I did not see why I might not make a book on Cape Cod, as well as my neighbor on “Human Culture.” It is but another name for the same thing, and hardly a sandier phase of it. As for my title, I suppose that the word Cape is from the French cap; which is from the Latin caput, a head; which is, perhaps, from the verb capere, to take,—that being the part by which we take hold of a thing:—Take Time by the forelock. It is also the safest part to take a serpent by. And as for Cod, that was derived7 directly from that “great store of codfish” which Captain Bartholomew Gosnold caught there in 1602; which fish appears to have been so called from the Saxon word codde, “a case in which seeds are lodged,” either from the form of the fish, or the quantity of spawn8 it contains; whence also, perhaps, codling (pomum coctile?) and coddle,—to cook green like peas. (V. Dic.)
Cape Cod is the bared and bended arm of Massachusetts: the shoulder is at Buzzard’s Bay; the elbow, or crazy-bone, at Cape Mallebarre; the wrist at Truro; and the sandy fist at Provincetown,—behind which the State stands on her guard, with her back to the Green Mountains, and her feet planted on the floor of the ocean, like an athlete protecting her Bay,—boxing with northeast storms, and, ever and anon, heaving up her Atlantic adversary9 from the lap of earth,—ready to thrust forward her other fist, which keeps guard the while upon her breast at Cape Ann.
On studying the map, I saw that there must be an uninterrupted beach on the east or outside of the forearm of the Cape, more than thirty miles from the general line of the coast, which would afford a good sea view, but that, on account of an opening in the beach, forming the entrance to Nauset Harbor, in Orleans, I must strike it in Eastham, if I approached it by land, and probably I could walk thence straight to Race Point, about twenty-eight miles, and not meet with any obstruction10.
We left Concord, Massachusetts, on Tuesday, October 9th, 1849. On reaching Boston, we found that the Provincetown steamer, which should have got in the day before, had not yet arrived, on account of a violent storm; and, as we noticed in the streets a handbill headed, “Death! one hundred and forty-five lives lost at Cohasset,” we decided11 to go by way of Cohasset. We found many Irish in the cars, going to identify bodies and to sympathize with the survivors12, and also to attend the funeral which was to take place in the afternoon;—and when we arrived at Cohasset, it appeared that nearly all the passengers were bound for the beach, which was about a mile distant, and many other persons were flocking in from the neighboring country. There were several hundreds of them streaming off over Cohasset common in that direction, some on foot and some in wagons13,—and among them were some sportsmen in their hunting-jackets, with their guns, and game-bags, and dogs. As we passed the graveyard14 we saw a large hole, like a cellar, freshly dug there, and, just before reaching the shore, by a pleasantly winding15 and rocky road, we met several hay-riggings and farm-wagons coming away toward the meeting-house, each loaded with three large, rough deal boxes. We did not need to ask what was in them. The owners of the wagons were made the undertakers. Many horses in carriages were fastened to the fences near the shore, and, for a mile or more, up and down, the beach was covered with people looking out for bodies, and examining the fragments of the wreck16. There was a small island called Brook17 Island, with a hut on it, lying just off the shore. This is said to be the rockiest shore in Massachusetts, from Nantasket to Scituate,—hard sienitic rocks, which the waves have laid bare, but have not been able to crumble18. It has been the scene of many a shipwreck19.
The brig St. John, from Galway, Ireland, laden20 with emigrants21, was wrecked22 on Sunday morning; it was now Tuesday morning, and the sea was still breaking violently on the rocks. There were eighteen or twenty of the same large boxes that I have mentioned, lying on a green hillside, a few rods from the water, and surrounded by a crowd. The bodies which had been recovered, twenty-seven or eight in all, had been collected there. Some were rapidly nailing down the lids, others were carting the boxes away, and others were lifting the lids, which were yet loose, and peeping under the cloths, for each body, with such rags as still adhered to it, was covered loosely with a white sheet. I witnessed no signs of grief, but there was a sober dispatch of business which was affecting. One man was seeking to identify a particular body, and one undertaker or carpenter was calling to another to know in what box a certain child was put. I saw many marble feet and matted heads as the cloths were raised, and one livid, swollen23, and mangled24 body of a drowned girl,—who probably had intended to go out to service in some American family,—to which some rags still adhered, with a string, half concealed26 by the flesh, about its swollen neck; the coiled-up wreck of a human hulk, gashed27 by the rocks or fishes, so that the bone and muscle were exposed, but quite bloodless,—merely red and white,—with wide-open and staring eyes, yet lustreless28, dead-lights; or like the cabin windows of a stranded29 vessel30, filled with sand. Sometimes there were two or more children, or a parent and child, in the same box, and on the lid would perhaps be written with red chalk, “Bridget such-a-one, and sister’s child.” The surrounding sward was covered with bits of sails and clothing. I have since heard, from one who lives by this beach, that a woman who had come over before, but had left her infant behind for her sister to bring, came and looked into these boxes and saw in one,—probably the same whose superscription I have quoted,—her child in her sister’s arms, as if the sister had meant to be found thus; and within three days after, the mother died from the effect of that sight.
We turned from this and walked along the rocky shore. In the first cove1 were strewn what seemed the fragments of a vessel, in small pieces mixed with sand and sea-weed, and great quantities of feathers; but it looked so old and rusty31, that I at first took it to be some old wreck which had lain there many years. I even thought of Captain Kidd, and that the feathers were those which sea-fowl had cast there; and perhaps there might be some tradition about it in the neighborhood. I asked a sailor if that was the St. John. He said it was. I asked him where she struck. He pointed32 to a rock in front of us, a mile from the shore, called the Grampus Rock, and added:
“You can see a part of her now sticking up; it looks like a small boat.”
I saw it. It was thought to be held by the chain-cables and the anchors. I asked if the bodies which I saw were all that were drowned.
“Not a quarter of them,” said he.
“Where are the rest?”
“Most of them right underneath33 that piece you see.”
It appeared to us that there was enough rubbish to make the wreck of a large vessel in this cove alone, and that it would take many days to cart it off. It was several feet deep, and here and there was a bonnet34 or a jacket on it. In the very midst of the crowd about this wreck, there were men with carts busily collecting the sea-weed which the storm had cast up, and conveying it beyond the reach of the tide, though they were often obliged to separate fragments of clothing from it, and they might at any moment have found a human body under it. Drown who might, they did not forget that this weed was a valuable manure35. This shipwreck had not produced a visible vibration36 in the fabric37 of society.
About a mile south we could see, rising above the rocks, the masts of the British brig which the St. John had endeavored to follow, which had slipped her cables and, by good luck, run into the mouth of Cohasset Harbor. A little further along the shore we saw a man’s clothes on a rock; further, a woman’s scarf, a gown, a straw bonnet, the brig’s caboose, and one of her masts high and dry, broken into several pieces. In another rocky cove, several rods from the water, and behind rocks twenty feet high, lay a part of one side of the vessel, still hanging together. It was, perhaps, forty feet long, by fourteen wide. I was even more surprised at the power of the waves, exhibited on this shattered fragment, than I had been at the sight of the smaller fragments before. The largest timbers and iron braces38 were broken superfluously39, and I saw that no material could withstand the power of the waves; that iron must go to pieces in such a case, and an iron vessel would be cracked up like an egg-shell on the rocks. Some of these timbers, however, were so rotten that I could almost thrust my umbrella through them. They told us that some were saved on this piece, and also showed where the sea had heaved it into this cove, which was now dry. When I saw where it had come in, and in what condition, I wondered that any had been saved on it. A little further on a crowd of men was collected around the mate of the St. John, who was telling his story. He was a slim-looking youth, who spoke40 of the captain as the master, and seemed a little excited. He was saying that when they jumped into the boat, she filled, and, the vessel lurching, the weight of the water in the boat caused the painter to break, and so they were separated. Whereat one man came away, saying:—
“Well, I don’t see but he tells a straight story enough. You see, the weight of the water in the boat broke the painter. A boat full of water is very heavy,”—and so on, in a loud and impertinently earnest tone, as if he had a bet depending on it, but had no humane41 interest in the matter.
Another, a large man, stood near by upon a rock, gazing into the sea, and chewing large quids of tobacco, as if that habit were forever confirmed with him.
“Come,” says another to his companion, “let’s be off. We’ve seen the whole of it. It’s no use to stay to the funeral.”
Further, we saw one standing42 upon a rock, who, we were told, was one that was saved. He was a sober-looking man, dressed in a jacket and gray pantaloons, with his hands in the pockets. I asked him a few questions, which he answered; but he seemed unwilling43 to talk about it, and soon walked away. By his side stood one of the life-boatmen, in an oil-cloth jacket, who told us how they went to the relief of the British brig, thinking that the boat of the St. John, which they passed on the way, held all her crew,—for the waves prevented their seeing those who were on the vessel, though they might have saved some had they known there were any there. A little further was the flag of the St. John spread on a rock to dry, and held down by stones at the corners. This frail44, but essential and significant portion of the vessel, which had so long been the sport of the winds, was sure to reach the shore. There were one or two houses visible from these rocks, in which were some of the survivors recovering from the shock which their bodies and minds had sustained. One was not expected to live.
We kept on down the shore as far as a promontory45 called Whitehead, that we might see more of the Cohasset Rocks. In a little cove, within half a mile, there were an old man and his son collecting, with their team, the sea-weed which that fatal storm had cast up, as serenely46 employed as if there had never been a wreck in the world, though they were within sight of the Grampus Rock, on which the St. John had struck. The old man had heard that there was a wreck, and knew most of the particulars, but he said that he had not been up there since it happened. It was the wrecked weed that concerned him most, rock-weed, kelp, and sea-weed, as he named them, which he carted to his barn-yard; and those bodies were to him but other weeds which the tide cast up, but which were of no use to him. We afterwards came to the life-boat in its harbor, waiting for another emergency,—and in the afternoon we saw the funeral procession at a distance, at the head of which walked the captain with the other survivors.
On the whole, it was not so impressive a scene as I might have expected. If I had found one body cast upon the beach in some lonely place, it would have affected47 me more. I sympathized rather with the winds and waves, as if to toss and mangle25 these poor human bodies was the order of the day. If this was the law of Nature, why waste any time in awe48 or pity? If the last day were come, we should not think so much about the separation of friends or the blighted49 prospects50 of individuals. I saw that corpses51 might be multiplied, as on the field of battle, till they no longer affected us in any degree, as exceptions to the common lot of humanity. Take all the graveyards53 together, they are always the majority. It is the individual and private that demands our sympathy. A man can attend but one funeral in the course of his life, can behold54 but one corpse52. Yet I saw that the inhabitants of the shore would be not a little affected by this event. They would watch there many days and nights for the sea to give up its dead, and their imaginations and sympathies would supply the place of mourners far away, who as yet knew not of the wreck. Many days after this, something white was seen floating on the water by one who was sauntering on the beach. It was approached in a boat, and found to be the body of a woman, which had risen in an upright position, whose white cap was blown back with the wind. I saw that the beauty of the shore itself was wrecked for many a lonely walker there, until he could perceive, at last, how its beauty was enhanced by wrecks55 like this, and it acquired thus a rarer and sublimer56 beauty still.
Why care for these dead bodies? They really have no friends but the worms or fishes. Their owners were coming to the New World, as Columbus and the Pilgrims did,—they were within a mile of its shores; but, before they could reach it, they emigrated to a newer world than ever Columbus dreamed of, yet one of whose existence we believe that there is far more universal and convincing evidence—though it has not yet been discovered by science—than Columbus had of this; not merely mariners’ tales and some paltry58 drift-wood and sea-weed, but a continual drift and instinct to all our shores. I saw their empty hulks that came to land; but they themselves, meanwhile, were cast upon some shore yet further west, toward which we are all tending, and which we shall reach at last, it may be through storm and darkness, as they did. No doubt, we have reason to thank God that they have not been “shipwrecked into life again.” The mariner57 who makes the safest port in Heaven, perchance, seems to his friends on earth to be shipwrecked, for they deem Boston Harbor the better place; though perhaps invisible to them, a skillful pilot comes to meet him, and the fairest and balmiest gales blow off that coast, his good ship makes the land in halcyon59 days, and he kisses the shore in rapture60 there, while his old hulk tosses in the surf here. It is hard to part with one’s body, but, no doubt, it is easy enough to do without it when once it is gone. All their plans and hopes burst like a bubble! Infants by the score dashed on the rocks by the enraged61 Atlantic Ocean! No, no! If the St. John did not make her port here, she has been telegraphed there. The strongest wind cannot stagger a Spirit; it is a Spirit’s breath. A just man’s purpose cannot be split on any Grampus or material rock, but itself will split rocks till it succeeds.
The verses addressed to Columbus, dying, may, with slight alterations62, be applied63 to the passengers of the St. John:—
“Soon with them will all be over,
Soon the voyage will be begun
That shall bear them to discover,
Far away, a land unknown.
“Land that each, alone, must visit,
But no tidings bring to men;
For no sailor, once departed,
Ever hath returned again.
“No carved wood, no broken branches,
Ever drift from that far wild;
He who on that ocean launches
Meets no corse of angel child.
“Undismayed, my noble sailors,
Spread, then spread your canvas out;
Spirits! on a sea of ether
Soon shall ye serenely float!
Fear no hidden breakers there,
And the fanning wing of angels
“Quit, now, full of heart and comfort,
These rude shores, they are of earth;
One summer day, since this, I came this way, on foot, along the shore from Boston. It was so warm that some horses had climbed to the very top of the ramparts of the old fort at Hull71, where there was hardly room to turn round, for the sake of the breeze. The Datura stramonium, or thorn-apple, was in full bloom along the beach; and, at sight of this cosmopolite,—this Captain Cook among plants,—carried in ballast all over the world, I felt as if I were on the highway of nations. Say, rather, this Viking, king of the Bays, for it is not an innocent plant; it suggests not merely commerce, but its attend-ant vices72, as if its fibres were the stuff of which pirates spin their yarns73. I heard the voices of men shouting aboard a vessel, half a mile from the shore, which sounded as if they were in a barn in the country, they being between the sails. It was a purely74 rural sound. As I looked over the water, I saw the isles rapidly wasting away, the sea nibbling75 voraciously76 at the continent, the springing arch of a hill suddenly interrupted, as at Point Alderton,—what botanists77 might call premorse,—showing, by its curve against the sky, how much space it must have occupied, where now was water only, On the other hand, these wrecks of isles were being fancifully arranged into new shores, as at Hog78 Island, inside of Hull, where everything seemed to be gently lapsing79, into futurity. This isle68 had got the very form of a ripple80,—and I thought that the inhabitants should bear a ripple for device on their shields, a wave passing over them, with the datura, which is said to produce mental alienation81 of long duration without affecting the bodily health,[1] springing from its edge. The most interesting thing which I heard of, in this township of Hull, was an unfailing spring, whose locality was pointed out to me, on the side of a distant hill, as I was panting along the shore, though I did not visit it. Perhaps, if I should go through Rome, it would be some spring on the Capitoline Hill I should remember the longest. It is true, I was somewhat interested in the well at the old French fort, which was said to be ninety feet deep, with a cannon82 at the bottom of it. On Nantasket beach I counted a dozen chaises from the public-house. From time to time the riders turned their horses toward the sea, standing in the water for the coolness,—and I saw the value of beaches to cities for the sea breeze and the bath.
At Jerusalem village the inhabitants were collecting in haste, before a thunder-shower now approaching, the Irish moss83 which they had spread to dry. The shower passed on one side, and gave me a few drops only, which did not cool the air. I merely felt a puff84 upon my cheek, though, within sight, a vessel was capsized in the bay, and several others dragged their anchors, and were near going ashore6. The sea-bathing at Cohasset Rocks was perfect. The water was purer and more transparent85 than any I had ever seen. There was not a particle of mud or slime about it. The bottom being sandy, I could see the sea-perch swimming about. The smooth and fantastically worn rocks, and the perfectly86 clean and tress-like rock-weeds falling over you, and attached so firmly to the rocks that you could pull yourself up by them, greatly enhanced the luxury of the bath. The stripe of barnacles just above the weeds reminded me of some vegetable growth,—the buds, and petals87, and seed-vessels of flowers. They lay along the seams of the rock like buttons on a waistcoat. It was one of the hottest days in the year, yet I found the water so icy cold that I could swim but a stroke or two, and thought that, in case of shipwreck, there would be more danger of being chilled to death than simply drowned. One immersion88 was enough to make you forget the dog-days utterly89. Though you were sweltering before, it will take you half an hour now to remember that it was ever warm. There were the tawny90 rocks, like lions couchant, defying the ocean, whose waves incessantly91 dashed against and scoured92 them with vast quantities of gravel93. The water held in their little hollows, on the receding94 of the tide, was so crystalline that I could not believe it salt, but wished to drink it; and higher up were basins of fresh water left by the rain,—all which, being also of different depths and temperature, were convenient for different kinds of baths. Also, the larger hollows in the smoothed rocks formed the most convenient of seats and dressing-rooms. In these respects it was the most perfect seashore that I had seen.
I saw in Cohasset, separated from the sea only by a narrow beach, a handsome but shallow lake of some four hundred acres, which, I was told, the sea had tossed over the beach in a great storm in the spring, and, after the alewives had passed into it, it had stopped up its outlet95, and now the alewives were dying: by thousands, and the inhabitants were apprehending96 a pestilence97 as the water evaporated. It had live rocky islets in it.
This Rock shore is called Pleasant Cove, on some maps; on the map of Cohasset, that name appears to be confined to the particular cove where I saw the wreck of the St. J aim. The ocean did not look, now, as if any were ever shipwrecked in it; it was not grand and sub-lime, but beautiful as a lake. Not a vestige98 of a wreck was visible, nor could I believe that the bones of many a shipwrecked man were buried in that pure sand. But to go on with our first excursion.
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cove
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| n.小海湾，小峡谷 | |
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cape
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| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
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cod
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| n.鳕鱼；v.愚弄；哄骗 | |
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gales
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| 龙猫 | |
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concord
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| n.和谐；协调 | |
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ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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derived
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| 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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spawn
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| n.卵，产物，后代，结果；vt.产卵，种菌丝于，产生，造成；vi.产卵，大量生产 | |
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adversary
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| adj.敌手，对手 | |
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obstruction
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| n.阻塞，堵塞；障碍物 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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survivors
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| 幸存者，残存者，生还者( survivor的名词复数 ) | |
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wagons
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| n.四轮的运货马车( wagon的名词复数 )；铁路货车；小手推车 | |
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graveyard
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| n.坟场 | |
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winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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crumble
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| vi.碎裂，崩溃；vt.弄碎，摧毁 | |
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shipwreck
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| n.船舶失事，海难 | |
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laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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emigrants
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| n.（从本国移往他国的）移民( emigrant的名词复数 ) | |
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wrecked
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| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
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swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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mangled
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| vt.乱砍（mangle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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mangle
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| vt.乱砍，撕裂，破坏，毁损，损坏，轧布 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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gashed
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| v.划伤，割破( gash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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lustreless
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| adj.无光泽的，无光彩的，平淡乏味的 | |
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stranded
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| a.搁浅的，进退两难的 | |
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vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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manure
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| n.粪，肥，肥粒；vt.施肥 | |
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vibration
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| n.颤动，振动；摆动 | |
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fabric
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| n.织物，织品，布；构造，结构，组织 | |
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braces
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| 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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superfluously
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| 过分地； 过剩地 | |
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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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humane
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| adj.人道的，富有同情心的 | |
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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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unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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promontory
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| n.海角；岬 | |
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serenely
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| adv.安详地，宁静地，平静地 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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blighted
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| adj.枯萎的，摧毁的 | |
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prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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corpses
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| n.死尸，尸体( corpse的名词复数 ) | |
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corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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graveyards
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| 墓地( graveyard的名词复数 )； 垃圾场； 废物堆积处； 收容所 | |
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behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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wrecks
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| n.沉船( wreck的名词复数 )；（事故中）遭严重毁坏的汽车（或飞机等）；（身体或精神上）受到严重损伤的人；状况非常糟糕的车辆（或建筑物等）v.毁坏[毁灭]某物( wreck的第三人称单数 )；使（船舶）失事，使遇难，使下沉 | |
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sublimer
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| 使高尚者，纯化器 | |
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mariner
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| n.水手号不载人航天探测器，海员，航海者 | |
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paltry
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| adj.无价值的，微不足道的 | |
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halcyon
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| n.平静的，愉快的 | |
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rapture
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| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
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enraged
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| 使暴怒( enrage的过去式和过去分词 )； 歜； 激愤 | |
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alterations
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| n.改动( alteration的名词复数 )；更改；变化；改变 | |
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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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plummet
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| vi.(价格、水平等)骤然下跌；n.铅坠；重压物 | |
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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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rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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isles
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| 岛( isle的名词复数 ) | |
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isle
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| n.小岛，岛 | |
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loom
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| n.织布机，织机；v.隐现，(危险、忧虑等)迫近 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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hull
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| n.船身；(果、实等的)外壳；vt.去(谷物等)壳 | |
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vices
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| 缺陷( vice的名词复数 )； 恶习； 不道德行为； 台钳 | |
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yarns
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| n.纱( yarn的名词复数 )；纱线；奇闻漫谈；旅行轶事 | |
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purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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nibbling
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| v.啃，一点一点地咬（吃）( nibble的现在分词 )；啃出（洞），一点一点咬出（洞）；慢慢减少；小口咬 | |
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voraciously
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| adv.贪婪地 | |
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botanists
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| n.植物学家，研究植物的人( botanist的名词复数 ) | |
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hog
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| n.猪；馋嘴贪吃的人；vt.把…占为己有，独占 | |
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lapsing
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| v.退步( lapse的现在分词 )；陷入；倒退；丧失 | |
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ripple
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| n.涟波，涟漪，波纹，粗钢梳；vt.使...起涟漪，使起波纹； vi.呈波浪状，起伏前进 | |
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alienation
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| n.疏远；离间；异化 | |
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cannon
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| n.大炮，火炮；飞机上的机关炮 | |
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moss
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| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
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puff
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| n.一口(气)；一阵(风)；v.喷气，喘气 | |
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transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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petals
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| n.花瓣( petal的名词复数 ) | |
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immersion
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| n.沉浸；专心 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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tawny
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| adj.茶色的，黄褐色的；n.黄褐色 | |
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incessantly
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| ad.不停地 | |
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scoured
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| 走遍（某地）搜寻（人或物）( scour的过去式和过去分词 )； （用力）刷； 擦净； 擦亮 | |
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gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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receding
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| 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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outlet
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| n.出口/路；销路；批发商店；通风口；发泄 | |
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apprehending
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| 逮捕，拘押( apprehend的现在分词 )； 理解 | |
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pestilence
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| n.瘟疫 | |
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vestige
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| n.痕迹，遗迹，残余 | |
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