Out of the invisible marine7 region on the other side birds soar suddenly into the air, and hang over the summits of the heights with the indifference8 of long familiarity. Their forms are white against the tawny9 concave of cloud, and the curves they exhibit in their floating signify that they are sea-gulls which have journeyed inland from expected stress of weather. As the birds rise behind the fort, so do the clouds rise behind the birds, almost as it seems, stroking with their bagging bosoms10 the uppermost flyers.
The profile of the whole stupendous ruin, as seen at a distance of a mile eastward11, is cleanly cut as that of a marble inlay. It is varied12 with protuberances, which from hereabouts have the animal aspect of warts13, wens, knuckles14, and hips15. It may indeed be likened to an enormous many-limbed organism of an antediluvian16 time—partaking of the cephalopod in shape—lying lifeless, and covered with a thin green cloth, which hides its substance, while revealing its contour. This dull green mantle17 of herbage stretches down towards the levels, where the ploughs have essayed for centuries to creep up near and yet nearer to the base of the castle, but have always stopped short before reaching it. The furrows19 of these environing attempts show themselves distinctly, bending to the incline as they trench20 upon it; mounting in steeper curves, till the steepness baffles them, and their parallel threads show like the striae of waves pausing on the curl. The peculiar21 place of which these are some of the features is ‘Mai-Dun,’ ‘The Castle of the Great Hill,’ said to be the Dunium of Ptolemy, the capital of the Durotriges, which eventually came into Roman occupation, and was finally deserted22 on their withdrawal23 from the island.
The evening is followed by a night on which an invisible moon bestows24 a subdued25, yet pervasive26 light—without radiance, as without blackness. From the spot whereon I am ensconced in a cottage, a mile away, the fort has now ceased to be visible; yet, as by day, to anybody whose thoughts have been engaged with it and its barbarous grandeurs of past time the form asserts its existence behind the night gauzes as persistently27 as if it had a voice. Moreover, the south-west wind continues to feed the intervening arable28 flats with vapours brought directly from its sides.
The midnight hour for which there has been occasion to wait at length arrives, and I journey towards the stronghold in obedience29 to a request urged earlier in the day. It concerns an appointment, which I rather regret my decision to keep now that night is come. The route thither30 is hedgeless and treeless—I need not add deserted. The moonlight is sufficient to disclose the pale riband-like surface of the way as it trails along between the expanses of darker fallow. Though the road passes near the fortress31 it does not conduct directly to its fronts. As the place is without an inhabitant, so it is without a trackway. So presently leaving the macadamized road to pursue its course elsewhither, I step off upon the fallow, and plod32 stumblingly across it. The castle looms33 out off the shade by degrees, like a thing waking up and asking what I want there. It is now so enlarged by nearness that its whole shape cannot be taken in at one view. The ploughed ground ends as the rise sharpens, the sloping basement of grass begins, and I climb upward to invade Mai-Dun.
Impressive by day as this largest Ancient-British work in the kingdom undoubtedly35 is, its impressiveness is increased now. After standing36 still and spending a few minutes in adding its age to its size, and its size to its solitude37, it becomes appallingly38 mournful in its growing closeness. A squally wind blows in the face with an impact which proclaims that the vapours of the air sail low to-night. The slope that I so laboriously39 clamber up the wind skips sportively down. Its track can be discerned even in this light by the undulations of the withered40 grass-bents—the only produce of this upland summit except moss41. Four minutes of ascent42, and a vantage-ground of some sort is gained. It is only the crest43 of the outer rampart. Immediately within this a chasm44 gapes45; its bottom is imperceptible, but the counterscarp slopes not too steeply to admit of a sliding descent if cautiously performed. The shady bottom, dank and chilly46, is thus gained, and reveals itself as a kind of winding47 lane, wide enough for a waggon48 to pass along, floored with rank herbage, and trending away, right and left, into obscurity, between the concentric walls of earth. The towering closeness of these on each hand, their impenetrability, and their ponderousness49, are felt as a physical pressure. The way is now up the second of them, which stands steeper and higher than the first. To turn aside, as did Christian’s companion, from such a Hill Difficulty, is the more natural tendency; but the way to the interior is upward. There is, of course, an entrance to the fortress; but that lies far off on the other side. It might possibly have been the wiser course to seek for easier ingress there.
However, being here, I ascend50 the second acclivity. The grass stems—the grey beard of the hill—sway in a mass close to my stooping face. The dead heads of these various grasses—fescues, fox-tails, and ryes—bob and twitch51 as if pulled by a string underground. From a few thistles a whistling proceeds; and even the moss speaks, in its humble52 way, under the stress of the blast.
That the summit of the second line of defence has been gained is suddenly made known by a contrasting wind from a new quarter, coming over with the curve of a cascade53. These novel gusts54 raise a sound from the whole camp or castle, playing upon it bodily as upon a harp34. It is with some difficulty that a foothold can be preserved under their sweep. Looking aloft for a moment I perceive that the sky is much more overcast55 than it has been hitherto, and in a few instants a dead lull56 in what is now a gale ensues with almost preternatural abruptness58. I take advantage of this to sidle down the second counterscarp, but by the time the ditch is reached the lull reveals itself to be but the precursor59 of a storm. It begins with a heave of the whole atmosphere, like the sigh of a weary strong man on turning to re-commence unusual exertion60, just as I stand here in the second fosse. That which now radiates from the sky upon the scene is not so much light as vaporous phosphorescence.
The wind, quickening, abandons the natural direction it has pursued on the open upland, and takes the course of the gorge’s length, rushing along therein helter-skelter, and carrying thick rain upon its back. The rain is followed by hailstones which fly through the defile61 in battalions—rolling, hopping62, ricochetting, snapping, clattering63 down the shelving banks in an undefinable haze64 of confusion. The earthen sides of the fosse seem to quiver under the drenching65 onset66, though it is practically no more to them than the blows of Thor upon the giant of Jotun-land. It is impossible to proceed further till the storm somewhat abates67, and I draw up behind a spur of the inner scarp, where possibly a barricade68 stood two thousand years ago; and thus await events.
The roar of the storm can be heard travelling the complete circuit of the castle—a measured mile—coming round at intervals69 like a circumambulating column of infantry70. Doubtless such a column has passed this way in its time, but the only columns which enter in these latter days are the columns of sheep and oxen that are sometimes seen here now; while the only semblance71 of heroic voices heard are the utterances72 of such, and of the many winds which make their passage through the ravines.
The expected lightning radiates round, and a rumbling73 as from its subterranean74 vaults—if there are any—fills the castle. The lightning repeats itself, and, coming after the aforesaid thoughts of martial75 men, it bears a fanciful resemblance to swords moving in combat. It has the very brassy hue76 of the ancient weapons that here were used. The so sudden entry upon the scene of this metallic77 flame is as the entry of a presiding exhibitor who unrolls the maps, uncurtains the pictures, unlocks the cabinets, and effects a transformation78 by merely exposing the materials of his science, unintelligibly80 cloaked till then. The abrupt57 configuration81 of the bluffs and mounds83 is now for the first time clearly revealed—mounds whereon, doubtless, spears and shields have frequently lain while their owners loosened their sandals and yawned and stretched their arms in the sun. For the first time, too, a glimpse is obtainable of the true entrance used by its occupants of old, some way ahead.
There, where all passage has seemed to be inviolably barred by an almost vertical84 façade, the ramparts are found to overlap85 each other like loosely clasped fingers, between which a zigzag86 path may be followed—a cunning construction that puzzles the uninformed eye. But its cunning, even where not obscured by dilapidation87, is now wasted on the solitary88 forms of a few wild badgers89, rabbits, and hares. Men must have often gone out by those gates in the morning to battle with the Roman legions under Vespasian; some to return no more, others to come back at evening, bringing with them the noise of their heroic deeds. But not a page, not a stone, has preserved their fame.
Acoustic90 perceptions multiply to-night. We can almost hear the stream of years that have borne those deeds away from us. Strange articulations seem to float on the air from that point, the gateway91, where the animation92 in past times must frequently have concentrated itself at hours of coming and going, and general excitement. There arises an ineradicable fancy that they are human voices; if so, they must be the lingering air-borne vibrations93 of conversations uttered at least fifteen hundred years ago. The attention is attracted from mere79 nebulous imaginings about yonder spot by a real moving of something close at hand.
I recognize by the now moderate flashes of lightning, which are sheet-like and nearly continuous, that it is the gradual elevation94 of a small mound82 of earth. At first no larger than a man’s fist it reaches the dimensions of a hat, then sinks a little and is still. It is but the heaving of a mole95 who chooses such weather as this to work in from some instinct that there will be nobody abroad to molest96 him. As the fine earth lifts and lifts and falls loosely aside fragments of burnt clay roll out of it—clay that once formed part of cups or other vessels97 used by the inhabitants of the fortress.
The violence of the storm has been counterbalanced by its transitoriness. From being immersed in well-nigh solid media of cloud and hail shot with lightning, I find myself uncovered of the humid investiture and left bare to the mild gaze of the moon, which sparkles now on every wet grass-blade and frond98 of moss.
But I am not yet inside the fort, and the delayed ascent of the third and last escarpment is now made. It is steeper than either. The first was a surface to walk up, the second to stagger up, the third can only be ascended99 on the hands and toes. On the summit obtrudes100 the first evidence which has been met with in these precincts that the time is really the nineteenth century; it is in the form of a white notice-board on a post, and the wording can just be discerned by the rays of the setting moon:
CAUTION.—Any Person found removing Relics101, Skeletons, Stones, Pottery103, Tiles, or other Material from this Earthwork, or cutting up the Ground, will be Prosecuted104 as the Law directs.
Here one observes a difference underfoot from what has gone before: scraps105 of Roman tile and stone chippings protrude106 through the grass in meagre quantity, but sufficient to suggest that masonry107 stood on the spot. Before the eye stretches under the moonlight the interior of the fort. So open and so large is it as to be practically an upland plateau, and yet its area lies wholly within the walls of what may be designated as one building. It is a long-violated retreat; all its corner-stones, plinths, and architraves were carried away to build neighbouring villages even before mediaeval or modern history began. Many a block which once may have helped to form a bastion here rests now in broken and diminished shape as part of the chimney-corner of some shepherd’s cottage within the distant horizon, and the corner-stones of this heathen altar may form the base-course of some adjoining village church.
Yet the very bareness of these inner courts and wards18, their condition of mere pasturage, protects what remains108 of them as no defences could do. Nothing is left visible that the hands can seize on or the weather overturn, and a permanence of general outline at least results, which no other condition could ensure.
The position of the castle on this isolated109 hill bespeaks110 deliberate and strategic choice exercised by some remote mind capable of prospective111 reasoning to a far extent. The natural configuration of the surrounding country and its bearing upon such a stronghold were obviously long considered and viewed mentally before its extensive design was carried into execution. Who was the man that said, ‘Let it be built here!’—not on that hill yonder, or on that ridge112 behind, but on this best spot of all? Whether he were some great one of the Belgae, or of the Durotriges, or the travelling engineer of Britain’s united tribes, must for ever remain time’s secret; his form cannot be realized, nor his countenance113, nor the tongue that he spoke114, when he set down his foot with a thud and said, ‘Let it be here!’
Within the innermost enclosure, though it is so wide that at a superficial glance the beholder116 has only a sense of standing on a breezy down, the solitude is rendered yet more solitary by the knowledge that between the benighted117 sojourner118 herein and all kindred humanity are those three concentric walls of earth which no being would think of scaling on such a night as this, even were he to hear the most pathetic cries issuing hence that could be uttered by a spectre-chased soul. I reach a central mound or platform—the crown and axis119 of the whole structure. The view from here by day must be of almost limitless extent. On this raised floor, dais, or rostrum, harps120 have probably twanged more or less tuneful notes in celebration of daring, strength, or cruelty; of worship, superstition121, love, birth, and death; of simple loving-kindness perhaps never. Many a time must the king or leader have directed his keen eyes hence across the open lands towards the ancient road, the Icening Way, still visible in the distance, on the watch for armed companies approaching either to succour or to attack.
I am startled by a voice pronouncing my name. Past and present have become so confusedly mingled122 under the associations of the spot that for a time it has escaped my memory that this mound was the place agreed on for the aforesaid appointment. I turn and behold115 my friend. He stands with a dark lantern in his hand and a spade and light pickaxe over his shoulder. He expresses both delight and surprise that I have come. I tell him I had set out before the bad weather began.
He, to whom neither weather, darkness, nor difficulty seems to have any relation or significance, so entirely123 is his soul wrapped up in his own deep intentions, asks me to take the lantern and accompany him. I take it and walk by his side. He is a man about sixty, small in figure, with grey old-fashioned whiskers cut to the shape of a pair of crumb-brushes. He is entirely in black broadcloth—or rather, at present, black and brown, for he is bespattered with mud from his heels to the crown of his low hat. He has no consciousness of this—no sense of anything but his purpose, his ardour for which causes his eyes to shine like those of a lynx, and gives his motions, all the elasticity124 of an athlete’s.
We retreat a little way and find a sort of angle, an elevation in the sod, a suggested squareness amid the mass of irregularities around. Here, he tells me, if anywhere, the king’s house stood. Three months of measurement and calculation have confirmed him in this conclusion.
He requests me now to open the lantern, which I do, and the light streams out upon the wet sod. At last divining his proceedings127 I say that I had no idea, in keeping the tryst128, that he was going to do more at such an unusual time than meet me for a meditative129 ramble130 through the stronghold. I ask him why, having a practicable object, he should have minded interruptions and not have chosen the day? He informs me, quietly pointing to his spade, that it was because his purpose is to dig, then signifying with a grim nod the gaunt notice-post against the sky beyond. I inquire why, as a professed131 and well-known antiquary with capital letters at the tail of his name, he did not obtain the necessary authority, considering the stringent132 penalties for this sort of thing; and he chuckles fiercely again with suppressed delight, and says, ‘Because they wouldn’t have given it!’
He at once begins cutting up the sod, and, as he takes the pickaxe to follow on with, assures me that, penalty or no penalty, honest men or marauders, he is sure of one thing, that we shall not be disturbed at our work till after dawn.
I remember to have heard of men who, in their enthusiasm for some special science, art, or hobby, have quite lost the moral sense which would restrain them from indulging it illegitimately; and I conjecture133 that here, at last, is an instance of such an one. He probably guesses the way my thoughts travel, for he stands up and solemnly asserts that he has a distinctly justifiable134 intention in this matter; namely, to uncover, to search, to verify a theory or displace it, and to cover up again. He means to take away nothing—not a grain of sand. In this he says he sees no such monstrous135 sin. I inquire if this is really a promise to me? He repeats that it is a promise, and resumes digging. My contribution to the labour is that of directing the light constantly upon the hole. When he has reached something more than a foot deep he digs more cautiously, saying that, be it much or little there, it will not lie far below the surface; such things never are deep. A few minutes later the point of the pickaxe clicks upon a stony136 substance. He draws the implement137 out as feelingly as if it had entered a man’s body. Taking up the spade he shovels138 with care, and a surface, level as an altar, is presently disclosed. His eyes flash anew; he pulls handfuls of grass and mops the surface clean, finally rubbing it with his handkerchief. Grasping the lantern from my hand he holds it close to the ground, when the rays reveal a complete mosaic—a pavement of minute tesserae of many colours, of intricate pattern, a work of much art, of much time, and of much industry. He exclaims in a shout that he knew it always—that it is not a Celtic stronghold exclusively, but also a Roman; the former people having probably contributed little more than the original framework which the latter took and adapted till it became the present imposing139 structure.
I ask, What if it is Roman?
A great deal, according to him. That it proves all the world to be wrong in this great argument, and himself alone to be right! Can I wait while he digs further?
I agree—reluctantly; but he does not notice my reluctance140. At an adjoining spot he begins flourishing the tools anew with the skill of a navvy, this venerable scholar with letters after his name. Sometimes he falls on his knees, burrowing141 with his hands in the manner of a hare, and where his old-fashioned broadcloth touches the sides of the hole it gets plastered with the damp earth. He continually murmurs142 to himself how important, how very important, this discovery is! He draws out an object; we wash it in the same primitive143 way by rubbing it with the wet grass, and it proves to be a semi-transparent bottle of iridescent144 beauty, the sight of which draws groans145 of luxurious146 sensibility from the digger. Further and further search brings out a piece of a weapon. It is strange indeed that by merely peeling off a wrapper of modern accumulations we have lowered ourselves into an ancient world. Finally a skeleton is uncovered, fairly perfect. He lays it out on the grass, bone to its bone.
My friend says the man must have fallen fighting here, as this is no place of burial. He turns again to the trench, scrapes, feels, till from a corner he draws out a heavy lump—a small image four or five inches high. We clean it as before. It is a statuette, apparently147 of gold, or, more probably, of bronze-gilt148—a figure of Mercury, obviously, its head being surmounted149 with the petasus or winged hat, the usual accessory of that deity150. Further inspection151 reveals the workmanship to be of good finish and detail, and, preserved by the limy earth, to be as fresh in every line as on the day it left the hands of its artificer.
We seem to be standing in the Roman Forum152 and not on a hill in Wessex. Intent upon this truly valuable relic102 of the old empire of which even this remote spot was a component153 part, we do not notice what is going on in the present world till reminded of it by the sudden renewal154 of the storm. Looking up I perceive that the wide extinguisher of cloud has again settled down upon the fortress-town, as if resting upon the edge of the inner rampart, and shutting out the moon. I turn my back to the tempest, still directing the light across the hole. My companion digs on unconcernedly; he is living two thousand years ago, and despises things of the moment as dreams. But at last he is fairly beaten, and standing up beside me looks round on what he has done. The rays of the lantern pass over the trench to the tall skeleton stretched upon the grass on the other side. The beating rain has washed the bones clean and smooth, and the forehead, cheek-bones, and two-and-thirty teeth of the skull155 glisten156 in the candle-shine as they lie.
This storm, like the first, is of the nature of a squall, and it ends as abruptly157 as the other. We dig no further. My friend says that it is enough—he has proved his point. He turns to replace the bones in the trench and covers them. But they fall to pieces under his touch: the air has disintegrated158 them, and he can only sweep in the fragments. The next act of his plan is more than difficult, but is carried out. The treasures are inhumed again in their respective holes: they are not ours. Each deposition159 seems to cost him a twinge; and at one moment I fancied I saw him slip his hand into his coat pocket.
‘We must re-bury them all,’ say I.
‘O yes,’ he answers with integrity. ‘I was wiping my hand.’
The beauties of the tesselated floor of the governor’s house are once again consigned160 to darkness; the trench is filled up; the sod laid smoothly161 down; he wipes the perspiration162 from his forehead with the same handkerchief he had used to mop the skeleton and tesserae clean; and we make for the eastern gate of the fortress.
Dawn bursts upon us suddenly as we reach the opening. It comes by the lifting and thinning of the clouds that way till we are bathed in a pink light. The direction of his homeward journey is not the same as mine, and we part under the outer slope.
Walking along quickly to restore warmth I muse163 upon my eccentric friend, and cannot help asking myself this question: Did he really replace the gilded164 image of the god Mercurius with the rest of the treasures? He seemed to do so; and yet I could not testify to the fact. Probably, however, he was as good as his word.
It was thus I spoke to myself, and so the adventure ended. But one thing remains to be told, and that is concerned with seven years after. Among the effects of my friend, at that time just deceased, was found, carefully preserved, a gilt statuette representing Mercury, labelled ‘Debased Roman.’ No record was attached to explain how it came into his possession. The figure was bequeathed to the Casterbridge Museum.
Detroit Post,
March 1885.
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1
obtrusive
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| adj.显眼的；冒失的 | |
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gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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luminous
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| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
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bluffs
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| 恐吓( bluff的名词复数 )； 悬崖； 峭壁 | |
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immutable
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| adj.不可改变的，永恒的 | |
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marine
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| adj.海的；海生的；航海的；海事的；n.水兵 | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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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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bosoms
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| 胸部( bosom的名词复数 )； 胸怀； 女衣胸部（或胸襟）； 和爱护自己的人在一起的情形 | |
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eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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warts
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| n.疣( wart的名词复数 )；肉赘；树瘤；缺点 | |
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knuckles
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| n.（指人）指关节( knuckle的名词复数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝v.（指人）指关节( knuckle的第三人称单数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝 | |
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hips
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| abbr.high impact polystyrene 高冲击强度聚苯乙烯，耐冲性聚苯乙烯n.臀部( hip的名词复数 )；[建筑学]屋脊；臀围（尺寸）；臀部…的 | |
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antediluvian
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| adj.史前的，陈旧的 | |
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mantle
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| n.斗篷，覆罩之物，罩子；v.罩住，覆盖，脸红 | |
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wards
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| 区( ward的名词复数 )； 病房； 受监护的未成年者； 被人照顾或控制的状态 | |
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furrows
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| n.犁沟( furrow的名词复数 )；（脸上的）皱纹v.犁田，开沟( furrow的第三人称单数 ) | |
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trench
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| n./v.(挖)沟，(挖)战壕 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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withdrawal
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| n.取回，提款；撤退，撤军；收回，撤销 | |
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bestows
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的第三人称单数 ) | |
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subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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pervasive
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| adj.普遍的；遍布的，(到处)弥漫的；渗透性的 | |
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persistently
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| ad.坚持地；固执地 | |
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arable
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| adj.可耕的，适合种植的 | |
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obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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fortress
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| n.堡垒，防御工事 | |
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plod
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| v.沉重缓慢地走，孜孜地工作 | |
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looms
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| n.织布机( loom的名词复数 )v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的第三人称单数 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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harp
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| n.竖琴；天琴座 | |
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undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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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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solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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38
appallingly
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| 毛骨悚然地 | |
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39
laboriously
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| adv.艰苦地；费力地；辛勤地；（文体等）佶屈聱牙地 | |
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40
withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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41
moss
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| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
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42
ascent
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| n.(声望或地位)提高；上升，升高；登高 | |
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43
crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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44
chasm
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| n.深坑，断层，裂口，大分岐，利害冲突 | |
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45
gapes
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| v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的第三人称单数 )；张开，张大 | |
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46
chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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47
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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48
waggon
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| n.运货马车，运货车；敞篷车箱 | |
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49
ponderousness
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50
ascend
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| vi.渐渐上升，升高；vt.攀登，登上 | |
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51
twitch
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| v.急拉，抽动，痉挛，抽搐；n.扯，阵痛，痉挛 | |
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52
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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53
cascade
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| n.小瀑布，喷流；层叠；vi.成瀑布落下 | |
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54
gusts
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| 一阵强风( gust的名词复数 )； （怒、笑等的）爆发； （感情的）迸发； 发作 | |
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55
overcast
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| adj.阴天的，阴暗的，愁闷的；v.遮盖，（使）变暗，包边缝；n.覆盖，阴天 | |
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56
lull
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| v.使安静，使入睡，缓和，哄骗；n.暂停，间歇 | |
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57
abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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58
abruptness
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| n. 突然，唐突 | |
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59
precursor
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| n.先驱者；前辈；前任；预兆；先兆 | |
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60
exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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61
defile
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| v.弄污，弄脏；n.(山间)小道 | |
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62
hopping
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| n. 跳跃 动词hop的现在分词形式 | |
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63
clattering
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的现在分词形式） | |
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64
haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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65
drenching
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| n.湿透v.使湿透( drench的现在分词 )；在某人（某物）上大量使用（某液体） | |
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66
onset
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| n.进攻，袭击，开始，突然开始 | |
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67
abates
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| 减少( abate的第三人称单数 )； 减去； 降价； 撤消（诉讼） | |
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68
barricade
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| n.路障，栅栏，障碍；vt.设路障挡住 | |
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69
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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70
infantry
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| n.[总称]步兵(部队) | |
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71
semblance
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| n.外貌，外表 | |
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72
utterances
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| n.发声( utterance的名词复数 )；说话方式；语调；言论 | |
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73
rumbling
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| n. 隆隆声, 辘辘声 adj. 隆隆响的 动词rumble的现在分词 | |
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74
subterranean
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|
| adj.地下的，地表下的 | |
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75
martial
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| adj.战争的，军事的，尚武的，威武的 | |
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76
hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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77
metallic
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|
| adj.金属的；金属制的；含金属的；产金属的；像金属的 | |
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78
transformation
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| n.变化；改造；转变 | |
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79
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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80
unintelligibly
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| 难以理解地 | |
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81
configuration
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| n.结构，布局，形态，(计算机)配置 | |
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82
mound
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| n.土墩，堤，小山；v.筑堤，用土堆防卫 | |
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83
mounds
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| 土堆，土丘( mound的名词复数 )； 一大堆 | |
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84
vertical
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| adj.垂直的，顶点的，纵向的；n.垂直物，垂直的位置 | |
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85
overlap
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| v.重叠，与…交叠；n.重叠 | |
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86
zigzag
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|
| n.曲折，之字形；adj.曲折的，锯齿形的；adv.曲折地，成锯齿形地；vt.使曲折；vi.曲折前行 | |
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87
dilapidation
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| n.倒塌；毁坏 | |
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88
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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89
badgers
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| n.獾( badger的名词复数 )；獾皮；（大写）獾州人（美国威斯康星州人的别称）；毛鼻袋熊 | |
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90
acoustic
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| adj.听觉的，声音的；(乐器)原声的 | |
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91
gateway
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| n.大门口，出入口，途径，方法 | |
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92
animation
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| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
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93
vibrations
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| n.摆动( vibration的名词复数 )；震动；感受；（偏离平衡位置的）一次性往复振动 | |
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94
elevation
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| n.高度；海拔；高地；上升；提高 | |
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95
mole
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| n.胎块；痣；克分子 | |
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96
molest
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| vt.骚扰，干扰，调戏 | |
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97
vessels
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| 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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98
frond
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| n.棕榈类植物的叶子 | |
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99
ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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100
obtrudes
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| v.强行向前，强行，强迫( obtrude的第三人称单数 ) | |
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101
relics
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| [pl.］n.遗物，遗迹，遗产；遗体，尸骸 | |
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102
relic
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| n.神圣的遗物，遗迹，纪念物 | |
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103
pottery
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| n.陶器，陶器场 | |
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104
prosecuted
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| a.被起诉的 | |
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105
scraps
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| 油渣 | |
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106
protrude
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| v.使突出，伸出，突出 | |
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107
masonry
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| n.砖土建筑；砖石 | |
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108
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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109
isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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110
bespeaks
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| v.预定( bespeak的第三人称单数 )；订（货）；证明；预先请求 | |
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111
prospective
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| adj.预期的，未来的，前瞻性的 | |
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112
ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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113
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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114
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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115
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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116
beholder
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| n.观看者，旁观者 | |
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117
benighted
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| adj.蒙昧的 | |
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118
sojourner
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| n.旅居者，寄居者 | |
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119
axis
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| n.轴，轴线，中心线；坐标轴，基准线 | |
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120
harps
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| abbr.harpsichord 拨弦古钢琴n.竖琴( harp的名词复数 ) | |
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121
superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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122
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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123
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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124
elasticity
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| n.弹性，伸缩力 | |
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125
chuckles
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的名词复数 ) | |
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126
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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127
proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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128
tryst
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| n.约会；v.与…幽会 | |
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129
meditative
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| adj.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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130
ramble
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| v.漫步，漫谈，漫游；n.漫步，闲谈，蔓延 | |
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131
professed
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| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
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132
stringent
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| adj.严厉的；令人信服的；银根紧的 | |
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133
conjecture
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| n./v.推测，猜测 | |
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134
justifiable
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| adj.有理由的，无可非议的 | |
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135
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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136
stony
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| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
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137
implement
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| n.(pl.)工具，器具；vt.实行，实施，执行 | |
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138
shovels
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| n.铲子( shovel的名词复数 )；锹；推土机、挖土机等的)铲；铲形部份v.铲子( shovel的第三人称单数 )；锹；推土机、挖土机等的)铲；铲形部份 | |
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139
imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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140
reluctance
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| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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141
burrowing
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| v.挖掘（洞穴），挖洞( burrow的现在分词 )；翻寻 | |
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142
murmurs
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| n.低沉、连续而不清的声音( murmur的名词复数 )；低语声；怨言；嘀咕 | |
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143
primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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144
iridescent
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| adj.彩虹色的，闪色的 | |
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145
groans
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| n.呻吟，叹息( groan的名词复数 )；呻吟般的声音v.呻吟( groan的第三人称单数 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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146
luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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147
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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148
gilt
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| adj.镀金的；n.金边证券 | |
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149
surmounted
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| 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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150
deity
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| n.神，神性；被奉若神明的人(或物) | |
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151
inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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152
forum
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| n.论坛，讨论会 | |
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153
component
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| n.组成部分，成分，元件；adj.组成的，合成的 | |
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154
renewal
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| adj.(契约)延期，续订，更新，复活，重来 | |
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155
skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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156
glisten
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| vi.（光洁或湿润表面等）闪闪发光，闪闪发亮 | |
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157
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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158
disintegrated
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| v.（使）破裂[分裂，粉碎]，（使）崩溃( disintegrate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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159
deposition
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| n.免职，罢官；作证；沉淀；沉淀物 | |
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160
consigned
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| v.把…置于（令人不快的境地）( consign的过去式和过去分词 )；把…托付给；把…托人代售；丟弃 | |
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161
smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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162
perspiration
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| n.汗水；出汗 | |
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163
muse
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| n.缪斯（希腊神话中的女神），创作灵感 | |
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164
gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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