Here is a man, with a hammer that might have existed in the stone age, beating into shape a vessel9 of brass10 on a flat rock. There a father and son are turning a log into wooden clogs12 with a primitive13 bucksaw, the man standing14 on the log, the boy kneeling on the ground beneath. Beyond them is a turning lathe16 such as the workmen of Solomon may have used in the building of his temple. The operator squats17 on the floor of his open booth, facing the street—for no Damascan can carry on his business with his back turned to the sights and sounds of the ever-changing multitude. With one hand he draws back and forth19 a sort of Indian bow, the cord wound once round the stick, which, whirling almost as rapidly as in a steam lathe, is fashioned into the desired shape by a chisel20 held with the left hand and the bare toes of the artisan. Mile after mile through the endless rows of bazaars such prehistoric trades are plied21. Not a foot of space on either side of the narrow streets is unoccupied. Where the overdressed owners of great heaps of silks and rugs have left a pigeon-hole between their booths, sits the ragged22 vendor23 of sweetmeats and half-inch slices of cocoanut. The Damascan does not set up his business as far as possible from his competitors. In one quarter are crowded a hundred manufacturers of the red fez of Islam. In another a colony of brass workers make a deafening24 din15. Beyond, sounds 132the squeak25 of innumerable saws where huge logs are slowly turned into lumber26 by hand power. The shopper in quest of a pair of slippers27 may wander from daylight to dusk among booths overflowing28 with every other imaginable ware29, to come at last, when he is ready to purchase the first thing bearing the remotest resemblance to footwear, into a section where slippers of every size, shape, and quality are displayed in such superabundance as to make him forget from very bewilderment what he came for.
To endeavor to make headway against the surging multitude is much like attempting to swim up the gorge32 of Niagara. Long lines of camels splash through the human stream, utterly33 indifferent to the urchins34 under their feet. Donkeys all but hidden under enormous bundles of fagots that scrape the buildings on either side, asses36 bestraddled by foul37-mouthed boys who guide the beasts by kicking them behind either ear and urge them on by a sound peculiar38 to the Arab—a disgusting trilling of the soft palate—dash with set teeth out of obscure and unexpected side streets. Not an inch do they swerve39 from their course, not once do they slacken their pace. The faranchee who expects them to do so is sure to receive many a jolt40 in the ribs41 from asinine42 shoulders or some unwieldy cargo43 and to be sent sprawling45, if there is room to sprawl44, as the beast and his driver glance back at his discomfiture46 with a diabolical47 gleam in their eyes. Hairless, scabby mongrel curs, yellow or grey in color, prowl among the legs of the throng48, skulk49 through the byways devouring50 the refuse, or lie undisturbed in the puddles51 that abound52 in every street. The donkey may knock down a dozen pedestrians53 an hour, but he takes good care to step over the pariah54 dogs in his path. Periodically the mongrels gather in bands at busy corners, yelping55 and snarling58, snapping their yellow fangs59, and raising an infernal din that impedes60 bargainings a hundred yards away. If a bystander wades61 among them with his stick and drives them off, it is only to have them collect again five minutes after the last yelp56 has been silenced.
Damascus. “The street called Straight—which isn’t”
A wood-turner of Damascus. He watches the ever-passing throng, turning the stick with a bow and a loose string, and holding the chisel with his toes
Where in the Western world does the pursuit of dollars raise such a hubbub62 as the scramble63 for metleeks in the streets of Damascus? A dollar, after all, is a dollar and under certain conditions worth shouting for; but a metleek is only a cent and the incessant64 calling after it, like a multitude searching the wilderness65 for a lost child, sounds penurious66. “Metleek!” cries the seller of flat loaves, on the ground at your feet. “Metleek!” roars the gruff-voiced nut vendor, fighting his way through the rabble67, basket on arm. “Metleek!” screams 133the wandering bartender, jingling68 his brass disks. Unendingly the word echoes through the recesses69 and windings71 of the bazaars; commandingly from the hawker whose novelty has attracted the ever-susceptible multitude, threateningly from the sturdy fellow whose stand has been deserted73, pleadingly from the crippled beggar who threads his way miraculously74 through the human whirlpool. A great, discordant75 symphony of “Metleek!” rises over the land, wherein are blended even the voices of the pasha in his palace, the mullah in his mosque76, and His Impuissant Majesty77 in far-off “Stamboul.” Lives there a man in all the realm who would accept a larger coin even under compulsion?
One figure stands out as the most miserable78 in all the teeming79 life of Damascus—the Turkish soldier. The burden of conscription falls only on the Mohammedan, for none but the followers80 of the prophet of Medina may be enrolled81 under the Sick Man’s banners. The recruit receives a uniform of the shoddiest material once a year, and an allowance of about two cents a day. What the allowance will not cover, he pays for out of his meager82 rations83. His tobacco, his amusements, the very patches on his miserable uniform, he reckons in terms of the flabby biscuits that are served out to him. Every morning there sallies forth from the tumble-down barracks an unkempt private, hopeless weariness of the petty things of life stamped on his coarse features, his garb84 a crazy quilt of awkward patches, who, holding before him a sack of soggy gkebis contributed by his fellow-conscripts, wanders through the market places, adding his long-drawn wail85 to the chorus of “Metleek.” Individually, he is a gaunt scarecrow; on parade he bears far more resemblance to a band of Bowery bootblacks than to a military company. In outward forms he is as devoutly87 religious as his taskmaster at Stamboul, or the bejewelled merchant who picks his way with effeminate tread through the reeking88 streets to his mosque. Five times each day he halts for his prayers wherever the voice of the muezzin finds him. Not even his racial dread89 of water deters90 him from performing the ablutions required by the Koran. In spite of his poverty he finds means to stain his nails with henna, and to tattoo91 the knuckles92 or the backs of his hands with grotesque93 figures that assist materially, no doubt, in the ultimate salvation94 of his soul; and he snarls95 angrily at the dog of an unbeliever who would transfix his image on photographic paper.
On the Sunday afternoon of my arrival in Damascus a surging multitude swept me through the entrance to the parade ground opposite the 134barracks. A sea of upturned faces surrounded a ragged band that was perpetrating a concert of German and Italian airs. For a time I hung on the tail of the crowd. When endurance failed, I withdrew to the only seat in evidence—a stone pile in a far corner—to change the film in my kodak. Almost before I had begun, a steady flow of humanity set in towards me. In a twinkling I was the center of a jostling throng of Damascans, each one screaming and pushing for a view of the strange machine; and the players struggled on despairingly with only themselves as audience. Distressed96 at having unintentionally set up a counter attraction, I closed the apparatus97 and turned away. The move but aggravated98 the difficulty. For a moment the Damascans gazed hesitatingly from the deserted band stand to my retreating figure, swelled99 with curiosity, and surged pell-mell after me. My reputation as a self-sacrificing member of society was at stake. Bravely I turned and marched back to the struggling musicians—the adjective, at least, is used advisedly—and held the kodak in plain sight. An unprecedented100 audience of music-lovers quickly gathered and for a time the concert moved with great gusto. But the players were merely human, and only Arabian humans at that. One by one they caught sight of the “queer machine” below them. The technique faltered101; the trombones lost the key—or found it, which was quite as disconcerting; the fifers paused; the cornetists lost their pucker102; the leader turned to stare, open-mouthed as the rest, and an air that had suggested, here and there, the triumphal march from A?da died a lingering, agonizing103 death.
This, surely, was the psychological moment for a photograph! I opened the kodak. A hoarse104 murmur105 rose from the multitude. At last they recognized the nefarious106 instrument! I pointed107 it at the leader. He screamed like a pin-pricked infant, a man beside me snatched at the kodak, another thumped108 me viciously in the ribs, a third tore at my hair, and the frenzied109 population of Damascus swept down upon me, bent110 on wreaking111 summary vengeance112 on a defiler113 of their religious superstitions114. I left them entangled115 in their own legs and darted116 under the band stand towards the gate. A guard bellowed117 at me. I squirmed through his arms and sped far away through the half-deserted streets of the music-loving metropolis118.
Darkness was falling when I caught breath in some unknown corner of the city. Long lines of merchants were setting up the board-shutters119 before their booths. Hardly a straggler remained of the maudlin120, daytime multitude. Dismally122 I wandered through the labyrinth123 135so animate124 at noonday, shut in on either side by endless, high board fences. It mattered not in what European language I inquired for an inn from belated citizens; each one muttered “m’abarafshee,” and hurried on. I sat down before a lighted tobacco booth and feigned125 sleep. The proprietor126 came out to drive off the curs sniffing127 at my feet and led the way to a neighboring khan, in which the keeper spread me a bed of blankets on the cobblestone floor.
I ventured next day into the “Hotel Stamboul,” a proud hostelry facing the stable that serves Damascus as post office, with little hope either of making known my wants or of finding the rate within my means. The proprietor, strange to say, mutilated a little French and, stranger still, assigned me to a room at eight cents a day. The cost of living was thereby128 reduced to a mere7 nothing. The Arab has a great abhorrence129 of eating his fill at definite hours and prefers to nibble130, nibble all day long as if in constant fear of losing the use of his jaws131 by a moment’s inactivity. Countless132 shops in Damascus cater133 to this nibbling134 trade. For a copper135 or two they serve a well-filled dish of fruit, nuts, sweetmeats, pastry136, puddings, rago?t, syrups137, or a variety of indigenous138 products and messes which no Westerner could identify. They are savory139 portions, too, for the Arab cook, however much he may differ in methods from the Occidental chef, knows his profession. Like the street hawker who sells a quart of raisins140 for a cent—the Mohammedan makes no wine—his prices seem scarcely worth the collecting; and be his customer Frank or Mussulman, they never vary. In the seaports141 of the Orient the whiteman must expect to be “done.” The ignorance and asininity142 of generations of tourists have turned seaside merchants into commercial vultures. In untutored Damascus not a shopkeeper attempted to cheat me out of the fraction of a copper.
Four days I had passed in Damascus before I turned to the problem of how to get out of it. I had planned to strike southwestward through the country to Nazareth. On the map the trip seemed easy. The journey from the coast had proved, however, that the sketches144 of the gazetteer145 were little to be trusted in this mysterious country. The highway from the coast, moreover, is one of the few roads in all the land between Smyrna and the Red Sea. Across the Bedouin-infected wilderness between Damascus and Nazareth lay only a vaguely146 marked route, traversed in springtime by a great concourse of pilgrims. In this late December the rainy season was at hand. Several violent downpours, that would have convinced the most skeptical148 of the literal 136truth of the Biblical account of the deluge149, had already burst over Damascus, storms that were sure to have reduced Palestine to a soggy marsh150 and turned its summer brooks151 into roaring torrents154.
The passage, however, could not have been more difficult than the gathering155 of information concerning it. The dwellers156 in the cities of Asia Minor157 are the most incorrigible158 stay-at-homes on the globe. Travel for pleasure or instruction they have never dreamed of. Only the direst necessity can draw them forth from their accustomed haunts, and they know no more of the territory a few miles outside their walls than of the antipodes. It cost me a half-day’s search to find the American consulate160, a shame-faced hovel decorated with a battered161 shield of the size and picturesqueness162 of a peddler’s license164. The consul159 himself opened the door and my hopes fell—for he was a native. A real American would have seen my point of view and given me all the information in his power. This suave165 and lady-like mortal dealt out cigarettes with a lavish166 hand and delved167 into the details of my existence back to the fourth generation; but directions he would not give, on the ground that when I had been stolen by Bedouins or washed away by the rain my ghost would rise up in the hours of darkness to denounce him. His last reason, especially, was forceful. “If you attempt to go to Nazareth on foot,” he cried, “you will get tired.”
Towards evening I ran to earth in the huddled169 bazaars a French-speaking tailor who claimed to have made the first few miles of the journey. Gleefully I jotted170 down his explicit171 directions. An hour’s walk, next morning, brought me out on a wind-swept stretch of greyish sand beyond the city. For some miles a vague path led across the monotonous172 waste. Pariah dogs growled173 and snarled174 over the putrid175 carcasses of horses and sheep that lined the way. The wind whirled aloft tiny particles of sand that bit my cheeks and filled my eyes. A chilling rain began to fall, sinking quickly into the desert. At the height of the storm the path ceased at the brink176 of a muddy torrent153 that it would have been madness to have attempted to cross. A solitary177 shepherd plodded178 along the bank of the stream. I pointed across it and shouted, “Banias? Nazra?” The Arab stared at me a moment, tossed his arms aloft, crying to Allah to note the madness of a roving faranchee, and sped away across the desert.
I plodded back to the city. In the armorers’ bazaar5 a sword-maker called out to me in German and I halted to renew my inquiries180. The workman paused in his task of beating a scimitar to venture his 137solemn opinion that the tailor was an imbecile and an ass11, and assured me that the road to Nazareth left the city in exactly the opposite direction. “’Tis a broad caravan181 trail,” he went on, “opening out beyond the shoemakers’ bazaar.” A bit more hopeful, I struck off again next morning.
The assertion of Abdul that it was “ver’ col’” in Damascus was not without foundation. In the sunshine summer reigned182, but in the shadow lurked183 a chill that penetrated184 to the bones. On this cloudy morning the air was biting. Before I had passed the last shoemaker’s booth a cold drizzle185 set in. On the desert it turned to a wet snow that clung to bush and boulder186 like shreds187 of white clothing. A toe protruded188 here and there from my dilapidated cloth slippers. The sword-maker, apparently189, had indulged in a practical joke at my expense. A caravan track there was beyond the last wretched hovel, a track that showed for miles across the bleak190 country. But though it might have taken me to Bagdad or the steppes of Siberia, it certainly did not lead to the land of the chosen people.
I turned and trotted192 back to the city, cheered on by the anticipation193 of such a fire as roars up the chimneys of American homes on the memorable194 days of the first snow. The anticipation proved my ignorance of Damascan customs. The proprietor and his guests were shivering over a pan of coals that could not have heated a doll’s house. I fought my way into the huddled group and warmed alternately a finger and a toe. But the chill of the desert would not leave me. A servant summoned the landlord to another part of the building. He picked up the “stove” and marched away with it, and I took leave of my quaking fellow-guests and went to bed, as the only possible place to restore my circulation.
Dusk was falling the next afternoon when I stumbled upon the British consulate. Here, at last, was a man. The dull natives with their slipshod mental habits had given me far less information in four days than I gained from a five-minute interview with this alert Englishman. He was none the less certain than they, however, that the overland journey was impossible at that season. Late reports from the Waters of Meron announced the route utterly impassable.
The consul was a director of the Beirut-Damascus line. Railway directors in Asia Minor have, evidently, special privileges. For the Englishman assured me that a note over his signature would take me back to the coast as readily as a ticket. The next day I spent Christmas in a stuffy195 coach on the cogwheel railway over the Lebanon and 138stepped out at Beirut, shortly after dark, to run directly into the arms of Abdul Razac Bundak.
Our “company” was definitely dissolved on the afternoon of December twenty-seventh and I set out for Sidon. Here, at least, I could not lose my way, for I had but to follow the coast. Even Abdul, however, did not know whether the ancient city was one or ten days distant. A highway through an olive grove196, where lean Bedouins squatted197 on their hams, soon broke up into several diverging198 footpaths199. The one I chose led over undulating sand dunes200 where the misfit shoes that I had picked up in a pawn201 shop of Beirut soon filled to overflowing. I swung them over a shoulder and plodded on barefooted. A roaring brook152 blocked the way. I crossed it by climbing a willow202 on one bank and swinging into the branches of another opposite, and plunged203 into another wilderness of sand.
Towards dusk I came upon a peasant’s cottage on a tiny plain and halted for water. A youth in the Sultan’s crazy quilt, sitting on the well curb204, brought me a basinful. I had started on again when a voice rang out behind me, “Hé! D’où est-ce que vous venez? Où est-ce que vous allez?” In the doorway205 of the hovel stood a slatternly woman of some fifty years of age. I mentioned my nationality.
“American?” cried the feminine scarecrow, this time in English, as she rushed out upon me, “My God! You American? Me American, too! My God!”
The assertion seemed scarcely credible206, as she was decidedly Syrian, both in dress and features.
“Yes, my God!” she went on, “I live six years in America, me! I go back to America next month! I not see America for one year. Come in house!”
I followed her into the cottage. It was the usual dwelling207 of the peasant class—dirt floor, a kettle hanging over an open fire in one corner, a few ears of corn and bunches of dried grapes suspended from the ceiling. On one of the rough stone walls, looking strangely out of place amid this Oriental squalor, was pinned a newspaper portrait of McKinley.
“Oh, my God!” cried the woman, as I glanced towards the distortion, “Me Republican, me. One time I see McKinley when I peddle163 by Cleveland, Ohio. You know Cleveland? My man over there”—she pointed away to the fertile slopes of the Lebanon—“My man go back with me next month, vote one more time for Roosevelt.”
The patch-work youth poked208 his head in at the door.
139“Taala hena, Maghmoód,” bawled209 the boisterous210 Republican. “This American man! He no have to go for soldier fight long time for greasy211 old Sultan. Not work all day to get bishleek, him! Get ten, fifteen, twenty bishleek day! Bah! You no good, you! Why for you not run away to America?”
The soldier listened to this more or less English with a silly smirk212 on his face and shifted from one foot to the other with every fourth word. The woman repeated the oration213 in her native tongue. The youth continued to grin until the words “ashara, gkamsashar, ashreen” turned his smirk to wide-eyed astonishment214, and he dropped on his haunches in the dirt, as if his legs had given way under the weight of such untold215 wealth.
The woman ran a sort of lodging216 house in an adjoining stone hut and insisted that I spend the night there. Her vociferous217 affection for Americans would, no doubt, have forced her to cling to my coat-tails had I attempted to escape. Chattering219 disconnectedly, she prepared a supper of lentils, bread-sheets, olives, and crushed sugar cane220, and set out—to the horror of the Mohammedan youth—a bottle of beet221 (native wine). The meal over, she lighted a narghileh, leaned back in a home-made chair, and blew smoke at the ceiling with a far-away look in her eyes.
“Oh, my God!” she cried suddenly, “You sing American song! I like this no-good soldier hear good song. Then he sing Arab song for you.”
I essayed the r?le of wandering minstrel with misgiving222. At the first lines of “The Swanee River” the conscript burst forth in a roar of laughter that doubled him up in a paroxysm of mirth.
“You damn fool, you,” bellowed the female, shaking her fist at the prostrate223 property of the Sultan. “You no know what song is! American songs wonderful! Shut up! I split your head!”
This gentle hint, rendered into Arabic, convinced the youth of the solemnity of the occasion, and he listened most attentively224 with set teeth until the Occidental concert was ended.
When his turn came, he struck up a woeful monotone that sounded not unlike the wailing226 of a lost soul, and sang for nearly an hour in about three notes, shaking his head and rocking his body back and forth in the emotional passages as his voice rose to an ear-splitting yell.
The dirge227 was interrupted by a shout from the darkness outside. The woman called back in answer, and two ragged, bespattered Bedouins 140pushed into the hut. The howling and shouting that ensued left me undecided whether murder or merely highway robbery had been committed. The contention228, however, subsided229 after a half-hour of shaking of fists and alternate reduction to the verge230 of tears, and my hostess took from the wall a huge key and stepped out, followed by the Bedouins.
“You know what for we fight?” she demanded, as she returned alone. “They Arabs. Want to sleep in my hotel. They want pay only four coppers231. I say must pay five coppers—one metleek. Bah! This country no good.”
Four-fifths of a cent was, perhaps, as great a price as she should have demanded from any lodger232 in the “hotel” to which she conducted me a half-hour later.
All next day I followed a faintly-marked path that clung closely to the coast, swerving233 far out on every headland as if fearful of losing itself in the solitude234 of the moors235. Here and there a woe225-begone peasant from a village in the hills was toiling236 in a tiny patch. Across a stump237 or a gnarled tree trunk, always close at hand, leaned a long, rusty238 gun, as primitive in appearance as the wooden plow239 which the tiny oxen dragged back and forth across the fields. Those whose curiosity got the better of them served as illustrations to the Biblical assertion, “No man having put his hand to the plow and looking back is fit for the kingdom of Heaven.” For the implement240 was sure to strike a root or a rock, and the peasant who picked himself up out of the mire241 could never have been admitted by the least fastidious St. Peter. Nineteen showers flung their waters upon me during the day, showers that were sometimes distinctly separated from each other by periods of sunshine, showers that merged242 one into another through a dreary243 drizzle.
A wind from off the Mediterranean244 put the leaden clouds to flight late in the afternoon and the sun was smiling bravely when the path turned into a well-kept road, winding70 through a forest of orange trees where countless natives, in a garb that did not seem particularly adapted to such occupation, were stripping the overladen branches of their fruit. Her oranges and her tobacco give livelihood—of a sort—to the ten thousand inhabitants of modern Sidon. From the first shop in the outskirts246 to the drawbridge of the ruined castle boldly facing the sea, the bazaar was one long, orange-colored streak249. The Sidonese who gathered round me in the market would have buried me under their donations of the fruit—windfalls that had split open—had I not waved them off and followed one of their number, I knew not whither.
Women of Bethlehem going to the Church of the Nativity
The most thickly settled portion of Damascus is the graveyard250. A picture taken at risk of mobbing
141He turned in at a gate that gave admittance to a large walled inclosure. From the doors and down the outside stairways of a large building in its center poured a multitude of boys and youths, in drab-colored uniforms, shrieking251 words of welcome. A young man at the head of the throng reached me first.
“They students,” he cried; “I am teacher. This American Mission College. They always run to see white man because they study white man’s language and country!”
Every class in the institution, evidently, had been dismissed that they might attend an illustrated252 lecture on anthropology253. The students formed a circle about me, and the “teacher” marched round and round me, discoursing254 on the various points of my person and dress that differed from the native, as glibly255 as any medical failure over a cadaver256.
“Will you, kind sir,” he said, pausing for breath, “will you show to my students the funny things with which the white man holds up his stockings?”
I refused the request, indignantly, of course—the bare thought of such immodesty! Besides, those important articles of my attire257 had long since been gathered into the bag of a Marseilles rag-picker.
I moved towards the gate.
“Wait, sir,” cried the tutor, “very soon the American president of the school comes. He will give you supper and bed.”
“I’ll pay my own,” I answered.
“What!” shouted the Syrian, “You got metleek? Thees man bring you here because you sit in the market-place like you have no money.”
Some time later, as I emerged from an eating shop, a native sprang forward with a wild shout and grasped me by the hand. Grinning with self-complacency at his knowledge of the faranchee mode of greeting, he fell to working my arm like a pump handle, yelping at the same time an unbroken string of Arabic that rapidly brought down upon us every lounger in the market-place. He was dressed in the blanket-like cloak and the flowing headdress of the countryman. His weather-beaten visage, at best reminiscent of a blue-ribbon bulldog, was rendered hideous258 by a broken nose that had been driven entirely259 out of its normal position and halfway260 into his left cheek. Certainly he was no new acquaintance. For some moments I struggled 142to recall where I had seen that wreck261 of a face before. From the jumble262 that fell from his lips I caught a few words:—“locanda, bnam, Beirut.” Then I remembered. He of the pump-handle movement had occupied a bed beside my own during my first days in Beirut and had turned the nights into purgatory263 by wailing a native song in a never-changing monotone, while he rolled and puffed264 at innumerable cigarettes.
When I had disengaged my aching arm I enquired267 for an inn. My long-lost roommate nodded his head and led the way to the one large building abutting268 on the street, a blank wall of sun-baked bricks some forty feet in length, unbroken except for a door through which the Arab pushed me before him. We found ourselves in a vast, gloomy room, its walls the seamy side of the sun-baked bricks, its floor trampled270 earth, and its flat roof supported by massive beams of such wood as Hiram sent to Solomon for the temple on Mt. Moriah. Save for a bit of space near the door, the room was crowded with camels, donkeys, dogs, and men, and heaps of bundled merchandise. It was the Sidon khan, a station for the caravan trains that make their way up and down the coast. Across the room, above the door, ran a wooden gallery, some ten feet wide. My companion pushed me up the ladder before him, took two blankets—evidently his own property—from a heap in the corner, and, spreading them out in a space unoccupied by prostrate muleteers or camel drivers, invited me to lie down.
The scene below us was a very pandemonium272. Donkeys, large and small, lying, standing, kicking, braying273, broke away, now and then, to lead their owners a merry chase in and out of the throng. Reclining camels chewed their cud, and gazed at the chaos274 about them with scornful dignity. Others of these phlegmatic275 beasts, newly arrived, shrilly276 protested against kneeling until their cursing masters could relieve them of their loads. Men and dogs were everywhere. Gaunt curs glared about them like famished277 wolves. Men in coarse cloaks, that resembled grain-sacks split up the front, were cudgeling their beasts, quarreling over the sharing of a blanket, or shrieking at the keeper who collected the khan dues. Among them, less excited mortals squatted, singly or in groups, on blankets spread between a camel and an ass, rolled out the stocking-like rags swinging over their shoulders, and fell to munching278 their meager suppers. Here and there a man stood barefooted on his cloak, deaf to every sound about 143him, salaaming279 his reverences280 towards the south wall, beyond which lay Mecca.
Before the first grey of dawn appeared, the mingling282 sounds that had made an incessant murmur during the night increased to a roar. There came the tinkling283 of bells on ass and dromedary, the braying and cursing of the denizens285 of the desert. Men wrestled286 with unwieldy cargoes287, or cudgeled animals reluctant to take up their burdens. At frequent intervals288 the door beneath our gallery creaked, and one by one the caravans289 filed out into the breaking day.
The khan was almost empty when I descended290 the ladder. Late risers were hurrying through their prayers or loading the few animals that remained. The keeper, sitting crosslegged near the door, rolled me a cigarette and demanded a bishleek for my lodging. I knew as well as he that such a price was preposterous291, and he was fully1 aware of my knowledge. He had merely begun the skirmish that is the preliminary of every financial transaction in the East. A little experience with Oriental merchants imbues292 the faranchee traveler with the spirit of haggling293; when he learns, as soon he will, that every tradesman who gets the better of him laughs at him for a fool, self-respect comes to the rescue. For who would not spend a half-hour of sluggish294 Eastern time to prove that the men of his nation are no inferiors in astuteness295 to these suave followers of “Maghmoód,” however small may be the amount under discussion?
By the time my cigarette was half finished I had reduced the price to four metleeks. Before I tossed it away, the keeper of the khan had accepted a mouth-organ that had somehow found its way into my pack and about three reeds of which responded to the most powerful pair of lungs; and he bade me good-bye with a much more respectful opinion of faranchees than he would have done had I paid the first amount demanded.
The wail of a leather-lunged muezzin echoed across the wilderness as I set off again to the southward. A road that sallied forth from the city stopped short at the edge of an inundated296 morass297 and left me to lay my own course, guided by the booming of the Mediterranean. The cheering prospect298 of a night out of doors lay before me; for, if the map was to be trusted, the next village was fully two days distant. Mile after mile the way led over slippery spurs of the mountain chain and across marshes299 in which I sank halfway to my knees, with here and there a muddy stream to be forded. Only an occasional 144sea gull300, circling over the waves, gave life to the dreary landscape. A few isolated301 patches showed signs of cultivation302, but the cold, incessant downpour kept even the hardy303 peasants cooped up in their villages among the hills to the eastward304.
The utter solitude was broken but once by a human being, a ragged muleteer splashing northward305 as fast as the clinging mud permitted. On his face was the utter dejection of one who had been denied admittance at St. Peter’s gate. At sight of me he struggled to increase his pace and, pointing away through the storm, bawled plaintively306, “Homar, efendee? Shoof! Fee homar henak?” (Ass, sir? Look! Is there an ass beyond?) When I shook my head he lifted up his voice and wept in true Biblical fashion, and stumbled on across the morass.
The gloomy day was waning307 when I plunged into a valley of rank vegetation, where several massive stone ruins and a crumbling308 stone bridge that humped its back over a wandering stream, suggested an ancient center of civilization. I scanned the debris309 for a hole in which to sleep. Shelter there was none, and a gnawing310 hunger protested against a halt. From the top of the bridge an unhoped-for sight caught my eye. Miles away, at the end of a low cape218 that ran far out into the sea, rose a slender minaret311, surrounded by a jumble of flat buildings. I tore my way through the undergrowth with hope renewed and struck out towards the unknown, perhaps unpeopled, hamlet.
Dusk turned to utter darkness. For an interminable period I staggered on through the mire, sprawling, now and then, in a stinking312 slough313. The lapping of waves sounded at last, and I struck a solider footing of sloping sand. Far ahead twinkled a few lights, so far out across the water that, had I not seen the village by day, I had fancied them the illuminated314 portholes of a steamer at anchor. The beach described a half-circle. The twinkling lights drew on before like wills o’ the wisp. The flat sand gave way to rocks and boulders315—the ruins, apparently, of ancient buildings—against which I barked my shins repeatedly.
I had all but given up in despair the pursuit of the fugitive316 glowworms, when the baying of dogs fell on my ear. An unveiled corner of the moon disclosed a faintly defined path up the sloping beach, which, leading across the sand-dunes, brought up against a fort-like building, pierced in the center by a gateway317. Two flickering318 145lights under the archway cast weird319 shadows over a group of Arabs, huddled in their blankets.
The arrival of any traveler at such an hour was an event to bring astonishment; a mud-bespattered faranchee projected thus upon them out of the blackness of the night brought them to their feet with excited cries. I pushed through the group and plunged into a maze320 of wretched, hovel-choked alleyways. Silence reigned in the bazaars, but the keeper of one squalid shop was still dozing321 over his pan of coals between a stack of aged266 bread-sheets and a simmering kettle of sour-milk soup. I prodded323 him into semi-wakefulness and, gathering in the gkebis, sat down in his place. He dipped up a bowl of soup from force of habit, then catching324 sight of me for the first time, generously distributed the jelly-like mixture over my outstretched legs.
The second serving reached me in the orthodox manner. To the nibbling Arabs who had ranged themselves on the edge of the circle of light cast by the shop lamp, a bowl of soup was an ample meal for one man. When I called for a second, they stared open-mouthed. Again I sent the bowl back. The bystanders burst forth in a roar of laughter which the deserted labyrinth echoed back to us a third and a fourth time, and the boldest stepped forward to pat their stomachs derisively326.
I inquired for an inn as I finished. A ragged Sampson stepped into the arc of light and crying “taala,” set off to the westward143. Almost at a trot191, he led the way by cobbled streets, down the center of which ran an open sewer327, up hillocks and down, under vaulted bazaars and narrow archways, by turns innumerable.
He stopped at last before a high garden wall, behind which, among the trees, stood a large building of monasterial aspect.
“Italiano faranchee henak,” he said, raising the heavy iron knocker over the gate and letting it fall with a boom that startled the dull ear of night. Again and again he knocked. The muffled328 sound of an opening door came from the distant building. A step fell on the graveled walk, a step that advanced with slow and stately tread to within a few feet of the gate; then a deep, reverberant329 voice called out something in Arabic.
I replied in Italian; “I am a white man, looking for an inn.”
The voice that answered was trained to the chanting of masses. One could almost fancy himself in some vast cathedral, listening to 146an invocation from far back in the nave330, as the words came, deep and sharp-cut, one from another: “Non si riceveno qui pellegrini.” The scrape of feet on the graveled walk grew fainter and fainter, a heavy door slammed, and all was still.
The Arab put his ear to the keyhole of the gate, scratched his head in perplexity, and with another “taala” dashed off once more. A no less devious332 route brought us out on the water front of the back bay. In a brightly lighted café sat a dozen convivial333 souls over narghilehs and coffee. My cicerone paused some distance away and set up a wailing chant in which the word “faranchee” was often repeated. Plainly, the revelers gave small credence334 to this cry of Frank out of the night. Calmly they continued smoking and chattering, peering indifferently, now and then, into the outer darkness. The Arab drew me into the circle of light. A roar went up from the carousers and they tumbled pell-mell out upon us.
My guide was, evidently, a village butt269, rarely permitted to appear before his fellow-townsman in so important a r?le. Fame, at last, was knocking at his door. His first words tripped over each other distressingly335, but his racial eloquence336 of phrase and gesture came to the rescue, and he launched forth in a panegyric337 such as never congressional candidate suffered at the hands of a rural chairman. His zeal338 worked his undoing339. From every dwelling within sound of his trumpet-like voice poured forth half-dressed men who, crowding closely around, raised a Babel that drowned out the orator340 before his introductory premise341 had been half ended. An enemy suggested an adjournment342 to the café and left the new Cicero—the penniless being denied admittance—to deliver his maiden343 speech to the unpeopled darkness.
The keeper, with his best company smile, placed a chair for me in the center of the room; the elder men grouped themselves about me on similar articles of furniture; and the younger squatted on their haunches around the wall. The language of signs was proving a poor means of communication, when a native, in more elaborate costume, pushed into the circle and addressed me in French. With an interpreter at hand, nothing short of my entire biography would satisfy my hearers; and to avoid any semblance30 of partiality, I was forced to swing round and round on my stool in the telling, despite the fact that only one of the audience understood the queer faranchee words. The proprietor, meanwhile, in a laudable endeavor to make hay while the sun shone, made the circuit of the room at frequent 147intervals, asking each with what he could serve him. Those few who did not order were ruthlessly pushed into the street, where a throng of boys and penniless men flitted back and forth on the edge of the light, peering in upon us. Anxious to secure the good-will of so unusual an attraction, the keeper ran forward each time my whirling brought him within my field of vision to offer a cup of thick coffee, a narghileh, or a native liquor.
I concluded my saga345 with the statement that I had left Sidon that morning.
“Impossible!” shouted the interpreter. “No man can walk from Sidra to Soor in one day.”
“Soor?” I cried, recognizing the native name for Tyre, and scarcely believing my ears. “Is this Soor?”
“Is it possible,” gasped346 the native, “that you have not recognized the ancient city of Tyre? Yes, indeed, my friend, this is Soor. But if you have left Sidon this morning you have slept a night on the way without knowing it.”
I turned the conversation by inquiring the identity of the worthies347 about me. The interpreter introduced them one by one. The village scribe, the village barber, the village carpenter, the village tailor, and—even thus far from the land of chestnut348 trees—the village blacksmith were all in evidence. Most striking of all the throng in appearance was a young man of handsome, forceful face and sturdy, well-poised figure, attired349 in a flowing, jet-black gown and almost as black a fez. From time to time he rose to address his companions on the all-important topic of faranchees. A gift of native eloquence of which he seemed supremely350 unconscious, and the long sweep of his gown over his left shoulder with which he ended every discourse351, recalled my visualization352 of Hamlet. I was surprised to find that he was only a common sailor, and that in a land where the seaman353 is regarded as the lowest of created beings.
“Hamlet” owed his position of authority on this occasion to a single journey to Buenos Ayres. After long striving, I succeeded in exchanging with him a few meager ideas in Spanish, much to the discomfiture of the “regular” interpreter, who, posing as a man of unexampled erudition, turned away with an angry shrug354 of the shoulders and fell upon my unguarded knapsack. I swung round in time to find him complacently355 turning the film-wind of my kodak and clawing at the edges in an attempt to open it. If one would keep his possessions intact in the East he must sit upon them, for not even the 148apes of the jungle have the curiosity of the Oriental nor less realization356 of the difference between mine and thine.
The city fathers of Tyre, in solemn conviviality357 assembled, resolved unanimously that I could not be permitted to continue on foot. Some days before, midway between Tyre and Acre, a white man had been found, murdered by some blunt instrument and nailed to the ground by a stake driven through his body. The tale was told, with the fullness of detail doted on by our yellow journals, in French and crippled Spanish; and innumerable versions in Arabic were followed by an elaborate pantomime by the village carpenter, with Hamlet and the scribe as the assassins, and the tube of a water-pipe as the stake. Midnight had long since passed. I promised the good citizens of Tyre to remain in their city for a day of reflection, and inquired for a place to sleep.
Not a man among them, evidently, had thought of that problem. The assemblage resolved itself into a committee of the whole and spent a good half hour in weighty debate. Then the interpreter rose to communicate to me the result of the deliberations. There was no public inn in the city of Tyre—they thanked God for that. But its inhabitants had ever been ready to treat royally the stranger within their gates. The keeper of the café had a back room. In that back room was a wooden bench. The keeper was moved to give me permission to occupy that back room and that bench. Nay358! Even more! He was resolved to spread on that bench a rush mat, and cover me over with what had once been the sail of his fishing-smack. But first he must ask me one question. Aye! The citizens of Tyre, there assembled, must demand an answer to that query359 and the spokesman abjured361 me, by the beard of Allah, to answer truthfully and deliberately362.
I moved the previous question. The village elders hitched363 their stools nearer, the squatters strained their necks to listen. The man of learning gasped twice, nay, thrice, and broke the utter silence with a tense whisper:—
“Are you, sir, a Jew?”
I denied the allegation.
“Because,” went on the speaker, “we are haters of the Jews and no Jew could stop in this café over night, though the clouds rained down boulders and water-jars on our city of Tyre.”
The keeper fulfilled his promise to the letter and, putting up the shutters of the café, locked me in and marched away.
Tyre is now a miserable village connected with the mainland by a wind-blown neck of sand
Agriculture in Palestine. There is not an ounce of iron about the plow
149The nephew of the village carpenter, a youth educated in the American Mission School of Sidon, appointed himself my guide next morning. The ancient city of Tyre is to-day a collection of stone and mud hovels, covering less than a third of the sandy point that once teemed364 with metropolitan365 life, and housing four thousand humble366 humans, destitute367 alike of education, arts, and enterprise. Our pilgrimage began at the narrow neck of wind-blown sand—all that remains368 of the causeway of Alexander. To the south of the present hamlet, once the site of rich dwellings369, stretched rambling370 rows of crude head-stones over Christian371 and Mohammedan graves, a dreary spot above which circled and swooped372 a few sombre rooks. On the eastern edge a knoll373 rose above the pathetic village wall, a rampart that would not afford defense374 against a self-confident goat. Below lay a broad playground, worn bare and smooth by the tramp of many feet, peopled now by groups of romping375 children and here and there an adult loafing under the rays of the December sun. Only a few narrow chasms376, from which peeped the top of a window or door, served to remind the observer that he was not looking down upon an open space, but on the flat housetops of the closely-packed city.
Further away rose an unsteady minaret, and beyond, the tree-girdled dwelling of the Italian monks377. To the north, in the wretched roadstead, a few decrepit378 fishing smacks379, sad remnants of the fleets whose mariners380 once caroused381 and sang in the streets of Tyre, lay at anchor. Down on the encircling beach, half buried under the drifting sands and worn away by the lapping waves, lay the ruins of what must long ago have been great business blocks. The Tyreans of to-day, mere parasites382, have borne away stone by stone these edifices383 of a mightier384 generation to build their own humble habitations. Even as we looked, a half dozen ragged Arabs were prying385 off the top of a great pillar and loading the fragments into a dilapidated feluca.
A narrow street through the center of the town forms the boundary between her two religions. To the north dwell Christians386, to the south Metawalies, Mohammedans of unorthodox superstitions. Their women do not cover their faces, but tattoo their foreheads, cheeks, and hands. To them the unpardonable sin is to touch, ever so slightly, a being not of their faith. Ugly scowls387 greeted our passage in all this section. I halted at a shop to buy oranges. A mangy old crone tossed the fruit at me and, spreading a cloth over her hand, stretched it out. I attempted to lay the coppers in her open palm. She 150snatched her hand away with a snarl57 and a display of yellow fangs less suggestive of a human than of a mongrel over a bone.
“Hold your hand above hers and drop the money,” said my companion. “If you touch her, she is polluted.”
To a mere unbeliever the danger of pollution seemed reversed. But mayhap it is not given to unbelievers to see clearly.
Once across the line of demarkation cheery greetings sounded from every shop. Generations of intermarriage have welded this Christian community into one great family. Often the youth halted to observe:
“Here lives my uncle; that man is my cousin; this shop belongs to my sister’s husband; in that house dwells the brother-in-law of my father.”
America was the promised land to every denizen284 of this section. Hardly a man of them had given up hope of putting together money enough to emigrate to the new world. The brother of my guide voiced a prayer that I had often heard among the Christians of Asia Minor.
“We hope more every day,” he said, “that America will some time take this land away from the Turks, for the Turks are rascals388 and the king rascal389 is the Sultan at Stamboul. Please, you, sir, get America to do this when you come back.”
My cicerone was a true Syrian, in his horror of travel. His family had been Christians—of the Greek faith—for generations, and Nazareth and Jerusalem lay just beyond the ranges to the eastward; yet neither he, his father, nor any ancestor, to his knowledge, had ever journeyed further than to Sidon. His teachers had imbued390 him with an almost American view of life, had instilled391 in him a code of personal morals at utter variance392 with those of this land, in which crimes ranging from bribery393 to murder are discussed in a spirit of levity394 by all classes. But they had not given him the energy of the West, nor convinced him that the education he had acquired was something more than an added power for the amassing395 of metleeks. Some day, when he had money enough, he would go to America to turn his linguistic396 ability into more money. Meanwhile, he squatted on his haunches in the filth397 of Tyre, waiting more patiently than Micawber for something to “turn up.”
The highest ideal, to the people he represented, is the merchant—a middle-man between work and responsibility who may drone out his days in reposeful398 self-sufficiency. The round of the streets led us to the liquor and fruit shop kept by his father, a flabby-skinned fellow 151who stretched his derelict bulk on a divan400 and growled whenever a client disturbed his day-dreams. To his son he was the most fortunate being in Tyre.
“Why,” cried the youth in admiration401, “he never has to do anything but rest in his seat all day and put up his shutters and go home at night! Would you not like to own a shop and never have to work again all the days of your life?”
My answer that the dénouement of such a fate would probably be the sighing of willows402 over a premature403 grave was lost upon him.
An unprecedented throng was gathered in the café when I reached it in the evening. The proprietor danced blindly about the room, well nigh frantic404 from an ambitious but vain endeavor to serve all comers. “Hamlet,” done with his day’s fishing and his sea-going rags, was again on hand to give unconscious entertainment. The village scribe, if the bursts of laughter were as unforced as they seemed, had brought with him a stock of witty405 tales less threadbare than those of the night before; and the expression on the face of my guide, and his repeated refusals to interpret them, suggested that the stories were not of the jeune fille order.
The village carpenter was the leader of the opposition406 against my departure on foot, and finding that his pantomime had not aroused in me a becoming dread of the Bedouin-infected wilderness, he set out on a new tack322. A coasting steamer was due in a few days. He proposed that the assembled Tyreans take up a collection to pay my passage to the next port, and set the ball rolling by dropping a bishleek into his empty coffee cup. A steady flow of metleeks had already set in before my protests grew vociferous enough to check it. Why I should refuse to accept whatever they proposed to give was something very few of these simple fellows could understand. The carpenter wiped out all my arguments in the ensuing debate by summing up with that incontestable postulate407 of the Arab: “Sir,” he cried, by interpreter, appealing to the others for confirmation408, “if you go to Acre on foot, you will get tired!”
I slept again on the rush mat. My guide and his uncle accompanied me through the city gate next morning, still entreating409 me to reconsider my rash decision. The older man gave up just outside the village and with an “Allah m’akum’” (the Lord be with you) hurried back, as if the unwonted experience of getting out of sight of his workshop had filled him with unconquerable terror. The youth halted beyond the wind-blown neck of sand, and, after entreating me to send 152for him as soon as I returned to America, fled after his uncle. From this distance the gloomy huddle168 of kennels410 behind recalled even more readily than a closer view those lines of the wandering bard411:
“Dim is her glory, gone her fame,
Her boasted wealth has fled.
On her proud rock, alas412, her shame,
The fisher’s net is spread.
The tyrean harp331 has slumbered413 long,
And Tyria’s mirth is low;
The timbrel, dulcimer, and song
Are hushed, or wake to woe.”
For the first few miles the way led along the hard sands of the beach. Beyond, the “Ladder of Tyre,” a spur of the Lebanon falling sharply off into the sea, presented a precipitous slope that I scaled with many bruises414. Few spots on the globe present a more desolate415 prospect than the range after range of barren hills that stretch out from the summit of the “Ladder.” Half climbing, half sliding, I descended the southern slope and struggled on across a trackless country in a never-ceasing downpour.
It was the hour of nightfall when the first habitation of man broke the monotony of the lifeless waste. Half famished, I hurried towards it. At a distance the hamlet presented the appearance of a low fortress416 or blockhouse. The outer fringe of buildings—all these peasant villages form a more or less perfect circle—were set so closely together as to make an almost continuous wall, with never a window nor door opening on the world outside. I circled half the town before I found an entrance to its garden of miseries417. The hovels, partly of limestone418, chiefly of baked mud, were packed like stacks in a scanty419 barnyard. The spaces between them left meager passages, and, being the village dumping ground and sewer as well as the communal420 barn, reeked421 with every abomination of man and beast. In cleanliness and picturesqueness the houses resembled the streets. Here and there a human sty stood open and lazy smoke curled upward from its low doorway; for the chimney is as yet unknown in rural Asia Minor.
A complete circuit of the “city” disclosed no shops and I began a canvass422 of the hovels, stooping to thrust my head through the smoke-choked doorways423, and shaking my handkerchief of coins in the faces of the half asphyxiated424 occupants, with a cry of “gkebis.” Wretched hags and half-naked children glared at me. My best pulmonary efforts 153evoked no more than a snarl or a stolid425 stare. Only once did I receive verbal reply. A peasant whose garb was one-fourth cloth, one-fourth the skin of some other animal, and one-half the accumulated filth of some two-score years, squatted in the center of the last hut, eating from a stack of newly baked bread-sheets. Having caught him with the goods, I bawled “gkebis” commandingly. He turned to peer at me through the smoke with the lack-luster eye of a dead haddock. Once more I demanded bread. A diabolical leer overspread his features. He rose to a crouching426 posture427, a doubled sheet between his fangs, and, springing at me half way across the hut, roared, “MA FEESH!”
Now there is no more forcible word in the Arabic language than “ma feesh.” It is rich in meanings, among which “there is none!” “We haven’t any!” “None left!” “Can’t be done!” and “Nothing doing!” are but a few. The native can give it an articulation428 that would make the most aggressive of bulldogs put his tail between his legs and decamp. My eyes certainly had not deceived me. There was bread and plenty of it. But somehow I felt no longing429 to tarry, near nightfall, in a fanatical village far from the outskirts of civilization, to wage debate with an Arab who could utter “ma feesh” in that tone of voice. With never an audible reply, I fled to the encircling wilderness.
The sun was settling to his bath in the Mediterranean. Across the pulsating430 sea to the beach below the village stretched an undulating ribbon of orange and red. Away to the eastward, in the valleys of the Lebanon, darkness already lay. On the rugged432 peaks a few isolated trees, swaying in a swift landward breeze, stood out against the evening sky. Within hail of the hamlet a lonely shepherd guarded a flock of fat-tailed sheep. Beyond him lay utter solitude. The level plain soon changed to row after row of sand dunes, unmarked by a single footprint, over which my virgin433 path rose and fell with the regularity434 of a tossing ship.
The last arc of the blazing sun sank beneath the waves. The prismatic ribbon quivered a moment longer, faded, and disappeared, leaving only an unbroken expanse of black water. Advancing twilight435 dimmed the outline of the swaying trees, the very peaks lost individuality and blended into the darkening sky of evening. In the trough of the sand dunes the night made mysterious gulfs in which the eye could not distinguish where the descent ended and the ascent436 began.
Invariably I stumbled half way up each succeeding slope. The 154shifting sands muffled to silence my footsteps. On the summit of the ridges437 sounded a low moaning of the wind, rising and falling like far-off sobbing438. A creative imagination might easily have peopled the surrounding blackness with flitting forms of murderous nomads439. Somewhere among these never-ending ridges the “staked faranchee” had been done to death.
Mile after mile the way led on, rising and falling as rhythmically440 as though over and over the same sandy billow. Sunset had dispelled441 the rain, but not a star broke through the overcast442 sky, and only the hoarse-voiced boom of the breakers guided my steps. Now and then I halted at the summit of a ridge247 to search for the glimmer443 of a distant light and to strain my ears for some other sound than the wailing of the wind and the muffled thunder of the ocean. But even Napoleon was once forced to build a hill from which to sweep the horizon before he could orientate444 himself in this billowy wilderness.
The surly peasant was long since forgotten when, descending445 a ridge with my feet raised high at each step in anticipation of a succeeding ascent, I plunged into a slough in which I sank almost to my knees. From force of habit I plowed446 on. The booming of the waves grew louder, as if the land receded447, and the wind from off the sea blew stronger and more chilling. Suddenly there sounded at my feet the rush of waters. I moved forward cautiously and felt the edge of what seemed to be a broad river, pouring seaward. It was an obstacle not to be surmounted448 on a black night. I drew back from the brink and, finding a spot that seemed to offer some resistance beneath my feet, threw myself down.
But I sank inch by inch into the morass, and fearful of being buried before morning, I rose and wandered towards the sea. On a slight rise of ground I stumbled over a heap of cobblestones, piled up at some earlier date by the peasants. I built a bed of stones under the lee of the pile, tucked my kodak in a crevice449, and pulling my coat over my head, lay down. A patter of rain sounded on the coat, then another and another, faster and faster, and in less than a minute there began a downpour that abated450 not once during the night. The heap afforded small protection against the piercing wind, and, being short and semicircular in shape, compelled me to lie motionless on my right side, for only my body protected the kodak and films beneath. The rain quickly soaked through my clothing and ran in rivulets452 along my skin. The wind turned colder and whistled through the chinks of the pile. The sea boomed incessantly453, and in the surrounding marshes 155colonies of unwearying frogs croaked454 a dismal121 refrain. Thus, on the fringe of the Mediterranean, I watched out the old year, and, though not a change in the roar of the sea, the tattoo of the storm, nor the note of a frog, marked the hour, I was certainly awake at the waning.
An Oriental proverb tells us that “He who goes not to bed will be early up.” He who goes to bed on a rock pile will also be up betimes—though with difficulty. The new year was peering over the Lebanon when I rose to my feet. My left leg, though creaking like a rusty armor, sustained me; but I had no sooner shifted my weight to the right than it gave way like a thing of straw and let me down with disconcerting suddenness in the mud. By dint455 of long massaging456, I recovered the use of the limb; but even then an attempt to walk in a straight line sent me round in a circle from left to right. Daylight showed the river to be lined with quicksands. It was broad and swift, but not deep, and some distance up the stream I effected a crossing without sinking below my armpits. Far off to the southeast lay a small forest. A village, perhaps, was hidden in its shade, and I dashed eagerly forward through a sea of mud.
The forest turned out to be a large orange grove, surrounded by a high hedge and a turgid, moat-like stream. There was not a human habitation in sight. The trees were heavily laden245 with yellow fruit. I cast the contents of my knapsack on the ground, plunged through moat and hedge, and tore savagely457 at the tempting31 fare. With half-filled bag I regained458 the plain, caught up my scattered459 belongings460, and struck southward, peeling an orange. The skin was close to an inch thick, the fruit inside would have aroused the dormant461 appetite of an Epicurean. Greedily I stuffed a generous quarter into my mouth—and stopped stock-still with a sensation as of a sudden blow in the back of the neck. The orange was as green as the Emerald Isle462, its juice more acrid463 than a half-and-half of vinegar and gall271! I peeled another and another. Each was more sour and bitter than its forerunner464. Tearfully I dumped the treasure trove465 in the mire and stumbled on.
Two hours later, under a blazing sun—so great is the contrast in this hungry land between night and unclouded day—I entered a native village, more wretched if possible than that of the night before. Scowls and snarls greeted me in almost every hut; but one hideously466 tattooed467 female pushed away the proffered468 coins and thrust into my hands two bread-sheets the ragged edge of which showed the marks of infant teeth. They were as tender as a sea boot, as palatable469 as a 156bath towel, and satisfied my hunger as a peanut would have satisfied that of an elephant. But no amount of vociferation could induce the villagers to part with another morsel470, and, thankful for small favors, I trudged471 on.
A well-marked path, inundated here and there and peopled by bands of natives, turned westward beyond an ancient aqueduct, and at noonday I passed through the fortified472 gate of Acre. The power of faranchee appetites was the absorbing topic of conversation in the stronghold when I fell in with a band of emigrating Bedouins, and departed. The white city of Haiffa, perched on the nose of recumbent Mt. Carmel across the bay, seemed but a stone’s throw distant. It was an illusion of sea and sun, however. Long hours I splashed after the Arabs through surf and rivulet451 along the narrow beach, my shoes swinging over my shoulder, and night had fallen before we parted in the Haiffan market place.
At a Jewish inn, in Haiffa, I made the acquaintance of a fellow-countryman. He was a dragoman of a well-known tourist company, born in Nazareth, of Arab blood, and had never been outside the confines of Asia Minor. His grandfather had lived a few years in New York, and, though the good old gentleman had long since been gathered to his fathers, his descendants were still entitled to flaunt473 his naturalization papers in the faces of the Turkish police and tax-gatherers and to greet travelers from the new world as compatriots. Nazry Kawar, the dragoman, was overjoyed at the meeting. He dedicated474 the afternoon to drawing, for my benefit, sketches of the routes of Palestine, and took his leave, promising475 to write me a letter of introduction to his uncle, a Nazarene dentist.
Early the next morning I passed through the vaulted market of Haiffa and out upon the road to Nazareth. It was really a road, repaired not long before for the passage of the German Emperor; but already the labor344 of the Sultan’s servants had been half undone476 by the peasants, to whom a highway is useful only as an excellent place in which to pitch stones picked up in the adjoining fields. For once the day was clear and balmy and a sunshine as of June illuminated the rugged fields and their tillers. Towards noon, in the bleak hills beyond the first village, two Bedouins, less bloodthirsty than hungry, fell upon me while I ate my lunch by the wayside. Though they bombarded me with stones from opposite sides, they threw like boarding-school misses and dodged477 like ocean liners, and I had wrought478 more injury than I had received when I challenged them to a race down the highway. They were no mean runners, but the appearance over the first hill of a road-repair gang, a score of bronze-faced, sinewy479 women under command of a skirt-clad male, forced them to postpone480 their laudable attempt to win favor with the houris.
On the road between Haifa and Nazareth I meet a road-repair gang, all women but the boss
On the summit of Jebel es Sihk, back of Nazareth. From left to right: Shukry Nasr, teacher; Elias Awad, cook; and Nehmé Simán, teacher; my hosts in Nazareth
157An hour later I gained the highest point of the route. Far below the highway, colored by that peculiar atmosphere of Palestine a delicate blue that undulated and trembled in the afternoon sunshine, stretched the vast plain of Esdraelon, walled by mountain ranges that seemed innumerable leagues away. The route crawled along the top of the western wall, choked here between two mountain spurs, breathing freely there on a tiny plateau, and, rounding at last a gigantic boulder, burst into Nazareth.
A mere village in the time of Christ, Nazareth covers to-day the bowl-shaped valley in which it is built to the summits of the surrounding hills and, viewed from a distance, takes on the form of an almost perfect amphitheatre. In the arena481 of the circus, a teeming, babbling482 bazaar, I endeavored in vain to find the dentist Kawar to whom my letter was addressed. When my legs grew aweary of wandering through the labyrinth and my tongue refused longer to deform483 itself in attempts to reproduce the peculiar sounds of the Arabic language, I sat down on a convenient and conspicuous484 bazaar stand, rolled a cigarette, and leaned back in the perfect contentment of knowing that I should presently be taken care of. Near me on all sides rose a whisper, in the hoarse voice of squatting485 shopkeepers, in the treble of passing children under heavy burdens, a whisper that seemed to grow into a thing animate and hurried away through the long rows and intricate byways of the market as no really living thing of the Orient ever does hurry, crying: “Faranchee! Fee wahed faranchee!” Before my first cigarette was well lighted an awe-struck urchin35 paused nearby to stare unqualifiedly, with the manner of one ready to take to terror-stricken flight at the first inkling of a hostile move on the part of this strange being, in dress so ludicrous, and whose legs were clothed in separate garments! Here, surely, was one of those dread boogiemen who are known to dine on small Arabs, and so near that—perhaps he had better edge away and take to his heels before—but no, here are a dozen men of familiar mien486 collecting in a semicircle back of him! And there comes his uncle, the camel driver. Perhaps the boogieman is not ferocious487 after all, for the men crowd close around, calling him “faranchee” and “efendee,” and appearing not in the least afraid.
The camel-driver is doubly courageous—who would not be proud 158to be his nephew?—for he actually addresses himself to the strange being, while the throng behind him grows and grows.
“Barhaba!” says the camel-driver, in greeting, “Lailtak saeedee! Where does the efendee hail from? Italiano, perhaps?”
“No, American.”
“Amerikhano!” The word runs from mouth to mouth and the faces of all hearers light up with interest. “America? Why, that is where Abdul el Kassab, the butcher, went, long years ago. It is said to be far away, further than “El Gkudis” (Jerusalem) or “Shaam” (Damascus).” But the camel driver has derived488 another bit of information. Listen! “Bahree! The faranchee is a bahree, a sailor, a man who works on the great water, the ‘bahr’ that anyone can see from the top of Jebel es Sihk above, and on the shores of which this same camel driver claims to have been. It is even rumored489 that to reach this America of the faranchee and of Abdul el Kassab, one must travel on the great water! Indeed, ’tis far away, and, were the faranchee not a bahree, how could he have journeyed from far-off America to this very Nazra?”
But my Arabic was soon exhausted490 and the simple Nazarenes, to whom a man unable to express himself in their vernacular491 was as much to be pitied as a deaf-mute, burst forth in sympathetic cries of “meskeen” (poor devil). The camel driver, striving to gain further information, was rapidly becoming the butt of the bystanders, when a native, in more festive492 dress, pushed through the throng and addressed me in English. I held up the letter.
“Ah,” he cried, “the dentist Kawar?” and he snatched the note out of my hand and tore it open.
“But, here,” I cried, “are you the dentist?”
“Oh, no, indeed,” said the native, without looking up from the reading.
“Then what right have you to open that letter?” I demanded, grasping it.
The native gazed at me a moment, the picture of Innocence493 Accused and astonished at the accusation494.
“Oh, sir,” he said; “the Kawar is my friend. If it is my friend’s letter, it is my letter. If it is my letter, it is my friend’s letter. Arabs make like that, sir. I am Elias Awad, cook to the British missionary495 and friend to the dentist. Very nice man, but gone to Acre. But Kawar family live close here. Please, you, sir, come with me.”
Ten minutes later I had been received by the family Kawar like 159a long-lost friend. One glimpse of their dwelling showed them to be people of Nazarene wealth and position. The head of the house, keeper of a dry-goods store, had once been sheik or mayor of Nazareth and was a man of extreme courtesy. He spoke360 only Arabic. His sons, ranging from bearded men to a boy of nine, had been impartially496 distributed among the mission schools of the town. Two spoke English and one German and were stout497 champions of the Protestant faith. The fourth and fifth spoke French and Italian, respectively, and posed as devout86 Catholics. The youngest, already well versed147 in Russian, clung to the faith of his father, the orthodox Greek. Amid the bombardment of questions in four languages I found a moment, here and there, to congratulate myself on my ignorance of the tongue of the Cossacks.
While the evening meal was preparing, the cosmopolitan498 family, a small army in assorted499 sizes, sallied forth to show me the regulation “sights.” With deep reverence281 for every spot reminiscent of Jesus, they pointed out Mary’s Well, the Greek church over the supplying spring, the workshop of Joseph, and many a less authentic500 relic399; and, utterly oblivious501 of the incongruity502, halted on the way back to cry: “This, sir, is the house of the only Jew, thank God, who still dwells in Nazareth!”
Supper over, the Protestants dragged me away to a little church on the brow of the valley. The service, though conducted in Arabic, was Presbyterian even to the tunes503 of the hymns504; the worship quite the antithesis505. For the men displayed the latest creations in fezes in the front pews, and the women, in uniform white gowns, sat with bated breath on the rear benches. Now and then a communicant kicked off his loose slippers and folded his legs in his seat; and the most devout could not suppress entirely a desire to stare at a faranchee who sat bareheaded in church! After the benediction506 the ladies modestly hurried home, but not one of the males was missing from the throng that greeted our exit. To these my companions hastened to divulge507 my qualities, history, and raison d’être, as exactly as some information and an untrammeled imagination permitted. Among the hearers were two young men, by name Shukry Nasr and Nehmé Simán, teachers of English in the mission school, who, eager for conversational508 practice and touched with the curiosity of the Arab, refused to leave until I had promised to be their guest after my stay with the Kawars was ended.
The next day was one long lesson on the customs and traits of the 160better-class Arab. Shukry Nasr and Nehmé Simán called early and led me away to visit their friend, Elias, the cook. On the way I protested against their refusal to allow me to spend a single metleek even for tobacco. “You are our guest, sir,” said Nehmé; “we are very glad to have you for a guest and to talk English. But even if we did not like, we should take good care of you, for Christ said, ‘Thou shalt house the stranger who is within thy gates.’”
“Why,” cried the cook, when our discussion had been carried into his room in the mission, “in the days of my father, for a stranger to pay a place to live would have been insult to all. A stranger in town! Why, Let my house be his—and mine!—and mine! would have shouted every honorable citizen!”
“But Nazareth is getting bad,” sighed Shukry. “The faranchees who are coming are very proud. They will not eat our food and sleep in our small houses. And so many are coming! So some inns have been built and even the Italian monastery509 like to have pay. Very disgraceful!”
“Did you give any policemen a nice whipping?” asked Elias, suddenly.
“Eh?” I cried.
“If a faranchee comes to our country,” he explained, “or if we go to live in America and come back, the policeman cannot arrest.”
“Yes, I know,” I answered.
“If a policeman touches you, then, you must give him a nice whipping,” continued the cook. “If my father had been to America I would give nice whippings every day. Many friends I have—” and he launched forth into a series of anecdotes510 the heroes of which had returned with naturalization papers for the sole purpose, evidently, of making life unendurable for the officers of the Sultan.
“If they only refuse to obey the soldiers,” said Nehmé, “that is nothing. Everybody does that. But here is the wonderful! They do not have even to give backsheesh!”
“Do you have backsheesh in America?” demanded Shukry.
“Ah—er—well—the name is not in common use,” I stammered511.
“It is in my town of Acre that the backsheesh is nice,” cried the cook, proudly, “and the nicest smuggling512. Have you seen that big, strong gate to my town, sir? Ah, sir, many nice smugglings go in there. But how you think?”—he winked513 one eye long and solemnly—“The nice smugglings are the ladies. Many things the lady can carry under her long dress.”
161“But there are the guards,” I put in.
“The guards? Quick the guard get dead if he put the finger on the lady.”
“Then why not have a woman guard?” I suggested.
“Aah!” cried the cook. “How nasty!”
“But the man,” he went on, sadly, “must pay backsheesh if he smuggle514 a pound of arabee (native tobacco, so-called in distinction from “Stambouli,” the revenued weed) or if he make a man dead.”
“What!” I cried, “Backsheesh for murder?”
“Oh, of course,” apologized the cook, “if the man that makes dead has no money, he is made dead by the soldiers—”
“‘Kill’ is the English word, Elias,” put in Nehmé.
“Oh, yes,” continued Elias, “if the man that kills has money, the officer sends a soldier after him. The man puts his head through his door and drops some mejeediehs in the soldier’s hand. Then the soldier comes back and gives almost all the mejeediehs to the officer, and they decide that the man has run away and cannot be find. But if it is a faranchee has been made—er—killed, very bad, for the consul tell the government to find the man and kill him—and if the man have not so much money that the government cannot find—very bad!”
“To-morrow,” said Shukry, as I stropped the razor which the cook invited me to use, “you are coming to live with me.”
“To-morrow,” I answered, “I go to the Sea of Galilee.”
“Ah!” cried the three, in chorus, “Then we give you a letter to our good friend, Michael Yakoumy. He is teacher in Tiberias and he takes much pleasure to see you.”
“And you take a letter for my wife,” said Elias. “She is nurse in the hospital. Often I write but the government lose the letter.”
“So you’re married?” I observed, through the lather515.
“No! no!” screamed the cook. “How you can come to my house if I am married? This only my—my—”
“Fiancée,” said Nehmé.
“Or sweetheart,” said Shukry.
“Aah!” muttered Elias, “I know the word ‘sweetheart.’ But I don’t like. How you call a woman sweet? Every woman bad, and if she live in Palestine or America, she cannot be trust”; and Nehmé and Shukry, in all the wisdom of seventeen years, nodded solemnly in approval.
“But your fiancée—” I began.
162“All the same,” said the cook, “but every man shall get married—Look out, sir, you are cutting your moustaches!”
“Why not?” I asked.
“Aah!” shrieked516 the cook, as I scraped my upper lip clean, “why faranchees make that? So soon I my moustaches would shave, so soon would I cut my neck.”
There is a road that, beginning down by Mary’s Well and winding its way out of the Nazarene arena, leads to Cana and the Sea of Galilee. Nehmé and Shukry, however, true sons of Palestine, utterly ignored the highway when they set out next morning to accompany me to the first village. From the Kawar home they struck off through the village and traversed Nazareth as the crow flies, with total disregard of the trend of the streets. Down through the market, dodging517 into tiny alleys431, under vaulted passageways, through spaces where we were obliged to walk sidewise, they led the way. Where a shop intervened, they marched boldly through it, stepping over the merchandise and even over the squatting keeper, who returned their “good morning” without losing a puff265 at his narghileh. With never a moment of hesitation518 in the labyrinth of bazaars nor among the dwellings above, they stalked straight up the slope of Jebel es Sihk, by trails at times almost perpendicular519, and out upon a well-marked path that led over the brow of the hill.
At the summit they paused. To the north rose the snow-capped peak of Mt. Hermon. Between the hills, to the west, peeped the sparkling Mediterranean. Eastward, unbroken as far as the eye could see in either direction, stretched the mighty520 wall of the trans-Jordan range. The view embraced a dozen villages, tucked away in narrow ravines, clinging to steep slopes, or lying prone521 on sharp ridges like broken-backed creatures. Shukry’s enumeration522 savored523 of Biblical lore248. There was Raineh, down in the throat of the valley; further on Jotapta and Ruman; across the gorge Sufurieh, the home of fanatical rascals among whom Christians are outlaws524. Every hamlet has a character of its own in Palestine. The inhabitants of one may be honest, industrious525, kindly526 disposed towards any advance of civilization; while another, five miles distant, boasts a population of the worst scoundrels unhung, bigoted527, clannish528, and sworn enemies to every fellow-being who has not had the good fortune to be born in their enlightened midst. This diversity of characteristics, so marked that a man from across the valley is styled “foreigner,” makes resistance to the Turk impossible and breeds a deadly hatred529 that raises even 163to-day that sneering530 question, “Can any good thing come out of Nazareth?”
The teachers took their leave in Raineh. Beyond Cana, perched on a gentle rise of ground among flourishing groves531 of pomegranates, the highway wavered and was lost in the mire. I set my own course across a half-inundated plain. Late in the afternoon the Horns of Hutin, adorned532 by a solitary shepherd whose flock grazed where once the multitude listened to the Sermon on the Mount, rose up to assure me that I had not gone astray, and an hour later the ground dropped suddenly away beneath my feet and the end of my pilgrimage lay before me. Near seven hundred feet below sea level, in a hollow of the earth dug by some gigantic spade, glimmered533 the blue Sea of Galilee, already in deep shadow, though the sunshine still flooded the plain behind me. I stepped over the edge of the precipice534 and, slipping, stumbling from rock to rock, steering535 myself by clutching at bush and boulder, fell headlong down into the city of Tiberias.
A city of refuge in ancient times, Tiberias is to-day one of the few towns of Palestine in which the Jewish population preponderates536. It is a human cesspool. Greasy-locked males squat18 in the doorways of its wretched hovels; hideous females, dressed in an open jacket stiff with filth, which discloses to the public gaze their withered537, bag-like breasts and their bloated abdomens538, wallow through the sewerage of the streets in company with foul brats539 infected with every unclean disease from scurvy540 to leprosy. Dozens of idiots, the hair eaten off their heads, and their bodies covered with running sores, roam at large and quarrel with mongrel curs over the refuse. For these are the “men possessed541 of devils,” privileged members of society in all the Orient. An Arab proverb asserts that the king of fleas542 holds his court in Tiberias. To be king of all the fleas that dwell in Palestine is a position of far greater importance than to be czar of all the Russias; and it is strange that His Nimble Majesty has not long ago chosen a capital in which it would not be necessary to disinfect his palace daily.
The home of Michael Yakoumy, from the windows of which stretched an unobstructed view of the sea from the sortie of the Jordan to the site of Capernaum, was a model of cleanliness. Here, in this wretched hamlet, that whole-hearted descendant of Greek immigrants toils543 year after year at a ludicrous wage, striving to instill some knowledge and right living into the children of the surrounding rabble. He was, all unknowingly, a true disciple544 of the “simple life” in its best sense, displaying the interest of a child in the commonplace occurrences 164of the daily round, not entirely ignorant of, but wholly unenvious of the big things of the world outside.
I attended the opening of his school next morning and then turned back towards Nazareth. At the foot of the precipitous slope a storm broke and the combination of water and jagged rocks wrought disaster to my worn-out shoes. When I reached sea level they were succumbing545 to a rapid disintegration546. In the first half-mile across the plain the heels, the soles, the uppers, the very laces, dropped bit by bit along the way. For a time the cakes of mud that clung to my socks protected my feet, but the socks, too, wore away and left me to plod179 on barefooted over the jagged stones of the field.
Long before I had reached the mountainous tract72 about Cana, I was suffering from a dozen cuts and stone-bruises; and the journey beyond must have appealed to a Hindu ascetic547 as a penance548 by which to win unlimited549 merit. As for Cana, it will always be associated in my mind with that breed of human who finds his pleasure in bear-baiting and cock-fighting. For, as I attempted to climb into the village market, my feet refused to cling to the slimy hillside and I skidded550 and sprawled551 into a slough at the bottom, amid shrieks552 of derisive325 laughter from a group of villagers above.
By the time I reached Raineh it was as dark as a pocket, and the path over the Jebel was out of the question. The winding highway pursued its leisurely553 course and led me into Nazareth at an hour when every shop was closed. For some time I could not orientate myself and wandered shivering through the silent bazaars, the cold, dank stones underfoot sending through me a thrill of helplessness such as Anteus must have felt when lifted off the strength-giving earth. Then a familiar corner gave me my bearings, and I hobbled away to the home of Elias.
The village shoemaker, being summoned next morning, appeared with several pairs of Nazarene slippers, heelless and thin as Indian moccasins; again shod, I set out with the teachers for the home of Shukry. It was a simple dwelling of the better class, halfway up the slope of Jebel es Sihk, and from its roof spread out the bowl-shaped village at our feet, Mt. Tabor, and the lesser554 peaks away in the distance. The recent death of his father had left the youth to rule over the household. In all but years he was a mature man, boasting already a bristling555 moustache, for humans ripen556 early in the East.
It was January seventh according to our calendar, or Christmas Day according to the Russian, a time of festival among the Greek churchmen and of ceremonial visits among all Christians. Our shoes 165off, we were sitting on a divan when the guests began to appear. Each arrival—all men, of course, though Shukry’s mother hovered557 in the far background—was greeted by the head of the family standing erect558 in the center of the room. There was no hand-shaking, but a low kow-tow by guest and host and a carelessly mumbled559 greeting. Then the visitor slid out of his slippers, squatted on the capacious divan, and, when all were firmly seated, the salutation “naharak saeed” was exchanged, this time being clearly enunciated560. If the newcomer was a priest, Shukry’s small brother slid forward to kiss his hand and retired561 again into an obscure corner. These formalities over, the guest, priest or layman562, was served cigarettes and a tiny cup of coffee. Frankness is the key to the Arab character. The hypocritical smirks563 of our own social gatherings564 are not required of the Nazarene who lays claim to good breeding. If the visitor was a friend or fellow-churchman of his host an animated565 conversation broke out and, interrupted at brief intervals by new arrivals, raged long and vociferously566. Those who professed567 a different faith—the Greek priests especially—sipped their coffee in absolute silence, puffed at a cigarette, and, with another “naharak saeed,” glided568 into their slippers and departed.
Later in the day I made, with my host, the round of the Christian families, deafened569 with questions in Protestant homes, suffered to sit in painful silence in Greek dwellings, and undermining my constitution with every known brand of cigarette. Our course ended at the Kawar home. The former mayor, dressed in latest faranchee garb, with a vast expanse of white vest, sat cross-legged in his white stocking-feet, a fez perched on his head. The conversation soon turned to things American.
“Many years ago,” translated the eldest570 son, on behalf of his father, “I began to wonder why, by the beard of the prophet, faranchees come from a great, rich country like America to travel in a miserable land like ours.”
A long dissertation571 on the joys and advantages of globe-trotting drew from the former sheik only an exclamation572 of “M’abaraf!” (I don’t understand).
“An American who was in Nazareth long ago,” he went on, by mouth of offspring, “told me a strange story. I did not believe him, for it cannot be true. He said that in America people buy dogs!” and the mere suggestion of so ludicrous a transaction sent the assembled group into paroxysms of laughter.
“They do,” I replied.
166The pompous573 ex-mayor fell into such convulsions of merriment that his rotund face grew the color of burnished574 copper.
“BUY dogs?” roared his sons, in a chorus of several languages. “But what for?”
Never having settled that question entirely to my own satisfaction, I parried it with another: “How do you get a dog if you want one?”
“W—w—w—why,” answered the eldest son, wiping the tears from his eyes, “if anyone wants a dog he tells someone else and they give him one; but who ever WANTS a dog?”
Once the guest of the better-class Arab, the traveler is almost certain to be relayed from one city to another through an endless chain of the friends of his original host. I had announced my intention of leaving Nazareth in the morning. The ex-mayor, after attempting to frighten me out of my project by the usual bear-stories, wrote me four letters of introduction.
“Without these letters,” he explained, “you would not dare stay in Gineen or Nablous, for my friends are the only Christians and those are very bad towns. My friends in Jerusalem and Jaffa—if you ever get there alive—may be able to help you find work.”
点击收听单词发音
1 fully | |
adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
2 repulsed | |
v.击退( repulse的过去式和过去分词 );驳斥;拒绝 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
3 vaulted | |
adj.拱状的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
4 bazaars | |
(东方国家的)市场( bazaar的名词复数 ); 义卖; 义卖市场; (出售花哨商品等的)小商品市场 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
5 bazaar | |
n.集市,商店集中区 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
6 prehistoric | |
adj.(有记载的)历史以前的,史前的,古老的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
7 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
8 prosaic | |
adj.单调的,无趣的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
9 vessel | |
n.船舶;容器,器皿;管,导管,血管 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
10 brass | |
n.黄铜;黄铜器,铜管乐器 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
11 ass | |
n.驴;傻瓜,蠢笨的人 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
12 clogs | |
木屐; 木底鞋,木屐( clog的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
13 primitive | |
adj.原始的;简单的;n.原(始)人,原始事物 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
14 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
15 din | |
n.喧闹声,嘈杂声 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
16 lathe | |
n.车床,陶器,镟床 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
17 squats | |
n.蹲坐,蹲姿( squat的名词复数 );被擅自占用的建筑物v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的第三人称单数 );非法擅自占用(土地或房屋);为获得其所有权;而占用某片公共用地。 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
18 squat | |
v.蹲坐,蹲下;n.蹲下;adj.矮胖的,粗矮的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
19 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
20 chisel | |
n.凿子;v.用凿子刻,雕,凿 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
21 plied | |
v.使用(工具)( ply的过去式和过去分词 );经常供应(食物、饮料);固定往来;经营生意 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
22 ragged | |
adj.衣衫褴褛的,粗糙的,刺耳的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
23 vendor | |
n.卖主;小贩 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
24 deafening | |
adj. 振耳欲聋的, 极喧闹的 动词deafen的现在分词形式 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
25 squeak | |
n.吱吱声,逃脱;v.(发出)吱吱叫,侥幸通过;(俚)告密 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
26 lumber | |
n.木材,木料;v.以破旧东西堆满;伐木;笨重移动 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
27 slippers | |
n. 拖鞋 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
28 overflowing | |
n. 溢出物,溢流 adj. 充沛的,充满的 动词overflow的现在分词形式 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
29 ware | |
n.(常用复数)商品,货物 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
30 semblance | |
n.外貌,外表 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
31 tempting | |
a.诱人的, 吸引人的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
32 gorge | |
n.咽喉,胃,暴食,山峡;v.塞饱,狼吞虎咽地吃 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
33 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
34 urchins | |
n.顽童( urchin的名词复数 );淘气鬼;猬;海胆 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
35 urchin | |
n.顽童;海胆 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
36 asses | |
n. 驴,愚蠢的人,臀部 adv. (常用作后置)用于贬损或骂人 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
37 foul | |
adj.污秽的;邪恶的;v.弄脏;妨害;犯规;n.犯规 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
38 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
39 swerve | |
v.突然转向,背离;n.转向,弯曲,背离 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
40 jolt | |
v.(使)摇动,(使)震动,(使)颠簸 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
41 ribs | |
n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 );(船或屋顶等的)肋拱;肋骨状的东西;(织物的)凸条花纹 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
42 asinine | |
adj.愚蠢的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
43 cargo | |
n.(一只船或一架飞机运载的)货物 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
44 sprawl | |
vi.躺卧,扩张,蔓延;vt.使蔓延;n.躺卧,蔓延 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
45 sprawling | |
adj.蔓生的,不规则地伸展的v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的现在分词 );蔓延;杂乱无序地拓展;四肢伸展坐着(或躺着) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
46 discomfiture | |
n.崩溃;大败;挫败;困惑 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
47 diabolical | |
adj.恶魔似的,凶暴的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
48 throng | |
n.人群,群众;v.拥挤,群集 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
49 skulk | |
v.藏匿;潜行 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
50 devouring | |
吞没( devour的现在分词 ); 耗尽; 津津有味地看; 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
51 puddles | |
n.水坑, (尤指道路上的)雨水坑( puddle的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
52 abound | |
vi.大量存在;(in,with)充满,富于 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
53 pedestrians | |
n.步行者( pedestrian的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
54 pariah | |
n.被社会抛弃者 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
55 yelping | |
v.发出短而尖的叫声( yelp的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
56 yelp | |
vi.狗吠 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
57 snarl | |
v.吼叫,怒骂,纠缠,混乱;n.混乱,缠结,咆哮 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
58 snarling | |
v.(指狗)吠,嗥叫, (人)咆哮( snarl的现在分词 );咆哮着说,厉声地说 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
59 fangs | |
n.(尤指狗和狼的)长而尖的牙( fang的名词复数 );(蛇的)毒牙;罐座 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
60 impedes | |
阻碍,妨碍,阻止( impede的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
61 wades | |
(从水、泥等)蹚,走过,跋( wade的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
62 hubbub | |
n.嘈杂;骚乱 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
63 scramble | |
v.爬行,攀爬,杂乱蔓延,碎片,片段,废料 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
64 incessant | |
adj.不停的,连续的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
65 wilderness | |
n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等,荒漠 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
66 penurious | |
adj.贫困的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
67 rabble | |
n.乌合之众,暴民;下等人 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
68 jingling | |
叮当声 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
69 recesses | |
n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 );(工作或业务活动的)中止或暂停期间;学校的课间休息;某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 );将(墙)做成凹形,在(墙)上做壁龛;休息,休会,休庭 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
70 winding | |
n.绕,缠,绕组,线圈 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
71 windings | |
(道路、河流等)蜿蜒的,弯曲的( winding的名词复数 ); 缠绕( wind的现在分词 ); 卷绕; 转动(把手) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
72 tract | |
n.传单,小册子,大片(土地或森林) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
73 deserted | |
adj.荒芜的,荒废的,无人的,被遗弃的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
74 miraculously | |
ad.奇迹般地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
75 discordant | |
adj.不调和的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
76 mosque | |
n.清真寺 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
77 majesty | |
n.雄伟,壮丽,庄严,威严;最高权威,王权 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
78 miserable | |
adj.悲惨的,痛苦的;可怜的,糟糕的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
79 teeming | |
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 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
80 followers | |
追随者( follower的名词复数 ); 用户; 契据的附面; 从动件 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
81 enrolled | |
adj.入学登记了的v.[亦作enrol]( enroll的过去式和过去分词 );登记,招收,使入伍(或入会、入学等),参加,成为成员;记入名册;卷起,包起 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
82 meager | |
adj.缺乏的,不足的,瘦的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
83 rations | |
定量( ration的名词复数 ); 配给量; 正常量; 合理的量 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
84 garb | |
n.服装,装束 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
85 wail | |
vt./vi.大声哀号,恸哭;呼啸,尖啸 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
86 devout | |
adj.虔诚的,虔敬的,衷心的 (n.devoutness) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
87 devoutly | |
adv.虔诚地,虔敬地,衷心地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
88 reeking | |
v.发出浓烈的臭气( reek的现在分词 );散发臭气;发出难闻的气味 (of sth);明显带有(令人不快或生疑的跡象) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
89 dread | |
vt.担忧,忧虑;惧怕,不敢;n.担忧,畏惧 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
90 deters | |
v.阻止,制止( deter的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
91 tattoo | |
n.纹身,(皮肤上的)刺花纹;vt.刺花纹于 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
92 knuckles | |
n.(指人)指关节( knuckle的名词复数 );(指动物)膝关节,踝v.(指人)指关节( knuckle的第三人称单数 );(指动物)膝关节,踝 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
93 grotesque | |
adj.怪诞的,丑陋的;n.怪诞的图案,怪人(物) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
94 salvation | |
n.(尤指基督)救世,超度,拯救,解困 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
95 snarls | |
n.(动物的)龇牙低吼( snarl的名词复数 );愤怒叫嚷(声);咆哮(声);疼痛叫声v.(指狗)吠,嗥叫, (人)咆哮( snarl的第三人称单数 );咆哮着说,厉声地说 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
96 distressed | |
痛苦的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
97 apparatus | |
n.装置,器械;器具,设备 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
98 aggravated | |
使恶化( aggravate的过去式和过去分词 ); 使更严重; 激怒; 使恼火 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
99 swelled | |
增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 ); 肿胀; (使)凸出; 充满(激情) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
100 unprecedented | |
adj.无前例的,新奇的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
101 faltered | |
(嗓音)颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 ); 支吾其词; 蹒跚; 摇晃 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
102 pucker | |
v.撅起,使起皱;n.(衣服上的)皱纹,褶子 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
103 agonizing | |
adj.痛苦难忍的;使人苦恼的v.使极度痛苦;折磨(agonize的ing形式) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
104 hoarse | |
adj.嘶哑的,沙哑的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
105 murmur | |
n.低语,低声的怨言;v.低语,低声而言 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
106 nefarious | |
adj.恶毒的,极坏的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
107 pointed | |
adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
108 thumped | |
v.重击, (指心脏)急速跳动( thump的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
109 frenzied | |
a.激怒的;疯狂的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
110 bent | |
n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
111 wreaking | |
诉诸(武力),施行(暴力),发(脾气)( wreak的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
112 vengeance | |
n.报复,报仇,复仇 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
113 defiler | |
n.弄脏者,亵渎者 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
114 superstitions | |
迷信,迷信行为( superstition的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
115 entangled | |
adj.卷入的;陷入的;被缠住的;缠在一起的v.使某人(某物/自己)缠绕,纠缠于(某物中),使某人(自己)陷入(困难或复杂的环境中)( entangle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
116 darted | |
v.投掷,投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 );向前冲,飞奔 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
117 bellowed | |
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 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
118 metropolis | |
n.首府;大城市 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
119 shutters | |
百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 ); (照相机的)快门 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
120 maudlin | |
adj.感情脆弱的,爱哭的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
121 dismal | |
adj.阴沉的,凄凉的,令人忧郁的,差劲的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
122 dismally | |
adv.阴暗地,沉闷地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
123 labyrinth | |
n.迷宫;难解的事物;迷路 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
124 animate | |
v.赋于生命,鼓励;adj.有生命的,有生气的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
125 feigned | |
a.假装的,不真诚的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
126 proprietor | |
n.所有人;业主;经营者 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
127 sniffing | |
n.探查法v.以鼻吸气,嗅,闻( sniff的现在分词 );抽鼻子(尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气);抱怨,不以为然地说 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
128 thereby | |
adv.因此,从而 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
129 abhorrence | |
n.憎恶;可憎恶的事 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
130 nibble | |
n.轻咬,啃;v.一点点地咬,慢慢啃,吹毛求疵 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
131 jaws | |
n.口部;嘴 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
132 countless | |
adj.无数的,多得不计其数的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
133 cater | |
vi.(for/to)满足,迎合;(for)提供饮食及服务 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
134 nibbling | |
v.啃,一点一点地咬(吃)( nibble的现在分词 );啃出(洞),一点一点咬出(洞);慢慢减少;小口咬 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
135 copper | |
n.铜;铜币;铜器;adj.铜(制)的;(紫)铜色的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
136 pastry | |
n.油酥面团,酥皮糕点 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
137 syrups | |
n.糖浆,糖汁( syrup的名词复数 );糖浆类药品 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
138 indigenous | |
adj.土产的,土生土长的,本地的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
139 savory | |
adj.风味极佳的,可口的,味香的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
140 raisins | |
n.葡萄干( raisin的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
141 seaports | |
n.海港( seaport的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
142 asininity | |
n.愚钝 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
143 westward | |
n.西方,西部;adj.西方的,向西的;adv.向西 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
144 sketches | |
n.草图( sketch的名词复数 );素描;速写;梗概 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
145 gazetteer | |
n.地名索引 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
146 vaguely | |
adv.含糊地,暖昧地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
147 versed | |
adj. 精通,熟练 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
148 skeptical | |
adj.怀疑的,多疑的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
149 deluge | |
n./vt.洪水,暴雨,使泛滥 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
150 marsh | |
n.沼泽,湿地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
151 brooks | |
n.小溪( brook的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
152 brook | |
n.小河,溪;v.忍受,容让 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
153 torrent | |
n.激流,洪流;爆发,(话语等的)连发 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
154 torrents | |
n.倾注;奔流( torrent的名词复数 );急流;爆发;连续不断 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
155 gathering | |
n.集会,聚会,聚集 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
156 dwellers | |
n.居民,居住者( dweller的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
157 minor | |
adj.较小(少)的,较次要的;n.辅修学科;vi.辅修 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
158 incorrigible | |
adj.难以纠正的,屡教不改的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
159 consul | |
n.领事;执政官 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
160 consulate | |
n.领事馆 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
161 battered | |
adj.磨损的;v.连续猛击;磨损 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
162 picturesqueness | |
参考例句: |
|
|
163 peddle | |
vt.(沿街)叫卖,兜售;宣传,散播 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
164 license | |
n.执照,许可证,特许;v.许可,特许 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
165 suave | |
adj.温和的;柔和的;文雅的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
166 lavish | |
adj.无节制的;浪费的;vt.慷慨地给予,挥霍 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
167 delved | |
v.深入探究,钻研( delve的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
168 huddle | |
vi.挤作一团;蜷缩;vt.聚集;n.挤在一起的人 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
169 huddled | |
挤在一起(huddle的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
170 jotted | |
v.匆忙记下( jot的过去式和过去分词 );草草记下,匆匆记下 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
171 explicit | |
adj.详述的,明确的;坦率的;显然的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
172 monotonous | |
adj.单调的,一成不变的,使人厌倦的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
173 growled | |
v.(动物)发狺狺声, (雷)作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 );低声咆哮着说 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
174 snarled | |
v.(指狗)吠,嗥叫, (人)咆哮( snarl的过去式和过去分词 );咆哮着说,厉声地说 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
175 putrid | |
adj.腐臭的;有毒的;已腐烂的;卑劣的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
176 brink | |
n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘,边沿 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
177 solitary | |
adj.孤独的,独立的,荒凉的;n.隐士 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
178 plodded | |
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) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
179 plod | |
v.沉重缓慢地走,孜孜地工作 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
180 inquiries | |
n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 );疑问;探究;打听 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
181 caravan | |
n.大蓬车;活动房屋 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
182 reigned | |
vi.当政,统治(reign的过去式形式) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
183 lurked | |
vi.潜伏,埋伏(lurk的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
184 penetrated | |
adj. 击穿的,鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
185 drizzle | |
v.下毛毛雨;n.毛毛雨,蒙蒙细雨 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
186 boulder | |
n.巨砾;卵石,圆石 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
187 shreds | |
v.撕碎,切碎( shred的第三人称单数 );用撕毁机撕毁(文件) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
188 protruded | |
v.(使某物)伸出,(使某物)突出( protrude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
189 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
190 bleak | |
adj.(天气)阴冷的;凄凉的;暗淡的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
191 trot | |
n.疾走,慢跑;n.老太婆;现成译本;(复数)trots:腹泻(与the 连用);v.小跑,快步走,赶紧 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
192 trotted | |
小跑,急走( trot的过去分词 ); 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
193 anticipation | |
n.预期,预料,期望 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
194 memorable | |
adj.值得回忆的,难忘的,特别的,显著的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
195 stuffy | |
adj.不透气的,闷热的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
196 grove | |
n.林子,小树林,园林 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
197 squatted | |
v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的过去式和过去分词 );非法擅自占用(土地或房屋);为获得其所有权;而占用某片公共用地。 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
198 diverging | |
分开( diverge的现在分词 ); 偏离; 分歧; 分道扬镳 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
199 footpaths | |
人行小径,人行道( footpath的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
200 dunes | |
沙丘( dune的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
201 pawn | |
n.典当,抵押,小人物,走卒;v.典当,抵押 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
202 willow | |
n.柳树 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
203 plunged | |
v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 );暴跌;骤降;突降 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
204 curb | |
n.场外证券市场,场外交易;vt.制止,抑制 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
205 doorway | |
n.门口,(喻)入门;门路,途径 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
206 credible | |
adj.可信任的,可靠的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
207 dwelling | |
n.住宅,住所,寓所 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
208 poked | |
v.伸出( poke的过去式和过去分词 );戳出;拨弄;与(某人)性交 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
209 bawled | |
v.大叫,大喊( bawl的过去式和过去分词 );放声大哭;大声叫出;叫卖(货物) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
210 boisterous | |
adj.喧闹的,欢闹的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
211 greasy | |
adj. 多脂的,油脂的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
212 smirk | |
n.得意地笑;v.傻笑;假笑着说 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
213 oration | |
n.演说,致辞,叙述法 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
214 astonishment | |
n.惊奇,惊异 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
215 untold | |
adj.数不清的,无数的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
216 lodging | |
n.寄宿,住所;(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
217 vociferous | |
adj.喧哗的,大叫大嚷的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
218 cape | |
n.海角,岬;披肩,短披风 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
219 chattering | |
n. (机器振动发出的)咔嗒声,(鸟等)鸣,啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的,啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
220 cane | |
n.手杖,细长的茎,藤条;v.以杖击,以藤编制的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
221 beet | |
n.甜菜;甜菜根 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
222 misgiving | |
n.疑虑,担忧,害怕 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
223 prostrate | |
v.拜倒,平卧,衰竭;adj.拜倒的,平卧的,衰竭的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
224 attentively | |
adv.聚精会神地;周到地;谛;凝神 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
225 woe | |
n.悲哀,苦痛,不幸,困难;int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
226 wailing | |
v.哭叫,哀号( wail的现在分词 );沱 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
227 dirge | |
n.哀乐,挽歌,庄重悲哀的乐曲 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
228 contention | |
n.争论,争辩,论战;论点,主张 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
229 subsided | |
v.(土地)下陷(因在地下采矿)( subside的过去式和过去分词 );减弱;下降至较低或正常水平;一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
230 verge | |
n.边,边缘;v.接近,濒临 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
231 coppers | |
铜( copper的名词复数 ); 铜币 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
232 lodger | |
n.寄宿人,房客 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
233 swerving | |
v.(使)改变方向,改变目的( swerve的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
234 solitude | |
n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
235 moors | |
v.停泊,系泊(船只)( moor的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
236 toiling | |
长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的现在分词 ); 艰难缓慢地移动,跋涉 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
237 stump | |
n.残株,烟蒂,讲演台;v.砍断,蹒跚而走 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
238 rusty | |
adj.生锈的;锈色的;荒废了的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
239 plow | |
n.犁,耕地,犁过的地;v.犁,费力地前进[英]plough | |
参考例句: |
|
|
240 implement | |
n.(pl.)工具,器具;vt.实行,实施,执行 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
241 mire | |
n.泥沼,泥泞;v.使...陷于泥泞,使...陷入困境 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
242 merged | |
(使)混合( merge的过去式和过去分词 ); 相融; 融入; 渐渐消失在某物中 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
243 dreary | |
adj.令人沮丧的,沉闷的,单调乏味的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
244 Mediterranean | |
adj.地中海的;地中海沿岸的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
245 laden | |
adj.装满了的;充满了的;负了重担的;苦恼的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
246 outskirts | |
n.郊外,郊区 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
247 ridge | |
n.山脊;鼻梁;分水岭 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
248 lore | |
n.传说;学问,经验,知识 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
249 streak | |
n.条理,斑纹,倾向,少许,痕迹;v.加条纹,变成条纹,奔驰,快速移动 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
250 graveyard | |
n.坟场 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
251 shrieking | |
v.尖叫( shriek的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
252 illustrated | |
adj. 有插图的,列举的 动词illustrate的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
253 anthropology | |
n.人类学 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
254 discoursing | |
演说(discourse的现在分词形式) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
255 glibly | |
adv.流利地,流畅地;满口 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
256 cadaver | |
n.尸体 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
257 attire | |
v.穿衣,装扮[同]array;n.衣着;盛装 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
258 hideous | |
adj.丑陋的,可憎的,可怕的,恐怖的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
259 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
260 halfway | |
adj.中途的,不彻底的,部分的;adv.半路地,在中途,在半途 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
261 wreck | |
n.失事,遇难;沉船;vt.(船等)失事,遇难 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
262 jumble | |
vt.使混乱,混杂;n.混乱;杂乱的一堆 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
263 purgatory | |
n.炼狱;苦难;adj.净化的,清洗的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
264 puffed | |
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 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
265 puff | |
n.一口(气);一阵(风);v.喷气,喘气 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
266 aged | |
adj.年老的,陈年的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
267 enquired | |
打听( enquire的过去式和过去分词 ); 询问; 问问题; 查问 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
268 abutting | |
adj.邻接的v.(与…)邻接( abut的现在分词 );(与…)毗连;接触;倚靠 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
269 butt | |
n.笑柄;烟蒂;枪托;臀部;v.用头撞或顶 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
270 trampled | |
踩( trample的过去式和过去分词 ); 践踏; 无视; 侵犯 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
271 gall | |
v.使烦恼,使焦躁,难堪;n.磨难 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
272 pandemonium | |
n.喧嚣,大混乱 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
273 braying | |
v.发出驴叫似的声音( bray的现在分词 );发嘟嘟声;粗声粗气地讲话(或大笑);猛击 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
274 chaos | |
n.混乱,无秩序 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
275 phlegmatic | |
adj.冷静的,冷淡的,冷漠的,无活力的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
276 shrilly | |
尖声的; 光亮的,耀眼的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
277 famished | |
adj.饥饿的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
278 munching | |
v.用力咀嚼(某物),大嚼( munch的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
279 salaaming | |
行额手礼( salaam的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
280 reverences | |
n.尊敬,崇敬( reverence的名词复数 );敬礼 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
281 reverence | |
n.敬畏,尊敬,尊严;Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称;v.尊敬,敬畏,崇敬 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
282 mingling | |
adj.混合的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
283 tinkling | |
n.丁当作响声 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
284 denizen | |
n.居民,外籍居民 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
285 denizens | |
n.居民,住户( denizen的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
286 wrestled | |
v.(与某人)搏斗( wrestle的过去式和过去分词 );扭成一团;扭打;(与…)摔跤 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
287 cargoes | |
n.(船或飞机装载的)货物( cargo的名词复数 );大量,重负 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
288 intervals | |
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 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
289 caravans | |
(可供居住的)拖车(通常由机动车拖行)( caravan的名词复数 ); 篷车; (穿过沙漠地带的)旅行队(如商队) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
290 descended | |
a.为...后裔的,出身于...的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
291 preposterous | |
adj.荒谬的,可笑的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
292 imbues | |
v.使(某人/某事)充满或激起(感情等)( imbue的第三人称单数 );使充满;灌输;激发(强烈感情或品质等) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
293 haggling | |
v.讨价还价( haggle的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
294 sluggish | |
adj.懒惰的,迟钝的,无精打采的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
295 astuteness | |
n.敏锐;精明;机敏 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
296 inundated | |
v.淹没( inundate的过去式和过去分词 );(洪水般地)涌来;充满;给予或交予(太多事物)使难以应付 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
297 morass | |
n.沼泽,困境 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
298 prospect | |
n.前景,前途;景色,视野 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
299 marshes | |
n.沼泽,湿地( marsh的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
300 gull | |
n.鸥;受骗的人;v.欺诈 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
301 isolated | |
adj.与世隔绝的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
302 cultivation | |
n.耕作,培养,栽培(法),养成 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
303 hardy | |
adj.勇敢的,果断的,吃苦的;耐寒的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
304 eastward | |
adv.向东;adj.向东的;n.东方,东部 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
305 northward | |
adv.向北;n.北方的地区 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
306 plaintively | |
adv.悲哀地,哀怨地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
307 waning | |
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 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
308 crumbling | |
adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
309 debris | |
n.瓦砾堆,废墟,碎片 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
310 gnawing | |
a.痛苦的,折磨人的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
311 minaret | |
n.(回教寺院的)尖塔 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
312 stinking | |
adj.臭的,烂醉的,讨厌的v.散发出恶臭( stink的现在分词 );发臭味;名声臭;糟透 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
313 slough | |
v.蜕皮,脱落,抛弃 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
314 illuminated | |
adj.被照明的;受启迪的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
315 boulders | |
n.卵石( boulder的名词复数 );巨砾;(受水或天气侵蚀而成的)巨石;漂砾 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
316 fugitive | |
adj.逃亡的,易逝的;n.逃犯,逃亡者 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
317 gateway | |
n.大门口,出入口,途径,方法 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
318 flickering | |
adj.闪烁的,摇曳的,一闪一闪的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
319 weird | |
adj.古怪的,离奇的;怪诞的,神秘而可怕的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
320 maze | |
n.迷宫,八阵图,混乱,迷惑 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
321 dozing | |
v.打瞌睡,假寐 n.瞌睡 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
322 tack | |
n.大头钉;假缝,粗缝 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
323 prodded | |
v.刺,戳( prod的过去式和过去分词 );刺激;促使;(用手指或尖物)戳 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
324 catching | |
adj.易传染的,有魅力的,迷人的,接住 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
325 derisive | |
adj.嘲弄的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
326 derisively | |
adv. 嘲笑地,嘲弄地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
327 sewer | |
n.排水沟,下水道 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
328 muffled | |
adj.(声音)被隔的;听不太清的;(衣服)裹严的;蒙住的v.压抑,捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 );用厚厚的衣帽包着(自己) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
329 reverberant | |
a.起回声的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
330 nave | |
n.教堂的中部;本堂 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
331 harp | |
n.竖琴;天琴座 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
332 devious | |
adj.不坦率的,狡猾的;迂回的,曲折的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
333 convivial | |
adj.狂欢的,欢乐的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
334 credence | |
n.信用,祭器台,供桌,凭证 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
335 distressingly | |
adv. 令人苦恼地;悲惨地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
336 eloquence | |
n.雄辩;口才,修辞 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
337 panegyric | |
n.颂词,颂扬 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
338 zeal | |
n.热心,热情,热忱 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
339 undoing | |
n.毁灭的原因,祸根;破坏,毁灭 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
340 orator | |
n.演说者,演讲者,雄辩家 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
341 premise | |
n.前提;v.提论,预述 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
342 adjournment | |
休会; 延期; 休会期; 休庭期 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
343 maiden | |
n.少女,处女;adj.未婚的,纯洁的,无经验的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
344 labor | |
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 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
345 saga | |
n.(尤指中世纪北欧海盗的)故事,英雄传奇 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
346 gasped | |
v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 );喘息;倒抽气;很想要 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
347 worthies | |
应得某事物( worthy的名词复数 ); 值得做某事; 可尊敬的; 有(某人或事物)的典型特征 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
348 chestnut | |
n.栗树,栗子 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
349 attired | |
adj.穿着整齐的v.使穿上衣服,使穿上盛装( attire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
350 supremely | |
adv.无上地,崇高地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
351 discourse | |
n.论文,演说;谈话;话语;vi.讲述,著述 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
352 visualization | |
n.想像,设想 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
353 seaman | |
n.海员,水手,水兵 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
354 shrug | |
v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
355 complacently | |
adv. 满足地, 自满地, 沾沾自喜地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
356 realization | |
n.实现;认识到,深刻了解 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
357 conviviality | |
n.欢宴,高兴,欢乐 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
358 nay | |
adv.不;n.反对票,投反对票者 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
359 query | |
n.疑问,问号,质问;vt.询问,表示怀疑 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
360 spoke | |
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 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
361 abjured | |
v.发誓放弃( abjure的过去式和过去分词 );郑重放弃(意见);宣布撤回(声明等);避免 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
362 deliberately | |
adv.审慎地;蓄意地;故意地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
363 hitched | |
(免费)搭乘他人之车( hitch的过去式和过去分词 ); 搭便车; 攀上; 跃上 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
364 teemed | |
v.充满( teem的过去式和过去分词 );到处都是;(指水、雨等)暴降;倾注 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
365 metropolitan | |
adj.大城市的,大都会的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
366 humble | |
adj.谦卑的,恭顺的;地位低下的;v.降低,贬低 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
367 destitute | |
adj.缺乏的;穷困的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
368 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
369 dwellings | |
n.住处,处所( dwelling的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
370 rambling | |
adj.[建]凌乱的,杂乱的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
371 Christian | |
adj.基督教徒的;n.基督教徒 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
372 swooped | |
俯冲,猛冲( swoop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
373 knoll | |
n.小山,小丘 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
374 defense | |
n.防御,保卫;[pl.]防务工事;辩护,答辩 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
375 romping | |
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 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
376 chasms | |
裂缝( chasm的名词复数 ); 裂口; 分歧; 差别 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
377 monks | |
n.修道士,僧侣( monk的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
378 decrepit | |
adj.衰老的,破旧的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
379 smacks | |
掌掴(声)( smack的名词复数 ); 海洛因; (打的)一拳; 打巴掌 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
380 mariners | |
海员,水手(mariner的复数形式) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
381 caroused | |
v.痛饮,闹饮欢宴( carouse的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
382 parasites | |
寄生物( parasite的名词复数 ); 靠他人为生的人; 诸虫 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
383 edifices | |
n.大建筑物( edifice的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
384 mightier | |
adj. 强有力的,强大的,巨大的 adv. 很,极其 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
385 prying | |
adj.爱打听的v.打听,刺探(他人的私事)( pry的现在分词 );撬开 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
386 Christians | |
n.基督教徒( Christian的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
387 scowls | |
不悦之色,怒容( scowl的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
388 rascals | |
流氓( rascal的名词复数 ); 无赖; (开玩笑说法)淘气的人(尤指小孩); 恶作剧的人 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
389 rascal | |
n.流氓;不诚实的人 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
390 imbued | |
v.使(某人/某事)充满或激起(感情等)( imbue的过去式和过去分词 );使充满;灌输;激发(强烈感情或品质等) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
391 instilled | |
v.逐渐使某人获得(某种可取的品质),逐步灌输( instill的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
392 variance | |
n.矛盾,不同 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
393 bribery | |
n.贿络行为,行贿,受贿 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
394 levity | |
n.轻率,轻浮,不稳定,多变 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
395 amassing | |
v.积累,积聚( amass的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
396 linguistic | |
adj.语言的,语言学的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
397 filth | |
n.肮脏,污物,污秽;淫猥 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
398 reposeful | |
adj.平稳的,沉着的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
399 relic | |
n.神圣的遗物,遗迹,纪念物 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
400 divan | |
n.长沙发;(波斯或其他东方诗人的)诗集 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
401 admiration | |
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
402 willows | |
n.柳树( willow的名词复数 );柳木 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
403 premature | |
adj.比预期时间早的;不成熟的,仓促的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
404 frantic | |
adj.狂乱的,错乱的,激昂的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
405 witty | |
adj.机智的,风趣的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
406 opposition | |
n.反对,敌对 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
407 postulate | |
n.假定,基本条件;vt.要求,假定 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
408 confirmation | |
n.证实,确认,批准 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
409 entreating | |
恳求,乞求( entreat的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
410 kennels | |
n.主人外出时的小动物寄养处,养狗场;狗窝( kennel的名词复数 );养狗场 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
411 bard | |
n.吟游诗人 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
412 alas | |
int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
413 slumbered | |
微睡,睡眠(slumber的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
414 bruises | |
n.瘀伤,伤痕,擦伤( bruise的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
415 desolate | |
adj.荒凉的,荒芜的;孤独的,凄凉的;v.使荒芜,使孤寂 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
416 fortress | |
n.堡垒,防御工事 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
417 miseries | |
n.痛苦( misery的名词复数 );痛苦的事;穷困;常发牢骚的人 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
418 limestone | |
n.石灰石 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
419 scanty | |
adj.缺乏的,仅有的,节省的,狭小的,不够的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
420 communal | |
adj.公有的,公共的,公社的,公社制的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
421 reeked | |
v.发出浓烈的臭气( reek的过去式和过去分词 );散发臭气;发出难闻的气味 (of sth);明显带有(令人不快或生疑的跡象) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
422 canvass | |
v.招徕顾客,兜售;游说;详细检查,讨论 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
423 doorways | |
n.门口,门道( doorway的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
424 asphyxiated | |
v.渴望的,有抱负的,追求名誉或地位的( aspirant的过去式和过去分词 );有志向或渴望获得…的人 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
425 stolid | |
adj.无动于衷的,感情麻木的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
426 crouching | |
v.屈膝,蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
427 posture | |
n.姿势,姿态,心态,态度;v.作出某种姿势 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
428 articulation | |
n.(清楚的)发音;清晰度,咬合 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
429 longing | |
n.(for)渴望 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
430 pulsating | |
adj.搏动的,脉冲的v.有节奏地舒张及收缩( pulsate的现在分词 );跳动;脉动;受(激情)震动 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
431 alleys | |
胡同,小巷( alley的名词复数 ); 小径 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
432 rugged | |
adj.高低不平的,粗糙的,粗壮的,强健的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
433 virgin | |
n.处女,未婚女子;adj.未经使用的;未经开发的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
434 regularity | |
n.规律性,规则性;匀称,整齐 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
435 twilight | |
n.暮光,黄昏;暮年,晚期,衰落时期 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
436 ascent | |
n.(声望或地位)提高;上升,升高;登高 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
437 ridges | |
n.脊( ridge的名词复数 );山脊;脊状突起;大气层的)高压脊 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
438 sobbing | |
<主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
439 nomads | |
n.游牧部落的一员( nomad的名词复数 );流浪者;游牧生活;流浪生活 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
440 rhythmically | |
adv.有节奏地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
441 dispelled | |
v.驱散,赶跑( dispel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
442 overcast | |
adj.阴天的,阴暗的,愁闷的;v.遮盖,(使)变暗,包边缝;n.覆盖,阴天 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
443 glimmer | |
v.发出闪烁的微光;n.微光,微弱的闪光 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
444 orientate | |
v.给…定位;使适应 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
445 descending | |
n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
446 plowed | |
v.耕( plow的过去式和过去分词 );犁耕;费力穿过 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
447 receded | |
v.逐渐远离( recede的过去式和过去分词 );向后倾斜;自原处后退或避开别人的注视;尤指问题 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
448 surmounted | |
战胜( surmount的过去式和过去分词 ); 克服(困难); 居于…之上; 在…顶上 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
449 crevice | |
n.(岩石、墙等)裂缝;缺口 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
450 abated | |
减少( abate的过去式和过去分词 ); 减去; 降价; 撤消(诉讼) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
451 rivulet | |
n.小溪,小河 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
452 rivulets | |
n.小河,小溪( rivulet的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
453 incessantly | |
ad.不停地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
454 croaked | |
v.呱呱地叫( croak的过去式和过去分词 );用粗的声音说 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
455 dint | |
n.由于,靠;凹坑 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
456 massaging | |
按摩,推拿( massage的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
457 savagely | |
adv. 野蛮地,残酷地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
458 regained | |
复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 ); 赢回; 重回; 复至某地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
459 scattered | |
adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
460 belongings | |
n.私人物品,私人财物 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
461 dormant | |
adj.暂停活动的;休眠的;潜伏的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
462 isle | |
n.小岛,岛 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
463 acrid | |
adj.辛辣的,尖刻的,刻薄的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
464 forerunner | |
n.前身,先驱(者),预兆,祖先 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
465 trove | |
n.被发现的东西,收藏的东西 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
466 hideously | |
adv.可怕地,非常讨厌地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
467 tattooed | |
v.刺青,文身( tattoo的过去式和过去分词 );连续有节奏地敲击;作连续有节奏的敲击 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
468 proffered | |
v.提供,贡献,提出( proffer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
469 palatable | |
adj.可口的,美味的;惬意的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
470 morsel | |
n.一口,一点点 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
471 trudged | |
vt.& vi.跋涉,吃力地走(trudge的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
472 fortified | |
adj. 加强的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
473 flaunt | |
vt.夸耀,夸饰 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
474 dedicated | |
adj.一心一意的;献身的;热诚的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
475 promising | |
adj.有希望的,有前途的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
476 undone | |
a.未做完的,未完成的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
477 dodged | |
v.闪躲( dodge的过去式和过去分词 );回避 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
478 wrought | |
v.引起;以…原料制作;运转;adj.制造的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
479 sinewy | |
adj.多腱的,强壮有力的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
480 postpone | |
v.延期,推迟 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
481 arena | |
n.竞技场,运动场所;竞争场所,舞台 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
482 babbling | |
n.胡说,婴儿发出的咿哑声adj.胡说的v.喋喋不休( babble的现在分词 );作潺潺声(如流水);含糊不清地说话;泄漏秘密 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
483 deform | |
vt.损坏…的形状;使变形,使变丑;vi.变形 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
484 conspicuous | |
adj.明眼的,惹人注目的;炫耀的,摆阔气的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
485 squatting | |
v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的现在分词 );非法擅自占用(土地或房屋);为获得其所有权;而占用某片公共用地。 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
486 mien | |
n.风采;态度 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
487 ferocious | |
adj.凶猛的,残暴的,极度的,十分强烈的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
488 derived | |
vi.起源;由来;衍生;导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 );(从…中)得到获得;源于;(从…中)提取 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
489 rumored | |
adj.传说的,谣传的v.传闻( rumor的过去式和过去分词 );[古]名誉;咕哝;[古]喧嚷 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
490 exhausted | |
adj.极其疲惫的,精疲力尽的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
491 vernacular | |
adj.地方的,用地方语写成的;n.白话;行话;本国语;动植物的俗名 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
492 festive | |
adj.欢宴的,节日的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
493 innocence | |
n.无罪;天真;无害 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
494 accusation | |
n.控告,指责,谴责 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
495 missionary | |
adj.教会的,传教(士)的;n.传教士 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
496 impartially | |
adv.公平地,无私地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
498 cosmopolitan | |
adj.世界性的,全世界的,四海为家的,全球的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
499 assorted | |
adj.各种各样的,各色俱备的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
500 authentic | |
a.真的,真正的;可靠的,可信的,有根据的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
501 oblivious | |
adj.易忘的,遗忘的,忘却的,健忘的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
502 incongruity | |
n.不协调,不一致 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
503 tunes | |
n.曲调,曲子( tune的名词复数 )v.调音( tune的第三人称单数 );调整;(给收音机、电视等)调谐;使协调 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
504 hymns | |
n.赞美诗,圣歌,颂歌( hymn的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
505 antithesis | |
n.对立;相对 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
506 benediction | |
n.祝福;恩赐 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
507 divulge | |
v.泄漏(秘密等);宣布,公布 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
508 conversational | |
adj.对话的,会话的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
509 monastery | |
n.修道院,僧院,寺院 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
510 anecdotes | |
n.掌故,趣闻,轶事( anecdote的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
511 stammered | |
v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
512 smuggling | |
n.走私 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
513 winked | |
v.使眼色( wink的过去式和过去分词 );递眼色(表示友好或高兴等);(指光)闪烁;闪亮 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
514 smuggle | |
vt.私运;vi.走私 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
515 lather | |
n.(肥皂水的)泡沫,激动 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
516 shrieked | |
v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
517 dodging | |
n.避开,闪过,音调改变v.闪躲( dodge的现在分词 );回避 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
518 hesitation | |
n.犹豫,踌躇 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
519 perpendicular | |
adj.垂直的,直立的;n.垂直线,垂直的位置 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
520 mighty | |
adj.强有力的;巨大的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
521 prone | |
adj.(to)易于…的,很可能…的;俯卧的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
522 enumeration | |
n.计数,列举;细目;详表;点查 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
523 savored | |
v.意味,带有…的性质( savor的过去式和过去分词 );给…加调味品;使有风味;品尝 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
524 outlaws | |
歹徒,亡命之徒( outlaw的名词复数 ); 逃犯 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
525 industrious | |
adj.勤劳的,刻苦的,奋发的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
526 kindly | |
adj.和蔼的,温和的,爽快的;adv.温和地,亲切地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
527 bigoted | |
adj.固执己见的,心胸狭窄的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
528 clannish | |
adj.排他的,门户之见的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
529 hatred | |
n.憎恶,憎恨,仇恨 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
530 sneering | |
嘲笑的,轻蔑的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
531 groves | |
树丛,小树林( grove的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
532 adorned | |
[计]被修饰的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
533 glimmered | |
v.发闪光,发微光( glimmer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
534 precipice | |
n.悬崖,危急的处境 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
535 steering | |
n.操舵装置 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
536 preponderates | |
v.超过,胜过( preponderate的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
537 withered | |
adj. 枯萎的,干瘪的,(人身体的部分器官)因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
538 abdomens | |
n.腹(部)( abdomen的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
539 brats | |
n.调皮捣蛋的孩子( brat的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
540 scurvy | |
adj.下流的,卑鄙的,无礼的;n.坏血病 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
541 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
542 fleas | |
n.跳蚤( flea的名词复数 );爱财如命;没好气地(拒绝某人的要求) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
543 toils | |
网 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
544 disciple | |
n.信徒,门徒,追随者 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
545 succumbing | |
不再抵抗(诱惑、疾病、攻击等)( succumb的现在分词 ); 屈从; 被压垮; 死 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
546 disintegration | |
n.分散,解体 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
547 ascetic | |
adj.禁欲的;严肃的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
548 penance | |
n.(赎罪的)惩罪 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
549 unlimited | |
adj.无限的,不受控制的,无条件的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
550 skidded | |
v.(通常指车辆) 侧滑( skid的过去式和过去分词 );打滑;滑行;(住在)贫民区 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
551 sprawled | |
v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的过去式和过去分词);蔓延;杂乱无序地拓展;四肢伸展坐着(或躺着) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
552 shrieks | |
n.尖叫声( shriek的名词复数 )v.尖叫( shriek的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
553 leisurely | |
adj.悠闲的;从容的,慢慢的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
554 lesser | |
adj.次要的,较小的;adv.较小地,较少地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
555 bristling | |
a.竖立的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
556 ripen | |
vt.使成熟;vi.成熟 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
557 hovered | |
鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 ); 靠近(某事物); (人)徘徊; 犹豫 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
558 erect | |
n./v.树立,建立,使竖立;adj.直立的,垂直的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
559 mumbled | |
含糊地说某事,叽咕,咕哝( mumble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
560 enunciated | |
v.(清晰地)发音( enunciate的过去式和过去分词 );确切地说明 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
561 retired | |
adj.隐退的,退休的,退役的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
562 layman | |
n.俗人,门外汉,凡人 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
563 smirks | |
n.傻笑,得意的笑( smirk的名词复数 )v.傻笑( smirk的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
564 gatherings | |
聚集( gathering的名词复数 ); 收集; 采集; 搜集 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
565 animated | |
adj.生气勃勃的,活跃的,愉快的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
566 vociferously | |
adv.喊叫地,吵闹地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
567 professed | |
公开声称的,伪称的,已立誓信教的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
568 glided | |
v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 );掠过;(鸟或飞机 ) 滑翔 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
569 deafened | |
使聋( deafen的过去式和过去分词 ); 使隔音 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
570 eldest | |
adj.最年长的,最年老的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
571 dissertation | |
n.(博士学位)论文,学术演讲,专题论文 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
572 exclamation | |
n.感叹号,惊呼,惊叹词 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
573 pompous | |
adj.傲慢的,自大的;夸大的;豪华的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
574 burnished | |
adj.抛光的,光亮的v.擦亮(金属等),磨光( burnish的过去式和过去分词 );被擦亮,磨光 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
欢迎访问英文小说网 |