When darkness broke away and morning began to dawn, the town wore a strange aspect indeed.
Sleep had hardly been thought of all night. The general alarm was so apparent in the faces of the inhabitants, and its expression was so aggravated1 by want of rest (few persons, with any property to lose, having dared go to bed since Monday), that a stranger coming into the streets would have supposed some mortal pest or plague to have been raging. In place of the usual cheerfulness and animation2 of morning, everything was dead and silent. The shops remained closed, offices and warehouses3 were shut, the coach and chair stands were deserted4, no carts or waggons5 rumbled6 through the slowly waking streets, the early cries were all hushed; a universal gloom prevailed. Great numbers of people were out, even at daybreak, but they flitted to and fro as though they shrank from the sound of their own footsteps; the public ways were haunted rather than frequented; and round the smoking ruins people stood apart from one another and in silence, not venturing to condemn7 the rioters, or to be supposed to do so, even in whispers.
At the Lord President’s in Piccadilly, at Lambeth Palace, at the Lord Chancellor’s in Great Ormond Street, in the Royal Exchange, the Bank, the Guildhall, the Inns of Court, the Courts of Law, and every chamber8 fronting the streets near Westminster Hall and the Houses of Parliament, parties of soldiers were posted before daylight. A body of Horse Guards paraded Palace Yard; an encampment was formed in the Park, where fifteen hundred men and five battalions9 of Militia10 were under arms; the Tower was fortified11, the drawbridges were raised, the cannon12 loaded and pointed13, and two regiments14 of artillery15 busied in strengthening the fortress16 and preparing it for defence. A numerous detachment of soldiers were stationed to keep guard at the New River Head, which the people had threatened to attack, and where, it was said, they meant to cut off the main-pipes, so that there might be no water for the extinction17 of the flames. In the Poultry18, and on Cornhill, and at several other leading points, iron chains were drawn20 across the street; parties of soldiers were distributed in some of the old city churches while it was yet dark; and in several private houses (among them, Lord Rockingham’s in Grosvenor Square); which were blockaded as though to sustain a siege, and had guns pointed from the windows. When the sun rose, it shone into handsome apartments filled with armed men; the furniture hastily heaped away in corners, and made of little or no account, in the terror of the time — on arms glittering in city chambers21, among desks and stools, and dusty books — into little smoky churchyards in odd lanes and by-ways, with soldiers lying down among the tombs, or lounging under the shade of the one old tree, and their pile of muskets22 sparkling in the light — on solitary23 sentries24 pacing up and down in courtyards, silent now, but yesterday resounding25 with the din19 and hum of business — everywhere on guard-rooms, garrisons26, and threatening preparations.
As the day crept on, still more unusual sights were witnessed in the streets. The gates of the King’s Bench and Fleet Prisons being opened at the usual hour, were found to have notices affixed27 to them, announcing that the rioters would come that night to burn them down. The wardens28, too well knowing the likelihood there was of this promise being fulfilled, were fain to set their prisoners at liberty, and give them leave to move their goods; so, all day, such of them as had any furniture were occupied in conveying it, some to this place, some to that, and not a few to the brokers’ shops, where they gladly sold it, for any wretched price those gentry29 chose to give. There were some broken men among these debtors30 who had been in jail so long, and were so miserable31 and destitute32 of friends, so dead to the world, and utterly33 forgotten and uncared for, that they implored34 their jailers not to set them free, and to send them, if need were, to some other place of custody35. But they, refusing to comply, lest they should incur36 the anger of the mob, turned them into the streets, where they wandered up and down hardly remembering the ways untrodden by their feet so long, and crying — such abject37 things those rotten-hearted jails had made them — as they slunk off in their rags, and dragged their slipshod feet along the pavement.
Even of the three hundred prisoners who had escaped from Newgate, there were some — a few, but there were some — who sought their jailers out and delivered themselves up: preferring imprisonment38 and punishment to the horrors of such another night as the last. Many of the convicts, drawn back to their old place of captivity39 by some indescribable attraction, or by a desire to exult40 over it in its downfall and glut41 their revenge by seeing it in ashes, actually went back in broad noon, and loitered about the cells. Fifty were retaken at one time on this next day, within the prison walls; but their fate did not deter42 others, for there they went in spite of everything, and there they were taken in twos and threes, twice or thrice a day, all through the week. Of the fifty just mentioned, some were occupied in endeavouring to rekindle43 the fire; but in general they seemed to have no object in view but to prowl and lounge about the old place: being often found asleep in the ruins, or sitting talking there, or even eating and drinking, as in a choice retreat.
Besides the notices on the gates of the Fleet and the King’s Bench, many similar announcements were left, before one o’clock at noon, at the houses of private individuals; and further, the mob proclaimed their intention of seizing on the Bank, the Mint, the Arsenal44 at Woolwich, and the Royal Palaces. The notices were seldom delivered by more than one man, who, if it were at a shop, went in, and laid it, with a bloody45 threat perhaps, upon the counter; or if it were at a private house, knocked at the door, and thrust it in the servant’s hand. Notwithstanding the presence of the military in every quarter of the town, and the great force in the Park, these messengers did their errands with impunity47 all through the day. So did two boys who went down Holborn alone, armed with bars taken from the railings of Lord Mansfield’s house, and demanded money for the rioters. So did a tall man on horseback who made a collection for the same purpose in Fleet Street, and refused to take anything but gold.
A rumour48 had now got into circulation, too, which diffused49 a greater dread50 all through London, even than these publicly announced intentions of the rioters, though all men knew that if they were successfully effected, there must ensue a national bankruptcy51 and general ruin. It was said that they meant to throw the gates of Bedlam52 open, and let all the madmen loose. This suggested such dreadful images to the people’s minds, and was indeed an act so fraught53 with new and unimaginable horrors in the contemplation, that it beset54 them more than any loss or cruelty of which they could foresee the worst, and drove many sane55 men nearly mad themselves.
So the day passed on: the prisoners moving their goods; people running to and fro in the streets, carrying away their property; groups standing46 in silence round the ruins; all business suspended; and the soldiers disposed as has been already mentioned, remaining quite inactive. So the day passed on, and dreaded56 night drew near again.
At last, at seven o’clock in the evening, the Privy57 Council issued a solemn proclamation that it was now necessary to employ the military, and that the officers had most direct and effectual orders, by an immediate58 exertion59 of their utmost force, to repress the disturbances60; and warning all good subjects of the King to keep themselves, their servants, and apprentices61, within doors that night. There was then delivered out to every soldier on duty, thirty-six rounds of powder and ball; the drums beat; and the whole force was under arms at sunset.
The City authorities, stimulated62 by these vigorous measures, held a Common Council; passed a vote thanking the military associations who had tendered their aid to the civil authorities; accepted it; and placed them under the direction of the two sheriffs. At the Queen’s palace, a double guard, the yeomen on duty, the groom-porters, and all other attendants, were stationed in the passages and on the staircases at seven o’clock, with strict instructions to be watchful63 on their posts all night; and all the doors were locked. The gentlemen of the Temple, and the other Inns, mounted guard within their gates, and strengthened them with the great stones of the pavement, which they took up for the purpose. In Lincoln’s Inn, they gave up the hall and commons to the Northumberland Militia, under the command of Lord Algernon Percy; in some few of the city wards64, the burgesses turned out, and without making a very fierce show, looked brave enough. Some hundreds of stout65 gentlemen threw themselves, armed to the teeth, into the halls of the different companies, double-locked and bolted all the gates, and dared the rioters (among themselves) to come on at their peril66. These arrangements being all made simultaneously67, or nearly so, were completed by the time it got dark; and then the streets were comparatively clear, and were guarded at all the great corners and chief avenues by the troops: while parties of the officers rode up and down in all directions, ordering chance stragglers home, and admonishing68 the residents to keep within their houses, and, if any firing ensued, not to approach the windows. More chains were drawn across such of the thoroughfares as were of a nature to favour the approach of a great crowd, and at each of these points a considerable force was stationed. All these precautions having been taken, and it being now quite dark, those in command awaited the result in some anxiety: and not without a hope that such vigilant69 demonstrations70 might of themselves dishearten the populace, and prevent any new outrages72.
But in this reckoning they were cruelly mistaken, for in half an hour, or less, as though the setting in of night had been their preconcerted signal, the rioters having previously73, in small parties, prevented the lighting74 of the street lamps, rose like a great sea; and that in so many places at once, and with such inconceivable fury, that those who had the direction of the troops knew not, at first, where to turn or what to do. One after another, new fires blazed up in every quarter of the town, as though it were the intention of the insurgents75 to wrap the city in a circle of flames, which, contracting by degrees, should burn the whole to ashes; the crowd swarmed76 and roared in every street; and none but rioters and soldiers being out of doors, it seemed to the latter as if all London were arrayed against them, and they stood alone against the town.
In two hours, six-and-thirty fires were raging — six-and-thirty great conflagrations77: among them the Borough78 Clink in Tooley Street, the King’s Bench, the Fleet, and the New Bridewell. In almost every street, there was a battle; and in every quarter the muskets of the troops were heard above the shouts and tumult79 of the mob. The firing began in the Poultry, where the chain was drawn across the road, where nearly a score of people were killed on the first discharge. Their bodies having been hastily carried into St Mildred’s Church by the soldiers, the latter fired again, and following fast upon the crowd, who began to give way when they saw the execution that was done, formed across Cheapside, and charged them at the point of the bayonet.
The streets were now a dreadful spectacle. The shouts of the rabble80, the shrieks81 of women, the cries of the wounded, and the constant firing, formed a deafening82 and an awful accompaniment to the sights which every corner presented. Wherever the road was obstructed83 by the chains, there the fighting and the loss of life were greatest; but there was hot work and bloodshed in almost every leading thoroughfare.
At Holborn Bridge, and on Holborn Hill, the confusion was greater than in any other part; for the crowd that poured out of the city in two great streams, one by Ludgate Hill, and one by Newgate Street, united at that spot, and formed a mass so dense84, that at every volley the people seemed to fall in heaps. At this place a large detachment of soldiery were posted, who fired, now up Fleet Market, now up Holborn, now up Snow Hill — constantly raking the streets in each direction. At this place too, several large fires were burning, so that all the terrors of that terrible night seemed to be concentrated in one spot.
Full twenty times, the rioters, headed by one man who wielded85 an axe86 in his right hand, and bestrode a brewer’s horse of great size and strength, caparisoned with fetters87 taken out of Newgate, which clanked and jingled88 as he went, made an attempt to force a passage at this point, and fire the vintner’s house. Full twenty times they were repulsed89 with loss of life, and still came back again; and though the fellow at their head was marked and singled out by all, and was a conspicuous90 object as the only rioter on horseback, not a man could hit him. So surely as the smoke cleared away, so surely there was he; calling hoarsely91 to his companions, brandishing92 his axe above his head, and dashing on as though he bore a charmed life, and was proof against ball and powder.
This man was Hugh; and in every part of the riot, he was seen. He headed two attacks upon the Bank, helped to break open the Toll-houses on Blackfriars Bridge, and cast the money into the street: fired two of the prisons with his own hand: was here, and there, and everywhere — always foremost — always active — striking at the soldiers, cheering on the crowd, making his horse’s iron music heard through all the yell and uproar93: but never hurt or stopped. Turn him at one place, and he made a new struggle in anotlter; force him to retreat at this point, and he advanced on that, directly. Driven from Holborn for the twentieth time, he rode at the head of a great crowd straight upon Saint Paul’s, attacked a guard of soldiers who kept watch over a body of prisoners within the iron railings, forced them to retreat, rescued the men they had in custody, and with this accession to his party, came back again, mad with liquor and excitement, and hallooing them on like a demon71.
It would have been no easy task for the most careful rider to sit a horse in the midst of such a throng94 and tumult; but though this madman rolled upon his back (he had no saddle) like a boat upon the sea, he never for an instant lost his seat, or failed to guide him where he would. Through the very thickest of the press, over dead bodies and burning fragments, now on the pavement, now in the road, now riding up a flight of steps to make himself the more conspicuous to his party, and now forcing a passage through a mass of human beings, so closely squeezed together that it seemed as if the edge of a knife would scarcely part them,— on he went, as though he could surmount95 all obstacles by the mere96 exercise of his will. And perhaps his not being shot was in some degree attributable to this very circumstance; for his extreme audacity97, and the conviction that he must be one of those to whom the proclamation referred, inspired the soldiers with a desire to take him alive, and diverted many an aim which otherwise might have been more near the mark.
The vintner and Mr Haredale, unable to sit quietly listening to the noise without seeing what went on, had climbed to the roof of the house, and hiding behind a stack of chimneys, were looking cautiously down into the street, almost hoping that after so many repulses98 the rioters would be foiled, when a great shout proclaimed that a parry were coming round the other way; and the dismal99 jingling100 of those accursed fetters warned them next moment that they too were led by Hugh. The soldiers had advanced into Fleet Market and were dispersing101 the people there; so that they came on with hardly any check, and were soon before the house.
‘All’s over now,’ said the vintner. ‘Fifty thousand pounds will be scattered102 in a minute. We must save ourselves. We can do no more, and shall have reason to be thankful if we do as much.’
Their first impulse was, to clamber along the roofs of the houses, and, knocking at some garret window for admission, pass down that way into the street, and so escape. But another fierce cry from below, and a general upturning of the faces of the crowd, apprised103 them that they were discovered, and even that Mr Haredale was recognised; for Hugh, seeing him plainly in the bright glare of the fire, which in that part made it as light as day, called to him by his name, and swore to have his life.
‘Leave me here,’ said Mr Haredale, ‘and in Heaven’s name, my good friend, save yourself! Come on!’ he muttered, as he turned towards Hugh and faced him without any further effort at concealment104: ‘This roof is high, and if we close, we will die together!’
‘Madness,’ said the honest vintner, pulling him back, ‘sheer madness. Hear reason, sir. My good sir, hear reason. I could never make myself heard by knocking at a window now; and even if I could, no one would be bold enough to connive105 at my escape. Through the cellars, there’s a kind of passage into the back street by which we roll casks in and out. We shall have time to get down there before they can force an entry. Do not delay an instant, but come with me — for both our sakes — for mine — my dear good sir!’
As he spoke106, and drew Mr Haredale back, they had both a glimpse of the street. It was but a glimpse, but it showed them the crowd, gathering107 and clustering round the house: some of the armed men pressing to the front to break down the doors and windows, some bringing brands from the nearest fire, some with lifted faces following their course upon the roof and pointing them out to their companions: all raging and roaring like the flames they lighted up. They saw some men thirsting for the treasures of strong liquor which they knew were stored within; they saw others, who had been wounded, sinking down into the opposite doorways108 and dying, solitary wretches109, in the midst of all the vast assemblage; here a frightened woman trying to escape; and there a lost child; and there a drunken ruffian, unconscious of the death-wound on his head, raving110 and fighting to the last. All these things, and even such trivial incidents as a man with his hat off, or turning round, or stooping down, or shaking hands with another, they marked distinctly; yet in a glance so brief, that, in the act of stepping back, they lost the whole, and saw but the pale faces of each other, and the red sky above them.
Mr Haredale yielded to the entreaties111 of his companion — more because he was resolved to defend him, than for any thought he had of his own life, or any care he entertained for his own safety — and quickly re-entering the house, they descended112 the stairs together. Loud blows were thundering on the shutters113, crowbars were already thrust beneath the door, the glass fell from the sashes, a deep light shone through every crevice114, and they heard the voices of the foremost in the crowd so close to every chink and keyhole, that they seemed to be hoarsely whispering their threats into their very ears. They had but a moment reached the bottom of the cellar-steps and shut the door behind them, when the mob broke in.
The vaults115 were profoundly dark, and having no torch or candle — for they had been afraid to carry one, lest it should betray their place of refuge — they were obliged to grope with their hands. But they were not long without light, for they had not gone far when they heard the crowd forcing the door; and, looking back among the low-arched passages, could see them in the distance, hurrying to and fro with flashing links, broaching117 the casks, staving the great vats118, turning off upon the right hand and the left, into the different cellars, and lying down to drink at the channels of strong spirits which were already flowing on the ground.
They hurried on, not the less quickly for this; and had reached the only vault116 which lay between them and the passage out, when suddenly, from the direction in which they were going, a strong light gleamed upon their faces; and before they could slip aside, or turn back, or hide themselves, two men (one bearing a torch) came upon them, and cried in an astonished whisper, ‘Here they are!’
At the same instant they pulled off what they wore upon their heads. Mr Haredale saw before him Edward Chester, and then saw, when the vintner gasped119 his name, Joe Willet.
Ay, the same Joe, though with an arm the less, who used to make the quarterly journey on the grey mare120 to pay the bill to the purple-faced vintner; and that very same purple-faced vintner, formerly121 of Thames Street, now looked him in the face, and challenged him by name.
‘Give me your hand,’ said Joe softly, taking it whether the astonished vintner would or no. ‘Don’t fear to shake it; it’s a friendly one and a hearty122 one, though it has no fellow. Why, how well you look and how bluff123 you are! And you — God bless you, sir. Take heart, take heart. We’ll find them. Be of good cheer; we have not been idle.’
There was something so honest and frank in Joe’s speech, that Mr Haredale put his hand in his involuntarily, though their meeting was suspicious enough. But his glance at Edward Chester, and that gentleman’s keeping aloof124, were not lost upon Joe, who said bluntly, glancing at Edward while he spoke:
‘Times are changed, Mr Haredale, and times have come when we ought to know friends from enemies, and make no confusion of names. Let me tell you that but for this gentleman, you would most likely have been dead by this time, or badly wounded at the best.’
‘What do you say?’ cried Mr Haredale.
‘I say,’ said Joe, ‘first, that it was a bold thing to be in the crowd at all disguised as one of them; though I won’t say much about that, on second thoughts, for that’s my case too. Secondly125, that it was a brave and glorious action — that’s what I call it — to strike that fellow off his horse before their eyes!’
‘What fellow! Whose eyes!’
‘What fellow, sir!’ cried Joe: ‘a fellow who has no goodwill126 to you, and who has the daring and devilry in him of twenty fellows. I know him of old. Once in the house, HE would have found you, here or anywhere. The rest owe you no particular grudge127, and, unless they see you, will only think of drinking themselves dead. But we lose time. Are you ready?’
‘Quite,’ said Edward. ‘Put out the torch, Joe, and go on. And be silent, there’s a good fellow.’
‘Silent or not silent,’ murmured Joe, as he dropped the flaring128 link upon the ground, crushed it with his foot, and gave his hand to Mr Haredale, ‘it was a brave and glorious action;— no man can alter that.’
Both Mr Haredale and the worthy129 vintner were too amazed and too much hurried to ask any further questions, so followed their conductors in silence. It seemed, from a short whispering which presently ensued between them and the vintner relative to the best way of escape, that they had entered by the back-door, with the connivance130 of John Grueby, who watched outside with the key in his pocket, and whom they had taken into their confidence. A party of the crowd coming up that way, just as they entered, John had double-locked the door again, and made off for the soldiers, so that means of retreat was cut off from under them.
However, as the front-door had been forced, and this minor131 crowd, being anxious to get at the liquor, had no fancy for losing time in breaking down another, but had gone round and got in from Holborn with the rest, the narrow lane in the rear was quite free of people. So, when they had crawled through the passage indicated by the vintner (which was a mere shelving-trap for the admission of casks), and had managed with some difficulty to unchain and raise the door at the upper end, they emerged into the street without being observed or interrupted. Joe still holding Mr Haredale tight, and Edward taking the same care of the vintner, they hurried through the streets at a rapid pace; occasionally standing aside to let some fugitives132 go by, or to keep out of the way of the soldiers who followed them, and whose questions, when they halted to put any, were speedily stopped by one whispered word from Joe.
收听单词发音 |
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aggravated
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| 使恶化( aggravate的过去式和过去分词 )； 使更严重； 激怒； 使恼火 | |
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animation
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| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
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warehouses
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| 仓库，货栈( warehouse的名词复数 ) | |
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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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waggons
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| 四轮的运货马车( waggon的名词复数 )； 铁路货车； 小手推车 | |
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rumbled
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| 发出隆隆声，发出辘辘声( rumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 轰鸣着缓慢行进； 发现…的真相； 看穿（阴谋） | |
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condemn
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| vt.谴责，指责；宣判(罪犯)，判刑 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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battalions
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| n.（陆军的）一营（大约有一千兵士）( battalion的名词复数 )；协同作战的部队；军队；（组织在一起工作的）队伍 | |
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militia
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| n.民兵，民兵组织 | |
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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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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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regiments
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| （军队的）团( regiment的名词复数 )； 大量的人或物 | |
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artillery
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| n.(军)火炮，大炮；炮兵(部队) | |
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fortress
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| n.堡垒，防御工事 | |
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extinction
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| n.熄灭，消亡，消灭，灭绝，绝种 | |
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poultry
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| n.家禽，禽肉 | |
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din
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| n.喧闹声，嘈杂声 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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muskets
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| n.火枪，（尤指）滑膛枪( musket的名词复数 ) | |
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solitary
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sentries
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resounding
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garrisons
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| 守备部队，卫戍部队( garrison的名词复数 ) | |
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affixed
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| adj.[医]附着的，附着的v.附加( affix的过去式和过去分词 )；粘贴；加以；盖（印章） | |
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wardens
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gentry
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| n.绅士阶级，上层阶级 | |
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debtors
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| n.债务人，借方( debtor的名词复数 ) | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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destitute
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| adj.缺乏的；穷困的 | |
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utterly
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implored
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| 恳求或乞求（某人）( implore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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custody
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| n.监护，照看，羁押，拘留 | |
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incur
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| vt.招致，蒙受，遭遇 | |
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abject
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| adj.极可怜的，卑屈的 | |
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imprisonment
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| n.关押，监禁，坐牢 | |
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39
captivity
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| n.囚禁；被俘；束缚 | |
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40
exult
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| v.狂喜，欢腾；欢欣鼓舞 | |
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41
glut
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| n.存货过多，供过于求；v.狼吞虎咽 | |
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42
deter
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| vt.阻止，使不敢，吓住 | |
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43
rekindle
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| v.使再振作；再点火 | |
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44
arsenal
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| n.兵工厂，军械库 | |
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45
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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46
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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47
impunity
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| n.(惩罚、损失、伤害等的)免除 | |
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48
rumour
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| n.谣言，谣传，传闻 | |
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49
diffused
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| 散布的，普及的，扩散的 | |
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50
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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51
bankruptcy
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| n.破产；无偿付能力 | |
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52
bedlam
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| n.混乱，骚乱；疯人院 | |
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53
fraught
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| adj.充满…的，伴有(危险等)的；忧虑的 | |
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54
beset
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| v.镶嵌；困扰，包围 | |
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55
sane
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| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
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56
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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57
privy
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| adj.私用的；隐密的 | |
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58
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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59
exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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60
disturbances
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| n.骚乱( disturbance的名词复数 )；打扰；困扰；障碍 | |
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61
apprentices
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| 学徒，徒弟( apprentice的名词复数 ) | |
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62
stimulated
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| a.刺激的 | |
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63
watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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64
wards
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| 区( ward的名词复数 )； 病房； 受监护的未成年者； 被人照顾或控制的状态 | |
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66
peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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67
simultaneously
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| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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68
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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69
vigilant
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| adj.警觉的，警戒的，警惕的 | |
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70
demonstrations
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| 证明( demonstration的名词复数 )； 表明； 表达； 游行示威 | |
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71
demon
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| n.魔鬼，恶魔 | |
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72
outrages
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| 引起…的义愤，激怒( outrage的第三人称单数 ) | |
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73
previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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74
lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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75
insurgents
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| n.起义，暴动，造反( insurgent的名词复数 ) | |
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76
swarmed
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| 密集( swarm的过去式和过去分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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77
conflagrations
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| n.大火（灾）( conflagration的名词复数 ) | |
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78
borough
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| n.享有自治权的市镇；(英)自治市镇 | |
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79
tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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80
rabble
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| n.乌合之众，暴民；下等人 | |
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81
shrieks
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| n.尖叫声( shriek的名词复数 )v.尖叫( shriek的第三人称单数 ) | |
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82
deafening
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| adj. 振耳欲聋的, 极喧闹的 动词deafen的现在分词形式 | |
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83
obstructed
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| 阻塞( obstruct的过去式和过去分词 )； 堵塞； 阻碍； 阻止 | |
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84
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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85
wielded
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| 手持着使用（武器、工具等）( wield的过去式和过去分词 )； 具有； 运用（权力）； 施加（影响） | |
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86
axe
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| n.斧子；v.用斧头砍，削减 | |
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87
fetters
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| n.脚镣( fetter的名词复数 )；束缚v.给…上脚镣，束缚( fetter的第三人称单数 ) | |
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88
jingled
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| 喝醉的 | |
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89
repulsed
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| v.击退( repulse的过去式和过去分词 )；驳斥；拒绝 | |
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conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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91
hoarsely
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| adv.嘶哑地 | |
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92
brandishing
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| v.挥舞( brandish的现在分词 )；炫耀 | |
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93
uproar
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| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
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94
throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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95
surmount
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| vt.克服；置于…顶上 | |
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96
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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97
audacity
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| n.大胆，卤莽，无礼 | |
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98
repulses
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| v.击退( repulse的第三人称单数 )；驳斥；拒绝 | |
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99
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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100
jingling
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| 叮当声 | |
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101
dispersing
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| adj. 分散的 动词disperse的现在分词形式 | |
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102
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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103
apprised
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| v.告知，通知( apprise的过去式和过去分词 )；评价 | |
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104
concealment
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| n.隐藏, 掩盖，隐瞒 | |
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105
connive
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| v.纵容；密谋 | |
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106
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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107
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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108
doorways
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| n.门口，门道( doorway的名词复数 ) | |
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109
wretches
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| n.不幸的人( wretch的名词复数 )；可怜的人；恶棍；坏蛋 | |
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110
raving
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| adj.说胡话的；疯狂的，怒吼的；非常漂亮的；令人醉心[痴心]的v.胡言乱语(rave的现在分词)n.胡话；疯话adv.胡言乱语地；疯狂地 | |
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111
entreaties
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| n.恳求，乞求( entreaty的名词复数 ) | |
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112
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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113
shutters
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| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
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114
crevice
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| n.(岩石、墙等)裂缝；缺口 | |
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115
vaults
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| n.拱顶( vault的名词复数 )；地下室；撑物跳高；墓穴 | |
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116
vault
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| n.拱形圆顶，地窖，地下室 | |
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117
broaching
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| n.拉削；推削；铰孔；扩孔v.谈起( broach的现在分词 )；打开并开始用；用凿子扩大（或修光）；（在桶上）钻孔取液体 | |
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118
vats
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| varieties 变化，多样性，种类 | |
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119
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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120
mare
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| n.母马，母驴 | |
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121
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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122
hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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123
bluff
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| v.虚张声势，用假象骗人；n.虚张声势，欺骗 | |
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124
aloof
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| adj.远离的；冷淡的，漠不关心的 | |
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125
secondly
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| adv.第二，其次 | |
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126
goodwill
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| n.善意，亲善，信誉，声誉 | |
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127
grudge
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| n.不满，怨恨，妒嫉；vt.勉强给，不情愿做 | |
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128
flaring
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| a.火焰摇曳的，过份艳丽的 | |
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129
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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130
connivance
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| n.纵容；默许 | |
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131
minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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132
fugitives
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| n.亡命者，逃命者( fugitive的名词复数 ) | |
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