ACADIA OCCUPIED.
De Monts, with one of his vessels2, sailed from Havre de Grace on the seventh of April, 1604. Pontgrave, with stores for the colony, was to follow in a few days.
Scarcely were they at sea, when ministers and priests fell first to discussion, then to quarrelling, then to blows. "I have seen our cure and the minister," says Champlain, "fall to with their fists on questions of faith. I cannot say which had the more pluck, or which hit the harder; but I know that the minister sometimes complained to the Sieur de Monts that he had been beaten. This was their way of settling points of controversy3. I leave you to judge if it was a pleasant thing to see."
Sagard, the Franciscan friar, relates with horror, that, after their destination was reached, a priest and a minister happening to die at the same time, the crew buried them both in one grave, to see if they would lie peaceably together.
De Monts, who had been to the St. Lawrence with Chauvin, and learned to dread4 its rigorous winters, steered5 for a more southern, and, as he flattered himself, a milder region. The first land seen was Cap la Heve, on the southern coast of Nova Scotia. Four days later, they entered a small bay, where, to their surprise, they saw a vessel1 lying at anchor. here was a piece of good luck. The stranger was a fur-trader, pursuing her traffic in defiance6, or more probably in ignorance, of De Monts's monopoly. The latter, as empowered by his patent, made prize of ship and cargo7, consoling the commander, one Rossignol, by giving his name to the scene of his misfortune. It is now called Liverpool Harbor.
In an adjacent harbor, called by them Port Mouton, because a sheep here leaped overboard, they waited nearly a month for Pontgrave's store-ship. At length, to their great relief, she appeared, laden8 with the spoils of four Basque fur-traders, captured at Cansean. The supplies delivered, Pontgrave sailed for Tadoussac to trade with the Indians, while De Monts, followed by his prize, proceeded on his voyage.
He doubled Cape9 Sable10, and entered St. Mary's Bay, where he lay two weeks, sending boats' crews to explore the adjacent coasts. A party one day went on shore to stroll through the forest, and among them was Nicolas Aubry, a priest from Paris, who, tiring of the scholastic11 haunts of the Rue12 de la Sorbonne and the Rue d'Enfer, had persisted, despite the remonstrance13 of his friends, in joining the expedition. Thirsty with a long walk, under the sun of June, through the tangled14 and rock-encumbered woods, he stopped to drink at a brook15, laying his sword beside him on the grass. On rejoining his companions, he found that he had forgotten it; and turning back in search of it, more skilled in the devious16 windings17 of the Quartier Latin than in the intricacies of the Acadian forest, he soon lost his way. His comrades, alarmed, waited for a time, and then ranged the woods, shouting his name to the echoing solitudes19. Trumpets20 were sounded, and cannon21 fired from the ships, but the priest did not appear. All now looked askance on a certain Huguenot, with whom Aubry had often quarrelled on questions of faith, and who was now accused of having killed him. In vain he denied the charge. Aubry was given up for dead, and the ship sailed from St. Mary's Bay; while the wretched priest roamed to and fro, famished22 and despairing, or, couched on the rocky soil, in the troubled sleep of exhaustion23, dreamed, perhaps, as the wind swept moaning through the pines, that he heard once more the organ roll through the columned arches of Sainte Genevieve.
The voyagers proceeded to explore the Bay of Fundy, which De Monts called La Baye Francoise. Their first notable discovery was that of Annapolis Harbor. A small inlet invited them. They entered, when suddenly the narrow strait dilated24 into a broad and tranquil25 basin, compassed by sunny hills, wrapped in woodland verdure, and alive with waterfalls. Poutrincourt was delighted with the scene. The fancy seized him of removing thither26 from France with his family and, to this end, he asked a grant of the place from De Monts, who by his patent had nearly half the continent in his gift. The grant was made, and Poutrincourt called his new domain27 Port Royal.
Thence they sailed round the head of the Bay of Fundy, coasted its northern shore, visited and named the river St. John, and anchored at last in Passamaquoddy Bay.
The untiring Champlain, exploring, surveying, sounding, had made charts of all the principal roads and harbors; and now, pursuing his research, he entered a river which he calls La Riviere des Etechemins, from the name of the tribe of whom the present Passamaquoddy Indians are descendants. Near its mouth he found an islet, fenced round with rocks and shoals, and called it St. Croix, a name now borne by the river itself. With singular infelicity this spot was chosen as the site of the new colony. It commanded the river, and was well fitted for defence: these were its only merits; yet cannon were landed on it, a battery was planted on a detached rock at one end, and a fort begun on a rising ground at the other.
At St. Mary's Bay the voyagers thought they had found traces of iron and silver; and Champdore, the pilot, was now sent back to pursue the search. As he and his men lay at anchor, fishing, not far from land, one of them heard a strange sound, like a weak human voice; and, looking towards the shore, they saw a small black object in motion, apparently28 a hat waved on the end of a stick. Rowing in haste to the spot, they found the priest Aubry. For sixteen days he had wandered in the woods, sustaining life on berries and wild fruits; and when, haggard and emaciated29, a shadow of his former self, Champdore carried him back to St. Croix, he was greeted as a man risen from the grave.
In 1783 the river St. Croix, by treaty, was made the boundary between Maine and New Brunswick. But which was the true St. Croix? In 1798, the point was settled. De Monts's island was found; and, painfully searching among the sand, the sedge, and the matted whortleberry bushes, the commissioners30 could trace the foundations of buildings long crumbled32 into dust; for the wilderness33 had resumed its sway, and silence and solitude18 brooded once more over this ancient resting-place of civilization.
But while the commissioner31 bends over a moss-grown stone, it is for us to trace back the dim vista34 of the centuries to the life, the zeal35, the energy, of which this stone is the poor memorial. The rock-fenced islet was covered with cedars36, and when the tide was out the shoals around were dark with the swash of sea-weed, where, in their leisure moments, the Frenchmen, we are told, amused themselves with detaching the limpets from the stones, as a savory37 addition to their fare. But there was little leisure at St. Croix. Soldiers, sailors, and artisans betook themselves to their task. Before the winter closed in, the northern end of the island was covered with buildings, surrounding a square, where a solitary38 tree had been left standing39. On the right was a spacious40 house, well built, and surmounted41 by one of those enormous roofs characteristic of the time. This was the lodging42 of De Monts. Behind it, and near the water, was a long, covered gallery, for labor43 or amusement in foul44 weather. Champlain and the Sieur d'Orville, aided by the servants of the latter, built a house for themselves nearly opposite that of De Monts; and the remainder of the square was occupied by storehouses, a magazine, workshops, lodgings45 for gentlemen and artisans, and a barrack for the Swiss soldiers, the whole enclosed with a palisade. Adjacent there was an attempt at a garden, under the auspices46 of Champlain; but nothing would grow in the sandy soil. There was a cemetery47, too, and a small rustic48 chapel49 on a projecting point of rock. Such was the "Habitation de l'Isle Saincte-Croix," as set forth50 by Champlain in quaint51 plans and drawings, in that musty little quarto of 1613, sold by Jean Berjon, at the sign of the Flying Horse, Rue St. Jean de Beauvais.
Their labors52 over, Poutrincourt set sail for France, proposing to return and take possession of his domain of Port Royal. Seventy-nine men remained at St. Croix. Here was De Monts, feudal53 lord of half a continent in virtue54 of two potent55 syllables56, "Henri," scrawled57 on parchment by the rugged58 hand of the Bearnais. Here were gentlemen of birth and breeding, Champlain, D'Orville, Beaumont, Sourin, La Motte, Boulay, and Fougeray; here also were the pugnacious59 cure and his fellow priests, with the Hugnenot ministers, objects of their unceasing ire. The rest were laborers60, artisans, and soldiers, all in the pay of the company, and some of them forced into its service.
Poutrincourt's receding61 sails vanished between the water and the sky. The exiles were left to their solitude. From the Spanish settlements northward62 to the pole, there was no domestic hearth63, no lodgement of civilized64 men, save one weak band of Frenchmen, clinging, as it were for life, to the fringe of the vast and savage65 continent. The gray and sullen66 autumn sank upon the waste, and the bleak67 wind howled down the St. Croix, and swept the forest bare. Then the whirling snow powdered the vast sweep of desolate68 woodland, and shrouded69 in white the gloomy green of pine-clad mountains. Ice in sheets, or broken masses, swept by their island with the ebbing70 and flowing tide, often debarring all access to the main, and cutting off their supplies of wood and water. A belt of cedars, indeed, hedged the island; but De Monts had ordered them to be spared, that the north wind might spend something of its force with whistling through their shaggy boughs71. Cider and wine froze in the casks, and were served out by the pound. As they crowded round their half-fed fires, shivering in the icy currents that pierced their rude tenements72, many sank into a desperate apathy73.
Soon the scurvy74 broke out, and raged with a fearful malignity75. Of the seventy-nine, thirty-five died before spring, and many more were brought to the verge76 of death. In vain they sought that marvellous tree which had relieved the followers77 of Cartier. Their little cemetery was peopled with nearly half their number, and the rest, bloated and disfigured with the relentless78 malady79, thought more of escaping from their woes80 than of building up a Transatlantic empire. Yet among them there was one, at least, who, amid languor81 and defection, held to his purpose with indomitable tenacity82; and where Champlain was present, there was no room for despair.
Spring came at last, and, with the breaking up of the ice, the melting of the snow, and the clamors of the returning wild-fowl, the spirits and the health of the woe-begone company began to revive. But to misery83 succeeded anxiety and suspense84. Where was the succor85 from France? Were they abandoned to their fate like the wretched exiles of La Roche? In a happy hour, they saw an approaching sail. Pontgrave, with forty men, cast anchor before their island on the sixteenth of June; and they hailed him as the condemned86 hails the messenger of his pardon.
Weary of St. Croix, De Monts resolved to seek out a more auspicious87 site, on which to rear the capital of his wilderness dominion88. During the preceding September, Champlain had ranged the westward89 coast in a pinnace, visited and named the island of Mount Desert, and entered the mouth of the river Penobscot, called by him the Pemetigoet, or Pentegoet, and previously90 known to fur-traders and fishermen as the Norembega, a name which it shared with all the adjacent region. 27 Now, embarking91 a second time, in a bark of fifteen tons, with De Monts, several gentlemen, twenty sailors, and an Indian with his squaw, he set forth on the eighteenth of June on a second voyage of discovery. They coasted the strangely indented92 shores of Maine, with its reefs and surf-washed islands, rocky headlands, and deep embosomed bays, passed Mount Desert and the Penobscot, explored the mouths of the Kennebec, crossed Casco Bay, and descried93 the distant peaks of the White Mountains. The ninth of July brought them to Saco Bay. They were now within the limits of a group of tribes who were called by the French the Armouchiquois, and who included those whom the English afterwards called the Massachusetts. They differed in habits as well as in language from the Etechemins and Miemacs of Acadia, for they were tillers of the soil, and around their wigwams were fields of maize94, beans, pumpkins95, squashes, tobacco, and the so-called Jerusalem artichoke. Near Pront's Neck, more than eighty of them ran down to the shore to meet the strangers, dancing and yelping96 to show their joy. They had a fort of palisades on a rising ground by the Saco, for they were at deadly war with their neighbors towards the east.
On the twelfth, the French resumed their voyage, and, like some adventurous97 party of pleasure, held their course by the beaches of York and Wells, Portsmouth Harbor, the Isles98 of Shoals, Rye Beach, and Hampton Beach, till, on the fifteenth, they descried the dim outline of Cape Ann. Champlain called it Cap aux Isles, from the three adjacent islands, and in a subsequent voyage he gave the name of Beauport to the neighboring harbor of Gloucester. Thence steering99 southward and westward, they entered Massachusetts Bay, gave the name of Riviere du Guast to a river flowing into it, probably the Charles; passed the islands of Boston Harbor, which Champlain describes as covered with trees, and were met on the way by great numbers of canoes filled with astonished Indians. On Sunday, the seventeenth, they passed Point Allerton and Nantasket Beach, coasted the shores of Cohasset, Scituate, and Marshfield, and anchored for the night near Brant Point. On the morning of the eighteenth, a head wind forced them to take shelter in Port St. Louis, for so they called the harbor of Plymouth, where the Pilgrims made their memorable100 landing fifteen years later. Indian wigwams and garden patches lined the shore. A troop of the inhabitants came down to the beach and danced; while others, who had been fishing, approached in their canoes, came on board the vessel, and showed Champlain their fish-hooks, consisting of a barbed bone lashed101 at an acute angle to a slip of wood.
From Plymouth the party circled round the bay, doubled Cape Cod102, called by Champlain Cap Blanc, from its glistening103 white sands, and steered southward to Nausett Harbor, which, by reason of its shoals and sand-bars, they named Port Mallebarre. Here their prosperity deserted104 them. A party of sailors went behind the sand-banks to find fresh water at a spring, when an Indian snatched a kettle from one of them, and its owner, pursuing, fell, pierced with arrows by the robber's comrades. The French in the vessel opened fire. Champlain's arquebuse burst, and was near killing105 him, while the Indians, swift as deer, quickly gained the woods. Several of the tribe chanced to be on board the vessel, but flung themselves with such alacrity106 into the water that only one was caught. They bound him hand and foot, but soon after humanely107 set him at liberty.
Champlain, who we are told "delighted marvellously in these enterprises," had busied himself throughout the voyage with taking observations, making charts, and studying the wonders of land and sea. The "horse-foot crab108" seems to have awakened109 his special curiosity, and he describes it with amusing exactness. Of the human tenants110 of the New England coast he has also left the first precise and trustworthy account. They were clearly more numerous than when the Puritans landed at Plymouth, since in the interval111 a pestilence112 made great havoc113 among them. But Champlain's most conspicuous114 merit lies in the light that he threw into the dark places of American geography, and the order that he brought out of the chaos115 of American cartography; for it was a result of this and the rest of his voyages that precision and clearness began at last to supplant116 the vagueness, confusion, and contradiction of the earlier map-makers.
At Nausett Harbor provisions began to fail, and steering for St. Croix the voyagers reached that ill-starred island on the third of August. De Monts had found no spot to his liking117. He now bethought him of that inland harbor of Port Royal which he had granted to Poutrincourt, and thither he resolved to remove. Stores, utensils118, even portions of the buildings, were placed on board the vessels, carried across the Bay of Fundy, and landed at the chosen spot. It was on the north side of the basin opposite Goat Island, and a little below the mouth of the river Annapolis, called by the French the Equille, and, afterwards, the Dauphin. The axe-men began their task; the dense119 forest was cleared away, and the buildings of the infant colony soon rose in its place.
But while De Monts and his company were struggling against despair at St. Croix, the enemies of his monopoly were busy at Paris; and, by a ship from France, he was warned that prompt measures were needed to thwart120 their machinations. Therefore he set sail, leaving Pontgrave to command at Port Royal: while Champlain, Champdore, and others, undaunted by the past, volunteered for a second winter in the wilderness.
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1 vessel | |
n.船舶;容器,器皿;管,导管,血管 | |
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2 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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3 controversy | |
n.争论,辩论,争吵 | |
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4 dread | |
vt.担忧,忧虑;惧怕,不敢;n.担忧,畏惧 | |
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5 steered | |
v.驾驶( steer的过去式和过去分词 );操纵;控制;引导 | |
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6 defiance | |
n.挑战,挑衅,蔑视,违抗 | |
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7 cargo | |
n.(一只船或一架飞机运载的)货物 | |
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8 laden | |
adj.装满了的;充满了的;负了重担的;苦恼的 | |
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9 cape | |
n.海角,岬;披肩,短披风 | |
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10 sable | |
n.黑貂;adj.黑色的 | |
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11 scholastic | |
adj.学校的,学院的,学术上的 | |
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12 rue | |
n.懊悔,芸香,后悔;v.后悔,悲伤,懊悔 | |
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13 remonstrance | |
n抗议,抱怨 | |
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14 tangled | |
adj. 纠缠的,紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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15 brook | |
n.小河,溪;v.忍受,容让 | |
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16 devious | |
adj.不坦率的,狡猾的;迂回的,曲折的 | |
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17 windings | |
(道路、河流等)蜿蜒的,弯曲的( winding的名词复数 ); 缠绕( wind的现在分词 ); 卷绕; 转动(把手) | |
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18 solitude | |
n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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19 solitudes | |
n.独居( solitude的名词复数 );孤独;荒僻的地方;人迹罕至的地方 | |
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20 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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21 cannon | |
n.大炮,火炮;飞机上的机关炮 | |
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22 famished | |
adj.饥饿的 | |
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23 exhaustion | |
n.耗尽枯竭,疲惫,筋疲力尽,竭尽,详尽无遗的论述 | |
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24 dilated | |
adj.加宽的,扩大的v.(使某物)扩大,膨胀,张大( dilate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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25 tranquil | |
adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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26 thither | |
adv.向那里;adj.在那边的,对岸的 | |
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27 domain | |
n.(活动等)领域,范围;领地,势力范围 | |
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28 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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29 emaciated | |
adj.衰弱的,消瘦的 | |
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30 commissioners | |
n.专员( commissioner的名词复数 );长官;委员;政府部门的长官 | |
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31 commissioner | |
n.(政府厅、局、处等部门)专员,长官,委员 | |
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32 crumbled | |
(把…)弄碎, (使)碎成细屑( crumble的过去式和过去分词 ); 衰落; 坍塌; 损坏 | |
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33 wilderness | |
n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等,荒漠 | |
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34 vista | |
n.远景,深景,展望,回想 | |
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35 zeal | |
n.热心,热情,热忱 | |
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36 cedars | |
雪松,西洋杉( cedar的名词复数 ) | |
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37 savory | |
adj.风味极佳的,可口的,味香的 | |
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38 solitary | |
adj.孤独的,独立的,荒凉的;n.隐士 | |
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39 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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40 spacious | |
adj.广阔的,宽敞的 | |
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41 surmounted | |
战胜( surmount的过去式和过去分词 ); 克服(困难); 居于…之上; 在…顶上 | |
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42 lodging | |
n.寄宿,住所;(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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43 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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44 foul | |
adj.污秽的;邪恶的;v.弄脏;妨害;犯规;n.犯规 | |
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45 lodgings | |
n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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46 auspices | |
n.资助,赞助 | |
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47 cemetery | |
n.坟墓,墓地,坟场 | |
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48 rustic | |
adj.乡村的,有乡村特色的;n.乡下人,乡巴佬 | |
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49 chapel | |
n.小教堂,殡仪馆 | |
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50 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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51 quaint | |
adj.古雅的,离奇有趣的,奇怪的 | |
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52 labors | |
v.努力争取(for)( labor的第三人称单数 );苦干;详细分析;(指引擎)缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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53 feudal | |
adj.封建的,封地的,领地的 | |
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54 virtue | |
n.德行,美德;贞操;优点;功效,效力 | |
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55 potent | |
adj.强有力的,有权势的;有效力的 | |
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56 syllables | |
n.音节( syllable的名词复数 ) | |
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57 scrawled | |
乱涂,潦草地写( scrawl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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58 rugged | |
adj.高低不平的,粗糙的,粗壮的,强健的 | |
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59 pugnacious | |
adj.好斗的 | |
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60 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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61 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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62 northward | |
adv.向北;n.北方的地区 | |
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63 hearth | |
n.壁炉炉床,壁炉地面 | |
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64 civilized | |
a.有教养的,文雅的 | |
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65 savage | |
adj.野蛮的;凶恶的,残暴的;n.未开化的人 | |
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66 sullen | |
adj.愠怒的,闷闷不乐的,(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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67 bleak | |
adj.(天气)阴冷的;凄凉的;暗淡的 | |
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68 desolate | |
adj.荒凉的,荒芜的;孤独的,凄凉的;v.使荒芜,使孤寂 | |
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69 shrouded | |
v.隐瞒( shroud的过去式和过去分词 );保密 | |
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70 ebbing | |
(指潮水)退( ebb的现在分词 ); 落; 减少; 衰落 | |
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71 boughs | |
大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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72 tenements | |
n.房屋,住户,租房子( tenement的名词复数 ) | |
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73 apathy | |
n.漠不关心,无动于衷;冷淡 | |
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74 scurvy | |
adj.下流的,卑鄙的,无礼的;n.坏血病 | |
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75 malignity | |
n.极度的恶意,恶毒;(病的)恶性 | |
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76 verge | |
n.边,边缘;v.接近,濒临 | |
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77 followers | |
追随者( follower的名词复数 ); 用户; 契据的附面; 从动件 | |
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78 relentless | |
adj.残酷的,不留情的,无怜悯心的 | |
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79 malady | |
n.病,疾病(通常做比喻) | |
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80 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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81 languor | |
n.无精力,倦怠 | |
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82 tenacity | |
n.坚韧 | |
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83 misery | |
n.痛苦,苦恼,苦难;悲惨的境遇,贫苦 | |
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84 suspense | |
n.(对可能发生的事)紧张感,担心,挂虑 | |
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85 succor | |
n.援助,帮助;v.给予帮助 | |
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86 condemned | |
adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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87 auspicious | |
adj.吉利的;幸运的,吉兆的 | |
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88 dominion | |
n.统治,管辖,支配权;领土,版图 | |
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89 westward | |
n.西方,西部;adj.西方的,向西的;adv.向西 | |
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90 previously | |
adv.以前,先前(地) | |
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91 embarking | |
乘船( embark的现在分词 ); 装载; 从事 | |
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92 indented | |
adj.锯齿状的,高低不平的;缩进排版 | |
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93 descried | |
adj.被注意到的,被发现的,被看到的 | |
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94 maize | |
n.玉米 | |
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95 pumpkins | |
n.南瓜( pumpkin的名词复数 );南瓜的果肉,南瓜囊 | |
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96 yelping | |
v.发出短而尖的叫声( yelp的现在分词 ) | |
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97 adventurous | |
adj.爱冒险的;惊心动魄的,惊险的,刺激的 | |
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98 isles | |
岛( isle的名词复数 ) | |
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99 steering | |
n.操舵装置 | |
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100 memorable | |
adj.值得回忆的,难忘的,特别的,显著的 | |
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101 lashed | |
adj.具睫毛的v.鞭打( lash的过去式和过去分词 );煽动;紧系;怒斥 | |
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102 cod | |
n.鳕鱼;v.愚弄;哄骗 | |
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103 glistening | |
adj.闪耀的,反光的v.湿物闪耀,闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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104 deserted | |
adj.荒芜的,荒废的,无人的,被遗弃的 | |
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105 killing | |
n.巨额利润;突然赚大钱,发大财 | |
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106 alacrity | |
n.敏捷,轻快,乐意 | |
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107 humanely | |
adv.仁慈地;人道地;富人情地;慈悲地 | |
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108 crab | |
n.螃蟹,偏航,脾气乖戾的人,酸苹果;vi.捕蟹,偏航,发牢骚;vt.使偏航,发脾气 | |
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109 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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110 tenants | |
n.房客( tenant的名词复数 );佃户;占用者;占有者 | |
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111 interval | |
n.间隔,间距;幕间休息,中场休息 | |
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112 pestilence | |
n.瘟疫 | |
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113 havoc | |
n.大破坏,浩劫,大混乱,大杂乱 | |
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114 conspicuous | |
adj.明眼的,惹人注目的;炫耀的,摆阔气的 | |
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115 chaos | |
n.混乱,无秩序 | |
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116 supplant | |
vt.排挤;取代 | |
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117 liking | |
n.爱好;嗜好;喜欢 | |
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118 utensils | |
器具,用具,器皿( utensil的名词复数 ); 器物 | |
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119 dense | |
a.密集的,稠密的,浓密的;密度大的 | |
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120 thwart | |
v.阻挠,妨碍,反对;adj.横(断的) | |
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