“Why, ’tes like this yur, ye see, Salcombe don’ want no railway; we’m martel glad, I zhuree, ’ur didden coom no furder’n Kingsbridge, an’[220] them as wants et now’d be main zorry et ever comed, ef’t du coom. Some on ’em wrote their names down on what they carled a petition for et. That old feller nex’ door to me was one on ’em. ‘Aw, yo’ ole fule,’ I ses, friendly like, ‘what av’ee dued now; baintee zatisfied tu be left peaceable? Why, yo’ must be maazed; vair zillee, fer zure. Scralee out yer name to-rights,’ ses I; ‘us-uns, don’ wan’ no railways yur.’”
“And the railway has been abandoned, then?”
“Zim zo: leastways we’m niver yurd nuthin’ more on’t.”
“But why object to a railway: it would[221] bring more people? Look how prosperous Kingsbridge has become since the railway was opened.”
“Aw, my dear sawl, ther’s no livin’ fer poor vo’k wher’ ther’s a railway. It doubles yer rent an’ the price of yer food, an’ all the gentry15 goes away, an’ all them as cooms into the place on business, an’ usen’d be able to git out’n it agen in a hurry, why, they’m off agen same arternoon.”
And that’s true enough, as Kingsbridge has discovered. Meanwhile, Salcombe remains17 a place which may not inaptly be compared with a lobster18 pot or a beetle-trap. It is not difficult to enter, but it is difficult to leave, unless you are prepared to hoof19 it, as many a commercial traveller knows.
Touch is kept with the outer world by means of an omnibus to Kingsbridge and by a steamer plying20 up and down the river; and sometimes the Kingsbridge Packet voyages out to sea, and[222] comes at last to a safe haven21 in Plymouth Barbican after having casually22 taken ground on a mud-bank or two down the river. The Kingsbridge Packet is not precisely23 a liner, and is indeed a cargo-boat which does not even disdain24 potatoes and live sheep.
“Kingsbridge River” is altogether a misnomer25. It is a five-mile long inlet of the sea, with numerous subsidiary creeks26 winding between the hills. The scenery is rendered comparatively desolate28 by the lack of woods, and it is of a peculiar29 solitude30. Kingsbridge town itself sits at the head of the creek27, and is a thriving little place. The villages of Charleton, Frogmore, and South Pool stand on their respective creeks.
Salcombe is not a little proud of its literary association with Froude, who entertained Tennyson[223] at his residence, Woodcot, toward the close of their respective careers, and it is a cherished article of faith that the Poet Laureate here received the inspiration of his “Crossing the Bar.” Froude himself sleeps in the cemetery31 on the hill-top, where his epitaph may be read with interest:—
In Memory of
James Anthony Froude, M.A.,
Regius Professor of
late Archdeacon of Totnes.
Born at Dartington
April 23, 1818,
Died at Salcombe,
October 20, 1894.
He drew a picture of Carlyle which hero-worshippers have bitterly resented, but a picture that shows the man, alike in his strength and his weakness; that makes him just human, instead of the infallible philosopher, superior to all littlenesses and prejudices, of a growing tradition.
Salcombe Castle, or Fort Charles, situated34 on a rocky islet off South Sands, was a ruinous mediæval tower in the time of the Cromwellian wars, but the perfervid loyalty35 of the West repaired it and fortified36 the place with cannon37, throwing in an armed garrison38, fully39 provisioned, at a cost, as the surviving accounts state, of £3,196 14s. 6d. During a four months’ bombardment in 1646, in which the gunners were such extravagantly[225] bad marksmen that only one person on each side was killed, Sir Edmund Fortescue held the fort, and then, only through some doubts of the loyalty of members of his garrison, capitulated and marched out, with guns firing, drums beating, and colours flying, to the seclusion40 of his own mansion41 at Fallapit. The bravado42 of this capitulation was more fatal than the siege, for three persons were accidentally shot.
If the landowners of Salcombe had their way it is little of the coast scenery hereabouts the public would see. Of late years the grassy44 summit of the cliffs looking upon Salcombe Castle has been enclosed and planted, and now, passing the inlet of South Sands, and coming to Splatt’s Cove16, a notice-board beside the path announces that “by the order of Ford’s Trustees” there is no right of way. My own advice to those who are confronted with notices such as this is, enter if you wish; and in this instance the Salcombe Urban District Council have given the lie direct to the impudent45 contention46 of the Trustees, and have erected47 a prominent notice of their own, side by side with the other, stating that, notwithstanding this warning, a right of way does exist.
Changeful has been the policy here. A former Earl of Devon, resident at the Moult, caused the Courtenay Walk to be cut midway up the once-inaccessible face of the cliffs round to Bolt Head, or, to speak by the card, “The Bolt.” And now, passing the mutually destructive notices above Splatt’s Cove, and under a recently built hotel,[226] we find the entrance to that walk flanked with offensively worded injunctions to keep to the path; by which it is abundantly evident that the present owner would dearly like to close it altogether. Here stands, or clings, a modern villa9, on the edge of the sloping cliff, with a little terrace down below, like a tiny gun-platform.
The Walk begins by burrowing49 through a stunted50 wood, that looks romantic enough to be pixie-haunted. And, by the same token, the foxglove grows abundantly in its shade, so the pixies must needs foregather here; for the foxglove provides gloves for the little “folk” and has nothing at all to do with foxes. They are the splendidest gloves you ever saw, much superior to the best gants de suéde that ever were, and neither Fownes nor Dent43 and Allcroft have ever made anything like them. That is quite certain. And if you come here at midnight and turn round three times and say “willie-willie wiskins,” you will see—what you will see. I can say no more than that, because whoso gives away the secrets of the little folk is lost.
Beyond the wood you come to very weird51 scenery indeed, along the boulderesque footpath52, with bracken and hoar rock intermingled, and the blue sea below on the left and great grey spires53 of cliff overhead on the right, splashed with lichens54 red, golden, tawny55, pallid56 green—all colours. Then rise in front of you the Pinnacles57. You see at once, when you are come in sight of them, that you are come by quick change from the territory[229] of the little folk into some Arthuresque land of the giants, for the great fantastic pinnacles are in twisted and contorted forms that suggest having originally been fashioned when warm and plastic by some Titan hand.
The slaty58 stratification of the surrounding rocks lends itself to the most outlandish horrent shapes of monstrous59 jibing60 faces, anvils61, halberds, battle axes, and the likeness62 of a perfect armoury of magic weapons of offence, taking their most uncanny guise63 in the ragged64 mists that almost always enwrap and cling about The Bolt.
It seems that, contrary to general belief, this headland, of which these Pinnacles are the culminating point, is not the real Bolt Head. It is the further point, across the intervening valley, where the explorer finds the coastguard path die away, and himself perilously65 walking on the treacherous67 grassy slopes, where a slip will conduct at express speed on to some particularly sharp and cruel-looking rocks. It is like an inferno68 down there, in the sense that the descent is fatally easy, and to retrace69 one’s steps—or rather, flight—impossible. It is here that, warily70 shirking the point, you wish you hadn’t come; that you were a goat or a chamois, or, at the very least of it, that you had spikes71 in the soles of your shoes.
But they are lovely, as well as awe-inspiring, glimpses down there, sheer into the sea, where the cliff-walls are as black as coal and the sea now a dark, now a light green, here and there ringing a half-submerged rock with creamy foam72. Hollow[230] sound the surges in those cavernous depths, and reverberant73 the cries of the seagulls. Such is the extremity74 of the real Bolt, out yonder.
The descent from the Pinnacles leads down into a solitary75 valley, with towering fantastic rocks on the one side and the sea on the other. A deserted76 cottage standing48 near the sea emphasises the loneliness. The cottage has a story, for it was built to house the submarine cable from Brest, landed here in May 1870. Here, thank goodness, you plunge77 out of the over-civilisation of to-day, and, leaving hotels behind, come for a space into something of the rural England of sixty years since. Here, where nature is so beautiful and the littlenesses of towns are left behind, one can understand something of that latter-day portent78, Anarchism, which, in this close touch with mother earth, reveals itself as a divine discontent with lovely things exploited and degraded, rather than the bogey79 of statesmen and sociologists.
Stair Hole Bottom they call this valley. It is carpeted with bracken; a little peaty stream comes oozing80 along in boggy81 places, or purling, as from the lip of a jug82, over scattered83 boulders84, overhung by the nodding foxglove. It is, in a word, Cornish, rather than Devonian, and, as commonly is the case in Cornwall, you have to pick your way among the chancy places, for lack of road or path.
Looking back, the Pinnacles show fitfully through the mist, the hole through them, like an All-seeing Eye, glowering85 darkly as the mists close[231] in, or lightening, with a tinge86 of beneficence, in the sun.
On those moist, hot, steamy Devonshire days, when the mist, condensed off the sea, rolls like smoke over the rocky ledges87, you look over the cliffs’ edge into a pillowy whiteness, which, for all you may discover, is the next field, or a sheer drop of three hundred feet on to a rocky beach. But through the smother88, like a warning cry, comes dully the turmoil89 of the waves, the husky voice of the sea, sounding to the unromantic Londoner like the roaring of the traffic in his native streets, as heard from one of the metropolitan90 parks.
The coastguard path is rugged91 and perilous66, and the whitened stones of it are apt to fail one at critical moments, like moral resolutions in the pathway of life. Sometimes they are not there at all, and in some spots they are so overgrown with bracken that you barge92 into them unawares, with painful results.
Up at Clewer signal station, where the coastguard, outside his tiny whitewashed93 hut, does incomprehensible things with strings94 of flags, the wild growths of these downs run riot, kept in subjection only by the winds, which have imposed the oddest shapes upon them. The gorse-bushes have been buffeted95 by them into closely compacted hummocky96 figures, the heather is disposed in hemispherical groups, the brambles, turn in upon themselves in a way the free-born hedgerow bramble would despise, and only the bracken, which is a summer growth and, like the[232] grass of the field, here to-day and gone to-morrow, is independent and upstanding. The beautiful bracken! Come here in July, and you will think all the strawberries in the world are on t’other side of the next shoulder of hill; for in that month the bracken has a perfume like that of the ripest and choicest and sweetest strawberries ever grown.
There are rabbits on these uplands, as with a painful wrench97 of the ankle you are not unlikely to discover, when your foot plunges98 unexpectedly into one of their burrows99. There are moles100, too, evidently, and slow-worms wriggle101 plentifully102 across the path.
And thus, now up, now down and around, with the perspiration103 streaming from you in the still, close hollows, and drying off on the breezy heights, you come by astonishing rocks down to a little sandy rock-girt cove, solitary, without even a Man Friday’s footprints on the yellow sand, through which a little stream trickles104. But though no human footprint may be seen, the sands are patterned by the thousand with the broad-arrow prints of the gulls’ feet, as though the War Office had descended105 upon the place and thus prodigally106 marked it for its ownest own.
One could and two could even better—go a-Robinson-Crusoeing here very comfortably for awhile in the summer, with the aid of a tent, despite the unlovely name of the place, which is Sewer107 Mill Cove.
What’s in a name? Not much here, at any rate, for it has really nothing to do with drains.[233] There are several “sewer” farms in the neighbourhood, east and west, and the district in general is called “The Sewers”: the name deriving108 from the Anglo-Saxon description of the folk living here, the “Sæware,” the sea-folk, as distinguished109 from those who, living a little more inland, obtained their livelihood110 from the land. The process by which the place took its name is not an unusual one; and Canterbury—the “burgh of the Kent-ware,” or Kentish folk—may be taken as a prominent and familiar instance.
Sewer Mill Cove was the scene in 1885 of one of the many wrecks111 that have made this coast dreaded112 by mariners113, for then the Hallowe’en teaship was cast away here, fortunately without loss of life.
The downs here, at the summit of the cliffs between this and Hope, are those of Bolberry, whence comes, some consider, the name of Bolt Head. Heather clothes them and the cliff-tops with a more than imperial magnificence. Imperial mantles114 are poor things and tawdry beside such purple splendour. If Solomon in all his glory were not arrayed like the lilies of the field, certainly no emperor has ever attained115 to the gorgeousness of the heather.
It is an untameable wilderness116 on these heights, for the land is of such negative quality that it is worth no farmer’s while to touch it, and moreover, great fissures117 and holes, like those of earthquakes, partly masked by undergrowth, exist here. The country people speak of them as[234] Ralph’s Pits, Vincent Pits, Rotten Pits. Ralph, they tell you, was a smuggler118, and that is the closest touch you can make to him. Ralph is as insubstantial as the mists that come streaking119 over the downs.
Now we come to Bolt Tail and the signal-station, overlooking Ramilies Cove, where the Ramilies man-o’-war was wrecked120 in 1760. Seven hundred and eight of the seven hundred and thirty four men on board perished. Down below lies Hope village, in its tiny cove, where an island can be seen in the making; a great mass of rock dividing the cove in two being joined to the mainland only by strips of sand and heaps of tumbled boulders. It was here that one of the many ships of the Spanish Armada was wrecked: so many ships and so many wrecks that the pen revolts from writing about them, even as the London apprentices121 revolted, in the centuries gone by, against salmon122 every day. These Spanish Armada ships are the “salmon every day,” or the toujours perdrix, if you like to put it in terms of a surfeit123 of game, of the historian of the coasts. Scarce a cove but they dashed their stout124 timbers to pieces upon its rocks, and those beaches are few that have no legends of silver ingots, pieces of eight, moidores, doubloons, dollars, and all the glittering galaxy125 of treasure-trove deriving from such a romantic source; but devil a dollar has rewarded the quest of this pilgrim, errant with the best will to it.
Then, if you have faith, you may see in every dark-featured Devonian a descendant from a[235] captured or shipwrecked Don. There are the names of Miggs and Jenny (among others), which may, or again may not, derive126 from Miguel and Jeronimo, and Cantrell has been recognised as a debased form of Alcantara, but ’tis a far cry. Here, at any rate, we know the name and rating of the Spanish vessel127. She was the hospital-ship St. Peter the Great, and was on her way home, after having, in flight from Drake and his fellows, circumnavigated Great Britain. One hundred and fifty of the one hundred and ninety aboard of her were saved; and possibly the Delmers, the Jaggers, and the Murrens to be met with are descendants of that crew.
Hope is just bidding “good day t’ye” to the old immemorial times, when it was just a hamlet of crabbers and lobster-catchers and the like, for villas and bungalows128 are putting the old cottages of cob and rock to shame, and they are becoming, although still a small community, as up-to-date as you please, or you don’t please. No longer, I think, is the once-famous “White Ale” of South Devon made or sold at Hope, or even at Kingsbridge; once, in some sort, the metropolis129 of its brewing130. But we need not regret the disappearance131 of this heady nastiness, which was not in the least like ale, and more nearly resembled that extremely potent132 and convivial133 compound, “egg-flip,” than anything else. But “White Ale” had a great and an ancient reputation, and was described a couple of centuries ago as “the nappiest ale that can be drunk.”[236] It was held to be the “ancient and peculiar drink of the Britons and Englishmen, and the wholesomest, whereby many in elder times lived a hundred years.”
If we can frame to believe that, then the disappearance of it is something like a national disaster; but it may well be supposed that although the numbers of police-court cases would sensibly increase with the re-introduction of “White Ale,” those of centenarians would not. The composition of this tipple134, which is really grey, seems to be milk, gin, and spice, and, bottled, it blows off in hot weather like a high-pressure boiler135.
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1
majestically
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| 雄伟地； 庄重地； 威严地； 崇高地 | |
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winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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dabbles
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| v.涉猎( dabble的第三人称单数 )；涉足；浅尝；少量投资 | |
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fishy
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| adj. 值得怀疑的 | |
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marine
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| adj.海的；海生的；航海的；海事的；n.水兵 | |
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lodged
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| v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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alleys
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| 胡同，小巷( alley的名词复数 )； 小径 | |
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quays
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| 码头( quay的名词复数 ) | |
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villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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villas
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| 别墅，公馆( villa的名词复数 )； （城郊）住宅 | |
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outskirts
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| n.郊外，郊区 | |
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pier
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| n.码头；桥墩，桥柱；[建]窗间壁，支柱 | |
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luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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gentry
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| n.绅士阶级，上层阶级 | |
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cove
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| n.小海湾，小峡谷 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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lobster
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| n.龙虾，龙虾肉 | |
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hoof
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| n.(马，牛等的)蹄 | |
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plying
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| v.使用（工具）( ply的现在分词 )；经常供应（食物、饮料）；固定往来；经营生意 | |
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haven
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| n.安全的地方，避难所，庇护所 | |
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casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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disdain
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| n.鄙视，轻视；v.轻视，鄙视，不屑 | |
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misnomer
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| n.误称 | |
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creeks
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| n.小湾( creek的名词复数 )；小港；小河；小溪 | |
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creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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cemetery
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| n.坟墓，墓地，坟场 | |
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Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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rev
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| v.发动机旋转，加快速度 | |
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situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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fortified
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| adj. 加强的 | |
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cannon
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| n.大炮，火炮；飞机上的机关炮 | |
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garrison
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| n.卫戍部队；驻地，卫戍区；vt.派(兵)驻防 | |
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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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seclusion
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| n.隐遁，隔离 | |
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mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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bravado
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| n.虚张声势，故作勇敢，逞能 | |
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dent
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| n.凹痕，凹坑；初步进展 | |
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grassy
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| adj.盖满草的；长满草的 | |
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impudent
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| adj.鲁莽的，卑鄙的，厚颜无耻的 | |
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contention
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| n.争论，争辩，论战；论点，主张 | |
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ERECTED
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| adj. 直立的，竖立的，笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立，建立 | |
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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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burrowing
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| v.挖掘（洞穴），挖洞( burrow的现在分词 )；翻寻 | |
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50
stunted
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| adj.矮小的；发育迟缓的 | |
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weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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footpath
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| n.小路，人行道 | |
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spires
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| n.（教堂的） 塔尖，尖顶( spire的名词复数 ) | |
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lichens
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| n.地衣( lichen的名词复数 ) | |
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55
tawny
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| adj.茶色的，黄褐色的；n.黄褐色 | |
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pallid
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| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
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pinnacles
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| 顶峰( pinnacle的名词复数 )； 顶点； 尖顶； 小尖塔 | |
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slaty
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| 石板一样的，石板色的 | |
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59
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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jibing
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| v.与…一致( jibe的现在分词 )；（与…）相符；相匹配 | |
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61
anvils
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| n.（铁）砧( anvil的名词复数 )；砧骨 | |
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62
likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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63
guise
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| n.外表，伪装的姿态 | |
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64
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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65
perilously
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| adv.充满危险地，危机四伏地 | |
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66
perilous
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| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
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67
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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68
inferno
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| n.火海；地狱般的场所 | |
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69
retrace
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| v.折回；追溯，探源 | |
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70
warily
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| adv.留心地 | |
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71
spikes
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| n.穗( spike的名词复数 )；跑鞋；（防滑）鞋钉；尖状物v.加烈酒于( spike的第三人称单数 )；偷偷地给某人的饮料加入（更多）酒精（ 或药物）；把尖状物钉入；打乱某人的计划 | |
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72
foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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73
reverberant
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| a.起回声的 | |
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74
extremity
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| n.末端，尽头；尽力；终极；极度 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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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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77
plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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78
portent
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| n.预兆；恶兆；怪事 | |
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79
bogey
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| n.令人谈之变色之物；妖怪，幽灵 | |
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80
oozing
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| v.（浓液等）慢慢地冒出，渗出( ooze的现在分词 )；使（液体）缓缓流出；（浓液）渗出，慢慢流出 | |
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81
boggy
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| adj.沼泽多的 | |
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82
jug
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| n.(有柄，小口，可盛水等的)大壶，罐，盂 | |
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83
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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boulders
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| n.卵石( boulder的名词复数 )；巨砾；（受水或天气侵蚀而成的）巨石；漂砾 | |
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glowering
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| v.怒视( glower的现在分词 ) | |
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86
tinge
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| vt.(较淡)着色于，染色；使带有…气息；n.淡淡色彩，些微的气息 | |
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87
ledges
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| n.（墙壁，悬崖等）突出的狭长部分( ledge的名词复数 )；（平窄的）壁架；横档；（尤指）窗台 | |
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88
smother
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| vt./vi.使窒息；抑制；闷死；n.浓烟；窒息 | |
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turmoil
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| n.骚乱，混乱，动乱 | |
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90
metropolitan
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| adj.大城市的，大都会的 | |
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rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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barge
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| n.平底载货船，驳船 | |
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whitewashed
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| 粉饰，美化，掩饰( whitewash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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strings
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| n.弦 | |
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buffeted
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| 反复敲打( buffet的过去式和过去分词 )； 连续猛击； 打来打去； 推来搡去 | |
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hummocky
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| adj.圆丘般的，多圆丘的；波丘地 | |
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wrench
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| v.猛拧；挣脱；使扭伤；n.扳手；痛苦，难受 | |
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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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burrows
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| n.地洞( burrow的名词复数 )v.挖掘（洞穴），挖洞( burrow的第三人称单数 )；翻寻 | |
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100
moles
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| 防波堤( mole的名词复数 )； 鼹鼠； 痣； 间谍 | |
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101
wriggle
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| v./n.蠕动，扭动；蜿蜒 | |
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102
plentifully
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| adv. 许多地，丰饶地 | |
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103
perspiration
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| n.汗水；出汗 | |
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104
trickles
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| n.细流( trickle的名词复数 )；稀稀疏疏缓慢来往的东西v.滴( trickle的第三人称单数 )；淌；使)慢慢走；缓慢移动 | |
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105
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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106
prodigally
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| adv.浪费地，丰饶地 | |
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107
sewer
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| n.排水沟，下水道 | |
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108
deriving
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| v.得到( derive的现在分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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109
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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110
livelihood
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| n.生计，谋生之道 | |
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111
wrecks
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| n.沉船( wreck的名词复数 )；（事故中）遭严重毁坏的汽车（或飞机等）；（身体或精神上）受到严重损伤的人；状况非常糟糕的车辆（或建筑物等）v.毁坏[毁灭]某物( wreck的第三人称单数 )；使（船舶）失事，使遇难，使下沉 | |
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112
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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113
mariners
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| 海员，水手（mariner的复数形式） | |
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114
mantles
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| vt.&vi.覆盖（mantle的第三人称单数形式） | |
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115
attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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116
wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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117
fissures
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| n.狭长裂缝或裂隙( fissure的名词复数 )；裂伤；分歧；分裂v.裂开( fissure的第三人称单数 ) | |
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118
smuggler
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| n.走私者 | |
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119
streaking
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| n.裸奔（指在公共场所裸体飞跑）v.快速移动( streak的现在分词 )；使布满条纹 | |
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120
wrecked
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| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
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121
apprentices
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| 学徒，徒弟( apprentice的名词复数 ) | |
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122
salmon
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| n.鲑，大马哈鱼，橙红色的 | |
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123
surfeit
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| v.使饮食过度；n.(食物)过量，过度 | |
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125
galaxy
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| n.星系；银河系；一群(杰出或著名的人物) | |
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126
derive
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| v.取得；导出；引申；来自；源自；出自 | |
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127
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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128
bungalows
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| n.平房( bungalow的名词复数 )；单层小屋，多于一层的小屋 | |
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129
metropolis
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| n.首府；大城市 | |
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130
brewing
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| n. 酿造, 一次酿造的量 动词brew的现在分词形式 | |
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131
disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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132
potent
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| adj.强有力的，有权势的；有效力的 | |
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133
convivial
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| adj.狂欢的，欢乐的 | |
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134
tipple
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| n.常喝的酒；v.不断喝，饮烈酒 | |
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135
boiler
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| n.锅炉；煮器(壶，锅等) | |
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