“Good-bye,” the whistle blew and the ferry-steamer forged ahead, leaving Davies on the quay1, bareheaded and wearing his old Norfolk jacket and stained grey flannels2, as at our first meeting in Flensburg station. There was no bandaged hand this time, but he looked pinched and depressed3; his eyes had black circles round them; and again I felt that same indefinable pathos4 in him.
“Your friend is in low spirits,” said Böhme, who was installed on a seat beside me, voluminously caped5 and rugged6 against the biting air. It was a still, sunless day.
“So am I,” I grunted7, and it was the literal truth. I was only half awake, felt unwashed and dissipated, heavy in head and limbs. But for Davies I should never have been where I was. It was he who had patiently coaxed8 me out of my bunk9, packed my bag, fed me with tea and an omelette (to which I believe he had devoted10 peculiarly tender care), and generally mothered me for departure. While I swallowed my second cup he was brushing the mould and smoothing the dents11 from my felt hat, which had been entombed for a month in the sail-locker; working at it with a remorseful12 concern in his face. The only initiative I am conscious of having shown was in the matter of my bag. “Put in my sea clothes, oils, and all,” I had said; “I may want them again.” There was mortal need of a thorough consultation14, but this was out of the question. Davies did not badger15 or complain, but only timidly asked me how we were to meet and communicate, a question on which my mind was an absolute blank.
“Look out for me about the 26th,” I suggested feebly.
Before we left the cabin he gave me a scrap16 of pencilled paper and saw that it went safely into my pocket-book. “Look at it in the train,” he said.
Unable to cope with Böhme, I paced the deck aimlessly as we swung round the See Gat into the Buse Tief, trying to identify the point where we crossed it yesterday blindfold17. But the tide was full, and the waters blank for miles round till they merged18 in haze19. Soon I drifted down into the saloon, and crouching20 over a stove pulled out that scrap of paper. In a crabbed21, boyish hand, and much besmudged with tobacco-ashes, I found the following notes:
(1) Your journey. [See Maps A and B.] Norddeich 8.58, Emden 10.32, Leer 11.16 (Böhme changes for Bremen), Rheine 1.8 (change), Amsterdam 7.17 p.m. Leave again via Hook 8.52, London 9 am.
(2) The coast-station—their rondezvous—querry is it Norden? (You pass it 9.13)—there is a tidal creek22 up to it. High-water there on 25th, say 10.30 to 11 p.m. It cannot be Norddeich, which I find has a dredged-out low-water channel for the steamer, so tide “serves” would not apply.
(3) Your other clews (tugs23, pilots, depths, railway, Esens, seven of something). Querry: Scheme of defence by land and sea for North Sea Coast?
Sea—7 islands, 7 channels between (counting West Ems), very small depths (what you said) in most of them. Tugs and pilots for patrol work behind islands, as I always said. Querry: Rondezvous is for inspecting channels?
Land—Look at railway (map in ulster pocket) running in a loop all round Friesland, a few miles from coast. Querry: To be used as line of communication for army corps25. Troops could be quickly sent to any threatened point. Esens the base? It is in top centre of loop. Von Brooning dished us fairly over that at Bensersiel.
Von Brooning runs naval part over here.
Where does Burmer come in? Querry—you go to Bremen and find out about him?
I nodded stupidly over this document—so stupidly that I found myself wondering whether Burmer was a place or a person. Then I dozed27, to wake with a violent start and find the paper on the floor. Panic-stricken, I hid it away, and went on deck, when I found we were close to Norddeich, running up to the bleakest28 of bleak29 jetties thrown out from the dyke-bound polders of the mainland. Böhme and I landed together, and he was at my elbow as I asked for a ticket for Amsterdam, and was given one as far as Rheine, a junction30 near the Dutch frontier. He was ensconced in an opposite corner to me in the railway carriage, looking like an Indian idol31. “Where do you come in?” I pondered, dreamily. Too sleepy to talk, I could only blink at him, sitting bolt upright with my arms folded over my precious pocket-book. Finally, I gave up the struggle, buttoned my ulster tightly up, and turning my back upon him with an apology, lay down to sleep, the precious pocket nethermost32. He was at liberty to rifle my bag if he chose, and I dare say he did. I cannot say, for from this point till Rheine, for the best part of four hours, that is, I had only two lucid33 intervals34.
The first was at Emden, where we both had to change. Here, as we pushed our way down the crowded platform, Böhme, after being greeted respectfully by several persons, was at last buttonholed without means of escape by an obsequious35 gentleman, whose description is of no moment, but whose conversation is. It was about a canal; what canal I did not gather, though, from a name dropped, I afterwards identified it as one in course of construction as a feeder to the Ems. The point is that the subject was canals. At the moment it was seed dropped in unreceptive soil, but it germinated36 later. I passed on, mingling37 with the crowd, and was soon asleep again in another carriage where Böhme this time did not follow me.
The second occasion was at Leer, where I heard myself called by name, and woke to find him at the window. He had to change trains, and had come to say good-bye. “Don’t forget to go to Lloyd’s,” he grated in my ear. I expect it was a wan13 smile that I returned, for I was at a very low ebb38, and my fortress39 looked sarcastically40 impregnable. But the sapper was free; “free” was my last conscious thought.
Even after Rheine, where I changed for the last time, a brutish drowsiness41 enchained me, and the afternoon was well advanced before my faculties42 began to revive.
The train crept like a snail43 from station to station. I might, so a fellow-passenger told me, have waited three hours at Rheine for an express which would have brought me to Amsterdam at about the same time; or, if I had chosen to break the journey farther back, two hours at either Emden or Leer would still have enabled me to catch the said express at Rheine. These alternatives had escaped Davies, and, I surmised44, had been suppressed by Böhme, who doubtless did not want me behind him, free either to double back or to follow him to Bremen.
The pace, then, was execrable, and there were delays; we were behind time at Hengelo, thirty minutes late at Apeldoorn; so that I might well have grown nervous about my connexions at Amsterdam, which were in some jeopardy45. But as I battled out of my lethargy and began to take account of our position and prospects46, quite a different thought at the outset affected47 me. Anxiety to reach London was swamped in reluctance48 to quit Germany, so that I found myself grudging49 every mile that I placed between me and the frontier. It was the old question of urgency. To-day was the 23rd. The visit to London meant a minimum absence of forty-eight hours, counting from Amsterdam; that is to say, that by travelling for two nights and one day, and devoting the other day to investigating Dollmann’s past, it was humanly possible for me to be back on the Frisian coast on the evening of the 25th. Yes, I could be at Norden, if that was the “rendezvous”, at 7 p.m. But what a scramble50! No margin51 for delays, no physical respite52. Some pasts take a deal of raking up—other persons may be affected; men are cautious, they trip you up with red tape; or the man who knows is out at lunch—a protracted53 lunch; or in the country—a protracted week-end. Will you see Mr So-and-so, or leave a note? Oh! I know those public departments—from the inside! And the Admiralty!... I saw myself baffled and racing54 back the same night to Germany, with two days wasted, arriving, good for nothing, at Norden, with no leisure to reconnoitre my ground; to be baffled again there, probably, for you cannot always count on fogs (as Davies said). Esens was another clue, and “to follow Burmer”—there was something in that notion. But I wanted time, and had I time? How long could Davies maintain himself at Norderney? Not so very long, from what I remembered of last night. And was he even safe there? A feverish55 dream recurred56 to me—a dream of Davies in a diving-dress; of a regrettable hitch57 in the air-supply—Stop, that was nonsense!... Let us be sane58. What matter if he had to go? What matter if I took my time in London? Then with a flood of shame I saw Davies’s wistful face on the quay, heard his grim ejaculation: “He’s our game or no one’s”; and my own sullen59 “Oh, I’ll keep the secret!” London was utterly60 impossible. If I found my informant, what credentials61 had I, what claim to confidences? None, unless I told the whole story. Why, my mere62 presence in Whitehall would imperil the secret; for, once on my native heath, I should be recognised—possibly haled to judgement; at the best should escape in a cloud of rumour—“last heard of at Norderney”; “only this morning was raising Cain at the Admiralty about a mythical63 lieutenant64.” No! Back to Friesland, was the word. One night’s rest—I must have that—between sheets, on a feather bed; one long, luxurious65 night, and then back refreshed to Friesland, to finish our work in our own way, and with none but our own weapons.
Having reached this resolve, I was nearly putting it into instant execution, by alighting at Amersfoort, but thought better of it. I had a transformation66 to effect before I returned north, and the more populous67 centre I made it in the less it was likely to attract notice. Besides, I had in my mind’s eye a perfect bed in a perfect hostelry hard by the Amstel River. It was an economy in the end.
So, at half-past eight I was sipping68 my coffee in the aforesaid hostelry, with a London newspaper before me, which was unusually interesting, and some German journals, which, “in hate of a wrong not theirs”, were one and all seething69 with rancorous Anglophobia. At nine I was in the Jewish quarter, striking bargains in an infamous70 marine71 slop-shop. At half-past nine I was despatching this unscrupulous telegram to my chief—“Very sorry, could not call Norderney; hope extension all right; please write to Hôtel du Louvre, Paris.” At ten I was in the perfect bed, rapturously flinging my limbs abroad in its glorious redundancies. And at 8.28 on the following morning, with a novel chilliness73 about the upper lip, and a vast excess of strength and spirits, I was sitting in a third-class carriage, bound for Germany, and dressed as a young seaman74, in a pea-jacket, peaked cap, and comforter.
The transition had not been difficult. I had shaved off my moustache and breakfasted hastily in my bedroom, ready equipped for a journey in my ulster and cloth cap. I had dismissed the hotel porter at the station, and left my bag at the cloak-room, after taking out of it an umber bundle and substituting the ulster. The umber bundle, which consisted of my oilskins, and within them my sea-boots and a few other garments and necessaries, the whole tied up with a length of tarry rope, was now in the rack above me, and (with a stout75 stick) represented my luggage. Every article in it—I shudder76 at their origin—was in strict keeping with my humble77 métier, for I knew they were liable to search at the frontier Custom-house; but there was a Baedeker of Northern Germany in my jacket pocket.
For the nonce, if questions were asked, I was an English seaman, going to Emden to join a ship, with a ticket as far as the frontier. Beyond that a definite scheme of action had still to be thought out. One thing, however, was sure. I was determined78 to be at Norden to-morrow night, the 25th. A word about Norden, which is a small town seven miles south of Norddeich. When hurriedly scanning the map for coast stations in the cabin yesterday, I had not thought of Norden, because it did not appear to be on the coast, but Davies had noticed it while I slept, and I now saw that his pencilled hint was a shrewd one. The creek he spoke79 of, though barely visible on the map, [See Map B] flowed into the Ems Estuary80 in a south-westerly direction. The “night train” tallied81 to perfection, for high tide in the creek would be, as Davies estimated, between 10.30 and 11 p.m. on the night of the 25th; and the time-table showed that the only night train arriving at Norden was one from the south at 10.46 p.m. This looked promising82. Emden, which I had inclined to on the spur of the moment, was out of court in comparison, for many reasons; not the least being that it was served by three trains between 9 p.m. and 1 a.m., so that the phrase “night train” would be ambiguous and not decisive as with Norden.
So far good; but how was I to spend the intervening time? Should I act on Davies’s “querry” and go to Bremen after Böhme? I soon dismissed that idea. It was one to act upon if others failed; for the present it meant another scramble. Bremen is six hours from Norden by rail. I should spend a disproportionate amount of my limited time in trains, and I should want a different disguise. Besides, I had already learnt something fresh about Böhme; for the seed dropped at Emden Station yesterday had come to life. A submarine engineer I knew him to be before; I now knew that canals were another branch of his labours—not a very illuminating83 fact; but could I pick up more in a single day?
There remained Esens, and it was thither84 I resolved to go to-night—a tedious journey, lasting85 till past eight in the evening; but there I should only be an hour from Norden by rail.
And at Esens?
All day long I strove for light on the central mystery, collecting from my diary, my memory, my imagination, from the map, the time-table, and Davies’s grubby jottings, every elusive86 atom of material. Sometimes I issued from a reverie with a start, to find a phlegmatic87 Dutch peasant staring strangely at me over his china pipe. I was more careful over the German border. Davies’s paper I soon knew by heart. I pictured him writing it with his cramped88 fist in his corner by the stove, fighting against sleep, absently striking salvos of matches, while I snored in my bunk; absently diverging89 into dreams, I knew, of a rose-brown face under dewy hair and a grey tam-o’-shanter; though not a word of her came into the document. I smiled to see his undying faith in the “channel theory” reconciled at the eleventh hour, with new data touching90 the neglected “land”.
The result was certainly interesting, but it left me cold. That there existed in the German archives some such scheme of defence for the North Sea coast was very likely indeed. The seven islands, with their seven shallow channels (though, by the way, two of them, the twin branches of the Ems, are by no means so shallow), were a very fair conjecture91, and fitted in admirably with the channel theory, whose intrinsic merits I had always recognised; my constant objection having been that it did not go nearly far enough to account for our treatment. The ring of railway round the peninsula, with Esens at the apex92, was suggestive, too; but the same objection applied93. Every country with a maritime94 frontier has, I suppose, secret plans of mobilisation for its defence, but they are not such as could be discovered by passing travellers, not such as would warrant stealthy searches, or require for their elaboration so recondite95 a meeting-place as Memmert. Dollmann was another weak point; Dollmann in England, spying. All countries, Germany included, have spies in their service, dirty though necessary tools; but Dollmann in such intimate association with the principal plotters on this side; Dollmann rich, influential96, a power in local affairs—it was clear he was no ordinary spy.
And here I detected a hesitation97 in Davies’s rough sketch98, a reluctance, as it were, to pursue a clue to its logical end. He spoke of a German scheme of coast defence, and in the next breath of Dollmann spying for English plans in the event of war with Germany, and there he left the matter; but what sort of plans? Obviously (if he was on the right track) plans of attack on the German coast as opposed to those of strategy on the high seas. But what sort of an attack? Obviously again, if his railway-ring meant anything, an attack by invasion on that remote and desolate99 littoral100 which he had so often himself declared to be impregnably secure behind its web of sands and shallows. My mind went back to my question at Bensersiel, “Can this coast be invaded?” to his denial and our fruitless survey of the dykes101 and polders. Was he now reverting102 to a fancy we had both rejected, while shrinking from giving it explicit103 utterance104? The doubt was tantalising.
A brief digression here about the phases of my journey. At Rheine I changed trains, turned due north and became a German seaman. There was little risk in a defective105 accent—sailors are so polyglot106; while an English sailor straying about Esens might excite curiosity. Yesterday I had paid no heed107 to the landscape; to-day I neglected nothing that could conceivably supply a hint.
From Rheine to Emden we descended108 the valley of the Ems; at first through a land of thriving towns and fat pastures, degenerating109 farther north to spaces of heathery bog110 and moorland—a sad country, but looking at its best, such as that was, for I should mention here that the weather, which in the early morning had been as cold and misty111 as ever, grew steadily112 milder and brighter as the day advanced; while my newspaper stated that the glass was falling and the anticyclone giving way to pressure from the Atlantic.
At Emden, where we entered Friesland proper, the train crossed a big canal, and for the twentieth time that day (for we had passed numbers of them in Holland, and not a few in Germany), I said to myself, “Canals, canals. Where does Böhme come in?” It was dusk, but light enough to see an unfamiliar113 craft, a torpedo-boat in fact, moored114 to stakes at one side. In a moment I remembered that page in the North Sea Pilot where the Ems-Jade Canal is referred to as deep enough to carry gun-boats, and as used for that strategic purpose between Wilhelmshaven and Emden, along the base, that is, of the Frisian peninsula. I asked a peasant opposite; yes, that was the Ems-Jade Canal. Had Davies forgotten it? It would have greatly strengthened his halting sketch.
At the bookstall at Emden I bought a pocket ordnance115 map [There is, of course, no space to reproduce this, but here and henceforward the reader is referred to Map B.] of Friesland, on a much larger scale than anything I had used before, and when I was unobserved studied the course of the canal, with an impatience116 which, alas117! quickly cooled. From Emden northwards I used the same map to aid my eyesight, and with its help saw in the gathering118 gloom more heaths and bogs119, once a great glimmering120 lake, and at intervals cultivated tracts121; a watery122 land as ever; pools, streams and countless123 drains and ditches. Extensive woods were marked also, but farther inland. We passed Norden at seven, just dark. I looked out for the creek, and sure enough, we crossed it just before entering the station. Its bed was nearly dry, and I distinguished124 barges125 lying aground in it. This being the junction for Esens, I had to wait three-quarters of an hour, and then turned east through the uttermost northern wilds, stopping at occasional village stations and keeping five or six miles from the sea. It was during this stage, in a wretchedly lit compartment126, and alone for the most part, that I finally assembled all my threads and tried to weave them into a cable whose core should be Esens; “a town”, so Baedeker said, “of 3,500 inhabitants, the centre of a rich agricultural district. Fine spire127.”
Esens is four miles inland from Bensersiel. I reviewed every circumstance of that day at Bensersiel, and boiled to think how von Brüning had tricked me. He had driven to Esens himself, and read me so well that he actually offered to take me with him, and I had refused from excess of cleverness. Stay, though; if I had happened to accept he would have taken very good care that I saw nothing important. The secret, therefore, was not writ72 large on the walls of Esens. Was it connected with Bensersiel too, or the country between? I searched the ordnance map again, standing128 up to get a better light and less jolting129. There was the road northwards from Esens to Bensersiel, passing through dots and chess-board squares, the former meaning fen24, the latter fields, so the reference said. Something else, too, immediately caught my eye, and that was a stream running to Bensersiel. I knew it at once for the muddy stream or drain we had seen at the harbour, issuing through the sluice130 or siel from which Bensersiel took its name. But it arrested my attention now because it looked more prominent than I should have expected. Charts are apt to ignore the geography of the mainland, except in so far as it offers sea-marks to mariners131. On the chart this stream had been shown as a rough little corkscrew, like a sucking-pig’s tail. On the ordnance map it was marked with a dark blue line, was labelled “Benser Tief”, and was given a more resolute132 course; bends became angles, and there were what appeared to be artificial straightnesses at certain points. One of the threads in my skein, the canal thread, tingled133 sympathetically, like a wire charged with current. Standing astraddle on both seats, with the map close to the lamp, I greedily followed the course of the “tief” southward. It inclined away from the road to Esens and passed the town about a mile to the west, diving underneath134 the railway. Soon after it took angular tacks135 to the eastward136, and joined another blue line trending south-east, and lettered “Esens—Wittmunder Canal.” This canal, however, came to an abrupt137 end halfway138 to Wittmund, a neighbouring town.
For the first time that day there came to me a sense of genuine inspiration. Those shallow depths and short distances, fractions of metres and kilometres, which I had overheard from Böhme’s lips at Memmert, and which Davies had attributed to the outside channels—did they refer to a canal? I remembered seeing barges in Bensersiel harbour. I remembered conversations with the natives in the inn, scraps139 of the post-master’s pompous140 loquacity141, talks of growing trade, of bricks and grain passing from the interior to the islands: from another source—was it the grocer of Wangeroog?—of expansion of business in the islands themselves as bathing resorts; from another source again—von Brüning himself, surely—of Dollmann’s personal activity in the development of the islands. In obscure connexion with these things, I saw the torpedo-boat in the Ems-Jade Canal.
It was between Dornum and Esens that these ideas came, and I was still absorbed in them when the train drew up, just upon nine o’clock, at my destination, and after ten minutes’ walk, along with a handful of other passengers, I found myself in the quiet cobbled streets of Esens, with the great church steeple, that we had so often seen from the sea, soaring above me in the moonlight.
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quay
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| n.码头，靠岸处 | |
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flannels
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| 法兰绒男裤； 法兰绒( flannel的名词复数 ) | |
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depressed
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| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
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pathos
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| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
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caped
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| 披斗篷的 | |
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rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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coaxed
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| v.哄，用好话劝说( coax的过去式和过去分词 )；巧言骗取；哄劝，劝诱 | |
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bunk
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| n.(车、船等倚壁而设的)铺位；废话 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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dents
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| n.花边边饰；凹痕( dent的名词复数 )；凹部；减少；削弱v.使产生凹痕( dent的第三人称单数 )；损害；伤害；挫伤（信心、名誉等） | |
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remorseful
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| adj.悔恨的 | |
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wan
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| (wide area network)广域网 | |
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consultation
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| n.咨询；商量；商议；会议 | |
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badger
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| v.一再烦扰，一再要求，纠缠 | |
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scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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blindfold
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| vt.蒙住…的眼睛；adj.盲目的；adv.盲目地；n.蒙眼的绷带[布等]； 障眼物，蒙蔽人的事物 | |
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merged
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| （使）混合( merge的过去式和过去分词 )； 相融； 融入； 渐渐消失在某物中 | |
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haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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crabbed
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| adj.脾气坏的；易怒的；（指字迹）难辨认的；（字迹等）难辨认的v.捕蟹( crab的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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tugs
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| n.猛拉( tug的名词复数 )；猛拖；拖船v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的第三人称单数 ) | |
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fen
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| n.沼泽，沼池 | |
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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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naval
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| adj.海军的，军舰的，船的 | |
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dozed
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| v.打盹儿，打瞌睡( doze的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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bleakest
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| 阴冷的( bleak的最高级 )； （状况）无望的； 没有希望的； 光秃的 | |
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bleak
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| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
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junction
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| n.连接，接合；交叉点，接合处，枢纽站 | |
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idol
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| n.偶像，红人，宠儿 | |
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nethermost
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| adj.最下面的 | |
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lucid
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| adj.明白易懂的，清晰的，头脑清楚的 | |
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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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35
obsequious
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| adj.谄媚的，奉承的，顺从的 | |
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36
germinated
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| v.（使）发芽( germinate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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37
mingling
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| adj.混合的 | |
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38
ebb
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| vi.衰退，减退；n.处于低潮，处于衰退状态 | |
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39
fortress
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| n.堡垒，防御工事 | |
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40
sarcastically
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| adv.挖苦地，讽刺地 | |
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41
drowsiness
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| n.睡意；嗜睡 | |
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42
faculties
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| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
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43
snail
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| n.蜗牛 | |
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44
surmised
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| v.臆测，推断( surmise的过去式和过去分词 )；揣测；猜想 | |
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45
jeopardy
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| n.危险；危难 | |
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46
prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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47
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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48
reluctance
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| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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49
grudging
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| adj.勉强的，吝啬的 | |
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50
scramble
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| v.爬行，攀爬，杂乱蔓延，碎片，片段，废料 | |
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51
margin
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| n.页边空白；差额；余地，余裕；边，边缘 | |
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52
respite
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| n.休息，中止，暂缓 | |
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53
protracted
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| adj.拖延的；延长的v.拖延“protract”的过去式和过去分词 | |
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54
racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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55
feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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56
recurred
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| 再发生，复发( recur的过去式和过去分词 )； 治愈 | |
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57
hitch
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| v.免费搭(车旅行)；系住；急提；n.故障；急拉 | |
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58
sane
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| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
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59
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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60
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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61
credentials
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| n.证明，资格，证明书，证件 | |
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62
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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63
mythical
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| adj.神话的；虚构的；想像的 | |
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64
lieutenant
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| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
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65
luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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66
transformation
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| n.变化；改造；转变 | |
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67
populous
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| adj.人口稠密的，人口众多的 | |
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68
sipping
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的现在分词 ) | |
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69
seething
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| 沸腾的，火热的 | |
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70
infamous
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| adj.声名狼藉的，臭名昭著的，邪恶的 | |
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71
marine
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| adj.海的；海生的；航海的；海事的；n.水兵 | |
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72
writ
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| n.命令状，书面命令 | |
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73
chilliness
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| n.寒冷，寒意，严寒 | |
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74
seaman
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| n.海员，水手，水兵 | |
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76
shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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77
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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78
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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79
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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80
estuary
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| n.河口，江口 | |
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81
tallied
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| v.计算，清点( tally的过去式和过去分词 )；加标签（或标记）于；（使）符合；（使）吻合 | |
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82
promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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83
illuminating
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| a.富于启发性的，有助阐明的 | |
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84
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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85
lasting
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| adj.永久的，永恒的；vbl.持续，维持 | |
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86
elusive
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| adj.难以表达(捉摸)的；令人困惑的；逃避的 | |
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87
phlegmatic
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| adj.冷静的，冷淡的，冷漠的，无活力的 | |
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88
cramped
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| a.狭窄的 | |
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89
diverging
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| 分开( diverge的现在分词 )； 偏离； 分歧； 分道扬镳 | |
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90
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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91
conjecture
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| n./v.推测，猜测 | |
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92
apex
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| n.顶点，最高点 | |
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93
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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94
maritime
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| adj.海的，海事的，航海的，近海的，沿海的 | |
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95
recondite
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| adj.深奥的，难解的 | |
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96
influential
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| adj.有影响的，有权势的 | |
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97
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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98
sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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99
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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100
littoral
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| adj.海岸的；湖岸的；n.沿（海）岸地区 | |
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101
dykes
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| abbr.diagonal wire cutters 斜线切割机n.堤( dyke的名词复数 )；坝；堰；沟 | |
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102
reverting
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| 恢复( revert的现在分词 )； 重提； 回到…上； 归还 | |
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103
explicit
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| adj.详述的，明确的；坦率的；显然的 | |
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104
utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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105
defective
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| adj.有毛病的，有问题的，有瑕疵的 | |
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106
polyglot
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| adj.通晓数种语言的；n.通晓多种语言的人 | |
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107
heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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108
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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109
degenerating
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| 衰退，堕落，退化( degenerate的现在分词 ) | |
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110
bog
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| n.沼泽；室...陷入泥淖 | |
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111
misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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112
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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113
unfamiliar
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| adj.陌生的，不熟悉的 | |
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114
moored
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| adj. 系泊的 动词moor的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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115
ordnance
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| n.大炮，军械 | |
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116
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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117
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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118
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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119
bogs
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| n.沼泽，泥塘( bog的名词复数 )；厕所v.（使）陷入泥沼， （使）陷入困境( bog的第三人称单数 )；妨碍，阻碍 | |
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120
glimmering
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| n.微光，隐约的一瞥adj.薄弱地发光的v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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121
tracts
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| 大片土地( tract的名词复数 )； 地带； （体内的）道； （尤指宣扬宗教、伦理或政治的）短文 | |
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122
watery
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| adj.有水的，水汪汪的；湿的，湿润的 | |
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123
countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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124
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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125
barges
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| 驳船( barge的名词复数 ) | |
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126
compartment
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| n.卧车包房，隔间；分隔的空间 | |
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127
spire
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| n.(教堂)尖顶，尖塔，高点 | |
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128
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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129
jolting
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| adj.令人震惊的 | |
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130
sluice
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| n.水闸 | |
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131
mariners
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| 海员，水手（mariner的复数形式） | |
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132
resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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133
tingled
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| v.有刺痛感( tingle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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134
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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135
tacks
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| 大头钉( tack的名词复数 )； 平头钉； 航向； 方法 | |
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136
eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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137
abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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138
halfway
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| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
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139
scraps
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| 油渣 | |
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140
pompous
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| adj.傲慢的，自大的；夸大的；豪华的 | |
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141
loquacity
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| n.多话，饶舌 | |
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