Shows how I caught Salmon1 in the Clackamas
The race is neither to the swift nor the battle to the strong; but time and chance cometh to all.
I HAVE lived! The American Continent may now sink under the sea, for I have taken the best that it yields, and the best was neither dollars, love, nor real estate. Hear now, gentlemen of the Punjab Fishing Club, who whip the reaches of the Tavi, and you who painfully import trout2 to Ootacamund, and I will tell you how ‘old man California’ and I went fishing, and you shall envy. We returnee from The Dalles to Portland by the way we had come, the steamer stopping en route to pick up a night’s catch of one of the salmon wheels on the river, and to deliver it at a cannery downstream. When the proprietor3 of the wheel announced that his take was two thousand two hundred one thirty pounds’ weight of fish, ‘and not a heavy catch, neither,’ I thought he lied. But he sent the boxes aboard, and I counted the salmon by the hundred — huge fifty-pounders, hardly dead, scores of twenty- and thirty-pouners, and a host of smaller fish.
The steamer halted at a rude wooden warehouse4 built on piles in a lonely reach of the river, and sent in the fish. I followed them up a scale-strewn, fishy6 incline that led to the cannery. The crazy building was quivering with the machinery7 on its floors, and a glittering bank of tin-scraps twenty feet high showed where the waste was thrown after the cans had been punched. Only Chinamen were employed on the work, and they looked like blood-besmeared yellow devils, as they crossed the rifts8 of sunlight that lay upon the floor. When our consignment9 arrived, the rough wooden boxes broke of themselves as they were dumped down under a jet of water, and the salmon burst out in a stream of quicksilver. A Chinaman jerked up a twenty-pounder, beheaded and de-tailed it with two swift strokes of a knife, flicked10 out its internal arrangements with a third, and cast it into a blood-dyed tank. The headless fish leaped from under his hands as though they were facing a rapid. Other Chinamen pulled them from the vat11 and thrust them under a thing like a chaff-cutter, which, descending12, hewed13 them into unseemly red gobbets fit for the can. More Chinamen with yellow, crooked14 fingers, jammed the stuff into the cans, which slid down some marvellous machine forthwith, soldering17 their own tops as they passed. Each can was hastily tested for flaws, and then sunk, with a hundred companions, into a vat of boiling water, there to be half cooked for a few minutes. The cans bulged18 slightly after the operation, and were therefore slidden along by the trolleyful to men with needles and soldering irons, who vented19 them, and soldered20 the aperture21. Except for the label, the ‘finest Columbia salmon’ was ready for the market. I was impressed, not so much with the speed of the manufacture, as the character of the factory. Inside, on a floor ninety by forty, the most civilised and murderous of machinery. Outside, three footsteps, the thick-growing pines and the immense solitude22 of the hills. Our steamer only stayed twenty minutes at that place, but I counted two hundred and forty finished cans, made from the catch of the previous night, ere I left the slippery, blood-stained, scale-spangled, oily floors, and the offal-smeared Chinamen.
We reached Portland, California and I, crying for salmon, and the real-estate man, to whom we had been intrusted by ‘Portland’ the insurance man, met us in the street saying that fifteen miles away, across country, we should come upon a place called Clackamas where we might perchance find what we desired. And California, his coat-tails flying in the wind, ran to a livery stable and chartered a waggon23 and team forthwith. I could push the waggon about with one hand, so light was its structure. The team was purely24 American — that is to say, almost human in its intelligence and docility25. Some one said that the roads were not good on the way to Clackamas and warned us against smashing the springs. ‘Portland,’ who had watched the preparations, finally reckoned ‘he’d come along too,’ and under heavenly skies we three companions of a day set forth16; California carefully lashing26 our rods into the carriage, and the bystanders overwhelming us with directions as to the sawmills we were to pass, the ferries we were to cross, and the sign-posts we were to seek signs from. Half a mile from this city of fifty thousand souls we struck (and this must be taken literally27) a plank-road that would have been a disgrace to an Irish village.
Then six miles of macadamised road showed us that the team could move. A railway ran between us and the banks of the Willamette, and another above us through the mountains. All the land was dotted with small townships, and the roads were full of farmers in their town waggons28, bunches of tow-haired, boggle-eyed urchins29 sitting in the hay behind. The men generally looked like loafers, but their women were all well dressed. Brown hussar-braiding on a tailor-made jacket does not, however, consort30 with hay-waggons. Then we struck into the woods along what California called a ‘camina reale,’— a good road,— and Portland a ‘fair track.’ It wound in and out among fire-blackened stumps31, under pine trees, along the corners of log-fences, through hollows which must be hopeless marsh32 in the winter, and up absurd gradients. But nowhere throughout its length did I see any evidence of road-making. There was a track,— you couldn’t well get off it,— and it was all you could do to stay on it. The dust lay a foot thick in the blind ruts, and under the dust we found bits of planking and bundles of brushwood that sent the waggon bounding into the air. Sometimes we crashed through bracken; anon where the blackberries grew rankest we found a lonely little cemetery33, the wooden rails all awry34, and the pitiful stumpy headstones nodding drunkenly at the soft green mulleins. Then with oaths and the sound of rent underwood a yoke35 of mighty36 bulls would swing down a ‘skid’ road, hauling a forty-foot log along a rudely made slide. A valley full of wheat and cherry trees succeeded, and halting at a house we bought ten pound weight of luscious37 black cherries for something less than a rupee and got a drink of icy-cold water for nothing, while the untended team browsed38 sagaciously by the roadside. Once we found a wayside camp of horse-dealers lounging by a pool, ready for a sale or a swap39, and once two suntanned youngsters shot down a hill on Indian ponies40, their full creels banging from the highpommelled saddles. They had been fishing, and were our brethren therefore. We shouted aloud in chorus to scare a wild-cat; we squabbled over the reasons that had led a snake to cross a road; we heaved bits of bark at a venturesome chipmunk41, who was really the little grey squirrel of India and had come to call on me; we lost our way and got the waggon so beautifully fixed42 on a steep road that we had to tie the two hind-wheels to get it down. Above all, California told tales of Nevada and Arizona, of lonely nights spent out prospecting43, of the slaughter44 of deer and the chase of men; of woman, lovely woman, who is a firebrand in a Western city, and leads to the popping of pistols; and of the sudden changes and chances of Fortune, who delights in making the miner or the lumberman a quadruplicate millionaire, and in ‘busting’ the railroad king. That was a day to be remembered, and it had only begun when we drew rein47 at a tiny farmhouse48 on the banks of the Clackamas and sought horse-feed and lodging49 ere we hastened to the river that broke over a weir50 not a quarter of a mile away.
Imagine a stream seventy yards broad divided by a pebbly51 island, running over seductive riffles, and swirling52 into deep, quiet pools where the good salmon goes to smoke his pipe after meals. Set such a stream amid fields of breast-high crops surrounded by hills of pines, throw in where you please quiet water, log-fenced meadows, and a hundred-foot bluff53 just to keep the scenery from growing too monotonous54, and you will get some faint notion of the Clackamas.
Portland had no rod. He held the gaff and the whisky. California sniffed55 upstream and downstream across the racing56 water, chose his ground, and let the gaudy57 spoon drop in the tail of a riffle. I was getting my rod together when I heard the joyous58 shriek59 of the reel and the yells of California, and three feet of living silver leaped into the air far across the water. The forces were engaged. The salmon tore upstream, the tense line cutting the water like a tide-rip behind him, and the light bamboo bowed to breaking. What happened after I cannot tell. California swore and prayed, and Portland shouted advice, and I did all three for what appeared to be half a day, but was in reality a little over a quarter of an hour, and sullenly60 our fish came home with spurts61 of temper, dashes head on, and sarabands in the air; but home to the bank came he, and the remorseless reel gathered up the thread of his life inch by inch. We landed him in a little bay, and the spring-weight checked at eleven and a half pounds. Eleven and one-half pounds of fighting salmon! We danced a war dance on the pebbles62, and California caught me round the waist in a hug that went near to breaking my ribs63 while he shouted: ‘Partner! Partner! This is glory! Now you catch your fish! Twenty-four years I’ve waited for this!’
I went into that icy-cold river and made my cast just above a weir, and all but foul64-hooked a blue and black water-snake with a coral mouth who coiled herself on a stone and hissed65 maledictions. The next cast — ah, the pride of it, the regal splendour of it! the thrill that ran down from finger-tip to toe! The water boiled. He broke for the spoon and got it! There remained enough sense in me to give him all he wanted when he jumped not once but twenty times before the upstream flight that ran my line out to the last half-dozen turns, and I saw the nickled reelbar glitter under the thinning green coils. My thumb was burned deep when I strove to stopper the line, but I did not feel it till later, for my soul was out in the dancing water praying for him to turn ere he took my tackle away. The prayer was heard. As I bowed back, the butt66 of the rod on my left hip-bone and the top-joint67 dipping like unto a weeping willow68, he turned, and I accepted each inch of slack that I could by any means get in as a favour from on High. There be several sorts of success in this world that taste well in the moment of enjoyment69, but I question whether the stealthy theft of line from an able-bodied salmon who knows exactly what you are doing and why you are doing it, is not sweeter than any other victory within human scope. Like California’s fish, he ran at me head-on and leaped against the line, but the Lord gave me two hundred and fifty pairs of fingers in that hour. The banks and the pine trees danced dizzily round me, but I only reeled — reeled as for life — reeled for hours, and at the end of the reeling continued to give him the butt while he sulked in a pool. California was farther up the reach, and with the corner of my eye I could see him casting with long casts and much skill. Then he struck, and my fish broke for the weir in the same instant, and down the reach we came, California and I; reel answering reel even as the Morning Stars sung together.
The first wild enthusiasm of capture had died away. We were both at work now in deadly earnest to prevent the lines fouling70, to stall off a downstream rush for deep water just above the weir, and at the same time to get the fish into the shallow bay downstream that gave the best practicable landing. Portland bade us both be of good heart, and volunteered to take the rod from my hands. I would rather have died among the pebbles than surrender my right to play and land my first salmon, weight unknown, on an tight-ounce rod. I heard California, at my ear it seemed, gasping71: ‘He’s a fighter from FightersVille sure!’ as his fish made a fresh break across the stream. I saw Portland fall off a log fence, break the overhanging bank, and clatter72 down to the pebbles, all sand and landing-net, and I dropped on a log to rest for a moment. As I drew breath the weary hands slackened their hold, and I forgot to give him the butt. A wild scutter in the water, a plunge73 and a break for the head-waters of the Clackamas was my reward, and the hot toil74 of reeling-in with one eye under the water and the other on the top joint of the rod, was renewed. Worst of all, I was blocking California’s path to the little landing-bay aforesaid, and he had to halt and tire his prize where he was. ‘The Father of all Salmon!’ he shouted. ‘For the love of Heaven, get your trout to bank, Johnny Bull!’ But I could no more. Even the insult failed to move me. The rest of the game was with the salmon. He suffered himself to be drawn75, skipping with pretended delight at getting to the haven76 where I would fain have him. Yet no sooner did he feel shoal water under his ponderous77 belly78 than he backed like a torpedo-boat, and the snarl79 of the reel told me that my labour was in vain. A dozen times at least this happened ere the line hinted he had given up that battle and would be towed in. He was towed. The landingnet was useless for one of his size, and I would not have him gaffed. I stepped into the shallows and heaved him out with a respectful hand under the gill, for which kindness he battered80 me about the legs with his tail, and I felt the strength of him and was proud. California had taken my place in the shallows, his fish hard held. I was up the bank lying full length on the sweet-scented grass, and gasping in company with my first salmon caught, played and landed on an eight-ounce rod. My hands were cut and bleeding. I was dripping with sweat, spangled like harlequin with scales, wet from the waist down, nose-peeled by the sun, but utterly81, supremely82, and consummately83 happy. He, the beauty, the darling, the daisy, my Salmon Bahadur, weighed twelve pounds; and I had been seven-and-thirty minutes bringing him to bank! He had been lightly hooked on the angle of the right jaw84, and the hook had not wearied him. That hour I sat among princes and crowned heads — greater than them all. Below the bank we heard California scuffling with his salmon, and swearing Spanish oaths. Portland and I assisted at the capture, and the fish dragged the springbalance out by the roots. It was only constructed to weigh up to fifteen pounds. We stretched the three fish on the grass,— the eleven and a half, the twelve, and fifteen pounder,— and we swore an oath that all who came after should merely be weighed and put back again.
How shall I tell the glories of that day so that you may be interested? Again and again did California and I prance85 down that reach to the little bay, each with a salmon in tow, and land him to the shallows. Then Portland took my rod, and caught some ten-pounders, and my spoon was carried away by an unknown leviathan. Each fish, for the merits of the three that had died so gamely, was hastily hooked on the balance and flung back, Portland recording86 the weight in a pocket-book, for he was a real-estate man. Each fish fought for all he was worth, and none more savagely87 than the smallest — a game little six-pounder. At the end of six hours we added up the list. Total 16 fish, aggregate88 weight 142 lbs. The score in detail runs something like this — it is only interesting to those concerned: 15, 11?, 12, 10, 9?, 8, and so forth; as I have said, nothing under six pounds, and three ten-pounders.
Very solemnly and thankfully we put up our rods — it was glory enough for all time — and returned weeping in each other’s arms — weeping tears of pure joy — to that simple bare-legged family in the packing-case house by the waterside. The old farmer recollected89 days and nights of fierce warfare90 with the Indians —‘way back in the Fifties,’ when every ripple91 of the Columbia River and her tributaries92 hid covert93 danger. God had dowered him with a queer crooked gift of expression, and a fierce anxiety for the welfare of his two little sons — tanned and reserved children who attended school daily, and ‘spoke good English in a strange tongue. His wife was an austere94 woman who had once been kindly95 and perhaps handsome. Many years of toil had taken the elasticity96 out of step and voice. She looked for nothing better than everlasting97 work — the chafing98 detail of housework, and then a grave somewhere up the hill among the blackberries and the pines. But in her grim way she sympathised with her eldest99 daughter, a small and silent maiden100 of eighteen, who had thoughts very far from the meals she tended or the pans she scoured101. We stumbled into the household at a crisis; and there was a deal of downright humanity in that same. A bad, wicked dressmaker had promised the maiden a dress in time for a to-morrow’s railway journey, and, though the barefooted Georgie, who stood in very wholesome102 awe103 of his sister, had scoured the woods on a pony104 in search, that dress never arrived. So with sorrow in her heart, and a hundred Sister Anne glances up the road, she waited upon the strangers, and, I doubt not, cursed them for the wants that stood between her and her need for tears. It was a genuine little tragedy. The mother in a heavy, passionless voice rebuked105 her impatience106, yet sat bowed over a heap of sewing for the daughter’s benefit. These things I beheld107 in the long marigold-scented twilight108 and whispering night, loafing round the little house with California, who unfolded himself like a lotus to the moon; or in the little boarded bunk109 that was our bedroom, swapping110 tales with Portland and the old man. Most of the yarns111 began in this way: ‘Red Larry was a bull-puncher back of Lone5 County, Montanna,’ or ‘There was a man riding the trail met a jack-rabbit sitting in a cactus,’ or ‘’Bout the time of the San Diego land boom, a woman from Monterey,’ etc. You can try to piece out for yourselves what sort of stories they were.
And next day California tucked me under his wing and told me we were going to see a city smitten112 by a boom, and catch trout. So we took a train and killed a cow — she wouldn’t get out of the way, and the locomotive ‘chanced’ her and slew113 — and crossing into Washington Territory won the town of Tacoma, which stands at the head of Puget Sound upon the road to Alaska and Vancouver.
California was right. Tacoma was literally staggering under a boom of the boomiest. I do not quite remember what her natural resources were supposed to be, ‘though every second man shrieked114 a selection in my ear. They included coal and iron, carrots, potatoes, lumber46, shipping115, and a crop of thin newspapers all telling Portland that her days were numbered. California and I struck the place at twilight. The rude boarded pavements of the main streets rumbled116 under the heels of hundreds of furious men all actively117 engaged in hunting drinks and eligible118 corner-lots. They sought the drinks first. The street itself alternated five-story business blocks of the later and more abominable119 forms of architecture with board shanties120. Overhead the drunken telegraph, telephone, and electric-light wires tangled121 on the tottering122 posts whose butts123 were half-whittled through by the knife of the loafer. Down the muddy, grimy, unmetalled thoroughfare ran a horse-car line — the metals three inches above road level. Beyond this street rose many hills, and the town was thrown like a broken set of dominoes over all. A steam tramway — it left the track the only time I used it — was nosing about the hills, but the most prominent features of the landscape were the foundations in brick and stone of a gigantic opera house and the blackened stumps of the pines. California sized up the town with one comprehensive glance. ‘Big boom,’ said he; and a few instants later: ‘About time to step off, I think,’ meaning thereby124 that the boom had risen to its limit, and it would be expedient125 not to meddle126 with it. We passed down ungraded streets that ended abruptly127 in a fifteen-foot drop and a nest of brambles’; along pavements that beginning in pine-plank ended in the living tree; by hotels with Turkish mosque128 trinketry on their shameless tops, and the pine-stumps at their very doors; by a female seminary, tall, gaunt and red, which a native of the town bade us marvel15 at, and we marvelled129; by houses built in imitation of the ones on Nob Hill, San Francisco,— after the Dutch fashion; by other houses plenteously befouled with jig-saw work, and others flaring130 with the castlemented, battlemented bosh of the wooden Gothic school.
‘You can tell just about when those fellers had their houses built,’ quoth California. ‘That one yonder wanted to be Italian, and his architect built him what he wanted. The new houses with the low straddle roofs and windows pitched in sideways and red brick walls are Dutch. That’s the latest idea. I can read the history of the town.’ I had no occasion so to read. The natives were only too glad and too proud to tell me. The hotel walls bore a flaming panorama131 of Tacoma in which by the eye of faith I saw a faint resemblance to the real town. The hotel stationery132 advertised that Tacoma bore on its face all the advantages of the highest civilisation133, and the newspapers sang the same tune45 in a louder key. The real-estate agents were selling house-lots on unmade streets miles away for thousands of dollars. On the streets — the rude, crude streets, where the unshaded electric light was fighting with the gentle northern twilight — men were babbling134 of money, town lots, and again money — how Alf or Ed had done such and such a thing that had brought him so much money; and round the corner in a creaking boarded hall the red jerseyed Salvationists were calling upon mankind to renounce135 all and follow their noisy God. The men dropped in by twos and threes, listened silently for a while, and as silently went their way, the cymbals136 clashing after them in vain. I think it was the raw, new smell of fresh sawdust everywhere pervading137 the air that threw upon me a desolating138 homesickness. It brought back in a moment all remembrances of that terrible first night at school when the establishment has been newly whitewashed139, and a soft smell of escaping gas mingles140 with the odour of trunks and wet overcoats. I was a little boy, and the school was very new. A vagabond among collarless vagabonds, I loafed up the street, looking into the fronts of little shops where they sold slop shirts at fancy prices, which shops I saw later described in the papers as ‘great.’ California had gone off to investigate on his own account, and presently returned, laughing noiselessly. ‘They are all mad here,’ he said, ‘all mad. A man nearly pulled a gun on me because I didn’t agree with him that Tacoma was going to whip San Francisco on the strength of carrots and potatoes. I asked him to tell me what the town produced, and I couldn’t get anything out of him except those two darned vegetables. Say, what do you think?’
I responded firmly, ‘I’m going into British territory a little while — to draw breath.’
‘ I’m going up the Sound, too, for a while,’ said he, ‘but I’m coming back — coming back to our salmon on the Clackamas. A man has been pressing me to buy real estate here. Young feller, don’t you buy real estate here.’
California disappeared with a kindly wave of his overcoat into worlds other than mine,— good luck go with him for he was a true sportsman!— and I took a steamer up Puget Sound for Vancouver, which is the terminus of the Canadian Pacific Railway. That was a queer voyage. The water, landlocked among a thousand islands, lay still as oil under our bows, and the wake of the screw broke up the unquivering reflections of pines and cliffs a mile away. ’Twas as though we were trampling141 on glass. No one, not even the Government, knows the number of islands in the Sound. Even now you can get one almost for the asking; can build a house, raise sheep, catch salmon, and become a king on a small scale — your subjects the Indians of the reservation, who glide142 among the islets in their canoes and scratch their hides monkeywise by the beach. A Sound Indian is unlovely and only by accident picturesque143. His wife drives the canoe, but he himself is so thorough a mariner144 that he can spring up in his cocklecraft and whack145 his wife over the head with a paddle without tipping the whole affair into the water. This I have seen him do unprovoked. I fancy it must have been to show off before the whites.
Have I told you anything about Seattle — the town that was burned out a few weeks ago when the insurance men at San Francisco took their losses with a grin? In the ghostly twilight, just as the forest fires were beginning to glare from the unthrifty islands, we struck it — struck it heavily, for the wharves146 had all been burned down, and we tied up where we could, crashing into the rotten foundations of a boathouse as a pig roots in high grass. The town, like Tacoma, was built upon a hill. In the heart of the business quarters there was a horrible black smudge, as though a Hand had come down and rubbed the place smooth. I know now what being wiped out means. The smudge seemed to be about a mile long, and its blackness was relieved by tents in, which men were doing business with the wreck147 of the stock they had saved. There were shouts and counter-shouts from the steamer to the temporary wharf148, which was laden149 with shingles150 for roofing, chairs, trunks, provision-boxes, and all the lath and string arrangements out of which a western town is made. This is the way the shouts ran:—
‘Oh, George! What’s the best with you?’
‘Nawthin’. Got the old safe out. She’s burned to a crisp. Books all gone.’
‘Save anythin’?’
‘Bar’l o’ crackers151 and my wife’s bunnit. Goin’ to start store on them though.’
‘Bully for you. Where’s that Emporium? I’ll drop in.’
‘Corner what used to be Fourth and Main — little brown tent close to militia152 picquet. Sa-ay! We’re under martial153 law, an’ all the saloons are shut down!’
‘Best for you, George. Some men gets crazy with a fire, and liquor makes ’em crazier.’
‘’Spect any creator-condemned son of a female dog who has lost all his fixin’s in a conflagration154 is going to put ice on his head an’ run for Congress, do you? How’d you like us act?’
The Job’s comforter on the steamer retired155 into himself.
‘Oh George’ dived into the bar for a drink.
P.S.— Among many curiosities I have unearthed156 one. It was a Face on the steamer — a face above a pointed157 straw-coloured beard, a face with thin lips and eloquent158 eyes. We conversed159, and presently I got at the ideas of the Face. It was, though it lived for nine months of the year in the wilds of Alaska and British Columbia, an authority on the canon law of the Church of England — a zealous160 and bitter upholder of the supremacy161 of the aforesaid Church. Into my amazed ears, as the steamer plodded162 through the reflections of the stars, it poured the battle-cry of the Church Militant163 here on earth, and put forward as a foul injustice164 that in the prisons of British Columbia the Protestant chaplain did not always belong to the Church. The Face had no official connection with the august body, and by force of his life very seldom attended service.
‘But,’ said he proudly, ‘I should think it direct disobedience to the orders of my Church if I attended any other places of worship than those prescribed. I was once for three months in a place where there was only a Wesleyan Methodist chapel165, and I never set foot in it once, Sir. Never once. ’Twould have been heresy166. Rank heresy.’
And as I leaned over the rail methought that all the little stars in the water were shaking with austere merriment! But it may have been only the ripple of the steamer, after all.
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salmon
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| n.鲑，大马哈鱼，橙红色的 | |
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trout
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| n.鳟鱼；鲑鱼(属) | |
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proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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warehouse
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| n.仓库；vt.存入仓库 | |
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lone
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| adj.孤寂的，单独的；唯一的 | |
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fishy
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| adj. 值得怀疑的 | |
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machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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rifts
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| n.裂缝( rift的名词复数 )；裂隙；分裂；不和 | |
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consignment
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| n.寄售；发货；委托；交运货物 | |
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flicked
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| （尤指用手指或手快速地）轻击( flick的过去式和过去分词 )； （用…）轻挥； （快速地）按开关； 向…笑了一下（或瞥了一眼等） | |
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vat
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| n.(=value added tax)增值税，大桶 | |
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descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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hewed
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| v.（用斧、刀等）砍、劈( hew的过去式和过去分词 )；砍成；劈出；开辟 | |
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crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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marvel
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| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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soldering
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| n.软焊；锡焊；低温焊接；热焊接v.（使）焊接，焊合( solder的现在分词 ) | |
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bulged
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| 凸出( bulge的过去式和过去分词 )； 充满； 塞满（某物） | |
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vented
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| 表达，发泄（感情，尤指愤怒）( vent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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soldered
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| v.（使）焊接，焊合( solder的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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aperture
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| n.孔，隙，窄的缺口 | |
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22
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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23
waggon
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| n.运货马车，运货车；敞篷车箱 | |
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24
purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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25
docility
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| n.容易教，易驾驶，驯服 | |
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26
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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27
literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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28
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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29
urchins
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| n.顽童( urchin的名词复数 )；淘气鬼；猬；海胆 | |
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30
consort
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| v.相伴；结交 | |
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31
stumps
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| （被砍下的树的）树桩( stump的名词复数 )； 残肢； （板球三柱门的）柱； 残余部分 | |
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32
marsh
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| n.沼泽，湿地 | |
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33
cemetery
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| n.坟墓，墓地，坟场 | |
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34
awry
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| adj.扭曲的，错的 | |
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35
yoke
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| n.轭；支配；v.给...上轭，连接，使成配偶 | |
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36
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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37
luscious
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| adj.美味的；芬芳的；肉感的，引与性欲的 | |
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38
browsed
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| v.吃草( browse的过去式和过去分词 )；随意翻阅；（在商店里）随便看看；（在计算机上）浏览信息 | |
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39
swap
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| n.交换；vt.交换，用...作交易 | |
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40
ponies
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| 矮种马，小型马( pony的名词复数 )； ￡25 25 英镑 | |
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41
chipmunk
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| n.花栗鼠 | |
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42
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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43
prospecting
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| n.探矿 | |
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44
slaughter
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| n.屠杀，屠宰；vt.屠杀，宰杀 | |
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45
tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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46
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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47
rein
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| n.疆绳，统治，支配；vt.以僵绳控制，统治 | |
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48
farmhouse
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| n.农场住宅（尤指主要住房） | |
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49
lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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50
weir
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| n.堰堤，拦河坝 | |
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51
pebbly
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| 多卵石的，有卵石花纹的 | |
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52
swirling
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| v.旋转，打旋( swirl的现在分词 ) | |
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53
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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54
monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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55
sniffed
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| v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的过去式和过去分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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56
racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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57
gaudy
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| adj.华而不实的；俗丽的 | |
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58
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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59
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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60
sullenly
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| 不高兴地，绷着脸，忧郁地 | |
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61
spurts
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| 短暂而突然的活动或努力( spurt的名词复数 )； 突然奋起 | |
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62
pebbles
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| [复数]鹅卵石； 沙砾； 卵石，小圆石( pebble的名词复数 ) | |
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63
ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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64
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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65
hissed
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| 发嘶嘶声( hiss的过去式和过去分词 )； 发嘘声表示反对 | |
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66
butt
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| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
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67
joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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68
willow
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| n.柳树 | |
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69
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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70
fouling
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| n.（水管、枪筒等中的）污垢v.使污秽( foul的现在分词 )；弄脏；击球出界；（通常用废物）弄脏 | |
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71
gasping
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| adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
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72
clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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73
plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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74
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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75
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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76
haven
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| n.安全的地方，避难所，庇护所 | |
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77
ponderous
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|
| adj.沉重的，笨重的，(文章)冗长的 | |
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78
belly
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| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
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79
snarl
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| v.吼叫，怒骂，纠缠，混乱；n.混乱，缠结，咆哮 | |
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80
battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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81
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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82
supremely
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| adv.无上地，崇高地 | |
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83
consummately
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| adv.完成地，至上地 | |
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84
jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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85
prance
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| v.（马）腾跃，(人)神气活现地走 | |
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86
recording
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| n.录音，记录 | |
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87
savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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88
aggregate
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| adj.总计的，集合的；n.总数；v.合计；集合 | |
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89
recollected
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|
| adj.冷静的；镇定的；被回忆起的；沉思默想的v.记起，想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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90
warfare
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| n.战争(状态)；斗争；冲突 | |
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91
ripple
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| n.涟波，涟漪，波纹，粗钢梳；vt.使...起涟漪，使起波纹； vi.呈波浪状，起伏前进 | |
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92
tributaries
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| n. 支流 | |
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93
covert
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| adj.隐藏的；暗地里的 | |
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94
austere
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| adj.艰苦的；朴素的，朴实无华的；严峻的 | |
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95
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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96
elasticity
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| n.弹性，伸缩力 | |
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97
everlasting
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| adj.永恒的，持久的，无止境的 | |
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98
chafing
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| n.皮肤发炎v.擦热（尤指皮肤）( chafe的现在分词 )；擦痛；发怒；惹怒 | |
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99
eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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100
maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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101
scoured
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| 走遍（某地）搜寻（人或物）( scour的过去式和过去分词 )； （用力）刷； 擦净； 擦亮 | |
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102
wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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103
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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104
pony
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| adj.小型的；n.小马 | |
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105
rebuked
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| 责难或指责( rebuke的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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106
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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107
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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108
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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109
bunk
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| n.(车、船等倚壁而设的)铺位；废话 | |
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110
swapping
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| 交换，交换技术 | |
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111
yarns
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| n.纱( yarn的名词复数 )；纱线；奇闻漫谈；旅行轶事 | |
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112
smitten
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| 猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去分词 ) | |
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113
slew
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| v.（使）旋转；n.大量，许多 | |
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114
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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115
shipping
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| n.船运（发货，运输，乘船） | |
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116
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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117
actively
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| adv.积极地，勤奋地 | |
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118
eligible
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| adj.有条件被选中的；(尤指婚姻等)合适(意)的 | |
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119
abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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120
shanties
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| n.简陋的小木屋( shanty的名词复数 )；铁皮棚屋；船工号子；船歌 | |
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121
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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122
tottering
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| adj.蹒跚的，动摇的v.走得或动得不稳( totter的现在分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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123
butts
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| 笑柄( butt的名词复数 )； （武器或工具的）粗大的一端； 屁股； 烟蒂 | |
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124
thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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125
expedient
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| adj.有用的，有利的；n.紧急的办法，权宜之计 | |
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126
meddle
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| v.干预，干涉，插手 | |
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127
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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128
mosque
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| n.清真寺 | |
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129
marvelled
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| v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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130
flaring
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| a.火焰摇曳的，过份艳丽的 | |
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131
panorama
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| n.全景，全景画，全景摄影，全景照片[装置] | |
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132
stationery
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| n.文具；(配套的)信笺信封 | |
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133
civilisation
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| n.文明，文化，开化，教化 | |
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134
babbling
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| n.胡说，婴儿发出的咿哑声adj.胡说的v.喋喋不休( babble的现在分词 )；作潺潺声（如流水）；含糊不清地说话；泄漏秘密 | |
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135
renounce
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| v.放弃；拒绝承认，宣布与…断绝关系 | |
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136
cymbals
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| pl.铙钹 | |
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137
pervading
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的现在分词 ) | |
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138
desolating
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| 毁坏( desolate的现在分词 )； 极大地破坏； 使沮丧； 使痛苦 | |
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139
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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140
mingles
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| 混合，混入( mingle的第三人称单数 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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141
trampling
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| 踩( trample的现在分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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142
glide
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| n./v.溜，滑行；(时间)消逝 | |
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143
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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144
mariner
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| n.水手号不载人航天探测器，海员，航海者 | |
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145
whack
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| v.敲击，重打，瓜分；n.重击，重打，尝试，一份 | |
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146
wharves
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| n.码头，停泊处( wharf的名词复数 ) | |
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147
wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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148
wharf
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| n.码头，停泊处 | |
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149
laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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150
shingles
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| n.带状疱疹；（布满海边的）小圆石( shingle的名词复数 )；屋顶板；木瓦（板）；墙面板 | |
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151
crackers
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| adj.精神错乱的，癫狂的n.爆竹( cracker的名词复数 )；薄脆饼干；（认为）十分愉快的事；迷人的姑娘 | |
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152
militia
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| n.民兵，民兵组织 | |
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153
martial
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| adj.战争的，军事的，尚武的，威武的 | |
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154
conflagration
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| n.建筑物或森林大火 | |
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155
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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156
unearthed
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| 出土的（考古） | |
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157
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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158
eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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159
conversed
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| v.交谈，谈话( converse的过去式 ) | |
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160
zealous
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| adj.狂热的，热心的 | |
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161
supremacy
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| n.至上；至高权力 | |
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162
plodded
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| v.沉重缓慢地走（路）( plod的过去式和过去分词 )；努力从事；沉闷地苦干；缓慢进行（尤指艰难枯燥的工作） | |
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163
militant
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| adj.激进的，好斗的；n.激进分子，斗士 | |
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164
injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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165
chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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166
heresy
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| n.异端邪说；异教 | |
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