The New Yorker ate heartily14 that evening. His plate was still heaped high with currie and rice when Marten and I retired15 to a bench in the garden of the Home. Plan had I none, as yet, for continuing my journey, for Calcutta was worth a week of sight-seeing. But plans are quickly made in the vagabond world.
“Look here, mate,” said Marten, in a stage whisper, “we’ve got to ditch that fellow. The cops’ll be running us in along with him some day.”
I nodded. A seaman16 came to stretch himself out in the grass near at hand, and we fell silent. Darkness was striding upon us when a 328servant of the Home advanced to close the gate leading into the street. Suddenly Marten raised a hand and shouted to the gateman.
“Let’s dig out,” he muttered.
“Where?” I queried18.
“Up country.”
“Sure,” I answered, springing to my feet.
We slipped out through the gate, stalked across the Maidan among the statues of sahibs who have made history in India, past old Fort William, and down to the banks of the Hoogly. The tropical night had fallen, and above the city behind blazed the brilliant southern cross. For an hour we tramped along the docks, jostled now and then by black stevedores19 and native seamen20. The cobble stones under our feet gave way to a soft country road. A railway crossed our path and we stumbled along it in the darkness. Out of the night rose a large, two-story bungalow21.
“Guards’ shack,” said Marten.
A “goods train” was making up in the yards. A European in the uniform of a brakeman ran down the steps of the bungalow, a lantern in his hand. Behind him came a coolie, carrying his lunch-basket.
“Goin’ out soon, mate?” bawled22 Marten.
“All made up,” answered the Englishman, peering at us a moment with the lantern high above his head, and hurrying on.
“Think we’ll go along,” shouted Marten.
The guard was already swallowed up in the darkness, but his voice came back to us out of the night:—
“All right! Lay low!”
A moment later the tiny British engine shrieked24, a man in the neighboring tower opened the block, and the diminutive25 freight screamed by us. We grasped the rods of a high, open car and swung ourselves up. On the floor, folded to the size of a large mattress26, lay a tarpaulin27 car-cover. A cooling breeze, sweeping28 over the moving train, lulled29 us to sleep. Once we were awakened30 by the roar of a passing express, and peered over the edge of the car to find ourselves on a switch. Then the train rattled32 on and we stretched out again. A second time we were aroused by shunting engines, and the guard, passing by, called out that he had reached the end of his run. We climbed out, and, retreating to a grassy33 slope, slept out the night.
The morning sun showed an extensive forest close at hand. A red, sandy roadway, deep-shaded by thick overhanging branches, led off through the trees. Here and there in a tiny clearing a scrawny native 329cooked a scanty34 breakfast over a fire of leaves and twigs35 before his thatch37 hut. Above us sounded the note of a tropical bird. The jostling multitudes and sullen38 roar of Calcutta seemed innumerable leagues distant.
The forest opened and fell away on either hand; and we paused on the high, grassy bank of a broad river, glistening39 in the slanting40 sunlight. Below, in two groups, natives, male and female, were bathing. Along a highway following the course of the river stretched a one-row town, low hovels of a single story for the most part, above which a government building and a modest little church stood out conspicuously41.
A quaint42, old-fashioned spire43 against the background of an India horizon is a landmark44 not easily forgotten.
“Thunder!” snorted Martin. “Is this all we’ve made? That bloody45 train must have been side-tracked half the time we was poundin’ our list’ners. I know this burg. It’s Hoogly, not forty miles from Cally. But there’s a commish here. He’s a real sport, and ticketed me to Cally four years ago. Don’t believe he’ll remember my figure-’ead, neither. Come on.”
We strolled on down the highway. Before the government building a score of prisoners, with belts and heavy anklets of iron connected by two jointed46 bars, were piling cobble stones.
“But here!” I cried suddenly; “He’ll only give you a ticket back to Calcutta if we’re so near there.”
“No bloody fear,” retorted Marten; “he’ll ticket me the way I want to go. That’s old Lord Curzy’s law.”
“Then you’ll have to drop that yarn47 about the Guiseppe Sarto.”
Marten had thus christened his phantom48 ship, not because he hoped to win favor with the Pope, but because he had been hard-pressed for an Italian name. Commissioners50 who listened to his “song and dance” had a disconcerting habit of drawing from a pigeon-hole the latest marine51 guide at the mention of an English vessel52. But Italian windjammers, unlisted, might be moved about as freely as pawns53 on a chessboard.
“drop nothing,” snapped the ex-pearl fisher. “Think I’m goin’ to let a good yarn like that go to waste, an’ after me spendin’ a whole bloody day learnin’ to pronounce that dago name—an’ the skipper’s? Not me! I’m goin’ to send the Joe Taylor”—in familiar parlance54 he preferred the English version of the name—“over to Bombay, this time. I’ll have ’er due there in four days.”
330We turned in at an imposing55 lodge56 gate and followed a graveled walk towards a great, white bungalow with windows commanding a vista57 of the sparkling Hoogly and the rolling plains beyond. From the veranda58, curtained by trailing vines, richly-garbed servants watched our approach with the half-belligerent, half-curious air of faithful house dogs. Having no personal interest in the proceedings60, I dropped into a rustic61 bench beside the highway. A chatter62 of Hindustanee greeted my companion; a stocky Punjabi rose from his heels and entered the bungalow.
There ensued a scene without precedent63 in my Indian experience. A tall, comely64 Englishman, dressed in the whitest of ducks, stepped briskly out upon the veranda, and, totally ignoring the awful gulf65 that separates a district commissioner49 from a penniless beachcomber, bawled out:—
“I say, you chaps, come inside and have some breakfast.”
Much less would have been my astonishment66 had he suddenly opened fire on us from a masked battery. I looked up to see Marten leaning weakly against a veranda post.
“I only come with my mate, sir,” I explained. “It’s him as wants the ticket. I’m only waitin’, sir.”
“Then come along and have some breakfast while you wait,” retorted the Englishman. “Early risers have good appetites, and where would you buy anything fit to eat in Hoogly? I’ve finished, but Maghmoód has covers laid for you.”
We entered the bungalow on tiptoe and took places at a flower-decked table. Two turbaned servants slipped noiselessly into the room and served us viands68 of other lands. A punkah-wallah on the veranda kept the great fans in motion. Upon me fell the vague sense of having witnessed scenes like this in some former existence. Even here, then, on the banks of the Hoogly, men ate with knives and forks from delicate china ware69, wiping their fingers on snow-white linen70 rather than on a leg of their trousers, and left fruit peelings on their plates instead of throwing them under the table! It seemed anachronistic71.
“I told you,” murmured Marten, finishing his steak and a long silence, and mopping his plate dry with a slice of bread plastered with butter from far-off Denmark; “I told you he was a real sport. He’s the same one, an’ give me a swell72 hand-out four years ago.”
Maghmoód entered bearing cigars and cigarettes on a silver tray, 331and the information that we were to follow the commissioner to his office, two miles distant.
An hour later we were journeying leisurely73 northwestward in a crowded train that halted at every hamlet and cross-road. Marten had received a ticket to Bankipore, far beyond the destination of the local at Burdwan, where we alighted three hours before the arrival of the night express. A gaping74 crowd surrounded us as we halted to purchase sweetmeats in the bazaars75 and, flocking at our heels, quickly drew upon us the attention of the local police.
Dreading76 Russian spies, the Indian government has, during the few years past, required its officers to follow closely the trail of foreigners within the country. The native policeman, however, could not distinguish a suspicious character from a member of the viceroy’s council, and takes a childish delight in demonstrating his importance to society by subjecting every sahib stranger who will suffer it to a lengthy77 cross-examination. Half the gendarmes78 of Burdwan, eager to win from their superiors reputation for perspicacity79, sought to bring us before the recorders at the police station. Their methods were ludicrous. They neither commanded nor requested; they invited us in the flowery phrases of compliment to accompany them, and, when we passed on unheeding, turned back in sorrow to their posts.
Two lynx-eyed officers, however, hung on our heels, and, following us to the station as night fell, joined a group of railway gendarmes on the platform. A lengthy conference ensued; then the squad80 lined up before the bench on which we were seated, and a sergeant81 drew out one of the small volumes which the government has adopted as a register for transient Europeans.
“Will the sahibs be pleased to give me their names?” wheedled82 the sergeant, in the timid voice of a half-starved Villon addressing his verses to a noble patron.
I took the book and pencil from his hand and filled out the blanks on a page.
“And you, sahib?” said the officer, turning to Marten.
“Oh, go to the devil!” growled83 my companion; “I ain’t no Roossian. You got no damn business botherin’ Europeans. Go chase yourself.”
“The sahib must give the informations or he cannot go on the train,” murmured the native.
“How the devil will you stop me from goin’?” demanded Marten.
332The officer muttered something in the vernacular84 to his companions.
“You would, would you?” bellowed85 Marten.
“Ah! The sahib speaks Hindustanee?” gasped86 the sergeant. “What is your name, please, sir?”
“Look here,” growled Marten, “I’ll give you my name if you’ll promise not to ask any more fool questions.”
The native smiled with delight and poised87 his pencil.
“And the name, sir?”
“Higgeldy Piggeldy,” said Marten.
“Ah! And how is it spelled, please, sahib?”
The sergeant wrote the words slowly and solemnly at my companion’s dictation.
“And which is the sahib’s birthplace?” he wheedled.
“You bloody liar,” roared Marten; “didn’t you say you wouldn’t ask anything else?”
“Ah! Yes, sahib,” bleated88 the babu; “but we must have the informations. Please, sir, which is your birthplace?”
“If you don’t chase yourself, I’ll break your neck!” roared Marten, springing to his feet.
The assembled officers fell over each other in their haste to escape the onslaught. Marten returned to the bench and sat down in moody89 silence. The sergeant, urged forward by his fellow officers, advanced timidly to within several paces of us and, poised ready to spring, addressed me in gentle tones:—
“Sahib, the police wish, please, sir, to know why the sahibs have come to Burdwan.”
“Because the local dropped us here, and we had to wait for the express.”
“But why have you not take the express all the time?”
“We were at Hoogly. It doesn’t stop there.”
“Then, why have you not stay in the station? Why have you walked in the bazaars and in the temples?”
“To see the sights, of course.”
“But there are not sights in Burdwan. It is a dirty village and very poor and very small. Europeans are coming to Benares and to Calcutta, but they are not coming in Burdwan. Why have the sahibs come in Burdwan, and the sun is very hot?”
“I told you why. The sun doesn’t bother us.”
“Then why have the sahibs bought sweets and chappaties in the bazaars?”
333“Because we were hungry.”
“Sahibs are not eating native food; they must have European food. Why have you bought these?”
“For Lord’s sake, hit that nigger on the head with something!” burst out Marten. “I want to sleep.”
The sergeant retreated several paces and continued his examination.
“And why have the sahibs gone to the tem—?”
The shriek23 of an incoming train drowned the rest, and we hastened towards the European compartment90.
“You must not go in the train!” screamed the sergeant, while the squad danced excitedly around us. “Stop! You must answer—”
We stepped inside and slammed the door.
“The train cannot be allowed to go!” screeched91 the babu, racing92 up and down the platform. “The sahibs are not allowed to go. You must hold the train, sahib!” he cried to a European guard hurrying by.
“Hold nothing,” answered the official. “Are you crazy? This is the Bombay mail,” and he blew his whistle.
The sergeant grasped the edge of the open window with one hand and, waving his notebook wildly in the other, raced along the platform beside us.
“You must answer the questions, sahibs—”
The train was rapidly gaining headway.
“Get down, sahibs! Come out! You are not allowed—”
He could hold the pace no longer. With a final shriek he released his hold and we sped on into the night.
Hours afterward93 we were awakened by a voice at the open window. A native officer was peering in upon us.
“I have received a telegraph from Burdwan for a sahib who has not answered some questions,” he smiled, holding up his notebook.
“My name’s Franck,” I yawned.
“Then it must be the other sahib,” said the native. “You are, sir, I think, Mr. Higgeldy Piggeldy?”
“Naw! Mine’s Marten,” said my companion, drawing out his papers. “Bloody funny name, that. Can’t be no Englishman. Must be a Roossian.”
We left the express at daybreak. Bankipore was suffering from one of the long droughts that have ever been the blight94 of this section of India. The flat plains of the surrounding country spread out an 334arid, sun-baked desert as far as the eye could see. Along the roadway the dust rose in clouds at every step, the trees stood lifeless in ragged96 shrouds97 of dead, brown leaves. The few low-caste natives still energetic enough to bestir themselves dragged by at the listless pace of animals turned out to die, utter hopelessness in their shriveled faces, their tongues lolling from their mouths. The sear grass of the great Maidan was crushed to powder under our feet; a half-mile stroll brought on all the symptoms of physical fatigue98; the moistureless, dust-laden air smarted in our throats and lungs and left our lips and nostrils99 parched100 and cracking.
In the center of the Maidan, as far as possible from the human kennels101 of the surrounding town, were pitched several sun-bleached tents. A dun-colored coolie, squatting103 in a dusty patch, cried out at our approach; and a native of higher caste pushed aside the flap of the tent and, shading his eyes under an outstretched hand, gazed towards us. He was dressed in uniform, his jacket open at the throat, and his bare feet thrust into a pair of shabby slippers104. A figure commonplace enough, yet at sight of him we gasped with delight. For on his head sat a fez! It was far from becoming to its wearer; a turban would have offered more protection against the Indian sun, but it heralded105 a Mohammedan free from the fanatical superstitions106 of the Brahmin faith. We might quench107 our thirst at once with no pollution of the cup; and depart without feeling that creepy sensation of guilt108 that one experiences at home in stopping in a saloon for a drink of water—if such things happen. How the point of view towards one’s fellow men change with every advance to the eastward109! In this superstitious110 land an Islamite seemed almost a brother.
But we were thirsty.
“Pawnee hai? Oh! Maghmoód, we would drink,” cried Marten.
The follower111 of the prophet smiled at the words of the vernacular as he answered in perfect English:—
“Assuredly, gentlemen. I should be delighted. Step inside, where it is cooler.”
His was no crude-builded language of the babu. An Oxford112 fellow could not have expressed his thoughts more clearly, nor given more immediate113 evidence of a sahib point of view.
The tent was furnished with mats and couches. In one corner stood a chair and a desk littered with papers. The Mohammedan 335handed us a chettie of water. When we had drunk our fill, he offered cigarettes and motioned to a couch.
“Be seated, gentlemen,” he said. “Unless you have urgent business you may as well rest a bit.”
“Gee!” puffed114 my companion, leaning back on his elbows; “I’m glad a Mohammedan’s superstitions don’t make him believe all this tommy-rot about pollution.”
Marten of Tacoma was not distinguished115 for tact6.
“We try, at any rate,” smiled the officer, “to be sane116 in our beliefs.”
“Of course,” went on my mate, “you have plenty of fool superstitions, too; and you put rings in your wives’ noses, to lead ’em around by, I suppose?”
A flash of fire kindled117 the eye of our host, but he smiled again as he replied:
“We try, though, sir, to be sparing of unnecessary insults.”
“Gee!” murmured Marten, without looking up; “This is a good cigarette.”
“Is this an encampment?” I put in, feeling it my duty to lead the conversation into other channels. “I don’t see any sepoys about.”
“Oh, by no means,” said the Mohammedan; “this is police headquarters. The smaller tents house the men.”
“Then you are not a soldier?”
“Not in recent years. I am chief of police for Bankipore.”
Marten cast a half-startled glance at the profile of the man he had taken for a simple sergeant, and assumed a more dignified118 posture119.
“The police, then, live in tents here?” I went on.
“If we didn’t, few of us would be living at all,” replied the chief. “Early in March, with the famine, the plague broke out, and the inhabitants have been dying in hundreds ever since. Ten of the force were carried from their huts to the funeral pyres in the first week. Then we set up the tents.”
“Doesn’t the government try to check the epidemic120?”
“Try! We have been fighting it tooth and nail since the day it began. But what can we do among ignorant, superstitious Hindus? Our people are poor. They live in filthy121 huts with dirt floors, into which rats can dig easily. If we attempt to fumigate123 a house, the family abandons it and sleeps on the ground outside, the surest way of taking the plague. If we try to purify their water and food we 336have a riot on our hands. The huts, too, are so packed together and burdened with filth122 that the only way to clean them would be to burn up the town. We have a force of government doctors. Medicine, also, is free to all. But you know my people. They would far rather die of plague than run the risk of losing caste through the doctor’s touch. If a man dies, his family prefers to scoop124 a hole in the floor and squat102 on his grave, rather than to turn his body over to Christians125 or Mohammedans. We have strict laws against concealing127 sickness and death, but it is difficult to enforce them. To make things worse, the rumor128 is always going the rounds that the sahib government has ordered the doctors to poison their patients or cast a spell upon them; and among the masses such tales are readily believed. What can you expect of ignorant, fanatical people who barely realize that reading and writing exist, and who never learn anything except on hearsay129? Police and doctors and government medicine will never wipe out the plague. The only thing that can stop it is rain, and until that comes Bankipore will keep on dying.”
Marvelous was the manner in which this son of the Orient ran on in an alien tongue, never at a loss for the word to express his meaning precisely130.
“Do all those attacked by the plague die?” I asked.
“I have been keeping tab on the cases,” returned the chief, “and I find that a fraction of less than ninety-six per cent result fatally. I know of men who have recovered. Our former district commissioner was one. If the victim is a European or a well-to-do native he has about one chance for life to three for death. But among the sudras, the coolies, the peasants, the poor shopkeepers, there is small hope. They have always half starved on a rice diet, the drought has left us famine-stricken for a year; obviously, having no constitutions to fall back upon, they merely lie down and die, never making an effort unless their religious superstitions are in danger of violation132. No, it is only rain that will save us,” he concluded, pushing aside the flap of the tent and gazing hopelessly at the cloudless sky.
We turned away into the town. It needed no word from the chief of police to call attention to the ravages133 of plague and famine. The shopkeepers, humped over their wares134, wore the air of dogs ever in the fear of a beating; the low-caste natives stared greedily at the stale, dust-covered foodstuffs135 spread out along the way; fleshless personifications of misery136 crawled by, whining137 for cowries—the sea-shells that charitable India bestows138 on her beggar army. The inhabitants 337were not hungry. That is their normal condition. They were starving. Yet the general misery made them none the less slaves of their omnipresent superstitions. The gaunt, sunken-eyed merchant screamed in frenzy139 when our fingers approached his octogenarian rice cakes and chappaties; he held his bony claw on a level with our knees to catch the coppers140 we offered. His stock was plentiful141, if grey-bearded; his prices as low as in the days of abundance. It was, after all, chiefly a famine of annas.
At the great government bungalow, on a low hill to the eastward of the town, were few evidences of affliction. The official force, from the richly-gowned and turbaned judge, holding court on the veranda, to the punkah-wallah who cooled his court-room, were glossy142, well-fed creatures. The commissioner, who drove up in a dog cart ornamented143 with two footmen in scarlet144 and white livery, and who marched with majestic145 tread through a lane of kowtowing inferiors, certainly had not come without his breakfast. But even he must have known of the famine, for in the stringy shade of thin-foliaged trees nearby huddled148 scores of wretches149 waiting for leave to appeal for government assistance.
Native starvelings, obviously, should not take precedence over a sahib. While I dropped into a proffered150 seat at the right hand of the judge, Marten followed the Englishman inside. A long line of prisoners, shackled151 in pairs and guarded by many native policemen, awaited judgment152. Two by two they dropped on their knees in the sun-scorched dust, sat down on their heels, and, raising clasped hands to their faces, rocked slowly back and forth153. The judge muttered a half-dozen words, which writers behind him jotted156 down in ponderous157 volumes, waved a flabby hand, and the culprits passed on.
“These,” whispered an interpreter in my ear, “are wicked thieves. They have stolen chappaties in the bazaars. They have prison for three months. These next escape quickly with six weeks. They have cut a coolie with knives. Those who kneel now have polluted high-caste food.”
Close to an hour the procession continued. An aged147 coolie, wrinkled and creased158 of skin as if he had been wrung159 out and hung up to dry, and a naked, half-grown boy brought up the rear. While they knelt, the secretary turned over the pages of his book.
“More thieves,” said the interpreter. “The boy has stolen a brass160 lota; the man, the lunch of a train guard, three months ago. Their prison is ended.”
338The judge spoke161 and a policeman produced a large bunch of keys and removed their shackles162. Man and boy fell on their faces in the dust, and rising, wandered away over the brow of the hill.
A moment later Marten emerged from the bungalow.
“The old song and dance is as good as ever!” he cried, when we were out of earshot. “I got a boost to Allahabad an’ two days’ batter67 an’ the commish’s sympathy. Come on; let’s take in the sights.”
Bankipore’s chief object of interest was a stone granary, in shape an immense bee-hive or hay-cock, depository in days of plenty for years of famine. As such things go in India, it was a very modern structure, having been erected163 in the time of the American revolution. It was empty. An outside stairway, winding164 upward, led to a circular opening in the apex165, through which trains of coolies, in days gone by, poured a steady stream of grain. Within was Stygian darkness. We were rewarded for the perspiring166 ascent167 by a far-reaching view of the famine-stricken plains, and off to the eastward I caught my first glimpse of the Ganges.
We halted late that night at Buxar, far short of Allahabad, and took slower train next morning to Moghul Serai. For to have remained on board the express would have been to pass in the darkness the holy city of Benares.
The pilgrim train was densely169 packed with wildly-excited natives and their precious bundles. Not once during the seven-mile journey across the arid95 plateau did a vista of protruding170 brown feet greet us as we looked back along the carriages. The windows of every compartment framed eager, longing171 faces, straining for the first glimpse of the sacred city. To many of our fellow-travelers this twentieth of April had been in anticipation172, and would be in retrospect173, the greatest day of their worldly existence. For the mere131 sight of holy “Kashi” suffices to wipe out many sins of past decades. Even the gods of the Brahmin come here to consummate174 their purification.
Bankipur’s chief object of interest is a vast granary built in the time of the American Revolution to keep grain for times of famine. From its top the traveler catches his first glimpse of the Ganges
Women of Delhi near gate forced during the Sepoy rebellion. One carries water in a Standard Oil can, another a basket of dung-cakes
As we rounded a low sand dune175, a muffled176 chorus of exclamations177 sounded above the rumble178 of the train, and called me to the open window. To the left, a half-mile distant, the sacred river Ganges swept round from the eastward in a graceful179 curve and continued southward across our path. On the opposite shore, bathing its feet in the sparkling stream, sprawled180 the holy city. Travelers familiar with all urban dwelling181 places of man name three as most distinctive182 in sky-line,—New York, Constantinople and Benares. The last, certainly, 339is not least impressive. Long before Gautama, seeking truth, journeyed thither183, multitudes of Hindus had been absolved184 of their sins at the foot of this village on the Ganges. To the bathing ghats and shrines185 of the Brahmin the Buddhist186 added his temples. Then came the Mohammedan conquerors187 with new beauties of Saracenic architecture. In the toleration of British rule Jain and Sihk and even Christian126 have contributed their share to this composite monument to the world’s religions. Through it all, the city has grown without rhyme or reason. Temples, monasteries188, shrines, kiosks, topes, mosques189, chapels191 have vied with each other and the huts and shops of the inhabitants in a wild scramble192 for place close to the absolving193 waters of the Ganges, until the crescent-shaped “Kashi” of to-day lies heaped upon itself, as different from the orderly cities of the western world as a mass of football players in hot scrimmage from a company of soldiers. From the very midst of the architectural scramble, giving center to the picture, rise two slender minarets194 of the Mosque190 Aurunzebe, needing but a connecting bar to suggest two goal posts.
The train rumbled196 across the railway bridge and halted on the edge of the city. No engineering genius could have surveyed a line through it. We plunged197 into the riot of buildings and were at once engulfed198 in a whirlpool of humanity. Damascus and Cairo had seemed over-populated; compared with Benares, they were deserted199. Where the chattering200 stream flowed against us, we advanced by short spurts201, pausing for breath when we were tossed aside into the wares of bawling202 shopkeepers, or against a fa?ade decorated with bois de vache. Worshipers, massed before outdoor shrines, blocked the way as effectually as stone walls. Cross currents of pilgrims, bursting forth from Jain or Hindu temple, bore us away with them through side streets we had not chosen to explore. Pilgrims there were everywhere, of every caste, of every shade, from the brass-tinted hillman to the black Madrasi, representatives of all the land of India from the snow line of the Himalayas to Tuticorin by the sea. Among them the inhabitants of Benares were a mere handful.
Sacred bulls shouldered us aside with utter indifference203 to what had once been the color of our skins. Twice the vast bulk of a holy elephant loomed204 up before us. On the friezes205 and roofs of Hindu temples monkeys wearing glittering and apparently206 costly207 rings on every finger scampered208 and chattered209 with an audacity210 that to the natives was an additional proof of their divinity.
340We had been buffeted212 back and forth through the tortuous213 channels for more than an hour when a frenzied214 beating of drums and a wailing215 of pipes bore down upon us.
“Religious procession!” screamed Marten, dragging me after him up the steps of a Jain temple. “We’ll have to hang out here till it gets by. How’s them fer glad rags?”
The paraders were, indeed, attired216 in astonishing costumes, even for India. The street below us was quickly filled with a screaming of colors no less discordant217 than the harrowing “music” to which a thousand marchers kept uncertain step. Some of the fanatics218, not satisfied with an exaggeration of native garb59, masqueraded in the most fantastic of guises219, among which the most amusing was that of a bold fellow burlesquing220 a sahib. He was “made up” to emphasize the white man’s idiosyncrasies, and marched in a hollow square where no point could be hidden from the view of the delighted bystanders. To the Hindu, he is an ass17 who wears jacket and trousers in preference to a cool, flowing robe; the tenderness of sahib feet is the subject of many a vulgar jest. The burlesquer221 was attired in a suit of shrieking222 checks that fitted his slender form as tightly as a glove; on his feet were shoes with great projecting soles in which he might have walked with impunity223 on red-hot irons. His flour-powdered face was far paler than that of the latest subaltern to arrive from England; over his long hair he wore a close-cropped wig36 of sickly yellow hue224; and his tropical helmet would have given ample shade for four men. He was smoking a homemade imitation of a “bulldog” pipe, and swung a small fence rail jauntily225 back and forth as he walked. Every dozen yards he feigned226 to fall into a rage and, dancing about in a simulation of insanity227, rushed upon the surrounding paraders, striking wildly about him with his clenched228 fists. The fact that he never opened his lips during this performance brought great delight to the natives, accustomed to give vent229 to their anger by taxing their vocal230 organs to the utmost.
There were other suggestions of the Hindu’s hatred231 of his rulers, the boldest of which brought up the rear of the procession. Two natives bore aloft a rough wooden cross on which a monkey was crucified—with cords rather than with nails. How widespread are the teachings of Christian missionaries232 was suggested by the fact that the most illiterate233 countryman “saw the point,” and twisted his lean features into the ugly grimace234 that is the low-caste Hindu’s manner of expressing mirth.
One of the many flights of steps leading down to the bathing ghats and funeral pyres of Benares
341We fought our way onward235 to the center of the town and descended236 a great stone stairway beneath the slender minarets. Up and down the embankment groups of thinly-clad pilgrims, dripping from their ablutions, smoked vile238-smelling cigarettes in the shadow of temple walls or purchased holy food at the straw-thatched booths. Here and there members of the most despised caste in India stood before ponderous scales, weighing out the wood that must be used in the cremation239 of the Hindu dead who hope to attain240 salvation241. The abhorrence242 of their fellow-beings hung lightly upon the wood-sellers, tempered as it was by the enjoyment243 of a monopoly compared with which an American trust is a benevolent244 institution.
In the bathing ghats, segregation245 of sexes prevailed. The men wore loin clothes, the women white winding sheets through which the contour and hue of their brown bodies shone plainly as they rose from the water. From time to time bands of natives, covered with the dust of travel, tumbled down the stairways and plunged eagerly into the purging246 river. There is no sin so vile, says the Hindu, that it cannot be washed away in the Ganges at the foot of Benares. Let us hope so, for its waters certainly have no other virtues247. Gladly would I, for one, bear away any portable burden of peccadillos in preference to descending248 into that fever-infected flow of mud. A ray of sunlight will not pass through a wineglassful of Ganges water. Yet pilgrims not only splashed about in it, ducking their heads beneath the surface and dashing it over their faces, they rinsed249 their mouths in it, scraped their tongues with sticks dipped in it, spat250 it out in great jets, as if bent251 on dislodging some tenacious253 sin from between their back molars.
Our circuit of the city brought us back to the station long enough before train time to give opportunity for a duty that falls often to the roadster in India,—a general “wash up.” Twice that day we had been taken for Eurasians. Benares ends abruptly254 at the railway line; beyond, stretches a flat, monotonous255 landscape of arid, unpeopled moorland. Armed with a two-pice lump of soap of the hue of maple256 sugar, we slid down the steep bank below the railway bridge in an avalanche257 of sand and rubble258. Once there, Marten decided12 that he was “too tired” to turn dhoby, and stretched out in the shade of the bank. I approached the stream, sinking halfway259 to my knees in the slime. There would have been no Indian impropriety in disrobing at once, but there would certainly have been a sadly sunburned sahib ten minutes afterward. Ordinary beachcombers, like my companion, 342being possessed260 of but two cotton garments, must have retired unlaundered or blistered261. I, however, was no ordinary vagabond. My wardrobe included three pieces. It was the simplest matter in the world, therefore, to scrub the jacket while wearing the shirt and the shirt while wearing the jacket, and to wrap the garment de luxe around my legs while I soaked the third in the accumulation of Hindu sins.
“Say, mate,” drawled Marten, while I daubed my trousers with the maple-sugar soap, “you’ll sure go to heaven fer scrubbin’ your rags in that mud. There’s always a bunch of Hindu gods hangin’ around here. I don’t want to disturb a honest laborin’ man, o’ course, but I’d be so lonesome if you was gone that I’m goin’ to tell you that there’s one comin’ to take you to heaven now, an’ if you’re finished with livin’—”
I looked up suddenly. Barely ten feet away the ugly snout of a crocodile was moving towards me.
“Stand still!” shouted Marten, as I struggled to pull my legs from the clinging mud. “He’s a god, I tell you. Besides, he’s probably hungry. Don’t be so damn selfish.”
The trouser, well aimed, ended his speech abruptly as I reached dry land. I worked, thereafter, with wide-open eyes; and before the task was ended, caught sight of no less than fourteen of the river gods of India.
We regained263 the station in time for the train to Moghul Serai, and, catching264 the northwest express, arrived in Allahabad late at night. The Strangers’ Rest, vagabonds’ retreat a half mile from the station, was long since closed; but the Irish superintendent265 was a light sleeper266, and we were soon weighing down two charpoys under the trees of the inner courtyard.
The jangling of the breakfast bell awakened us. The Allahabad “Rest” was famed far and wide for its “European chow.” All through the night we had embraced ourselves in joyful267 anticipation of reviving our flagging memories on the subject of the taste of meat. Marten had even dared to dream a wondrous268 dream, wherein he had pursued a Gargantuan269 beefsteak as broad as the arid plain below Benares, in thickness like unto a native hut, across half the land of India, only to wake as he was falling upon it in the foothills of the Himalayas.
“An’ the bloomin’ thing was steamin’ hot,” he driveled, as we raced for the dining-room with a mob of ordinarily phlegmatic270 roadsters, 343“an’ the juice was runnin’ out all over the fields”—we dropped into places at the table—“an’ it was that bloody rare that—ah—er—wha—what the devil’s this?” he gasped, pointing at the plate before him.
“Eh?” cried the superintendent, from the doorway271.
“I was askin’,” murmured Marten, “what kind o’ meat this might be.”
“That?” smiled our portly host. “Why, ’tis dhried fish, to be sure. The day’s Good Friday, you’ll be remimberin’.”
So we were glad rather than sorry that the piety272 of the English rector, to whom that power was deputed, forbade him issuing tickets to stranded273 seamen until the next day.
Nothing short of a promise to set up a bottle of arrack would have enticed274 another sojourner275 at the Rest outside its shady grove276. I set off to explore the city of Allah alone. Life moved sluggishly277 in its broad, straight streets; for the day’s inactivity of Europeans and Eurasians had clogged278 the wheels of industry. Lepers swarmed279 under the trees along the boulevard passing the Rest—lepers male and female, without fingers, or lips, or eyelids280, some with stumps281 for feet, and others with great running sores where their faces should have been. Still others had lost their vocal cords, so that their speech, as they crept close up behind the passing sahib to solicit282 alms, was an inarticulate gurgle.
Great credit should be given to the Mohammedan women of Allahabad and beyond, who, with no Worth to do them service, display individuality of dress sufficient to attract a flagging attention. To be exact, it isn’t a dress at all, being merely a jacket and a pair of thin, cotton trousers, full above the knee and close-fitting below, like riding-breeches. The costume originated with its wearers, no doubt. Far be it from me, at least, to accuse them of copying the garb of the sahibs who gallop283 along the broader thoroughfares.
We slept again under the spreading trees, and might have slept well, had not the spot chanced to be the rendezvous284 of all the mosquitoes of the northwest provinces. With morning our host marched away at the head of a band of wandering minstrels to carry entertainment to the English rector. The performance endured beyond all precedent. One by one the artists straggled back to the grove, some glad, some sorrowful; and among the latter was Marten. In accordance with our plan to continue towards the Punjab, he had promised to send the “Guiseppe Sarto” from the harbor of Bombay, 344where it had ridden at anchor since the day that we entered Hoogly, to Kurachee at the mouth of the Indus. The classic tale had aroused the old-time sympathy; the rector had listened gravely; the story must surely have brought its reward had not the teller285, too cock-sure of his lines, forgotten momentarily the contemplated286 revision of the text and blurted287 out the familiar name so distinctly that correction was impossible. He had drawn288, therefore, when the division of lots fell, a ticket to Bombay.
There were two reasons why Marten had no desire to visit that port: first, because I had refused to accompany him; second, because the commissioners of that uncharitable presidency289 have contracted the reprehensible290 habit of committing to the workhouse the penniless white man taken within their borders. But the die was cast. The law required that the holder291 of a government ticket depart by the first train, and even had it not, there was no one else in Allahabad to whom to appeal. The grief of the former pearl fisher was acute, lachrymose292, in fact. To dry his tears I consented to accompany him to the capital of the next district.
We took leave of the Irishman as darkness fell and before the night was well on its wane293 had sought a sharp-cornered repose294 at the station of Jubbulpore. The commissioner of that district, moved by a more carefully constructed tale, granted the stranded mariner295 a ticket to Jhansi. The route mapped out for him led southward to the junction296 with the main line, which I, anxious to explore a territory off the beaten track, chose to gain by an unimportant branch. We separated, therefore, promising297 to meet again next day at Bina.
Returning northward298 to the village of Khatni, I spent the night on a station settee, and boarded the mixed train that sallies forth daily from that rural terminal. It was in charge of a Eurasian driver and guard, of whom the latter gave me full possession of a roomy compartment adjoining his own. The country was rolling in outline, a series of broad ridges299 across which the train rose and fell regularly. To right and left stretched jungle, uninhabited and apparently impenetrable. The villages rarely comprised more than a cluster of huts behind the railway bungalow, to which the inhabitants flocked to greet the arrival of the train, the one event that enlivened a monotonous daily existence. Now and then I caught sight of some species of deer bounding away through the low tropical shrubbery, and once of that dreaded300 beast of India—a tiger. He was a gaunt, agile301 creature, more dingy302 in color than those in captivity303, who advanced 345rapidly, yet almost cautiously, clearing the low jungle growth in long, easy bounds. On the track he halted a moment, gazed scornfully at the sluggard304 locomotive, then sprang into the thicket305 and was gone.
We halted at midday at the station of Damoh. Certain that my private carriage could not be invaded in a district where Europeans were almost unknown, I left my knapsack on a bench and retreated to the station buffet211. At my exit a strange sight greeted my eyes. Before the door of my compartment was grouped the population of Damoh. Inside stood a native policeman, in khaki and red turban. Under one arm he held the guidebook, a tobacco box, a pipe, a spool306 of film, and the leaf-wrapped lunch that had made up the contents of my knapsack. The sack itself, a half-dozen letters, and the kodak-cover lay on the floor under his feet. By some stroke of genius he had found the springs that released the back of the kodak, and having laid that on the bench beside him, was complacently307 turning the screw that unwound the ruined film, to the delight of his admiring fellow-countrymen.
The natives fled at my approach, and the officer, dropping my possessions on the floor, dashed for the shelter of the station-master’s office. I followed after to make complaint, and came upon him cowering308 behind a heap of baggage, his hands tightly clasped over the badge that bore his number.
“He says,” interpreted the Eurasian agent, when I had demanded an explanation, “that it is his duty to look in empty compartments309 for lost articles, but that he has not taken the littlest thing, not even a box of matches, and asks that you forgive him. If you cannot put the queer machine together again, he will.”
“These fellows are always prying310 into things like monkeys,” put in the guard, “I’d make complaint to the inspector311 at Bina.”
A change came over the face of the policeman. Till then he had been the picture of contrition312; now he advanced boldly and poured forth a deluge313 of incomprehensible lingo314.
“Why, what’s this?” cried the station-master. “He says you assaulted him.”
“Does he look like it?” I demanded.
“No,” admitted the agent, “most sahibs leave marks.”
“Oh! That’s the old trick,” snorted the guard. “He understood the word ‘inspector’ and thinks he’ll keep out of hot water by making a counter accusation315.”
346“I don’t believe the tale,” said the agent, “but he insists on making a complaint, and I shall have to telegraph it to the inspector at the end of the line.”
The train went on. There being no European officers in the district I could not be placed under arrest, but it was not long before I found the police drag-net drawing close around me. The first station beyond Damoh was a populous316 town, and among the natives who crowded the platform my attention was drawn to two sturdy fellows in the garb of countrymen who elbowed their way through the throng and stared boldly in upon me. Apparently they had designs on my depleted317 pocketbook, but, indifferent to so slight a loss, I returned their scowls318 and settled back in my seat. We were well under way again when I turned from my contemplation of the distant landscape and glanced along the swaying cars. From the next compartment, his eyes glued on my own, hung one of the countrymen. Annoyed, I moved to the opposite side of the car. The head and shoulders of the second rascal320 protruded321 from the window ahead. The situation burst upon me. These, then, were “plain-clothes guys” assigned the duty of shadowing me to my destination.
As long as the journey lasted, the detectives sat motionless in their places, their heads twisted halfway round on their shoulders, staring like observant owls319 at the only means of exit from my compartment. I descended at Bina as twilight322 fell, and they hung on my heels until I had been accosted323 by a young Englishman in khaki uniform.
“The station-master at Damoh,” began the Briton, “reports that you assaulted a native officer. Will you come with me, please?”
He led the way to the waiting-room, and, producing a notebook, jotted down my story.
“He needed a good drubbing whether he got it or not,” he admitted, when I had concluded. “Unfortunately I cannot release you until the inspector comes.”
“When will that be?”
“To-morrow, probably, on this same train.”
“But I can’t afford to be delayed twenty-four hours,” I protested. “I’m short on cash and I’ve got to meet a mate.”
“I am sorry,” returned the Englishman, “but as deputy inspector I have no power in the matter. I do not want to lock you up if you will promise not to leave the station precincts. You may sleep in the first-class waiting-room.”
Whether he relied entirely324 on my promise, I did not learn. At 347any rate, he ordered the agent to arrange a cane325 couch for me, and not long after his departure a coolie arrived from the barracks with such a dinner as I did not often enjoy during my days of liberty. The next day the fare was even more generous, and was supplemented by several delicacies326 which the Eurasian guard sent from the messroom of the railway bungalow. The latter had not neglected to make public my story, and every hour brought Englishmen, Eurasians, or babus to express their conviction that I was being grossly mistreated. Among them was a leathery little Irishman, a traveling photographer with headquarters in Agra, and a discussion of our common interests ended with his writing me a “chit” to his employer, whom he represented as in need of an assistant.
The deputy inspector hovered327 about the station, and during one of his visits I asked for a book with which to while away the time. He must have pondered long over the shelves in his bungalow in quest of a volume that would appeal to a sailor of slight education, of American nationality, who was ostensibly suffering severe depression of spirits. His choice demonstrated the unfailing perspicacity of the Briton. He came back bearing a thumb-worn copy of “Bill Nye’s History of the United States.”
With nightfall came the inspector to listen to a repetition of my story.
“Your account,” he announced, “agrees entirely with that of the Eurasian guard. I shall release you at once.”
An hour afterward I left Bina and, halting at Jhansi and the free state of Gwalior, arrived in Agra three days later. Until then I had fancied that Marten had passed me during the night of my captivity. But as I alighted, I was surprised to see, in a letter-rack such as is maintained at most Indian stations for the convenience of travelers, a post card across which my name was misspelled in bold, blue letters. On the back was scrawled328 this simple message:—
Godawara, India—April 25th.
Felow beechcomer:—
Missed the train to Bina becaze I knoked the block off a nigger polisman. They draged me down hear and the comish finned329 me 15 dibs and then payed the fine and put me rite155 as far as Agra. I wil pick you up ther on the 27th.
Yours,
Busted330 Head.
The twenty-seventh was past. The ex-pearl-fisher had evidently gone on, and I saw him no more.
348Reduced now to a handful of coppers, I lost no time in seeking out the photographer to whom my “chit” was addressed. He was a Parsee of slender build, dressed in European garb, the trousers of which, fitting his long legs all too snugly331, gave him a strangely spiderlike appearance. A small velvet332 skull-cap, embroidered333 in red and pink with representations of flowers and leaves, sat imperturbable334 on the top of his head, holding its place with every movement of his lithe335 body as if nailed there. Suggestion was there none, in his mien336, of strange religious beliefs. His English was fluent, his manner affable, yet tempered with a ceremonial coldness, as of one convinced of the necessity of being ever on his dignity.
We came quickly to terms. The shop, well stocked with photographic supplies, was in charge of a Eurasian clerk, and my new duties confined me within the narrow limits of the dark-room. He who would taste purgatory338 has but to find employment in a photographer’s workshop in India. As the door closed behind me, I muttered a determination to hold my new-found position for a fortnight. Before the first set of plates had been transferred to the fixing-bath, the resolution weakened; when an hour had passed, a voice within me whispered that three days’ wages would be amply sufficient for all present needs. There were new elements of the photographer’s craft to be learned in the Parsee’s laboratory, too, such as the use of ice in every process, and during the learning I conducted, all unintentionally, a series of researches in the action of NaCl on the various chemicals in my charge. In short, the stoke-hole of an ocean-liner would have been hibernal by comparison. My employer’s tap on the door, with the suggestion that it was time to set up the shutters339, did not need to be repeated.
Once in the street, the Parsee hailed a Hindu hansom, a sort of stranded ferryboat set up on two circular table-tops and attached to what had once been a pair of bullocks, and we were driven off. That we reached the residence of my employer before morning and in good health was reason for self-congratulation, for it was nearly a mile distant. The axle-grooves in the misapplied table-tops were as near the center as if they had been bored by a musket340 in the hands of a blind man at one hundred paces. The driver was with great difficulty inspired to action, and was totally incapable341 of transmitting such inspiration to his animals. Along the boulevard the craft moved at the cumbersome342 gait of a land crab343; in the rougher streets it pitched and rolled like a derelict in the trough of the waves.
The Taj Mahal, Agra, India
349The Parsee, accustomed to this fancied solution of the transit344 problem of Agra, fell into that half doze154 of dreamy contentment typical of the home-coming suburbanite345 the world over, and roused himself only when the rattle31 of the cobble stones of his own courtyard disturbed his ruminations. We alighted equi-distant from two squat bungalows346, of which the fire-worshiper gave me leave to enter the former, ere he retired to the bosom347 of his family in the other. My new home housed a band of servants and a lodger348. The deep veranda was curtained by a network of creeping vines that the drought had touched with autumn colors. As I mounted the steps, a long-drawn groan349 sounded from the semi-darkness, and I was greeted by the sight of the lodger tossing deliriously350 on one of two dilapidated willow351 armchairs with which the piazza352 was furnished. A fever raged within him—the first symptoms, he was convinced, of the plague that would carry him off before dawn. Plainly he did not care to go. The charpoys within were all occupied. I pre?mpted the unoccupied chair and listened through the night to the Eurasian’s frenzied endeavor to frighten off the grim visitor.
To the grief of the Parsee, I fled from his sweat-box the next afternoon, and, having visited Agra and her incomparable Taj Mahal, took night train to Delhi. The traveler who journeys slowly northward through this land of strange scenes and superstitions loses sight, oftentimes, of the fact that no other political entity353 includes within its borders so many heterogeneous354 elements. India is not the dwelling place of one people. The Punjabi of the north differs as much from the Maduran as the Scotchman from the Neapolitan. The hillman and the man of the plains prove on close acquaintance to have little more in common than their brown skins and their misery. Shake your fist at a Madrasi and he will take to his heels. Deny a Gurka the privilege of fighting and you have robbed him of all that makes life worth living.
The casual tourist, noting only slight changes from day to day, may not realize this diversity of population. But let him push on to Shahjehanabad, the city of King John, which they who dwell elsewhere call Delhi. Here is a different world, an Arab world almost, to remind him that Islam once held vast sway in the land of Hind11. Easily might he fancy himself again in Damascus. As in “Shaam,” here are labyrinthian355 streets, each given up to a single trade. In shaded nooks and corners the black-bearded scribe plies337 his art; from many a minaret195 sounds the chant of the muezzin; the fez vies with 350the turban for supremacy356. Lean-faced Bedouins and files of cushion-shod camels bring with them a suggestion of the wild sweep of the desert; and, if another touch is needed, over all hovers357 those crowning symbols of Mohammedan civilization,—filth and pariah358 dogs.
But with the squalor came new privileges to sahib wanderers. Of Mohammedan eating-shops there were plenty, and never a protest rose against me when I paused to choose from the steaming kettles framed in the doorway. The messes, if the blear-eyed Islamite who stirred the fires under them was to be believed, contained no other flesh than mutton. There were bones in more than one dish that looked suspiciously small for those of the sheep; and the rabbit is not indigenous359 to India. But quién sabe? The light-skinned vagrant360 is too thankful, certainly, for an opportunity to satisfy his carnivorous tastes to appoint himself a committee of investigation361 or to inquire into the status of the pure food law.
It was this scent168 of a more western world perhaps, which soon brought upon me the realization362 that our unplanned excursion “up country” had carried me a thousand miles afield. I awoke one morning resolved to turn eastward once more. Unfortunately the turning lacked impetus363, for in my pocket were four lonely coppers. A half-day’s search in the native city failed to bring to light any demand for white-skinned labor262, and I concluded to make public my offer of services through the district commissioner.
The afternoon siesta364 was ended and the élite of Delhi were awakening365 to new life when I crossed the bridge spanning the railway yards and entered the cantonment and the European section. Over miles of rolling country, thinly streaked366 by the shade of those few withered367 trees that had outlived the drought, were scattered368 the barracks, government offices, and the bungalows of white residents. At the district court a lonely babu clerk welcomed me with the information that the government force was enjoying a Mohammedan holiday, that the next day was sacred to some Hindu saint or sacred ape, and the third, the Christian day of rest. The road to the commissioner’s residence passed those of a score of English officials, each situated369 in a private park, on the lodge gate of which an ensign set forth the name of the owner and the titles which a grateful monarch370 permitted him to attach thereto. An hour beyond the court, I was confronted by the astonishing pedigree of the ruler of the district and turned aside with bated breath into his estate. The honorable commissioner sahib was not at home, asserted the native butler who was whitewashing371 canvas shoes on the back veranda; he had gone to the honorable Englishmen’s club.
A market-day in Delhi, India. Many castes of Hindus and Mohammedans are represented
The Hindu street-sprinkler does not lay much dust
351A score of smart traps and dog carts, in charge of gorgeously liveried sa?s were drawn up about the long, two-story club-house. On the neighboring courts four pairs of linen-clad Englishmen, surrounded by a select audience of admiring memsahibs and a hundred wondering servants, were playing tennis with that deliberate, dispassionate energy which the Briton of the “clawsses” puts into everything from a casual greeting to a suicide. The honorable commissioner sahib K. C. B., M. A., V. C, Bart, etc., was stretched out in a reclining chair in the smoking-room of the club, his attention divided between a cigarette and cooling beverage372 and the activities of several other distinguished preservers of the alphabet, who were driving a red and two white balls about a green table with characteristic vim373 and vigor374. The native who pointed375 out the mighty376 man from the shelter of a veranda fern refused in an awe-struck whisper to deliver my message until I had threatened to enter this sanctum of social superiority unannounced. The Englishman bellowed a protest at being disturbed, but rose and advanced to the door, glass in hand.
“I say, you know,” he cried, in a voice having its domicile in the pit of his stomach, “this isn’t my office, my man. I cawn’t be attending to official duties day and night. Come to the high-court to-morrow and I will look into your case.”
“If any of the gentlemen inside, sir, or you, could put me onto a job where I could earn the price of a tick—”
“A job! In Delhi? Do you fawncy there are full-rigged ships on the Jumna? Come to my office at ten-thirty or eleven in the morning.”
“But to-morrow is a holiday.”
“Hah! By Jove, so it is! Well, come to my bungalow instead.”
“How about some work about the club? Anything at all.”
“See here, my man,” protested the commissioner, turning away, “this is no employment bureau. I’m going over for a game of tennis and I’ll bid you good day.”
“Then you’ll need someone to chase tennis balls for you,” I called after him, “I’m fairly fast on my feet.”
“Chase tennis balls!” cried the governor, coming back. “Do you mean you would run around before a crowd of native servants—you—a white man—and—”
“Sure. Won’t you?”
352“Eh—er—wha—I? When I play tennis? Why, of course, for exercise; but you were talking about work.”
“Well, let’s call it exercise if you’d rather.”
He stared at me a moment in silence, but, being an unusually quick-witted Englishman, grinned as he turned away.
“Very well,” he said, over his shoulder, “wait for me over at the second court. I’ll give you a rupee a set—in railway fare—to-morrow.”
I was perspiringly engaged as official ball-chaser of the Delhi tennis club until twilight put an end to the sport, fagging three games for the commissioner and as many more for his friends. The reward, however, was not immediately forthcoming; and I turned back as penniless as I had come, towards Delhi, four miles distant. The half-audible melody of a summer night was broken now and then by the patter of native feet along the dusty roadway, but I tramped on for the most part in silence. Once I was startled by a lusty chorus of male voices that burst out suddenly from the darkness ahead in words of my own tongue; and a moment later a squad of red-coats, bound barrack-ward after a merry afternoon on leave, trooped by me, arm in arm, singing at the top of their lungs, “The Place where the Punkah-wallah Died.” It is a sorrowful ditty, this favorite ballad377 of the Tommy Atkins of India, bearing as it does the final word on the infernal calidity of the peninsula. The punkah-wallah is as insensible to the sun’s rays as any living mortal, his station is a shaded veranda, his labor the languid moving of a weightless fan. He of the ballad died of the heat at his post.
Bent on finding lodging252 in a deserted coach, I slid down the steep slope at the edge of the European section into the broad railway yards. A policeman patrolled the bank above; detectives lurked378 in the narrow alleyways between the long rows of side-tracked cars; and the headlights of puffing379 switch-engines turned streaks380 of the night into broad day. I escaped detection only by vigilant381 dodging382. There were goods’ vans without number, an endless forest of them, but they were sealed or loaded with some vile-smelling cargo383; passenger coach was there none. I struck off boldly across the tracks towards the lighted station. The glare of a head-light was turned full upon me and without the slightest warning I felt myself launched into space so suddenly that I did not lose my upright posture. The sensation of falling seemed of several minutes’ duration, as one experiences in a dream of being thrown from a high building. Long after the world above had disappeared, I landed in utter darkness, all unhurt except for the barking of my nose. Near at hand several live coals gleamed like watching eyes. I had walked into a cinder-pit on the round-house track.
A lady of quality of Delhi out for a drive
Hindu women drinking cocoanut-milk
353By dint384 of a cat-like spring from the top of the largest heap of ashes, I grasped the rail above and drew myself out, to find the engine crew preparing to descend237 into the pit to recover my body. The station platform was crowded. Beyond, surrounded on all sides by the teeming385 bazaars, lay a thick-wooded park known as Queen’s Gardens. Placards on the ten-foot picket386 fence forbade trespassing387 after nightfall; but though I climbed the barrier in full sight of strollers and shopkeepers they held their peace, convinced, no doubt, that the sahib who entered at that hour was called thither by official duties. I stretched out in the long grass, but the foliage146 overhead offered no such shelter as the trees of equatorial Ceylon, and I awoke in the morning dripping wet from the fallen dew.
Again that afternoon I did service at the tennis court, earning two rupees more than the sum required to carry me back to Calcutta, and, returning to the city, boarded the Saturday night express. The European compartment was commodious388 and furnished not only with a wash-room but with two wooden shelves on which I slept by night, undisturbed by Eurasian collectors. Following the direct line through Cawnpore and Allahabad, the train drew into Howrah on Monday morning. Not once during the journey had my box-stall been invaded. Nine hundred and fifty-four miles I had traveled, in a private car on an express—and the ticket had cost $2.82! Truly, impecunious389 victims of the Wanderlust should look upon India as the promised land.
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filching
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| v.偷（尤指小的或不贵重的物品）( filch的现在分词 ) | |
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strand
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| vt.使（船）搁浅，使（某人）困于（某地） | |
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metropolis
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| n.首府；大城市 | |
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gutter
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| n.沟，街沟，水槽，檐槽，贫民窟 | |
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brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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tact
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retaliation
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| n.报复，反击 | |
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throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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9
slashing
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| adj.尖锐的；苛刻的；鲜明的；乱砍的v.挥砍( slash的现在分词 )；鞭打；割破；削减 | |
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10
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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11
hind
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| adj.后面的，后部的 | |
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12
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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13
outrages
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| 引起…的义愤，激怒( outrage的第三人称单数 ) | |
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14
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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15
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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16
seaman
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| n.海员，水手，水兵 | |
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17
ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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18
queried
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| v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的过去式和过去分词 )；询问 | |
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19
stevedores
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| n.码头装卸工人，搬运工( stevedore的名词复数 ) | |
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20
seamen
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| n.海员 | |
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21
bungalow
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| n.平房，周围有阳台的木造小平房 | |
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22
bawled
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| 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） | |
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23
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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24
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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25
diminutive
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| adj.小巧可爱的，小的 | |
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26
mattress
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| n.床垫，床褥 | |
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27
tarpaulin
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| n.涂油防水布，防水衣，防水帽 | |
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28
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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29
lulled
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| vt.使镇静，使安静（lull的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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30
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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31
rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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32
rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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33
grassy
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| adj.盖满草的；长满草的 | |
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34
scanty
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| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
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35
twigs
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| 细枝，嫩枝( twig的名词复数 ) | |
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36
wig
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| n.假发 | |
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37
thatch
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| vt.用茅草覆盖…的顶部；n.茅草(屋) | |
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38
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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39
glistening
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| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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40
slanting
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| 倾斜的，歪斜的 | |
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41
conspicuously
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| ad.明显地，惹人注目地 | |
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42
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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43
spire
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| n.(教堂)尖顶，尖塔，高点 | |
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44
landmark
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| n.陆标，划时代的事，地界标 | |
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45
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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46
jointed
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| 有接缝的 | |
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47
yarn
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| n.纱，纱线，纺线；奇闻漫谈，旅行轶事 | |
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48
phantom
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| n.幻影，虚位，幽灵；adj.错觉的，幻影的，幽灵的 | |
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49
commissioner
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| n.（政府厅、局、处等部门）专员，长官，委员 | |
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50
commissioners
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| n.专员( commissioner的名词复数 )；长官；委员；政府部门的长官 | |
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51
marine
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| adj.海的；海生的；航海的；海事的；n.水兵 | |
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52
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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53
pawns
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| n.（国际象棋中的）兵( pawn的名词复数 )；卒；被人利用的人；小卒v.典当，抵押( pawn的第三人称单数 )；以（某事物）担保 | |
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54
parlance
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| n.说法；语调 | |
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55
imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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56
lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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57
vista
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| n.远景，深景，展望，回想 | |
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58
veranda
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| n.走廊；阳台 | |
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59
garb
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| n.服装，装束 | |
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60
proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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61
rustic
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| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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62
chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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63
precedent
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|
| n.先例，前例；惯例；adj.在前的，在先的 | |
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64
comely
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| adj.漂亮的，合宜的 | |
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65
gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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66
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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67
batter
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| v.接连重击；磨损；n.牛奶面糊；击球员 | |
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68
viands
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| n.食品，食物 | |
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69
ware
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| n.(常用复数)商品，货物 | |
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70
linen
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|
| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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71
anachronistic
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|
| adj.时代错误的 | |
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72
swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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73
leisurely
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|
| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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74
gaping
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|
| adj.口的；张口的；敞口的；多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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75
bazaars
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| （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 | |
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76
dreading
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|
| v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的现在分词 ) | |
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77
lengthy
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| adj.漫长的，冗长的 | |
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78
gendarmes
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| n.宪兵，警官( gendarme的名词复数 ) | |
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79
perspicacity
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| n. 敏锐, 聪明, 洞察力 | |
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80
squad
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| n.班，小队，小团体；vt.把…编成班或小组 | |
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81
sergeant
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| n.警官，中士 | |
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82
wheedled
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| v.骗取（某物），哄骗（某人干某事）( wheedle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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83
growled
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|
| 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 | |
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84
vernacular
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|
| 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 | |
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85
bellowed
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| v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的过去式和过去分词 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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86
gasped
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|
| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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87
poised
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| a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
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88
bleated
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| v.（羊，小牛）叫( bleat的过去式和过去分词 )；哭诉；发出羊叫似的声音；轻声诉说 | |
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89
moody
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|
| adj.心情不稳的，易怒的，喜怒无常的 | |
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90
compartment
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| n.卧车包房，隔间；分隔的空间 | |
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91
screeched
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| v.发出尖叫声( screech的过去式和过去分词 )；发出粗而刺耳的声音；高叫 | |
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92
racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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93
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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94
blight
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| n.枯萎病；造成破坏的因素；vt.破坏，摧残 | |
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95
arid
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| adj.干旱的；(土地)贫瘠的 | |
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96
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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97
shrouds
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| n.裹尸布( shroud的名词复数 )；寿衣；遮蔽物；覆盖物v.隐瞒( shroud的第三人称单数 )；保密 | |
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98
fatigue
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|
| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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99
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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100
parched
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| adj.焦干的；极渴的；v.（使）焦干 | |
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101
kennels
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| 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 | |
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102
squat
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| v.蹲坐，蹲下；n.蹲下；adj.矮胖的，粗矮的 | |
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103
squatting
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| 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。 | |
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104
slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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105
heralded
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| v.预示( herald的过去式和过去分词 )；宣布（好或重要） | |
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106
superstitions
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| 迷信，迷信行为( superstition的名词复数 ) | |
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107
quench
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| vt.熄灭，扑灭；压制 | |
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108
guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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109
eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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110
superstitious
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| adj.迷信的 | |
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111
follower
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| n.跟随者；随员；门徒；信徒 | |
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112
Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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113
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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114
puffed
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| adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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115
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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116
sane
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| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
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117
kindled
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| （使某物）燃烧，着火( kindle的过去式和过去分词 )； 激起（感情等）； 发亮，放光 | |
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118
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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119
posture
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| n.姿势，姿态，心态，态度；v.作出某种姿势 | |
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120
epidemic
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| n.流行病；盛行；adj.流行性的，流传极广的 | |
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121
filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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122
filth
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| n.肮脏，污物，污秽；淫猥 | |
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123
fumigate
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| v.烟熏；用香薰 | |
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124
scoop
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| n.铲子，舀取，独家新闻；v.汲取，舀取，抢先登出 | |
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125
Christians
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|
| n.基督教徒( Christian的名词复数 ) | |
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126
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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127
concealing
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，遮住( conceal的现在分词 ) | |
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128
rumor
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| n.谣言，谣传，传说 | |
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129
hearsay
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| n.谣传，风闻 | |
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130
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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131
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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132
violation
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| n.违反(行为)，违背(行为)，侵犯 | |
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133
ravages
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| 劫掠后的残迹，破坏的结果，毁坏后的残迹 | |
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134
wares
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| n. 货物, 商品 | |
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135
foodstuffs
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| 食物，食品( foodstuff的名词复数 ) | |
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136
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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137
whining
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| n. 抱怨，牢骚 v. 哭诉，发牢骚 | |
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138
bestows
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的第三人称单数 ) | |
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139
frenzy
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| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
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140
coppers
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| 铜( copper的名词复数 )； 铜币 | |
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141
plentiful
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| adj.富裕的，丰富的 | |
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142
glossy
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| adj.平滑的；有光泽的 | |
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143
ornamented
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| adj.花式字体的v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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144
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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145
majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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146
foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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147
aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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148
huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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149
wretches
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| n.不幸的人( wretch的名词复数 )；可怜的人；恶棍；坏蛋 | |
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150
proffered
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| v.提供，贡献，提出( proffer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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151
shackled
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| 给（某人）带上手铐或脚镣( shackle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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152
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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153
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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154
doze
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| v.打瞌睡；n.打盹，假寐 | |
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155
rite
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| n.典礼，惯例，习俗 | |
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156
jotted
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| v.匆忙记下( jot的过去式和过去分词 )；草草记下，匆匆记下 | |
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157
ponderous
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| adj.沉重的，笨重的，(文章)冗长的 | |
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158
creased
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| （使…）起折痕，弄皱( crease的过去式和过去分词 )； （皮肤）皱起，使起皱纹； 皱皱巴巴 | |
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159
wrung
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| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
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160
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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161
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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162
shackles
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| 手铐( shackle的名词复数 )； 脚镣； 束缚； 羁绊 | |
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163
ERECTED
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| adj. 直立的，竖立的，笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立，建立 | |
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164
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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165
apex
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| n.顶点，最高点 | |
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166
perspiring
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| v.出汗，流汗( perspire的现在分词 ) | |
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167
ascent
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| n.(声望或地位)提高；上升，升高；登高 | |
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168
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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169
densely
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| ad.密集地；浓厚地 | |
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170
protruding
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| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的现在分词 )；凸 | |
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171
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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172
anticipation
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| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
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173
retrospect
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| n.回顾，追溯；v.回顾，回想，追溯 | |
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174
consummate
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| adj.完美的；v.成婚；使完美 [反]baffle | |
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175
dune
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| n.(由风吹积而成的)沙丘 | |
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176
muffled
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| 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） | |
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177
exclamations
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| n.呼喊( exclamation的名词复数 )；感叹；感叹语；感叹词 | |
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178
rumble
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| n.隆隆声；吵嚷；v.隆隆响；低沉地说 | |
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179
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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180
sprawled
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| 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） | |
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181
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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182
distinctive
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| adj.特别的，有特色的，与众不同的 | |
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183
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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184
absolved
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| 宣告…无罪，赦免…的罪行，宽恕…的罪行( absolve的过去式和过去分词 )； 不受责难，免除责任 [义务] ,开脱（罪责） | |
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185
shrines
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| 圣地，圣坛，神圣场所( shrine的名词复数 ) | |
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186
Buddhist
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| adj./n.佛教的，佛教徒 | |
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187
conquerors
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| 征服者，占领者( conqueror的名词复数 ) | |
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188
monasteries
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| 修道院( monastery的名词复数 ) | |
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189
mosques
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| 清真寺； 伊斯兰教寺院，清真寺； 清真寺，伊斯兰教寺院( mosque的名词复数 ) | |
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190
mosque
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| n.清真寺 | |
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191
chapels
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| n.小教堂， （医院、监狱等的）附属礼拜堂( chapel的名词复数 )；（在小教堂和附属礼拜堂举行的）礼拜仪式 | |
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192
scramble
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| v.爬行，攀爬，杂乱蔓延，碎片，片段，废料 | |
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193
absolving
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| 宣告…无罪，赦免…的罪行，宽恕…的罪行( absolve的现在分词 )； 不受责难，免除责任 [义务] ,开脱（罪责） | |
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194
minarets
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| n.（清真寺旁由报告祈祷时刻的人使用的）光塔( minaret的名词复数 ) | |
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195
minaret
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| n.（回教寺院的）尖塔 | |
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196
rumbled
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| 发出隆隆声，发出辘辘声( rumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 轰鸣着缓慢行进； 发现…的真相； 看穿（阴谋） | |
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197
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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198
engulfed
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| v.吞没，包住( engulf的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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199
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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200
chattering
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| 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 | |
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201
spurts
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| 短暂而突然的活动或努力( spurt的名词复数 )； 突然奋起 | |
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202
bawling
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| v.大叫，大喊( bawl的现在分词 )；放声大哭；大声叫出；叫卖（货物） | |
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203
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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204
loomed
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| v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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205
friezes
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| n.（柱顶过梁和挑檐间的）雕带，（墙顶的）饰带( frieze的名词复数 ) | |
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206
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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207
costly
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| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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208
scampered
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| v.蹦蹦跳跳地跑，惊惶奔跑( scamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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209
chattered
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| （人）喋喋不休( chatter的过去式 )； 唠叨； （牙齿）打战； （机器）震颤 | |
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210
audacity
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| n.大胆，卤莽，无礼 | |
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211
buffet
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| n.自助餐；饮食柜台；餐台 | |
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212
buffeted
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| 反复敲打( buffet的过去式和过去分词 )； 连续猛击； 打来打去； 推来搡去 | |
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213
tortuous
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| adj.弯弯曲曲的，蜿蜒的 | |
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214
frenzied
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| a.激怒的；疯狂的 | |
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215
wailing
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的现在分词 )；沱 | |
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216
attired
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| 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 ) | |
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217
discordant
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| adj.不调和的 | |
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218
fanatics
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| 狂热者，入迷者( fanatic的名词复数 ) | |
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219
guises
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| n.外观，伪装( guise的名词复数 )v.外观，伪装( guise的第三人称单数 ) | |
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220
burlesquing
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| v.（嘲弄地）模仿，（通过模仿）取笑( burlesque的现在分词 ) | |
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221
burlesquer
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| 滑稽戏演员，粗俗节目表演者 | |
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222
shrieking
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| v.尖叫( shriek的现在分词 ) | |
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223
impunity
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| n.(惩罚、损失、伤害等的)免除 | |
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224
hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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225
jauntily
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| adv.心满意足地；洋洋得意地；高兴地；活泼地 | |
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226
feigned
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| a.假装的，不真诚的 | |
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227
insanity
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| n.疯狂，精神错乱；极端的愚蠢，荒唐 | |
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228
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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229
vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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230
vocal
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| adj.直言不讳的；嗓音的；n.[pl.]声乐节目 | |
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231
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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232
missionaries
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| n.传教士( missionary的名词复数 ) | |
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233
illiterate
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| adj.文盲的；无知的；n.文盲 | |
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234
grimace
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| v.做鬼脸，面部歪扭 | |
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235
onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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236
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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237
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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238
vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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239
cremation
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| n.火葬，火化 | |
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240
attain
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| vt.达到，获得，完成 | |
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241
salvation
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| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
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242
abhorrence
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| n.憎恶；可憎恶的事 | |
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243
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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244
benevolent
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| adj.仁慈的，乐善好施的 | |
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245
segregation
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| n.隔离，种族隔离 | |
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246
purging
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| 清洗； 清除； 净化； 洗炉 | |
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247
virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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248
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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249
rinsed
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| v.漂洗( rinse的过去式和过去分词 )；冲洗；用清水漂洗掉（肥皂泡等）；（用清水）冲掉 | |
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250
spat
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| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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251
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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252
lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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253
tenacious
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| adj.顽强的，固执的，记忆力强的，粘的 | |
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254
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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255
monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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256
maple
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| n.槭树，枫树，槭木 | |
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257
avalanche
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| n.雪崩，大量涌来 | |
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258
rubble
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| n.（一堆）碎石，瓦砾 | |
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259
halfway
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| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
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260
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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261
blistered
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| adj.水疮状的，泡状的v.（使）起水泡( blister的过去式和过去分词 )；（使表皮等）涨破，爆裂 | |
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262
labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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263
regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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264
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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265
superintendent
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| n.监督人，主管，总监；(英国)警务长 | |
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266
sleeper
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| n.睡眠者，卧车，卧铺 | |
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267
joyful
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| adj.欢乐的，令人欢欣的 | |
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268
wondrous
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|
| adj.令人惊奇的，奇妙的；adv.惊人地；异乎寻常地；令人惊叹地 | |
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269
gargantuan
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|
| adj.巨大的，庞大的 | |
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270
phlegmatic
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| adj.冷静的，冷淡的，冷漠的，无活力的 | |
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271
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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272
piety
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| n.虔诚，虔敬 | |
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273
stranded
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| a.搁浅的，进退两难的 | |
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274
enticed
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| 诱惑，怂恿( entice的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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275
sojourner
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| n.旅居者，寄居者 | |
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276
grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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277
sluggishly
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|
| adv.懒惰地；缓慢地 | |
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278
clogged
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| （使）阻碍( clog的过去式和过去分词 )； 淤滞 | |
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279
swarmed
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|
| 密集( swarm的过去式和过去分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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280
eyelids
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|
| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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281
stumps
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|
| （被砍下的树的）树桩( stump的名词复数 )； 残肢； （板球三柱门的）柱； 残余部分 | |
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282
solicit
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| vi.勾引；乞求；vt.请求，乞求；招揽(生意) | |
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283
gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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284
rendezvous
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|
| n.约会，约会地点，汇合点；vi.汇合，集合；vt.使汇合，使在汇合地点相遇 | |
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285
teller
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|
| n.银行出纳员；(选举)计票员 | |
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286
contemplated
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|
| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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287
blurted
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| v.突然说出，脱口而出( blurt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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288
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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289
presidency
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| n.总统(校长，总经理)的职位(任期) | |
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290
reprehensible
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|
| adj.该受责备的 | |
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291
holder
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| n.持有者，占有者；(台，架等)支持物 | |
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292
lachrymose
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|
| adj.好流泪的，引人落泪的；adv.眼泪地，哭泣地 | |
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293
wane
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| n.衰微，亏缺，变弱；v.变小，亏缺，呈下弦 | |
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294
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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295
mariner
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| n.水手号不载人航天探测器，海员，航海者 | |
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296
junction
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| n.连接，接合；交叉点，接合处，枢纽站 | |
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297
promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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298
northward
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| adv.向北；n.北方的地区 | |
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299
ridges
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| n.脊( ridge的名词复数 )；山脊；脊状突起；大气层的)高压脊 | |
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300
dreaded
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|
| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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301
agile
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|
| adj.敏捷的，灵活的 | |
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302
dingy
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|
| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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303
captivity
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|
| n.囚禁；被俘；束缚 | |
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304
sluggard
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|
| n.懒人；adj.懒惰的 | |
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305
thicket
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|
| n.灌木丛，树林 | |
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306
spool
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|
| n.（缠录音带等的）卷盘（轴）；v.把…绕在卷轴上 | |
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307
complacently
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|
| adv. 满足地, 自满地, 沾沾自喜地 | |
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308
cowering
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|
| v.畏缩，抖缩( cower的现在分词 ) | |
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309
compartments
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|
| n.间隔( compartment的名词复数 )；（列车车厢的）隔间；（家具或设备等的）分隔间；隔层 | |
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310
prying
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|
| adj.爱打听的v.打听，刺探（他人的私事）( pry的现在分词 )；撬开 | |
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311
inspector
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|
| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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312
contrition
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|
| n.悔罪，痛悔 | |
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313
deluge
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|
| n./vt.洪水，暴雨，使泛滥 | |
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314
lingo
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| n.语言不知所云，外国话，隐语 | |
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315
accusation
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|
| n.控告，指责，谴责 | |
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316
populous
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|
| adj.人口稠密的，人口众多的 | |
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317
depleted
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|
| adj. 枯竭的, 废弃的 动词deplete的过去式和过去分词 | |
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318
scowls
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|
| 不悦之色，怒容( scowl的名词复数 ) | |
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319
owls
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|
| n.猫头鹰( owl的名词复数 ) | |
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320
rascal
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|
| n.流氓；不诚实的人 | |
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321
protruded
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|
| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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322
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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323
accosted
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|
| v.走过去跟…讲话( accost的过去式和过去分词 )；跟…搭讪；（乞丐等）上前向…乞讨；（妓女等）勾搭 | |
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324
entirely
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|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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325
cane
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|
| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
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326
delicacies
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|
| n.棘手( delicacy的名词复数 )；精致；精美的食物；周到 | |
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327
hovered
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|
| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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328
scrawled
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|
| 乱涂，潦草地写( scrawl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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329
finned
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|
| adj.有鳍的，有鳍状物的 | |
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330
busted
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|
| adj. 破产了的，失败了的，被降级的，被逮捕的，被抓到的 动词bust的过去式和过去分词 | |
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331
snugly
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|
| adv.紧贴地；贴身地；暖和舒适地；安适地 | |
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332
velvet
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|
| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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333
embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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334
imperturbable
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|
| adj.镇静的 | |
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335
lithe
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|
| adj.(指人、身体)柔软的，易弯的 | |
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336
mien
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| n.风采；态度 | |
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337
plies
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|
| v.使用（工具）( ply的第三人称单数 )；经常供应（食物、饮料）；固定往来；经营生意 | |
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338
purgatory
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|
| n.炼狱；苦难；adj.净化的，清洗的 | |
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339
shutters
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| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
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340
musket
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| n.滑膛枪 | |
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341
incapable
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|
| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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342
cumbersome
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|
| adj.笨重的，不便携带的 | |
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343
crab
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| n.螃蟹，偏航，脾气乖戾的人，酸苹果；vi.捕蟹，偏航，发牢骚；vt.使偏航，发脾气 | |
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344
transit
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|
| n.经过，运输；vt.穿越，旋转；vi.越过 | |
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345
suburbanite
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| n. 郊区居民 | |
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346
bungalows
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| n.平房( bungalow的名词复数 )；单层小屋，多于一层的小屋 | |
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347
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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348
lodger
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| n.寄宿人，房客 | |
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349
groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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350
deliriously
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| adv.谵妄（性）；发狂；极度兴奋/亢奋；说胡话 | |
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351
willow
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| n.柳树 | |
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352
piazza
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| n.广场；走廊 | |
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353
entity
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| n.实体，独立存在体，实际存在物 | |
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354
heterogeneous
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| adj.庞杂的；异类的 | |
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355
labyrinthian
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| 错综复杂的 | |
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356
supremacy
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|
| n.至上；至高权力 | |
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357
hovers
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|
| 鸟( hover的第三人称单数 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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358
pariah
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| n.被社会抛弃者 | |
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359
indigenous
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|
| adj.土产的，土生土长的，本地的 | |
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360
vagrant
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|
| n.流浪者，游民；adj.流浪的，漂泊不定的 | |
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361
investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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362
realization
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| n.实现；认识到，深刻了解 | |
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363
impetus
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| n.推动，促进，刺激；推动力 | |
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364
siesta
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| n.午睡 | |
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365
awakening
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|
| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
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366
streaked
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|
| adj.有条斑纹的，不安的v.快速移动( streak的过去式和过去分词 )；使布满条纹 | |
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367
withered
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|
| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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368
scattered
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|
| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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369
situated
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|
| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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370
monarch
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| n.帝王，君主，最高统治者 | |
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371
whitewashing
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| 粉饰，美化，掩饰( whitewash的现在分词 )； 喷浆 | |
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372
beverage
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|
| n.(水，酒等之外的)饮料 | |
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373
vim
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| n.精力，活力 | |
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374
vigor
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| n.活力，精力，元气 | |
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375
pointed
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|
| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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376
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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377
ballad
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|
| n.歌谣，民谣，流行爱情歌曲 | |
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378
lurked
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| vi.潜伏，埋伏（lurk的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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379
puffing
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| v.使喷出( puff的现在分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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380
streaks
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| n.（与周围有所不同的）条纹( streak的名词复数 )；（通常指不好的）特征（倾向）；（不断经历成功或失败的）一段时期v.快速移动( streak的第三人称单数 )；使布满条纹 | |
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381
vigilant
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| adj.警觉的，警戒的，警惕的 | |
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382
dodging
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| n.避开，闪过，音调改变v.闪躲( dodge的现在分词 )；回避 | |
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383
cargo
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| n.(一只船或一架飞机运载的)货物 | |
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384
dint
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| n.由于，靠；凹坑 | |
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385
teeming
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| adj.丰富的v.充满( teem的现在分词 )；到处都是；（指水、雨等）暴降；倾注 | |
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386
picket
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| n.纠察队；警戒哨；v.设置纠察线；布置警卫 | |
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387
trespassing
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| [法]非法入侵 | |
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388
commodious
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| adj.宽敞的；使用方便的 | |
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389
impecunious
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| adj.不名一文的，贫穷的 | |
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