Still no one is more attached to his home than the sailor. There are few among them who are not married. And by a kind of special grace they are apt to enjoy their short happiness as if it were for eternity6, indifferent as to what the morning may bring.
It is an order to sail.
He must go, abandoning every thing and everybody,—mother, family, and friends, the wife he has married the day before, the young mother who sits smiling by the cradle of her first-born, the betrothed8 who was looking joyfully9 at her bridal veil. He must go, and stifle10 all those ominous11 voices which rise from the depth of his heart, and say to him, “Will you ever return? and, if you return, will you find them all, your dear ones? and, if you find them, will they not have changed? will they have preserved your memory as faithfully as you have preserved theirs?”
To be happy, and to be compelled to open to mishap12 this fatal door, absence! Hence it is only in comic operas, and inferior novels, that the sailors are seen to sing their most cheerful songs at the moment when a vessel13 is about to sail on a long and perilous14 voyage. The moment is, in reality, always a sad one, very grave and solemn.
Such could not fail to be the scene also, when “The Conquest” sailed,—the ship on board of which Daniel Champcey had been ordered as lieutenant16. And certainly there had been good reasons for ordering him to make haste and get down to the port where she lay; for the very next day after his arrival, she hoisted17 anchor. She had been waiting for him only.
Having reached Rochefort at five o’clock in the morning, he slept the same night on board; and the next day “The Conquest” sailed. Daniel suffered more than any other man on board, although he succeeded in affecting a certain air of indifference18. The thought of Henrietta being left in the hands of adventurers who were capable of any thing was a thorn in his side, which caused him great and constant pain. As he gradually calmed down, and peace returned to his mind, a thousand doubts assailed19 him concerning Maxime de Brevan: would he not be exposed to terrible temptation when he found himself thrown daily into the company of a great heiress? Might he not come to covet20 her millions, and try to abuse her peculiar21 situation in order to secure them to himself?
Daniel believed too firmly in his betrothed to apprehend22 that she would even listen to Brevan. But he reasoned, very justly, that his darling would be in a desperate condition indeed, if M. de Brevan, furious at being refused, should betray his confidence, and go over to the enemy, to the Countess Sarah.
“And I,” he thought, “who in my last directions urged her to trust implicitly23 in Maxime, and to follow his advice as if it were my own!”
In the midst of these terrible anxieties, he hardly recollected25 that he had intrusted to Maxime every thing that he possessed26. What was his money to him in comparison!
Thus it appeared to him a genuine favor of Providence27 when “The Conquest,” six days out at sea, experienced a violent storm, which endangered her safety for nearly seventy-two hours. His thoughts disappeared while he felt his grave responsibility, as long as the sea tossed the vessel to and fro like a mere28 cork29, and while the crew fought with the elements till they were overcome by fatigue3. He had actually a good night’s rest, which he had not enjoyed since he left Paris.
When he awoke, he was surprised to feel a certain peace of mind. Henceforth his fate was no longer in his own hands; he had been shown very clearly his inability to control events. Sad resignation succeeded to his terrible anxiety.
A single hope now kept him alive,—the hope of soon receiving a letter from Henrietta, or, it might be, of finding one upon arriving at his destination; for it was by no means impossible for “The Conquest” to be outstripped31 by some vessel that might have left port three weeks later. “The Conquest,” an old wooden frigate32, and a sailing vessel, justified33 her bad reputation of being the worst sailor in the whole fleet. Moreover, alternate calms and sudden blows kept her much longer than usually on the way. The oldest sailors said they had never seen a more tedious voyage.
To add to the discomfort34, “The Conquest” was so crammed35 full with passengers, that sailors and officers had hardly half of the space usually allotted36 to them on board ship. Besides the crew, there were on board a half battalion37 of marines, and a hundred and sixty mechanics of various trades, whom government sent out for the use of the colony. Some of these artisans had their families with them, having determined38 to become settlers in Cochin China; others, generally quite young yet, only made the voyage in order to have an opportunity for seeing foreign lands, and for earning, perhaps, a little money. They were occasionally called upon to assist in handling the ship, and were, on the whole, good men, with the exception of four or five, who were so unruly that they had to be put in irons more than once.
The days passed, nevertheless; and “The Conquest” had been out three months, when one afternoon, as Daniel was superintending a difficult manoeuvre39, he was suddenly seen to stagger, raise his arms on high, and fall backwards40 on the deck.
They ran up to him, and raised him up; but he gave no sign of life; and the blood poured forth30 from his mouth and nose in streams. Daniel had won the hearts of the crew by his even temper, his strict attention to duty, and his kindness, when off duty, to all who came in contact with him. Hence, when the accident became known, in an instant sailors and officers came hurrying up from one end of the frigate to the other, and even from the lowest deck, to see what had happened to him.
What had happened? No one could tell; for no one had seen any thing. Still it must be a very grave matter, to judge from the large pool of blood which dyed the deck at the place where the young man had fallen down so suddenly. They had carried him to the infirmary; and, as soon as he recovered his senses, the surgeons discovered the cause of his fall and his fainting.
He had an enormous contused wound on the back of his head, a little behind the left ear,—a wound such as a heavy hammer in the hands of a powerful man might have produced. Whence came this terrible blow, which apparently41 a miracle alone had prevented from crushing the skull42? No one could explain this, neither the surgeons, nor the officers who stood around the bed of the wounded man. When Daniel could be questioned, he knew no more about it than the others. There had been no one standing43 near him; nor had he seen anybody come near him at the time of the accident; the blow, moreover, had been so violent, that he had fallen down unconscious. All these details soon became current among the sailors and passengers who had crowded on deck. They were received with incredulous smiles, and, when they could no longer be held in doubt, with bursts of indignation.
What! Lieut. Champcey had been struck in broad daylight, in the midst of the crew! How? By whom?
The whole matter was so wrapped up in mystery, that it became all important to clear it up; and the sailors themselves opened at once a kind of court of inquest. Some hairs, and a clot44 of blood, which were discovered on an enormous block, seemed to explain the riddle45. It would seem that the rope to which this enormous block was fastened had slipped out of the hands of one of the sailors who were engaged in the rigging, carrying out the manoeuvre superintended by Daniel.
Frightened by the consequences of his awkwardness, but, nevertheless preserving his presence of mind, this man had, no doubt, drawn46 up the block so promptly47, that he had not been noticed. Could it be hoped that he would accuse himself? Evidently not. Besides, what would be the use of it? The wounded man was the first to request that the inquiries48 might be stopped.
When, at the end of a fortnight, Champcey returned to duty, they ceased talking of the accident; unfortunately, such things happen but too frequently on board ship. Besides, the idea that “The Conquest” was drawing near her destination filled all minds, and sufficed for all conversations.
And really, one fine evening, as the sun was setting, land was seen, and the next morning, at daybreak, the frigate sailed into the Dong-Nai, the king of Cochin Chinese rivers, which is so wide and so deep, that vessels49 of the largest tonnage can ascend50 it without difficulty till they reach Saigon.
Standing on deck, Daniel watched the monotonous51 scenes which they passed,—a landscape strange in form, and exhaling52 mortal fevers from the soil, and the black yielding slime.
After a voyage of several months, he derived53 a melancholy54 pleasure from seeing the banks of the river overshadowed by mango trees and mangroves, with their supple56, snakelike roots wandering far off under water; while on shore a soft, pleasant vegetation presented to the eye the whole range of shades in green, from the bluish, sickly green of the idrys to the dark, metallic57 green of the stenia. Farther inland, tall grapes, lianes, aloes, and cactus58 formed impenetrable thickets60, out of which rose, like fluted61 columns, gigantic cocoa-palms, and the most graceful62 trees on earth, areca-palms. Through clearings here and there, one could follow, as far as the eye reached, the course of low, fever-breeding marshes63, an immense mud-plain covered with a carpet of undulating verdure, which opened and closed again under the breeze, like the sea itself.
“Ah! That is Saigon, is it?” said to Daniel a voice full of delight.
He turned round. It was his best friend on board, a lieutenant like himself, who had come to his side, and, offering him a telescope, said with a great sigh of satisfaction,—
“Look! there, do you see? At last we are here. In two hours, Champcey, we shall be at anchor.”
In the distance one could, in fact, make out upon the deep blue of the sky the profile of the curved roof of the pagodas64 in Saigon. It took a long hour yet, before, at a turn in the river, the town itself appeared, miserable65 looking,—with all deference66 to our geographies, be it said,—in spite of the immense labor67 of the French colony.
Saigon consists mainly of one wide street running parallel with the right bank of the Dong-Nai, a primitive68, unpaved street cut up into ruts, broken in upon by large empty spaces, and lined with wooden houses covered with rice-straw or palm-leaves.
Thousands of boats crowd against the banks of the river along this street, and form a kind of floating suburb, overflowing69 with a strange medley70 of Annamites, Hindoos, and Chinamen. At a little distance from the river, there appear a few massive buildings with roofs of red tiles, pleasing to the eye, and here and there an Annamite farm, which seems to hide behind groups of areca-palms. Finally, on an eminence71, rise the citadel72, the arsenal73, the house of the French commander, and the former dwelling74 of the Spanish colonel.
But every town is beautiful, where we land after a voyage of several months. Hence, as soon as “The Conquest” was safely at anchor, all the officers, except the midshipman on duty, went on shore, and hastened to the government house to ask if letters from France had arrived there before them. Their hopes were not deceived. Two three-masters, one French, the other English, which had sailed a month later than “The Conquest,” had arrived there at the beginning of the week, bringing despatches.
There were two letters for Daniel, and with feverish75 hands and beating heart he took them from the hand of the old clerk. But at the first glance at the addresses he turned pale. He did not see Henrietta’s handwriting. Still he tore open the envelopes, and glanced at the signatures. One of the letters was signed, “Maxime de Brevan;” the other, “Countess Ville-Handry,” nee Sarah Brandon.
Daniel commenced with the latter. After informing him of her marriage, Sarah described at great length Henrietta’s conduct on the wedding-day.
“Any other but myself,” she said, “would have been incensed76 at this atrocious insult, and would abuse her position to be avenged77. But I, who never yet forgave anybody, I will forgive her, Daniel, for your sake, and because I cannot see any one suffer who has loved you.”
A postscript78 she had added ran thus,—
“Ah! why did you not prevent my marriage, when you could do so by a word? They think I have reached the summit of my wishes. I have never been more wretched.”
“This miserable woman,” he thought, “laughs at me; and, when she says she does not blame Henrietta, that means that she hates her, and will persecute82 her.”
Maxime’s letter fortunately reassured83 him a little. Maxime confirmed Sarah’s account, adding, moreover, that Miss Henrietta was very sad, but calm and resigned; and that her step-mother treated her with the greatest kindness. The surprising part was, that Brevan did not say a word of the large amounts that had been intrusted to his care, nor of his method of selling the lands, nor of the price which he had obtained.
But Daniel did not notice this; all his thoughts were with Henrietta.
“Why should she not have written,” he thought, “when all the others found means to write?”
Overwhelmed with disappointment, he had sat down on a wooden bench in the embrasure of one of the windows in the hall where the letters were distributed. Travelling across the vast distance which separated him from France, his thoughts were under the trees in the garden of the count’s palace. He felt as if a powerful effort of his will would enable him to transport himself thither84. By the pale light of the moon he thought he could discern the dress of his beloved as she stole towards him between the old trees.
A friendly touch on the shoulder recalled him rudely to the real world. Four or five officers from “The Conquest” were standing around him, gay, and free from cares, a hearty85 laugh on their lips.
“Well, my dear Champcey,” they said, “are you coming?”
“Where?”
“Why, to dinner!”
And as he looked at them with the air of a man who had just been roused, and has not had time to collect his thoughts, they went on,—
“Well, to dinner. It appears Saigon possesses an admirable French restaurant, where the cook, a Parisian, is simply a great artist. Come, get up, and let us go.”
But Daniel was in a humor which made solitude86 irresistibly87 attractive. He trembled at the idea of being torn from his melancholy reveries, of being compelled to take his part in conversation, to talk, to listen, to reply.
“I cannot dine with you to-day, my friends,” he said to his comrades.
“You are joking.”
“No, I am not. I must return on board.” Then only, the others were struck by the sad expression of his face; and, changing their tone, they asked him in the most affectionate manner,—
“What is the matter, Champcey? Have you heard of any misfortune, any death?”
“No.”
“You have had letters from France, I see.”
“They bring me nothing sad. I was expecting news, and they have not come; that is all.”
“Oh! then you must come with us.”
“Do not force me; I would be a sorry companion.”
Still they insisted, as friends will insist who will not understand that others may not be equally tempted88 by what charms them; but nothing could induce Daniel to change his mind. At the door of the government house he parted with his comrades, and went back, sad and solitary89, towards the harbor.
He reached without difficulty the banks of the Dong-Nai; but here obstacles presented themselves of which he had not thought. The night was so dark, that he could hardly see to find his way along a wharf90 in process of construction, and covered with enormous stones and timber. Not a light in all the native huts around. In spite of his efforts to pierce this darkness, he could discern nothing but the dark outline of the vessels lying at anchor in the river, and the light of the lighthouse as it trembled in the current.
He called. No voice replied. The silence, which was as deep as the darkness, was broken only by the low wash of the river as it flowed down rapidly.
“I am quite capable,” thought Daniel, “of not finding the boat of ‘The Conquest.’”
Still he did find it, after long search, drawn up, and half lost, in a crowd of native boats. But the boat seemed to be empty. It was only when he got into it, that he discovered a little midshipman fast asleep in the bottom, wrapped up in a carpet which was used to cover the seats for the officers. Daniel shook him. He rose slowly, and grumbling91, as if overcome by sleep.
“Where are the men?” asked Daniel.
Quite awake now, the midshipman, who had good eyes, had noticed, in spite of the darkness, the gold of the epaulets. This made him very respectful at once; and he replied,—
“Lieutenant, all the men are in town.”
“How so? All?”
“Why, yes, lieutenant! When all the officers had gone on shore, they told the boatswain they would not come back very soon, and he might take his time to eat a mouthful, and to drink a glass, provided the men did not get drunk.”
That was so; and Daniel had forgotten the fact.
“And where did they go?” he asked.
“I don’t know, lieutenant.”
Daniel looked at the large, heavy boat, as if he had thought for a moment to return in it to “The Conquest” with no other help but the little midshipman; but, no, that was impracticable.
“Well, go to sleep again,” he said to the boy.
And jumping on shore, without uttering a word of disappointment, he was going in search of his comrades, when he saw suddenly a man turn up out of the darkness, whose features it was impossible to distinguish.
“Who is there?” he asked.
“Mr. Officer,” answered the man in an almost unintelligible93 jargon94, a horrible medley of French, Spanish, and English. “I heard you tell the little man in the boat there”—
“Well?”
“I thought you wanted to get back on board your ship?”
“Why, yes.”
“Well, then, if you like it, I am a boatman; I can take you over.”
There was no reason why Daniel should mistrust the man. In all ports of the world, and at any hour of the day or the night, men are to be found who are lying in wait on the wharves95 for sailors who have been belated, and who are made to pay dear for such extra services.
“Ah! you are a boatman, you say?” Daniel exclaimed, quite pleased at the encounter. “Well, where is your boat?”
“There, Mr. Officer, a little way down; just follow me. But what ship do you want to go to?”
“That ship there.”
And Daniel pointed96 out to him “The Conquest” as she lay not six hundred yards off in the river, showing her lights.
“I’ll give you a couple of francs for your trouble.”
The man clapped his hands with delight, and said,—
“Ah! if that’s the way, all right. Come along, Mr. Officer, a little farther down. There, that’s my boat. Get in, now steady!”
Daniel followed his directions; but he was so much struck by the man’s awkwardness in getting the boat off, that he could not help saying to him,—
“Ah, my boy, you are not a boatman, after all!”
“I beg pardon, sir; I used to be one before I came to this country.”
“What is your country?”
“Shanghai.”
“Nevertheless, you will have to learn a great deal before you will ever be a sailor.”
Still, as the boat was very small, a mere nutshell, in fact, Daniel thought he could, if needs be, take an oar15 himself. Thereupon, sitting down, and stretching out his legs, he was soon once more plunged98 in meditations99. The unfortunate man was soon roused, however, by a terrible sensation.
Thanks to a shock, a wrong movement, or any other accident, the boat upset, and Daniel was thrown into the river; and, to fill the measure of his mishaps100, one of his feet was so closely jammed in between the seat and the boat itself, that he was paralyzed in his movements, and soon under water.
He saw it all in an instant; and his first thought was,—
“I am lost!”
But, desperate as his position was, he was not the man to give up. Gathering101, by one supreme102 effort, all his strength and energy, he took hold of the boat, that had turned over just above him, and pushed it so forcibly, that he loosened his foot, and at the same moment reached the surface. It was high time; for Daniel had swallowed much water.
“Now,” he thought, “I have a chance to escape!”
A very frail103 chance, alas104!—so small a chance, in fact, that it required all the strong will and the invincible105 courage of Daniel to give it any effect. A furious current carried him down like a straw; the little boat, which might have supported him, had disappeared; and he knew nothing about this formidable Dong-Nai, except that it went on widening to its mouth. There was nothing to guide him; for the night was so dark, that land and water, the river and its banks, all melted together in the uniform, bottomless darkness.
What had become of the boatman, however? At all events, he called,—
“Ahoy, my man!”
No answer. Had he been swept off? Or did he get back into the boat? Perhaps he was drowned already.
But all of a sudden Daniel’s heart trembled with joy and hope. He had just made out, a few hundred yards below, a red light, indicating a vessel at anchor. All his efforts were directed towards that point. He was carried thither with an almost bewildering rapidity. He nearly touched it; and then, with incredible presence of mind, and great precision, at the moment when the current drove him close up to the anchor-chain, he seized it. He held on to it; and, having recovered his breath, he uttered three times in succession, with all the strength of his lungs, so sharp a cry, that it was heard above the fierce roar of the river,—
“Help, help, help!”
From the ship came a call, “Hold on!” proving to him that his appeal had been heard, and that help was at hand.
Too late! An eddy106 in the terrible current seized him, and, with irresistible107 violence, tore the chain, slippery with mud, out of his stiffened108 hands. Rolled over by the waters, he was rudely thrown against the side of the vessel, went under, and was carried off.
When he rose to the surface, the red light was far above him, and below no other light was in sight. No human help was henceforth within reach. Daniel could now count only upon himself in trying to make one of the banks. Although he could not measure the distance, which might be very great, the task did not seem to him beyond his strength, if he had only been naked. But his clothes encumbered109 him terribly; and the water which they soaked up made them, of course, every moment more oppressive.
“I shall be drowned, most assuredly,” he thought, “if I cannot get rid of my clothes.”
Excellent swimmer as he was, the task was no easy one. Still he accomplished110 it. After prodigious111 efforts of strength and skill, he got rid of his shoes; and then he cried out, as if in defiance112 of the blind element against which he was struggling,—
“I shall pull through! I shall see Henrietta again!”
But it had cost him an enormous amount of time to undress; and how could he calculate the distance which this current had taken him down—one of the swiftest in the world? As he tried to recall all he knew about it, he remembered having noticed that, a mile below Saigon, the river was as wide as a branch of the sea. According to his calculation, he must be near that spot now.
“Never mind,” he said to himself, “I mean to get out of this.”
Not knowing to which bank he was nearest, he had resolved, almost instinctively113, to swim towards the right bank, on which Saigon stands.
He was thus swimming for about half an hour, and began already to feel his muscles stiffening114, and his joints115 losing their elasticity116, while his breathing became oppressed, and his extremities117 were chilled, when he noticed from the wash of the water that he was near the shore. Soon he felt the ground under his feet; but, the moment he touched it, he sank up to his waist into the viscous118 and tenacious119 slime, which makes all the Cochin China rivers so peculiarly dangerous.
There was the land, no doubt, and only the darkness prevented his seeing it; and yet his situation was more desperate than ever. His legs were caught as in a vice24; the muddy water was boiling nearly up to his lips; and, at every effort to extricate120 himself, he sank deeper in, a little at a time, but always a little more. His presence of mind now began to leave him, as well as his strength; and his thoughts became confused, when he touched, instinctively feeling for a hold, the root of a mangrove55.
That root might be the saving of his life. First he tried its strength; then, finding it sufficiently121 solid, he hoisted himself up by it, gently, but with the frenzied122 energy of a drowning man; then, creeping cautiously on the treacherous123 mud, he finally succeeded in reaching firm ground, and fell down exhausted124.
He was saved from drowning; but what was to become of him, naked, exhausted, chilled as he was, and lost in this dark night in a strange and deserted125 country? After a moment, however, he rose, and tried to get on; but at every step he was held back on all sides by lianes and cactus thorns.
“Well,” he said, “I must stay here till day breaks.”
The rest of the night he spent in walking up and down, and beating his chest, in order to keep out the terrible chills which penetrated126 to the very marrow127 of his bones. The first light of dawn showed him how he was imprisoned128 within an apparently impenetrable thicket59, out of which, it seemed, he could never find his way. He did find it, however, and after a walk of four hours, he reached Saigon.
Some sailors of a merchant-ship, whom he met, lent him a few clothes, and carried him on board “The Conquest,” where he arrived more dead than alive.
“Where do you come from, great God! in such a state?” exclaimed his comrades when they saw him.
“What has happened to you?”
And, when he had told them all he had gone through since they parted, they said,—
“Certainly, my dear Champcey, you are a lucky fellow. This is the second accident from which you escape as by a miracle. Mind the third!”
“Mind the third!” that was exactly what Daniel thought.
For, in the midst of all the frightful129 sufferings he had undergone during the past night, he had reflected deeply. That block which had fallen on his head, no one knew whence; this boat sinking suddenly, and without apparent cause—were they the work of chance alone?
The awkwardness of the boatman who had so unexpectedly turned up to offer him his services had filled his mind with strange doubts. This man, a wretched sailor, might be a first-class swimmer; and, having taken all his measures before upsetting the boat, he might easily have reached land after the accident.
“This boatman,” Daniel thought, “evidently wanted me to perish. Why, and what purpose? Evidently not for his sake. But who is interested in my death? Sarah Brandon? No, that cannot be!”
What was still less likely was, that a wretch79 in Sarah Brandon’s pay should have found his way on board “The Conquest,” and should then have been precisely130 at the right moment at the wharf, the first time Daniel went on shore. Still his suspicions troubled him to such a degree, that he determined to make every effort to solve the mystery.
To begin, he asked for a list of all the men who had been allowed to go on shore the night before. He learned in reply, that only the crews of the different boats had been at Saigon, but that all the emigrants131 having been allowed to land, several of these men had also gone on shore. With this information, and in spite of his great weakness, Daniel went to the chief of police at Saigon, and asked him for an officer. With this agent he went to the wharf, to the spot where the boat of “The Conquest” had been lying the night before, and asked him to make inquiries there as to any boatman that might have disappeared during the night.
None of the boatmen was missing; but they brought Daniel a poor Annamite fellow, who had been wandering about the river-bank ever since early morning, tearing his hair, and crying that he had been robbed; that they had stolen his boat. Daniel had been unable the night before to distinguish the form or the dress of the man whose services he had accepted; but he had heard his voice, and he recalled the peculiar intonation132 so perfectly133, that he would have recognized it among thousands. Besides, this poor devil did not know a word of French (more than ten persons bore witness to it); and born on the river, and having always lived there, he was an excellent sailor. Finally, it was very clear, that, if this man had committed the crime, he would have been careful not to claim his boat.
“There is no doubt about it,” he thought. “I was to be murdered.”
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civilized
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| a.有教养的，文雅的 | |
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arduous
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| adj.艰苦的，费力的，陡峭的 | |
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fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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fatigues
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| n.疲劳( fatigue的名词复数 )；杂役；厌倦；（士兵穿的）工作服 | |
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incompatible
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| adj.不相容的，不协调的，不相配的 | |
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eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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betrothed
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| n. 已订婚者 动词betroth的过去式和过去分词 | |
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joyfully
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| adv. 喜悦地, 高兴地 | |
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stifle
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| vt.使窒息；闷死；扼杀；抑止，阻止 | |
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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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mishap
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| n.不幸的事，不幸；灾祸 | |
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vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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perilous
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| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
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oar
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| n.桨，橹，划手；v.划行 | |
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lieutenant
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| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
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hoisted
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| 把…吊起，升起( hoist的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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indifference
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assailed
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| v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 )；困扰；质问；毅然应对 | |
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covet
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| vt.垂涎；贪图(尤指属于他人的东西) | |
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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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22
apprehend
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| vt.理解，领悟，逮捕，拘捕，忧虑 | |
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implicitly
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| adv. 含蓄地, 暗中地, 毫不保留地 | |
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vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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25
recollected
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| adj.冷静的；镇定的；被回忆起的；沉思默想的v.记起，想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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26
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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27
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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28
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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29
cork
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| n.软木，软木塞 | |
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30
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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31
outstripped
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| v.做得比…更好，（在赛跑等中）超过( outstrip的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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32
frigate
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| n.护航舰，大型驱逐舰 | |
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33
justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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34
discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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35
crammed
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| adj.塞满的，挤满的；大口地吃；快速贪婪地吃v.把…塞满；填入；临时抱佛脚( cram的过去式) | |
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36
allotted
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| 分配，拨给，摊派( allot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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37
battalion
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| n.营；部队；大队(的人) | |
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38
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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39
manoeuvre
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| n.策略，调动；v.用策略，调动 | |
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40
backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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41
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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42
skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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43
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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44
clot
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| n.凝块；v.使凝成块 | |
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45
riddle
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| n.谜，谜语，粗筛；vt.解谜，给…出谜，筛，检查，鉴定，非难，充满于；vi.出谜 | |
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46
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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47
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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48
inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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49
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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50
ascend
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| vi.渐渐上升，升高；vt.攀登，登上 | |
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51
monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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52
exhaling
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| v.呼出，发散出( exhale的现在分词 )；吐出（肺中的空气、烟等），呼气 | |
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53
derived
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| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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54
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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55
mangrove
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| n.(植物)红树，红树林 | |
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56
supple
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| adj.柔软的，易弯的，逢迎的，顺从的，灵活的；vt.使柔软，使柔顺，使顺从；vi.变柔软，变柔顺 | |
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57
metallic
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| adj.金属的；金属制的；含金属的；产金属的；像金属的 | |
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58
cactus
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| n.仙人掌 | |
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59
thicket
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| n.灌木丛，树林 | |
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60
thickets
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| n.灌木丛( thicket的名词复数 )；丛状物 | |
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61
fluted
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| a.有凹槽的 | |
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62
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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63
marshes
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| n.沼泽，湿地( marsh的名词复数 ) | |
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64
pagodas
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| 塔，宝塔( pagoda的名词复数 ) | |
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65
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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66
deference
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| n.尊重，顺从；敬意 | |
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67
labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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68
primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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69
overflowing
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| n. 溢出物,溢流 adj. 充沛的，充满的 动词overflow的现在分词形式 | |
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70
medley
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| n.混合 | |
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71
eminence
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| n.卓越，显赫；高地，高处；名家 | |
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72
citadel
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| n.城堡；堡垒；避难所 | |
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73
arsenal
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| n.兵工厂，军械库 | |
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74
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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75
feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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76
incensed
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| 盛怒的 | |
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77
avenged
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| v.为…复仇，报…之仇( avenge的过去式和过去分词 )；为…报复 | |
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78
postscript
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| n.附言，又及；(正文后的)补充说明 | |
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79
wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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80
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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81
irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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82
persecute
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| vt.迫害，虐待；纠缠，骚扰 | |
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83
reassured
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| adj.使消除疑虑的；使放心的v.再保证，恢复信心( reassure的过去式和过去分词) | |
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84
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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85
hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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86
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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87
irresistibly
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| adv.无法抵抗地，不能自持地；极为诱惑人地 | |
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88
tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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89
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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90
wharf
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| n.码头，停泊处 | |
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91
grumbling
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| adj. 喃喃鸣不平的, 出怨言的 | |
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92
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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93
unintelligible
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| adj.无法了解的，难解的，莫明其妙的 | |
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94
jargon
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| n.术语，行话 | |
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95
wharves
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| n.码头，停泊处( wharf的名词复数 ) | |
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96
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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97
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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98
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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99
meditations
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| 默想( meditation的名词复数 )； 默念； 沉思； 冥想 | |
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100
mishaps
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| n.轻微的事故，小的意外( mishap的名词复数 ) | |
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101
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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102
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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103
frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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104
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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105
invincible
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| adj.不可征服的，难以制服的 | |
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106
eddy
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| n.漩涡，涡流 | |
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107
irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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108
stiffened
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| 加强的 | |
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109
encumbered
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| v.妨碍，阻碍，拖累( encumber的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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110
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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111
prodigious
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| adj.惊人的，奇妙的；异常的；巨大的；庞大的 | |
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112
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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113
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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114
stiffening
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| n. (使衣服等)变硬的材料, 硬化 动词stiffen的现在分词形式 | |
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115
joints
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| 接头( joint的名词复数 )； 关节； 公共场所（尤指价格低廉的饮食和娱乐场所） （非正式）； 一块烤肉 （英式英语） | |
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116
elasticity
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| n.弹性，伸缩力 | |
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117
extremities
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| n.端点( extremity的名词复数 )；尽头；手和足；极窘迫的境地 | |
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118
viscous
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| adj.粘滞的，粘性的 | |
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119
tenacious
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| adj.顽强的，固执的，记忆力强的，粘的 | |
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120
extricate
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| v.拯救，救出；解脱 | |
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121
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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122
frenzied
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| a.激怒的；疯狂的 | |
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123
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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124
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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125
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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126
penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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127
marrow
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| n.骨髓；精华；活力 | |
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128
imprisoned
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| 下狱，监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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129
frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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130
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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131
emigrants
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| n.（从本国移往他国的）移民( emigrant的名词复数 ) | |
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132
intonation
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| n.语调，声调；发声 | |
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133
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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134
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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