Simon Nishikanta sneered4 openly at what he considered the captain’s inefficient5 navigation, and continued to paint water-colours when he was serene6, and to shoot at whales, sea-birds, and all things hurtable when he was downhearted and sea-sore with disappointment at not sighting the Lion’s Head peak of the Ancient Mariner7’s treasure island.
“I’ll show I ain’t a pincher,” Nishikanta announced one day, after having broiled8 at the mast-head for five hours of sea-searching. “Captain Doane, how much could we have bought extra chronometers9 for in San Francisco—good second-hand11 ones, I mean?”
“Say a hundred dollars,” the captain answered.
“Very well. And this ain’t a piker’s proposition. The cost of such a chronometer10 would have been divided between the three of us. I stand for its total cost. You just tell the sailors that I, Simon Nishikanta, will pay one hundred dollars gold money for the first one that sights land on Mr. Greenleaf’s latitude3 and longitude12.”
But the sailors who swarmed13 the mast-heads were doomed14 to disappointment, in that for only two days did they have opportunity to stare the ocean surface for the reward. Nor was this due entirely15 to Dag Daughtry, despite the fact that his own intention and act would have been sufficient to spoil their chance for longer staring.
Down in the lazarette, under the main-cabin floor, it chanced that he took toll16 of the cases of beer which had been shipped for his especial benefit. He counted the cases, doubted the verdict of his senses, lighted more matches, counted again, then vainly searched the entire lazarette in the hope of finding more cases of beer stored elsewhere.
He sat down under the trap door of the main-cabin floor and thought for a solid hour. It was the Jew again, he concluded—the Jew who had been willing to equip the Mary Turner with two chronometers, but not with three; the Jew who had ratified17 the agreement of a sufficient supply to permit Daughtry his daily six quarts. Once again the steward18 counted the cases to make sure. There were three. And since each case contained two dozen quarts, and since his whack19 each day was half a dozen quarts, it was patent that, the supply that stared him in the face would last him only twelve days. And twelve days were none too long to sail from this unidentifiable naked sea-stretch to the nearest possible port where beer could be purchased.
The steward, once his mind was made up, wasted no time. The clock marked a quarter before twelve when he climbed up out of the lazarette, replaced the trapdoor, and hurried to set the table. He served the company through the noon meal, although it was all he could do to refrain from capsizing the big tureen of split-pea soup over the head of Simon Nishikanta. What did effectually withstrain him was the knowledge of the act which in the lazarette he had already determined20 to perform that afternoon down in the main hold where the water-casks were stored.
At three o’clock, while the Ancient Mariner supposedly drowned in his room, and while Captain Doane, Grimshaw, and half the watch on deck clustered at the mast-heads to try to raise the Lion’s Head from out the sapphire21 sea, Dag Daughtry dropped down the ladder of the open hatchway into the main hold. Here, in long tiers, with alleyways between, the water-casks were chocked safely on their sides.
From inside his shirt the steward drew a brace22, and to it fitted a half-inch bit from his hip-pocket. On his knees, he bored through the head of the first cask until the water rushed out upon the deck and flowed down into the bilge. He worked quickly, boring cask after cask down the alleyway that led to deeper twilight23. When he had reached the end of the first row of casks he paused a moment to listen to the gurglings of the many half-inch streams running to waste. His quick ears caught a similar gurgling from the right in the direction of the next alleyway. Listening closely, he could have sworn he heard the sounds of a bit biting into hard wood.
A minute later, his own brace and bit carefully secreted24, his hand was descending25 on the shoulder of a man he could not recognize in the gloom, but who, on his knees and wheezing26, was steadily27 boring into the head of a cask. The culprit made no effort to escape, and when Daughtry struck a match he gazed down into the upturned face of the Ancient Mariner.
“My word!” the steward muttered his amazement28 softly. “What in hell are you running water out for?”
He could feel the old man’s form trembling with violent nervousness, and his own heart smote29 him for gentleness.
“It’s all right,” he whispered. “Don’t mind me. How many have you bored?”
“All in this tier,” came the whispered answer. “You will not inform on me to the . . . the others?”
“Inform?” Daughtry laughed softly. “I don’t mind telling you that we’re playing the same game, though I don’t know why you should play it. I’ve just finished boring all of the starboard row. Now I tell you, sir, you skin out right now, quietly, while the goin’ is good. Everybody’s aloft, and you won’t be noticed. I’ll go ahead and finish this job . . . all but enough water to last us say a dozen days.”
“I should like to talk with you . . . to explain matters,” the Ancient Mariner whispered.
“Sure, sir, an’ I don’t mind sayin’, sir, that I’m just plain mad curious to hear. I’ll join you down in the cabin, say in ten minutes, and we can have a real gam. But anyway, whatever your game is, I’m with you. Because it happens to be my game to get quick into port, and because, sir, I have a great liking30 and respect for you. Now shoot along. I’ll be with you inside ten minutes.”
“I like you, steward, very much,” the old man quavered.
“And I like you, sir—and a damn sight more than them money-sharks aft. But we’ll just postpone31 this. You beat it out of here, while I finish scuppering the rest of the water.”
A quarter of an hour later, with the three money-sharks still at the mast-heads, Charles Stough Greenleaf was seated in the cabin and sipping32 a highball, and Dag Daughtry was standing33 across the table from him, drinking directly from a quart bottle of beer.
“Maybe you haven’t guessed it,” the Ancient Mariner said; “but this is my fourth voyage after this treasure.”
“You mean . . . ?” Daughtry asked.
“Just that. There isn’t any treasure. There never was one—any more than the Lion’s Head, the longboat, or the bearings unnamable.”’
“Well, you got me, sir. You sure got me to believin’ in that treasure.”
“And I acknowledge, steward, that I am pleased to hear it. It shows that I have not lost my cunning when I can deceive a man like you. It is easy to deceive men whose souls know only money. But you are different. You don’t live and breathe for money. I’ve watched you with your dog. I’ve watched you with your nigger boy. I’ve watched you with your beer. And just because your heart isn’t set on a great buried treasure of gold, you are harder to deceive. Those whose hearts are set, are most astonishingly easy to fool. They are of cheap kidney. Offer them a proposition of one hundred dollars for one, and they are like hungry pike snapping at the bait. Offer a thousand dollars for one, or ten thousand for one, and they become sheer lunatic. I am an old man, a very old man. I like to live until I die—I mean, to live decently, comfortably, respectably.”
“And you like the voyages long? I begin to see, sir. Just as they’re getting near to where the treasure ain’t, a little accident like the loss of their water-supply sends them into port and out again to start hunting all over.”
The Ancient Mariner nodded, and his sun-washed eyes twinkled.
“There was the Emma Louisa. I kept her on the long voyage over eighteen months with water accidents and similar accidents. And, besides, they kept me in one of the best hotels in New Orleans for over four months before the voyage began, and advanced to me handsomely, yes, bravely, handsomely.”
“But tell me more, sir; I am most interested,” Dag Daughtry concluded his simple matter of the beer. “It’s a good game. I might learn it for my old age, though I give you my word, sir, I won’t butt36 in on your game. I wouldn’t tackle it until you are gone, sir, good game that it is.”
“First of all, you must pick out men with money—with plenty of money, so that any loss will not hurt them. Also, they are easier to interest—”
“Because they are more hoggish,” the steward interrupted. “The more money they’ve got the more they want.”
“Precisely,” the Ancient Mariner continued. “And, at least, they are repaid. Such sea-voyages are excellent for their health. After all, I do them neither hurt nor harm, but only good, and add to their health.”
“But them scars—that gouge37 out of your face—all them fingers missing on your hand? You never got them in the fight in the longboat when the bo’s’n carved you up. Then where in Sam Hill did you get the them? Wait a minute, sir. Let me fill your glass first.” And with a fresh-brimmed glass, Charles Stough Greanleaf narrated38 the history of his scars.
“First, you must know, steward, that I am—well, a gentleman. My name has its place in the pages of the history of the United States, even back before the time when they were the United States. I graduated second in my class in a university that it is not necessary to name. For that matter, the name I am known by is not my name. I carefully compounded it out of names of other families. I have had misfortunes. I trod the quarter-deck when I was a young man, though never the deck of the Wide Awake, which is the ship of my fancy—and of my livelihood39 in these latter days.
“The scars you asked about, and the missing fingers? Thus it chanced. It was the morning, at late getting-up times in a Pullman, when the accident happened. The car being crowded, I had been forced to accept an upper berth40. It was only the other day. A few years ago. I was an old man then. We were coming up from Florida. It was a collision on a high trestle. The train crumpled41 up, and some of the cars fell over sideways and fell off, ninety feet into the bottom of a dry creek42. It was dry, though there was a pool of water just ten feet in diameter and eighteen inches deep. All the rest was dry boulders43, and I bull’s-eyed that pool.
“This is the way it was. I had just got on my shoes and pants and shirt, and had started to get out of the bunk44. There I was, sitting on the edge of the bunk, my legs dangling45 down, when the locomotives came together. The berths46, upper and lower, on the opposite side had already been made up by the porter.
“And there I was, sitting, legs dangling, not knowing where I was, on a trestle or a flat, when the thing happened. I just naturally left that upper berth, soared like a bird across the aisle47, went through the glass of the window on the opposite side clean head-first, turned over and over through the ninety feet of fall more times than I like to remember, and by some sort of miracle was mostly flat-out in the air when I bull’s-eyed that pool of water. It was only eighteen inches deep. But I hit it flat, and I hit it so hard that it must have cushioned me. I was the only survivor48 of my car. It struck forty feet away from me, off to the side. And they took only the dead out of it. When they took me out of the pool I wasn’t dead by any means. And when the surgeons got done with me, there were the fingers gone from my hand, that scar down the side of my face . . . and, though you’d never guess it, I’ve been three ribs49 short of the regular complement50 ever since.
“Oh, I had no complaint coming. Think of the others in that car—all dead. Unfortunately, I was riding on a pass, and so could not sue the railroad company. But here I am, the only man who ever dived ninety feet into eighteen inches of water and lived to tell the tale.—Steward, if you don’t mind replenishing my glass . . . ”
Dag Daughtry complied and in his excitement of interest pulled off the top of another quart of beer for himself.
“Go on, go on, sir,” he murmured huskily, wiping his lips, “and the treasure-hunting graft51. I’m straight dying to hear. Sir, I salute52 you.”
“I may say, steward,” the Ancient Mariner resumed, “that I was born with a silver spoon that melted in my mouth and left me a proper prodigal53 son. Also, that I was born with a backbone54 of pride that would not melt. Not for a paltry55 railroad accident, but for things long before as well as after, my family let me die, and I . . . I let it live. That is the story. I let my family live. Furthermore, it was not my family’s fault. I never whimpered. I never let on. I melted the last of my silver spoon—South Sea cotton, an’ it please you, cacao in Tonga, rubber and mahogany in Yucatan. And do you know, at the end, I slept in Bowery lodging-houses and ate scrapple in East-Side feeding-dens, and, on more than one occasion, stood in the bread-line at midnight and pondered whether or not I should faint before I fed.”
The Ancient Mariner straightened up his shoulders, threw his head back, then bowed it and repeated, “No, I never squealed. I went into the poor-house, or the county poor-farm as they call it. I lived sordidly57. I lived like a beast. For six months I lived like a beast, and then I saw my way out. I set about building the Wide Awake. I built her plank58 by plank, and copper-fastened her, selected her masts and every timber of her, and personally signed on her full ship’s complement fore-and-aft, and outfitted59 her amongst the Jews, and sailed with her to the South Seas and the treasure buried a fathom60 under the sand.
“You see,” he explained, “all this I did in my mind, for all the time I was a hostage in the poor-farm of broken men.”
The Ancient Mariner’s face grew suddenly bleak61 and fierce, and his right hand flashed out to Daughtry’s wrist, prisoning it in withered62 fingers of steel.
“It was a long, hard way to get out of the poor-farm and finance my miserable64 little, pitiful little, adventure of the Wide Awake. Do you know that I worked in the poor-farm laundry for two years, for one dollar and a half a week, with my one available hand and what little I could do with the other, sorting dirty clothes and folding sheets and pillow-slips until I thought a thousand times my poor old back would break in two, and until I knew a million times the location in my chest of every fraction of an inch of my missing ribs.”
“You are a young man yet—”
Daughtry grinned denial as he rubbed his grizzled mat of hair.
“You are a young man yet, steward,” the Ancient Mariner insisted with a show of irritation65. “You have never been shut out from life. In the poor-farm one is shut out from life. There is no respect—no, not for age alone, but for human life in the poor-house. How shall I say it? One is not dead. Nor is one alive. One is what once was alive and is in process of becoming dead. Lepers are treated that way. So are the insane. I know it. When I was young and on the sea, a brother-lieutenant went mad. Sometimes he was violent, and we struggled with him, twisting his arms, bruising66 his flesh, tying him helpless while we sat and panted on him that he might not do harm to us, himself, or the ship. And he, who still lived, died to us. Don’t you understand? He was no longer of us, like us. He was something other. That is it—other. And so, in the poor-farm, we, who are yet unburied, are other. You have heard me chatter67 about the hell of the longboat. That is a pleasant diversion in life compared with the poor-farm. The food, the filth68, the abuse, the bullying69, the—the sheer animalness of it!
“For two years I worked for a dollar and a half a week in the laundry. And imagine me, who had melted a silver spoon in my mouth—a sizable silver spoon steward—imagine me, my old sore bones, my old belly70 reminiscent of youth’s delights, my old palate ticklish71 yet and not all withered of the deviltries of taste learned in younger days—as I say, steward, imagine me, who had ever been free-handed, lavish72, saving that dollar and a half intact like a miser63, never spending a penny of it on tobacco, never mitigating73 by purchase of any little delicacy74 the sad condition of my stomach that protested against the harshness and indigestibility of our poor fare. I cadged75 tobacco, poor cheap tobacco, from poor doddering old chaps trembling on the edge of dissolution. Ay, and when Samuel Merrivale I found dead in the morning, next cot to mine, I first rummaged76 his poor old trousers’ pocket for the half-plug of tobacco I knew was the total estate he left, then announced the news.
“Oh, steward, I was careful of that dollar and a half. Don’t you see?—I was a prisoner sawing my way out with a tiny steel saw. And I sawed out!” His voice rose in a shrill77 cackle of triumph. “Steward, I sawed out!”
“Sir, I salute you.”
“And I thank you, sir—you understand,” the Ancient Mariner replied with simple dignity to the toast, touching79 his glass to the bottle and drinking with the steward eyes to eyes.
“I should have had one hundred and fifty-six dollars when I left the poor-farm,” the ancient one continued. “But there were the two weeks I lost, with influenza80, and the one week from a confounded pleurisy, so that I emerged from that place of the living dead with but one hundred and fifty-one dollars and fifty cents.”
“I see, sir,” Daughtry interrupted with honest admiration81. “The tiny saw had become a crowbar, and with it you were going back to break into life again.”
All the scarred face and washed eyes of Charles Stough Greenleaf beamed as he held his glass up.
“Steward, I salute you. You understand. And you have said it well. I was going back to break into the house of life. It was a crowbar, that pitiful sum of money accumulated by two years of crucifixion. Think of it! A sum that in the days ere the silver spoon had melted, I staked in careless moods of an instant on a turn of the cards. But as you say, a burglar, I came back to break into life, and I came to Boston. You have a fine turn for a figure of speech, steward, and I salute you.”
Again bottle and glass tinkled82 together, and both men drank eyes to eyes and each was aware that the eyes he gazed into were honest and understanding.
“But it was a thin crowbar, steward. I dared not put my weight on it for a proper pry83. I took a room in a small but respectable hotel, European plan. It was in Boston, I think I said. Oh, how careful I was of my crowbar! I scarcely ate enough to keep my frame inhabited. But I bought drinks for others, most carefully selected—bought drinks with an air of prosperity that was as a credential to my story; and in my cups (my apparent cups, steward), spun84 an old man’s yarn85 of the Wide Awake, the longboat, the bearings unnamable, and the treasure under the sand.—A fathom under the sand; that was literary; it was psychological; it smacked86 of the salt sea, and daring rovers, and the loot of the Spanish Main.
“You have noticed this nugget I wear on my watch-chain, steward? I could not afford it at that time, but I talked golden instead, California gold, nuggets and nuggets, oodles and oodles, from the diggings of forty-nine and fifty. That was literary. That was colour. Later, after my first voyage out of Boston I was financially able to buy a nugget. It was so much bait to which men rose like fishes. And like fishes they nibbled87. These rings, also—bait. You never see such rings now. After I got in funds, I purchased them, too. Take this nugget: I am talking. I toy with it absently as I am telling of the great gold treasure we buried under the sand. Suddenly the nugget flashes fresh recollection into my mind. I speak of the longboat, of our thirst and hunger, and of the third officer, the fair lad with cheeks virgin88 of the razor, and that he it was who used it as a sinker when we strove to catch fish.
“But back in Boston. Yarns89 and yarns, when seemingly I was gone in drink, I told my apparent cronies—men whom I despised, stupid dolts90 of creatures that they were. But the word spread, until one day, a young man, a reporter, tried to interview me about the treasure and the Wide Awake. I was indignant, angry.—Oh, softly, steward, softly; in my heart was great joy as I denied that young reporter, knowing that from my cronies he already had a sufficiency of the details.
“And the morning paper gave two whole columns and headlines to the tale. I began to have callers. I studied them out well. Many were for adventuring after the treasure who themselves had no money. I baffled and avoided them, and waited on, eating even less as my little capital dwindled91 away.
“And then he came, my gay young doctor—doctor of philosophy he was, for he was very wealthy. My heart sang when I saw him. But twenty-eight dollars remained to me—after it was gone, the poor-house, or death. I had already resolved upon death as my choice rather than go back to be of that dolorous92 company, the living dead of the poor-farm. But I did not go back, nor did I die. The gay young doctor’s blood ran warm at thought of the South Seas, and in his nostrils93 I distilled94 all the scents95 of the flower-drenched air of that far-off land, and in his eyes I builded him the fairy visions of the tradewind clouds, the monsoon96 skies, the palm isles97 and the coral seas.
“He was a gay, mad young dog, grandly careless of his largess, fearless as a lion’s whelp, lithe98 and beautiful as a leopard99, and mad, a trifle mad of the deviltries and whimsies100 that tickled101 in that fine brain of his. Look you, steward. Before we sailed in the Gloucester fishing-schooner102, purchased by the doctor, and that was like a yacht and showed her heels to most yachts, he had me to his house to advise about personal equipment. We were overhauling103 in a gear-room, when suddenly he spoke104:
“‘I wonder how my lady will take my long absence. What say you? Shall she go along?’
“And I had not known that he had any wife or lady. And I looked my surprise and incredulity.
“‘Just that you do not believe I shall take her on the cruise,’ he laughed, wickedly, madly, in my astonished face. ‘Come, you shall meet her.’
“Straight to his bedroom and his bed he led me, and, turning down the covers, showed there to me, asleep as she had slept for many a thousand years, the mummy of a slender Egyptian maid.
“And she sailed with us on the long vain voyage to the South Seas and back again, and, steward, on my honour, I grew quite fond of the dear maid myself.”
The Ancient Mariner gazed dreamily into his glass, and Dag Daughtry took advantage of the pause to ask:
“But the young doctor? How did he take the failure to find the treasure?”
The Ancient Mariner’s face lighted with joy.
“He called me a delectable105 old fraud, with his arm on my shoulder while he did it. Why, steward, I had come to love that young man like a splendid son. And with his arm on my shoulder, and I know there was more than mere106 kindness in it, he told me we had barely reached the River Plate when he discovered me. With laughter, and with more than one slap of his hand on my shoulder that was more caress107 than jollity, he pointed108 out the discrepancies109 in my tale (which I have since amended110, steward, thanks to him, and amended well), and told me that the voyage had been a grand success, making him eternally my debtor111.
“What could I do? I told him the truth. To him even did I tell my family name, and the shame I had saved it from by forswearing it.
“He put his arm on my shoulder, I tell you, and . . . ”
The Ancient Mariner ceased talking because of a huskiness in his throat, and a moisture from his eyes trickled112 down both cheeks.
“He told me that I should come and live with him, and, to his great lonely house he took me the very day we landed in Boston. Also, he told me he would make arrangements with his lawyers—the idea tickled his fancy—‘I shall adopt you,’ he said. ‘I shall adopt you along with Isthar’—Isthar was the little maid’s name, the little mummy’s name.
“Here was I, back in life, steward, and legally to be adopted. But life is a fond betrayer. Eighteen hours afterward114, in the morning, we found him dead in his bed, the little mummy maid beside him. Heart-failure, the burst of some blood-vessel in the brain—I never learned.
“I prayed and pleaded with them for the pair to be buried together. But they were a hard, cold, New England lot, his cousins and his aunts, and they presented Isthar to the museum, and me they gave a week to be quit of the house. I left in an hour, and they searched my small baggage before they would let me depart.
“I went to New York. It was the same game there, only that I had more money and could play it properly. It was the same in New Orleans, in Galveston. I came to California. This is my fifth voyage. I had a hard time getting these three interested, and spent all my little store of money before they signed the agreement. They were very mean. Advance any money to me! The very idea of it was preposterous115. Though I bided116 my time, ran up a comfortable hotel bill, and, at the very last, ordered my own generous assortment117 of liquors and cigars and charged the bill to the schooner. Such a to-do! All three of them raged and all but tore their hair . . . and mime118. They said it could not be. I fell promptly119 sick. I told them they got on my nerves and made me sick. The more they raged, the sicker I got. Then they gave in. As promptly I grew better. And here we are, out of water and heading soon most likely for the Marquesas to fill our barrels. Then they will return and try for it again!”
“You think so, sir?”
“I shall remember even more important data, steward,” the Ancient Mariner smiled. “Without doubt they will return. Oh, I know them well. They are meagre, narrow, grasping fools.”
“Fools! all fools! a ship of fools!” Dag Daughtry exulted120; repeating what he had expressed in the hold, as he bored the last barrel, listened to the good water gurgling away into the bilge, and chuckled121 over his discovery of the Ancient Mariner on the same lay as his own.
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1
aberrations
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| n.偏差( aberration的名词复数 )；差错；脱离常规；心理失常 | |
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latitudes
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| 纬度 | |
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latitude
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| n.纬度，行动或言论的自由(范围)，(pl.)地区 | |
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sneered
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| 讥笑，冷笑( sneer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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inefficient
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| adj.效率低的，无效的 | |
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serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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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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broiled
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| a.烤过的 | |
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chronometers
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| n.精密计时器，航行表( chronometer的名词复数 ) | |
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chronometer
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| n.精密的计时器 | |
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second-hand
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| adj.用过的，旧的，二手的 | |
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longitude
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| n.经线，经度 | |
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swarmed
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| 密集( swarm的过去式和过去分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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toll
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| n.过路(桥)费；损失，伤亡人数；v.敲(钟) | |
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ratified
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| v.批准，签认（合约等）( ratify的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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steward
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| n.乘务员，服务员；看管人；膳食管理员 | |
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whack
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| v.敲击，重打，瓜分；n.重击，重打，尝试，一份 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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sapphire
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| n.青玉，蓝宝石；adj.天蓝色的 | |
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brace
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| n. 支柱,曲柄,大括号; v. 绷紧,顶住,(为困难或坏事)做准备 | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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secreted
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| v.（尤指动物或植物器官）分泌( secrete的过去式和过去分词 )；隐匿，隐藏 | |
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25
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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26
wheezing
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| v.喘息，发出呼哧呼哧的喘息声( wheeze的现在分词 )；哮鸣 | |
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27
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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28
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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29
smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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30
liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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31
postpone
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| v.延期，推迟 | |
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32
sipping
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的现在分词 ) | |
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33
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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34
rumpled
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| v.弄皱，使凌乱( rumple的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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35
thatch
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| vt.用茅草覆盖…的顶部；n.茅草(屋) | |
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36
butt
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| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
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37
gouge
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| v.凿；挖出；n.半圆凿；凿孔；欺诈 | |
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38
narrated
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| v.故事( narrate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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39
livelihood
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| n.生计，谋生之道 | |
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40
berth
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| n.卧铺，停泊地，锚位；v.使停泊 | |
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41
crumpled
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| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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42
creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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43
boulders
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| n.卵石( boulder的名词复数 )；巨砾；（受水或天气侵蚀而成的）巨石；漂砾 | |
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44
bunk
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| n.(车、船等倚壁而设的)铺位；废话 | |
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45
dangling
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| 悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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46
berths
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| n.（船、列车等的）卧铺( berth的名词复数 )；（船舶的）停泊位或锚位；差事；船台vt.v.停泊( berth的第三人称单数 )；占铺位 | |
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47
aisle
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| n.（教堂、教室、戏院等里的）过道，通道 | |
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48
survivor
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| n.生存者，残存者，幸存者 | |
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49
ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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50
complement
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| n.补足物，船上的定员；补语；vt.补充，补足 | |
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51
graft
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| n.移植，嫁接，艰苦工作，贪污；v.移植，嫁接 | |
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52
salute
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| vi.行礼，致意，问候，放礼炮；vt.向…致意，迎接，赞扬；n.招呼，敬礼，礼炮 | |
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53
prodigal
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| adj.浪费的，挥霍的，放荡的 | |
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54
backbone
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| n.脊骨，脊柱，骨干；刚毅，骨气 | |
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55
paltry
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| adj.无价值的，微不足道的 | |
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56
squealed
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| v.长声尖叫，用长而尖锐的声音说( squeal的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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57
sordidly
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| adv.肮脏地；污秽地；不洁地 | |
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58
plank
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| n.板条，木板，政策要点，政纲条目 | |
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59
outfitted
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| v.装备，配置设备，供给服装( outfit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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60
fathom
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| v.领悟，彻底了解 | |
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61
bleak
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| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
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62
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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63
miser
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| n.守财奴，吝啬鬼 (adj.miserly) | |
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64
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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65
irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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66
bruising
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| adj.殊死的；十分激烈的v.擦伤(bruise的现在分词形式) | |
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67
chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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68
filth
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| n.肮脏，污物，污秽；淫猥 | |
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69
bullying
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| v.恐吓，威逼( bully的现在分词 )；豪；跋扈 | |
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70
belly
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| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
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71
ticklish
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| adj.怕痒的；问题棘手的；adv.怕痒地；n.怕痒，小心处理 | |
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72
lavish
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| adj.无节制的；浪费的；vt.慷慨地给予，挥霍 | |
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73
mitigating
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| v.减轻，缓和( mitigate的现在分词 ) | |
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74
delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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75
cadged
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| v.乞讨，乞得，索取( cadge的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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76
rummaged
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| 翻找，搜寻( rummage的过去式和过去分词 )； 已经海关检查 | |
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77
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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78
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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79
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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80
influenza
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| n.流行性感冒，流感 | |
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81
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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82
tinkled
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| （使）发出丁当声，（使）发铃铃声( tinkle的过去式和过去分词 )； 叮当响着发出，铃铃响着报出 | |
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83
pry
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| vi.窥(刺)探，打听；vt.撬动(开，起) | |
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84
spun
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| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
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85
yarn
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| n.纱，纱线，纺线；奇闻漫谈，旅行轶事 | |
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86
smacked
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| 拍，打，掴( smack的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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87
nibbled
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| v.啃，一点一点地咬（吃）( nibble的过去式和过去分词 )；啃出（洞），一点一点咬出（洞）；慢慢减少；小口咬 | |
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88
virgin
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| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
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89
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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90
dolts
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| n.笨蛋，傻瓜( dolt的名词复数 ) | |
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91
dwindled
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| v.逐渐变少或变小( dwindle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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92
dolorous
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| adj.悲伤的；忧愁的 | |
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93
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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94
distilled
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| adj.由蒸馏得来的v.蒸馏( distil的过去式和过去分词 )；从…提取精华 | |
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95
scents
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| n.香水( scent的名词复数 )；气味；（动物的）臭迹；（尤指狗的）嗅觉 | |
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96
monsoon
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| n.季雨，季风，大雨 | |
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97
isles
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| 岛( isle的名词复数 ) | |
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98
lithe
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| adj.(指人、身体)柔软的，易弯的 | |
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99
leopard
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| n.豹 | |
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100
whimsies
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| n.怪念头( whimsy的名词复数 )；异想天开；怪脾气；与众不同的幽默感 | |
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101
tickled
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| （使）发痒( tickle的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）愉快，逗乐 | |
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102
schooner
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| n.纵帆船 | |
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103
overhauling
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| n.大修；拆修；卸修；翻修v.彻底检查( overhaul的现在分词 )；大修；赶上；超越 | |
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104
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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105
delectable
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| adj.使人愉快的；美味的 | |
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106
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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107
caress
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| vt./n.爱抚，抚摸 | |
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108
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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109
discrepancies
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| n.差异，不符合（之处），不一致（之处）( discrepancy的名词复数 ) | |
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110
Amended
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| adj. 修正的 动词amend的过去式和过去分词 | |
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111
debtor
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| n.借方，债务人 | |
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112
trickled
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| v.滴( trickle的过去式和过去分词 )；淌；使)慢慢走；缓慢移动 | |
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113
draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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114
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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115
preposterous
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| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
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116
bided
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| v.等待，停留( bide的过去式 )；居住；等待；面临 | |
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117
assortment
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| n.分类，各色俱备之物，聚集 | |
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118
mime
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| n.指手画脚，做手势，哑剧演员，哑剧；vi./vt.指手画脚的表演，用哑剧的形式表演 | |
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119
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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120
exulted
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| 狂喜，欢跃( exult的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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121
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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