None but the full-grown warriors15 used to venture to have speech with him, and then only as he sat in the door of his lodge17, with the men in a half circle before him. They never came alone. Along all the seaboard, the Indians talked of Secotan, the man most potent18 in spells and charms and prophecies, who was said to talk with strange spirits in his lodge by night and who could call up storms out of the sea at will. This spot at the summit of the hill, where the medicine man sat so often, sometimes muttering spells, sometimes staring straight before him across the valley, was magic forbidden ground, where no one but himself was known to come. Yet the young Nashola, only fifteen years old, and far from being a warrior16, had been told that he must consult the medicine man and had been in too much haste to seek him in his own lodge or to wait until he could persuade a comrade to go with him.
Stretched along the river below them was the camp of Nashola's brown-skinned people, where springs gave them fresh water and where the eastern hills of the valley gave shelter from the winter storms that blew in from the sea. Beyond those green hills were rocky slopes, salt swamps, a stretch of yellow sand, and then the great Atlantic rollers, tumbling in upon the beach. The Indians of Nashola's village would go thither20 sometimes to dig for clams21, to fish from the high rocks, and even, on occasions, to swim in the breakers close to shore. But they were land-abiding22 folk, they feared nothing in the forest, and would launch their canoes in the most headlong rapids of the inland rivers; yet there was dread14 and awe23 in their eyes when they looked out upon the sea. Not one of them had ever ventured beyond the island at the mouth of the harbor.
They were a shifting, wandering people, moving here and there with the seasons, as the deer and moose moved their grazing grounds, but their most settled abiding place was this little green valley where they spent a part of every year. Sometimes word would come drifting in, through other tribes, of strange, white-faced men who had landed on their shores, but who always sailed away again, since this was still the time when America was all the Indians' own. What they did not see troubled them little and they went on, undisturbed, hunting and fishing and paying their vows24 to the spirits and demons25 that they thought to be masters of their little world.
The old, wrinkled squaw who was Nashola's grandmother was the only one of them all who seemed oppressed with care. The boy, whose parents were dead, was her special charge and was not, as he should be, like other Indian lads. He was slim and swift and was as skillful as his companions with the bow and spear, but he had a strange love for running along the sea beach with the waves snatching at his bare, brown legs, and he was really happy only when he was swimming in the green water. The day he swam to the island and back again, paying no heed26 to the shouts and warnings of his friends, and declaring, when he landed, that he would have gone farther save that the tide had turned—that day had brought his old grandmother's patience to an end.
"It is not fitting that one of our tribe should be so familiar with the sea," she stormed at him. "We were not born to master that wild salt water; the gods that rule us have said over and over again that the woods and rivers are ours, but that we are to have no dealings with the spirits of the sea. Since I cannot make you listen, you shall talk to some one who will. You shall go to ask the medicine man if what I say is not so."
Nashola had come, therefore, to ask his question, but he found that it needed a bold heart to advance, without quaking, into that silent presence and to speak out with Secotan's black eyes seeming to stare him through and through.
"Is it true," he began, "that men of our tribe should have no trust in the sea? My grandmother says that I should hate it and fear it, but I do not. Must I learn to be afraid?"
Slowly the man nodded.
Most Indians grow old quickly, and are withered28 like dried-up apples as soon as the later years come upon them. But Secotan, although his hair was gray, had still the clear-cut face with its arched nose and heavy brows of a younger man. Only his eyes, deep, piercing, and very wise, seemed to show how long he had lived and how much he had learned.
"Our fathers and their fathers before them have always known that we must distrust the sea," he said at last. "No matter how blue and smiling it may be it can never be our friend. We may swim near the shore, we may even launch our canoes and journey, if the way be short, from one harbor to another when the sky is clear and the winds are asleep. But always we are to remember that the sea is our enemy and a treacherous29 enemy in the end."
He turned away to stare at the hills again, but Nashola lingered, not yet satisfied. It was unheard-of boldness to question Secotan's words, yet the boy could not keep his hot protests to himself.
"But is it not wrong to pretend to fear what we do not?" he objected. "Do the spirits of the water actually rise up and tell you that we must keep to the shore? I do not believe it, although my grandmother says so until my ears ring again."
Secotan turned his head quickly, as though to hide the ghost of a smile.
"The voices of the wind and the breakers and of the thunder all cry the same message," he declared, "and wise men have learned that it warns them to hug the land. You must heed your grandmother, even though her words are shrill30 and often repeated."
He would say no more, so Nashola went away, pondering his answer as he walked down the hill. After all, no harm had come to him from entering the medicine man's presence unbidden, as his comrades had all said. He answered their questions very shortly as they came crowding about him, and to the persistent31 queries32 of his grandmother he would say nothing at all. Yet the others noticed that his canoe lay unused in the shelter of a rock on the sandy beach where he had left it, and that he swam in the sea no more.
The days passed, the hot, quiet summer passing with them. One evening, as they all sat about the camp fire, one of the older warriors said quietly:
"The time is near when our medicine man must go from us."
"Why?" questioned Nashola's grandmother, while the boy turned quickly to hear.
"He has not sat upon the hill nor before the door of his lodge for three days, and the venison and corn we have carried to him have lain untouched for all that time. One of us who ventured close heard a cry from within and groaning33. It may be that he must die."
"But will no one help him?" cried Nashola. It was not proper that a boy should speak out in the presence of the older warriors, but he could not keep his wonder to himself.
"There is danger to common folk in passing too close to the medicine man's lodge," his grandmother explained quickly. "There are spirits within who are his friends but who might destroy us. And when he is ill unto death and the beings from another world have come to bear his soul away, then must no man go near."
"Sometimes a medicine man has a companion to whom he teaches his wisdom and who takes his place when he is gone," said the man by the fire. "But even that comrade flees away when death is at hand and the spirits begin to stand close about his master. Yes, such a man must die alone."
All through the night Nashola lay awake, thinking of what he had heard. Secotan was, he knew, a man of powerful magic, but he could not forget that there was a look in his eyes and a kindliness34 in his tone that seemed human, after all. Must he suffer and die there, without help, merely because he was greater and wiser than the rest? Or, when death came close and the host of unearthly beings gathered about him, would he not feel it of comfort to have a living friend by his side? It was long past midnight and in the black darkness that comes before day, before the boy came to final resolution.
He crawled out from under the shelter of his lodge and slipped noiselessly through the sleeping camp. Every rustle36 in the grass, every stirring leaf in the thicket2 made him jump and shiver, yet he kept steadily37 on. The sharp outline of Secotan's pointed38 lodge poles stood out against the stars, halfway up the shoulder of the hill. The door showed black and open as he came near, but there was no sound from within. The only thing that seemed alive was a dull, glowing coal in the ashes of a fire that was not quite dead. The boy stooped down before the door and spoke39 in a shaking voice:
"Secotan, Secotan, do you still live?"
"I am living, but death is very near."
Nashola stood still for a moment. He could picture that gaunt figure lying helpless on the ground, with the darkness all about peopled by strange shapes visible to the sorcerer's eyes alone, crowding spirits come to carry him away to an unknown world. But even as a wave of icy terror swept over him, he remembered how fearful it would be to lie all alone in that haunted darkness, and he bent41 low and slipped through the door.
"I know that all the spirits of the earth and air and water are with you," he said as he felt his way to the deerskin bed and sat down beside it, "but I thought, among them all, you might wish for a friend beside you who was flesh and blood."
A quivering hand was laid for an instant on his knee.
"There is no man who does not feel terror when he comes to die alone," the medicine man whispered, "and Secotan is less of a man than you."
Through the dragging hours Nashola sat beside him, listening with strained ears to every sound—the soft moving of a snake through the grass before the door, the nibbling42 of a field mouse at the skin of the tent, the sharp scream of a bird in the wood captured by a marauding owl27. The blackness grew thinner at last, showing the lodge poles, the shabby skins of the bed, and finally the sick man's face, drawn43 and haggard with pain. As the dawn came up over the hills, he opened his eyes and spoke:
"Bring those herbs that hang against the lodge pole and build up the fire. When the stones about it are hot, wrap them in wet blankets and lay them in the tent. The gods may have decreed that I am to live."
Nashola worked frantically44 all through the day. He filled the lodge with steam from the hot stones, he brewed45 bitter drafts of herbs and held them to Secotan's lips once in every hour by the sun. After a long time he saw the fever ebb46, saw the man's eyes lose their strange glittering, and heard his voice gather strength each time he spoke. For three nights and days the boy nursed him, all alone in the lodge, with men bringing food to leave at the door but with no one willing to come inside. When at last Nashola went back to his own dwelling47, Secotan was sitting, by his fire, weak and thin, but fairly on the way to health again.
The friendship that had grown up during that night of suffering and terror seemed to become deeper and deeper as time passed. There was scarcely a day when Nashola did not climb the hill in the late afternoon to sit under the rustling oak tree and talk for a long hour with the medicine man. His companions of his own age looked askance at such a friendship and his grandmother begged and scolded, but without avail.
Almost always, as he sat with his back against the tree, or lay full length in the long grass that was beginning to be dry and yellow with the coming autumn, the boy would fix his eyes upon the hills opposite through which there showed a gleam of sea. Like the picture of some forbidden thing was that glint of blue, framed by the green slopes and the sky above. He could see the whitecaps, the dancing glimmer48 of the sun, and the gray sea gulls49 that whirled and hovered50 and dipped before his longing51 gaze. He would lift his head to sniff52 the salt breeze that swept through the cleft53 in the hills, and to listen for that far-off thunder that could sometimes be heard as the great waves broke on the beach. At last, one day when he had sat so long with his friend that dusk was falling and the stars were coming out, he broke through the silence with a sudden question:
"Secotan, what lies beyond that sea?"
The medicine man shook his head without speaking.
"My grandmother says 'Nothing,'" pursued Nashola, "but I know that cannot be. Is it one of the things that I must not ask and that you may not tell me because you are a sorcerer and I am only a boy?"
Secotan was silent so long that Nashola thought he did not mean to reply at all. Even when he spoke it did not seem to be an answer.
"Do you see those seven stars?" he said, "that are rising from the sea and that march so close together that you keep thinking they are going to melt into one?"
"Yes," answered the boy. "I often lie before our lodge door and watch them go up the sky. There are bigger stars all about them, but somehow I love those the best, they are so small and bright and seem to look down on us with such friendly eyes."
"It is told among the medicine men," Secotan went on slowly, "that many, many moons ago, long before this oak tree grew upon this hill, before its father's father had yet been planted as an acorn54, our people came hither across just such a sea as that. Far to the westward55 it lay, and they came, a mere35 handful of bold spirits in their canoes, across a wide water from some land that we have utterly56 forgotten. Some settled down at once upon the shores of the waters they had crossed, but some pressed eastward57, little by little, as the generations passed. They filled the land with their children and in the end they came to another sea and went no farther. But the men who had led them were of a different heart than ours; there were always some who were not content to hunt and fish and move only as the deer move or as the seasons change. They wished to press on, ever on, to let nothing stop the progress of their march. It is said that when they came to this sea there were seven brothers who, when their people would no longer follow, launched their canoes and set off once more to the eastward, and never came back.
"They dwell there in the sky, we think, and they shine through those months of autumn that are dearest of all the year to our people, when the days are warm and golden before the winter, when the woods are bare and hunting is easy, when the game is fat from the summer grazing and our yellow corn is ripe. They come back to us in the Hunter's Moon and they watch over us all through the cold winter. We call them the Seven Brothers of the Sun."
Nashola was silent, waiting, for he knew from his friend's voice that there was more that he wished to say.
"Your mother, who is dead, was not of our blood, they tell me. Your father took her from another tribe and they had brought her captive, from the north of us, so that she is no kin19 of ours. Sometimes I think that there must have run in her veins58 the blood of those seven brothers and that, in you, their bold spirit lives again. There is no one of your kind who loves the sea as you do, who has no shadow of a fear of it. And you are first, in all my life, who has asked me what lay beyond."
"I should like," said Nashola steadily, still watching the gray water and the gleam of stars above it, "I should like to go and see."
"Often I have wondered," the man went on, his voice growing very earnest, "whether you would not like to come to dwell with me, to learn the lore59 that makes me a medicine man and to take my place when I must go. I, who was taught by the wisest of us all, have waited long to find some one worthy60 of that teaching, and able to hold the power that I have. You can be a greater man than I, Nashola; not only your whole tribe will do your bidding and hang upon your words, but the men of our race all up and down the coast will revere12 you and talk of you as the greatest sorcerer ever known. Will you come to my lodge, will you learn from me, will you follow in my way?"
Nashola tried to speak, choked and tried again.
"I cannot do it," he said huskily.
"Why?"
There was a sharp note of wonder, hurt friendship, even of terror, in the man's voice.
"The people of our village say you are not like other men," said the boy. "They say you can call the friendly spirits of the forest and the hostile gods of the sea, and that you have wisdom learned in another world. But I, who am your friend, think it is not so. I love you dearly, but I know you are a man as I am. I know the sea is only water and that the forest is only trees. I—I do not believe."
He got to his feet, blind with misery61, and went stumbling down the hill. The warm September darkness was thick about him, but up on the hill the starlight showed plainly the motionless figure sitting beneath the oak tree, never turning to look after him, uttering no sound of protest or reproach.
As September days passed into October, as the Seven Brothers rode higher in the sky, strange tales, once again, began to come from the south. More white men had been seen in their ships, sailing up and down the coast, trading with the Indians, buying the fish that they had caught and trying to talk to them in an unknown tongue.
"We have heard stories before and will hear them again," said the older warriors incredulously. "Such tales are of the sort that old women tell about the fires on winter nights."
"What does your friend the medicine man say of these rumors62, Nashola?" asked one of the boys of his own age, but Nashola did not answer. He went no more up the hill to the big oak tree; he had held no speech for weeks with Secotan. Yet he would suffer no one to ask him why.
A day came when the news could no longer be disbelieved. A boy of the tribe, who had been digging for clams on the beach, came running home with startling tidings.
Old men and young, squaws and papooses, every one deserted64 the little settlement by the river and went in wild haste up the eastward hills to look upon this strange wonder. It was a lowering day with overcast65 skies and water of a sullen66 gray and with ominously68 little wind. In speechless wonder the Indians stood gazing, for there indeed were three white-sailed ships, moving slowly before the lazy breeze, stanch69 little fishing vessels70 of English build, come to see whether this unexplored stretch of coast would yield them any cargo72. As they watched, the largest one got up more sail, veered73 away upon a new tack74, and was followed by the others.
"What can they be? Are they come to destroy us all?" asked a trembling old woman, and no one could answer.
"Hush," said another in a moment, "the medicine man is coming."
Secotan, who so seldom left his own lodge now, and who never mixed with the village folk, was climbing slowly up the hill after them. Nashola noticed that he had begun to look old, that his fierce hawk's face was sunken, and that he walked very slowly, leaning upon his staff. The men and women drew back respectfully as he advanced and stood in a silent, waiting circle, while he shaded his eyes and gazed long at the ships, now growing smaller in the distance.
"Are they friends or enemies, Secotan?" one of the hunters ventured to ask, but the medicine man replied only:
"That must be as the gods decree."
"Then destroy them for us," cried the old squaw, Nashola's grandmother. "Call up a storm that will break their wings and shatter the sides of those giant canoes. Bring wind and rain and thunder and all the spirits of the sea to overwhelm them."
There was a breathless silence as Secotan slowly moved forward and raised his staff. Nashola, standing75 before the other boys, watched the medicine man's face with eyes that never wavered. Even as the sorcerer moved there came a low mutter of thunder across the gray, level floor of the sea, and a distant streak76 of darker water showed the coming wind.
"There is the storm! The very winds obey him!"
The cry went up from all the Indians, save only Nashola who stood silent. The medicine man turned to look at him, then hesitated and dropped his eyes.
"Why do you wait? Raise up a hurricane, O greatest of sorcerers," cried a man behind them.
"No," shouted Secotan suddenly. He flung down his staff and held up his empty hands before his face. "I will raise no storm," he cried, "I will call no spirits from the deep—because I cannot. The wind and thunder answer no man's bidding—storms come and go at the will of the Great Spirit alone. There is one soul here that I love, one being whom, in all my life, I have had for a friend. In his eyes I will stand for truth at last, although I had almost learned to believe in my magic myself. I can do none of those things that you think. I am a man without power, like every one of you!"
A roar of anger went up, a dull, savage77, guttural sound that died away almost at once into silence, a quiet more ominous67 than an outcry could have been. Terrified by that strange apparition78 out yonder upon the waters, the Indians saw themselves deserted by the one person to whom they could look for courage and counsel. Only half understanding, they knew, at least, that Nashola had been the means of their medicine man's downfall. Frenzied79 hands seized them both and dragged them headlong down toward the water. Visions of the savage tortures that his people wreaked80 upon their enemies passed through the boy's mind, but he did not struggle or cry out, although Secotan's set face, beside him, turned gray under its coppery skin. Some one had found Nashola's canoe, left long unused upon the beach, and had launched it in the breakers.
"Let him go back to the sea that he loved, this boy who has never been one of us. Let the man perish in the storm that is coming without his call."
Relentless81 hands flung them into the frail82 boat and pushed it out through the surf. Nashola crawled to the stern and took up the paddle; a crash of thunder broke over their heads and a wild flare83 of lightning lit the dark water as he dipped the blade. In a moment, rain was falling in blinding sheets, the wind and spray were roaring in their ears, and the ebbing84 tide was carrying them away, out of the harbor, past the rocky island, straight to the open, angry sea.
After a long time, Secotan, who had lain inert85 where he had been thrown into the boat, got to his knees and took up the second paddle. Only by keeping the little boat's bow to the wind could immediate86 destruction be averted87. But the medicine man's strokes were feeble, affording little help, and at last he laid down the blade.
"It is of no use, Nashola," he said. "Death rides on the wind and snatches at us from the black waters. Lay down your paddle and let us die."
"No," the boy answered, "even though death is not an hour away, we will fight it until the very end."
Darkness shut down about them so that they could scarcely see each other as they went on in silence. Although each combing, foam-capped rush of water seemed certain to overwhelm them, there was a strange exhilaration, a mad thrill in rising to every giant wave and shooting down its green side in a cloud of spray. One—two—three—each one seemed the last, and yet there were ever more. Nashola's arms were numb88 and heavy, his head reeled, but still he struggled on. He wished at last that death would come quickly, to still the terrible aching weariness that possessed89 his whole being. The worst of the storm had blown, roaring, past them, but the seas were still heavy and nothing—nothing, Nashola thought, could ever bring back the strength to his failing arms.
Suddenly the clouds were torn apart, showing a glimmer of stars and a vague glimpse of the tossing black water all about them.
"Look, look, Nashola," cried the medicine man, pointing upward, "they have come to help us, your kinsmen90, the Seven Brothers of the Sun!"
But Nashola was not looking at the sky; his eyes were fixed91 on a ghostly shape moving close ahead of them and on the fitful gleam of a ship's lantern that tossed and glimmered92 in the dark. Dropping his paddle he put his hands to his mouth and lifted his voice in a long hail. The light bobbed and swung and an answering shout came through the darkness.
To the weather-beaten English sailors, used to the rough adventures of sailing new and uncharted seas, there was little excitement in picking up two half-drowned Indians, although they had never done such a thing before. They warmed the two with blankets, they revived them with fiery93 remedies, and they sat about them on the deck, trying to talk to them by means of signs, but with small success.
"It is no common thing to see these natives so far from shore," the mate said to the captain, "for as a rule the Indians distrust the sea. We cannot find out how these came to be adrift in that canoe. The young one tries to make us understand, but the old man merely covers his face and groans94. I think he will not believe that we are men like himself."
"Bring the boy to me," the captain ordered. "Perhaps we may be able to understand him."
In the quiet dawn, when calm had followed the night's storm, the ship ran in toward a rocky headland to send a boat ashore95. Yet when it had been lowered and Secotan had dropped into it, he turned to see Nashola standing on the deck above, making no move to follow.
"I am not coming, Secotan," he declared steadily. "The chief of these men and I have talked with signs and he wishes to carry me to his home on this strange winged vessel71. He promises that he will bring me safe back again. Then I can tell you and all of our tribe what these white men really are. And I have always longed to know what lay beyond this forbidden sea."
Secotan did not protest.
"I have called you friend, I have wished to have you for my brother," he said, "but I must call you master now, since you have dared what I can never dare."
Much has been said of the courage of those white men who crossed the stormy Atlantic in their little vessels to explore an unknown continent. But what of the brave hearts of those Indians who thought the white men were spirits come out of the sea, who did not know what ships were, yet who still dared to set sail with them? For we know that there were such dusky voyagers, that they crossed the sea more than once in the English fishing vessels, and that they brought back to their own people almost unbelievable tales of cities and palaces, or harbors crowded with shipping96 and of whole countrysides covered with green, tilled fields. With all these wonders, however, they could tell their comrades that these white beings were mere men like themselves, to be neither hated nor dreaded as spirits of another world. Deep dwelling in Nashola was that born leadership that makes real men see through the long-established doubts and terrors of their race, who can distinguish the false from the true, who can go forward through shadowy perils97 to the clear light of knowledge and success.
It was in recognition of this that old Secotan, half understanding, wholly unable to put his feeling into words, standing alone upon the headland, raised his arms in reverent98 salute99 and cried a last good-by to his comrade:
"Farewell and good fortune, O Brother of the Sun!"
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1
enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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2
thicket
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| n.灌木丛，树林 | |
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thickets
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| n.灌木丛( thicket的名词复数 )；丛状物 | |
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4
crab
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| n.螃蟹，偏航，脾气乖戾的人，酸苹果；vi.捕蟹，偏航，发牢骚；vt.使偏航，发脾气 | |
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scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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maple
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| n.槭树，枫树，槭木 | |
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foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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9
warily
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| adv.留心地 | |
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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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11
revered
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| v.崇敬，尊崇，敬畏( revere的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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12
revere
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| vt.尊崇，崇敬，敬畏 | |
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13
dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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14
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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15
warriors
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| 武士，勇士，战士( warrior的名词复数 ) | |
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warrior
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| n.勇士，武士，斗士 | |
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lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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potent
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| adj.强有力的，有权势的；有效力的 | |
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kin
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| n.家族，亲属，血缘关系；adj.亲属关系的，同类的 | |
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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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clams
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| n.蛤；蚌，蛤( clam的名词复数 )v.（在沙滩上）挖蛤( clam的第三人称单数 ) | |
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abiding
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| adj.永久的，持久的，不变的 | |
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awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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vows
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| 誓言( vow的名词复数 )； 郑重宣布，许愿 | |
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demons
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| n.恶人( demon的名词复数 )；恶魔；精力过人的人；邪念 | |
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heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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owl
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| n.猫头鹰，枭 | |
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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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29
treacherous
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| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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32
queries
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| n.问题( query的名词复数 )；疑问；询问；问号v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的第三人称单数 )；询问 | |
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33
groaning
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| adj. 呜咽的, 呻吟的 动词groan的现在分词形式 | |
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34
kindliness
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| n.厚道，亲切，友好的行为 | |
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35
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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36
rustle
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| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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38
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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39
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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40
gasping
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| adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
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41
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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42
nibbling
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| v.啃，一点一点地咬（吃）( nibble的现在分词 )；啃出（洞），一点一点咬出（洞）；慢慢减少；小口咬 | |
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43
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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frantically
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| ad.发狂地, 发疯地 | |
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brewed
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| 调制( brew的过去式和过去分词 )； 酝酿； 沏（茶）； 煮（咖啡） | |
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46
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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47
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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gulls
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| n.鸥( gull的名词复数 )v.欺骗某人( gull的第三人称单数 ) | |
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hovered
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| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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52
sniff
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| vi.嗅…味道；抽鼻涕；对嗤之以鼻，蔑视 | |
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53
cleft
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| n.裂缝；adj.裂开的 | |
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54
acorn
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| n.橡实，橡子 | |
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55
westward
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| n.西方，西部；adj.西方的，向西的；adv.向西 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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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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veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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lore
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| n.传说；学问，经验，知识 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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rumors
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| n.传闻( rumor的名词复数 )；[古]名誉；咕哝；[古]喧嚷v.传闻( rumor的第三人称单数 )；[古]名誉；咕哝；[古]喧嚷 | |
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63
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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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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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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sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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ominously
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| adv.恶兆地，不吉利地；预示地 | |
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69
stanch
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| v.止住（血等）；adj.坚固的；坚定的 | |
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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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71
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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72
cargo
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| n.(一只船或一架飞机运载的)货物 | |
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73
veered
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| v.（尤指交通工具）改变方向或路线( veer的过去式和过去分词 )；（指谈话内容、人的行为或观点）突然改变；（指风） （在北半球按顺时针方向、在南半球按逆时针方向）逐渐转向；风向顺时针转 | |
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74
tack
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| n.大头钉；假缝，粗缝 | |
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75
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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streak
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| n.条理，斑纹，倾向，少许，痕迹；v.加条纹，变成条纹，奔驰，快速移动 | |
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77
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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78
apparition
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| n.幽灵，神奇的现象 | |
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79
frenzied
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| a.激怒的；疯狂的 | |
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80
wreaked
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| 诉诸（武力），施行（暴力），发（脾气）( wreak的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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81
relentless
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| adj.残酷的，不留情的，无怜悯心的 | |
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82
frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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83
flare
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| v.闪耀，闪烁；n.潮红；突发 | |
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84
ebbing
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| （指潮水）退( ebb的现在分词 )； 落； 减少； 衰落 | |
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85
inert
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| adj.无活动能力的，惰性的；迟钝的 | |
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86
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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87
averted
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| 防止，避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 )； 转移 | |
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88
numb
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| adj.麻木的，失去感觉的；v.使麻木 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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90
kinsmen
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| n.家属，亲属( kinsman的名词复数 ) | |
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91
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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92
glimmered
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| v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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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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95
ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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96
shipping
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| n.船运（发货，运输，乘船） | |
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97
perils
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| 极大危险( peril的名词复数 )； 危险的事（或环境） | |
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98
reverent
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| adj.恭敬的，虔诚的 | |
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99
salute
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| vi.行礼，致意，问候，放礼炮；vt.向…致意，迎接，赞扬；n.招呼，敬礼，礼炮 | |
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