EARLY FRENCH ADVENTURE IN NORTH AMERICA.
When America was first made known to Europe, the part assumed by France on the borders of that new world was peculiar1, and is little recognized. While the Spaniard roamed sea and land, burning for achievement, red-hot with bigotry2 and avarice3, and while England, with soberer steps and a less dazzling result, followed in the path of discovery and gold-hunting, it was from France that those barbarous shores first learned to serve the ends of peaceful commercial industry.
A French writer, however, advances a more ambitious claim. In the year 1488, four years before the first voyage of Columbus, America, he maintains, was found by Frenchmen. Cousin, a navigator of Dieppe, being at sea off the African coast, was forced westward4, it is said, by winds and currents to within sight of an unknown shore, where he presently descried5 the mouth of a great river. On board his ship was one Pinzon, whose conduct became so mutinous6 that, on his return to Dieppe, Cousin made complaint to the magistracy, who thereupon dismissed the offender7 from the maritime8 service of the town. Pinzon went to Spain, became known to Columbus, told him the discovery, and joined him on his voyage of 1492.
To leave this cloudland of tradition, and approach the confines of recorded history. The Normans, offspring of an ancestry9 of conquerors,—the Bretons, that stubborn, hardy10, unchanging race, who, among Druid monuments changeless as themselves, still cling with Celtic obstinacy11 to the thoughts and habits of the past,—the Basques, that primeval people, older than history,—all frequented from a very early date the cod-banks of Newfoundland. There is some reason to believe that this fishery existed before the voyage of Cabot, in 1497; there is strong evidence that it began as early as the year 1504; and it is well established that, in 1517, fifty Castilian, French, and Portuguese12 vessels13 were engaged in it at once; while in 1527, on the third of August, eleven sail of Norman, one of Breton, and two of Portuguese fishermen were to be found in the Bay of St. John.
From this time forth16, the Newfoundland fishery was never abandoned. French, English, Spanish, and Portuguese made resort to the Banks, always jealous, often quarrelling, but still drawing up treasure from those exhaustless mines, and bearing home bountiful provision against the season of Lent.
On this dim verge17 of the known world there were other perils18 than those of the waves. The rocks and shores of those sequestered19 seas had, so thought the voyagers, other tenants20 than the seal, the walrus21, and the screaming sea-fowl, the bears which stole away their fish before their eyes, and the wild natives dressed in seal-skins. Griffius—so ran the story—infested the mountains of Labrador. Two islands, north of Newfoundland, were given over to the fiends from whom they derived22 their name, the Isles23 of Demons26. An old map pictures their occupants at length,—devils rampant27, with wings, horns, and tail. The passing voyager heard the din28 of their infernal orgies, and woe29 to the sailor or the fisherman who ventured alone into the haunted woods. "True it is," writes the old cosmographer Thevet, "and I myself have heard it, not from one, but from a great number of the sailors and pilots with whom I have made many voyages, that, when they passed this way, they heard in the air, on the tops and about the masts, a great clamor of men's voices, confused and inarticulate, such as you may hear from the crowd at a fair or market-place whereupon they well knew that the Isle24 of Demons was not far off." And he adds, that he himself, when among the Indians, had seen them so tormented30 by these infernal persecutors, that they would fall into his arms for relief; on which, repeating a passage of the Gospel of St. John, he had driven the imps31 of darkness to a speedy exodus32. They are comely33 to look upon, he further tells us; yet, by reason of their malice34, that island is of late abandoned, and all who dwelt there have fled for refuge to the main.
While French fishermen plied35 their trade along these gloomy coasts, the French government spent it's energies on a different field. The vitality36 of the kingdom was wasted in Italian wars. Milan and Naples offered a more tempting37 prize than the wilds of Baccalaos. Eager for glory and for plunder39, a swarm40 of restless nobles followed their knight-errant King, the would-be paladin, who, misshapen in body and fantastic in mind, had yet the power to raise a storm which the lapse41 of generations could not quell42. Under Charles the Eighth and his successor, war and intrigue43 ruled the day; and in the whirl of Italian politics there was no leisure to think of a new world.
Yet private enterprise was not quite benumbed. In 1506, one Denis of Honfleur explored the Gulf45 of St. Lawrence; 2 two years later, Aubert of Dieppe followed on his track; and in 1518, the Baron46 de Lery made an abortive47 attempt at settlement on Sable48 Island, where the cattle left by him remained and multiplied.
The crown passed at length to Francis of Angouleme. There were in his nature seeds of nobleness,—seeds destined49 to bear little fruit. Chivalry50 and honor were always on his lips; but Francis the First, a forsworn gentleman, a despotic king, vainglorious51, selfish, sunk in debaucheries, was but the type of an era which retained the forms of the Middle Age without its soul, and added to a still prevailing52 barbarism the pestilential vices53 which hung fog-like around the dawn of civilization. Yet he esteemed54 arts and letters, and, still more, coveted55 the eclat56 which they could give. The light which was beginning to pierce the feudal57 darkness gathered its rays around his throne. Italy was rewarding the robbers who preyed58 on her with the treasures of her knowledge and her culture; and Italian genius, of whatever stamp, found ready patronage59 at the hands of Francis. Among artists, philosophers, and men of letters enrolled60 in his service stands the humbler name of a Florentine navigator, John Verrazzano.
He was born of an ancient family, which could boast names eminent61 in Florentine history, and of which the last survivor62 died in 1819. He has been called a pirate, and he was such in the same sense in which Drake, Hawkins, and other valiant63 sea-rovers of his own and later times, merited the name; that is to say, he would plunder and kill a Spaniard on the high seas without waiting for a declaration of war.
The wealth of the Indies was pouring into the coffers of Charles the Fifth, and the exploits of Cortes had given new lustre64 to his crown. Francis the First begrudged65 his hated rival the glories and profits of the New World. He would fain have his share of the prize; and Verrazzano, with four ships, was despatched to seek out a passage westward to the rich kingdom of Cathay.
Some doubt has of late been cast on the reality of this voyage of Verrazzano, and evidence, mainly negative in kind, has been adduced to prove the story of it a fabrication; but the difficulties of incredulity appear greater than those of belief, and no ordinary degree of scepticism is required to reject the evidence that the narrative66 is essentially67 true.
Towards the end of the year 1523, his four ships sailed from Dieppe; but a storm fell upon him, and, with two of the vessels, he ran back in distress68 to a port of Brittany. What became of the other two does not appear. Neither is it clear why, after a preliminary cruise against the Spaniards, he pursued his voyage with one vessel14 alone, a caravel called the "Dauphine." With her he made for Madeira, and, on the seventeenth of January, 1524, set sail from a barren islet in its neighborhood, and bore away for the unknown world. In forty-nine days they neared a low shore, not far from the site of Wilmington in North Carolina, "a newe land," exclaims the voyager, "never before seen of any man, either auncient or moderne." Verrazzano steered69 southward in search of a harbor, and, finding none, turned northward70 again. Presently he sent a boat ashore71. The inhabitants, who had fled at first, soon came down to the strand72 in wonder and admiration73, pointing out a landing-place, and making gestures of friendship. "These people," says Verrazzano, "goe altogether naked, except only certain skinnes of beastes like unto marterns [martens], which they fasten onto a narrowe girdle made of grasse. They are of colour russet, and not much unlike the Saracens, their hayre blacke, thicke, and not very long, which they tye togeather in a knot behinde, and weare it like a taile."
He describes the shore as consisting of small low hillocks of fine sand, intersected by creeks74 and inlets, and beyond these a country "full of Palme [pine?] trees, Bay trees, and high Cypresse trees, and many other sortes of trees, vnknowne in Europe, which yeeld most sweete sanours, farre from the shore." Still advancing northward, Verrazzano sent a boat for a supply of water. The surf ran high, and the crew could not land; but an adventurous75 young sailor jumped overboard and swam shoreward with a gift of beads76 and trinkets for the Indians, who stood watching him. His heart failed as he drew near; he flung his gift among them, turned, and struck out for the boat. The surf dashed him back, flinging him with violence on the beach among the recipients77 of his bounty78, who seized him by the arms and legs, and, while he called lustily for aid, answered him with outcries designed to allay79 his terrors. Next they kindled80 a great fire,—doubtless to roast and devour81 him before the eyes of his comrades, gazing in horror from their boat. On the contrary, they carefully warmed him, and were trying to dry his clothes, when, recovering from his bewilderment, he betrayed a strong desire to escape to his friends; whereupon, "with great love, clapping him fast about, with many embracings," they led him to the shore, and stood watching till he had reached the boat.
It only remained to requite84 this kindness, and an opportunity soon occurred; for, coasting the shores of Virginia or Maryland, a party went on shore and found an old woman, a young girl, and several children, hiding with great terror in the grass. Having, by various blandishments, gained their confidence, they carried off one of the children as a curiosity, and, since the girl was comely, would fain have taken her also, but desisted by reason of her continual screaming.
Verrazzano's next resting-place was the Bay of New York. Rowing up in his boat through the Narrows, under the steep heights of Staten Island, he saw the harbor within dotted with canoes of the feathered natives, coming from the shore to welcome him. But what most engaged the eyes of the white men were the fancied signs of mineral wealth in the neighboring hills.
Following the shores of Long Island, they came to an island, which may have been Block Island, and thence to a harbor, which was probably that of Newport. Here they stayed fifteen days, most courteously86 received by the inhabitants. Among others appeared two chiefs, gorgeously arrayed in painted deer-skins,—kings, as Verrazzano calls them, with attendant gentlemen; while a party of squaws in a canoe, kept by their jealous lords at a safe distance from the caravel, figure in the narrative as the queen and her maids. The Indian wardrobe had been taxed to its utmost to do the strangers honor,—copper bracelets89, lynx-skins, raccoon-skins, and faces bedaubed with gaudy90 colors.
Again they spread their sails, and on the fifth of May bade farewell to the primitive91 hospitalities of Newport, steered along the rugged92 coasts of New England, and surveyed, ill pleased, the surf-beaten rocks, the pine-tree and the fir, the shadows and the gloom of mighty93 forests. Here man and nature alike were savage94 and repellent. Perhaps some plundering95 straggler from the fishing-banks, some manstealer like the Portuguese Cortereal, or some kidnapper96 of children and ravisher of squaws like themselves, had warned the denizens97 of the woods to beware of the worshippers of Christ. Their only intercourse98 was in the way of trade. From the brink99 of the rocks which overhung the sea the Indians would let down a cord to the boat below, demand fish-hooks, knives, and steel, in barter100 for their furs, and, their bargain made, salute101 the voyagers with unseemly gestures of derision and scorn. The French once ventured ashore; but a war-whoop and a shower of arrows sent them back to their boats.
Verrazzano coasted the seaboard of Maine, and sailed northward as far as Newfoundland, whence, provisions failing, he steered for France. He had not found a passage to Cathay, but he had explored the American coast from the thirty-fourth degree to the fiftieth, and at various points had penetrated102 several leagues into the country. On the eighth of July, he wrote from Dieppe to the King the earliest description known to exist of the shores of the United States.
Great was the joy that hailed his arrival, and great were the hopes of emolument103 and wealth from the new-found shores. The merchants of Lyons were in a flush of expectation. For himself, he was earnest to return, plant a colony, and bring the heathen tribes within the pale of the Church. But the time was inauspicious. The year of his voyage was to France a year of disasters,—defeat in Italy, the loss of Milan, the death of the heroic Bayard; and, while Verrazzano was writing his narrative at Dieppe, the traitor105 Bourbon was invading Provence. Preparation, too, was soon on foot for the expedition which, a few months later, ended in the captivity106 of Francis on the field of Pavia. Without a king, without an army, without money, convulsed within, and threatened from without, France after that humiliation107 was in no condition to renew her Transatlantic enterprise.
Henceforth few traces remain of the fortunes of Verrazzano. Ramusio affirms, that, on another voyage, he was killed and eaten by savages108, in sight of his followers109; and a late writer hazards the conjecture110 that this voyage, if made at all, was made in the service of Henry the Eighth of England. But a Spanish writer affirms that, in 1527, he was hanged at Puerto del Pico as a pirate, and this assertion is fully82 confirmed by authentic111 documents recently brought to light.
The fickle-minded King, always ardent112 at the outset of an enterprise and always flagging before its close, divided, moreover, between the smiles of his mistresses and the assaults of his enemies, might probably have dismissed the New World from his thoughts. But among the favorites of his youth was a high-spirited young noble, Philippe de BrionChabot, the partner of his joustings and tennis-playing, his gaming and gallantries. He still stood high in the royal favor, and, after the treacherous114 escape of Francis from captivity, held the office of Admiral of France. When the kingdom had rallied in some measure from its calamnities, he conceived the purpose of following up the path which Verrazzano had opened.
The ancient town of St. Malo—thrust out like a buttress115 into the sea, strange and grim of aspect, breathing war front its walls and battlements of ragged116 stone, a stronghold of privateers, the home of a race whose intractable and defiant117 independence neither time nor change has subdued—has been for centuries a nursery of hardy mariners118. Among the earliest and most eminent on its list stands the name of Jacques Cartier. His portrait hangs in the town-hall of St. Malo,—bold, keen features bespeaking119 a spirit not apt to quail120 before the wrath121 of man or of the elements. In him Chabot found a fit agent of his design, if, indeed, its suggestion is not due to the Breton navigator.
Sailing from St. Malo on the twentieth of April, 1534, Cartier steered for Newfoundland, passed through the Straits of Belle122 Isle, entered the Gulf of Chaleurs, planted a cross at Gaspe, and, never doubting that he was on the high road to Cathay, advanced up the St. Lawrence till he saw the shores of Anticosti. But autumnal storms were gathering123. The voyagers took counsel together, turned their prows124 eastward125, and bore away for France, carrying thither126, as a sample of the natural products of the New World, two young Indians, lured128 into their clutches by an act of villanous treachery. The voyage was a mere129 reconnoissance.
The spirit of discovery was awakened130. A passage to India could be found, and a new France built up beyond the Atlantic. Mingled131 with such views of interest and ambition was another motive132 scarcely less potent133. The heresy134 of Luther was convulsing Germany, and the deeper heresy of Calvin infecting France. Devout135 Catholics, kindling136 with redoubled zeal137, would fain requite the Church for her losses in the Old World by winning to her fold the infidels of the New. But, in pursuing an end at once so pious138 and so politic44, Francis the First was setting at naught139 the supreme140 Pontiff himself, since, by the preposterous141 bull of Alexander the Sixth, all America had been given to the Spaniards.
In October, 1534, Cartier received from Chabot another commission, and, in spite of secret but bitter opposition142 from jealous traders of St. Malo, he prepared for a second voyage. Three vessels, the largest not above a hundred and twenty tons, were placed at his disposal, and Claude de Pontbriand, Charles de la Pommeraye, and other gentlemen of birth, enrolled themselves for the adventure. On the sixteenth of May, 1535, officers and sailors assembled in the cathedral of St. Malo, where, after confession143 and mass, they received the parting blessing144 of the bishop145. Three days later they set sail. The dingy146 walls of the rude old seaport147, and the white rocks that line the neighboring shores of Brittany, faded from their sight, and soon they were tossing in a furious tempest. The scattered148 ships escaped the danger, and, reuniting at the Straits of Belle Isle, steered westward along the coast of Labrador, till they reached a small bay opposite the island of Anticosti. Cartier called it the Bay of St. Lawrence,—a name afterwards extended to the entire gulf, and to the great river above.
To ascend149 this great river, and tempt38 the hazards of its intricate navigation with no better pilots than the two young Indians kidnapped the year before, was a venture of no light risk. But skill or fortune prevailed; and, on the first of September, the voyagers reached in safety the gorge87 of the gloomy Saguenay, with its towering cliffs and sullen150 depth of waters. Passing the Isle aux Coudres, and the lofty promontory151 of Cape83 Tourmente, they came to anchor in a quiet channel between the northern shore and the margin152 of a richly wooded island, where the trees were so thickly hung with grapes that Cartier named it the Island of Bacchus.
Indians came swarming153 from the shores, paddled their canoes about the ships, and clambered to the decks to gaze in bewilderment at the novel scene, and listen to the story of their travelled countrymen, marvellous in their ears as a visit to another planet. Cartier received them kindly154, listened to the long harangue155 of the great chief Donnacona, regaled him with bread and wine; and, when relieved at length of his guests, set forth in a boat to explore the river above.
As he drew near the opening of the channel, the Hochelaga again spread before him the broad expanse of its waters. A mighty promontory, rugged and bare, thrust its scarped front into the surging current. Here, clothed in the majesty156 of solitude157, breathing the stern poetry of the wilderness158, rose the cliffs now rich with heroic memories, where the fiery159 Count Frontenac cast defiance160 at his foes161, where Wolfe, Montcalm, and Montgomery fell. As yet, all was a nameless barbarism, and a cluster of wigwams held the site of the rock-built city of Quebec. Its name was Stadacone, and it owned the sway of the royal Donnacona.
Cartier set out to visit this greasy162 potentate163; ascended164 the river St. Charles, by him called the St. Croix, landed, crossed the meadows, climbed the rocks, threaded the forest, and emerged upon a squalid hamlet of bark cabins. When, having satisfied their curiosity, he and his party were rowing for the ships, a friendly interruption met them at the mouth of the St. Charles. An old chief harangued165 them from the bank, men, boys, and children screeched166 welcome from the meadow, and a troop of hilarious167 squaws danced knee-deep in the water. The gift of a few strings168 of beads completed their delight and redoubled their agility169; and, from the distance of a mile, their shrill170 songs of jubilation171 still reached the ears of the receding172 Frenchmen.
The hamlet of Stadacone, with its king, Donnacona, and its naked lords and princes, was not the metropolis173 of this forest state, since a town far greater—so the Indians averred—stood by the brink of the river, many days' journey above. It was called Hochelaga, and the great river itself, with a wide reach of adjacent country, had borrowed its name. Thither, with his two young Indians as guides, Cartier resolved to go; but misgivings174 seized the guides as the time drew near, while Donnacona and his tribesmen, jealous of the plan, set themselves to thwart176 it. The Breton captain turned a deaf ear to their dissuasions; on which, failing to touch his reason, they appealed to his fears.
One morning, as the ships still lay at anchor, the French beheld177 three Indian devils descending178 in a canoe towards them, dressed in black and white dog-skins, with faces black as ink, and horns long as a man's arm. Thus arrayed, they drifted by, while the principal fiend, with fixed179 eyes, as of one piercing the secrets of futurity, uttered in a loud voice a long harangue. Then they paddled for the shore; and no sooner did they reach it than each fell flat like a dead man in the bottom of the canoe. Aid, however, was at hand; for Donnacona and his tribesmen, rushing pell-mell from the adjacent woods, raised the swooning masqueraders, and, with shrill clamors, bore them in their arms within the sheltering thickets180. Here, for a full half-hour, the French could hear them haranguing181 in solemn conclave182. Then the two young Indians whom Cartier had brought back from France came out of the bushes, enacting183 a pantomime of amazement184 and terror, clasping their hands, and calling on Christ and the Virgin85; whereupon Cartier, shouting from the vessel, asked what was the matter. They replied, that the god Coudonagny had sent to warn the French against all attempts to ascend the great river, since, should they persist, snows, tempests, and drifting ice would requite their rashness with inevitable185 ruin. The French replied that Coudonagny was a fool; that he could not hurt those who believed in Christ; and that they might tell this to his three messengers. The assembled Indians, with little reverence186 for their deity187, pretended great contentment at this assurance, and danced for joy along the beach.
Cartier now made ready to depart. And, first, he caused the two larger vessels to be towed for safe harborage within the mouth of the St. Charles. With the smallest, a galleon188 of forty tons, and two open boats, carrying in all fifty sailors, besides Pontbriand, La Pommeraye, and other gentlemen, he set out for Hochelaga.
Slowly gliding189 on their way by walls of verdure brightened in the autumnal sun, they saw forests festooned with grape-vines, and waters alive with wild-fowl; they heard the song of the blackbird, the thrush, and, as they fondly thought, the nightingale. The galleon grounded; they left her, and, advancing with the boats alone, on the second of October neared the goal of their hopes, the mysterious Hochelaga.
Just below where now are seen the quays190 and storehouses of Montreal, a thousand Indians thronged191 the shore, wild with delight, dancing, singing, crowding about the strangers, and showering into the boats their gifts of fish and maize193; and, as it grew dark, fires lighted up the night, while, far and near, the French could see the excited savages leaping and rejoicing by the blaze.
At dawn of day, marshalled and accoutred, they marched for Hochelaga. An Indian path led them through the forest which covered the site of Montreal. The morning air was chill and sharp, the leaves were changing hue194, and beneath the oaks the ground was thickly strewn with acorns195. They soon met an Indian chief with a party of tribesmen, or, as the old narrative has it, "one of the principal lords of the said city," attended with a numerous retinue196. Greeting them after the concise197 courtesy of the forest, he led them to a fire kindled by the side of the path for their comfort and refreshment198, seated them on the ground, and made them a long harangue, receiving in requital199 of his eloquence200 two hatchets201, two knives, and a crucifix, the last of which he was invited to kiss. This done, they resumed their march, and presently came upon open fields, covered far and near with the ripened202 maize, its leaves rustling203, and its yellow grains gleaming between the parting husks. Before them, wrapped in forests painted by the early frosts, rose the ridgy204 back of the Mountain of Montreal, and below, encompassed205 with its corn-fields, lay the Indian town. Nothing was visible but its encircling palisades. They were of trunks of trees, set in a triple row. The outer and inner ranges inclined till they met and crossed near the summit, while the upright row between them, aided by transverse braces206, gave to the whole an abundant strength. Within were galleries for the defenders207, rude ladders to mount them, and magazines of stones to throw down on the heads of assailants. It was a mode of fortification practised by all the tribes speaking dialects of the Iroquois.
The voyagers entered the narrow portal. Within, they saw some fifty of those large oblong dwellings209 so familiar in after years to the eyes of the Jesuit apostles in Iroquois and Huron forests. They were about fifty yards in length, and twelve or fifteen wide, framed of sapling poles closely covered with sheets of bark, and each containing several fires and several families. In the midst of the town was an open area, or public square, a stone's throw in width. Here Cartier and his followers stopped, while the surrounding houses of bark disgorged their inmates,—swarms of children, and young women and old, their infants in their arms. They crowded about the visitors, crying for delight, touching210 their beards, feeling their faces, and holding up the screeching211 infants to be touched in turn. The marvellous visitors, strange in hue, strange in attire212, with moustached lip and bearded chin, with arquebuse, halberd, helmet, and cuirass, seemed rather demigods than men.
Due time having been allowed for this exuberance213 of feminine rapture214, the warriors215 interposed, banished216 the women and children to a distance, and squatted217 on the ground around the French, row within row of swarthy forms and eager faces, "as if," says Cartier, "we were going to act a play." Then appeared a troop of women, each bringing a mat, with which they carpeted the bare earth for the behoof of their guests. The latter being seated, the chief of the nation was borne before them on a deerskin by a number of his tribesmen, a bedridden old savage, paralyzed and helpless, squalid as the rest in his attire, and distinguished218 only by a red fillet, inwrought with the dyed quills220 of the Canada porcupine221, encircling his lank222 black hair. They placed him on the ground at Cartier's feet and made signs of welcome for him, while he pointed223 feebly to his powerless limbs, and implored224 the healing touch from the hand of the French chief. Cartier complied, and received in acknowledgment the red fillet of his grateful patient. Then from surrounding dwellings appeared a woeful throng192, the sick, the lame225, the blind, the maimed, the decrepit226, brought or led forth and placed on the earth before the perplexed227 commander, "as if," he says, "a god had come down to cure them." His skill in medicine being far behind the emergency, he pronounced over his petitioners228 a portion of the Gospel of St. John, made the sign of the cross, and uttered a prayer, not for their bodies only, but for their miserable229 souls. Next he read the passion of the Saviour230, to which, though comprehending not a word, his audience listened with grave attention. Then came a distribution of presents. The squaws and children were recalled, and, with the warriors, placed in separate groups. Knives and hatchets were given to the men, and beads to the women, while pewter rings and images of the Agnus Dei were flung among the troop of children, whence ensued a vigorous scramble231 in the square of Hochelaga. Now the French trumpeters pressed their trumpets232 to their lips, and blew a blast that filled the air with warlike din and the hearts of the hearers with amazement and delight. Bidding their hosts farewells the visitors formed their ranks and defiled233 through the gate once more, despite the efforts of a crowd of women, who, with clamorous234 hospitality, beset235 them with gifts of fish, beans, corn, and other viands236 of uninviting aspect, which the Frenchmen courteously declined.
A troop of Indians followed, and guided them to the top of the neighboring mountain. Cartier called it Mont Royal, Montreal; and hence the name of the busy city which now holds the site of the vanished Iloclielaga. Stadacone and Hochelaga, Quebec and Montreal, in the sixteenth century as in the nineteenth, were the centres of Canadian population.
From the summit, that noble prospect237 met his eye which at this day is the delight of tourists, but strangely changed, since, first of white men, the Breton voyager gazed upon it. Tower and dome238 and spire239, congregated240 roofs, white sail, and gliding steamer, animate241 its vast expanse with varied242 life. Cartier saw a different scene. East, west, and south, the mantling243 forest was over all, and the broad blue ribbon of the great river glistened244 amid a realm of verdure. Beyond, to the bounds of Mexico, stretched a leafy desert, and the vast hive of industry, the mighty battle-ground of later centuries, lay sunk in savage torpor245, wrapped in illimitable woods.
The French re-embarked246, bade farewell to Hochelaga, retraced247 their lonely course down the St. Lawrence, and reached Stadacone in safety. On the bank of the St. Charles, their companions had built in their absence a fort of palisades, and the ships, hauled up the little stream, lay moored248 before it. Here the self-exiled company were soon besieged249 by the rigors250 of the Canadian winter. The rocks, the shores, the pine-trees, the solid floor of the frozen river, all alike were blanketed in snow beneath the keen cold rays of the dazzling sun. The drifts rose above the sides of their ships; masts, spars, and cordage were thick with glittering incrustations and sparkling rows of icicles; a frosty armor, four inches thick, encased the bulwarks251. Yet, in the bitterest weather, the neighboring Indians, "hardy," says the journal, "as so many beasts," came daily to the fort, wading252, half naked, waist-deep through the snow. At length, their friendship began to abate253; their visits grew less frequent, and during December had wholly ceased, when a calamity254 fell upon the French.
A malignant255 scurvy256 broke out among them. Man after man went down before the hideous257 disease, till twenty-five were dead, and only three or four were left in health. The sound were too few to attend the sick, and the wretched sufferers lay in helpless despair, dreaming of the sun and the vines of France. The ground, hard as flint, defied their feeble efforts, and, unable to bury their dead, they hid them in snow-drifts. Cartier appealed to the saints; but they turned a deaf ear. Then he nailed against a tree an image of the Virgin, and on a Sunday summoned forth his woe-begone followers, who, haggard, reeling, bloated with their maladies, moved in procession to the spot, and, kneeling in the snow, sang litanies and psalms258 of David. That day died Philippe Rougemont, of Amboise, aged15 twenty-two years. The Holy Virgin deigned260 no other response.
There was fear that the Indians, learning their misery261, might finish the work that scurvy had begun. None of them, therefore, were allowed to approach the fort; and when a party of savages lingered within hearing, Cartier forced his invalid262 garrison263 to beat with sticks and stones against the walls, that their dangerous neighbors, deluded264 by the clatter265, might think them engaged in hard labor266. These objects of their fear proved, however, the instruments of their salvation267. Cartier, walking one day near the river, met an Indian, who not long before had been prostrate268, like many of his fellows, with the scurvy, but who was now, to all appearance, in high health and spirits. What agency had wrought219 this marvellous recovery? According to the Indian, it was a certain evergreen269, called by him ameda, a decoction of the leaves of which was sovereign against the disease. The experiment was tried. The sick men drank copiously271 of the healing draught,—so copiously indeed that in six days they drank a tree as large as a French oak. Thus vigorously assailed272, the distemper relaxed its hold, and health and hope began to revisit the hapless company.
When this winter of misery had worn away, and the ships were thawed273 from their icy fetters274, Cartier prepared to return. He had made notable discoveries; but these were as nothing to the tales of wonder that had reached his ear,—of a land of gold and rubies275, of a nation white like the French, of men who lived without food, and of others to whom Nature had granted but one leg. Should he stake his credit on these marvels276? It were better that they who had recounted them to him should, with their own lips, recount them also to the King, and to this end he resolved that Donnacona and his chiefs should go with him to court. He lured them therefore to the fort, and led them into an ambuscade of sailors, who, seizing the astonished guests, hurried them on board the ships. Having accomplished277 this treachery, the voyagers proceeded to plant the emblem278 of Christianity. The cross was raised, the fleur-de-lis planted near it, and, spreading their sails, they steered for home. It was the sixteenth of July, 1536, when Cartier again cast anchor under the walls of St. Malo.
A rigorous climate, a savage people, a fatal disease, and a soil barren of gold were the allurements280 of New France. Nor were the times auspicious104 for a renewal281 of the enterprise. Charles the Fifth, flushed with his African triumphs, challenged the Most Christian279 King to single combat. The war flamed forth with renewed fury, and ten years elapsed before a hollow truce282 varnished283 the hate of the royal rivals with a thin pretence284 of courtesy. Peace returned; but Francis the First was sinking to his ignominious285 grave, under the scourge286 of his favorite goddess, and Chabot, patron of the former voyages, was in disgrace.
Meanwhile the ominous287 adventure of New France had found a champion in the person of Jean Francois de la Roque, Sieur de Roberval, a nobleman of Picardy. Though a man of high account in his own province, his past honors paled before the splendor288 of the titles said to have been now conferred on him, Lord of Norembega, Viceroy and Lieutenant289-General in Canada, Hochelaga, Saguenay, Newfoundland, Belle Isle, Carpunt, Labrador, the Great Bay, and Baccalaos. To this windy gift of ink and parchment was added a solid grant from the royal treasury290, with which five vessels were procured291 and equipped; and to Cartier was given the post of Captain-General. "We have resolved," says Francis, "to send him again to the lands of Canada and Hochelaga, which form the extremity292 of Asia towards the west." His commission declares the objects of the enterprise to be discovery, settlement, and the conversion293 of the Indians, who are described as "men without knowledge of God or use of reason,"—a pious design, held doubtless in full sincerity294 by the royal profligate295, now, in his decline, a fervent296 champion of the Faith and a strenuous297 tormentor298 of heretics. The machinery299 of conversion was of a character somewhat questionable300, since Cartier and Roberval were empowered to ransack301 the prisons for thieves, robbers, and other malefactors, to complete their crews and strengthen the colony. "Whereas," says the King, "we have undertaken this voyage for the honor of God our Creator, desiring with all our heart to do that which shall be agreeable to Him, it is our will to perform a compassionate302 and meritorious303 work towards criminals and malefactors, to the end that they may acknowledge the Creator, return thanks to Him, and mend their lives. Therefore we have resolved to cause to be delivered to our aforesaid lieutenant (Roberval), such and so many of the aforesaid criminals and malefactors detained in our prisons as may seem to him useful and necessary to be carried to the aforesaid countries." Of the expected profits of the voyage the adventurers were to have one third and the King another, while the remainder was to be reserved towards defraying expenses.
With respect to Donnacona and his tribesmen, basely kidnapped at Stadacone, their souls had been better cared for than their bodies; for, having been duly baptized, they all died within a year or two, to the great detriment304, as it proved, of the expedition.
Meanwhile, from beyond the Pyrenees, the Most Catholic King, with alarmed and jealous eye, watched the preparations of his Most Christian enemy. America, in his eyes, was one vast province of Spain, to be vigilantly305 guarded against the intruding306 foreigner. To what end were men mustered307, and ships fitted out in the Breton seaports308? Was it for colonization309, and if so, where? Was it in Southern Florida, or on the frozen shores of Baccalaos, of which Breton cod-fishers claimed the discovery? Or would the French build forts on the Bahamas, whence they could waylay310 the gold ships in the Bahama Channel? Or was the expedition destined against the Spanish settlements of the islands or the Main? Reinforcements were despatched in haste, and a spy was sent to France, who, passing from port to port, Quimper, St. Malo, Brest, Morlaix, came back freighted with exaggerated tales of preparation. The Council of the Indies was called. "The French are bound for Baccalaos,"—such was the substance of their report; "your Majesty will do well to send two caravels to watch their movements, and a force to take possession of the said country. And since there is no other money to pay for it, the gold from Peru, now at Panama, might be used to that end." The Cardinal311 of Seville thought lightly of the danger, and prophesied312 that the French would reap nothing from their enterprise but disappointment and loss. The King of Portugal, sole acknowledged partner with Spain in the ownership of the New World, was invited by the Spanish ambassador to take part in an expedition against the encroaching French. "They can do no harm at Baccalaos," was the cold reply; "and so," adds the indignant ambassador, "this King would say if they should come and take him here at Lisbon; such is the softness they show here on the one hand, while, on the other, they wish to give law to the whole world."
The five ships, occasions of this turmoil313 and alarm, had lain at St. Malo waiting for cannon314 and munitions315 from Normandy and Champagne316. They waited in vain, and as the King's orders were stringent317 against delay, it was resolved that Cartier should sail at once, leaving Roberval to follow with additional ships when the expected supplies arrived.
On the twenty-third of May, 1541, the Breton captain again spread his canvas for New France, and, passing in safety the tempestuous318 Atlantic, the fog-banks of Newfoundland, the island rocks clouded with screaming sea-fowl, and the forests breathing piny odors from the shore, cast anchor again beneath the cliffs of Quebec. Canoes came out from shore filled with feathered savages inquiring for their kidnapped chiefs. "Donnacona," replied Cartier, "is dead;" but he added the politic falsehood, that the others had married in France, and lived in state, like great lords. The Indians pretended to be satisfied; but it was soon apparent that they looked askance on the perfidious319 strangers.
Cartier pursued his course, sailed three leagues and a half up the St. Lawrence, and anchored off the mouth of the River of Cap Rouge259. It was late in August, and the leafy landscape sweltered in the sun. The Frenchmen landed, picked up quartz320 crystals on the shore and thought them diamonds, climbed the steep promontory, drank at the spring near the top, looked abroad on the wooded slopes beyond the little river, waded321 through the tall grass of the meadow, found a quarry322 of slate323, and gathered scales of a yellow mineral which glistened like gold, then returned to their boats, crossed to the south shore of the St. Lawrence, and, languid with the heat, rested in the shade of forests laced with an entanglement324 of grape-vines.
Now their task began, and while some cleared off the woods and sowed turnip-seed, others cut a zigzag325 road up the height, and others built two forts, one at the summit, and one on the shore below. The forts finished, the Vicomte de Beaupre took command, while Cartier went with two boats to explore the rapids above Hochelaga. When at length he returned, the autumn was far advanced; and with the gloom of a Canadian November came distrust, foreboding, and homesickness. Roberval had not appeared; the Indians kept jealously aloof326; the motley colony was sullen as the dull, raw air around it. There was disgust and ire at Charlesbourg-Royal, for so the place was called.
Meanwhile, unexpected delays had detained the impatient Roberval; nor was it until the sixteenth of April, 1542, that, with three ships and two hundred colonists327, he set sail from Rochelle. When, on the eighth of June, he entered the harbor of St. John, he found seventeen fishing-vessels lying there at anchor. Soon after, he descried three other sail rounding the entrance of the haven328, and, with anger and amazement, recognized the ships of Jacques Cartier. That voyager had broken up his colony and abandoned New France. What motives329 had prompted a desertion little consonant330 with the resolute331 spirit of the man it is impossible to say,—whether sickness within, or Indian enemies without, disgust with an enterprise whose unripened fruits had proved so hard and bitter, or discontent at finding himself reduced to a post of subordination in a country which he had discovered and where he had commanded. The Viceroy ordered him to return; but Cartier escaped with his vessels under cover of night, and made sail for France, carrying with him as trophies332 a few quartz diamonds from Cap Rouge, and grains of sham333 gold from the neighboring slate ledges334. Thus closed the third Canadian voyage of this notable explorer. His discoveries had gained for him a patent of nobility, and he owned the seigniorial mansion335 of Limoilou, a rude structure of stone still standing336. Here, and in the neighboring town of St. Malo, where also he had a house, he seems to have lived for many years.
Roberval once more set sail, steering337 northward to the Straits of Belle Isle and the dreaded338 Isles of Demons. And here an incident befell which the all-believing Thevet records in manifest good faith, and which, stripped of the adornments of superstition339 and a love of the marvellous, has without doubt a nucleus340 of truth. I give the tale as I find it.
The Viceroy's company was of a mixed complexion341. There were nobles, officers, soldiers, sailors, adventurers, with women too, and children. Of the women, some were of birth and station, and among them a damsel called Marguerite, a niece of Roberval himself. In the ship was a young gentleman who had embarked for love of her. His love was too well requited342; and the stern Viceroy, scandalized and enraged343 at a passion which scorned concealment344 and set shame at defiance, cast anchor by the haunted island, landed his indiscreet relative, gave her four arquebuses for defence, and, with an old Norman nurse named Bastienne, who had pandered345 to the lovers, left her to her fate. Her gallant113 threw himself into the surf, and by desperate effort gained the shore, with two more guns and a supply of ammunition346.
The ship weighed anchor, receded347, vanished, and they were left alone. Yet not so, for the demon25 lords of the island beset them day and night, raging around their hut with a confused and hungry clamoring, striving to force the frail348 barrier. The lovers had repented349 of their sin, though not abandoned it, and Heaven was on their side. The saints vouchsafed350 their aid, and the offended Virgin, relenting, held before them her protecting shield. In the form of beasts or other shapes abominably351 and unutterably hideous, the brood of hell, howling in baffled fury, tore at the branches of the sylvan352 dwelling208; but a celestial353 hand was ever interposed, and there was a viewless barrier which they might not pass. Marguerite became pregnant. Here was a double prize, two souls in one, mother and child. The fiends grew frantic354, but all in vain. She stood undaunted amid these horrors; but her lover, dismayed and heartbroken, sickened and died. Her child soon followed; then the old Norman nurse found her unhallowed rest in that accursed soil, and Marguerite was left alone. Neither her reason nor her courage failed. When the demons assailed her, she shot at them with her gun, but they answered with hellish merriment, and thenceforth she placed her trust in Heaven alone. There were foes around her of the upper, no less than of the nether355 world. Of these, the bears were the most redoubtable356; yet, being vulnerable to mortal weapons, she killed three of them, all, says the story, "as white as an egg."
It was two years and five months from her landing on the island, when, far out at sea, the crew of a small fishing-craft saw a column of smoke curling upward from the haunted shore. Was it a device of the fiends to lure127 them to their ruin? They thought so, and kept aloof. But misgiving175 seized them. They warily357 drew near, and descried a female figure in wild attire waving signals from the strand. Thus at length was Marguerite rescued and restored to her native France, where, a few years later, the cosmographer Thevet met her at Natron in Perigord, and heard the tale of wonder from her own lips.
Having left his offending niece to the devils and bears of the Isles of Demons, Roberval held his course up the St. Lawrence, and dropped anchor before the heights of Cap Rouge. His company landed; there were bivouacs along the strand, a hubbub358 of pick and spade, axe88, saw, and hammer; and soon in the wilderness uprose a goodly structure, half barrack, half castle, with two towers, two spacious359 halls, a kitchen, chambers360, storerooms, workshops, cellars, garrets, a well, an oven, and two watermills. Roberval named it France-Roy, and it stood on that bold acclivity where Cartier had before intrenched himself, the St. Lawrence in front, and on the right the River of Cap Rouge. Here all the colony housed under the same roof, like one of the experimental communities of recent days,—officers, soldiers, nobles, artisans, laborers361, and convicts, with the women and children in whom lay the future hope of New France.
Experience and forecast had both been wanting. There were storehouses, but no stores; mills, but no grist; an ample oven, and a dearth362 of bread. It was only when two of the ships had sailed for France that they took account of their provision and discovered its lamentable363 shortcoming. Winter and famine followed. They bought fish from the Indians, and dug roots and boiled them in whale-oil. Disease broke out, and, before spring, killed one third of the colony. The rest would have quarrelled, mutinied, and otherwise aggravated364 their inevitable woes365, but disorder366 was dangerous under the iron rule of the inexorable Roberval. Michel Gaillon was detected in a petty theft, and hanged. Jean de Nantes, for a more venial367 offence, was kept in irons. The quarrels of men and the scolding of women were alike requited at the whipping-post, "by which means," quaintly368 says the narrative, "they lived in peace."
Thevet, while calling himself the intimate friend of the Viceroy, gives a darker coloring to his story. He says that, forced to unceasing labor, and chafed369 by arbitrary rules, some of the soldiers fell under Roberval's displeasure, and six of them, formerly370 his favorites, were hanged in one day. Others were banished to an island, and there kept in fetters; while, for various light offences, several, both men and women, were shot. Even the Indians were moved to pity, and wept at the sight of their woes.
And here, midway, our guide deserts us; the ancient narrative is broken, and the latter part is lost, leaving us to divine as we may the future of the ill-starred colony. That it did not long survive is certain. The King, in great need of Roberval, sent Cartier to bring him home, and this voyage seems to have taken place in the summer of 1543. It is said that, in after years, the Viceroy essayed to repossess himself of his Transatlantic domain371, and lost his life in the attempt. Thevet, on the other hand, with ample means of learning the truth, affirms that Roberval was slain372 at night, near the Church of the Innocents, in the heart of Paris.
With him closes the prelude373 of the French-American drama. Tempestuous years and a reign270 of blood and fire were in store for France. The religious wars begot374 the hapless colony of Florida, but for more than half a century they left New France a desert. Order rose at length out of the sanguinary chaos375; the zeal of discovery and the spirit of commercial enterprise once more awoke, while, closely following, more potent than they, moved the black-robed forces of the Roman Catholic reaction.
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1 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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2 bigotry | |
n.偏见,偏执,持偏见的行为[态度]等 | |
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3 avarice | |
n.贪婪;贪心 | |
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4 westward | |
n.西方,西部;adj.西方的,向西的;adv.向西 | |
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5 descried | |
adj.被注意到的,被发现的,被看到的 | |
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6 mutinous | |
adj.叛变的,反抗的;adv.反抗地,叛变地;n.反抗,叛变 | |
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7 offender | |
n.冒犯者,违反者,犯罪者 | |
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8 maritime | |
adj.海的,海事的,航海的,近海的,沿海的 | |
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9 ancestry | |
n.祖先,家世 | |
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10 hardy | |
adj.勇敢的,果断的,吃苦的;耐寒的 | |
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11 obstinacy | |
n.顽固;(病痛等)难治 | |
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12 Portuguese | |
n.葡萄牙人;葡萄牙语 | |
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13 vessels | |
n.血管( vessel的名词复数 );船;容器;(具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的)人 | |
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14 vessel | |
n.船舶;容器,器皿;管,导管,血管 | |
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15 aged | |
adj.年老的,陈年的 | |
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16 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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17 verge | |
n.边,边缘;v.接近,濒临 | |
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18 perils | |
极大危险( peril的名词复数 ); 危险的事(或环境) | |
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19 sequestered | |
adj.扣押的;隐退的;幽静的;偏僻的v.使隔绝,使隔离( sequester的过去式和过去分词 );扣押 | |
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20 tenants | |
n.房客( tenant的名词复数 );佃户;占用者;占有者 | |
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21 walrus | |
n.海象 | |
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22 derived | |
vi.起源;由来;衍生;导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 );(从…中)得到获得;源于;(从…中)提取 | |
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23 isles | |
岛( isle的名词复数 ) | |
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24 isle | |
n.小岛,岛 | |
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25 demon | |
n.魔鬼,恶魔 | |
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26 demons | |
n.恶人( demon的名词复数 );恶魔;精力过人的人;邪念 | |
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27 rampant | |
adj.(植物)蔓生的;狂暴的,无约束的 | |
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28 din | |
n.喧闹声,嘈杂声 | |
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29 woe | |
n.悲哀,苦痛,不幸,困难;int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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30 tormented | |
饱受折磨的 | |
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31 imps | |
n.(故事中的)小恶魔( imp的名词复数 );小魔鬼;小淘气;顽童 | |
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32 exodus | |
v.大批离去,成群外出 | |
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33 comely | |
adj.漂亮的,合宜的 | |
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34 malice | |
n.恶意,怨恨,蓄意;[律]预谋 | |
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35 plied | |
v.使用(工具)( ply的过去式和过去分词 );经常供应(食物、饮料);固定往来;经营生意 | |
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36 vitality | |
n.活力,生命力,效力 | |
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37 tempting | |
a.诱人的, 吸引人的 | |
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38 tempt | |
vt.引诱,勾引,吸引,引起…的兴趣 | |
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39 plunder | |
vt.劫掠财物,掠夺;n.劫掠物,赃物;劫掠 | |
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40 swarm | |
n.(昆虫)等一大群;vi.成群飞舞;蜂拥而入 | |
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41 lapse | |
n.过失,流逝,失效,抛弃信仰,间隔;vi.堕落,停止,失效,流逝;vt.使失效 | |
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42 quell | |
v.压制,平息,减轻 | |
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43 intrigue | |
vt.激起兴趣,迷住;vi.耍阴谋;n.阴谋,密谋 | |
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44 politic | |
adj.有智虑的;精明的;v.从政 | |
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45 gulf | |
n.海湾;深渊,鸿沟;分歧,隔阂 | |
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46 baron | |
n.男爵;(商业界等)巨头,大王 | |
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47 abortive | |
adj.不成功的,发育不全的 | |
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48 sable | |
n.黑貂;adj.黑色的 | |
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49 destined | |
adj.命中注定的;(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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50 chivalry | |
n.骑士气概,侠义;(男人)对女人彬彬有礼,献殷勤 | |
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51 vainglorious | |
adj.自负的;夸大的 | |
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52 prevailing | |
adj.盛行的;占优势的;主要的 | |
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53 vices | |
缺陷( vice的名词复数 ); 恶习; 不道德行为; 台钳 | |
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54 esteemed | |
adj.受人尊敬的v.尊敬( esteem的过去式和过去分词 );敬重;认为;以为 | |
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55 coveted | |
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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56 eclat | |
n.显赫之成功,荣誉 | |
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57 feudal | |
adj.封建的,封地的,领地的 | |
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58 preyed | |
v.掠食( prey的过去式和过去分词 );掠食;折磨;(人)靠欺诈为生 | |
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59 patronage | |
n.赞助,支援,援助;光顾,捧场 | |
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60 enrolled | |
adj.入学登记了的v.[亦作enrol]( enroll的过去式和过去分词 );登记,招收,使入伍(或入会、入学等),参加,成为成员;记入名册;卷起,包起 | |
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61 eminent | |
adj.显赫的,杰出的,有名的,优良的 | |
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62 survivor | |
n.生存者,残存者,幸存者 | |
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63 valiant | |
adj.勇敢的,英勇的;n.勇士,勇敢的人 | |
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64 lustre | |
n.光亮,光泽;荣誉 | |
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65 begrudged | |
嫉妒( begrudge的过去式和过去分词 ); 勉强做; 不乐意地付出; 吝惜 | |
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66 narrative | |
n.叙述,故事;adj.叙事的,故事体的 | |
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67 essentially | |
adv.本质上,实质上,基本上 | |
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68 distress | |
n.苦恼,痛苦,不舒适;不幸;vt.使悲痛 | |
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69 steered | |
v.驾驶( steer的过去式和过去分词 );操纵;控制;引导 | |
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70 northward | |
adv.向北;n.北方的地区 | |
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71 ashore | |
adv.在(向)岸上,上岸 | |
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72 strand | |
vt.使(船)搁浅,使(某人)困于(某地) | |
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73 admiration | |
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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74 creeks | |
n.小湾( creek的名词复数 );小港;小河;小溪 | |
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75 adventurous | |
adj.爱冒险的;惊心动魄的,惊险的,刺激的 | |
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76 beads | |
n.(空心)小珠子( bead的名词复数 );水珠;珠子项链 | |
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77 recipients | |
adj.接受的;受领的;容纳的;愿意接受的n.收件人;接受者;受领者;接受器 | |
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78 bounty | |
n.慷慨的赠予物,奖金;慷慨,大方;施与 | |
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79 allay | |
v.消除,减轻(恐惧、怀疑等) | |
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80 kindled | |
(使某物)燃烧,着火( kindle的过去式和过去分词 ); 激起(感情等); 发亮,放光 | |
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81 devour | |
v.吞没;贪婪地注视或谛听,贪读;使着迷 | |
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82 fully | |
adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
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83 cape | |
n.海角,岬;披肩,短披风 | |
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84 requite | |
v.报酬,报答 | |
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85 virgin | |
n.处女,未婚女子;adj.未经使用的;未经开发的 | |
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86 courteously | |
adv.有礼貌地,亲切地 | |
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87 gorge | |
n.咽喉,胃,暴食,山峡;v.塞饱,狼吞虎咽地吃 | |
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88 axe | |
n.斧子;v.用斧头砍,削减 | |
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89 bracelets | |
n.手镯,臂镯( bracelet的名词复数 ) | |
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90 gaudy | |
adj.华而不实的;俗丽的 | |
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91 primitive | |
adj.原始的;简单的;n.原(始)人,原始事物 | |
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92 rugged | |
adj.高低不平的,粗糙的,粗壮的,强健的 | |
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93 mighty | |
adj.强有力的;巨大的 | |
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94 savage | |
adj.野蛮的;凶恶的,残暴的;n.未开化的人 | |
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95 plundering | |
掠夺,抢劫( plunder的现在分词 ) | |
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96 kidnapper | |
n.绑架者,拐骗者 | |
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97 denizens | |
n.居民,住户( denizen的名词复数 ) | |
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98 intercourse | |
n.性交;交流,交往,交际 | |
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99 brink | |
n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘,边沿 | |
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100 barter | |
n.物物交换,以货易货,实物交易 | |
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101 salute | |
vi.行礼,致意,问候,放礼炮;vt.向…致意,迎接,赞扬;n.招呼,敬礼,礼炮 | |
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102 penetrated | |
adj. 击穿的,鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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103 emolument | |
n.报酬,薪水 | |
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104 auspicious | |
adj.吉利的;幸运的,吉兆的 | |
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105 traitor | |
n.叛徒,卖国贼 | |
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106 captivity | |
n.囚禁;被俘;束缚 | |
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107 humiliation | |
n.羞辱 | |
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108 savages | |
未开化的人,野蛮人( savage的名词复数 ) | |
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109 followers | |
追随者( follower的名词复数 ); 用户; 契据的附面; 从动件 | |
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110 conjecture | |
n./v.推测,猜测 | |
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111 authentic | |
a.真的,真正的;可靠的,可信的,有根据的 | |
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112 ardent | |
adj.热情的,热烈的,强烈的,烈性的 | |
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113 gallant | |
adj.英勇的,豪侠的;(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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114 treacherous | |
adj.不可靠的,有暗藏的危险的;adj.背叛的,背信弃义的 | |
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115 buttress | |
n.支撑物;v.支持 | |
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116 ragged | |
adj.衣衫褴褛的,粗糙的,刺耳的 | |
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117 defiant | |
adj.无礼的,挑战的 | |
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118 mariners | |
海员,水手(mariner的复数形式) | |
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119 bespeaking | |
v.预定( bespeak的现在分词 );订(货);证明;预先请求 | |
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120 quail | |
n.鹌鹑;vi.畏惧,颤抖 | |
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121 wrath | |
n.愤怒,愤慨,暴怒 | |
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122 belle | |
n.靓女 | |
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123 gathering | |
n.集会,聚会,聚集 | |
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124 prows | |
n.船首( prow的名词复数 ) | |
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125 eastward | |
adv.向东;adj.向东的;n.东方,东部 | |
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126 thither | |
adv.向那里;adj.在那边的,对岸的 | |
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127 lure | |
n.吸引人的东西,诱惑物;vt.引诱,吸引 | |
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128 lured | |
吸引,引诱(lure的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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129 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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130 awakened | |
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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131 mingled | |
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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132 motive | |
n.动机,目的;adv.发动的,运动的 | |
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133 potent | |
adj.强有力的,有权势的;有效力的 | |
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134 heresy | |
n.异端邪说;异教 | |
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135 devout | |
adj.虔诚的,虔敬的,衷心的 (n.devoutness) | |
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136 kindling | |
n. 点火, 可燃物 动词kindle的现在分词形式 | |
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137 zeal | |
n.热心,热情,热忱 | |
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138 pious | |
adj.虔诚的;道貌岸然的 | |
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139 naught | |
n.无,零 [=nought] | |
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140 supreme | |
adj.极度的,最重要的;至高的,最高的 | |
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141 preposterous | |
adj.荒谬的,可笑的 | |
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142 opposition | |
n.反对,敌对 | |
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143 confession | |
n.自白,供认,承认 | |
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144 blessing | |
n.祈神赐福;祷告;祝福,祝愿 | |
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145 bishop | |
n.主教,(国际象棋)象 | |
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146 dingy | |
adj.昏暗的,肮脏的 | |
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147 seaport | |
n.海港,港口,港市 | |
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148 scattered | |
adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
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149 ascend | |
vi.渐渐上升,升高;vt.攀登,登上 | |
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150 sullen | |
adj.愠怒的,闷闷不乐的,(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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151 promontory | |
n.海角;岬 | |
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152 margin | |
n.页边空白;差额;余地,余裕;边,边缘 | |
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153 swarming | |
密集( swarm的现在分词 ); 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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154 kindly | |
adj.和蔼的,温和的,爽快的;adv.温和地,亲切地 | |
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155 harangue | |
n.慷慨冗长的训话,言辞激烈的讲话 | |
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156 majesty | |
n.雄伟,壮丽,庄严,威严;最高权威,王权 | |
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157 solitude | |
n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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158 wilderness | |
n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等,荒漠 | |
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159 fiery | |
adj.燃烧着的,火红的;暴躁的;激烈的 | |
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160 defiance | |
n.挑战,挑衅,蔑视,违抗 | |
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161 foes | |
敌人,仇敌( foe的名词复数 ) | |
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162 greasy | |
adj. 多脂的,油脂的 | |
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163 potentate | |
n.统治者;君主 | |
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164 ascended | |
v.上升,攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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165 harangued | |
v.高谈阔论( harangue的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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166 screeched | |
v.发出尖叫声( screech的过去式和过去分词 );发出粗而刺耳的声音;高叫 | |
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167 hilarious | |
adj.充满笑声的,欢闹的;[反]depressed | |
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168 strings | |
n.弦 | |
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169 agility | |
n.敏捷,活泼 | |
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170 shrill | |
adj.尖声的;刺耳的;v尖叫 | |
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171 jubilation | |
n.欢庆,喜悦 | |
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172 receding | |
v.逐渐远离( recede的现在分词 );向后倾斜;自原处后退或避开别人的注视;尤指问题 | |
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173 metropolis | |
n.首府;大城市 | |
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174 misgivings | |
n.疑虑,担忧,害怕;疑虑,担心,恐惧( misgiving的名词复数 );疑惧 | |
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175 misgiving | |
n.疑虑,担忧,害怕 | |
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176 thwart | |
v.阻挠,妨碍,反对;adj.横(断的) | |
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177 beheld | |
v.看,注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 );瞧;看呀;(叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现)哎哟 | |
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178 descending | |
n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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179 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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180 thickets | |
n.灌木丛( thicket的名词复数 );丛状物 | |
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181 haranguing | |
v.高谈阔论( harangue的现在分词 ) | |
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182 conclave | |
n.秘密会议,红衣主教团 | |
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183 enacting | |
制定(法律),通过(法案)( enact的现在分词 ) | |
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184 amazement | |
n.惊奇,惊讶 | |
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185 inevitable | |
adj.不可避免的,必然发生的 | |
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186 reverence | |
n.敬畏,尊敬,尊严;Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称;v.尊敬,敬畏,崇敬 | |
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187 deity | |
n.神,神性;被奉若神明的人(或物) | |
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188 galleon | |
n.大帆船 | |
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189 gliding | |
v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
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190 quays | |
码头( quay的名词复数 ) | |
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191 thronged | |
v.成群,挤满( throng的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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192 throng | |
n.人群,群众;v.拥挤,群集 | |
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193 maize | |
n.玉米 | |
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194 hue | |
n.色度;色调;样子 | |
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195 acorns | |
n.橡子,栎实( acorn的名词复数 ) | |
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196 retinue | |
n.侍从;随员 | |
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197 concise | |
adj.简洁的,简明的 | |
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198 refreshment | |
n.恢复,精神爽快,提神之事物;(复数)refreshments:点心,茶点 | |
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199 requital | |
n.酬劳;报复 | |
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200 eloquence | |
n.雄辩;口才,修辞 | |
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201 hatchets | |
n.短柄小斧( hatchet的名词复数 );恶毒攻击;诽谤;休战 | |
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202 ripened | |
v.成熟,使熟( ripen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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203 rustling | |
n. 瑟瑟声,沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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204 ridgy | |
adj.有脊的;有棱纹的;隆起的;有埂的 | |
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205 encompassed | |
v.围绕( encompass的过去式和过去分词 );包围;包含;包括 | |
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206 braces | |
n.吊带,背带;托架( brace的名词复数 );箍子;括弧;(儿童)牙箍v.支住( brace的第三人称单数 );撑牢;使自己站稳;振作起来 | |
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207 defenders | |
n.防御者( defender的名词复数 );守卫者;保护者;辩护者 | |
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208 dwelling | |
n.住宅,住所,寓所 | |
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209 dwellings | |
n.住处,处所( dwelling的名词复数 ) | |
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210 touching | |
adj.动人的,使人感伤的 | |
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211 screeching | |
v.发出尖叫声( screech的现在分词 );发出粗而刺耳的声音;高叫 | |
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212 attire | |
v.穿衣,装扮[同]array;n.衣着;盛装 | |
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213 exuberance | |
n.丰富;繁荣 | |
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214 rapture | |
n.狂喜;全神贯注;着迷;v.使狂喜 | |
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215 warriors | |
武士,勇士,战士( warrior的名词复数 ) | |
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216 banished | |
v.放逐,驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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217 squatted | |
v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的过去式和过去分词 );非法擅自占用(土地或房屋);为获得其所有权;而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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218 distinguished | |
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
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219 wrought | |
v.引起;以…原料制作;运转;adj.制造的 | |
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220 quills | |
n.(刺猬或豪猪的)刺( quill的名词复数 );羽毛管;翮;纡管 | |
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221 porcupine | |
n.豪猪, 箭猪 | |
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222 lank | |
adj.瘦削的;稀疏的 | |
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223 pointed | |
adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
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224 implored | |
恳求或乞求(某人)( implore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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225 lame | |
adj.跛的,(辩解、论据等)无说服力的 | |
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226 decrepit | |
adj.衰老的,破旧的 | |
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227 perplexed | |
adj.不知所措的 | |
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228 petitioners | |
n.请求人,请愿人( petitioner的名词复数 );离婚案原告 | |
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229 miserable | |
adj.悲惨的,痛苦的;可怜的,糟糕的 | |
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230 saviour | |
n.拯救者,救星 | |
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231 scramble | |
v.爬行,攀爬,杂乱蔓延,碎片,片段,废料 | |
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232 trumpets | |
喇叭( trumpet的名词复数 ); 小号; 喇叭形物; (尤指)绽开的水仙花 | |
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233 defiled | |
v.玷污( defile的过去式和过去分词 );污染;弄脏;纵列行进 | |
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234 clamorous | |
adj.吵闹的,喧哗的 | |
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235 beset | |
v.镶嵌;困扰,包围 | |
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236 viands | |
n.食品,食物 | |
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237 prospect | |
n.前景,前途;景色,视野 | |
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238 dome | |
n.圆屋顶,拱顶 | |
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239 spire | |
n.(教堂)尖顶,尖塔,高点 | |
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240 congregated | |
(使)集合,聚集( congregate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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241 animate | |
v.赋于生命,鼓励;adj.有生命的,有生气的 | |
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242 varied | |
adj.多样的,多变化的 | |
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243 mantling | |
覆巾 | |
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244 glistened | |
v.湿物闪耀,闪亮( glisten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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245 torpor | |
n.迟钝;麻木;(动物的)冬眠 | |
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246 embarked | |
乘船( embark的过去式和过去分词 ); 装载; 从事 | |
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247 retraced | |
v.折回( retrace的过去式和过去分词 );回忆;回顾;追溯 | |
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248 moored | |
adj. 系泊的 动词moor的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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249 besieged | |
包围,围困,围攻( besiege的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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250 rigors | |
严格( rigor的名词复数 ); 严酷; 严密; (由惊吓或中毒等导致的身体)僵直 | |
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251 bulwarks | |
n.堡垒( bulwark的名词复数 );保障;支柱;舷墙 | |
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252 wading | |
(从水、泥等)蹚,走过,跋( wade的现在分词 ) | |
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253 abate | |
vi.(风势,疼痛等)减弱,减轻,减退 | |
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254 calamity | |
n.灾害,祸患,不幸事件 | |
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255 malignant | |
adj.恶性的,致命的;恶意的,恶毒的 | |
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256 scurvy | |
adj.下流的,卑鄙的,无礼的;n.坏血病 | |
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257 hideous | |
adj.丑陋的,可憎的,可怕的,恐怖的 | |
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258 psalms | |
n.赞美诗( psalm的名词复数 );圣诗;圣歌;(中的) | |
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259 rouge | |
n.胭脂,口红唇膏;v.(在…上)擦口红 | |
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260 deigned | |
v.屈尊,俯就( deign的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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261 misery | |
n.痛苦,苦恼,苦难;悲惨的境遇,贫苦 | |
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262 invalid | |
n.病人,伤残人;adj.有病的,伤残的;无效的 | |
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263 garrison | |
n.卫戍部队;驻地,卫戍区;vt.派(兵)驻防 | |
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264 deluded | |
v.欺骗,哄骗( delude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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265 clatter | |
v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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266 labor | |
n.劳动,努力,工作,劳工;分娩;vi.劳动,努力,苦干;vt.详细分析;麻烦 | |
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267 salvation | |
n.(尤指基督)救世,超度,拯救,解困 | |
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268 prostrate | |
v.拜倒,平卧,衰竭;adj.拜倒的,平卧的,衰竭的 | |
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269 evergreen | |
n.常青树;adj.四季常青的 | |
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270 reign | |
n.统治时期,统治,支配,盛行;v.占优势 | |
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271 copiously | |
adv.丰富地,充裕地 | |
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272 assailed | |
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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273 thawed | |
解冻 | |
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274 fetters | |
n.脚镣( fetter的名词复数 );束缚v.给…上脚镣,束缚( fetter的第三人称单数 ) | |
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275 rubies | |
红宝石( ruby的名词复数 ); 红宝石色,深红色 | |
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276 marvels | |
n.奇迹( marvel的名词复数 );令人惊奇的事物(或事例);不平凡的成果;成就v.惊奇,对…感到惊奇( marvel的第三人称单数 ) | |
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277 accomplished | |
adj.有才艺的;有造诣的;达到了的 | |
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278 emblem | |
n.象征,标志;徽章 | |
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279 Christian | |
adj.基督教徒的;n.基督教徒 | |
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280 allurements | |
n.诱惑( allurement的名词复数 );吸引;诱惑物;有诱惑力的事物 | |
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281 renewal | |
adj.(契约)延期,续订,更新,复活,重来 | |
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282 truce | |
n.休战,(争执,烦恼等的)缓和;v.以停战结束 | |
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283 varnished | |
浸渍过的,涂漆的 | |
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284 pretence | |
n.假装,作假;借口,口实;虚伪;虚饰 | |
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285 ignominious | |
adj.可鄙的,不光彩的,耻辱的 | |
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286 scourge | |
n.灾难,祸害;v.蹂躏 | |
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287 ominous | |
adj.不祥的,不吉的,预兆的,预示的 | |
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288 splendor | |
n.光彩;壮丽,华丽;显赫,辉煌 | |
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289 lieutenant | |
n.陆军中尉,海军上尉;代理官员,副职官员 | |
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290 treasury | |
n.宝库;国库,金库;文库 | |
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291 procured | |
v.(努力)取得, (设法)获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 );拉皮条 | |
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292 extremity | |
n.末端,尽头;尽力;终极;极度 | |
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293 conversion | |
n.转化,转换,转变 | |
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294 sincerity | |
n.真诚,诚意;真实 | |
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295 profligate | |
adj.行为不检的;n.放荡的人,浪子,肆意挥霍者 | |
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296 fervent | |
adj.热的,热烈的,热情的 | |
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297 strenuous | |
adj.奋发的,使劲的;紧张的;热烈的,狂热的 | |
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298 tormentor | |
n. 使苦痛之人, 使苦恼之物, 侧幕 =tormenter | |
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299 machinery | |
n.(总称)机械,机器;机构 | |
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300 questionable | |
adj.可疑的,有问题的 | |
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301 ransack | |
v.彻底搜索,洗劫 | |
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302 compassionate | |
adj.有同情心的,表示同情的 | |
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303 meritorious | |
adj.值得赞赏的 | |
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304 detriment | |
n.损害;损害物,造成损害的根源 | |
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305 vigilantly | |
adv.警觉地,警惕地 | |
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306 intruding | |
v.侵入,侵扰,打扰( intrude的现在分词);把…强加于 | |
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307 mustered | |
v.集合,召集,集结(尤指部队)( muster的过去式和过去分词 );(自他人处)搜集某事物;聚集;激发 | |
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308 seaports | |
n.海港( seaport的名词复数 ) | |
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309 colonization | |
殖民地的开拓,殖民,殖民地化; 移殖 | |
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310 waylay | |
v.埋伏,伏击 | |
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311 cardinal | |
n.(天主教的)红衣主教;adj.首要的,基本的 | |
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312 prophesied | |
v.预告,预言( prophesy的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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313 turmoil | |
n.骚乱,混乱,动乱 | |
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314 cannon | |
n.大炮,火炮;飞机上的机关炮 | |
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315 munitions | |
n.军火,弹药;v.供应…军需品 | |
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316 champagne | |
n.香槟酒;微黄色 | |
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317 stringent | |
adj.严厉的;令人信服的;银根紧的 | |
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318 tempestuous | |
adj.狂暴的 | |
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319 perfidious | |
adj.不忠的,背信弃义的 | |
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320 quartz | |
n.石英 | |
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321 waded | |
(从水、泥等)蹚,走过,跋( wade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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322 quarry | |
n.采石场;v.采石;费力地找 | |
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323 slate | |
n.板岩,石板,石片,石板色,候选人名单;adj.暗蓝灰色的,含板岩的;vt.用石板覆盖,痛打,提名,预订 | |
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324 entanglement | |
n.纠缠,牵累 | |
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325 zigzag | |
n.曲折,之字形;adj.曲折的,锯齿形的;adv.曲折地,成锯齿形地;vt.使曲折;vi.曲折前行 | |
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326 aloof | |
adj.远离的;冷淡的,漠不关心的 | |
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327 colonists | |
n.殖民地开拓者,移民,殖民地居民( colonist的名词复数 ) | |
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328 haven | |
n.安全的地方,避难所,庇护所 | |
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329 motives | |
n.动机,目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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330 consonant | |
n.辅音;adj.[音]符合的 | |
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331 resolute | |
adj.坚决的,果敢的 | |
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332 trophies | |
n.(为竞赛获胜者颁发的)奖品( trophy的名词复数 );奖杯;(尤指狩猎或战争中获得的)纪念品;(用于比赛或赛跑名称)奖 | |
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333 sham | |
n./adj.假冒(的),虚伪(的) | |
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334 ledges | |
n.(墙壁,悬崖等)突出的狭长部分( ledge的名词复数 );(平窄的)壁架;横档;(尤指)窗台 | |
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335 mansion | |
n.大厦,大楼;宅第 | |
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336 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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337 steering | |
n.操舵装置 | |
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338 dreaded | |
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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339 superstition | |
n.迷信,迷信行为 | |
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340 nucleus | |
n.核,核心,原子核 | |
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341 complexion | |
n.肤色;情况,局面;气质,性格 | |
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342 requited | |
v.报答( requite的过去式和过去分词 );酬谢;回报;报复 | |
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343 enraged | |
使暴怒( enrage的过去式和过去分词 ); 歜; 激愤 | |
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344 concealment | |
n.隐藏, 掩盖,隐瞒 | |
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345 pandered | |
v.迎合(他人的低级趣味或淫欲)( pander的过去式和过去分词 );纵容某人;迁就某事物 | |
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346 ammunition | |
n.军火,弹药 | |
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347 receded | |
v.逐渐远离( recede的过去式和过去分词 );向后倾斜;自原处后退或避开别人的注视;尤指问题 | |
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348 frail | |
adj.身体虚弱的;易损坏的 | |
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349 repented | |
对(自己的所为)感到懊悔或忏悔( repent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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350 vouchsafed | |
v.给予,赐予( vouchsafe的过去式和过去分词 );允诺 | |
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351 abominably | |
adv. 可恶地,可恨地,恶劣地 | |
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352 sylvan | |
adj.森林的 | |
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353 celestial | |
adj.天体的;天上的 | |
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354 frantic | |
adj.狂乱的,错乱的,激昂的 | |
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355 nether | |
adj.下部的,下面的;n.阴间;下层社会 | |
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356 redoubtable | |
adj.可敬的;可怕的 | |
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357 warily | |
adv.留心地 | |
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358 hubbub | |
n.嘈杂;骚乱 | |
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359 spacious | |
adj.广阔的,宽敞的 | |
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360 chambers | |
n.房间( chamber的名词复数 );(议会的)议院;卧室;会议厅 | |
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361 laborers | |
n.体力劳动者,工人( laborer的名词复数 );(熟练工人的)辅助工 | |
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362 dearth | |
n.缺乏,粮食不足,饥谨 | |
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363 lamentable | |
adj.令人惋惜的,悔恨的 | |
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364 aggravated | |
使恶化( aggravate的过去式和过去分词 ); 使更严重; 激怒; 使恼火 | |
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365 woes | |
困境( woe的名词复数 ); 悲伤; 我好苦哇; 某人就要倒霉 | |
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366 disorder | |
n.紊乱,混乱;骚动,骚乱;疾病,失调 | |
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367 venial | |
adj.可宽恕的;轻微的 | |
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368 quaintly | |
adv.古怪离奇地 | |
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369 chafed | |
v.擦热(尤指皮肤)( chafe的过去式 );擦痛;发怒;惹怒 | |
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370 formerly | |
adv.从前,以前 | |
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371 domain | |
n.(活动等)领域,范围;领地,势力范围 | |
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372 slain | |
杀死,宰杀,杀戮( slay的过去分词 ); (slay的过去分词) | |
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373 prelude | |
n.序言,前兆,序曲 | |
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374 begot | |
v.为…之生父( beget的过去式 );产生,引起 | |
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375 chaos | |
n.混乱,无秩序 | |
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