Gascony has been calling to me of late. I see the blue Garonne winding1 among the vineyards and the bluer ocean toward which its waters sweep. I see the old town also, and the bristle2 of masts from the side of the long stone quay3. My heart hungers for the breath of my native air and the warm glow of my native sun.
Here in Paris are my friends, my occupations, my pleasures. There all who have known me are in their grave. And yet the southwest wind as it rattles4 on my windows seems always to be the strong voice of the motherland calling her child back to that bosom5 into which I am ready to sink. I have played my part in my time. The time has passed. I must pass also.
Nay6, dear friends, do not look sad, for what can be happier than a life completed in honour and made beautiful with friendship and love? And yet it is solemn also when a man approaches the end of the long road and sees the turning which leads him into the unknown. But the Emperor and all his Marshals have ridden round that dark turning and passed into the beyond. My Hussars, too—there are not fifty men who are not waiting yonder. I must go. But on this the last night I will tell you that which is more than a tale—it is a great historical secret. My lips have been sealed, but I see no reason why I should not leave behind me some account of this remarkable8 adventure, which must otherwise be entirely9 lost, since I and only I, of all living men, have a knowledge of the facts.
I will ask you to go back with me to the year 1821.
In that year our great Emperor had been absent from us for six years, and only now and then from over the seas we heard some whisper which showed that he was still alive. You cannot think what a weight it was upon our hearts for us who loved him to think of him in captivity10 eating his giant soul out upon that lonely island. From the moment we rose until we closed our eyes in sleep the thought was always with us, and we felt dishonoured11 that he, our chief and master, should be so humiliated12 without our being able to move a hand to help him. There were many who would most willingly have laid down the remainder of their lives to bring him a little ease, and yet all that we could do was to sit and grumble13 in our cafes and stare at the map, counting up the leagues of water which lay between us.
It seemed that he might have been in the moon for all that we could do to help him. But that was only because we were all soldiers and knew nothing of the sea.
Of course, we had our own little troubles to make us bitter, as well as the wrongs of our Emperor. There were many of us who had held high rank and would hold it again if he came back to his own. We had not found it possible to take service under the white flag of the Bourbons, or to take an oath which might turn our sabres against the man whom we loved. So we found ourselves with neither work nor money. What could we do save gather together and gossip and grumble, while those who had a little paid the score and those who had nothing shared the bottle? Now and then, if we were lucky, we managed to pick a quarrel with one of the Garde du Corps14, and if we left him on his hack15 in the Bois we felt that we had struck a blow for Napoleon once again. They came to know our haunts in time, and they avoided them as if they had been hornets' nests.
There was one of these—the Sign of the Great Man—in the Rue16 Varennes, which was frequented by several of the more distinguished17 and younger Napoleonic officers. Nearly all of us had been colonels or aides-de-camp, and when any man of less distinction came among us we generally made him feel that he had taken a liberty. There were Captain Lepine, who had won the medal of honour at Leipzig; Colonel Bonnet18, aide-de-camp to Macdonald; Colonel Jourdan, whose fame in the army was hardly second to my own; Sabbatier of my own Hussars, Meunier of the Red Lancers, Le Breton of the Guards, and a dozen others.
Every night we met and talked, played dominoes, drank a glass or two, and wondered how long it would be before the Emperor would be back and we at the head of our regiments19 once more. The Bourbons had already lost any hold they ever had upon the country, as was shown a few years afterward20, when Paris rose against them and they were hunted for the third time out of France. Napoleon had but to show himself on the coast, and he would have marched without firing a musket21 to the capital, exactly as he had done when he came back from Elba.
Well, when affairs were in this state there arrived one night in February, in our cafe, a most singular little man. He was short but exceedingly broad, with huge shoulders, and a head which was a deformity, so large was it. His heavy brown face was scarred with white streaks22 in a most extraordinary manner, and he had grizzled whiskers such as seamen23 wear. Two gold earrings24 in his ears, and plentiful25 tattooing26 upon his hands and arms, told us also that he was of the sea before he introduced himself to us as Captain Fourneau, of the Emperor's navy. He had letters of introduction to two of our number, and there could be no doubt that he was devoted27 to the cause. He won our respect, too, for he had seen as much fighting as any of us, and the burns upon his face were caused by his standing28 to his post upon the Orient, at the Battle of the Nile, until the vessel29 blew up underneath30 him. Yet he would say little about himself, but he sat in the corner of the cafe watching us all with a wonderfully sharp pair of eyes and listening intently to our talk.
One night I was leaving the cafe when Captain Fourneau followed me, and touching31 me on the arm he led me without saying a word for some distance until we reached his lodgings32. “I wish to have a chat with you,” said he, and so conducted me up the stair to his room. There he lit a lamp and handed me a sheet of paper which he took from an envelope in his bureau. It was dated a few months before from the Palace of Schonbrunn at Vienna. “Captain Fourneau is acting33 in the highest interests of the Emperor Napoleon. Those who love the Emperor should obey him without question.—Marie Louise.” That is what I read. I was familiar with the signature of the Empress, and I could not doubt that this was genuine.
“Well,” said he, “are you satisfied as to my credentials34?”
“Entirely.”
“Are you prepared to take your orders from me?”
“This document leaves me no choice.”
“Good! In the first place, I understand from something you said in the cafe that you can speak English?”
“Yes, I can.”
“Let me hear you do so.”
I said in English, “Whenever the Emperor needs the help of Etienne Gerard I am ready night and day to give my life in his service.” Captain Fourneau smiled.
“It is funny English,” said he, “but still it is better than no English. For my own part I speak English like an Englishman. It is all that I have to show for six years spent in an English prison. Now I will tell you why I have come to Paris. I have come in order to choose an agent who will help me in a matter which affects the interests of the Emperor. I was told that it was at the cafe of the Great Man that I would find the pick of his old officers, and that I could rely upon every man there being devoted to his interests. I studied you all, therefore, and I have come to the conclusion that you are the one who is most suited for my purpose.”
I acknowledged the compliment. “What is it that you wish me to do?” I asked.
“Merely to keep me company for a few months,” said he. “You must know that after my release in England I settled down there, married an English wife, and rose to command a small English merchant ship, in which I have made several voyages from Southampton to the Guinea coast. They look on me there as an Englishman. You can understand, however, that with my feelings about the Emperor I am lonely sometimes, and that it would be an advantage to me to have a companion who would sympathize with my thoughts. One gets very bored on these long voyages, and I would make it worth your while to share my cabin.”
He looked hard at me with his shrewd grey eyes all the time that he was uttering this rigmarole, and I gave him a glance in return which showed him that he was not dealing35 with a fool. He took out a canvas bag full of money.
“There are a hundred pounds in gold in this bag,” said he. “You will be able to buy some comforts for your voyage. I should recommend you to get them in Southampton, whence we will start in ten days. The name of the vessel is the Black Swan. I return to Southampton to-morrow, and I shall hope to see you in the course of the next week.”
“Oh, didn't I tell you?” he answered. “We are bound for the Guinea coast of Africa.”
“Then how can that be in the highest interests of the Emperor?” I asked.
“It is in his highest interests that you ask no indiscreet questions and I give no indiscreet replies,” he answered, sharply. So he brought the interview to an end, and I found myself back in my lodgings with nothing save this bag of gold to show that this singular interview had indeed taken place.
There was every reason why I should see the adventure to a conclusion, and so within a week I was on my way to England. I passed from St. Malo to Southampton, and on inquiry38 at the docks I had no difficulty in finding the Black Swan, a neat little vessel of a shape which is called, as I learned afterward, a brig. There was Captain Fourneau himself upon the deck, and seven or eight rough fellows hard at work grooming39 her and making her ready for sea. He greeted me and led me down to his cabin.
“You are plain Mr. Gerard now,” said he, “and a Channel Islander. I would be obliged to you if you would kindly40 forget your military ways and drop your cavalry41 swagger when you walk up and down my deck. A beard, too, would seem more sailor-like than those moustaches.”
I was horrified42 by his words, but, after all, there are no ladies on the high seas, and what did it matter? He rang for the steward43.
“Gustav,” said he, “you will pay every attention to my friend, Monsieur Etienne Gerard, who makes this voyage with us. This is Gustav Kerouan, my Breton steward,” he explained, “and you are very safe in his hands.”
This steward, with his harsh face and stern eyes, looked a very warlike person for so peaceful an employment.
I said nothing, however, though you may guess that I kept my eyes open. A berth44 had been prepared for me next the cabin, which would have seemed comfortable enough had it not contrasted with the extraordinary splendour of Fourneau's quarters. He was certainly a most luxurious45 person, for his room was new-fitted with velvet46 and silver in a way which would have suited the yacht of a noble better than a little West African trader.
So thought the mate, Mr. Burns, who could not hide his amusement and contempt whenever he looked at it.
This fellow, a big, solid, red-headed Englishman, had the other berth connected with the cabin. There was a second mate named Turner, who lodged47 in the middle of the ship, and there were nine men and one boy in the crew, three of whom, as I was informed by Mr. Burns, were Channel Islanders like myself. This Burns, the first mate, was much interested to know why I was coming with them.
“I come for pleasure,” said I.
He stared at me.
“Ever been to the West Coast?” he asked.
I said that I had not.
“I thought not,” said he. “You'll never come again for that reason, anyhow.”
Some three days after my arrival we untied48 the ropes by which the ship was tethered and we set off upon our journey. I was never a good sailor, and I may confess that we were far out of sight of any land before I was able to venture upon deck. At last, however, upon the fifth day I drank the soup which the good Kerouan brought me, and I was able to crawl from my bunk49 and up the stair. The fresh air revived me, and from that time onward50 I accommodated myself to the motion of the vessel. My beard had begun to grow also, and I have no doubt that I should have made as fine a sailor as I have a soldier had I chanced to be born to that branch of the service. I learned to pull the ropes which hoisted51 the sails, and also to haul round the long sticks to which they are attached. For the most part, however, my duties were to play ecarte with Captain Fourneau, and to act as his companion. It was not strange that he should need one, for neither of his mates could read or write, though each of them was an excellent seaman52.
If our captain had died suddenly I cannot imagine how we should have found our way in that waste of waters, for it was only he who had the knowledge which enabled him to mark our place upon the chart. He had this fixed53 upon the cabin wall, and every day he put our course upon it so that we could see at a glance how far we were from our destination. It was wonderful how well he could calculate it, for one morning he said that we should see the Cape54 Verd light that very night, and there it was, sure enough, upon our left front the moment that darkness came. Next day, however, the land was out of sight, and Burns, the mate, explained to me that we should see no more until we came to our port in the Gulf55 of Biafra. Every day we flew south with a favouring wind, and always at noon the pin upon the chart was moved nearer and nearer to the African coast. I may explain that palm oil was the cargo56 which we were in search of, and that our own lading consisted of coloured cloths, old muskets57, and such other trifles as the English sell to the savages58.
At last the wind which had followed us so long died away, and for several days we drifted about on a calm and oily sea, under a sun which brought the pitch bubbling out between the planks59 upon the deck. We turned and turned our sails to catch every wandering puff60, until at last we came out of this belt of calm and ran south again with a brisk breeze, the sea all round us being alive with flying fishes. For some days Burns appeared to be uneasy, and I observed him continually shading his eyes with his hand and staring at the horizon as if he were looking for land. Twice I caught him with his red head against the chart in the cabin, gazing at that pin, which was always approaching and yet never reaching the African coast. At last one evening, as Captain Fourneau and I were playing ecarte in the cabin, the mate entered with an angry look upon his sunburned face.
“I beg your pardon, Captain Fourneau,” said he.
“Due south,” the captain answered, with his eyes fixed upon his cards.
“And he should be steering due east.”
“How do you make that out?”
“I may not have much education,” said he, “but let me tell you this, Captain Fourneau, I've sailed these waters since I was a little nipper of ten, and I know the line when I'm on it, and I know the doldrums, and I know how to find my way to the oil rivers. We are south of the line now, and we should be steering due east instead of due south if your port is the port that the owners sent you to.”
“Excuse me, Mr. Gerard. Just remember that it is my lead,” said the captain, laying down his cards.
“Come to the map here, Mr. Burns, and I will give you a lesson in practical navigation. Here is the trade wind from the southwest and here is the line, and here is the port that we want to make, and here is a man who will have his own way aboard his own ship.” As he spoke63 he seized the unfortunate mate by the throat and squeezed him until he was nearly senseless. Kerouan, the steward, had rushed in with a rope, and between them they gagged and trussed the man, so that he was utterly64 helpless.
“There is one of our Frenchmen at the wheel. We had best put the mate overboard,” said the steward.
“That is safest,” said Captain Fourneau.
But that was more than I could stand. Nothing would persuade me to agree to the death of a helpless man.
With a bad grace Captain Fourneau consented to spare him, and we carried him to the after-hold, which lay under the cabin. There he was laid among the bales of Manchester cloth.
“It is not worth while to put down the hatch,” said Captain Fourneau. “Gustav, go to Mr. Turner and tell him that I would like to have a word with him.”
The unsuspecting second mate entered the cabin, and was instantly gagged and secured as Burns had been.
He was carried down and laid beside his comrade. The hatch was then replaced.
“Our hands have been forced by that red-headed dolt,” said the captain, “and I have had to explode my mine before I wished. However, there is no great harm done, and it will not seriously disarrange my plans.
“Kerouan, you will take a keg of rum forward to the crew and tell them that the captain gives it to them to drink his health on the occasion of crossing the line.
“They will know no better. As to our own fellows, bring them down to your pantry so that we may be sure that they are ready for business. Now, Colonel Gerard, with your permission we will resume our game of ecarte.”
It is one of those occasions which one does not forget.
This captain, who was a man of iron, shuffled65 and cut, dealt and played as if he were in his cafe. From below we heard the inarticulate murmurings of the two mates, half smothered66 by the handkerchiefs which gagged them. Outside the timbers creaked and the sails hummed under the brisk breeze which was sweeping67 us upon our way. Amid the splash of the waves and the whistle of the wind we heard the wild cheers and shoutings of the English sailors as they broached68 the keg of rum. We played half-a-dozen games and then the captain rose. “I think they are ready for us now,” said he. He took a brace69 of pistols from a locker70, and he handed one of them to me.
But we had no need to fear resistance, for there was no one to resist. The Englishman of those days, whether soldier or sailor, was an incorrigible71 drunkard.
Without drink he was a brave and good man. But if drink were laid before him it was a perfect madness—nothing could induce him to take it with moderation.
In the dim light of the den7 which they inhabited, five senseless figures and two shouting, swearing, singing madmen represented the crew of the Black Swan. Coils of rope were brought forward by the steward, and with the help of two French seamen (the third was at the wheel) we secured the drunkards and tied them up, so that it was impossible for them to speak or move. They were placed under the fore-hatch, as their officers had been under the after one, and Kerouan was directed twice a day to give them food and drink. So at last we found that the Black Swan was entirely our own.
Had there been bad weather I do not know what we should have done, but we still went gaily72 upon our way with a wind which was strong enough to drive us swiftly south, but not strong enough to cause us alarm. On the evening of the third day I found Captain Fourneau gazing eagerly out from the platform in the front of the vessel. “Look, Gerard, look!” he cried, and pointed73 over the pole which stuck out in front.
A light blue sky rose from a dark blue sea, and far away, at the point where they met, was a shadowy something like a cloud, but more definite in shape.
“What is it?” I cried.
“It is land.”
“And what land?”
I strained my ears for the answer, and yet I knew already what the answer would be.
“It is St. Helena.”
Here, then, was the island of my dreams! Here was the cage where our great Eagle of France was confined!
All those thousands of leagues of water had not sufficed to keep Gerard from the master whom he loved.
There he was, there on that cloud-bank yonder over the dark blue sea. How my eyes devoured74 it! How my soul flew in front of the vessel—flew on and on to tell him that he was not forgotten, that after many days one faithful servant was coming to his side. Every instant the dark blur75 upon the water grew harder and clearer.
Soon I could see plainly enough that it was indeed a mountainous island. The night fell, but still I knelt upon the deck, with my eyes fixed upon the darkness which covered the spot where I knew that the great Emperor was. An hour passed and another one, and then suddenly a little golden twinkling light shone out exactly ahead of us. It was the light of the window of some house—perhaps of his house. It could not be more than a mile or two away. Oh, how I held out my hands to it!—they were the hands of Etienne Gerard, but it was for all France that they were held out.
Every light had been extinguished aboard our ship, and presently, at the direction of Captain Fourneau, we all pulled upon one of the ropes, which had the effect of swinging round one of the sticks above us, and so stopping the vessel. Then he asked me to step down to the cabin.
“You understand everything now, Colonel Gerard,” said he, “and you will forgive me if I did not take you into my complete confidence before. In a matter of such importance I make no man my confidant. I have long planned the rescue of the Emperor, and my remaining in England and joining their merchant service was entirely with that design. All has worked out exactly as I expected. I have made several successful voyages to the West Coast of Africa, so that there was no difficulty in my obtaining the command of this one. One by one I got these old French man-of-war's-men among the hands. As to you, I was anxious to have one tried fighting man in case of resistance, and I also desired to have a fitting companion for the Emperor during his long homeward voyage. My cabin is already fitted up for his use. I trust that before to-morrow morning he will be inside it, and we out of sight of this accursed island.”
You can think of my emotion, my friends, as I listened to these words. I embraced the brave Fourneau, and implored78 him to tell me how I could assist him.
“I must leave it all in your hands,” said he. “Would that I could have been the first to pay him homage79, but it would not be wise for me to go. The glass is falling, there is a storm brewing80, and we have the land under our lee. Besides, there are three English cruisers near the island which may be upon us at any moment. It is for me, therefore, to guard the ship and for you to bring off the Emperor.”
I thrilled at the words.
“Give me your instructions!” I cried.
“I can only spare you one man, for already I can hardly pull round the yards,” said he. “One of the boats has been lowered, and this man will row you ashore81 and await your return. The light which you see is indeed the light of Longwood. All who are in the house are your friends, and all may be depended upon to aid the Emperor's escape. There is a cordon82 of English sentries83, but they are not very near to the house. Once you have got as far as that you will convey our plans to the Emperor, guide him down to the boat, and bring him on board.”
The Emperor himself could not have given his instructions more shortly and clearly. There was not a moment to be lost. The boat with the seaman was waiting alongside. I stepped into it, and an instant afterward we had pushed off. Our little boat danced over the dark waters, but always shining before my eyes was the light of Longwood, the light of the Emperor, the star of hope. Presently the bottom of the boat grated upon the pebbles84 of the beach. It was a deserted85 cove76, and no challenge from a sentry86 came to disturb us. I left the seaman by the boat and I began to climb the hillside.
There was a goat track winding in and out among the rocks, so I had no difficulty in finding my way. It stands to reason that all paths in St. Helena would lead to the Emperor. I came to a gate. No sentry—and I passed through. Another gate—still no sentry! I wondered what had become of this cordon of which Fourneau had spoken. I had come now to the top of my climb, for there was the light burning steadily87 right in front of me. I concealed88 myself and took a good look round, but still I could see no sign of the enemy. As I approached I saw the house, a long, low building with a veranda89. A man was walking up and down upon the path in front. I crept nearer and had a look at him.
Perhaps it was this cursed Hudson Lowe. What a triumph if I could not only rescue the Emperor, but also avenge90 him! But it was more likely that this man was an English sentry. I crept nearer still, and the man stopped in front of the lighted window, so that I could see him. No; it was no soldier, but a priest. I wondered what such a man could be doing there at two in the morning. Was he French or English? If he were one of the household I might take him into my confidence. If he were English he might ruin all my plans.
I crept a little nearer still, and at that moment he entered the house, a flood of light pouring out through the open door. All was clear for me now and I understood that not an instant was to be lost. Bending myself double I ran swiftly forward to the lighted window.
Raising my head I peeped through, and there was the Emperor lying dead before me.
My friends, I fell down upon the gravel91 walk as senseless as if a bullet had passed through my brain. So great was the shock that I wonder that I survived it.
And yet in half an hour I had staggered to my feet again, shivering in every limb, my teeth chattering92, and there I stood staring with the eyes of a maniac93 into that room of death.
He lay upon a bier in the centre of the chamber94, calm, composed, majestic95, his face full of that reserve power which lightened our hearts upon the day of battle. A half-smile was fixed upon his pale lips, and his eyes, half-opened, seemed to be turned on mine. He was stouter96 than when I had seen him at Waterloo, and there was a gentleness of expression which I had never seen in life. On either side of him burned rows of candles, and this was the beacon97 which had welcomed us at sea, which had guided me over the water, and which I had hailed as my star of hope. Dimly I became conscious that many people were kneeling in the room; the little Court, men and women, who had shared his fortunes, Bertrand, his wife, the priest, Montholon—all were there. I would have prayed too, but my heart was too heavy and bitter for prayer. And yet I must leave, and I could not leave him without a sign. Regardless of whether I was seen or not, I drew myself erect98 before my dead leader, brought my heels together, and raised my hand in a last salute99. Then I turned and hurried off through the darkness, with the picture of the wan36, smiling lips and the steady grey eyes dancing always before me.
It had seemed to me but a little time that I had been away, and yet the boatman told me that it was hours.
Only when he spoke of it did I observe that the wind was blowing half a gale100 from the sea and that the waves were roaring in upon the beach. Twice we tried to push out our little boat, and twice it was thrown back by the sea. The third time a great wave filled it and stove the bottom. Helplessly we waited beside it until the dawn broke, to show a raging sea and a flying scud101 above it. There was no sign of the Black Swan. Climbing the hill we looked down, but on all the great torn expanse of the ocean there was no gleam of a sail. She was gone. Whether she had sunk, or whether she was recaptured by her English crew, or what strange fate may have been in store for her, I do not know. Never again in this life did I see Captain Fourneau to tell him the result of my mission. For my own part I gave myself up to the English, my boatman and I pretending that we were the only survivors102 of a lost vessel—though, indeed, there was no pretence103 in the matter. At the hands of their officers I received that generous hospitality which I have always encountered, but it was many a long month before I could get a passage back to the dear land outside of which there can be no happiness for so true a Frenchman as myself.
And so I tell you in one evening how I bade good-bye to my master, and I take my leave also of you, my kind friends, who have listened so patiently to the long-winded stories of an old broken soldier. Russia, Italy, Germany, Spain, Portugal, and England, you have gone with me to all these countries, and you have seen through my dim eyes something of the sparkle and splendour of those great days, and I have brought back to you some shadow of those men whose tread shook the earth. Treasure it in your minds and pass it on to your children, for the memory of a great age is the most precious treasure that a nation can possess. As the tree is nurtured104 by its own cast leaves so it is these dead men and vanished days which may bring out another blossoming of heroes, of rulers, and of sages105. I go to Gascony, but my words stay here in your memory, and long after Etienne Gerard is forgotten a heart may be warmed or a spirit braced77 by some faint echo of the words that he has spoken. Gentlemen, an old soldier salutes106 you and bids you farewell.
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winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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bristle
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| v.（毛发）直立，气势汹汹，发怒；n.硬毛发 | |
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quay
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| n.码头，靠岸处 | |
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rattles
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| （使）发出格格的响声， （使）作嘎嘎声( rattle的第三人称单数 )； 喋喋不休地说话； 迅速而嘎嘎作响地移动，堕下或走动； 使紧张，使恐惧 | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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remarkable
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entirely
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captivity
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dishonoured
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| a.不光彩的，不名誉的 | |
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humiliated
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| 感到羞愧的 | |
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grumble
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| vi.抱怨；咕哝；n.抱怨，牢骚；咕哝，隆隆声 | |
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corps
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| n.(通信等兵种的)部队；(同类作的)一组 | |
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hack
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| n.劈，砍，出租马车；v.劈，砍，干咳 | |
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rue
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distinguished
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bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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19
regiments
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| （军队的）团( regiment的名词复数 )； 大量的人或物 | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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21
musket
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| n.滑膛枪 | |
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22
streaks
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| n.（与周围有所不同的）条纹( streak的名词复数 )；（通常指不好的）特征（倾向）；（不断经历成功或失败的）一段时期v.快速移动( streak的第三人称单数 )；使布满条纹 | |
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23
seamen
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| n.海员 | |
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24
earrings
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| n.耳环( earring的名词复数 )；耳坠子 | |
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25
plentiful
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| adj.富裕的，丰富的 | |
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26
tattooing
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| n.刺字，文身v.刺青，文身( tattoo的现在分词 )；连续有节奏地敲击；作连续有节奏的敲击 | |
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27
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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28
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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29
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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30
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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31
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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32
lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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33
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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34
credentials
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| n.证明，资格，证明书，证件 | |
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35
dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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36
wan
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| (wide area network)广域网 | |
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37
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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38
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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39
grooming
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| n. 修饰, 美容，（动物）梳理毛发 | |
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40
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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41
cavalry
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| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
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42
horrified
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| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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43
steward
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| n.乘务员，服务员；看管人；膳食管理员 | |
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44
berth
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| n.卧铺，停泊地，锚位；v.使停泊 | |
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45
luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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46
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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47
lodged
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| v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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48
untied
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| 松开，解开( untie的过去式和过去分词 )； 解除，使自由； 解决 | |
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49
bunk
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| n.(车、船等倚壁而设的)铺位；废话 | |
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onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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51
hoisted
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| 把…吊起，升起( hoist的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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52
seaman
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| n.海员，水手，水兵 | |
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53
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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54
cape
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| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
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gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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56
cargo
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| n.(一只船或一架飞机运载的)货物 | |
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57
muskets
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| n.火枪，（尤指）滑膛枪( musket的名词复数 ) | |
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58
savages
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| 未开化的人，野蛮人( savage的名词复数 ) | |
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59
planks
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| （厚）木板( plank的名词复数 )； 政纲条目，政策要点 | |
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60
puff
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| n.一口(气)；一阵(风)；v.喷气，喘气 | |
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61
steering
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| n.操舵装置 | |
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62
growl
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| v.（狗等）嗥叫，（炮等）轰鸣；n.嗥叫，轰鸣 | |
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63
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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64
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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65
shuffled
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| v.洗（纸牌）( shuffle的过去式和过去分词 )；拖着脚步走；粗心地做；摆脱尘世的烦恼 | |
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66
smothered
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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67
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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68
broached
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| v.谈起( broach的过去式和过去分词 )；打开并开始用；用凿子扩大（或修光）；（在桶上）钻孔取液体 | |
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69
brace
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| n. 支柱,曲柄,大括号; v. 绷紧,顶住,(为困难或坏事)做准备 | |
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70
locker
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| n.更衣箱，储物柜，冷藏室，上锁的人 | |
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71
incorrigible
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| adj.难以纠正的，屡教不改的 | |
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72
gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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73
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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74
devoured
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| 吞没( devour的过去式和过去分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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75
blur
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| n.模糊不清的事物；vt.使模糊，使看不清楚 | |
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76
cove
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| n.小海湾，小峡谷 | |
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77
braced
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| adj.拉牢的v.支住( brace的过去式和过去分词 )；撑牢；使自己站稳；振作起来 | |
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78
implored
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| 恳求或乞求（某人）( implore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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79
homage
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| n.尊敬，敬意，崇敬 | |
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80
brewing
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| n. 酿造, 一次酿造的量 动词brew的现在分词形式 | |
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81
ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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82
cordon
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| n.警戒线，哨兵线 | |
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83
sentries
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| 哨兵，步兵( sentry的名词复数 ) | |
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84
pebbles
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| [复数]鹅卵石； 沙砾； 卵石，小圆石( pebble的名词复数 ) | |
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85
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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86
sentry
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| n.哨兵，警卫 | |
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87
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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88
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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89
veranda
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| n.走廊；阳台 | |
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90
avenge
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| v.为...复仇，为...报仇 | |
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91
gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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92
chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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93
maniac
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| n.精神癫狂的人；疯子 | |
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94
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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95
majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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96
stouter
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| 粗壮的( stout的比较级 )； 结实的； 坚固的； 坚定的 | |
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97
beacon
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| n.烽火，（警告用的）闪火灯，灯塔 | |
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98
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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99
salute
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| 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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100
gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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101
scud
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| n.疾行；v.疾行 | |
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102
survivors
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| 幸存者，残存者，生还者( survivor的名词复数 ) | |
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103
pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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104
nurtured
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| 养育( nurture的过去式和过去分词 )； 培育； 滋长； 助长 | |
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105
sages
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| n.圣人( sage的名词复数 )；智者；哲人；鼠尾草（可用作调料） | |
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106
salutes
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| n.致敬，欢迎，敬礼( salute的名词复数 )v.欢迎，致敬( salute的第三人称单数 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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