We left Mr. McCunn, full of aches but desperately1 resolute2 in spirit, hobbling by the Auchenlochan road into the village of Dalquharter. His goal was Mrs. Morran's hen-house, which was Thomas Yownie's poste de commandement. The rain had come on again, and, though in other weather there would have been a slow twilight3, already the shadow of night had the world in its grip. The sea even from the high ground was invisible, and all to westward4 and windward was a ragged5 screen of dark cloud. It was foul6 weather for foul deeds.
Thomas Yownie was not in the hen-house, but in Mrs. Morran's kitchen, and with him were the pug-faced boy known as Old Bill, and the sturdy figure of Peter Paterson. But the floor was held by the hostess. She still wore her big boots, her petticoats were still kilted, and round her venerable head in lieu of a bonnet7 was drawn8 a tartan shawl.
"Eh, Dickson, but I'm blithe9 to see ye. And, puir man, ye've been sair mishandled. This is the awfu'est Sabbath day that ever you and me pit in. I hope it'll be forgiven us.... Whaur's the young leddy?"
"Dougal was saying she was in the House with Sir Archibald and the men from the Mains."[Pg 287]
"Wae's me!" Mrs. Morran keened. "And what kind o' place is yon for her? Thae laddies tell me there's boatfu's o' scoondrels landit at the Garplefit. They'll try the auld10 Tower, but they'll no' wait there when they find it toom, and they'll be inside the Hoose in a jiffy and awa' wi' the puir lassie. Sirs, it maunna be. Ye're lippenin' to the polis, but in a' my days I never kenned11 the polis in time. We maun be up and daein' oorsels. Oh, if I could get a haud o' that red-heided Dougal...."
"Keep us, what's that?" she cried.
"It's dinnymite," said Peter Paterson.
"That's the end o' the auld Tower," observed Thomas Yownie in his quiet even voice. "And it's likely the end o' the man Heritage."
"Lord peety us!" the old woman wailed15. "And us standin' here like stookies and no' liftin' a hand. Awa' wi' ye, laddies, and dae something. Awa' you too, Dickson, or I'll tak' the road mysel'."
"I've got orders," said the Chief of Staff, "no' to move till the sityation's clear. Napoleon's up at the Tower and Jaikie in the policies. I maun wait on their reports."
For a moment Mrs. Morran's attention was distracted by Dickson, who suddenly felt very faint and sat down heavily on a kitchen chair. "Man, ye're as white as a dish-clout," she exclaimed with compunction. "Ye're fair wore out, and ye'll have had nae meat sin' your breakfast. See, and I'll get ye a cup o' tea."[Pg 288]
She proved to be in the right, for as soon as Dickson had swallowed some mouthfuls of her strong scalding brew16 the colour came back to his cheeks, and he announced that he felt better. "Ye'll fortify17 it wi' a dram," she told him, and produced a black bottle from her cupboard. "My father aye said that guid whiskey and het tea keepit the doctor's gig oot o' the close."
The back door opened and Napoleon entered, his thin shanks blue with cold. He saluted18 and made his report in a voice shrill19 with excitement.
"The Tower has fallen. They've blown in the big door, and the feck o' them's inside."
"When I last saw him he was up at a windy, shootin'. I think he's gotten on to the roof. I wouldna wonder but the place is on fire."
"Here, this is awful," Dickson groaned21. "We can't let Mr. Heritage be killed that way. What strength is the enemy?"
"I counted twenty-seven, and there's stragglers comin' up from the boats."
"And there's me and you five laddies here, and Dougal and the others shut up in the House." He stopped in sheer despair. It was a fix from which the most enlightened business mind showed no escape. Prudence22, inventiveness were no longer in question; only some desperate course of violence.
"We must create a diversion," he said. "I'm for the Tower, and you laddies must come with me.[Pg 289] We'll maybe see a chance. Oh, but I wish I had my wee pistol."
"If ye're gaun there, Dickson, I'm comin' wi' ye," Mrs. Morran announced.
Her words revealed to Dickson the preposterousness23 of the whole situation, and for all his anxiety he laughed. "Five laddies, a middle-aged24 man and an auld wife," he cried. "Dod, it's pretty hopeless. It's like the thing in the Bible about the weak things of the world trying to confound the strong."
"The Bible's whiles richt," Mrs. Morran answered drily. "Come on, for there's no time to lose."
The door opened again to admit the figure of Wee Jaikie. There were no tears in his eyes, and his face was very white.
"They're a' round the Hoose," he croaked25. "I was up a tree forenent the verandy and seen them. The lassie ran oot and cried on them from the top o' the brae, and they a' turned and hunted her back. Gosh, but it was a near thing. I seen the Captain sklimmin' the wall, and a muckle man took the lassie and flung her up the ladder. They got inside just in time and steekit the door, and now the whole pack is roarin' round the Hoose seekin' a road in. They'll no' be long over the job, neither."
"What about Mr. Heritage?"
"They're no' heedin' about him any more. The auld Tower's bleezin'."
"Worse and worse," said Dickson. "If the police don't come in the next ten minutes, they'll be[Pg 290] away with the Princess. They've beaten all Dougal's plans, and it's a straight fight with odds27 of six to one. It's not possible."
Mrs. Morran for the first time seemed to lose hope. "Eh, the puir lassie!" she wailed, and sinking on a chair covered her face with her shawl.
"Laddies, can you no' think of a plan?" asked Dickson, his voice flat with despair.
Then Thomas Yownie spoke. So far he had been silent, but under his tangled28 thatch29 of hair, his mind had been busy. Jaikie's report seemed to bring him to a decision.
"It's gey dark," he said, "and it's gettin' darker."
There was that in his voice which promised something, and Dickson listened.
"The enemy's mostly foreigners, but Dobson's there and I think he's a kind of guide to them. Dobson's feared of the polis, and if we can terrify Dobson he'll terrify the rest."
"Ay, but where are the police?"
"They're no' here yet, but they're comin'. The fear o' them is aye in Dobson's mind. If he thinks the polis has arrived, he'll put the wind up the lot.... We maun be the polis."
Dickson could only stare while the Chief of Staff unfolded his scheme. I do not know to whom the Muse30 of History will give the credit of the tactics of "infiltration"—whether to Ludendorff or von Hutier or some other proud captain of Germany, or to Foch, who revised and perfected them. But I know that the same notion was at this moment of crisis conceived by Thomas Yownie, whom no[Pg 291] parents acknowledged, who slept usually in a coal cellar, and who had picked up his education among Gorbals closes and along the wharves31 of Clyde.
"It's gettin' dark," he said, "and the enemy are that busy tryin' to break into the Hoose that they'll no' be thinkin' o' their rear. The five o' us Die-Hards is grand at dodgin' and keepin' out of sight, and what hinders us to get in among them, so that they'll hear us but never see us? We're used to the ways o' the polis, and can imitate them fine. Forbye we've all got our whistles, which are the same as a bobbie's birl, and Old Bill and Peter are grand at copyin' a man's voice. Since the Captain is shut up in the Hoose, the command falls to me, and that's my plan."
With a piece of chalk he drew on the kitchen floor a rough sketch32 of the environs of Huntingtower. Peter Paterson was to move from the shrubberies beyond the verandah, Napoleon from the stables, Old Bill from the Tower, while Wee Jaikie and Thomas himself were to advance as if from the Garplefoot, so that the enemy might fear for his communications. "As soon as one o' ye gets into position he's to gie the patrol cry, and when each o' ye has heard five cries, he's to advance. Begin birlin' and roarin' afore ye get among them, and keep it up till ye're at the Hoose wall. If they've gotten inside, in ye go after them. I trust each Die-Hard to use his judgment33, and above all to keep out o' sight and no let himsel' be grippit."
The plan, like all great tactics, was simple, and no sooner was it expounded34 than it was put into[Pg 292] action. The Die-Hards faded out of the kitchen like fog-wreaths, and Dickson and Mrs. Morran were left looking at each other. They did not look long. The bare feet of Wee Jaikie had not crossed the threshold fifty seconds, before they were followed by Mrs. Morran's out-of-doors boots and Dickson's tackets. Arm in arm the two hobbled down the back path behind the village which led to the South Lodge35. The gate was unlocked, for the warder was busy elsewhere, and they hastened up the avenue. Far off Dickson thought he saw shapes fleeting36 across the park, which he took to be the shock-troops of his own side, and he seemed to hear snatches of song. Jaikie was giving tongue, and this was what he sang:
"Proley Tarians, arise!
Wave the Red Flag to the skies,
Stap them doun his throat!
Nocht to loss except our chains,
We maun drain oor dearest veins—
A' the worrld shall be our gains——"
The wind was so loud that no sound reached them from the House, which blank and immense now loomed38 before them. Dickson's ears were alert for the noise of shots or the dull crash of bombs; hearing nothing, he feared the worst, and hurried Mrs. Morran at a pace which endangered[Pg 293] her life. He had no fear for himself, arguing that his foes39 were seeking higher game, and judging, too, that the main battle must be round the verandah at the other end. The two passed the shrubbery where the road forked, one path running to the back door and one to the stables. They took the latter and presently came out on the downs, with the ravine of the Garple on their left, the stables in front, and on the right the hollow of a formal garden running along the west side of the House.
The gale40 was so fierce, now that they had no wind-break between them and the ocean, that Mrs. Morran could wrestle41 with it no longer, and found shelter in the lee of a clump43 of rhododendrons. Darkness had all but fallen, and the house was a black shadow against the dusky sky, while a confused greyness marked the sea. The old Tower showed a tooth of masonry44; there was no glow from it, so the fire, which Jaikie had reported, must have died down. A whaup cried loudly, and very eerily45: then another.
The birds stirred up Mrs. Morran. "That's the laddies' patrol," she gasped46. "Count the cries, Dickson."
Another bird wailed, this time very near. Then there was perhaps three minutes' silence, till a fainter wheeple came from the direction of the Tower. "Four," said Dickson, but he waited in vain on the fifth. He had not the acute hearing of the boys, and could not catch the faint echo of Peter Paterson's signal beyond the verandah. The next[Pg 294] he heard was a shrill whistle cutting into the wind, and then others in rapid succession from different quarters, and something which might have been the hoarse47 shouting of angry men.
The Gorbals Die-Hards had gone into action.
Dull prose is no medium to tell of that wild adventure. The sober sequence of the military historian is out of place in recording48 deeds that knew not sequence or sobriety. Were I a bard49, I would cast this tale in excited verse, with a lilt which would catch the speed of the reality. I would sing of Napoleon, not unworthy of his great namesake, who penetrated50 to the very window of the ladies' bedroom, where the framework had been driven in and men were pouring through; of how there he made such pandemonium51 with his whistle that men tumbled back and ran about blindly seeking for guidance; of how in the long run his pugnacity52 mastered him, so that he engaged in combat with an unknown figure and the two rolled into what had once been a fountain. I would hymn53 Peter Paterson, who across tracts54 of darkness engaged Old Bill in a conversation which would have done no discredit55 to a Gallogate policeman. He pretended to be making reports and seeking orders. "We've gotten three o' the deevils, sir. What'll we dae wi' them?" he shouted; and back would come the reply in a slightly more genteel voice: "Fall them to the rear. Tamson has charge of the prisoners." Or it would be: "They've gotten pistols, sir. What's the orders?" and the answer would be: "Stick to your batons56. The guns are posted on the knowe, so we needn't[Pg 295] hurry." And over all the din14 there would be a perpetual whistling and a yelling of "Hands up!"
I would sing, too, of Wee Jaikie, who was having the red-letter hour of his life. His fragile form moved like a lizard58 in places where no mortal could be expected, and he varied59 his duties with impish assaults upon the persons of such as came in his way. His whistle blew in a man's ear one second and the next yards away. Sometimes he was moved to song, and unearthly fragments of "Class-conscious we are" or "Proley Tarians, arise!" mingled60 with the din, like the cry of seagulls in a storm. He saw a bright light flare61 up within the house which warned him not to enter, but he got as far as the garden-room, in whose dark corners he made havoc62. Indeed he was almost too successful, for he created panic where he went, and one or two fired blindly at the quarter where he had last been heard. These shots were followed by frenzied63 prohibitions64 from Spidel and were not repeated. Presently he felt that aimless surge of men that is the prelude65 to flight, and heard Dobson's great voice roaring in the hall. Convinced that the crisis had come, he made his way outside, prepared to harass66 the rear of any retirement67. Tears now flowed down his face, and he could not have spoken for sobs68, but he had never been so happy.
But chiefly would I celebrate Thomas Yownie, for it was he who brought fear into the heart of Dobson. He had a voice of singular compass, and from the verandah he made it echo round the House. The efforts of Old Bill and Peter Paterson[Pg 296] had been skilful69 indeed, but those of Thomas Yownie were deadly. To some leader beyond he shouted news: "Robison's just about finished wi' his lot, and then he'll get the boats." A furious charge upset him, and for a moment he thought he had been discovered. But it was only Dobson rushing to Léon, who was leading the men in the doorway70. Thomas fled to the far end of the verandah, and again lifted up his voice. "All foreigners," he shouted, "except the man Dobson. Ay. Ay. Ye've got Loudon? Well done!"
It must have been this last performance which broke Dobson's nerve and convinced him that the one hope lay in a rapid retreat to the Garplefoot. There was a tumbling of men in the doorway, a muttering of strange tongues, and the vision of the innkeeper shouting to Léon and Spidel. For a second he was seen in the faint reflection that the light in the hall cast as far as the verandah, a wild figure urging the retreat with a pistol clapped to the head of those who were too confused by the hurricane of events to grasp the situation. Some of them dropped over the wall, but most huddled71 like sheep through the door on the west side, a jumble72 of struggling, panic-stricken mortality. Thomas Yownie, staggered at the success of his tactics, yet kept his head and did his utmost to confuse the retreat, and the triumphant73 shouts and whistles of the other Die-Hards showed that they were not unmindful of this final duty....
The verandah was empty, and he was just about to enter the House, when through the west door[Pg 297] came a figure, breathing hard and bent74 apparently75 on the same errand. Thomas prepared for battle, determined76 that no straggler of the enemy should now wrest42 from him victory, but, as the figure came into the faint glow at the doorway, he recognised it as Heritage. And at the same moment he heard something which made his tense nerves relax. Away on the right came sounds, a thud of galloping77 horses on grass and the jingle78 of bridle79 reins80 and the voices of men. It was the real thing at last. It is a sad commentary on his career, but now for the first time in his brief existence Thomas Yownie felt charitably disposed towards the police.
The Poet, since we left him blaspheming on the roof of the Tower, had been having a crowded hour of most inglorious life. He had started to descend81 at a furious pace, and his first misadventure was that he stumbled and dropped Dickson's pistol over the parapet. He tried to mark where it might have fallen in the gloom below, and this lost him precious minutes. When he slithered through the trap into the attic82 room, where he had tried to hold up the attack, he discovered that it was full of smoke which sought in vain to escape by the narrow window. Volumes of it were pouring up the stairs, and when he attempted to descend he found himself choked and blinded. He rushed gasping83 to the window, filled his lungs with fresh air, and tried again, but he got no further than the first turn, from which he could see through the cloud red tongues of flame in the ground room. This was solemn indeed, so[Pg 298] he sought another way out. He got on the roof, for he remembered a chimney-stack, cloaked with ivy84, which was built straight from the ground, and he thought he might climb down it.
He found the chimney and began the descent, confidently, for he had once borne a good reputation at the Montanvert and Cortina. At first all went well, for stones stuck out at decent intervals85 like the rungs of a ladder, and roots of ivy supplemented their deficiencies. But presently he came to a place where the masonry had crumbled86 into a cave, and left a gap some twenty feet high. Below it he could dimly see a thick mass of ivy which would enable him to cover the further forty feet to the ground, but at that cave he stuck most finally. All round the lime and stone had lapsed87 into debris88, and he could find no safe foothold. Worse still, the block on which he relied proved loose, and only by a dangerous traverse did he avert89 disaster.
There he hung for a minute or two, with a cold void in his stomach. He had always distrusted the handiwork of man as a place to scramble90 on, and now he was planted in the dark on a decomposing91 wall, with an excellent chance of breaking his neck, and with the most urgent need for haste. He could see the windows of the House and, since he was sheltered from the gale, he could hear the faint sound of blows on woodwork. There was clearly the devil to pay there, and yet here he was helplessly stuck.... Setting his teeth, he started to ascend92 again. Better the fire than this cold breakneck emptiness.[Pg 299]
It took him the better part of half an hour to get back, and he passed through many moments of acute fear. Footholds which had seemed secure enough in the descent now proved impossible, and more than once he had his heart in his mouth when a rotten ivy stump93 or a wedge of stone gave in his hands, and dropped dully into the pit of night, leaving him crazily spread-eagled. When at last he reached the top he rolled on his back and felt very sick. Then, as he realised his safety, his impatience94 revived. At all costs he would force his way out though he should be grilled95 like a herring.
The smoke was less thick in the attic, and with his handkerchief wet with the rain and bound across his mouth he made a dash for the ground room. It was as hot as a furnace, for everything inflammable in it seemed to have caught fire, and the lumber96 glowed in piles of hot ashes. But the floor and walls were stone, and only the blazing jambs of the door stood between him and the outer air. He had burned himself considerably97 as he stumbled downwards98, and the pain drove him to a wild leap through the broken arch, where he miscalculated the distance, charred99 his shins, and brought down a red-hot fragment of the lintel on his head. But the thing was done, and a minute later he was rolling like a dog in the wet bracken to cool his burns and put out various smouldering patches on his raiment.
Then he started running for the House, but, confused by the darkness, he bore too much to the north, and came out in the side avenue from which[Pg 300] he and Dickson had reconnoitred on the first evening. He saw on the right a glow in the verandah which, as we know, was the reflection of the flare in the hall, and he heard a babble100 of voices. But he heard something more, for away on his left was the sound which Thomas Yownie was soon to hear—the trampling101 of horses. It was the police at last, and his task was to guide them at once to the critical point of action.... Three minutes later a figure like a scarecrow was admonishing102 a bewildered sergeant103, while his hands plucked feverishly104 at a horse's bridle.
It is time to return to Dickson in his clump of rhododendrons. Tragically105 aware of his impotence he listened to the tumult106 of the Die-Hards, hopeful when it was loud, despairing when there came a moment's lull107, while Mrs. Morran like a Greek chorus drew loudly upon her store of proverbial philosophy and her memory of Scripture108 texts. Twice he tried to reconnoitre towards the scene of battle, but only blundered into sunken plots and pits in the Dutch garden. Finally he squatted109 beside Mrs. Morran, lit his pipe, and took a firm hold on his patience.
It was not tested for long. Presently he was aware that a change had come over the scene—that the Die-Hards' whistles and shouts were being drowned in another sound, the cries of panicky men. Dobson's bellow110 was wafted111 to him. "Auntie Phemie," he shouted, "the innkeeper's getting rattled112. Dod, I believe they're running." For at that[Pg 301] moment twenty paces on his left the van of the retreat crashed through the creepers on the garden's edge and leaped the wall that separated it from the cliffs of the Garplefoot.
The old woman was on her feet.
"God be thankit, is't the polis?"
"Maybe. Maybe no'. But they're running."
Another bunch of men raced past, and he heard Dobson's voice.
"I tell you, they're broke. Listen, it's horses. Ay, it's the police, but it was the Die-Hards that did the job.... Here! They mustn't escape. Have the police had the sense to send men to the Garplefoot?"
Mrs. Morran, a figure like an ancient prophetess, with her tartan shawl lashing113 in the gale, clutched him by the shoulder.
"Doun to the waterside and stop them. Ye'll no' be beat by wee laddies! On wi' ye and I'll follow! There's gaun to be a juidgment on evil-doers this nicht."
Dickson needed no urging. His heart was hot within him, and the weariness and stiffness had gone from his limbs. He, too, tumbled over the wall, and made for what he thought was the route by which he had originally ascended114 from the stream. As he ran he made ridiculous efforts to cry like a whaup in the hope of summoning the Die-Hards. One, indeed, he found—Napoleon, who had suffered a grievous pounding in the fountain and had only escaped by an eel-like agility115 which had aforetime served him in good stead with the law of his[Pg 302] native city. Lucky for Dickson was the meeting, for he had forgotten the road and would certainly have broken his neck. Led by the Die-Hard he slid forty feet over screes and boiler-plates, with the gale plucking at him, found a path, lost it, and then tumbled down a raw bank of earth to the flat ground beside the harbour. During all this performance, he has told me, he had no thought of fear, nor any clear notion what he meant to do. He just wanted to be in at the finish of the job.
Through the narrow entrance the gale blew as through a funnel116, and the usually placid117 waters of the harbour were a mass of angry waves. Two boats had been launched and were plunging118 furiously, and on one of them a lantern dipped and fell. By its light he could see men holding a further boat by the shore. There was no sign of the police; he reflected that probably they had become tangled in the Garple Dean. The third boat was waiting for some one.
Dickson—a new Ajax by the ships—divined who this some one must be and realised his duty. It was the leader, the arch-enemy, the man whose escape must at all costs be stopped. Perhaps he had the Princess with him, thus snatching victory from apparent defeat. In any case he must be tackled, and a fierce anxiety gripped his heart. "Aye finish a job," he told himself, and peered up into the darkness of the cliffs, wondering just how he should set about it, for except in the last few days he had never engaged in combat with a fellow-creature.
"When he comes, you grip his legs," he told[Pg 303] Napoleon, "and get him down. He'll have a pistol, and we're done if he's on his feet."
There was a cry from the boats, a shout of guidance, and the light on the water was waved madly. "They must have good eyesight," thought Dickson, for he could see nothing. And then suddenly he was aware of steps in front of him, and a shape like a man rising out of the void at his left hand.
In the darkness Napoleon missed his tackle, and the full shock came on Dickson. He aimed at what he thought was the enemy's throat, found only an arm and was shaken off as a mastiff might shake off a toy terrier. He made another clutch, fell, and in falling caught his opponent's leg so that he brought him down. The man was immensely agile57, for he was up in a second and something hot and bright blew into Dickson's face. The pistol bullet had passed through the collar of his faithful waterproof119, slightly singeing120 his neck. But it served its purpose, for Dickson paused, gasping, to consider where he had been hit, and before he could resume the chase the last boat had pushed off into deep water.
To be shot at from close quarters is always irritating, and the novelty of the experience increased Dickson's natural wrath121. He fumed122 on the shore like a deerhound when the stag has taken to the sea. So hot was his blood that he would have cheerfully assaulted the whole crew had they been within his reach. Napoleon, who had been incapacitated for speed by having his stomach and bare shanks savagely123 trampled124 upon, joined him, and together they[Pg 304] watched the bobbing black specks125 as they crawled out of the estuary126 into the grey spindrift which marked the harbour mouth.
But as he looked the wrath died out of Dickson's soul. For he saw that the boats had indeed sailed on a desperate venture, and that a pursuer was on their track more potent127 than his breathless middle-age. The tide was on the ebb128, and the gale was driving the Atlantic breakers shoreward, and in the jaws129 of the entrance the two waters met in an unearthly turmoil130. Above the noise of the wind came the roar of the flooded Garple and the fret131 of the harbour, and far beyond all the crashing thunder of the conflict at the harbour mouth. Even in the darkness, against the still faintly grey western sky, the spume could be seen rising like waterspouts. But it was the ear rather than the eye which made certain presage132 of disaster. No boat could face the challenge of that loud portal.
As Dickson struggled against the wind and stared, his heart melted and a great awe133 fell upon him. He may have wept; it is certain that he prayed. "Poor souls, poor souls!" he repeated. "I doubt the last hour or two has been a poor preparation for eternity134."
The tide next day brought the dead ashore135. Among them was a young man, different in dress and appearance from the rest—a young man with a noble head and a finely-cut classic face, which was not marred136 like the others from pounding among the Garple rocks. His dark hair was washed back[Pg 305] from his brow, and the mouth, which had been hard in life, was now relaxed in the strange innocence137 of death.
Dickson gazed at the body and observed that there was a slight deformation138 between the shoulders.
"Poor fellow," he said. "That explains a lot.... As my father used to say, cripples have a right to be cankered."
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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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westward
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ragged
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foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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bonnet
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drawn
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blithe
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auld
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kenned
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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reverberation
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| 反响； 回响； 反射； 反射物 | |
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din
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| n.喧闹声，嘈杂声 | |
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15
wailed
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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16
brew
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| v.酿造，调制 | |
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17
fortify
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| v.强化防御，为…设防；加强，强化 | |
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18
saluted
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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19
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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20
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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21
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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22
prudence
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| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
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23
preposterousness
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| n.preposterous（颠倒的，首末倒置的）的变形 | |
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24
middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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25
croaked
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| v.呱呱地叫( croak的过去式和过去分词 )；用粗的声音说 | |
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26
heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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27
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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28
tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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29
thatch
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| vt.用茅草覆盖…的顶部；n.茅草(屋) | |
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30
muse
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| n.缪斯（希腊神话中的女神），创作灵感 | |
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31
wharves
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| n.码头，停泊处( wharf的名词复数 ) | |
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32
sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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33
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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34
expounded
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| 论述，详细讲解( expound的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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35
lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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36
fleeting
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| adj.短暂的，飞逝的 | |
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37
conserved
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| v.保护，保藏，保存( conserve的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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38
loomed
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| v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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39
foes
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| 敌人，仇敌( foe的名词复数 ) | |
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40
gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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41
wrestle
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| vi.摔跤，角力；搏斗；全力对付 | |
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42
wrest
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| n.扭，拧，猛夺；v.夺取，猛扭，歪曲 | |
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43
clump
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| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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44
masonry
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| n.砖土建筑；砖石 | |
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45
eerily
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| adv.引起神秘感或害怕地 | |
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46
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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47
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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48
recording
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| n.录音，记录 | |
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49
bard
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| n.吟游诗人 | |
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50
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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51
pandemonium
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| n.喧嚣，大混乱 | |
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52
pugnacity
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| n.好斗，好战 | |
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53
hymn
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌 | |
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54
tracts
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| 大片土地( tract的名词复数 )； 地带； （体内的）道； （尤指宣扬宗教、伦理或政治的）短文 | |
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55
discredit
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| vt.使不可置信；n.丧失信义；不信，怀疑 | |
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56
batons
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| n.（警察武器）警棍( baton的名词复数 )；（乐队指挥用的）指挥棒；接力棒 | |
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57
agile
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| adj.敏捷的，灵活的 | |
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58
lizard
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| n.蜥蜴，壁虎 | |
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59
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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60
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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61
flare
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| v.闪耀，闪烁；n.潮红；突发 | |
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62
havoc
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| n.大破坏，浩劫，大混乱，大杂乱 | |
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63
frenzied
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| a.激怒的；疯狂的 | |
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64
prohibitions
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| 禁令，禁律( prohibition的名词复数 )； 禁酒； 禁例 | |
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65
prelude
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| n.序言，前兆，序曲 | |
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66
harass
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| vt.使烦恼，折磨，骚扰 | |
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67
retirement
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| n.退休，退职 | |
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68
sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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69
skilful
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| (=skillful)adj.灵巧的，熟练的 | |
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70
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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71
huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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72
jumble
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| vt.使混乱，混杂；n.混乱；杂乱的一堆 | |
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73
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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74
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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75
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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76
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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77
galloping
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| adj. 飞驰的, 急性的 动词gallop的现在分词形式 | |
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78
jingle
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| n.叮当声，韵律简单的诗句；v.使叮当作响，叮当响，押韵 | |
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79
bridle
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| n.笼头，束缚；vt.抑制，约束；动怒 | |
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80
reins
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| 感情，激情； 缰( rein的名词复数 )； 控制手段； 掌管； （成人带着幼儿走路以防其走失时用的）保护带 | |
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81
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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82
attic
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| n.顶楼，屋顶室 | |
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83
gasping
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| adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
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84
ivy
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| n.常青藤，常春藤 | |
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85
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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86
crumbled
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| （把…）弄碎， （使）碎成细屑( crumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 衰落； 坍塌； 损坏 | |
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87
lapsed
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| adj.流失的，堕落的v.退步( lapse的过去式和过去分词 )；陷入；倒退；丧失 | |
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88
debris
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| n.瓦砾堆，废墟，碎片 | |
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89
avert
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| v.防止，避免；转移(目光、注意力等) | |
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90
scramble
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| v.爬行，攀爬，杂乱蔓延，碎片，片段，废料 | |
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91
decomposing
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| 腐烂( decompose的现在分词 )； （使）分解； 分解（某物质、光线等） | |
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92
ascend
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| vi.渐渐上升，升高；vt.攀登，登上 | |
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93
stump
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| n.残株，烟蒂，讲演台；v.砍断，蹒跚而走 | |
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94
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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95
grilled
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| adj. 烤的, 炙过的, 有格子的 动词grill的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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96
lumber
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| n.木材，木料；v.以破旧东西堆满；伐木；笨重移动 | |
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97
considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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98
downwards
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| adj./adv.向下的（地），下行的（地） | |
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99
charred
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| v.把…烧成炭( char的过去式)；烧焦 | |
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100
babble
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| v.含糊不清地说，胡言乱语地说，儿语 | |
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101
trampling
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| 踩( trample的现在分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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102
admonishing
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| v.劝告( admonish的现在分词 )；训诫；（温和地）责备；轻责 | |
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103
sergeant
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| n.警官，中士 | |
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104
feverishly
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| adv. 兴奋地 | |
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105
tragically
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| adv. 悲剧地，悲惨地 | |
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106
tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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107
lull
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| v.使安静，使入睡，缓和，哄骗；n.暂停，间歇 | |
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108
scripture
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| n.经文，圣书，手稿；Scripture:(常用复数)《圣经》，《圣经》中的一段 | |
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109
squatted
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| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的过去式和过去分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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110
bellow
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| v.吼叫，怒吼；大声发出，大声喝道 | |
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111
wafted
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| v.吹送，飘送，（使）浮动( waft的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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112
rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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113
lashing
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| n.鞭打；痛斥；大量；许多v.鞭打( lash的现在分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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114
ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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115
agility
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| n.敏捷，活泼 | |
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116
funnel
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| n.漏斗；烟囱；v.汇集 | |
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117
placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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118
plunging
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| adj.跳进的，突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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119
waterproof
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| n.防水材料；adj.防水的；v.使...能防水 | |
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120
singeing
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| v.浅表烧焦( singe的现在分词 )；（毛发）燎，烧焦尖端[边儿]；烧毛 | |
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121
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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122
fumed
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| 愤怒( fume的过去式和过去分词 )； 大怒； 发怒； 冒烟 | |
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123
savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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124
trampled
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| 踩( trample的过去式和过去分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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125
specks
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| n.眼镜；斑点，微粒，污点( speck的名词复数 ) | |
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126
estuary
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| n.河口，江口 | |
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127
potent
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| adj.强有力的，有权势的；有效力的 | |
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128
ebb
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| vi.衰退，减退；n.处于低潮，处于衰退状态 | |
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129
jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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130
turmoil
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| n.骚乱，混乱，动乱 | |
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131
fret
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| v.(使)烦恼；(使)焦急；(使)腐蚀，(使)磨损 | |
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132
presage
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| n.预感，不祥感；v.预示 | |
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133
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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134
eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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135
ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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136
marred
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| adj. 被损毁, 污损的 | |
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137
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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138
deformation
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| n.形状损坏；变形；畸形 | |
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