"Yes; I've been a teetotaller all my life," said our driver, a bright-looking, intelligent young fellow, whom, as he became rather a prominent adjunct to our life and decidedly to our comfort, I shall individualise by calling him Charles. "I had good need to avoid drinking. My father drank through a small property. No fear of me, ma'am."
So at once between him and us, or him and "we," according to the Cornish habit of transposing pronouns, was established a feeling of fraternity, which, during the six days that we had to do with him, deepened into real regard. Never failing when wanted, never presuming when not wanted, straightforward5, independent, yet full of that respectful kindliness6 which servants can always show and masters should always appreciate, giving us a chivalrous7 care, which, being "unprotected females," was to us extremely valuable, I here record that much of the pleasure of our tour was owing to this honest Cornishman, who served us, his horse, and his master—he was one of the employés of a livery-stable keeper—with equal fidelity8.
Certainly, numerous as were the parties he had driven—("I go to the Lizard9 about three times a week," he said)—Charles could seldom have driven a merrier trio than that which leisurely10 mounted the upland road from Falmouth, leading to the village of Constantine.
"Just turn and look behind you, ladies" (we had begged to be shown everything and told everything); "isn't that a pretty view?"
It certainly was. From the high ground we could see Falmouth with its sheltered bay and glittering sea beyond. Landward were the villages of Mabe and Constantine, with their great quarries11 of granite12, and in the distance lay wide sweeps of undulating land, barren and treeless, but still beautiful—not with the rich pastoral beauty of our own Kent, yet having a charm of its own. And the air, so fresh and pure, yet soft and balmy, it felt to tender lungs like the difference between milk and cream. To breathe became a pleasure instead of a pain. I could quite understand how the semi-tropical plants that we had seen in a lovely garden below, grew and flourished, how the hydrangeas became huge bushes, and the eucalyptus13 an actual forest tree.
But this was in the sheltered valley, and we had gained the hill-top, emerging out of one of those deep-cut lanes peculiar14 to Devon and Cornwall, and so pretty in themselves, a perfect garden of wild flowers and ferns, except that they completely shut out the view. This did not much afflict15 the practical minds of my two juniors. Half an hour before they had set up a shout—
"Stop the carriage! Do stop the carriage! Just look there! Did you ever see such big blackberries? and what a quantity! Let us get out; we'll gather them for to-morrow's pudding."
Undoubtedly16 a dinner earned is the sweetest of all dinners. I remember once thinking that our cowslip tea (I should not like to drink it now) was better than our grandmother's best Bohea or something out of her lovely old tea-caddy. So the carriage, lightened of all but myself, crawled leisurely up and waited on the hill-top for the busy blackberry-gatherers.
While our horse stood cropping an extempore meal, I and his driver began to talk about him and other cognate17 topics, including the permanent one of the great advantage to both body and soul in being freed all one's life long from the necessity of getting "something to drink" stronger than water.
"Yes," he said, "I find I can do as much upon tea or coffee as other men upon beer. I'm just as strong and as active, and can stand weather quite as well. It's a pretty hard life, winter and summer, driving all day, coming in soaked, sometimes in the middle of the night, having to turn in for an hour or two, and then turn out again. And you must look after your horse, of course, before you think of yourself. Still, I stand it well, and that without a drop of beer from years end to years end."
I congratulated and sympathised; in return for which Charles entered heart and soul into the blackberry question, pointed18 out where the biggest blackberries hung, and looked indeed—he was still such a young fellow!—as if he would have liked to go blackberry-hunting himself.
I put, smiling, the careless question, "Have you any little folks of your own? Are you married?"
How cautious one should be over an idle word! All of a sudden the cheerful face clouded, the mouth began to quiver, with difficulty I saw he kept back the tears. It was a version in every-day life of Longfellow's most pathetic little poem, "The Two Locks of Hair."
"My wife broke her heart after the baby, I think. It died. She went off in consumption. It's fifteen months now"—(he had evidently counted them)—"fifteen months since I have been alone. I didn't like to give up my home and my bits of things; still, when a man has to come in wet and tired to an empty house——"
He turned suddenly away and busied himself over his horse, for just that minute the two girls came running back, laughing heartily19, and showing their baskets full of "the very biggest blackberries you ever saw!" I took them back into the carriage; the driver mounted his box, and drove on for some miles in total silence. As, when I had whispered that little episode to my two companions, so did we.
There are two ways of going from Falmouth to the Lizard—the regular route through the town of Helstone, and another, a trifle longer, through the woods of Trelowarren, the seat of the old Cornish family of Vyvyan.
"I'll take you that road, ma'am, it's much the prettiest," said Charles evidently exerting himself to recover his cheerful looks and be the civil driver and guide, showing off all the curiosities and beauties of the neighbourhood. And very pretty Trelowarren was, though nothing remarkable21 to us who came from the garden of England. Still, the trees were big—for Cornwall, and in the ferny glade22 grew abundantly the Osmunda regalis, a root of which we greatly coveted23, and Charles offered to get. He seemed to take a pride in showing us everything, except what he probably did not know of, and which, when I heard of too late, was to me a real regret.
At Trelowarren, not far from the house, are a series of subterranean24 chambers25 and galleries, in all ninety feet long and about the height of a man. The entrance is very low. Still it is possible to get into them and traverse them from end to end, the walls being made of blocks of unhewn stone, leaning inward towards the roof, which is formed of horizontal blocks. How, when, and for what purpose this mysterious underground dwelling27 was made, is utterly28 lost in the mists of time. I should exceedingly have liked to examine it, and to think we passed close by and never knew of it will always be a certain regret, of which I relieve my mind by telling it for the guidance of other archæological travellers.
One of the charms of Cornwall is that it gives one the sense of being such an old country, as if things had gone exactly as they do now, not merely since the days of King Arthur, but for ever so long before then. The Romans, the Phœnicians, nay29, the heroes of pre-historic ages, such as Jack30 the Giantkiller and the giant Cormoran, seemed to be not impossible myths, as we gradually quitted civilisation31 in the shape of a village or two, and a few isolated32 farm-houses, and came out upon the wild district known as Goonhilly Down.
Certainly not from its hills, for it is as flat as the back of your hand, and as bare. But the word, which is old Cornish—that now extinct tongue, which only survives in the names of places and people—means a hunting ground; and there is every reason to believe that this wide treeless waste was once an enormous forest, full of wild beasts. There St. Rumon, an Irish bishop33, long before there were any Saxon bishops34 or saints, is said to have settled, far away from the world, and made a cell and oratory35, the memory of which, and of himself, is still kept up by the name of the two villages, Ruan Major and Ruan Minor36, on the outskirts37 of this Goonhilly Down.
In later times the down was noted38 for a breed of small, strong ponies39, called "Goonhillies." Charles had heard of them, but I do not suppose he had ever heard of St. Rumon, or of the primeval forest. At present, the fauna40 of Goonhilly is represented by no animal more dangerous than a rabbit or a field-mouse, and its vegetation includes nothing bigger than the erica vagans—the lovely Cornish heath, lilac, flesh-coloured and white which will grow nowhere else, except in a certain district of Portugal.
"There it is!" we cried, at the pleasant first sight of a new flower: for though not scientific botanists41, we have what I may call a speaking acquaintance with almost every wild flower that grows. To see one that we had never seen before was quite an excitement. Instantly we were out of the carriage, and gathering42 it by handfuls.
Botanists know this heath well—it has the peculiarity43 of the anthers being outside instead of inside the bell—but we only noticed the beauty of it, the masses in which it grew, and how it would grow only within a particular line—the sharp geological line of magnesian earth, which forms the serpentine44 district. Already we saw, forcing itself up through the turf, blocks of this curious stone, and noticed how cottage-walls were built, and fences made of it.
"Yes, that's the serpentine," said Charles, now in his depth once more; we could not have expected him to know about St. Rumon, &c. "You'll see plenty of it when you get to the Lizard. All the coast for miles and miles is serpentine. Such curious rocks, reddish and greenish; they look so pretty when the water washes against them, and when polished, and made into ornaments45, candlesticks, brooches and the like. But I'll show you the shops as we pass. We shall be at Lizard Town directly."
So it was a town, and it had shops. We should not have thought so, judging by the slender line of white dots which now was appearing on the horizon—Cornish folk seemed to have a perfect mania46 for painting their houses a glistening47 white. Yes, that was the Lizard; we were nearing our journey's end. At which we were a little sorry, even though already an hour or two behind-hand—that is, behind the hour we had ordered dinner. But "time was made for slaves"—and railway travellers, and we were beyond railways.
"Never mind, what does dinner matter?" (It did not seriously, as we had taken the precaution, which I recommend to all travellers, of never starting on any expedition without a good piece of bread, a bunch of raisins48, and a flask49 of cold tea or coffee.) "What's the odds50 so long as you're happy? Let us linger and make the drive as long as we can. The horse will not object, nor Charles either."
Evidently not; our faithful steed cropped contentedly51 an extempore meal, and Charles, who would have scrambled52 anywhere or dug up anything "to please the young ladies," took out his pocket-knife, and devoted54 himself to the collection of all the different coloured heaths; roots which we determined55 to send home in the hope, alas56! I fear vain, that they would grow in our garden, afar from their native magnesia.
So for another peaceful hour we stayed; wandering about upon Goonhilly Down. How little it takes to make one happy, when one wants to be happy, and knows enough of the inevitable57 sorrows of life to be glad to be happy—as long as fate allows. Each has his burthen to bear, seen or unseen by the world outside, and some of us that day had not a light one; yet was it a bright day, a white day, a day to be thankful for.
Nor did it end when, arriving at the "ideal" lodgings58, and being received with a placidity59 which we felt we had not quite deserved, and fed in a manner which reflected much credit not only on the cook's skill, but her temper—we sallied out to see the place.
Not a picturesque61 place exactly. A high plain, with the sparkling sea beyond it; the principal object near being the Lizard Lights, a huge low building, with a tower at either side, not unlike the Sydenham Crystal palace, only dazzling white, as every building apparently62 was at the Lizard.
"We'll go out and adventure," cried the young folks; and off they started down the garden, over a stile—made of serpentine of course—and across what seemed a field, till they disappeared mysteriously where the line of sea cut the line of cliffs, and were heard of no more for two hours.
Then they returned, all delight and excitement. They had found such a lovely little cove20, full of tiny pools, a perfect treasure-house of sea-weeds and sea-anemones; and the rocks, so picturesque, and "so grand to scramble53 over." (I must confess that to these, my practically-minded "chickens," the picturesque or the romantic always ranked second to the fun of a scramble.) The descent to this marine63 paradise also seemed difficult enough to charm anybody.
"But you wouldn't do it. Quite impossible! You would break all your legs and arms, and sprain64 both your ankles."
Alas, for a hen—and an old hen—with ducklings! But mine, though daring, were not rash, and had none of that silly fool-hardiness which for the childish vanity of doing, or of saying one has done, a dangerous thing, risks health, comfort, life, and delights selfishly in making other people utterly miserable65. So, being feeble on my feet, though steady in my head, I agreed to sit like a cormorant66 on the nearest cliff, and look down placidly67 upon the young adventurers in their next delightful scramble.
It could not be to-night, however, for the tide was coming in fast; the fairy cove would soon be all under water.
"Shall we get a boat? It will soon be sunset and moon-rise; we can watch both from the sea."
That sea! Its broad circle had no other bound than the shores of America, and its blueness, or the strange, changing tint68 often called blue, almost equalled the blue of the Mediterranean69.
"Yes, ma'am, it's a fine evening for a row," said the faithful Charles. "And it isn't often you can get a row here; the sea is so rough, and the landing so difficult. But there's a man I know; he has a good boat, he knows the coast well, and he'll not go out unless it's really safe."
This seemed ultra-prudent70, with such a smiling sky and sea; but we soon found it was not unnecessary at the Lizard. Indeed all along the Cornish coast the great Atlantic waves come in with such a roll or a heavy ground-swell71, windless, but the precursor72 of a storm that is slowly arriving from across the ocean, that boating here at best is no child's play.
We had been fair-weather sailors, over shut-in lochs or smooth rivers; all of us could handle an oar73, or had handled it in old days, but this was a different style of thing. Descending74 the steep zigzag75 path to the next cove—the only one where there was anything like a fair landing—we found we still had to walk through a long bed of sea-weed, and manage somehow to get into the boat between the recoil76 and advance of a wave. Not one of the tiny waves of quiet bays, but an Atlantic roller, which, even if comparatively small and tame, comes in with a force that will take you off your feet at any time.
However, we managed it, and found ourselves floating among an archipelago of rocks, where the solemn cormorants77 sat in rows, and affectionate families of gulls79 kept swimming about in a large flotilla of white dots on the dark water. Very dark the sea was: heaving and sinking in great hills and valleys, which made rowing difficult. Also, for several yards round every rock extended a perfect whirlpool of foaming80 waves, which, if any boat chanced to be caught therein, would have dashed it to pieces in no time. But our boatmen seemed used to the danger, and took us as near it as possible, without actually running into it.
They were both far from commonplace-looking men, especially the elder, our stroke-oar. Being rather given to ethnological tastes, we had already noticed the characteristic Cornish face, not unlike the Norman type, and decidedly superior to that of the inland counties of England. But this was a face by itself, which would have attracted any artist or student of human nature; weather-beaten, sharp-lined, wrinkled as it was—the man must have been fully4 sixty—there was in it a sweetness, an absolute beauty, which struck us at once. The smile, placid60 and paternal82, came often, though words were few; and the keen, kindly83 eyes were blue as a child's, or as Tennyson describes King Arthur's.
"I can imagine," whispered one of us who had imaginative tendencies, "that King Arthur might have looked thus, had he lived to grow old."
"I don't believe King Arthur ever lived at all," was the knock-me-down utilitarian84 answer, to which the other had grown accustomed and indifferent. Nevertheless, there was such a refinement85 about the man, spite of his rough fisherman's dress, and he had been so kind to the young folks, so considerate to "the old lady," as Cornish candour already called me, that, intending to employ him again, we asked his name.
"John Curgenven."
"Cur-gen-ven," said he; adding, with a slight air of pride, "one of the oldest families in Cornwall."
(I have no hesitation87 in stating this, because, when we afterwards became great friends, I told John Curgenven I should probably "put him in a book"—if he had no objection. To which he answered with his usual composure, "No, he did not think it would harm him." He evidently considered "writing a book" was a very inferior sort of trade.)
But looking at him, one could not help speculating as to how far the legend of King Arthur had been really true, and whether the type of man which Tennyson has preserved—or created—in this his "own ideal knight88," did once exist, and still exists, in a modified modern form, throughout Cornwall. A fancy upon which we then only argued; now I, at least, am inclined to believe it.
"There is Lord Brougham's head, his wig89 and his turn-up nose, you can see all distinctly. At least, you could if there was light enough."
But there was not light, for the sun was setting, and the moon only just rising. Black looked the heaving sea, except where rings of white foam81 encircled each group of rocks, blacker still. And blackest of all looked the iron-bound coast, sharp against the amber26 western sky.
"Yes, that's Kynance Cove, and the Gull78 Rock and Asparagus Island. Shall we row there? It's only about two miles."
Two miles there, and two back, through this angry sea, and then to land in the dim light about 9 p.m.! Courage failed us. We did not own this; we merely remarked that we would rather see Kynance by daylight, but I think each of us felt a sensation of relief when the boat's head was turned homewards.
Yet how beautiful it all was! Many a night afterwards we watched the same scene, but never lovelier than that night, the curved line of coast traceable distinctly up to Mount's Bay, and then the long peninsula which they told us was the Land's End, stretching out into the horizon, where sea and sky met in a mist of golden light, through which the sun was slowly dropping right from the sky into the sea. Beyond was a vague cloud-land, which might be the fair land of Lyonesse itself, said still to lie there submerged, with all its cities and towers and forests; or the "island-valley of Avillion," whither Arthur sailed with the three queens to be healed of his "grievous wound," and whence he is to come again some day. Popular superstition90 still expects him, and declares that he haunts this coast even now in the shape of a Cornish chough.
Modern ghosts, too, exist, decidedly more alarming.
"Look up there, ladies, that green slope is Pistol Meadow. Nobody likes to walk there after dark. Other things walk as well."
"What things?"
"Two hundred and more of foreign sailors, whose ship went to pieces in the little cove below. They're buried under the green mounds91 you see. Out of a crew of seven hundred only two men were washed ashore92 alive, and they were in irons, which the captain had put on them because they said he was going too near in shore. It was called Pistol Meadow because most of 'em were found with pistols in their hands, which may have been true or may not, since it happened more than a hundred years ago. However, there are the green mounds, you see, and Lizard folk don't much like passing the place after dark."
"But you?"
John Curgenven smiled. "Oh, us and the coast-guards! Us goes anywhere, at all hours, and never meets nothing. D'ye see those white marks all along the coast every few yards? They're rocks, kept white-washed, to guide the men of dark nights between here and Kynance. It's a ticklish93 path, when all's as black as pitch, with a stiff wind blowing."
I should think it was! One almost shuddered94 at the idea, and then felt proud of the steady heads and cool courage of these coast-guard men—always the pick of the service, true Englishmen, fearless and faithful—the business of whose whole lives is to save other lives—that is, now that smuggling95 has abated96, and those dreadful stories once current all along the coast of Cornwall have become mostly legends of the past. No tales of wreckers, or of fights between smugglers and revenue officers, reached our ears, but the stories of shipwrecks98 were endless. Every winter, and many times through the winter, some ghastly tragedy had happened. Every half-mile along this picturesque shore was recorded the place where some good ship went to pieces, often with the brief addendum99, "all hands lost."
"The sun's just setting. Look out for the Lizard Lights," called out Charles, who sat in the bow of the boat in faithful attendance upon his "ladies,"—another Knight of the Round Table in humble100 life—we met many such in Cornwall. "Look! There they are."
And sure enough, the instant the sun's last spark was quenched101 in the sea, into which he dropped like a red round ball, out burst two substitute suns, and very fair substitutes too, making the poor little moon in the east of no importance whatever. The gleam of them extended far out upon the darkening ocean, and we could easily believe that their light was "equal to 20,000 candles," and that they were seen out at sea to a distance of twenty, some said even thirty, miles.
"Except in a fog; and the fogs at the Lizard are very bad. Then you can see nothing, not even the Lights, but they keep sounding the fog-horn every minute or so. It works by the same machinery102 as works the Lights—a big steam-engine; you can hear it bum-bumming now, if you listen."
So we could, a mysterious noise like that of a gigantic bumble-bee, coming across the water from that curious building, long and white, with its two towers and those great eyes in each of them, at either end.
"They're wonderful bright;" said John Curgenven; "many's the time I've sat and read my newspaper by them a quarter of a mile off. They're seen through the blackest night, the blacker the brighter, seen through everything—except fog. Now, ladies, d'ye think you can jump ashore?"
Some of us did, airily enough, though it required to choose your moment pretty cleverly so as to escape the incoming wave. And some of us—well, we accepted the inevitable, and were only too thankful to scramble anyhow, wet or dry, on terra firma.
And then we had to ascend103 the zigzag path, slippery with loose stones, and uncertainly seen in the dim half-twilight, half-moonlight. At last we came out safe by the life-boat house, which we had noticed in passing, with the slit104 in its door for "Contributions," and a notice below that the key was kept at such and such a house—I forget the man's name—"and at the Rectory."
"Yes," said Curgenven, "in many places along this coast, when there's a wreck97, and we're called out, the parson's generally at the head of us. Volunteers? Of course we're all volunteers, except the coast-guard, who are paid. But they're often glad enough of us and of our boats too. The life-boat isn't enough. They keep her here, the only place they can, but it's tough work running her down to the beach on a black winter's night, with a ship going to pieces before your eyes, as ships do here in no time. I've seen it myself—watched her strike, and in ten minutes there was not a bit of her left."
We could well imagine it. Even on this calm evening the waves kept dashing themselves against every rock with a roar and a swell and a circle of boiling foam. What must it be on a stormy winter night, or through the deathly quiet of a white mist, with nothing visible or audible except the roar of the waters and the shriek105 of the fog-horn!
"I think it's full time we were in-doors," suggested a practical and prudent little voice; "we can come again and see it in the daylight. Here's the road."
"That's the way you came, Miss," said Charles, "but I can take you a much shorter one on the top of the hedges"—or edges, we never quite knew which they were, though on the whole the letter h is tolerably well treated in Cornwall.
These "hedges" were startling to any one not Cornish-born. In the Lizard district the divisions of land are made not by fences, but by walls, built in a peculiar fashion, half stones, half earth, varying from six to ten feet high, and about two feet broad. On the top of this narrow giddy path, fringed on either side by deceitful grass, you are expected to walk!—in fact, are obliged to walk, for there is often no other road. There was none here.
I looked round in despair. Once upon a time I could have walked upon walls as well as anybody, but now—!
"I'll help you, ma'am; and I'm sure you can manage it," said Charles consolingly. "It's only three-quarters of a mile."
Three-quarters of a mile along a two-foot path on the top of a wall, and in this deceitful light, when one false step would entail106 a certain fall. And at my age one doesn't fall exactly like a feather or an india-rubber ball.
"Ma'am, if you go slow and steady, with me before and Curgenven behind, you'll not fall."
Nor did I. I record it with gratitude107 to those two honest men—true gentlemen, such as I have found at times in all ranks—who never once grumbled108 or relaxed in their care of their tardy109 and troublesome charge; one instance more of that kindly courtesy which it does any man good to offer, and which any woman, "lady" though she be, may feel proud to receive.
When we reached "home," as we had already begun to call it, a smiling face and a comfortable tea justified110 the word. And when we retired111, a good deal fatigued112, but quite happy, we looked out upon the night, where the fiery113 stream of the Lizard Lights was contending with the brightest of harvest moons. It was a hopeful ending of our second day.
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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refreshment
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| n.恢复，精神爽快，提神之事物；（复数）refreshments:点心，茶点 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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straightforward
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| adj.正直的，坦率的；易懂的，简单的 | |
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kindliness
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| n.厚道，亲切，友好的行为 | |
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chivalrous
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| adj.武士精神的；对女人彬彬有礼的 | |
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fidelity
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| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
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lizard
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| n.蜥蜴，壁虎 | |
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leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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quarries
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| n.（采）石场( quarry的名词复数 )；猎物（指鸟，兽等）；方形石；（格窗等的）方形玻璃v.从采石场采得( quarry的第三人称单数 )；从（书本等中）努力发掘（资料等）；在采石场采石 | |
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granite
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| adj.花岗岩，花岗石 | |
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eucalyptus
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| n.桉树，桉属植物 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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afflict
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| vt.使身体或精神受痛苦，折磨 | |
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undoubtedly
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cognate
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pointed
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heartily
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cove
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| n.小海湾，小峡谷 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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glade
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coveted
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| adj.令人垂涎的；垂涎的，梦寐以求的v.贪求，觊觎(covet的过去分词)；垂涎；贪图 | |
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subterranean
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chambers
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26
amber
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| n.琥珀；琥珀色；adj.琥珀制的 | |
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27
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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28
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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29
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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30
jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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31
civilisation
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| n.文明，文化，开化，教化 | |
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32
isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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33
bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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34
bishops
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| （基督教某些教派管辖大教区的）主教( bishop的名词复数 )； （国际象棋的）象 | |
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35
oratory
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| n.演讲术；词藻华丽的言辞 | |
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36
minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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37
outskirts
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| n.郊外，郊区 | |
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38
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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39
ponies
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| 矮种马，小型马( pony的名词复数 )； ￡25 25 英镑 | |
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40
fauna
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| n.(一个地区或时代的)所有动物，动物区系 | |
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41
botanists
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| n.植物学家，研究植物的人( botanist的名词复数 ) | |
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42
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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43
peculiarity
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| n.独特性，特色；特殊的东西；怪癖 | |
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44
serpentine
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| adj.蜿蜒的，弯曲的 | |
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45
ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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46
mania
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| n.疯狂；躁狂症，狂热，癖好 | |
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glistening
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| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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48
raisins
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| n.葡萄干( raisin的名词复数 ) | |
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49
flask
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| n.瓶，火药筒，砂箱 | |
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50
odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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contentedly
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| adv.心满意足地 | |
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52
scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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53
scramble
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| v.爬行，攀爬，杂乱蔓延，碎片，片段，废料 | |
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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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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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56
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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57
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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58
lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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59
placidity
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| n.平静，安静，温和 | |
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placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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61
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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63
marine
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| adj.海的；海生的；航海的；海事的；n.水兵 | |
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sprain
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| n.扭伤,扭筋 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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cormorant
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| n.鸬鹚，贪婪的人 | |
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placidly
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| adv.平稳地，平静地 | |
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68
tint
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| n.淡色，浅色；染发剂；vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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Mediterranean
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| adj.地中海的；地中海沿岸的 | |
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prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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71
swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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72
precursor
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| n.先驱者；前辈；前任；预兆；先兆 | |
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73
oar
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| n.桨，橹，划手；v.划行 | |
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74
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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75
zigzag
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| n.曲折，之字形；adj.曲折的，锯齿形的；adv.曲折地，成锯齿形地；vt.使曲折；vi.曲折前行 | |
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76
recoil
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| vi.退却，退缩，畏缩 | |
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77
cormorants
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| 鸬鹚，贪婪的人( cormorant的名词复数 ) | |
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gull
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| n.鸥；受骗的人；v.欺诈 | |
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79
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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80
foaming
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| adj.布满泡沫的；发泡 | |
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81
foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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82
paternal
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| adj.父亲的，像父亲的，父系的，父方的 | |
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83
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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84
utilitarian
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| adj.实用的，功利的 | |
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85
refinement
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| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
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86
plunges
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| n.跳进，投入vt.使投入，使插入，使陷入vi.投入，跳进，陷入v.颠簸( plunge的第三人称单数 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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87
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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88
knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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89
wig
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| n.假发 | |
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90
superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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91
mounds
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| 土堆，土丘( mound的名词复数 )； 一大堆 | |
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92
ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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93
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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94
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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95
smuggling
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| n.走私 | |
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96
abated
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| 减少( abate的过去式和过去分词 )； 减去； 降价； 撤消（诉讼） | |
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97
wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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98
shipwrecks
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| 海难，船只失事( shipwreck的名词复数 )； 沉船 | |
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99
addendum
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| n.补充，附录 | |
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100
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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101
quenched
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| 解（渴）( quench的过去式和过去分词 )； 终止（某事物）； （用水）扑灭（火焰等）； 将（热物体）放入水中急速冷却 | |
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102
machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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103
ascend
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| vi.渐渐上升，升高；vt.攀登，登上 | |
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104
slit
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| n.狭长的切口；裂缝；vt.切开，撕裂 | |
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105
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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106
entail
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| vt.使承担，使成为必要，需要 | |
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107
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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108
grumbled
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| 抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
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109
tardy
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| adj.缓慢的，迟缓的 | |
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110
justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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111
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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112
fatigued
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| adj. 疲乏的 | |
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113
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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