There was work ashore16 for all hands, white or brown, for the servants of the plague doctors had daubed on house-walls throughout the city the enticing17 offer:—“Dead Rats—Two pice each.” But even the penniless seamen, who had learned during long enforced residence in the Burmese capital that their services were useful in no other field, scorned to turn terriers.
It was my bad fortune to reach Rangoon a bit too late to be greeted by an old acquaintance.
“Up to tree day ago,” cried one of the band at the Home, “dere was one oder Yank on der beach here, ja. Min he made a pier’ead yump by er tramp tru der Straits.”
“That so?” I queried18.
“Aye,” put in another of the boys, “’e was a slim chap with a bloody19 lot of mouth, always looking fer a scrap20, but keepin’ ’is weather-eye peeled fer the Bobbies.”
“Bet a hat,” I shouted, “that I knew him. Wasn’t his name Haywood?”
“Dick ’Aywood, aye,” answered the tar21; “leastway that was the ’andle ’e went by. But ’e’s off now fer good, an’ bloody glad we are to be clear of ’im.”
379We struck off through the city, taking leave of Rice before the door of the first European official whose beneficence he chose to investigate. The native town, squatting24 on the flat plain along the river, was reminiscent of the Western world. Its streets were wide and parallel, as streets should be, no doubt, yet lacking the picturesqueness25 of narrow, meandering26 passageways, so common elsewhere in the Orient. Sidewalks were there none, of course. Pedestrians27 mingled28 with vehicles and disputed the way with laden29 animals and human beasts of burden. Before and behind, on either side, as far as the eye could see, stretched unbroken vistas30 of heterogeneous31 wares32 and yawning shopkeepers. For to the Burman no other vocation33 compares with that of merchant. A flat city it was, with small, two-story hovels for the most part, above which gleamed a few golden pagodas34.
In the suburbs the scene was different. Vine-grown bungalows and squat23 barracks littered a rolling, lightly-wooded country that sloped away to a clear-cut horizon. Here and there shimmered36 a sun-flecked lake; along umbrageous38 highways strolled khaki-clad mortals with white faces and a familiar vocabulary. High above all else, as the Eiffel tower over Paris, soared the pride of Burma, the Shwe Dagón pagoda35.
We climbed the endless vaulted40 stairway to the sacred hilltop, in company with hundreds of natives bearing their shoes, when such they possessed41, in their hands, and amid the bedlam42 of clamoring hawkers. Now and again a pious43 pilgrim glanced at our rough-shod feet, but smiled indulgently and passed us by. The village of shrines44 at the summit of the knoll45 was an animated46 bazaar47, stocked with every devotional requisite48 from bottled arrack to pet snakes. Even the tables of the money-changers and the desks of the scribes were not lacking to complete the picture.
Barefooted worshipers, male and female, wandered among the glittering topes, setting up candles or spreading out lotus blossoms before the serene49-visaged statues; kowtowing now and then, but puffing51 incessantly52, one and all, at long native cigars. Near the mouth of the humanity-belching stairway creaked a diminutive53 clothes-reel overburdened with such booty as the red-man, returned from a scalping expedition, hangs over the entrance to his wigwam. While we marveled, a panting matron with close-cropped head pushed past us and added to the display a switch of oily, jet-black hair. Her prayer had been granted and the shorn locks bore witness to her gratitude54.
380Shrines and topes were but doll-houses compared with the central mass of masonry55, towering upward to neck-craning height and covered with untarnished gold from tapering56 apex57 to swollen58 base. It was a monument all too brilliant in the blazing sunlight. Tiny pagodas floated before our eyes as we glanced for relief into the deep shadows of the encircling sanctuaries59. Burmen from the sea to the sources of the Irawaddy are inordinately60 proud of the Shwe Dagón. Its destruction, they are convinced, would bring national disaster in its train. Their rulers have turned this superstition61 to account. Down at the edge of the cantonment below, John Bull has mounted two heavy cannon62 that are trained on the pagoda day and night. A brief word of command from the officer in charge would reduce the sacred edifice63 to a tumbled mass of ruins. Ten regiments64 of red-coats would be far less effective than those two pieces of ordnance65, in maintaining the sahib sway over Burma.
Rice of Chicago scorned to share the simple life among the wearers of the yellow robe. As the day waned66, he joined us at the Home with the announcement that he had “dug up a swell67 graft68” among the European residents and, declining to disclose the details thereof, strutted69 away towards the harbor.
We set off alone, therefore, the Australian and I, to the monastery70 that had witnessed the metamorphosis of the erstwhile Larry O’Rourke. The far-famed institution occupied an extensive estate flanking Godwin Road, a broad, shaded thoroughfare leading to the Shwe Dagón. Its grounds were surrounded by a crumbling72 wall and a shallow, weed-choked ditch that could not be styled moat for lack of water. Three badly-warped planks73, nailed together into a drawbridge that would not draw, led through a breach75 in the western wall, the main entrance, evidently, for many a year.
Inside was a teeming76 village of light, two-story buildings, with deep verandas78 above and below, scattered79 pell-mell about the inclosure as if they had been constructed in some gigantic carpenter-shop, shipped to their destination, and left where the expressman had thrown them off. The irregular plots and courts between them were trodden bare and hard or were ankle-deep in loose sand. Here and there swayed a tall, untrimmed tree, but within the area was neither grass nor flower nor garden patch. For the priest of Buddha80, forbidden to kill even a grub or an earthworm, may not till the soil about his dwelling81.
Bungalows along the way in rural Burma
Women of the Malay Peninsula wear nothing above the waist-line and not much below it
The surrounding town was no more densely82 populated than the 381monastery village. Besides a small army of servants, male and female, in layman84 garb85, there were yellow-robed figures everywhere. Wrinkled, sear-faced seekers after Nirvana squatted86 in groups on the verandas, poring over texts in the weak light of the dying day. More sprightly87 priests, holding a fold of their gowns over an arm, strolled back and forth88 across the barren grounds. Scores of novices89, small boys and youths, saffron-clad and hairless like their elders, flitted in and out among the buildings, shouting gleefully at their games.
We turned to the first bungalow6, a servants’ cottage evidently; for there were both men and women and no shaven polls in the group that crowded the veranda77 railing. Twice we addressed them in English, once in Hindustanee; but the only response was a babel of strange words that rose to an uproar91. The women screamed excitedly, the men shouted half-angrily, half-beseechingly and motioned to us to be off. As we mounted the steps the shrieking93 folk took to their heels and tumbled through the doors of the cottage, or over the ends of the veranda, leaving only a few decrepit94 crones and grandsires to keep us company.
Here was no such welcome as the Irishman had prophesied95; but first impressions count for little in the Orient, and we sat down to await developments. For a time the driveling ancients stared vacantly upon us, mumbling96 childishly to themselves. Then there arose a chorus of excited whispers; around the corners of the bungalow peered gaping97 brown faces that disappeared quickly when we made the least movement. At last a native whom we had not seen before advanced bravely to the foot of the steps.
“Goo’ evening,” he stammered98, “will you not go way? There is not plague in the monastery.”
“Eh!” cried James, “We’d be more like to go if there was.”
“But are the sahibs not doctors?” queried the Burman.
The suggestion set the Australian choking with laughter.
“Doctors!” I gasped99, “We’re sailors, and we were sent by Damalaku.”
The babu uttered a mighty100 shout and dashed up the steps. The fugitives101 swarmed102 upon the veranda from all sides and crowded around us, laughing and chattering104.
“They all running way when you coming,” explained the spokesman, “because they thinking you plague doctors and they ’fraid.”
“Of what?” asked James.
“Sahib doctors feel all over,” shuddered106 the babu, “not nice.”
382Our errand explained, the interpreter set off to announce our arrival to the head priest, and the grinning servants squatted in a semicircle about us. Suddenly James raised a hand and pointed107 towards the breach in the wall.
“Seems other beachcombers know this graft,” he laughed.
A burly negro, dressed in an old sweater of the White Star line and the rags and tatters of what had once been overalls108 and jumper, stepped into the inclosure. Anxious to make a favorable impression at the outset, he had halted in the street to remove his shoes, and, carrying them in one hand, he shuffled110 through the sand in his bare feet, about the ankles of which clung the remnants of a bright red pair of socks. In color, he was many degrees darker than the Burmese; and the apologetic, almost penitent111 mien112 with which he approached struck the assembled natives as so incongruous in one attired113 as a European that they greeted him with roars of laughter. When he addressed them in English they shrieked115 the louder, and left him to stand contritely116 at the foot of the steps until we, as the honored guests of the evening, had been provided for. There is needed more than the whiteman’s tongue and garb to be accepted as a sahib in British-India.
The babu returned, and, bidding us follow, led the way back into the village and up the out-door stairway of one of the largest bungalows. Inside, under a sputtering117 torch, squatted an aged50 priest of sour and leathery countenance118. He squinted119 a moment at us in silence, and then demanded, through the interpreter, an account of our meeting with Damalaku. We soon convinced him that the note was no forgery120. He dismissed us with a grimace121 that might have been expressive122 either of mirth or annoyance123, and the babu set off towards a neighboring bungalow.
“You are sleeping in here,” he said, stopping several paces from the cottage, “Goo’ night.”
“Thunder!” muttered James, as we started to mount the steps to a deserted124 veranda, “He might, at least, have told ’em what we want. If there’s anything I hate, it’s talking to natives on my fingers and listening to their jabber125 all the evening without an interpreter. He—”
“Hello, Jack126!” shouted a voice above us, “Where the blazes did you come from?”
We fell back in astonishment127 and looked up. Framed in the doorway128 of the brightly-lighted bungalow stood a white priest.
383“Englishmen?” he queried.
“I’m American,” I apologized.
“The thunder you are!” cried the priest, “So’m I. On the beach, eh?”
“Yep,” I answered.
“Well, come up on deck, mates. But first,” he added hastily, in more solemn tones, “in respect for the revered129 Buddha and his disciples131, take off your shoes down there.”
“And socks?” I asked, struggling with a knot in one of my laces.
“Naw,” returned the priest, “just the kicks.”
We crossed the veranda and, having deposited our shoes in a sort of washtub outside the door, followed the renegade inside.
The typical Indian bungalow is a very simple structure. The Oriental carpenter considers his task finished when he has thrown together—if the actions of so apathetic132 a workman may be so described—a frame-work of light poles, boarded them up on the outside, and tossed a roof of thatch133 on top. The interior he leaves to take care of itself, and the result is a dwelling as rough and ungarnished as an American hay-loft.
The room in which we found ourselves was some twenty feet square and extremely low of ceiling, its skeleton of unhewn beams all exposed, like the ribs134 of a cargo135 steamer. Two rectangular openings in opposite walls, innocent of frame or glass, admitted a current of night air that made the chamber136 almost habitable. In the center of the floor, which was polished smooth and shining by the shuffle109 of bare feet, was a large grass mat; while beyond, on a low da?s, squatted a gorgeous, life-sized statue of Buddha.
At the moment of our appearance, a score of native priests were crouched138 on as many small mats ranged round the walls. They rose slowly, really agog139 with curiosity, yet striving to maintain that phlegmatic140 air of indifference141 that is cultivated among them, and grouped themselves about us. In the brilliant light cast by several lamps and long rows of candles before the statue, we had our first clear view of the American priest. He was tall and thin of figure, yet sinewy142, with a suggestion of hidden strength. His face, gaunt and lantern-jawed, was seared and weather-beaten and marked with the unmistakable lines of hardships and dissipation. It was easy to see that he was a recruit from the ranks of labor145. His hands were coarse and disproportionately large. As he moved they hung half open, his elbows a bit bent146, as though he were ready at a word of command to grasp a 384rope or a shovel147. The rules of the priesthood had not been framed to enhance his particular style of beauty. A thick shock of hair would have concealed149 the displeasing150 outline of a bullet head, the yellow robe hung in loose folds about his lank71 form, his feet were broad and stub-toed. But it was none of these points in his physical make-up that caused James to choke with suppressed mirth. A Buddhist151 priest, be it remembered, must ever keep aloof152 from things feminine. The American had been a sailor, and his bare arms were tattooed153 from wrist to shoulder with female figures that would have outdone those on the raciest posters of a burlesque154 show!
Our hosts placed mats for us in a corner of the room and brought forth a huge bowl of rice and a smaller one of blistering155 currie. While we scooped157 up handfuls alternately from the dishes, they squatted on their haunches close at hand, watching us, it must be admitted, somewhat hungrily. The American had not yet mastered the native tongue. His interpreter was a youthful priest who spoke105 fluent English. With these two at our elbows, the conversation did not drag. The youth was a human interrogation point; the convert, for the nonce, a long-stranded mariner10 eager for news of the world outside. Were “the boys” still signing on in Liverpool at three pound ten? Did captains still ship out of Frisco with shanghaied crews, as of yore? Were the Home in Marseilles and the Mission in Sydney still closed to beachcombers? Was the Peter Rickmers still above the waves? His questions fell fast and furious, interspersed158 with queries159 from his companion. Then he grew reminiscent and told us, in the vocabulary of them that go down to the sea in ships, tales of his days before the mast and of his uninspiring adventures in distant ports. For the moment he was plain Jack Tar again, swapping160 yarns161 with his fellows.
The youth rose at last and laid a hand on the convert’s shoulder. He started, blinked a moment, and glanced at his brilliant garment. Then he rose to dignified162 erectness163 and stood a moment silent, gazing down upon us with the half-haughty, half-pitying mien of a true believer addressing heathen.
“You will excuse us,” he said, in his sacerdotal voice. “It is time for our evening devotions.”
He moved with the others to the further side of the room, where each of the band lighted a candle and came to place it on the altar. Then all knelt on a large mat, sank down until their hips144 touched their heels and, with their eyes fixed164 steadfastly165 on the serene countenance 385of the statue, rocked their bodies back and forth to the time of a chant set up by one of the youngest priests. It was a half-monotonous166 wail11, rising and falling in uneven167 cadence2, lacking something of the solemnity of the chanted Latin of a Catholic office, yet more musical than the three-tone song of the Arab. One theme, often repeated, grew familiar even to our unaccustomed ears, a long-drawn refrain ending in:—
“Vooráy kalma-á-y s-?-?-mée,”
which the swaying group, one and all, caught up from time to time and droned in deep-voiced chorus.
The worship lasted some twenty minutes. When the American returned to us, every trace of the seaman168—save the tattooing—had disappeared. He was a missionary169 now, fired with zeal170 for the “true faith”; though into his arguments crept occasionally a suggestion that his efforts were less for conversion171 than for self-justification. Now and again he called on his sponsor in Buddhist lore172 and ritual to expatiate173 on the doctrines174 he was striving to set forth. The youth needed no urging. He drew a book from the folds of his gown and, for every point brought up by the American, read us several pages of dissertations175 or tales of the miracles performed by the Wandering Prince.
The hour grew late for beachcombers. A dreadful fear assailed176 us that the night would be all sermon and no sleep. We sank into an open-eyed doze177, from which we started up now and then half determined178 to turn Buddhists179 that we might be left in peace. Towards midnight the propagandists tired of their monologues180 and rose to their feet. The white man led the way to a back room, littered with kettles and bowls, bunches of drying rattan181, and all the odds182 and ends of the establishment, and pointed out two mats that the servants had spread for us on the billowy, yet yielding floor of split bamboo.
“Take my tip, mate,” said the Australian, as we lay down side by side, “that bloke don’t swallow any more of this mess about the transmigration of souls than I do. Loafing in the shade’s his religion.”
We were awakened183 soon after daylight by a hubbub184 of shrill185 laughter and shouts behind the bungalow. I rose and peered through a window opening. In the yard below, a score of boys, some in yellow robes, some in nothing worth mentioning, were engaged in a game that seemed too energetic to be of Oriental origin. The players were divided into two teams; but neither band was limited to any 386particular part of the field, and all mingled freely together as they raced about in pursuit of what seemed at first sight to be a small basket. It was rather, as I made out when the game ceased an instant, a ball about a foot in diameter, made of open wickerwork. This the opposing contestants186 kicked alternately, sending it high in the air, the only rule of the game being, apparently187, that it should not touch the ground nor any part of the player’s body above the knees. When this was violated, the offending side lost a point.
The wiry, brown youths were remarkably188 nimble in following the ball, and showed great skill in returning it—no simple matter, for they could not kick it as a punter kicks a pig-skin without driving their bare toes through the openings. They struck it instead with the sides of their feet or—when it fell behind them—with their heels; yet they often kept it constantly in the air for several minutes. It was a typical Burmese scene, with more mirth and laughter than one could have heard in a whole city in the land of the morose189 and apathetic Hindu.
The servants brought us breakfast. Behind them entered the American priest. He squatted on the floor before us, but refused to partake, having risen to gorge137 himself at the first peep of dawn. Whatever its original purpose, the rule forbidding wearers of the yellow robe to eat after noonday certainly makes them early risers.
The meal over, we fished our shoes out of the tub and, promising190 the American to return in time for supper and “evening devotions,” turned away. At the wooden bridge connecting the monastery with the world outside, we met the foraging191 party of novices returning from their morning rounds. Far down the street stretched a line of priests, certainly sixty in all, each holding in his embrace a huge bowl, filled to the brim with a strange assortment192 of native foodstuffs193.
“Mate,” said James, later in the morning, as we stood before a world map in the Sailors’ Home, “it looks to me as if we’d bit off more ’n we can chew. There’s nothing doing in the shipping194 line here, and not a show to earn the price of a deck passage to Singapore. And if we could, it’s a thunder of a jump from there to Hong Kong.”
“Aye,” put in a grizzled seaman, limping forward, “ye’ll be lucky lads if ye make yer get-away from Rangoon. But once ye get on the beach in Singapore, ye’ll die of ould age afore iver ye see ’Ong Kong, if that’s ’ow yer ’eaded. Why mates, that bloody ’ole is alive 387with beachcombers that’s been ’ung up there so long they’d not know ’ow to eat with a knife if iver they got back to God’s country. Take my tip, an’ give ’er a wide berth195.”
“It would seem foolish anyway,” I remarked, addressing James, “to go to Singapore. It’s a good fifteen degrees south of here, a week of loafing around on some dirty tub to get there, and a longer jump back up north—even if we don’t get stuck in the Straits.”
“But what else?” objected James.
“Look how narrow the Malay Peninsula is,” I went on, pointing at the map. “Bangkok is almost due east of here. We’d save a lot of travel by going overland, and run no risk of being tied up for months in Singapore.”
“But how?” demanded the Australian.
“Walk, of course.”
The sailors grouped about us burst out in a roar of laughter.
“Aye, ye’d walk across the Peninsula like ye’d swim to Madras,” chuckled196 one of them. “It’s bats ye have in yer belfry, from a touch o’ the sun.”
“But Hong Kong,” I began—
“If it’s ’Ong Kong, ye’ll go to Singapore,” continued the seaman, “or back the other way. There’s no man goes round the world in the north ’emisphere without touching197 Singapore. Put that down in yer log.”
“If we walk across the Peninsula,” I went on, still addressing James, “it would—”
“Yes,” put in the “Askins” of the party, “it would be a unique and onconventional way of committin’ suicide, original, interestin’, maybe slow, but damn sure.”
“Now look ’ere, lads,” said the old seaman, almost tearfully, “d’ ye know anything about that country? There’s no wilder savages198 nowhere than the Siameese. I know ’em. When I was bo’s’n on a windjammer from the Straits to China, that’s fourt—fifteen year gone, we was blowed into the bay an’ put ashore fer water. We rowed by thousands o’ dead babies floatin’ down the river. We ’adn’t no more ’n stepped ashore when down come a yelpin’ bunch o’ Siameese, with knives as long as yer arm, an’ afore we could shove off they’d killt my mate an’ another ’and—chopped ’em all to pieces. Them’s the Siameese, an’ the dacoits in the mountains is worse.”
In short, the suggestion raised such an uproar of derision and chatter103 among “the boys” that we were forced to retreat to the 388street to continue our planning. For all the raillery, I was still convinced that the overland trip was possible; necessary, in fact, for there was no other escape from the city. “The boys” might be right, but there was a promise of new adventures in the undertaking199, and, best of all, the territory was unknown to beachcombers. For the truest satisfaction of the Wanderlust is to explore the world by virgin200 routes and pose as a bold pioneer in the rendezvous202 of the “profession” ever after.
James asserted that he was “game for anything,” and, though we had no intention of quitting Rangoon for a week, we turned our attention at once to gathering203 information concerning the route. The task proved fruitless. Our project was branded idiotic204 in terms far more cutting than I had heard even in Palestine and Syria. We appealed to the American consul205; we canvassed206 half the bungalows in the cantonment and every European office in the city; we tramped far out past the Gymkana station to the headquarters of the Geographical207 Society of Burma, and, surrounded by excited bands of native clerks, pored over great maps and folios ten feet square. All to no purpose. The original charts showed only wavy208, brown lines through the heart of the Peninsula; and not a resident of Rangoon, apparently, had the slightest knowledge of the territory ten miles east of the city.
Our inquiries209 ended, as we had dreaded210, by attracting the attention of the police. Late in the afternoon, while we were lounging in the Home, an Englishman in khaki burst in upon us.
“Are you the chaps,” he began, “who are talking of starting for Bangkok on foot?”
“We’ve been asking the way,” I admitted.
“Well, save yourselves the trouble,” returned the officer. “There is no way. The trip can’t be made. You’d be killed sure, and your governments would come back at us for letting you go. I have orders from the chief of police that you are not to leave Rangoon except by sea, and I have warned the patrolmen on the eastern side of the city to head you off. Thought I’d tell you.”
“Thanks,” said James, “but we’ll hold down Rangoon for a while yet anyway.”
“Yes, I know,” laughed the Englishman. “So the government is going to give you a guide to show you the sights. Come in, Pearson!”
“Pearson” entered, grinning. He was a sharp-eyed Eurasian in uniform, gaunt of face and long of limb. The Englishman took his 389leave and the half-breed sat down beside us. When we left the Home he followed us to the monastery. When we slipped on our shoes next morning, he was waiting for us at the foot of the steps. He was a pleasant companion and his stories were well told; but we could no more shake him off than we could find work in Rangoon. For three days he camped relentlessly211 on our trail.
“Look here, James,” I protested, as we were breakfasting on Monday morning, “the longer we hang around Rangoon, the closer we’ll be watched. If ever we get away, it must be now, before they think we’re going.”
“But Pearson—” began James.
“There’s one scheme that always works with Eurasians,” I answered.
The Australian raised his eyebrows212.
“Firewater,” I murmured.
“Swell,” grinned James.
We put the plan into execution at once, halting at the first arrack-shop beyond the monastery to show the detective our appreciation214 of his services. By eight bells he was the most jovial215 man in Rangoon; by noon he felt in duty bound to slap on the back every European we encountered. Luckily, good cheer sells cheaply in Burma, or the project would have made a serious inroad on our fortune of seven rupees.
We halted, well on in the afternoon, at an eating house hard by the Chinese temple. The Eurasian, alleging216 lack of appetite, ignored the plate of food that was set before him.
“See here, Pearson,” I suggested, “you’ve been sticking close to us for a long time. The government should be proud of you. But I should think, after three days, you’d like to get a glimpse of your wife and the kids.”
“Yesh, yesh,” cried the half-breed, starting up with a whoop217, “I’m close to ’ome ’ere. I’ll run round a minute. Don’t mind, old fel, eh? I’ll be back fore22 you’re ’alf through,” and he stumbled off up the street.
Once he was out of sight, we left our dinner unfinished, and hurried back to the Home. The manager was sleeping. We laid hold on the knapsack that we had left in his keeping and struck off through the crowded native town.
“This is no good,” protested James. “All the streets leading east are guarded.”
390“The railroad to Mandalay isn’t,” I replied. “We’ll run up the line out of danger, and strike out from there.”
The Australian halted at a tiny drug store, and, arousing the bare-legged clerk, purchased twenty grains of quinine. “For jungle fever,” he muttered as he tucked the package away in his helmet. That was our “outfit” for a journey that might last one month or six. In the knapsack were two cotton suits and a few ragged218 shirts. As for weapons, we had not even a penknife.
Just beyond the drug store we turned a corner and came face to face with Rice, sauntering along in the shade of the shops as if life were a perpetual pastime, a huge native cigar stuck in a corner of his frog’s mouth.
“We’re off, Chi!” cried James, hardly lessening219 his pace. “Want to go along?”
“Eh!” gasped our former partner, “Hit the trail? An’ the rains comin’ on? Not on yer tintype. Ye’re bughouse to quit this burg. The graft is swell, an’ I see yer finish in the jungle.”
“Well, so long,” we called, over our shoulders.
A mile from the Home we entered a small suburban220 station. The native policeman strutting221 up and down the platform eyed us curiously222, but offered no interference. We purchased tickets to the first important town, and a few moments later were hurrying northward223. James settled back in a corner of the compartment224, and fell to singing in sotto voce:—
“On the road to Mandalay,
“Where the flying fishes play—”
About us lay low, rolling hills, deep green with tropical vegetation. Behind, scintillated225 the golden shaft226 of the Shwe Dagón pagoda, growing smaller and smaller, until the night, descending227 swiftly, blotted228 it out. We fell asleep, and, awakening229 as the train pulled into Pegu, took possession of two wicker chairs in the waiting-room. A babu, sent to rout201 us out, murmured an apology when he had noted230 the color of our skins, and stole quietly away.
Dawn found us already astir. A fruit-seller in the bazaars231, given to early rising, served us breakfast and we were off; not, however, until the sun, peering boldly over the horizon, showed us the way, for we had no other guide to follow.
A sandy highway, placarded the “Toungoo Road,” led forth from the village, skirting the golden pagoda of Pegu, a rival of the Shwe 391Dagón; but soon swung northward, and we struck across an untracked plain. Far away to the eastward232 a deep blue range of rugged233 hills, forerunners234 of the wild mountain chains of the peninsula, bounded the horizon; but about us lay a flat, monotonous stretch of sandy lowlands, embellished235 neither by habitation nor inhabitant.
Ten miles of plodding236, with never a mud hole in which to quench238 our thirst, brought us to a teeming bamboo village hidden away in a tangled240 grove241. When we had driven off a canine242 multitude and drunk our fill, we should have gone on had not a babu pushed his way through the gaping, beclouted throng243 and invited us to his bungalow. He was an employé of a projected railway line from Pegu to Moulmein, even then under construction, that was to bring him, on the day of its completion, the coveted244 title of station-master. In anticipation245 of that honor he had already donned a brilliant uniform of his own designing, the sight of which filled his fellow townsmen with unutterable awe143.
We squatted with him on the floor of his open hut and dispatched a dinner of rice, fruit, and bread-cakes—and red ants; no Burmese lunch would be complete without the latter. When we offered payment for the meal, the babu rose up chattering with indignation and would not be reconciled until we had patted him on the back and hidden our puerile246 fortune from view.
Railways are strictly247 handmade in Burma. Within hail of the village appeared the first mound248 of earth, its summit some feet above the high-water mark of flood time; and a few miles beyond we came upon a construction gang at work. There were neither steam cranes, “slips,” nor “wheelers” to scoop156 up the earth of the paddy-fields. Of the band, full three hundred strong, a few toiled249 with shovels250 in the shallow trenches251; the others swarmed up the embankment in endless file, carrying flat baskets of earth on their heads. They were Hindus, one and all, of both sexes; for the Burman scorns coolie labor. The workers toiled steadily252, mechanically, though ever at a snail’s pace, and the basketfuls fell too rapidly to be counted. But many thousands raised the mound only an inch higher; and, where the grading had but begun, one day’s labor did not suffice to cover the short grass.
Beyond, were other gangs and between them deserted trenches and sections of embankment. The dyke253 was not continuous. The company sub-let the grading by the cubic yard to dozens of Hindu contractors254, each of whom, having staked out some ten rods along the right of 392way, threw up a ridge74 of the required height and moved on with his band to the head of the line. Their trenches were sharp-cornered, flat-bottomed, and contained little pagoda-shaped mounds256 of earth with a tuft of grass on top, by which the depth could be estimated.
Early in the afternoon we came upon a small, sluggish257 stream, beyond which stood a two-story bungalow of unusual magnificence for this corner of the world. A rope was stretched from shore to shore, and the primitive258 ferry to which it was attached was tied up at the western bank. We boarded the raft and had all but pulled ourselves across when a greeting in our own tongue drew our attention to the bungalow. On the veranda stood an Englishman, bareheaded and smiling.
James sprang hastily ashore, leaving me to bring up the rear—and the knapsack; but at the top of the bank he stopped suddenly and grasped me by the arm.
“Holy dingoes!” he gasped. “Do my eyes deceive me? I’m a Hottentot if it isn’t a white woman!”
It was, sure enough. Beside the Englishman stood a youthful memsahib, in snow-white gown. A millinery shop could not have looked more out of place in these blistered259 paddy fields of the Irawaddy delta260.
“Trouble you for a drink of water?” I panted, halting in the shade of the bungalow, which, like all dwellings261 in this region, stood some eight feet above the ground, on bamboo stilts262.
“A drink of water!” cried the lady, smiling down upon us. “Do you think we see white men so often that we let them go as easily as that? Come up here at once.”
“We’re just sitting down to lunch,” said the man. “I had covers laid for you as soon as you hove in sight.”
“Thanks,” I answered, “we had lunch three hours ago.”
“Great C?sar! Where?” gasped the Englishman.
“In a bamboo vil—”
“What! Native stuff?” he cried, while the lady shuddered, “With red ants, eh? Well, then, you’ve been famished263 for an hour and a half.”
We could not deny it, so we mounted to the veranda.
“Put your luggage in the corner,” said the Englishman. “Do you prefer lemonade or seltzer?”
I dropped the bedraggled knapsack on the top step and followed 393my companion inside. In our vagabond garb, covered from crown to toe with the dust of the route, the perspiration264 drawing fantastic arabesques265 in the grime on our cheeks, we felt strangely out of place in the daintily-furnished bungalow. But our hosts would not hear our excuses. When our thirst had been quenched266, we followed the Englishman to the bathroom to plunge267 our heads and arms into great bowls of cold water and, greatly refreshed, took our places at the table.
The Burmese cook who slipped noiselessly in and out of the room was a magician, surely, else how could he have prepared in this outpost of civilization such a dinner as he served us—even without red ants? If conversation lagged, it was chiefly the Australian’s fault. His remarks were ragged and brief; for, as he admitted later in the day: “It’s so bloody long since I’ve talked to a white man that I was afraid of making a break every time I opened my mouth.”
The Englishman was superintendent268 of construction for the western half of the line. He had been over the route to Moulmein on horseback, and though he had never known a white man to attempt the journey on foot, he saw no reason why we could not make it if we could endure native “chow” and the tropical sun. But he scoffed269 at the suggestion that any living mortal could tramp from Moulmein to Bangkok, and advised us to give up at once so foolhardy a venture, and to return to Rangoon as we had come. We would not, and he mapped out on the table-cloth the route to the frontier town, pricking270 off each village with the point of his fork. When we declined the invitation to spend the night in his bungalow, even his wife joined him in vociferous271 protest. But we pleaded haste, and took our leave with their best wishes.
“If you can walk fast enough to reach Sittang to-night,” came the parting word, “you will find a division engineer who will be delighted to see you. That is, if you can get across the river.”
“It’s Sittang or bust,” said James, as we took up the pace of a forced march.
Nightfall found us still plodding on in jungled solitude272. It was long afterwards that we were brought to a sudden halt at the bank of the Sittang river. Under the moon’s rays, the broad expanse of water showed dark and turbulent, racing273 by with the swiftness of a mountain stream. The few lights that twinkled high up above the opposite shore were nearly a half-mile distant—too far to swim in 394that rushing flood even had we had no knapsack to think of. I tore myself free from the undergrowth and, making a trumpet274 of my hands, bellowed275 across the water.
For a time only the echo answered. Then a faint cry was borne to our ears, and we caught the Hindustanee words “Quam hai?” (Who is it?). I took deep breath and shouted into the night:—
“D? sahib hai! Engineer sampan, key sampan kéyderah?”
A moment of silence and the answer came back, soft yet distinct, like a nearby whisper:—
“Achá, sahib.” (All right.) Even at that distance we recognized the deferential277 tone of the Hindu coolie.
A speck278 of light descended279 to the level of the river, and, rising and falling irregularly, came steadily nearer. We waited eagerly, yet a half-hour passed before there appeared a flat-bottomed sampan, manned by three struggling Aryans whose brown skins gleamed in the light of a flickering280 lantern. They took for granted that we were railway officials, and, while two wound their arms around the bushes, the third sprang ashore with a respectful greeting and, picking up our knapsack, dropped into the craft behind us.
With a shout the others let go of the bushes and the three grasped their oars114 and pulled with a will. The racing current carried us far down the river, but we swung at last into the more sluggish water under the lee of a bluff281, and, creeping slowly up stream, gained the landing stage. A boatman stepped out with our bundle, and, zigzagging282 up the face of the cliff, dropped the bag on the veranda of a bungalow at the summit, shouted a “sahib hai,” and fled into the night.
The Englishman who flung open the door with a bellow276 of delight was a boisterous283, whole-hearted giant of a far different type from our noonday host; a soldier of fortune who had “mixed” in every activity from railway building to revolutions in three continents, and whose geographical information was far more extensive than that to be found in a Rand-McNally atlas284. His bungalow was a palace in the wilderness285; he confided286 that he drew his salary to spend, and that he paid four rupees a pound for Danish butter without a pang287 of regret. The light of his household, however, was his Eurasian wife, the most entrancing personification of loveliness that I have been privileged to run across in my wanderings. The rough life of the jungle seemed only to have made her more daintily feminine. One would have taken his oath that she had just budded into womanhood, even in face of the four sons that rolled about the bungalow; 395plump-cheeked, robust288 little tots, with enough native blood in their veins289 to thrive in a land where children of white parents waste away to apathetic invalids290.
We slept on the veranda high above the river, and, in spite of the thirty-two miles in our legs and the fever that fell upon James during the night, rose with the dawn, eager to be off. As we took our leave, the engineer held out to us a handful of rupees.
“Just to buy your chow on the way, lads,” he smiled.
“No! no!” protested James, edging away. “We’ve bled you enough already.”
“Tommy rot!” cried the adventurer, “Don’t be an ass13. We’ve all been in the same boat and I’m only paying back a little of what’s fallen to me.”
When we still refused, he called us cranks and no true soldiers of fortune, and took leave of us at the edge of the veranda.
Sittang was a mere37 bamboo village with a few grass-grown streets that faded away in the encircling wilderness. In spite of explicit291 directions from the engineer, we lost the path and plunged292 on for hours almost at random293 through a tropical forest. Noonday had passed before we broke out upon an open plain where the railway embankment began anew, and satiated our screaming thirst with cocoanut milk in the hut of a babu contractor255.
Beyond, walking was less difficult. The rampant294 jungle had been laid open for the projected line; and, when the tangle239 of vegetation pressed upon us, we had only to climb to the top of the broken dyke and plod237 on. The country was not the unpeopled waste of the day before. Where bananas and cocoanuts and jack-fruits grow, there are human beings to eat them, and now and then a howling of dogs drew our attention to a cluster of squalid huts tucked away in a productive grove. Every few miles were gangs of coolies who fell to chattering excitedly when we came in view, and, dropping shovels and baskets, squatted on their heels, staring until we had passed, nor heeding295 the frenzied297 screaming of high-caste “straw-bosses.” Substantial bungalows for advancing engineers were building on commanding eminences298 along the way. The carpenters were Chinamen, slow workmen when judged by Western standards, but evincing far more energy than native or Hindu.
The migratory299 Mongul, rare in India, unknown in Asia Minor300, has invaded all the land of Burma. Few indeed are the villages to which at least one wearer of the pig-tail has not found his way and made 396himself a force in the community. His household commonly consists of a Burmese wife and a troop of half-breed children; and it is whispered that the native women are by no means loath301 to mate with these aliens, who often prove more tolerant and provident302 husbands than the Burmen.
Those Celestial303 residents with whom we came in contact were shrewd, grasping fellows, far different from the gay and prodigal304 native merchants. The pair in whose shop we stifled305 an overgrown hunger, well on in the afternoon, received us coldly and served us in moody306 silence. Their stock in trade was exclusively canned goods among which American labels were not lacking. Their prices, too, were reminiscent of the Western world. When we had paid them what we knew was a just amount, they hung on our heels for a half-mile, screaming angrily and clawing at our tattered307 garments.
Where the western section of the embankment ended began a more open country, with many a sluggish stream to be forded. We were already knee-deep in the first of these when there sounded close at hand a snort like the blowing of a whale. I glanced in alarm at the rushes about us. From the muddy water protruded308 a dozen ugly, black snouts.
“Crocodiles!” screamed James, turning tail and splashing by me. “Beat it!”
“But hold on!” I cried, before we had regained309 the bank, “These things seem to have horns.”
The creatures that had startled us were harmless water buffaloes310, which, being released from their day’s labor, had sought relief in the muddy stream from flies and the blazing sun.
As the day was dying, we entered a jungle city, named Kaikto, and jeopardized311 the honor in which sahibs are held in that metropolis of the delta by accepting a “shake-down” in the police barracks. From there the route turned southward, and the blazing sun beat in our faces during all the third day’s tramp. Villages became more numerous, more thickly populated, and the jungle was broken here and there by thirsty paddy-fields.
When twilight312 fell, however, we were tramping along the railway dyke between two dense83 and apparently unpeopled forests. The signs portended313 a night out of doors, and we were already resigned to that fate when we came upon a path leading from the foot of the embankment across the narrow ridge between two excavations314. Hoping to find some thatch shelter left by the construction gangs, we turned 397aside and stumbled down the bank. The trail wound away through the jungle and brought us, a mile from the line, to a grassy315 clearing, in the center of which stood a capacious dak bungalow.
Public rest-houses of this sort are maintained by the government of British-India, where no other accommodations offer, for the housing of itinerant316 sahibs. They are equipped with rough sleeping quarters for a few guests, rougher bathing facilities, a few reclining chairs, and a babu keeper to register travelers and entertain them with his wisdom; for all of which a uniform charge of one rupee a day is made. There is, besides, a force of native servants at the beck and call of those who would pay more. A punkah-wallah will keep the velvet317 fans in motion all through the night for a few coppers319; the chowkee dar or Hindu cook will prepare a “European” meal on more or less short notice.
But the bungalow that we had chanced upon in this Burmese wilderness was apparently deserted. We mounted the steps and, settling ourselves in veranda chairs, lighted our pipes and stretched our weary legs. We might have fallen asleep where we were, listening to the humming of the tropical night, had we not been hungry and choking with thirst.
The bungalow stood wide open, like every house in British-India. I rose and wandered through the building, lighting320 my way with matches and peering into every corner for a water bottle or a sleeping servant. In each of the two bedrooms there were two canvas charpoys; in the main room a table littered with tattered books and magazine leaves in English; in the back chamber several pots and kettles. There was water in abundance, a tubful of it in the lattice-work closet opening off from one of the bedrooms. But who could say how many travel-stained sahibs had bathed in it?
I returned to the veranda, and we took to shouting our wants into the jungle. Only the jungle replied, and we descended the steps for a circuit of the building, less in the hope of encountering anyone than to escape the temptation of the bathtub. Behind the bungalow stood three ragged huts. The first was empty. In the second, we found a snoring Hindu, stretched on his back on the dirt floor, close to a dying fire of fagots.
We awoke him quickly. He sprang to his feet with a frightened “achá, sahib, pawnee hai,” and ran to fetch a chettie of water, not because we had asked for it, but because he knew the first requirement of travelers in the tropics.
398“Now we would eat, oh, chowkee dar,” said James, in Hindustanee, “julty karow.”
“Achá, sahib,” repeated the cook. He tossed a few fagots on the fire, set a kettle over them, emptied into it the contents of another chettie, and, catching321 up a blazing stick, trotted322 with a loose-kneed wabble to the third hut. There sounded one long-drawn squawk, a muffled324 cackling of hens, and the Hindu returned, holding a chicken by the head and swinging it round and round as he ran. Catching up a knife, he slashed325 the fowl326 from throat to tail, snatched off skin and feathers with a few dexterous327 jerks, and less than three minutes after his awakening, our supper was cooking. Truly, the serving of sahibs had imbued328 him with an unoriental energy.
We returned to the veranda, followed by the chokee dar, who lighted a decrepit lamp on the table within and trotted away into the jungle. He came back at the heels of a native in multicolored garb of startling brilliancy, who introduced himself as the custodian329, and, squatting on his haunches in a veranda chair, took up his duties as entertainer of guests. There was not another that spoke English within a day’s journey, he assured us, swelling330 with pride; and for that we were duly thankful. Long after the cook had carried away the plates and the chicken bones, the babu chattered331 on, drawing upon an apparently unlimited332 fund of misinformation, and jumping, as each topic was exhausted333, to a totally irrelevant334 one, without a pause either for breath or ideas. Fortunately, he had arrived with the notion that we were surveyors of the new line, and we took good care not to undeceive him; for railway officials were entitled to the accommodations of dak bungalows without payment of the government fee. We still had a few coppers left, therefore, when the cook had been satisfied, and, driving off the inexhaustible keeper, we rolled our jackets and shoes into two “beachcomber’s pillows” and turned in.
We slept an hour or two, perhaps, during the night. Of all the hardships that befall the wayfarer335 in British-India, none grows more unendurable than this—to be kept awake when he most needs sleep. Either his resting place—to call it a bed would be worse than inaccurate—is too hard, or the heat so sultry that the perspiration trickles336 along his ribs, tickling337 him into wakefulness. If a band of natives is not chattering under his windows, a fellow roadster snoring beside him, or a flock of roosters greeting every newborn star, there are a dozen lizards338 at least to make the night miserable340.
The dak bungalow in the wilderness housed a whole army of these 399pests; great, green-eyed reptiles341 from six inches to a foot long. Barely was the lamp extinguished, when one in the ceiling struck up his refrain, another on the wall beside me joined in, two more in a corner gave answering cry, and the night concert was on:—
“She-kak! she-kak! she-kak!”
Don’t fancy for a moment that the cry of the Indian lizard339 is the half-audible murmur213 of the cricket or the tree toad342. It sounds much more like the squawking of an ungreased bullock-cart:—
“She-kak! she-kak! she-kak!”
To attempt to drive them off was worse than useless. The walls and ceiling, being of thatch, offered more hiding places for creeping things than a hay stack. When I fired a shoe at the nearest, a shower of branches and rubbish rattled343 to the floor; and, after a moment of silence, the song began again, louder than before. Either the creatures were clever dodgers345 or invulnerable, and there was always the danger that a swiftly-thrown missile might bring down half the thatch partition:—
“She-kak! she-kak! she-kak!”
Wherever there are dwellings in British-India, there are croaking346 lizards. I have listened to their shriek92 from Tuticorin to Delhi; I have seen them darting347 across the carpeted floor in the bungalows of commissioner348 sahibs; I have awakened many a time to find one dragging his clammy way across my face. But nowhere are they more numerous nor more brazen-voiced than in the jungles of the Malay Peninsula. There came a day when we were glad that they had not been exterminated—but of that later.
Early the next morning we fell into a passable roadway that led us every half-hour through a grinning village, between which were many isolated349 huts. We stopped at all of them for water. The natives showed us marked kindness, often awaiting us, chettie in hand, or running out into the highway at our shout of “yee sheedela?” This Burmese word for water (yee) gave James a great deal of innocent amusement. Ever and anon he paused before a hut, to drawl, in the voice of a court crier:—“Hear ye! hear ye! hear ye! We’re thirsty as Hottentots!” Householders young and old understood. At least they fetched us water in abundance.
The fourth day afoot brought two misfortunes. The rainy season, long delayed, burst upon us in pent-up fury not an hour after we had 400spent our last copper318 for breakfast. Where dinner would come from we could not surmise350, but “on the road” one does not waste his energies in worry. Something would “turn up.” It is in wandering aimlessly about the streets of a great city in the midst of plenty that the penniless outcast feels the inexorable hand of fate at his throat—not on the open road among the fields and flowers and waving palm trees.
The first shower came almost without warning; one sullen351 roar of thunder, the heavens opened, and the water poured. Thereafter they were frequent. At times some hut gave us shelter; more often we could only plod on in the blinding torrent352 that, in the twinkle of an eye, drenched353 us to the skin. The storms were rarely of five minutes’ duration. With the last dull growl354 of thunder, the sun burst out more calorific than before, sopping355 up the pools in the highway as with a gigantic sponge, and drying our dripping garments before we had time to grumble356 at the wetting. Amid the extravagant358 beauties of the tropical landscape the vagaries359 of the season were so quickly forgotten that the next downpour took us as completely by surprise as though it had been the first of the season.
During the morning we met a funeral procession en route for the place of cremation360. Wailing and mourning there were none. Why should death bring grief to the survivors361 when the deceased has merely lost one of his innumerable lives? There came first of all dozens of girls dressed as for a yearly festival. About their necks were garlands of flowers; in their jet-black hair, red and white blossoms. Each carried a flat basket, heaped high with offerings that made us envious362 of him who had been gathered to his fathers. Here one bore bananas of brightest yellow; another, golden mangoes; a third, great, plump pineapples. The girls held the baskets high above their heads, swaying their bodies from side to side and tripping lightly back and forth across the road as they advanced, the long cortège executing such a snake-dance as one sees on a college gridiron after a great contest. The chant that rose and fell in time with their movements sounded less a dirge363 than a pean of victory; now and again a singer broke out in merry laughter. The coffin364 was a wooden box, gayly decked with flowers and trinkets, and three of the eight men who bore it on their shoulders were puffing at long native cigars. Behind them more men, led by two saffron-clad priests, pattered through the dust, chattering like school girls, yet adding their discordant365 voices now and then to the cadenced chorus of the females.
401The sun was blazing directly overhead, leaving our pudgy shadows to be trampled366 under foot, when we heard behind us a faint wail of “sahib! sahib.” Far down the green-framed roadway trotted a beclouted brown man, waving his arms above his head. We were already fifteen miles distant from the dak bungalow; small wonder if we were surprised to find our pursuer none other than that chowkee dar who had skinned our chicken so deftly367 the night before. A misgiving368 fell upon us. No doubt the fellow had found out that we were no railway officials after all, and had come to demand the bungalow fee of two rupees. We stepped into the shade and awaited anxiously the brown-skinned nemesis369.
But there was no cause for alarm. Amid his chattering the night before, the babu custodian had forgotten his first duty—to register us. When his error came to light, we were gone; and he had sent the cook to get our names. That was all; and for that the Hindu had run the entire fifteen miles. When we had scribbled370 our names on the limp, wet rag of paper he carried in his hand, he turned aside from the road and threw himself face down in the edge of the forest.
The beauties of the landscape impressed themselves less and less upon us with every mile thereafter. Not that our surroundings had lost anything of their charm, the scenery was rather more striking; but the dinner hour had passed and our bellies371 had begun to pinch us. The Burmese, we had been told, were charitable to a fault. But what use to “batter” back doors, when we knew barely a dozen words of the native tongue? Here and there a bunch of bananas hung at the top of its stocky tree, but the fruit was hopelessly green; cocoanuts there were in abundance, but they supplied drink rather than food. Still hunger grew apace. The only alternative to starving left us was to exploit the shopkeepers,—to eat our fill and run away.
We chose a well-stocked booth in a teeming village, and, advancing with a millionaire swagger, sat down on the bamboo floor and called for food. The merchant and his family were enjoying a plenteous repast. The wife grinned cheerily upon us for the honor we had done her among all her neighbors, and brought us a bowl of rice and a strange vegetable currie. While we ate, the unsuspecting victims squatted around us, shrieking in our ears as though they would force us to understand by endless repetitions and lusty bellowing372. When we addressed them in English, they cried “n?melay-voo,” and took deeper breath. When we spoke in Hindustanee, they grinned sympathetically and again bellowed “n?melay-voo.” How often I 402had heard those words since our departure from Rangoon! At first, I had fancied the speaker was attempting to converse373 in French. It was easy to imagine that he was trying to say “what is your name?” But he was not, for when I answered in the language of Voltaire, the refrain came back louder than before:—“N?melay-voo?”
We did not eat our fill at the first shop. To have done so would have been to leave the keeper a pauper374. When our hunger had been somewhat allayed375, we rose to our feet.
“I’m sorry to work this phony game on you, old girl,” said James, “but I know you couldn’t cash a check—”
“N?melay-voo?” cried the personage thus disrespectfully addressed, and the family smile broadened and spread to the family ears. We caught up the knapsack and walked rapidly away; for well we knew the agonized376 screams that would greet our perfidy377 and the menacing mob that would gather at our heels. Four steps we had taken, and still no outcry. We hurried on, not daring to look back. Suddenly a roar of laughter sounded behind us. I glanced over my shoulder. Not a man pursued us. The family still squatted on the bamboo floor of the booth, doubled up and shaking with mirth.
We levied378 on the shopkeepers whenever hunger assailed us thereafter, though never eating more than two or three cents’ worth at any one stall. Never a merchant showed anger at our rascality379. So excellent a joke did our ruse380 seem to the natives that laughter rang out behind us at every sortie. Nay381, many a shopkeeper called us back and forced upon us handfuls of the best fruit in his meager382 little stock, guffawing383 the while until the tears ran down his cheeks, and calling his neighbors about him to tell them the jest, that they might laugh with him. And they did. More than once we left an entire village shaking its sides at the trick which the two witty384 sahibs had played upon it.
When night came on we appropriated lodgings385 in the same high-handed fashion, stretching out on the veranda of the most pretentious386 shop in a long, straggling village. Unfortunately, the wretch387 who kept it was no true Burman. A dozen times he came out to growl at us, and to answer our questions with an angry “n?melay-voo.” Darkness fell swiftly. It was the hour of closing. The merchant began to drag out boards from under his shanty388 and to stand them up endwise across the open front of the shop, fitting them into grooves389 at top and bottom. When only a narrow opening was left, he turned upon us with a snarl390 and motioned to us to be off. We paid no heed296, 403for so fierce an evening storm had begun that the shop lamp lighted up an unbroken sheet of water at the edge of the veranda. The shopkeeper blustered391 and howled to make his voice heard above the rumble357 of the torrent, waving his arms wildly above his head. We stretched our aching legs and let him rage on. He fell silent at last and squatted disconsolately392 in the opening. He could have put up the last board and left us outside, but that would have been to disobey the ancient Buddhist law of hospitality.
A half-hour had passed when he sprang up suddenly with a grunt393 of satisfaction and stepped into his dwelling. When he came out he carried a lantern and wore a black, waterproof394 sheet that hid all but a narrow strip of his face and his bare feet. Bellowing in our ears, he began a pantomime that we understood to be an offer to lead us to some other shelter.
“Let’s risk it,” said James. “This is no downy couch, and he’s probably going to take us to a Buddhist monastery. If he tries any tricks we’ll stick to him and come back.”
We stepped into the deluge395 and followed the native along the highway in the direction we had come. The storm increased. It was not a mere matter of getting wet. There was not a dry thread on us when we had taken four steps. But the torrent, falling on our bowed backs, weighed us down like a mighty burden, a sensation one may experience under an especially strong shower bath.
Mile after mile the native trotted on; it seemed at least ten, certainly it was three. The mud, oozing396 into our dilapidated shoes during the day, had blistered our feet to the ankles; our legs creaked with every step. The Australian fell behind. I stumbled over a knoll and sprawled397 into a river of mud that spattered even into my eyes. A bellow brought the Burman to a halt. I splashed forward and grasped him by a wrist.
“Hold him!” howled James from the rear. “The bloody ass will take us clear back to Pegu. There’s a house down there. Let’s try it.”
We skated down the slippery slope, dragging the shopkeeper after us, and stumbled across the veranda into a low, rambling398 hovel of a single room. At one end squatted a half-dozen low-caste men and as many slatternly, half-naked females. In a corner was spread an array of food stuffs; in another, several dirty, brown brats399 were curled up on a heap of rush mats and foul400 rags. James sprang through the squatting group and fell upon the wares.
404“Only grains and vegetables,” he wailed401. “Not a damn thing a civilized402 man’s dog could eat unless it was cooked. It’s no supper for us, all right. What say we turn in?”
He dived towards the other corner and tumbled the sleeping children together. The natives stared stupidly, offering no sign of protest at this maltreatment of their offspring. The Australian threw himself down beside the slumberers.
“Holy dingoes!” he gasped, bounding again to his feet, “What a smell!”
We had indeed fallen upon squalor unusual in the land of Burma.
Our guide, waiving404 the rights of higher caste, squatted with the others. Then he began to chatter, and, that accomplishment405 being universal among his countrymen, he was soon joined by all the group; the old men first, in rasping undertones, then the younger males, in deeper voice, and last, the females, in cracked treble.
We sat down dejectedly on two Standard Oil cans. For an hour the natives jabbered406 on, gaping at us, chewing their betel-nut cuds like ruminating407 animals. Green-eyed lizards in wall and ceiling set up their nerve-racking “she-kak! she-kak!” The mud dried in thick layers on our faces.
Suddenly James bounded into the midst of the group and grasped the shopkeeper by the folds of his loose gown.
“We want something to eat!” he bellowed. “If there’s any chow in this shack408 show it up. If there isn’t, cut out this tongue rattle344, you missing link, and let us sleep!” and he shook the passive Burman so savagely409 that the cigarette hanging from his nether410 lip flew among the sleeping children.
The shopkeeper, showing neither surprise nor anger, regained his equilibrium411, picked up his lantern, and marched with dignified tread out into the night. Apparently he had abandoned us in spite of the law of hospitality.
But he was a true disciple130 of Gautama, for he sauntered in, a few moments later, in company with five men in high-caste costumes.
“Any of you chaps speak English?” I cried.
The newcomers gave no sign of having understood. One, more showily dressed than his companions, sat down on a heap of rattan. The others grouped themselves about him, and a new conference began. The rain ceased. The lizards shrieked sardonically412. James fell into a doze, humped together on his oil can.
Suddenly I caught, above the chatter, the word “babu.”
405“Look here,” I interrupted, “If there’s a babu here he speaks English. Who is he?”
The only reply was a sudden silence that did not last long.
“Babu,” cried the shopkeeper, some moments later. This time there could be no doubt that he had addressed the silent Beau Brummel on the rattan heap.
“You speak English!” I charged, pointing an accusing finger at him. “Tell them we want something to eat.”
The fellow stared stolidly413. If the title belonged to him he was anxious to conceal148 his accomplishments414.
“It’s some damn sneak415,” burst out James, “come here to eavesdrop416.”
Four days in the jungle had weakened the Australian’s command over his temper. Or was his speech a ruse? If so, it succeeded in its object. A flush mounted to the swarthy cheek of the native; he opened and closed his mouth several times as if he had received a heavy blow in the ribs, and spoke, slowly and distinctly:—
“I am not damn snake. I have been listening.”
“Of course!” bellowed James, “I repeat, you are a sneak.”
“Don’t!” shuddered the babu, “Don’t name me damn snake. If they know you talk me so I fall in my caste.”
“Well, why didn’t you answer when I spoke to you?” I demanded.
“I was listening to find out what you were wishing,” stammered the Burman.
“You half-baked Hindu!” shouted James. “You heard us say a dozen times we wanted something to eat.”
“But,” pleaded the babu, “this is a very jungly place and we have not proper food for Europeans.”
“Proper be blowed!” shrieked the Australian. “Who’s talking about European food? If there’s anything to eat around here trot323 it out. If we haven’t got money we can pay for it. Here’s a good suit of clothes—” he caught up the knapsack and tumbled his “swag” out on the floor.
“There’s only native food,” objected the Burman. “White men cannot—”
“What you can eat, so can we,” I cried. “Take the suit and bring us something.”
“Oh! We cannot take payment,” protested the babu.
“Jumping Hottentots!” screamed James. “Take pay or don’t, but stop your yapping and tell them we want something to eat.”
406“I shall have prepared some food which Europeans can eat,” murmured the native in an oily voice. He harangued417 the group long and deliberately418. An undressed female rose, hobbled to a corner of the room, lighted a fire of fagots, and squatted beside it. Though it was certainly midnight, we gave up all hope of expediting matters, and waited with set teeth. For a half-hour not a word was spoken. Then the female rose and strolled towards us, holding out—four slices of toast!
“If I’d known there was bread in this shack,” cried James, as we snatched the slices, “there’d have been damn little toasting.”
“I have worked for Europeans,” said the babu proudly, yet with a touch of sadness in his voice, “and I know they cannot eat the native bread, so I have it prepared as sahibs eat it.”
“We’ve been eating native bread for months,” mumbled419 James, “days anyway. You’re a bit crazy, I think. Got any rice?”
“There is rice and fish,” said the Burman, “but can you eat that too?”
“Just watch us,” said James.
The female brought a native supper, and we fell to.
“How wonderful!” murmured the babu, “And you are sahibs!”
When we acknowledged ourselves satisfied, two blankets were spread for us on the floor, the chattering visitors filed out into the night, and we stretched out side by side to listen a few hours to the croaking of irrepressible lizards.
The following noonday found us miles distant. It was our second day without a copper; yet the natives received us as kindly420 as if we had been men of means. The proximity421 of Moulmein, where sahib muscular effort might be turned to account, filled us with new hope and we splashed doggedly422 on.
Villages there were without number. Their tapering pagodas dominated the landscape. On the east stretched the rugged mountain chain, so near now that we could make out plainly the little shrines far up on the summit of each conspicuous423 peak. Tropical showers burst upon us at frequent intervals424, wild deluges425 of water from which we occasionally found shelter under long-legged hovels. Even when we scrambled426 up the bamboo ladders into the dwellings, the squatting family showed no resentment427 at the intrusion; often they gave us fruit, once they forced upon us two native cigars. It was these that made James forever after a stout428 champion of the Burmese; for two days had passed since we had shared our last smoke.
407Queer things are these Burmese cigars! They call them “saybullies,” and they smoke them in installments429; for no man lives with the endurance necessary to consume a saybully at one sitting. They are a foot long, as thick as the thumb of a windjammer’s bo’s’n, rather cigarettes than cigars; for they are wrapped in a thick, leathery paper that almost defies destruction, even by fire. In the country districts they serve as almanacs. The peasant buys his cigar on market day, puffs430 fiercely at it on the journey home, stows it away about his person when he is satisfied, and pulls it out from time to time to smoke again. As a result, one can easily determine the day of the week by noting the length of the saybullies one encounters along the route.
To determine the ingredients that make up this Burmese concoction431 is not so simple a matter. Now and then, in the smoking, one comes across pebbles432 and fagots and a variety of foreign substances which even a manufacturer of “two-fers” would hesitate to use. But the comparison is unjust, for the saybully does contain tobacco, little wads of it, tucked away among the rubbish.
Men, women, and children indulge in this form of the soothing433 weed. As in Ceylon, the females, and often the males, wear heavy leaden washers in their ears until the aperture434 is stretched to the size of a rat hole. It is a wise custom. For, having no pockets, where could the Burmese matron find place for her half-smoked saybully were she denied the privilege of thrusting it through the lobe435 of her ear?
Dusk was falling when we overtook a fellow pedestrian; a Eurasian youth provided with an umbrella and attended by a native servant boy. When he had gasped his astonishment at meeting two bedraggled sahibs in this strange corner of the world and volunteered a detailed436 autobiography437, I found time to put a question over which I had been pondering for some days.
“As your mother is Burmese,” I began, while we splashed on into the night, “you speak that language, of course?”
“Oh! yes,” answered the Eurasian, “even better than English.”
“Then you can tell us about this phrase we have heard so much. It’s ‘n?melay-voo.’ Sounds like bum438 French, but I suppose it’s Burmese?”
“Oh! yes, that is Burmese.”
“What the deuce does it mean?”
“I don’t know,” replied the youth.
“Eh! But it’s certainly a common expression. Every Burman 408we speak to shouts ‘n?melay-voo.’ What are they trying to say?”
“I don’t know,” repeated the half-breed.
“Mighty funny, if you speak Burmese, that you don’t understand that!”
“But I do understand it!” protested the youth.
“Well, what is it then?”
“I don’t know. I don’t understand.”
“Say, what are you giving us?” cried James. “Don’t you ever say ‘n?melay-voo’?”
“Certainly! Very often, every day, every hour!”
“Well, what do you mean when you say it?”
“I don’t understand. I don’t know.”
“Look here!” bellowed the Australian, “Don’t you go springing any stale jokes on us. We’re not in a mood for ’em.”
“Gentlemen,” gasped the half-breed, with tears in his voice, “I do not joke and I am not joking. ‘N?melay-voo’ is a Burmese word which has for meaning ‘I don’t know’ or ‘I don’t understand!’”
It was black night when we stumbled down through the village of Martaban to the brink439 of the river of the same name, a swollen stream fully90 two miles wide where our day’s journey must have ended, had we not fallen in with the Eurasian. His home was in Moulmein, and, summoning a sampan, he invited us to embark440 with him. The native boat was either light of material or water-logged, and the waves that broke over the craft threatened more than once to swamp us. Crocodiles, whispered our companion, swarmed at this point. Now and then an ominous441 grunt sounded close at hand, and the boatman peered anxiously about him as he strained wildly at his single oar39 against the current that would have carried us out to sea. Panting with his exertions442, he fetched the opposite shore, beaching the craft on a slimy slope; and we splashed through a sea of mud to a roughly-paved street flanking the river.
“You see Moulmein is a city,” said the Eurasian, proudly, pointing along the row of lighted shops, with fronts all doorway, like those of Damascus. “We have even restaurants and cabs. Will you not take supper?”
We would, and he led the way to a Mohammedan eating-house in which we were served several savory443 messes by an unkempt Islamite, who wiped his hands, after tossing charcoal444 on his fire or scooping445 up a plate of food, on his fez, and chewed betel-nut as he worked, spitting perilously446 near to the open pots. The meal over, the Eurasian called 409a “cab.” It was a mere box on wheels, about four feet each way, and had no seats. When we had packed ourselves inside, the driver imprisoned447 us by slamming the air-tight door, and we jolted448 away.
Fearful of calling paternal449 attention to his extravagance, the youth dismissed the hansom at the edge of the quarter in which he lived, and we continued on foot to his bungalow. His father was an emaciated450 Englishman of the rougher, half-educated type, employed in the Moulmein custom service. He greeted us somewhat coldly. When we had been duly inspected by his Burmese wife and their eighteen children, we threw ourselves down on the floor of the open veranda and, drenched and mud-caked as we were, sank into corpse-like slumber403.
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1
wharves
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| n.码头，停泊处( wharf的名词复数 ) | |
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cadence
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| n.（说话声调的）抑扬顿挫 | |
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cadenced
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| adj.音调整齐的，有节奏的 | |
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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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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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bungalow
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| n.平房，周围有阳台的木造小平房 | |
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metropolis
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| n.首府；大城市 | |
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seamen
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| n.海员 | |
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transpired
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| （事实，秘密等）被人知道( transpire的过去式和过去分词 )； 泄露； 显露； 发生 | |
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10
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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11
wail
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| vt./vi.大声哀号，恸哭；呼啸，尖啸 | |
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12
wailing
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的现在分词 )；沱 | |
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13
ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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14
cosmopolitan
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| adj.世界性的，全世界的，四海为家的，全球的 | |
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15
auspicious
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| adj.吉利的；幸运的，吉兆的 | |
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16
ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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17
enticing
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| adj.迷人的；诱人的 | |
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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
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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20
scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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21
tar
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| n.柏油，焦油；vt.涂或浇柏油/焦油于 | |
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22
fore
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| adv.在前面；adj.先前的；在前部的；n.前部 | |
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23
squat
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| v.蹲坐，蹲下；n.蹲下；adj.矮胖的，粗矮的 | |
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24
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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25
picturesqueness
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meandering
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| 蜿蜒的河流，漫步，聊天 | |
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27
pedestrians
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| n.步行者( pedestrian的名词复数 ) | |
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28
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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29
laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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30
vistas
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| 长条形景色( vista的名词复数 )； 回顾； 展望； （未来可能发生的）一系列情景 | |
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heterogeneous
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| adj.庞杂的；异类的 | |
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32
wares
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| n. 货物, 商品 | |
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vocation
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| n.职业，行业 | |
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pagodas
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| 塔，宝塔( pagoda的名词复数 ) | |
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pagoda
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| n.宝塔（尤指印度和远东的多层宝塔），（印度教或佛教的）塔式庙宇 | |
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36
shimmered
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| v.闪闪发光，发微光( shimmer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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37
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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38
umbrageous
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| adj.多荫的 | |
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39
oar
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| n.桨，橹，划手；v.划行 | |
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40
vaulted
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| adj.拱状的 | |
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41
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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42
bedlam
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| n.混乱，骚乱；疯人院 | |
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43
pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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44
shrines
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| 圣地，圣坛，神圣场所( shrine的名词复数 ) | |
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45
knoll
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| n.小山，小丘 | |
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46
animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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47
bazaar
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| n.集市，商店集中区 | |
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48
requisite
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| adj.需要的，必不可少的；n.必需品 | |
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49
serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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50
aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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51
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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52
incessantly
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| ad.不停地 | |
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53
diminutive
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| adj.小巧可爱的，小的 | |
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54
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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55
masonry
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| n.砖土建筑；砖石 | |
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56
tapering
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| adj.尖端细的 | |
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57
apex
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| n.顶点，最高点 | |
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58
swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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59
sanctuaries
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| n.避难所( sanctuary的名词复数 )；庇护；圣所；庇护所 | |
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60
inordinately
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| adv.无度地，非常地 | |
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61
superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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62
cannon
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| n.大炮，火炮；飞机上的机关炮 | |
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63
edifice
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| n.宏伟的建筑物(如宫殿，教室) | |
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64
regiments
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| （军队的）团( regiment的名词复数 )； 大量的人或物 | |
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65
ordnance
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| n.大炮，军械 | |
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66
waned
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| v.衰落( wane的过去式和过去分词 )；（月）亏；变小；变暗淡 | |
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67
swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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68
graft
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| n.移植，嫁接，艰苦工作，贪污；v.移植，嫁接 | |
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69
strutted
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| 趾高气扬地走，高视阔步( strut的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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70
monastery
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| n.修道院，僧院，寺院 | |
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71
lank
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| adj.瘦削的；稀疏的 | |
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72
crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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73
planks
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| （厚）木板( plank的名词复数 )； 政纲条目，政策要点 | |
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74
ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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75
breach
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| n.违反，不履行；破裂；vt.冲破，攻破 | |
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76
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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77
veranda
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| n.走廊；阳台 | |
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verandas
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| 阳台，走廊( veranda的名词复数 ) | |
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79
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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80
Buddha
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| n.佛；佛像；佛陀 | |
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81
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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82
densely
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| ad.密集地；浓厚地 | |
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83
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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84
layman
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| n.俗人，门外汉，凡人 | |
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85
garb
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| n.服装，装束 | |
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86
squatted
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| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的过去式和过去分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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87
sprightly
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| adj.愉快的，活泼的 | |
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88
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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89
novices
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| n.新手( novice的名词复数 )；初学修士（或修女）；（修会等的）初学生；尚未赢过大赛的赛马 | |
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90
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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91
uproar
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| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
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92
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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93
shrieking
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| v.尖叫( shriek的现在分词 ) | |
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94
decrepit
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| adj.衰老的，破旧的 | |
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95
prophesied
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| v.预告，预言( prophesy的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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96
mumbling
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的现在分词 ) | |
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97
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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98
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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99
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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100
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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101
fugitives
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| n.亡命者，逃命者( fugitive的名词复数 ) | |
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102
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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103
chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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104
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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105
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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106
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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107
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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108
overalls
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| n.（复）工装裤；长罩衣 | |
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109
shuffle
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| n.拖著脚走，洗纸牌；v.拖曳，慢吞吞地走 | |
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110
shuffled
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| v.洗（纸牌）( shuffle的过去式和过去分词 )；拖着脚步走；粗心地做；摆脱尘世的烦恼 | |
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111
penitent
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| adj.后悔的；n.后悔者；忏悔者 | |
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112
mien
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| n.风采；态度 | |
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113
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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114
oars
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| n.桨，橹( oar的名词复数 )；划手v.划（行）( oar的第三人称单数 ) | |
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115
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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116
contritely
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117
sputtering
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| n.反应溅射法；飞溅；阴极真空喷镀；喷射v.唾沫飞溅( sputter的现在分词 )；发劈啪声；喷出；飞溅出 | |
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118
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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119
squinted
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| 斜视( squint的过去式和过去分词 )； 眯着眼睛； 瞟； 从小孔或缝隙里看 | |
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120
forgery
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| n.伪造的文件等，赝品，伪造（行为） | |
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121
grimace
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| v.做鬼脸，面部歪扭 | |
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122
expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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123
annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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124
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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125
jabber
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| v.快而不清楚地说；n.吱吱喳喳 | |
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126
jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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127
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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128
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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129
revered
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| v.崇敬，尊崇，敬畏( revere的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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130
disciple
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| n.信徒，门徒，追随者 | |
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131
disciples
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| n.信徒( disciple的名词复数 )；门徒；耶稣的信徒；（尤指）耶稣十二门徒之一 | |
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132
apathetic
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| adj.冷漠的，无动于衷的 | |
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133
thatch
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| vt.用茅草覆盖…的顶部；n.茅草(屋) | |
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134
ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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135
cargo
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| n.(一只船或一架飞机运载的)货物 | |
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136
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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137
gorge
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| n.咽喉，胃，暴食，山峡；v.塞饱，狼吞虎咽地吃 | |
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138
crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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139
agog
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| adj.兴奋的，有强烈兴趣的； adv.渴望地 | |
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140
phlegmatic
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| adj.冷静的，冷淡的，冷漠的，无活力的 | |
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141
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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142
sinewy
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| adj.多腱的，强壮有力的 | |
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143
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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144
hips
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| abbr.high impact polystyrene 高冲击强度聚苯乙烯，耐冲性聚苯乙烯n.臀部( hip的名词复数 )；[建筑学]屋脊；臀围（尺寸）；臀部…的 | |
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145
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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146
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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147
shovel
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| n.铁锨，铲子，一铲之量；v.铲，铲出 | |
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148
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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149
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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150
displeasing
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| 不愉快的，令人发火的 | |
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151
Buddhist
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| adj./n.佛教的，佛教徒 | |
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152
aloof
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| adj.远离的；冷淡的，漠不关心的 | |
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153
tattooed
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| v.刺青，文身( tattoo的过去式和过去分词 )；连续有节奏地敲击；作连续有节奏的敲击 | |
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154
burlesque
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| v.嘲弄，戏仿；n.嘲弄，取笑，滑稽模仿 | |
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155
blistering
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| adj.酷热的；猛烈的；使起疱的；可恶的v.起水疱；起气泡；使受暴晒n.[涂料] 起泡 | |
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156
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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157
scooped
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| v.抢先报道( scoop的过去式和过去分词 )；（敏捷地）抱起；抢先获得；用铲[勺]等挖（洞等） | |
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158
interspersed
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| adj.[医]散开的；点缀的v.intersperse的过去式和过去分词 | |
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159
queries
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| n.问题( query的名词复数 )；疑问；询问；问号v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的第三人称单数 )；询问 | |
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160
swapping
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| 交换，交换技术 | |
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161
yarns
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| n.纱( yarn的名词复数 )；纱线；奇闻漫谈；旅行轶事 | |
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162
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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163
erectness
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| n.直立 | |
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164
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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165
steadfastly
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| adv.踏实地，不变地；岿然；坚定不渝 | |
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166
monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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167
uneven
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| adj.不平坦的，不规则的，不均匀的 | |
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168
seaman
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| n.海员，水手，水兵 | |
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169
missionary
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| adj.教会的，传教(士)的；n.传教士 | |
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170
zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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171
conversion
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| n.转化，转换，转变 | |
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172
lore
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| n.传说；学问，经验，知识 | |
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173
expatiate
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| v.细说，详述 | |
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174
doctrines
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| n.教条( doctrine的名词复数 )；教义；学说；（政府政策的）正式声明 | |
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175
dissertations
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| 专题论文，学位论文( dissertation的名词复数 ) | |
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176
assailed
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| v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 )；困扰；质问；毅然应对 | |
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177
doze
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| v.打瞌睡；n.打盹，假寐 | |
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178
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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179
Buddhists
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| n.佛教徒( Buddhist的名词复数 ) | |
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180
monologues
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| n.（戏剧）长篇独白( monologue的名词复数 )；滔滔不绝的讲话；独角戏 | |
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181
rattan
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| n.藤条，藤杖 | |
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182
odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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183
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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184
hubbub
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| n.嘈杂；骚乱 | |
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185
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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186
contestants
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| n.竞争者，参赛者( contestant的名词复数 ) | |
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187
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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188
remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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189
morose
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| adj.脾气坏的，不高兴的 | |
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190
promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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191
foraging
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| v.搜寻（食物），尤指动物觅（食）( forage的现在分词 )；（尤指用手）搜寻（东西） | |
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192
assortment
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| n.分类，各色俱备之物，聚集 | |
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193
foodstuffs
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| 食物，食品( foodstuff的名词复数 ) | |
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194
shipping
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| n.船运（发货，运输，乘船） | |
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195
berth
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| n.卧铺，停泊地，锚位；v.使停泊 | |
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196
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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197
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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198
savages
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| 未开化的人，野蛮人( savage的名词复数 ) | |
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199
undertaking
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| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
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200
virgin
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| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
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201
rout
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| n.溃退，溃败；v.击溃，打垮 | |
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202
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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203
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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204
idiotic
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| adj.白痴的 | |
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205
consul
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| n.领事；执政官 | |
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206
canvassed
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| v.（在政治方面）游说( canvass的过去式和过去分词 )；调查（如选举前选民的）意见；为讨论而提出（意见等）；详细检查 | |
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207
geographical
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| adj.地理的；地区(性)的 | |
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208
wavy
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| adj.有波浪的，多浪的，波浪状的，波动的，不稳定的 | |
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209
inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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210
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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211
relentlessly
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| adv.不屈不挠地；残酷地；不间断 | |
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212
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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213
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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214
appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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215
jovial
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| adj.快乐的，好交际的 | |
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216
alleging
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| 断言，宣称，辩解( allege的现在分词 ) | |
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217
whoop
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| n.大叫，呐喊，喘息声；v.叫喊，喘息 | |
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218
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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219
lessening
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| 减轻，减少，变小 | |
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220
suburban
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| adj.城郊的，在郊区的 | |
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221
strutting
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| 加固，支撑物 | |
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222
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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223
northward
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| adv.向北；n.北方的地区 | |
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224
compartment
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| n.卧车包房，隔间；分隔的空间 | |
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225
scintillated
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| v.（言谈举止中）焕发才智( scintillate的过去式和过去分词 )；谈笑洒脱；闪耀；闪烁 | |
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226
shaft
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| n.(工具的)柄，杆状物 | |
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227
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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228
blotted
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| 涂污( blot的过去式和过去分词 )； （用吸墨纸）吸干 | |
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229
awakening
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| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
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230
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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231
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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232
eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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233
rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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234
forerunners
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| n.先驱( forerunner的名词复数 )；开路人；先兆；前兆 | |
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235
embellished
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| v.美化( embellish的过去式和过去分词 )；装饰；修饰；润色 | |
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236
plodding
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| a.proceeding in a slow or dull way | |
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237
plod
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| v.沉重缓慢地走，孜孜地工作 | |
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238
quench
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| vt.熄灭，扑灭；压制 | |
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239
tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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240
tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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241
grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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242
canine
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| adj.犬的，犬科的 | |
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243
throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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244
coveted
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| adj.令人垂涎的；垂涎的，梦寐以求的v.贪求，觊觎(covet的过去分词)；垂涎；贪图 | |
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245
anticipation
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| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
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246
puerile
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| adj.幼稚的，儿童的 | |
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247
strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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248
mound
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| n.土墩，堤，小山；v.筑堤，用土堆防卫 | |
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249
toiled
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的过去式和过去分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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250
shovels
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| n.铲子( shovel的名词复数 )；锹；推土机、挖土机等的)铲；铲形部份v.铲子( shovel的第三人称单数 )；锹；推土机、挖土机等的)铲；铲形部份 | |
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251
trenches
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| 深沟，地沟( trench的名词复数 )； 战壕 | |
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252
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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253
dyke
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| n.堤，水坝，排水沟 | |
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254
contractors
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| n.（建筑、监造中的）承包人( contractor的名词复数 ) | |
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255
contractor
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| n.订约人，承包人，收缩肌 | |
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256
mounds
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| 土堆，土丘( mound的名词复数 )； 一大堆 | |
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257
sluggish
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| adj.懒惰的，迟钝的，无精打采的 | |
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258
primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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259
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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260
delta
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| n.（流的）角洲 | |
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261
dwellings
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| n.住处，处所( dwelling的名词复数 ) | |
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262
stilts
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| n.（支撑建筑物高出地面或水面的）桩子，支柱( stilt的名词复数 )；高跷 | |
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263
famished
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| adj.饥饿的 | |
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264
perspiration
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| n.汗水；出汗 | |
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265
arabesques
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| n.阿拉伯式花饰( arabesque的名词复数 )；错综图饰；阿拉伯图案；阿拉贝斯克芭蕾舞姿（独脚站立，手前伸，另一脚一手向后伸） | |
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266
quenched
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| 解（渴）( quench的过去式和过去分词 )； 终止（某事物）； （用水）扑灭（火焰等）； 将（热物体）放入水中急速冷却 | |
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267
plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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268
superintendent
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| n.监督人，主管，总监；(英国)警务长 | |
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269
scoffed
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| 嘲笑，嘲弄( scoff的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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270
pricking
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| 刺，刺痕，刺痛感 | |
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271
vociferous
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| adj.喧哗的，大叫大嚷的 | |
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272
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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273
racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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274
trumpet
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| n.喇叭，喇叭声；v.吹喇叭，吹嘘 | |
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275
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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276
bellow
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| v.吼叫，怒吼；大声发出，大声喝道 | |
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277
deferential
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| adj. 敬意的，恭敬的 | |
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278
speck
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| n.微粒，小污点，小斑点 | |
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279
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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280
flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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281
bluff
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| v.虚张声势，用假象骗人；n.虚张声势，欺骗 | |
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282
zigzagging
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| v.弯弯曲曲地走路，曲折地前进( zigzag的现在分词 )；盘陀 | |
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283
boisterous
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| adj.喧闹的，欢闹的 | |
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284
atlas
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| n.地图册，图表集 | |
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285
wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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286
confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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287
pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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288
robust
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| adj.强壮的，强健的，粗野的，需要体力的，浓的 | |
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289
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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290
invalids
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| 病人，残疾者( invalid的名词复数 ) | |
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291
explicit
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| adj.详述的，明确的；坦率的；显然的 | |
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292
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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293
random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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294
rampant
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| adj.(植物)蔓生的；狂暴的，无约束的 | |
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295
heeding
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| v.听某人的劝告，听从( heed的现在分词 ) | |
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296
heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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297
frenzied
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| a.激怒的；疯狂的 | |
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298
eminences
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| 卓越( eminence的名词复数 )； 著名； 高地； 山丘 | |
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299
migratory
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| n.候鸟，迁移 | |
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300
minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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301
loath
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| adj.不愿意的；勉强的 | |
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302
provident
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| adj.为将来做准备的，有先见之明的 | |
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303
celestial
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| adj.天体的；天上的 | |
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304
prodigal
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| adj.浪费的，挥霍的，放荡的 | |
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305
stifled
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| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 )； 镇压，遏制； 堵 | |
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306
moody
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| adj.心情不稳的，易怒的，喜怒无常的 | |
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307
tattered
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| adj.破旧的，衣衫破的 | |
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308
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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309
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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310
buffaloes
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| n.水牛（分非洲水牛和亚洲水牛两种）( buffalo的名词复数 )；（南非或北美的）野牛；威胁；恐吓 | |
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311
jeopardized
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| 危及，损害( jeopardize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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312
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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313
portended
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| v.预示( portend的过去式和过去分词 )；预兆；给…以警告；预告 | |
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314
excavations
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| n.挖掘( excavation的名词复数 )；开凿；开凿的洞穴（或山路等）；（发掘出来的）古迹 | |
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315
grassy
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| adj.盖满草的；长满草的 | |
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316
itinerant
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| adj.巡回的；流动的 | |
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317
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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318
copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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319
coppers
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| 铜( copper的名词复数 )； 铜币 | |
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320
lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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321
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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322
trotted
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| 小跑，急走( trot的过去分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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323
trot
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| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
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324
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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325
slashed
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| v.挥砍( slash的过去式和过去分词 )；鞭打；割破；削减 | |
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326
fowl
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| n.家禽，鸡，禽肉 | |
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327
dexterous
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| adj.灵敏的；灵巧的 | |
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328
imbued
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| v.使（某人/某事）充满或激起（感情等）( imbue的过去式和过去分词 )；使充满；灌输；激发（强烈感情或品质等） | |
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329
custodian
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| n.保管人，监护人；公共建筑看守 | |
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330
swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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331
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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332
unlimited
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| adj.无限的，不受控制的，无条件的 | |
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333
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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334
irrelevant
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| adj.不恰当的，无关系的，不相干的 | |
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335
wayfarer
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| n.旅人 | |
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336
trickles
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|
| n.细流( trickle的名词复数 )；稀稀疏疏缓慢来往的东西v.滴( trickle的第三人称单数 )；淌；使)慢慢走；缓慢移动 | |
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337
tickling
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| 反馈，回授，自旋挠痒法 | |
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338
lizards
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| n.蜥蜴( lizard的名词复数 ) | |
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339
lizard
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| n.蜥蜴，壁虎 | |
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340
miserable
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|
| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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341
reptiles
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| n.爬行动物，爬虫( reptile的名词复数 ) | |
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342
toad
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| n.蟾蜍，癞蛤蟆 | |
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343
rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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344
rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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345
dodgers
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|
| n.躲闪者，欺瞒者( dodger的名词复数 ) | |
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346
croaking
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| v.呱呱地叫( croak的现在分词 )；用粗的声音说 | |
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347
darting
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|
| v.投掷，投射( dart的现在分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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348
commissioner
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| n.（政府厅、局、处等部门）专员，长官，委员 | |
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349
isolated
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|
| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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350
surmise
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|
| v./n.猜想，推测 | |
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351
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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352
torrent
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|
| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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353
drenched
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|
| adj.湿透的；充满的v.使湿透( drench的过去式和过去分词 )；在某人（某物）上大量使用（某液体） | |
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354
growl
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|
| v.（狗等）嗥叫，（炮等）轰鸣；n.嗥叫，轰鸣 | |
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355
sopping
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| adj. 浑身湿透的 动词sop的现在分词形式 | |
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356
grumble
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|
| vi.抱怨；咕哝；n.抱怨，牢骚；咕哝，隆隆声 | |
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357
rumble
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|
| n.隆隆声；吵嚷；v.隆隆响；低沉地说 | |
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358
extravagant
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|
| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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359
vagaries
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|
| n.奇想( vagary的名词复数 )；异想天开；异常行为；难以预测的情况 | |
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360
cremation
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|
| n.火葬，火化 | |
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361
survivors
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|
| 幸存者，残存者，生还者( survivor的名词复数 ) | |
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362
envious
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|
| adj.嫉妒的，羡慕的 | |
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363
dirge
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|
| n.哀乐，挽歌，庄重悲哀的乐曲 | |
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364
coffin
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|
| n.棺材，灵柩 | |
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365
discordant
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|
| adj.不调和的 | |
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366
trampled
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|
| 踩( trample的过去式和过去分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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367
deftly
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|
| adv.灵巧地，熟练地，敏捷地 | |
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368
misgiving
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|
| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕 | |
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369
nemesis
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| n.给以报应者，复仇者，难以对付的敌手 | |
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370
scribbled
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|
| v.潦草的书写( scribble的过去式和过去分词 )；乱画；草草地写；匆匆记下 | |
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371
bellies
|
|
| n.肚子( belly的名词复数 )；腹部；（物体的）圆形或凸起部份；腹部…形的 | |
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372
bellowing
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|
| v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的现在分词 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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373
converse
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|
| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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374
pauper
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|
| n.贫民，被救济者，穷人 | |
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375
allayed
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|
| v.减轻，缓和( allay的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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376
agonized
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|
| v.使（极度）痛苦，折磨( agonize的过去式和过去分词 )；苦斗；苦苦思索；感到极度痛苦 | |
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377
perfidy
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|
| n.背信弃义，不忠贞 | |
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378
levied
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|
| 征（兵）( levy的过去式和过去分词 )； 索取； 发动（战争）； 征税 | |
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379
rascality
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|
| 流氓性，流氓集团 | |
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380
ruse
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|
| n.诡计，计策；诡计 | |
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381
nay
|
|
| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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382
meager
|
|
| adj.缺乏的，不足的，瘦的 | |
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383
guffawing
|
|
| v.大笑，狂笑( guffaw的现在分词 ) | |
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384
witty
|
|
| adj.机智的，风趣的 | |
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385
lodgings
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|
| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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386
pretentious
|
|
| adj.自命不凡的，自负的，炫耀的 | |
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387
wretch
|
|
| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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388
shanty
|
|
| n.小屋，棚屋；船工号子 | |
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389
grooves
|
|
| n.沟( groove的名词复数 )；槽；老一套；（某种）音乐节奏v.沟( groove的第三人称单数 )；槽；老一套；（某种）音乐节奏 | |
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390
snarl
|
|
| v.吼叫，怒骂，纠缠，混乱；n.混乱，缠结，咆哮 | |
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391
blustered
|
|
| v.外强中干的威吓( bluster的过去式和过去分词 )；咆哮；（风）呼啸；狂吹 | |
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392
disconsolately
|
|
| adv.悲伤地，愁闷地；哭丧着脸 | |
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393
grunt
|
|
| v.嘟哝；作呼噜声；n.呼噜声，嘟哝 | |
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394
waterproof
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|
| n.防水材料；adj.防水的；v.使...能防水 | |
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395
deluge
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|
| n./vt.洪水，暴雨，使泛滥 | |
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396
oozing
|
|
| v.（浓液等）慢慢地冒出，渗出( ooze的现在分词 )；使（液体）缓缓流出；（浓液）渗出，慢慢流出 | |
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397
sprawled
|
|
| v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的过去式和过去分词)；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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398
rambling
|
|
| adj.[建]凌乱的，杂乱的 | |
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399
brats
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|
| n.调皮捣蛋的孩子( brat的名词复数 ) | |
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400
foul
|
|
| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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401
wailed
|
|
| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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402
civilized
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|
| a.有教养的，文雅的 | |
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403
slumber
|
|
| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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404
waiving
|
|
| v.宣布放弃( waive的现在分词 )；搁置；推迟；放弃（权利、要求等） | |
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405
accomplishment
|
|
| n.完成，成就，（pl.）造诣，技能 | |
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406
jabbered
|
|
| v.急切而含混不清地说( jabber的过去式和过去分词 )；急促兴奋地说话 | |
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407
ruminating
|
|
| v.沉思( ruminate的现在分词 )；反复考虑；反刍；倒嚼 | |
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408
shack
|
|
| adj.简陋的小屋，窝棚 | |
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409
savagely
|
|
| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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410
nether
|
|
| adj.下部的，下面的；n.阴间；下层社会 | |
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411
equilibrium
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|
| n.平衡，均衡，相称，均势，平静 | |
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412
sardonically
|
|
| adv.讽刺地，冷嘲地 | |
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413
stolidly
|
|
| adv.迟钝地，神经麻木地 | |
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414
accomplishments
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|
| n.造诣；完成( accomplishment的名词复数 )；技能；成绩；成就 | |
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415
sneak
|
|
| vt.潜行(隐藏,填石缝)；偷偷摸摸做；n.潜行；adj.暗中进行 | |
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416
eavesdrop
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|
| v.偷听，倾听 | |
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417
harangued
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|
| v.高谈阔论( harangue的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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418
deliberately
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|
| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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419
mumbled
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|
| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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420
kindly
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|
| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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421
proximity
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|
| n.接近，邻近 | |
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422
doggedly
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|
| adv.顽强地，固执地 | |
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423
conspicuous
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|
| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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424
intervals
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|
| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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425
deluges
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|
| v.使淹没( deluge的第三人称单数 )；淹没；被洪水般涌来的事物所淹没；穷于应付 | |
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426
scrambled
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|
| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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427
resentment
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|
| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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429
installments
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| 部分( installment的名词复数 ) | |
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430
puffs
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|
| n.吸( puff的名词复数 )；（烟斗或香烟的）一吸；一缕（烟、蒸汽等）；（呼吸或风的）呼v.使喷出( puff的第三人称单数 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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431
concoction
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|
| n.调配(物)；谎言 | |
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432
pebbles
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|
| [复数]鹅卵石； 沙砾； 卵石，小圆石( pebble的名词复数 ) | |
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433
soothing
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|
| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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434
aperture
|
|
| n.孔，隙，窄的缺口 | |
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435
lobe
|
|
| n.耳垂，（肺，肝等的）叶 | |
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436
detailed
|
|
| adj.详细的，详尽的，极注意细节的，完全的 | |
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437
autobiography
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|
| n.自传 | |
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438
bum
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|
| n.臀部；流浪汉，乞丐；vt.乞求，乞讨 | |
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439
brink
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|
| n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘，边沿 | |
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440
embark
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|
| vi.乘船，着手，从事，上飞机 | |
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441
ominous
|
|
| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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442
exertions
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|
| n.努力( exertion的名词复数 )；费力；（能力、权力等的）运用；行使 | |
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443
savory
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|
| adj.风味极佳的，可口的，味香的 | |
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444
charcoal
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|
| n.炭，木炭，生物炭 | |
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445
scooping
|
|
| n.捞球v.抢先报道( scoop的现在分词 )；（敏捷地）抱起；抢先获得；用铲[勺]等挖（洞等） | |
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446
perilously
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|
| adv.充满危险地，危机四伏地 | |
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447
imprisoned
|
|
| 下狱，监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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448
jolted
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|
| （使）摇动， （使）震惊( jolt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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449
paternal
|
|
| adj.父亲的，像父亲的，父系的，父方的 | |
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450
emaciated
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|
| adj.衰弱的，消瘦的 | |
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