WITH my superstitious2 friend, the islander, I fear I am not wholly frank, often leading the way with stories of my own, and being always a grave and sometimes an excited hearer. But the deceit is scarce mortal, since I am as pleased to hear as he to tell, as pleased with the story as he with the belief; and, besides, it is entirely3 needful. For it is scarce possible to exaggerate the extent and empire of his superstitions5; they mould his life, they colour his thinking; and when he does not speak to me of ghosts, and gods, and devils, he is playing the dissembler and talking only with his lips. With thoughts so different, one must indulge the other; and I would rather that I should indulge his superstition4 than he my incredulity. Of one thing, besides, I may be sure: Let me indulge it as I please, I shall not hear the whole; for he is already on his guard with me, and the amount of the lore6 is boundless7.
I will give but a few instances at random8, chiefly from my own doorstep in Upolu, during the past month (October 1890). One of my workmen was sent the other day to the banana patch, there to dig; this is a hollow of the mountain, buried in woods, out of all sight and cry of mankind; and long before dusk Lafaele was back again beside the cook-house with embarrassed looks; he dared not longer stay alone, he was afraid of ‘spirits in the bush.’ It seems these are the souls of the unburied dead, haunting where they fell, and wearing woodland shapes of pig, or bird, or insect; the bush is full of them, they seem to eat nothing, slay9 solitary10 wanderers apparently11 in spite, and at times, in human form, go down to villages and consort12 with the inhabitants undetected. So much I learned a day or so after, walking in the bush with a very intelligent youth, a native. It was a little before noon; a grey day and squally; and perhaps I had spoken lightly. A dark squall burst on the side of the mountain; the woods shook and cried; the dead leaves rose from the ground in clouds, like butterflies; and my companion came suddenly to a full stop. He was afraid, he said, of the trees falling; but as soon as I had changed the subject of our talk he proceeded with alacrity13. A day or two before a messenger came up the mountain from Apia with a letter; I was in the bush, he must await my return, then wait till I had answered: and before I was done his voice sounded shrill14 with terror of the coming night and the long forest road. These are the commons. Take the chiefs. There has been a great coming and going of signs and omens15 in our group. One river ran down blood; red eels16 were captured in another; an unknown fish was thrown upon the coast, an ominous17 word found written on its scales. So far we might be reading in a monkish18 chronicle; now we come on a fresh note, at once modern and Polynesian. The gods of Upolu and Savaii, our two chief islands, contended recently at cricket. Since then they are at war. Sounds of battle are heard to roll along the coast. A woman saw a man swim from the high seas and plunge19 direct into the bush; he was no man of that neighbourhood; and it was known he was one of the gods, speeding to a council. Most perspicuous of all, a missionary20 on Savaii, who is also a medical man, was disturbed late in the night by knocking; it was no hour for the dispensary, but at length he woke his servant and sent him to inquire; the servant, looking from a window, beheld21 crowds of persons, all with grievous wounds, lopped limbs, broken heads, and bleeding bullet-holes; but when the door was opened all had disappeared. They were gods from the field of battle. Now these reports have certainly significance; it is not hard to trace them to political grumblers or to read in them a threat of coming trouble; from that merely human side I found them ominous myself. But it was the spiritual side of their significance that was discussed in secret council by my rulers. I shall best depict23 this mingled24 habit of the Polynesian mind by two connected instances. I once lived in a village, the name of which I do not mean to tell. The chief and his sister were persons perfectly25 intelligent: gentlefolk, apt of speech. The sister was very religious, a great church-goer, one that used to reprove me if I stayed away; I found afterwards that she privately26 worshipped a shark. The chief himself was somewhat of a freethinker; at the least, a latitudinarian: he was a man, besides, filled with European knowledge and accomplishments27; of an impassive, ironical28 habit; and I should as soon have expected superstition in Mr. Herbert Spencer. Hear the sequel. I had discovered by unmistakable signs that they buried too shallow in the village graveyard, and I took my friend, as the responsible authority, to task. ‘There is something wrong about your graveyard,’ said I, ‘which you must attend to, or it may have very bad results.’ ‘Something wrong? What is it?’ he asked, with an emotion that surprised me. ‘If you care to go along there any evening about nine o’clock you can see for yourself,’ said I. He stepped backward. ‘A ghost!’ he cried.
In short, in the whole field of the South Seas, there is not one to blame another. Half blood and whole, pious29 and debauched, intelligent and dull, all men believe in ghosts, all men combine with their recent Christianity fear of and a lingering faith in the old island deities31. So, in Europe, the gods of Olympus slowly dwindled32 into village bogies; so to-day, the theological Highlander33 sneaks34 from under the eye of the Free Church divine to lay an offering by a sacred well.
I try to deal with the whole matter here because of a particular quality in Paumotuan superstitions. It is true I heard them told by a man with a genius for such narrations35. Close about our evening lamp, within sound of the island surf, we hung on his words, thrilling. The reader, in far other scenes, must listen close for the faint echo.
This bundle of weird36 stories sprang from the burial and the woman’s selfish conjuration. I was dissatisfied with what I heard, harped37 upon questions, and struck at last this vein38 of metal. It is from sundown to about four in the morning that the kinsfolk camp upon the grave; and these are the hours of the spirits’ wanderings. At any time of the night — it may be earlier, it may be later — a sound is to be heard below, which is the noise of his liberation; at four sharp, another and a louder marks the instant of the re — imprisonment39; between-whiles, he goes his malignant40 rounds. ‘Did you ever see an evil spirit?’ was once asked of a Paumotuan. ‘Once.’ ‘Under what form?’ ‘It was in the form of a crane.’ ‘And how did you know that crane to be a spirit?’ was asked. ‘I will tell you,’ he answered; and this was the purport41 of his inconclusive narrative42. His father had been dead nearly a fortnight; others had wearied of the watch; and as the sun was setting, he found himself by the grave alone. It was not yet dark, rather the hour of the afterglow, when he was aware of a snow-white crane upon the coral mound43; presently more cranes came, some white, some black; then the cranes vanished, and he saw in their place a white cat, to which there was silently joined a great company of cats of every hue44 conceivable; then these also disappeared, and he was left astonished.
This was an anodyne45 appearance. Take instead the experience of Rua-a-mariterangi on the isle47 of Katiu. He had a need for some pandanus, and crossed the isle to the sea-beach, where it chiefly flourishes. The day was still, and Rua was surprised to hear a crashing sound among the thickets48, and then the fall of a considerable tree. Here must be some one building a canoe; and he entered the margin49 of the wood to find and pass the time of day with this chance neighbour. The crashing sounded more at hand; and then he was aware of something drawing swiftly near among the tree — tops. It swung by its heels downward, like an ape, so that its hands were free for murder; it depended safely by the slightest twigs50; the speed of its coming was incredible; and soon Rua recognised it for a corpse52, horrible with age, its bowels53 hanging as it came. Prayer was the weapon of Christian30 in the Valley of the Shadow, and it is to prayer that Rua-a-mariterangi attributes his escape. No merely human expedition had availed.
This demon54 was plainly from the grave; yet you will observe he was abroad by day. And inconsistent as it may seem with the hours of the night watch and the many references to the rising of the morning star, it is no singular exception. I could never find a case of another who had seen this ghost, diurnal55 and arboreal56 in its habits; but others have heard the fall of the tree, which seems the signal of its coming. Mr. Donat was once pearling on the uninhabited isle of Haraiki. It was a day without a breath of wind, such as alternate in the archipelago with days of contumelious breezes. The divers57 were in the midst of the lagoon58 upon their employment; the cook, a boy of ten, was over his pots in the camp. Thus were all souls accounted for except a single native who accompanied Donat into the wood in quest of sea-fowls’ eggs. In a moment, out of the stillness, came the sound of the fall of a great tree. Donat would have passed on to find the cause. ‘No,’ cried his companion, ‘that was no tree. It was something NOT RIGHT. Let us go back to camp.’ Next Sunday the divers were turned on, all that part of the isle was thoroughly60 examined, and sure enough no tree had fallen. A little later Mr. Donat saw one of his divers flee from a similar sound, in similar unaffected panic, on the same isle. But neither would explain, and it was not till afterwards, when he met with Rua, that he learned the occasion of their terrors.
But whether by day or night, the purpose of the dead in these abhorred61 activities is still the same. In Samoa, my informant had no idea of the food of the bush spirits; no such ambiguity62 would exist in the mind of a Paumotuan. In that hungry archipelago, living and dead must alike toil63 for nutriment; and the race having been cannibal in the past, the spirits are so still. When the living ate the dead, horrified64 nocturnal imagination drew the shocking inference that the dead might eat the living. Doubtless they slay men, doubtless even mutilate them, in mere22 malice65. Marquesan spirits sometimes tear out the eyes of travellers; but even that may be more practical than appears, for the eye is a cannibal dainty. And certainly the root-idea of the dead, at least in the far eastern islands, is to prowl for food. It was as a dainty morsel66 for a meal that the woman denounced Donat at the funeral. There are spirits besides who prey67 in particular not on the bodies but on the souls of the dead. The point is clearly made in a Tahitian story. A child fell sick, grew swiftly worse, and at last showed signs of death. The mother hastened to the house of a sorcerer, who lived hard by. ‘You are yet in time,’ said he; ‘a spirit has just run past my door carrying the soul of your child wrapped in the leaf of a purao; but I have a spirit stronger and swifter who will run him down ere he has time to eat it.’ Wrapped in a leaf: like other things edible51 and corruptible68.
Or take an experience of Mr. Donat’s on the island of Anaa. It was a night of a high wind, with violent squalls; his child was very sick, and the father, though he had gone to bed, lay wakeful, hearkening to the gale69. All at once a fowl59 was violently dashed on the house wall. Supposing he had forgot to put it in shelter with the rest, Donat arose, found the bird (a cock) lying on the verandah, and put it in the hen-house, the door of which he securely fastened. Fifteen minutes later the business was repeated, only this time, as it was being dashed against the wall, the bird crew. Again Donat replaced it, examining the hen-house thoroughly and finding it quite perfect; as he was so engaged the wind puffed71 out his light, and he must grope back to the door a good deal shaken. Yet a third time the bird was dashed upon the wall; a third time Donat set it, now near dead, beside its mates; and he was scarce returned before there came a rush, like that of a furious strong man, against the door, and a whistle as loud as that of a railway engine rang about the house. The sceptical reader may here detect the finger of the tempest; but the women gave up all for lost and clustered on the beds lamenting72. Nothing followed, and I must suppose the gale somewhat abated73, for presently after a chief came visiting. He was a bold man to be abroad so late, but doubtless carried a bright lantern. And he was certainly a man of counsel, for as soon as he heard the details of these disturbances74 he was in a position to explain their nature. ‘Your child,’ said he, ‘must certainly die. This is the evil spirit of our island who lies in wait to eat the spirits of the newly dead.’ And then he went on to expatiate75 on the strangeness of the spirit’s conduct. He was not usually, he explained, so open of assault, but sat silent on the house-top waiting, in the guise76 of a bird, while within the people tended the dying and bewailed the dead, and had no thought of peril77. But when the day came and the doors were opened, and men began to go abroad, blood-stains on the wall betrayed the tragedy.
This is the quality I admire in Paumotuan legend. In Tahiti the spirit-eater is said to assume a vesture which has much more of pomp, but how much less of horror. It has been seen by all sorts and conditions, native and foreign; only the last insist it is a meteor. My authority was not so sure. He was riding with his wife about two in the morning; both were near asleep, and the horses not much better. It was a brilliant and still night, and the road wound over a mountain, near by a deserted78 marae (old Tahitian temple). All at once the appearance passed above them: a form of light; the head round and greenish; the body long, red, and with a focus of yet redder brilliancy about the midst. A buzzing hoot79 accompanied its passage; it flew direct out of one marae, and direct for another down the mountain side. And this, as my informant argued, is suggestive. For why should a mere meteor frequent the altars of abominable80 gods? The horses, I should say, were equally dismayed with their riders. Now I am not dismayed at all — not even agreeably. Give me rather the bird upon the house — top and the morning blood-gouts on the wall.
But the dead are not exclusive in their diet. They carry with them to the grave, in particular, the Polynesian taste for fish, and enter at times with the living into a partnership81 in fishery. Rua — a-mariterangi is again my authority; I feel it diminishes the credit of the fact, but how it builds up the image of this inveterate82 ghost-seer! He belongs to the miserably83 poor island of Taenga, yet his father’s house was always well supplied. As Rua grew up he was called at last to go a-fishing with this fortunate parent. They rowed the lagoon at dusk, to an unlikely place, and the lay down in the stern, and the father began vainly to cast his line over the bows. It is to be supposed that Rua slept; and when he awoke there was the figure of another beside his father, and his father was pulling in the fish hand over hand. ‘Who is that man, father?’ Rua asked. ‘It is none of your business,’ said the father; and Rua supposed the stranger had swum off to them from shore. Night after night they fared into the lagoon, often to the most unlikely places; night after night the stranger would suddenly be seen on board, and as suddenly be missed; and morning after morning the canoe returned laden84 with fish. ‘My father is a very lucky man,’ thought Rua. At last, one fine day, there came first one boat party and then another, who must be entertained; father and son put off later than usual into the lagoon; and before the canoe was landed it was four o’clock, and the morning star was close on the horizon. Then the stranger appeared seized with some distress85; turned about, showing for the first time his face, which was that of one long dead, with shining eyes; stared into the east, set the tips of his fingers to his mouth like one a-cold, uttered a strange, shuddering86 sound between a whistle and a moan — a thing to freeze the blood; and, the day-star just rising from the sea, he suddenly was not. Then Rua understood why his father prospered87, why his fishes rotted early in the day, and why some were always carried to the cemetery88 and laid upon the graves. My informant is a man not certainly averse89 to superstition, but he keeps his head, and takes a certain superior interest, which I may be allowed to call scientific. The last point reminding him of some parallel practice in Tahiti, he asked Rua if the fish were left, or carried home again after a formal dedication90. It appears old Mariterangi practised both methods; sometimes treating his shadowy partner to a mere oblation91, sometimes honestly leaving his fish to rot upon the grave.
It is plain we have in Europe stories of a similar complexion92; and the Polynesian VARUA INO or AITU O LE VAO is clearly the near kinsman93 of the Transylvanian vampire94. Here is a tale in which the kinship appears broadly marked. On the atoll of Penrhyn, then still partly savage95, a certain chief was long the salutary terror of the natives. He died, he was buried; and his late neighbours had scarce tasted the delights of licence ere his ghost appeared about the village. Fear seized upon all; a council was held of the chief men and sorcerers; and with the approval of the Rarotongan missionary, who was as frightened as the rest, and in the presence of several whites — my friend Mr. Ben Hird being one — the grave was opened, deepened until water came, and the body re-interred96 face down. The still recent staking of suicides in England and the decapitation of vampires97 in the east of Europe form close parallels.
So in Samoa only the spirits of the unburied awake fear. During the late war many fell in the bush; their bodies, sometimes headless, were brought back by native pastors98 and interred; but this (I know not why) was insufficient99, and the spirit still lingered on the theatre of death. When peace returned a singular scene was enacted100 in many places, and chiefly round the high gorges101 of Lotoanuu, where the struggle was long centred and the loss had been severe. Kinswomen of the dead came carrying a mat or sheet and guided by survivors102 of the fight. The place of death was earnestly sought out; the sheet was spread upon the ground; and the women, moved with pious anxiety, sat about and watched it. If any living thing alighted it was twice brushed away; upon the third coming it was known to be the spirit of the dead, was folded in, carried home and buried beside the body; and the aitu rested. The rite46 was practised beyond doubt in simple piety103; the repose104 of the soul was its object: its motive105, reverent106 affection. The present king disowns indeed all knowledge of a dangerous aitu; he declares the souls of the unburied were only wanderers in limbo107, lacking an entrance to the proper country of the dead, unhappy, nowise hurtful. And this severely108 classic opinion doubtless represents the views of the enlightened. But the flight of my Lafaele marks the grosser terrors of the ignorant.
This belief in the exorcising efficacy of funeral rites109 perhaps explains a fact, otherwise amazing, that no Polynesian seems at all to share our European horror of human bones and mummies. Of the first they made their cherished ornaments110; they preserved them in houses or in mortuary caves; and the watchers of royal sepulchres dwelt with their children among the bones of generations. The mummy, even in the making, was as little feared. In the Marquesas, on the extreme coast, it was made by the household with continual unction and exposure to the sun; in the Carolines, upon the farthest west, it is still cured in the smoke of the family hearth111. Head-hunting, besides, still lives around my doorstep in Samoa. And not ten years ago, in the Gilberts, the widow must disinter, cleanse112, polish, and thenceforth carry about her, by day and night, the head of her dead husband. In all these cases we may suppose the process, whether of cleansing113 or drying, to have fully114 exorcised the aitu.
But the Paumotuan belief is more obscure. Here the man is duly buried, and he has to be watched. He is duly watched, and the spirit goes abroad in spite of watches. Indeed, it is not the purpose of the vigils to prevent these wanderings; only to mollify by polite attention the inveterate malignity115 of the dead. Neglect (it is supposed) may irritate and thus invite his visits, and the aged70 and weakly sometimes balance risks and stay at home. Observe, it is the dead man’s kindred and next friends who thus deprecate his fury with nocturnal watchings. Even the placatory116 vigil is held perilous117, except in company, and a boy was pointed118 out to me in Rotoava, because he had watched alone by his own father. Not the ties of the dead, nor yet their proved character, affect the issue. A late Resident, who died in Fakarava of sunstroke, was beloved in life and is still remembered with affection; none the less his spirit went about the island clothed with terrors, and the neighbourhood of Government House was still avoided after dark. We may sum up the cheerful doctrine119 thus: All men become vampires, and the vampire spares none. And here we come face to face with a tempting120 inconsistency. For the whistling spirits are notoriously clannish121; I understood them to wait upon and to enlighten kinsfolk only, and that the medium was always of the race of the communicating spirit. Here, then, we have the bonds of the family, on the one hand, severed122 at the hour of death; on the other, helpfully persisting.
The child’s soul in the Tahitian tale was wrapped in leaves. It is the spirits of the newly dead that are the dainty. When they are slain123, the house is stained with blood. Rua’s dead fisherman was decomposed124; so — and horribly — was his arboreal demon. The spirit, then, is a thing material; and it is by the material ensigns of corruption125 that he is distinguished126 from the living man. This opinion is widespread, adds a gross terror to the more ugly Polynesian tales, and sometimes defaces the more engaging with a painful and incongruous touch. I will give two examples sufficiently127 wide apart, one from Tahiti, one from Samoa.
And first from Tahiti. A man went to visit the husband of his sister, then some time dead. In her life the sister had been dainty in the island fashion, and went always adorned128 with a coronet of flowers. In the midst of the night the brother awoke and was aware of a heavenly fragrance129 going to and fro in the dark house. The lamp I must suppose to have burned out; no Tahitian would have lain down without one lighted. A while he lay wondering and delighted; then called upon the rest. ‘Do none of you smell flowers?’ he asked. ‘O,’ said his brother-in-law, ‘we are used to that here.’ The next morning these two men went walking, and the widower130 confessed that his dead wife came about the house continually, and that he had even seen her. She was shaped and dressed and crowned with flowers as in her lifetime; only she moved a few inches above the earth with a very easy progress, and flitted dryshod above the surface of the river. And now comes my point: It was always in a back view that she appeared; and these brothers — in-law, debating the affair, agreed that this was to conceal131 the inroads of corruption.
Now for the Samoan story. I owe it to the kindness of Dr. F. Otto Sierich, whose collection of folk-tales I expect with a high degree of interest. A man in Manu’a was married to two wives and had no issue. He went to Savaii, married there a third, and was more fortunate. When his wife was near her time he remembered he was in a strange island, like a poor man; and when his child was born he must be shamed for lack of gifts. It was in vain his wife dissuaded132 him. He returned to his father in Manu’a seeking help; and with what he could get he set off in the night to re-embark. Now his wives heard of his coming; they were incensed133 that he did not stay to visit them; and on the beach, by his canoe, intercepted134 and slew135 him. Now the third wife lay asleep in Savaii; — her babe was born and slept by her side; and she was awakened136 by the spirit of her husband. ‘Get up,’ he said, ‘my father is sick in Manu’a and we must go to visit him.’ ‘It is well,’ said she; ‘take you the child, while I carry its mats.’ ‘I cannot carry the child,’ said the spirit; ‘I am too cold from the sea.’ When they were got on board the canoe the wife smelt137 carrion138. ‘How is this?’ she said. ‘What have you in the canoe that I should smell carrion?’ ‘It is nothing in the canoe,’ said the spirit. ‘It is the land — wind blowing down the mountains, where some beast lies dead.’ It appears it was still night when they reached Manu’a — the swiftest passage on record — and as they entered the reef the bale-fires burned in the village. Again she asked him to carry the child; but now he need no more dissemble. ‘I cannot carry your child,’ said he, ‘for I am dead, and the fires you see are burning for my funeral.’
The curious may learn in Dr. Sierich’s book the unexpected sequel of the tale. Here is enough for my purpose. Though the man was but new dead, the ghost was already putrefied, as though putrefaction139 were the mark and of the essence of a spirit. The vigil on the Paumotuan grave does not extend beyond two weeks, and they told me this period was thought to coincide with that of the resolution of the body. The ghost always marked with decay — the danger seemingly ending with the process of dissolution — here is tempting matter for the theorist. But it will not do. The lady of the flowers had been long dead, and her spirit was still supposed to bear the brand of perishability140. The Resident had been more than a fortnight buried, and his vampire was still supposed to go the rounds.
Of the lost state of the dead, from the lurid141 Mangaian legend, in which infernal deities hocus and destroy the souls of all, to the various submarine and aerial limbos142 where the dead feast, float idle, or resume the occupations of their life on earth, it would be wearisome to tell. One story I give, for it is singular in itself, is well-known in Tahiti, and has this of interest, that it is post — Christian, dating indeed from but a few years back. A princess of the reigning143 house died; was transported to the neighbouring isle of Raiatea; fell there under the empire of a spirit who condemned144 her to climb coco-palms all day and bring him the nuts; was found after some time in this miserable145 servitude by a second spirit, one of her own house; and by him, upon her lamentations, reconveyed to Tahiti, where she found her body still waked, but already swollen146 with the approaches of corruption. It is a lively point in the tale that, on the sight of this dishonoured147 tabernacle, the princess prayed she might continue to be numbered with the dead. But it seems it was too late, her spirit was replaced by the least dignified148 of entrances, and her startled family beheld the body move. The seemingly purgatorial149 labours, the helpful kindred spirit, and the horror of the princess at the sight of her tainted150 body, are all points to be remarked.
The truth is, the tales are not necessarily consistent in themselves; and they are further darkened for the stranger by an ambiguity of language. Ghosts, vampires, spirits, and gods are all confounded. And yet I seem to perceive that (with exceptions) those whom we would count gods were less maleficent. Permanent spirits haunt and do murder in corners of Samoa; but those legitimate151 gods of Upolu and Savaii, whose wars and cricketings of late convulsed society, I did not gather to be dreaded152, or not with a like fear. The spirit of Aana that ate souls is certainly a fearsome inmate153; but the high gods, even of the archipelago, seem helpful. Mahinui — from whom our convict-catechist had been named — the spirit of the sea, like a Proteus endowed with endless avatars, came to the assistance of the shipwrecked and carried them ashore154 in the guise of a ray fish. The same divinity bore priests from isle to isle about the archipelago, and by his aid, within the century, persons have been seen to fly. The tutelar deity155 of each isle is likewise helpful, and by a particular form of wedge-shaped cloud on the horizon announces the coming of a ship.
To one who conceives of these atolls, so narrow, so barren, so beset156 with sea, here would seem a superfluity of ghostly denizens157. And yet there are more. In the various brackish158 pools and ponds, beautiful women with long red hair are seen to rise and bathe; only (timid as mice) on the first sound of feet upon the coral they dive again for ever. They are known to be healthy and harmless living people, dwellers159 of an underworld; and the same fancy is current in Tahiti, where also they have the hair red. TETEA is the Tahitian name; the Paumotuan, MOKUREA.
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graveyard
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superstitious
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entirely
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superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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superstitions
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| 迷信，迷信行为( superstition的名词复数 ) | |
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lore
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| n.传说；学问，经验，知识 | |
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boundless
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| adj.无限的；无边无际的；巨大的 | |
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random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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slay
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solitary
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apparently
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consort
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alacrity
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shrill
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omens
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| n.前兆，预兆( omen的名词复数 ) | |
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eels
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| abbr. 电子发射器定位系统（=electronic emitter location system） | |
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ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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monkish
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| adj.僧侣的，修道士的，禁欲的 | |
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plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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missionary
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| adj.教会的，传教(士)的；n.传教士 | |
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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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22
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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23
depict
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| vt.描画，描绘；描写，描述 | |
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24
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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25
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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26
privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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27
accomplishments
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| n.造诣；完成( accomplishment的名词复数 )；技能；成绩；成就 | |
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28
ironical
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| adj.讽刺的，冷嘲的 | |
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29
pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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30
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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31
deities
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| n.神，女神( deity的名词复数 )；神祗；神灵；神明 | |
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32
dwindled
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| v.逐渐变少或变小( dwindle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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33
highlander
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| n.高地的人，苏格兰高地地区的人 | |
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34
sneaks
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| abbr.sneakers (tennis shoes) 胶底运动鞋（网球鞋）v.潜行( sneak的第三人称单数 )；偷偷溜走；（儿童向成人）打小报告；告状 | |
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35
narrations
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| 叙述事情的经过，故事( narration的名词复数 ) | |
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36
weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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37
harped
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| vi.弹竖琴（harp的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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38
vein
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| n.血管，静脉；叶脉，纹理；情绪；vt.使成脉络 | |
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39
imprisonment
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| n.关押，监禁，坐牢 | |
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40
malignant
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| adj.恶性的，致命的；恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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41
purport
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| n.意义，要旨，大要；v.意味著，做为...要旨，要领是... | |
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42
narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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43
mound
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| n.土墩，堤，小山；v.筑堤，用土堆防卫 | |
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44
hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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45
anodyne
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| n.解除痛苦的东西，止痛剂 | |
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46
rite
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| n.典礼，惯例，习俗 | |
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47
isle
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| n.小岛，岛 | |
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48
thickets
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| n.灌木丛( thicket的名词复数 )；丛状物 | |
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49
margin
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| n.页边空白；差额；余地，余裕；边，边缘 | |
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50
twigs
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| 细枝，嫩枝( twig的名词复数 ) | |
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51
edible
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| n.食品，食物；adj.可食用的 | |
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52
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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53
bowels
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| n.肠，内脏，内部；肠( bowel的名词复数 )；内部，最深处 | |
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54
demon
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| n.魔鬼，恶魔 | |
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55
diurnal
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| adj.白天的，每日的 | |
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56
arboreal
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| adj.树栖的；树的 | |
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57
divers
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| adj.不同的；种种的 | |
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58
lagoon
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| n.泻湖，咸水湖 | |
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59
fowl
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| n.家禽，鸡，禽肉 | |
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60
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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61
abhorred
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| v.憎恶( abhor的过去式和过去分词 )；（厌恶地）回避；拒绝；淘汰 | |
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62
ambiguity
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| n.模棱两可；意义不明确 | |
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63
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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64
horrified
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| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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65
malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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66
morsel
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| n.一口，一点点 | |
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67
prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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68
corruptible
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| 易腐败的，可以贿赂的 | |
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69
gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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70
aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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71
puffed
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| adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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72
lamenting
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| adj.悲伤的，悲哀的v.（为…）哀悼，痛哭，悲伤( lament的现在分词 ) | |
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73
abated
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| 减少( abate的过去式和过去分词 )； 减去； 降价； 撤消（诉讼） | |
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74
disturbances
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| n.骚乱( disturbance的名词复数 )；打扰；困扰；障碍 | |
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75
expatiate
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| v.细说，详述 | |
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76
guise
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| n.外表，伪装的姿态 | |
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77
peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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78
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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79
hoot
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| n.鸟叫声，汽车的喇叭声； v.使汽车鸣喇叭 | |
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80
abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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81
partnership
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| n.合作关系，伙伴关系 | |
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82
inveterate
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| adj.积习已深的，根深蒂固的 | |
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83
miserably
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| adv.痛苦地；悲惨地；糟糕地；极度地 | |
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84
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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85
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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86
shuddering
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| v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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87
prospered
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| 成功，兴旺( prosper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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88
cemetery
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| n.坟墓，墓地，坟场 | |
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89
averse
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| adj.厌恶的；反对的，不乐意的 | |
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90
dedication
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| n.奉献，献身，致力，题献，献辞 | |
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91
oblation
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| n.圣餐式；祭品 | |
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92
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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93
kinsman
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| n.男亲属 | |
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94
vampire
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| n.吸血鬼 | |
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95
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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96
interred
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| v.埋，葬( inter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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97
vampires
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| n.吸血鬼( vampire的名词复数 )；吸血蝠；高利贷者；（舞台上的）活板门 | |
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98
pastors
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| n.（基督教的）牧师( pastor的名词复数 ) | |
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99
insufficient
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| adj.(for，of)不足的，不够的 | |
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100
enacted
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| 制定（法律），通过（法案）( enact的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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101
gorges
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| n.山峡，峡谷( gorge的名词复数 )；咽喉v.（用食物把自己）塞饱，填饱( gorge的第三人称单数 )；作呕 | |
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102
survivors
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| 幸存者，残存者，生还者( survivor的名词复数 ) | |
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103
piety
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| n.虔诚，虔敬 | |
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104
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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105
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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106
reverent
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| adj.恭敬的，虔诚的 | |
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107
limbo
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| n.地狱的边缘；监狱 | |
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108
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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109
rites
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| 仪式，典礼( rite的名词复数 ) | |
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110
ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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111
hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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112
cleanse
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| vt.使清洁，使纯洁，清洗 | |
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113
cleansing
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| n. 净化(垃圾) adj. 清洁用的 动词cleanse的现在分词 | |
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114
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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115
malignity
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| n.极度的恶意，恶毒；（病的）恶性 | |
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116
placatory
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| adj.安抚的，抚慰的 | |
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117
perilous
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| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
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118
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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119
doctrine
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| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
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120
tempting
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| a.诱人的, 吸引人的 | |
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121
clannish
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| adj.排他的，门户之见的 | |
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122
severed
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| v.切断，断绝( sever的过去式和过去分词 )；断，裂 | |
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123
slain
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| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去分词 )； (slay的过去分词) | |
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124
decomposed
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| 已分解的，已腐烂的 | |
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125
corruption
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| n.腐败，堕落，贪污 | |
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126
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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127
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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128
adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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129
fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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130
widower
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| n.鳏夫 | |
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131
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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132
dissuaded
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| 劝（某人）勿做某事，劝阻( dissuade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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133
incensed
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| 盛怒的 | |
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134
intercepted
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| 拦截( intercept的过去式和过去分词 )； 截住； 截击； 拦阻 | |
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135
slew
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| v.（使）旋转；n.大量，许多 | |
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136
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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137
smelt
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| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
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138
carrion
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| n.腐肉 | |
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139
putrefaction
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| n.腐坏，腐败 | |
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140
perishability
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| 易腐烂性，易朽性 | |
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141
lurid
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| adj.可怕的；血红的；苍白的 | |
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142
limbos
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| n.无着落( limbo的名词复数 )；悬而未决；林波舞（西印度群岛的一种舞）；处于不稳定（或中间过渡）状态 | |
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143
reigning
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| adj.统治的，起支配作用的 | |
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144
condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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145
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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146
swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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147
dishonoured
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| a.不光彩的，不名誉的 | |
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148
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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149
purgatorial
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| adj.炼狱的，涤罪的 | |
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150
tainted
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| adj.腐坏的；污染的；沾污的；感染的v.使变质( taint的过去式和过去分词 )；使污染；败坏；被污染，腐坏，败坏 | |
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151
legitimate
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| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
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152
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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153
inmate
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| n.被收容者；(房屋等的)居住人；住院人 | |
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154
ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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155
deity
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| n.神，神性；被奉若神明的人(或物) | |
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156
beset
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| v.镶嵌；困扰，包围 | |
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157
denizens
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| n.居民，住户( denizen的名词复数 ) | |
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158
brackish
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| adj.混有盐的；咸的 | |
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159
dwellers
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| n.居民，居住者( dweller的名词复数 ) | |
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