained his equilibrium.
By the time some semblance327 of order had been restored, unwieldy 23peasant women pulled out of the clawing miscellany and stood right end up, cabbages and babies restored to their proper baskets, pitchforks and smocks disentangled, the next station was reached and a sudden stop undid328 all our efforts, this time stacking the passengers at the front end. Some minutes after the train had come to a standstill, when long-distance travelers had lost all hope of relief from the sweltering congestion329, the countrymen began slowly to wander out at the doors. The exodus330 continued until there remained in the car only those few through-passengers, who, utterly331 cowed and subjugated332, shrank back on the benches to escape attention. Then the vanguard of another multitude, bound for a village some three miles distant, made its appearance and history repeated itself.
There were times, too, during the journey when the villages were apparently too far apart to suit the engine-driver. For occasionally, soon after having run through his entire repertoire333 of toots, he suddenly, remarkably334 suddenly in fact, brought the engine to a halt in the open country. But as German railway laws forbid voyagers to step out, crawl out, or peep out of the car under such circumstances without a special permit from the guard, countersigned335 under seal by the head-guard, there was no means of learning whether the engineer had lost his courage or merely caught sight of a wild flower that particularly took his fancy.
Such are the pleasures of a fourth-class excursion in Germany. Travelers by first-class, it is said, suffer fewer inconveniences, but, however varied the accommodations may be, the prices are more so. At every booking-office is posted a placard giving the cost of transportation to every other town in the Empire. He who would ride on upholstered seats pays a bit higher rate than in the United States. Second-class costs one-half, third-class one-fourth as much. Three other rates are quoted: fourth-class, soldiers’ tickets, and Hundekarten (dog tickets). The German conscript pays one-half fourth-class fare and rides in a third-class carriage. Hundekarten cost fourth-class fare. Verily it is better in Germany to be a soldier than a dog—at least while traveling.
I arrived at Weimar late at night. A stroll to Jena the following afternoon led through a pleasant rural district well known to the “poet pair” of Germany and the soldiers of Napoleon. From Jena I turned westward336 again, and, braving the rigors337 of fourth-class travel for two interminable days, descended338 during the waning339 hours of July at the city of Metz.
24When August broke in the east, I turned pedestrian once more and set out towards Paris on the Route Nationale, constructed in the days when Mayence was a proud French city. The road wound its way over rolling hills, among the ravines and valleys of which was fought a great battle of the Franco-Prussian war. For miles along the way, dotting the hillsides, standing singly or in clusters along lazy brooks340, or half-hidden by the foliage341 of summer, were countless342 simple, white crosses, bearing only the brief inscription343 “Hier ruhen Krieger-1870.” Beyond, the colossal344 statue of a soldier of past decades pointed away across a deep-wooded glen to the vast graveyard345 of his fallen comrades.
A mile further on, in the open country, out of sight of even a peasant’s cottage, two iron posts at the wayside marked the boundary established by the treaty of Versailles. A farmer with his mattock stood in Germany grubbing at a weed that grew in France.
Mindful of the lack of cordiality that exists between the two countries, I anticipated some delay at the frontier. The customhouse was a mere cottage, the first building of a straggling village some miles beyond the international line. A mild-eyed Frenchman, in a uniform worn shiny across the shoulders and the seat of the trousers, wandered out into the highway at my approach. Behind him strolled a second officer. But the difficulties I had expected were existent only in my own imagination. The pair cried out in surprise at mention of my nationality; they grew garrulous346 at the announcement that I was bound to Paris à pied. But their only official act was to inspect my bundle, and I pressed on amid their cries of “bon voyage.”
The highways of France are broad and shaded, her innkeepers neither exclusive nor intrusive347; yet even here pedestrianism has its drawbacks. Chief among them are the railway crossings. The French system of protection against accidents is effective, no doubt; but if monsieur the Frenchman were as impatient a being as the American the mortality would be little lessened348, for the delay involved at these traverses du chemin de fer would choke with rising choler as many as might come to grief at an unprotected crossing.
On either side of the track is a ponderous349 barrière, the opening and shutting of which would be slow under the best of circumstances. Being always tended by a colossal barrièrière (gate-woman) who moves with the stately grace of a house being raised on jack-screws, the barricade350 is unduly351 effective. Ten minutes before a train 25is due, la barrièrière hoists352 herself erect, waddles353 across the track to draw the further gate, closes the nearer one, and, having locked both, returns to the shade of her cottage. The train may be an hour late, but that is beside the question. This is the time that Madame is hired to lock the gates and locked they must remain until the train has passed. Woe betide the intrepid354 voyager who tries to climb over them, for her tongue is sharp and the long arm of the law is arrayed on her side.
Plodding early and late, I covered the round-about route through Chalons, Rheims, and Meaux, and reached Paris a few days after crossing the frontier. A month of tramping had made me as picturesque a figure as any boulevardier of Montmartre; moreover, August in the French capital was neither the time nor the place to display garments chosen with the winds of the Scottish Highlands in mind. I picked up in the Boulevard St. Denis, at a gross expenditure355 of fifteen francs, an outfit356 more in keeping with the weather, took up my abode357 in a garret of the Latin Quarter, and roamed at large in the city for three weeks.
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plies
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| v.使用（工具）( ply的第三人称单数 )；经常供应（食物、饮料）；固定往来；经营生意 | |
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verdant
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| adj.翠绿的，青翠的，生疏的，不老练的 | |
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belle
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| n.靓女 | |
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isle
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| n.小岛，岛 | |
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laborer
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| n.劳动者，劳工 | |
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labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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garb
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| n.服装，装束 | |
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shrug
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| v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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calves
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| n.(calf的复数)笨拙的男子，腓；腿肚子( calf的名词复数 )；牛犊；腓；小腿肚v.生小牛( calve的第三人称单数 )；（冰川）崩解；生（小牛等），产（犊）；使（冰川）崩解 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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steers
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| n.阉公牛，肉用公牛( steer的名词复数 )v.驾驶( steer的第三人称单数 )；操纵；控制；引导 | |
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bellow
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| v.吼叫，怒吼；大声发出，大声喝道 | |
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sleek
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| adj.光滑的，井然有序的；v.使光滑，梳拢 | |
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racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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bellowing
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| v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的现在分词 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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riotous
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| adj.骚乱的；狂欢的 | |
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overdrawn
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| 透支( overdraw的过去分词 )； (overdraw的过去分词) | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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wink
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| n.眨眼，使眼色，瞬间；v.眨眼，使眼色，闪烁 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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stolidly
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| adv.迟钝地，神经麻木地 | |
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stolid
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| adj.无动于衷的，感情麻木的 | |
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rammed
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| v.夯实（土等）( ram的过去式和过去分词 )；猛撞；猛压；反复灌输 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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growl
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| v.（狗等）嗥叫，（炮等）轰鸣；n.嗥叫，轰鸣 | |
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bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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pervaded
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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wharf
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| n.码头，停泊处 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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nil
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| n.无，全无，零 | |
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isles
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| 岛( isle的名词复数 ) | |
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throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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shipping
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| n.船运（发货，运输，乘船） | |
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blustering
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| adj.狂风大作的，狂暴的v.外强中干的威吓( bluster的现在分词 )；咆哮；（风）呼啸；狂吹 | |
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37
binding
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| 有约束力的，有效的，应遵守的 | |
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38
proxy
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| n.代理权，代表权；（对代理人的）委托书；代理人 | |
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39
coveted
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| adj.令人垂涎的；垂涎的，梦寐以求的v.贪求，觊觎(covet的过去分词)；垂涎；贪图 | |
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40
allotted
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| 分配，拨给，摊派( allot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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41
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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42
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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43
blatant
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| adj.厚颜无耻的；显眼的；炫耀的 | |
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44
cargo
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| n.(一只船或一架飞机运载的)货物 | |
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45
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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46
heterogeneous
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| adj.庞杂的；异类的 | |
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47
incorrigible
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| adj.难以纠正的，屡教不改的 | |
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48
contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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49
flipper
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| n. 鳍状肢，潜水用橡皮制鳍状肢 | |
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50
disillusioned
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| a.不再抱幻想的，大失所望的，幻想破灭的 | |
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51
meted
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| v.（对某人）施以，给予（处罚等）( mete的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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52
ripening
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| v.成熟，使熟( ripen的现在分词 )；熟化；熟成 | |
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53
tilted
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| v. 倾斜的 | |
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54
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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55
uproar
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| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
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56
bellows
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| n.风箱；发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的名词复数 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的第三人称单数 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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57
poked
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| v.伸出( poke的过去式和过去分词 )；戳出；拨弄；与（某人）性交 | |
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58
scattering
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| 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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59
muster
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| 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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60
corroborating
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| v.证实，支持（某种说法、信仰、理论等）( corroborate的现在分词 ) | |
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61
seaman
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| n.海员，水手，水兵 | |
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62
jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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63
ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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64
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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65
anticipation
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| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
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66
incessant
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| adj.不停的，连续的 | |
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67
highland
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| n.(pl.)高地，山地 | |
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68
laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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69
sluggish
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| adj.懒惰的，迟钝的，无精打采的 | |
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70
scotch
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| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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71
gamut
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| n.全音阶，(一领域的)全部知识 | |
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72
despondent
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| adj.失望的，沮丧的，泄气的 | |
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73
romping
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| adj.嬉戏喧闹的，乱蹦乱闹的v.嬉笑玩闹( romp的现在分词 )；（尤指在赛跑或竞选等中）轻易获胜 | |
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74
spire
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| n.(教堂)尖顶，尖塔，高点 | |
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75
aglow
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| adj.发亮的；发红的；adv.发亮地 | |
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76
shimmer
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| v./n.发微光，发闪光；微光 | |
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77
berth
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| n.卧铺，停泊地，锚位；v.使停泊 | |
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78
cozy
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| adj.亲如手足的，密切的，暖和舒服的 | |
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79
lone
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| adj.孤寂的，单独的；唯一的 | |
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80
umbrage
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| n.不快；树荫 | |
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81
stifling
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| a.令人窒息的 | |
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82
premature
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| adj.比预期时间早的；不成熟的，仓促的 | |
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83
ascent
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| n.(声望或地位)提高；上升，升高；登高 | |
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84
concocted
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| v.将（尤指通常不相配合的）成分混合成某物( concoct的过去式和过去分词 )；调制；编造；捏造 | |
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85
regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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86
rumbled
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| 发出隆隆声，发出辘辘声( rumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 轰鸣着缓慢行进； 发现…的真相； 看穿（阴谋） | |
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87
plodding
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| a.proceeding in a slow or dull way | |
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88
morass
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| n.沼泽，困境 | |
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89
zigzagged
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| adj.呈之字形移动的v.弯弯曲曲地走路，曲折地前进( zigzag的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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90
zigzag
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| n.曲折，之字形；adj.曲折的，锯齿形的；adv.曲折地，成锯齿形地；vt.使曲折；vi.曲折前行 | |
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91
overt
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| adj.公开的，明显的，公然的 | |
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92
drenching
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| n.湿透v.使湿透( drench的现在分词 )；在某人（某物）上大量使用（某液体） | |
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93
scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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94
bogs
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| n.沼泽，泥塘( bog的名词复数 )；厕所v.（使）陷入泥沼， （使）陷入困境( bog的第三人称单数 )；妨碍，阻碍 | |
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95
boulder
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| n.巨砾；卵石，圆石 | |
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96
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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97
expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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98
tantalized
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| v.逗弄，引诱，折磨( tantalize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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99
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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100
pulp
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| n.果肉，纸浆；v.化成纸浆，除去...果肉，制成纸浆 | |
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101
dough
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| n.生面团；钱，现款 | |
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102
munching
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| v.用力咀嚼（某物），大嚼( munch的现在分词 ) | |
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103
dire
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| adj.可怕的，悲惨的，阴惨的，极端的 | |
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104
boggy
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| adj.沼泽多的 | |
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105
knolls
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| n.小圆丘，小土墩( knoll的名词复数 ) | |
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106
ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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107
footpath
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| n.小路，人行道 | |
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108
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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109
lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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110
shanties
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| n.简陋的小木屋( shanty的名词复数 )；铁皮棚屋；船工号子；船歌 | |
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111
bellowed
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| v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的过去式和过去分词 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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112
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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113
fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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114
drowsiness
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| n.睡意；嗜睡 | |
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115
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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116
undertakings
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| 企业( undertaking的名词复数 )； 保证； 殡仪业； 任务 | |
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117
rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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118
landmark
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| n.陆标，划时代的事，地界标 | |
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119
landmarks
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| n.陆标( landmark的名词复数 )；目标；（标志重要阶段的）里程碑 ~ (in sth)；有历史意义的建筑物（或遗址） | |
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120
ERECTED
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| adj. 直立的，竖立的，笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立，建立 | |
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121
mightier
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| adj. 强有力的，强大的，巨大的 adv. 很，极其 | |
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122
isolation
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| n.隔离，孤立，分解，分离 | |
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123
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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124
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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125
warriors
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| 武士，勇士，战士( warrior的名词复数 ) | |
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126
bonnets
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| n.童帽( bonnet的名词复数 )；（烟囱等的）覆盖物；（苏格兰男子的）无边呢帽；（女子戴的）任何一种帽子 | |
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127
feud
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| n.长期不和；世仇；v.长期争斗；世代结仇 | |
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128
clans
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| 宗族( clan的名词复数 )； 氏族； 庞大的家族； 宗派 | |
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129
juggling
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| n. 欺骗, 杂耍(=jugglery) adj. 欺骗的, 欺诈的 动词juggle的现在分词 | |
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130
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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131
quota
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| n.（生产、进出口等的）配额，（移民的）限额 | |
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132
shimmering
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| v.闪闪发光，发微光( shimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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133
apathetic
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| adj.冷漠的，无动于衷的 | |
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134
bluebells
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| n.圆叶风铃草( bluebell的名词复数 ) | |
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135
gleans
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| v.一点点地收集（资料、事实）( glean的第三人称单数 )；（收割后）拾穗 | |
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136
meager
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| adj.缺乏的，不足的，瘦的 | |
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137
laborers
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| n.体力劳动者，工人( laborer的名词复数 )；（熟练工人的）辅助工 | |
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138
acquiescence
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| n.默许；顺从 | |
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139
essentially
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| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
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140
grumble
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| vi.抱怨；咕哝；n.抱怨，牢骚；咕哝，隆隆声 | |
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141
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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142
unemployed
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| adj.失业的，没有工作的；未动用的，闲置的 | |
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143
iniquities
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| n.邪恶( iniquity的名词复数 )；极不公正 | |
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144
indigent
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| adj.贫穷的，贫困的 | |
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145
eke
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| v.勉强度日，节约使用 | |
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146
precarious
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| adj.不安定的，靠不住的；根据不足的 | |
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147
proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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148
filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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149
satire
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| n.讽刺，讽刺文学，讽刺作品 | |
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150
pompously
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| adv.傲慢地，盛大壮观地；大模大样 | |
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151
livelihood
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| n.生计，谋生之道 | |
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152
majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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153
inmates
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| n.囚犯( inmate的名词复数 ) | |
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154
utensils
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| 器具，用具，器皿( utensil的名词复数 )； 器物 | |
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155
gratis
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| adj.免费的 | |
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156
sputtering
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| n.反应溅射法；飞溅；阴极真空喷镀；喷射v.唾沫飞溅( sputter的现在分词 )；发劈啪声；喷出；飞溅出 | |
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157
tattered
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| adj.破旧的，衣衫破的 | |
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158
holders
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| 支持物( holder的名词复数 )； 持有者； （支票等）持有人； 支托（或握持）…之物 | |
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159
concoction
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| n.调配(物)；谎言 | |
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160
relish
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| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
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161
edible
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| n.食品，食物；adj.可食用的 | |
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162
thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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163
embarked
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| 乘船( embark的过去式和过去分词 )； 装载； 从事 | |
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164
extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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165
chaos
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| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
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166
mattress
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| n.床垫，床褥 | |
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167
mattresses
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| 褥垫，床垫( mattress的名词复数 ) | |
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168
spouse
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| n.配偶(指夫或妻) | |
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169
joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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170
distressingly
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| adv. 令人苦恼地；悲惨地 | |
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171
placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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172
squat
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| v.蹲坐，蹲下；n.蹲下；adj.矮胖的，粗矮的 | |
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173
kindling
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| n. 点火, 可燃物 动词kindle的现在分词形式 | |
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174
teeming
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| adj.丰富的v.充满( teem的现在分词 )；到处都是；（指水、雨等）暴降；倾注 | |
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175
paternally
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| adv.父亲似地；父亲一般地 | |
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176
seamen
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| n.海员 | |
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177
fumed
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| 愤怒( fume的过去式和过去分词 )； 大怒； 发怒； 冒烟 | |
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178
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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179
cumbersome
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| adj.笨重的，不便携带的 | |
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180
toiled
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的过去式和过去分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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181
glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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182
laboriously
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| adv.艰苦地；费力地；辛勤地；（文体等）佶屈聱牙地 | |
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183
checkered
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| adj.有方格图案的 | |
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184
buxom
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| adj.（妇女）丰满的，有健康美的 | |
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185
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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186
wayfarer
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| n.旅人 | |
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187
clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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188
serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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189
galloping
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| adj. 飞驰的, 急性的 动词gallop的现在分词形式 | |
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190
runaway
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| n.逃走的人，逃亡，亡命者；adj.逃亡的，逃走的 | |
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191
tattoo
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| n.纹身，(皮肤上的)刺花纹；vt.刺花纹于 | |
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192
frenzied
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| a.激怒的；疯狂的 | |
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193
brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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194
borough
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| n.享有自治权的市镇；(英)自治市镇 | |
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195
delectable
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| adj.使人愉快的；美味的 | |
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196
lucid
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| adj.明白易懂的，清晰的，头脑清楚的 | |
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197
prosecuted
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| a.被起诉的 | |
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198
inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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199
promenade
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| n./v.散步 | |
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200
fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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201
demesne
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| n.领域，私有土地 | |
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202
plodded
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| v.沉重缓慢地走（路）( plod的过去式和过去分词 )；努力从事；沉闷地苦干；缓慢进行（尤指艰难枯燥的工作） | |
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203
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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204
drowsy
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| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
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205
lumber
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| n.木材，木料；v.以破旧东西堆满；伐木；笨重移动 | |
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206
dolorously
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| adj. 悲伤的；痛苦的；悲哀的；阴沉的 | |
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207
devout
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| adj.虔诚的，虔敬的，衷心的 (n.devoutness) | |
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208
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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209
penance
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| n.（赎罪的）惩罪 | |
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210
starched
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| adj.浆硬的，硬挺的，拘泥刻板的v.把（衣服、床单等）浆一浆( starch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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211
imprisoned
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| 下狱，监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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212
passerby
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| n.过路人，行人 | |
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213
quenched
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| 解（渴）( quench的过去式和过去分词 )； 终止（某事物）； （用水）扑灭（火焰等）； 将（热物体）放入水中急速冷却 | |
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214
imperative
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| n.命令，需要；规则；祈使语气；adj.强制的；紧急的 | |
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215
isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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216
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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217
mooring
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| n.停泊处；系泊用具，系船具；下锚v.停泊，系泊（船只）(moor的现在分词) | |
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218
elimination
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| n.排除，消除，消灭 | |
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219
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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220
jumble
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| vt.使混乱，混杂；n.混乱；杂乱的一堆 | |
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221
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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222
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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223
vehemence
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| n.热切；激烈；愤怒 | |
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224
bovine
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| adj.牛的；n.牛 | |
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225
waddled
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| v.（像鸭子一样）摇摇摆摆地走( waddle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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226
steamship
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| n.汽船，轮船 | |
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227
tacked
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| 用平头钉钉( tack的过去式和过去分词 )； 附加，增补； 帆船抢风行驶，用粗线脚缝 | |
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228
thronged
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| v.成群，挤满( throng的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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229
swerve
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| v.突然转向，背离；n．转向，弯曲，背离 | |
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230
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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231
obliterated
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| v.除去( obliterate的过去式和过去分词 )；涂去；擦掉；彻底破坏或毁灭 | |
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232
aspires
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| v.渴望，追求( aspire的第三人称单数 ) | |
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233
metropolis
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| n.首府；大城市 | |
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234
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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235
subsists
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| v.（靠很少的钱或食物）维持生活，生存下去( subsist的第三人称单数 ) | |
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236
crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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237
fangs
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| n.（尤指狗和狼的）长而尖的牙( fang的名词复数 )；（蛇的）毒牙；罐座 | |
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238
wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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239
protracted
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| adj.拖延的；延长的v.拖延“protract”的过去式和过去分词 | |
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240
clatters
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| 盘碟刀叉等相撞击时的声音( clatter的名词复数 ) | |
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241
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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242
mansions
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| n.宅第，公馆，大厦( mansion的名词复数 ) | |
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243
whim
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| n.一时的兴致，突然的念头；奇想，幻想 | |
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244
vocations
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| n.（认为特别适合自己的）职业( vocation的名词复数 )；使命；神召；（认为某种工作或生活方式特别适合自己的）信心 | |
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245
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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246
maligned
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| vt.污蔑，诽谤（malign的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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247
populous
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| adj.人口稠密的，人口众多的 | |
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248
rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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249
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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250
canine
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| adj.犬的，犬科的 | |
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251
tugged
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| v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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252
rumor
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| n.谣言，谣传，传说 | |
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253
crates
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| n. 板条箱, 篓子, 旧汽车 vt. 装进纸条箱 | |
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254
lethargic
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| adj.昏睡的，懒洋洋的 | |
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255
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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256
audacity
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| n.大胆，卤莽，无礼 | |
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257
eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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258
chary
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| adj.谨慎的，细心的 | |
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259
palatial
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| adj.宫殿般的，宏伟的 | |
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260
edifices
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| n.大建筑物( edifice的名词复数 ) | |
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261
dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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262
tavern
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| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
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263
respite
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| n.休息，中止，暂缓 | |
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264
strenuous
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| adj.奋发的，使劲的；紧张的；热烈的，狂热的 | |
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265
tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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266
shuffled
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| v.洗（纸牌）( shuffle的过去式和过去分词 )；拖着脚步走；粗心地做；摆脱尘世的烦恼 | |
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267
scrutinized
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| v.仔细检查，详审( scrutinize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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268
query
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| n.疑问，问号，质问；vt.询问，表示怀疑 | |
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269
grimaces
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| n.（表蔑视、厌恶等）面部扭曲，鬼脸( grimace的名词复数 )v.扮鬼相，做鬼脸( grimace的第三人称单数 ) | |
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270
harassed
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| adj. 疲倦的，厌烦的 动词harass的过去式和过去分词 | |
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271
inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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272
grizzly
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| adj.略为灰色的，呈灰色的；n.灰色大熊 | |
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273
puffed
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| adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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274
expedient
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| adj.有用的，有利的；n.紧急的办法，权宜之计 | |
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275
elucidated
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| v.阐明，解释( elucidate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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276
liar
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| n.说谎的人 | |
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277
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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278
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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279
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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280
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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281
dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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282
brotherhood
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| n.兄弟般的关系，手中情谊 | |
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283
croaked
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| v.呱呱地叫( croak的过去式和过去分词 )；用粗的声音说 | |
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284
squatter
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| n.擅自占地者 | |
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285
contortions
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| n.扭歪，弯曲；扭曲，弄歪，歪曲( contortion的名词复数 ) | |
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286
thumped
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| v.重击， （指心脏）急速跳动( thump的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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287
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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288
equilibrium
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| n.平衡，均衡，相称，均势，平静 | |
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289
undesirable
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| adj.不受欢迎的，不良的，不合意的，讨厌的；n.不受欢迎的人，不良分子 | |
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290
animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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291
maudlin
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| adj.感情脆弱的，爱哭的 | |
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292
grumbling
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| adj. 喃喃鸣不平的, 出怨言的 | |
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293
ensemble
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| n.合奏(唱)组；全套服装；整体，总效果 | |
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294
inflict
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| vt.(on)把…强加给，使遭受，使承担 | |
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295
inflicted
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| 把…强加给，使承受，遭受( inflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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296
reiterated
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| 反复地说，重申( reiterate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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297
sleeper
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| n.睡眠者，卧车，卧铺 | |
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298
specialty
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| n.(speciality)特性，特质；专业，专长 | |
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299
bass
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| n.男低音(歌手)；低音乐器；低音大提琴 | |
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300
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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301
swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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302
bedlam
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| n.混乱，骚乱；疯人院 | |
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303
antiquity
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| n.古老；高龄；古物，古迹 | |
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304
naught
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| n.无，零 [=nought] | |
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305
woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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306
strutting
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| 加固，支撑物 | |
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307
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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308
sergeant
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| n.警官，中士 | |
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309
deluge
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| n./vt.洪水，暴雨，使泛滥 | |
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310
gleaned
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| v.一点点地收集（资料、事实）( glean的过去式和过去分词 )；（收割后）拾穗 | |
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311
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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312
bawl
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| v.大喊大叫，大声地喊，咆哮 | |
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313
prelude
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| n.序言，前兆，序曲 | |
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314
prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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315
grafter
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| 嫁接的人，贪污者，收贿者； 平铲 | |
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316
sundry
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| adj.各式各样的，种种的 | |
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317
implements
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| n.工具( implement的名词复数 )；家具；手段；[法律]履行（契约等）v.实现( implement的第三人称单数 )；执行；贯彻；使生效 | |
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318
plows
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| n.犁( plow的名词复数 )；犁型铲雪机v.耕( plow的第三人称单数 )；犁耕；费力穿过 | |
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319
strapped
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| adj.用皮带捆住的，用皮带装饰的；身无分文的；缺钱；手头紧v.用皮带捆扎(strap的过去式和过去分词)；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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320
serenely
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| adv.安详地，宁静地，平静地 | |
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321
shrilly
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| 尖声的； 光亮的，耀眼的 | |
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322
liberated
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| a.无拘束的，放纵的 | |
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323
throttle
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| n.节流阀，节气阀，喉咙；v.扼喉咙，使窒息，压 | |
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324
squeal
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| v.发出长而尖的声音；n.长而尖的声音 | |
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325
conglomerate
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| n.综合商社，多元化集团公司 | |
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326
auspicious
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| adj.吉利的；幸运的，吉兆的 | |
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327
semblance
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| n.外貌，外表 | |
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328
Undid
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| v. 解开, 复原 | |
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329
congestion
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| n.阻塞，消化不良 | |
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330
exodus
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| v.大批离去，成群外出 | |
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331
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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332
subjugated
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| v.征服，降伏( subjugate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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333
repertoire
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| n.(准备好演出的)节目，保留剧目；(计算机的)指令表，指令系统， <美>(某个人的)全部技能；清单，指令表 | |
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334
remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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335
countersigned
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| v.连署，副署，会签 （文件）( countersign的过去式 ) | |
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336
westward
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| n.西方，西部；adj.西方的，向西的；adv.向西 | |
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337
rigors
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| 严格( rigor的名词复数 )； 严酷； 严密； （由惊吓或中毒等导致的身体）僵直 | |
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338
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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339
waning
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| adj.（月亮）渐亏的，逐渐减弱或变小的n.月亏v.衰落( wane的现在分词 )；（月）亏；变小；变暗淡 | |
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340
brooks
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| n.小溪( brook的名词复数 ) | |
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341
foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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342
countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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343
inscription
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| n.（尤指石块上的）刻印文字，铭文，碑文 | |
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344
colossal
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| adj.异常的，庞大的 | |
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345
graveyard
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| n.坟场 | |
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346
garrulous
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| adj.唠叨的，多话的 | |
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347
intrusive
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| adj.打搅的；侵扰的 | |
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348
lessened
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| 减少的，减弱的 | |
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349
ponderous
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| adj.沉重的，笨重的，(文章)冗长的 | |
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350
barricade
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| n.路障，栅栏，障碍；vt.设路障挡住 | |
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351
unduly
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| adv.过度地，不适当地 | |
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352
hoists
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| 把…吊起，升起( hoist的第三人称单数 ) | |
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353
waddles
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| v.（像鸭子一样）摇摇摆摆地走( waddle的第三人称单数 ) | |
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354
intrepid
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| adj.无畏的，刚毅的 | |
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355
expenditure
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| n.(时间、劳力、金钱等)支出；使用，消耗 | |
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356
outfit
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| n.（为特殊用途的）全套装备，全套服装 | |
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357
abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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