He climbed on the roof and shinned down the broken bricks of the outer wall. The outbuilding we were lodged1 in abutted2 on a road, and was outside the proper enceinte of the house. At ordinary times I have no doubt there were sentries3, but Sandy and Hussin had probably managed to clear them off this end for a little. Anyhow he saw nobody as he crossed the road and dived into the snowy fields.
He knew very well that he must do the job in the twelve hours of darkness ahead of him. The immediate4 front of a battle is a bit too public for anyone to lie hidden in by day, especially when two or three feet of snow make everything kenspeckle. Now hurry in a job of this kind was abhorrent5 to Peter’s soul, for, like all Boers, his tastes were for slowness and sureness, though he could hustle6 fast enough when haste was needed. As he pushed through the winter fields he reckoned up the things in his favour, and found the only one the dirty weather. There was a high, gusty7 wind, blowing scuds8 of snow but never coming to any great fall. The frost had gone, and the lying snow was as soft as butter. That was all to the good, he thought, for a clear, hard night would have been the devil.
The first bit was through farmlands, which were seamed with little snow-filled water-furrows. Now and then would come a house and a patch of fruit trees, but there was nobody abroad. The roads were crowded enough, but Peter had no use for roads. I can picture him swinging along with his bent9 back, stopping every now and then to sniff10 and listen, alert for the foreknowledge of danger. When he chose he could cover country like an antelope11.
Soon he struck a big road full of transport. It was the road from Erzerum to the Palantuken pass, and he waited his chance and crossed it. After that the ground grew rough with boulders12 and patches of thorn-trees, splendid cover where he could move fast without worrying. Then he was pulled up suddenly on the bank of a river. The map had warned him of it, but not that it would be so big.
It was a torrent13 swollen14 with melting snow and rains in the hills, and it was running fifty yards wide. Peter thought he could have swum it, but he was very averse15 to a drenching16. “A wet man makes too much noise,” he said, and besides, there was the off-chance that the current would be too much for him. So he moved up stream to look for a bridge.
In ten minutes he found one, a new-made thing of trestles, broad enough to take transport wagons18. It was guarded, for he heard the tramp of a sentry19, and as he pulled himself up the bank he observed a couple of long wooden huts, obviously some kind of billets. These were on the near side of the stream, about a dozen yards from the bridge. A door stood open and a light showed in it, and from within came the sound of voices.... Peter had a sense of hearing like a wild animal, and he could detect even from the confused gabble that the voices were German.
As he lay and listened someone came over the bridge. It was an officer, for the sentry saluted20. The man disappeared in one of the huts. Peter had struck the billets and repairing shop of a squad21 of German sappers.
He was just going ruefully to retrace22 his steps and try to find a good place to swim the stream when it struck him that the officer who had passed him wore clothes very like his own. He, too, had had a grey sweater and a Balaclava helmet, for even a German officer ceases to be dressy on a mid-winter’s night in Anatolia. The idea came to Peter to walk boldly across the bridge and trust to the sentry not seeing the difference.
He slipped round a corner of the hut and marched down the road. The sentry was now at the far end, which was lucky, for if the worst came to the worst he could throttle23 him. Peter, mimicking24 the stiff German walk, swung past him, his head down as if to protect him from the wind.
The man saluted. He did more, for he offered conversation. The officer must have been a genial25 soul.
“It’s a rough night, Captain,” he said in German. “The wagons are late. Pray God, Michael hasn’t got a shell in his lot. They’ve begun putting over some big ones.”
Peter grunted26 good night in German and strode on. He was just leaving the road when he heard a great halloo behind him.
The real officer must have appeared on his heels, and the sentry’s doubts had been stirred. A whistle was blown, and, looking back, Peter saw lanterns waving in the gale27. They were coming out to look for the duplicate.
He stood still for a second, and noticed the lights spreading out south of the road. He was just about to dive off it on the north side when he was aware of a difficulty. On that side a steep bank fell to a ditch, and the bank beyond bounded a big flood. He could see the dull ruffle28 of the water under the wind.
On the road itself he would soon be caught; south of it the search was beginning; and the ditch itself was no place to hide, for he saw a lantern moving up it. Peter dropped into it all the same and made a plan. The side below the road was a little undercut and very steep. He resolved to plaster himself against it, for he would be hidden from the road, and a searcher in the ditch would not be likely to explore the unbroken sides. It was always a maxim29 of Peter’s that the best hiding-place was the worst, the least obvious to the minds of those who were looking for you.
He waited until the lights both in the road and the ditch came nearer, and then he gripped the edge with his left hand, where some stones gave him purchase, dug the toes of his boots into the wet soil and stuck like a limpet. It needed some strength to keep the position for long, but the muscles of his arms and legs were like whipcord.
The searcher in the ditch soon got tired, for the place was very wet, and joined his comrades on the road. They came along, running, flashing the lanterns into the trench30, and exploring all the immediate countryside.
Then rose a noise of wheels and horses from the opposite direction. Michael and the delayed wagons were approaching. They dashed up at a great pace, driven wildly, and for one horrid31 second Peter thought they were going to spill into the ditch at the very spot where he was concealed32. The wheels passed so close to the edge that they almost grazed his fingers. Somebody shouted an order and they pulled up a yard or two nearer the bridge. The others came up and there was a consultation33.
Michael swore he had passed no one on the road.
“That fool Hannus has seen a ghost,” said the officer testily34. “It’s too cold for this child’s play.”
“Ghost or no ghost he is safe enough up the road,” said the officer. “Kind God, that was a big one!” He stopped and stared at a shell-burst, for the bombardment from the east was growing fiercer.
They stood discussing the fire for a minute and presently moved off. Peter gave them two minutes’ law and then clambered back to the highway and set off along it at a run. The noise of the shelling and the wind, together with the thick darkness, made it safe to hurry.
He left the road at the first chance and took to the broken country. The ground was now rising towards a spur of the Palantuken, on the far slope of which were the Turkish trenches36. The night had begun by being pretty nearly as black as pitch; even the smoke from the shell explosions, which is often visible in darkness, could not be seen. But as the wind blew the snow-clouds athwart the sky patches of stars came out. Peter had a compass, but he didn’t need to use it, for he had a kind of “feel” for landscape, a special sense which is born in savages37 and can only be acquired after long experience by the white man. I believe he could smell where the north lay. He had settled roughly which part of the line he would try, merely because of its nearness to the enemy. But he might see reason to vary this, and as he moved he began to think that the safest place was where the shelling was hottest. He didn’t like the notion, but it sounded sense.
Suddenly he began to puzzle over queer things in the ground, and, as he had never seen big guns before, it took him a moment to fix them. Presently one went off at his elbow with a roar like the Last Day. These were Austrian howitzers—nothing over eight-inch, I fancy, but to Peter they looked like leviathans. Here, too, he saw for the first time a big and quite recent shell-hole, for the Russian guns were searching out the position. He was so interested in it all that he poked38 his nose where he shouldn’t have been, and dropped plump into the pit behind a gun-emplacement.
Gunners all the world over are the same—shy people, who hide themselves in holes and hibernate39 and mortally dislike being detected.
A gruff voice cried “Wer da?” and a heavy hand seized his neck.
Peter was ready with his story. He belonged to Michael’s wagon-team and had been left behind. He wanted to be told the way to the sappers’ camp. He was very apologetic, not to say obsequious40.
“It is one of those Prussian swine from the Marta bridge,” said a gunner. “Land him a kick to teach him sense. Bear to your right, mannikin, and you will find a road. And have a care when you get there, for the Russkoes are registering on it.”
Peter thanked them and bore off to the right. After that he kept a wary41 eye on the howitzers, and was thankful when he got out of their area on to the slopes up the hill. Here was the type of country that was familiar to him, and he defied any Turk or Boche to spot him among the scrub and boulders. He was getting on very well, when once more, close to his ear, came a sound like the crack of doom42.
It was the field-guns now, and the sound of a field-gun close at hand is bad for the nerves if you aren’t expecting it. Peter thought he had been hit, and lay flat for a little to consider. Then he found the right explanation, and crawled forward very warily43.
Presently he saw his first Russian shell. It dropped half a dozen yards to his right, making a great hole in the snow and sending up a mass of mixed earth, snow, and broken stones. Peter spat44 out the dirt and felt very solemn. You must remember that never in his life had he seen big shelling, and was now being landed in the thick of a first-class show without any preparation. He said he felt cold in his stomach, and very wishful to run away, if there had been anywhere to run to. But he kept on to the crest45 of the ridge17, over which a big glow was broadening like sunrise. He tripped once over a wire, which he took for some kind of snare46, and after that went very warily. By and by he got his face between two boulders and looked over into the true battle-field.
He told me it was exactly what the predikant used to say that Hell would be like. About fifty yards down the slope lay the Turkish trenches—they were dark against the snow, and now and then a black figure like a devil showed for an instant and disappeared. The Turks clearly expected an infantry47 attack, for they were sending up calcium48 rockets and Very flares49. The Russians were battering51 their line and spraying all the hinterland, not with shrapnel, but with good, solid high-explosives. The place would be as bright as day for a moment, all smothered52 in a scurry53 of smoke and snow and debris54, and then a black pall55 would fall on it, when only the thunder of the guns told of the battle.
Peter felt very sick. He had not believed there could be so much noise in the world, and the drums of his ears were splitting. Now, for a man to whom courage is habitual56, the taste of fear—naked, utter fear—is a horrible thing. It seems to wash away all his manhood. Peter lay on the crest, watching the shells burst, and confident that any moment he might be a shattered remnant. He lay and reasoned with himself, calling himself every name he could think of, but conscious that nothing would get rid of that lump of ice below his heart.
Then he could stand it no longer. He got up and ran for his life.
But he ran forward.
It was the craziest performance. He went hell-for-leather over a piece of ground which was being watered with H.E., but by the mercy of heaven nothing hit him. He took some fearsome tosses in shell-holes, but partly erect57 and partly on all fours he did the fifty yards and tumbled into a Turkish trench right on top of a dead man.
The contact with that body brought him to his senses. That men could die at all seemed a comforting, homely58 thing after that unnatural59 pandemonium60. The next moment a crump took the parapet of the trench some yards to his left, and he was half buried in an avalanche61.
He crawled out of that, pretty badly cut about the head. He was quite cool now and thinking hard about his next step. There were men all around him, sullen62 dark faces as he saw them when the flares went up. They were manning the parapets and waiting tensely for something else than the shelling. They paid no attention to him, for I fancy in that trench units were pretty well mixed up, and under a bad bombardment no one bothers about his neighbour. He found himself free to move as he pleased. The ground of the trench was littered with empty cartridge-cases, and there were many dead bodies.
The last shell, as I have said, had played havoc63 with the parapet. In the next spell of darkness Peter crawled through the gap and twisted among some snowy hillocks. He was no longer afraid of shells, any more than he was afraid of a veld thunderstorm. But he was wondering very hard how he should ever get to the Russians. The Turks were behind him now, but there was the biggest danger in front.
Then the artillery64 ceased. It was so sudden that he thought he had gone deaf, and could hardly realize the blessed relief of it. The wind, too, seemed to have fallen, or perhaps he was sheltered by the lee of the hill. There were a lot of dead here also, and that he couldn’t understand, for they were new dead. Had the Turks attacked and been driven back? When he had gone about thirty yards he stopped to take his bearings. On the right were the ruins of a large building set on fire by the guns. There was a blur65 of woods and the debris of walls round it. Away to the left another hill ran out farther to the east, and the place he was in seemed to be a kind of cup between the spurs. Just before him was a little ruined building, with the sky seen through its rafters, for the smouldering ruin on the right gave a certain light. He wondered if the Russian firing-line lay there.
Just then he heard voices—smothered voices—not a yard away and apparently66 below the ground. He instantly jumped to what this must mean. It was a Turkish trench—a communication trench. Peter didn’t know much about modern warfare67, but he had read in the papers, or heard from me, enough to make him draw the right moral. The fresh dead pointed68 to the same conclusion. What he had got through were the Turkish support trenches, not their firing-line. That was still before him.
He didn’t despair, for the rebound69 from panic had made him extra courageous70. He crawled forward, an inch at a time, taking no sort of risk, and presently found himself looking at the parados of a trench. Then he lay quiet to think out the next step.
The shelling had stopped, and there was that queer kind of peace which falls sometimes on two armies not a quarter of a mile distant. Peter said he could hear nothing but the far-off sighing of the wind. There seemed to be no movement of any kind in the trench before him, which ran through the ruined building. The light of the burning was dying, and he could just make out the mound71 of earth a yard in front. He began to feel hungry, and got out his packet of food and had a swig at the brandy flask72. That comforted him, and he felt a master of his fate again. But the next step was not so easy. He must find out what lay behind that mound of earth.
Suddenly a curious sound fell on his ears. It was so faint that at first he doubted the evidence of his senses. Then as the wind fell it came louder. It was exactly like some hollow piece of metal being struck by a stick, musical and oddly resonant73.
He concluded it was the wind blowing a branch of a tree against an old boiler74 in the ruin before him. The trouble was that there was scarcely enough wind now for that in this sheltered cup.
But as he listened he caught the note again. It was a bell, a fallen bell, and the place before him must have been a chapel75. He remembered that an Armenian monastery76 had been marked on the big map, and he guessed it was the burned building on his right.
The thought of a chapel and a bell gave him the notion of some human agency. And then suddenly the notion was confirmed. The sound was regular and concerted—dot, dash, dot—dash, dot, dot. The branch of a tree and the wind may play strange pranks77, but they do not produce the longs and shorts of the Morse Code.
This was where Peter’s intelligence work in the Boer War helped him. He knew the Morse, he could read it, but he could make nothing of the signalling. It was either in some special code or in a strange language.
He lay still and did some calm thinking. There was a man in front of him, a Turkish soldier, who was in the enemy’s pay. Therefore he could fraternize with him, for they were on the same side. But how was he to approach him without getting shot in the process? Again, how could a man send signals to the enemy from a firing-line without being detected? Peter found an answer in the strange configuration78 of the ground. He had not heard a sound until he was a few yards from the place, and they would be inaudible to men in the reserve trenches and even in the communication trenches. If somebody moving up the latter caught the noise, it would be easy to explain it naturally. But the wind blowing down the cup would carry it far in the enemy’s direction.
There remained the risk of being heard by those parallel with the bell in the firing trenches. Peter concluded that that trench must be very thinly held, probably only by a few observers, and the nearest might be a dozen yards off. He had read about that being the French fashion under a big bombardment.
The next thing was to find out how to make himself known to this ally. He decided79 that the only way was to surprise him. He might get shot, but he trusted to his strength and agility80 against a man who was almost certainly wearied. When he had got him safe, explanations might follow.
Peter was now enjoying himself hugely. If only those infernal guns kept silent he would play out the game in the sober, decorous way he loved. So very delicately he began to wriggle81 forward to where the sound was.
The night was now as black as ink around him, and very quiet, too, except for soughings of the dying gale. The snow had drifted a little in the lee of the ruined walls, and Peter’s progress was naturally very slow. He could not afford to dislodge one ounce of snow. Still the tinkling82 went on, now in greater volume. Peter was in terror lest it should cease before he got his man.
Presently his hand clutched at empty space. He was on the lip of the front trench. The sound was now a yard to his right, and with infinite care he shifted his position. Now the bell was just below him, and he felt the big rafter of the woodwork from which it had fallen. He felt something else—a stretch of wire fixed83 in the ground with the far end hanging in the void. That would be the spy’s explanation if anyone heard the sound and came seeking the cause.
Somewhere in the darkness before him and below was the man, not a yard off. Peter remained very still, studying the situation. He could not see, but he could feel the presence, and he was trying to decide the relative position of the man and bell and their exact distance from him. The thing was not so easy as it looked, for if he jumped for where he believed the figure was, he might miss it and get a bullet in the stomach. A man who played so risky84 a game was probably handy with his firearms. Besides, if he should hit the bell, he would make a hideous85 row and alarm the whole front.
Fate suddenly gave him the right chance. The unseen figure stood up and moved a step, till his back was against the parados. He actually brushed against Peter’s elbow, who held his breath.
There is a catch that the Kaffirs have which would need several diagrams to explain. It is partly a neck hold, and partly a paralysing backward twist of the right arm, but if it is practised on a man from behind, it locks him as sure as if he were handcuffed. Peter slowly got his body raised and his knees drawn86 under him, and reached for his prey87.
He got him. A head was pulled backward over the edge of the trench, and he felt in the air the motion of the left arm pawing feebly but unable to reach behind.
“Be still,” whispered Peter in German; “I mean you no harm. We are friends of the same purpose. Do you speak German?”
“English?”
“Yes,” said the voice.
“Thank God,” said Peter. “Then we can understand each other. I’ve watched your notion of signalling, and a very good one it is. I’ve got to get through to the Russian lines somehow before morning, and I want you to help me. I’m English—a kind of English, so we’re on the same side. If I let go your neck, will you be good and talk reasonably?”
The voice assented89. Peter let go, and in the same instant slipped to the side. The man wheeled round and flung out an arm but gripped vacancy90.
“Steady, friend,” said Peter; “you mustn’t play tricks with me or I’ll be angry.”
“Who are you? Who sent you?” asked the puzzled voice.
“Then are we friends indeed,” said the voice. “Come out of the darkness, friend, and I will do you no harm. I am a good Turk, and I fought beside the English in Kordofan and learned their tongue. I live only to see the ruin of Enver, who has beggared my family and slain92 my twin brother. Therefore I serve the Muscov ghiaours.”
“I don’t know what the Musky Jaws93 are, but if you mean the Russians I’m with you. I’ve got news for them which will make Enver green. The question is, how I’m to get to them, and that is where you shall help me, my friend.”
“How?”
“By playing that little tune94 of yours again. Tell them to expect within the next half-hour a deserter with an important message. Tell them, for God’s sake, not to fire at anybody till they’ve made certain it isn’t me.”
The man took the blunt end of his bayonet and squatted95 beside the bell. The first stroke brought out a clear, searching note which floated down the valley. He struck three notes at slow intervals96. For all the world, Peter said, he was like a telegraph operator calling up a station.
“Send the message in English,” said Peter.
“They may not understand it,” said the man.
“Then send it any way you like. I trust you, for we are brothers.”
After ten minutes the man ceased and listened. From far away came the sound of a trench-gong, the kind of thing they used on the Western Front to give the gas-alarm.
“They say they will be ready,” he said. “I cannot take down messages in the darkness, but they have given me the signal which means ‘Consent’.”
“Come, that is pretty good,” said Peter. “And now I must be moving. You take a hint from me. When you hear big firing up to the north get ready to beat a quick retreat, for it will be all up with that city of yours. And tell your folk, too, that they’re making a bad mistake letting those fool Germans rule their land. Let them hang Enver and his little friends, and we’ll be happy once more.”
“May Satan receive his soul!” said the Turk. “There is wire before us, but I will show you a way through. The guns this evening made many rents in it. But haste, for a working party may be here presently to repair it. Remember there is much wire before the other lines.”
Peter, with certain directions, found it pretty easy to make his way through the entanglement97. There was one bit which scraped a hole in his back, but very soon he had come to the last posts and found himself in open country. The place, he said, was a graveyard98 of the unburied dead that smelt99 horribly as he crawled among them. He had no inducements to delay, for he thought he could hear behind him the movement of the Turkish working party, and was in terror that a flare50 might reveal him and a volley accompany his retreat.
From one shell-hole to another he wormed his way, till he struck an old ruinous communication trench which led in the right direction. The Turks must have been forced back in the past week, and the Russians were now in the evacuated100 trenches. The thing was half full of water, but it gave Peter a feeling of safety, for it enabled him to get his head below the level of the ground. Then it came to an end and he found before him a forest of wire.
The Turk in his signal had mentioned half an hour, but Peter thought it was nearer two hours before he got through that noxious101 entanglement. Shelling had made little difference to it. The uprights were all there, and the barbed strands102 seemed to touch the ground. Remember, he had no wire-cutter; nothing but his bare hands. Once again fear got hold of him. He felt caught in a net, with monstrous103 vultures waiting to pounce104 on him from above. At any moment a flare might go up and a dozen rifles find their mark. He had altogether forgotten about the message which had been sent, for no message could dissuade105 the ever-present death he felt around him. It was, he said, like following an old lion into bush when there was but one narrow way in, and no road out.
The guns began again—the Turkish guns from behind the ridge—and a shell tore up the wire a short way before him. Under cover of the burst he made good a few yards, leaving large portions of his clothing in the strands. Then, quite suddenly, when hope had almost died in his heart, he felt the ground rise steeply. He lay very still, a star-rocket from the Turkish side lit up the place, and there in front was a rampart with the points of bayonets showing beyond it. It was the Russian hour for stand-to.
He heard speech behind the parapet. An electric torch was flashed on him for a second. A voice spoke, a friendly voice, and the sound of it seemed to be telling him to come over.
He was now standing109 up, and as he got his hands on the parapet he seemed to feel bayonets very near him. But the voice that spoke was kindly110, so with a heave he scrambled111 over and flopped112 into the trench. Once more the electric torch was flashed, and revealed to the eyes of the onlookers113 an indescribably dirty, lean, middle-aged114 man with a bloody115 head, and scarcely a rag of shirt on his back. The said man, seeing friendly faces around him, grinned cheerfully.
“That was a rough trek116, friends,” he said; “I want to see your general pretty quick, for I’ve got a present for him.”
He was taken to an officer in a dug-out, who addressed him in French, which he did not understand. But the sight of Stumm’s plan worked wonders. After that he was fairly bundled down communication trenches and then over swampy117 fields to a farm among trees. There he found staff officers, who looked at him and looked at his map, and then put him on a horse and hurried him eastwards118. At last he came to a big ruined house, and was taken into a room which seemed to be full of maps and generals.
The conclusion must be told in Peter’s words.
“There was a big man sitting at a table drinking coffee, and when I saw him my heart jumped out of my skin. For it was the man I hunted with on the Pungwe in ’98—him whom the Kaffirs called ‘Buck’s Horn’, because of his long curled moustaches. He was a prince even then, and now he is a very great general. When I saw him, I ran forward and gripped his hand and cried, ‘Hoe gat het, Mynheer?’ and he knew me and shouted in Dutch, ‘Damn, if it isn’t old Peter Pienaar!’ Then he gave me coffee and ham and good bread, and he looked at my map.
“‘What is this?’ he cried, growing red in the face.
“‘It is the staff-map of one Stumm, a German skellum who commands in yon city,’ I said.
“He looked at it close and read the markings, and then he read the other paper which you gave me, Dick. And then he flung up his arms and laughed. He took a loaf and tossed it into the air so that it fell on the head of another general. He spoke to them in their own tongue, and they, too, laughed, and one or two ran out as if on some errand. I have never seen such merrymaking. They were clever men, and knew the worth of what you gave me.
“Then he got to his feet and hugged me, all dirty as I was, and kissed me on both cheeks.
“‘Before God, Peter,’ he said, ‘you’re the mightiest119 hunter since Nimrod. You’ve often found me game, but never game so big as this!’”
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收听单词发音
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1
lodged
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| v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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2
abutted
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| v.（与…）邻接( abut的过去式和过去分词 )；（与…）毗连；接触；倚靠 | |
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sentries
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| 哨兵，步兵( sentry的名词复数 ) | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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abhorrent
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| adj.可恶的，可恨的，讨厌的 | |
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6
hustle
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| v.推搡；竭力兜售或获取；催促；n.奔忙(碌) | |
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gusty
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| adj.起大风的 | |
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scuds
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| v.（尤指船、舰或云彩）笔直、高速而平稳地移动( scud的第三人称单数 ) | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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sniff
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| vi.嗅…味道；抽鼻涕；对嗤之以鼻，蔑视 | |
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antelope
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| n.羚羊；羚羊皮 | |
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boulders
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| n.卵石( boulder的名词复数 )；巨砾；（受水或天气侵蚀而成的）巨石；漂砾 | |
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torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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averse
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| adj.厌恶的；反对的，不乐意的 | |
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drenching
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| n.湿透v.使湿透( drench的现在分词 )；在某人（某物）上大量使用（某液体） | |
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ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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wagons
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| n.四轮的运货马车( wagon的名词复数 )；铁路货车；小手推车 | |
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19
sentry
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| n.哨兵，警卫 | |
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saluted
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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21
squad
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| n.班，小队，小团体；vt.把…编成班或小组 | |
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22
retrace
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| v.折回；追溯，探源 | |
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23
throttle
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| n.节流阀，节气阀，喉咙；v.扼喉咙，使窒息，压 | |
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24
mimicking
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| v.（尤指为了逗乐而）模仿( mimic的现在分词 )；酷似 | |
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25
genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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27
gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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28
ruffle
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| v.弄皱，弄乱；激怒，扰乱；n.褶裥饰边 | |
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29
maxim
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| n.格言，箴言 | |
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30
trench
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| n./v.(挖)沟，(挖)战壕 | |
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31
horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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32
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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33
consultation
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| n.咨询；商量；商议；会议 | |
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34
testily
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| adv. 易怒地, 暴躁地 | |
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35
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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36
trenches
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| 深沟，地沟( trench的名词复数 )； 战壕 | |
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37
savages
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| 未开化的人，野蛮人( savage的名词复数 ) | |
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38
poked
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| v.伸出( poke的过去式和过去分词 )；戳出；拨弄；与（某人）性交 | |
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39
hibernate
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| v.冬眠，蛰伏 | |
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40
obsequious
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| adj.谄媚的，奉承的，顺从的 | |
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41
wary
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| adj.谨慎的，机警的，小心的 | |
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42
doom
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| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
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43
warily
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| adv.留心地 | |
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44
spat
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| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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45
crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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46
snare
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| n.陷阱，诱惑，圈套；（去除息肉或者肿瘤的）勒除器；响弦，小军鼓；vt.以陷阱捕获，诱惑 | |
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47
infantry
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| n.[总称]步兵(部队) | |
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48
calcium
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| n.钙(化学符号Ca) | |
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49
flares
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| n.喇叭裤v.（使）闪耀( flare的第三人称单数 )；（使）（船舷）外倾；（使）鼻孔张大；（使）（衣裙、酒杯等）呈喇叭形展开 | |
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50
flare
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| v.闪耀，闪烁；n.潮红；突发 | |
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51
battering
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| n.用坏，损坏v.连续猛击( batter的现在分词 ) | |
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52
smothered
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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53
scurry
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| vi.急匆匆地走；使急赶；催促；n.快步急跑，疾走；仓皇奔跑声；骤雨，骤雪；短距离赛马 | |
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54
debris
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| n.瓦砾堆，废墟，碎片 | |
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55
pall
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| v.覆盖，使平淡无味；n.柩衣，棺罩；棺材；帷幕 | |
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56
habitual
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| adj.习惯性的；通常的，惯常的 | |
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57
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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58
homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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59
unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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60
pandemonium
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| n.喧嚣，大混乱 | |
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61
avalanche
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| n.雪崩，大量涌来 | |
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62
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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63
havoc
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| n.大破坏，浩劫，大混乱，大杂乱 | |
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64
artillery
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| n.(军)火炮，大炮；炮兵(部队) | |
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65
blur
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| n.模糊不清的事物；vt.使模糊，使看不清楚 | |
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66
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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67
warfare
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| n.战争(状态)；斗争；冲突 | |
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68
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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69
rebound
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| v.弹回；n.弹回，跳回 | |
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70
courageous
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| adj.勇敢的，有胆量的 | |
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71
mound
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| n.土墩，堤，小山；v.筑堤，用土堆防卫 | |
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72
flask
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| n.瓶，火药筒，砂箱 | |
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73
resonant
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| adj.(声音)洪亮的，共鸣的 | |
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74
boiler
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| n.锅炉；煮器(壶，锅等) | |
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75
chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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76
monastery
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| n.修道院，僧院，寺院 | |
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77
pranks
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| n.玩笑，恶作剧( prank的名词复数 ) | |
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78
configuration
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| n.结构，布局，形态，(计算机)配置 | |
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79
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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80
agility
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| n.敏捷，活泼 | |
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81
wriggle
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| v./n.蠕动，扭动；蜿蜒 | |
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82
tinkling
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| n.丁当作响声 | |
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83
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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84
risky
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| adj.有风险的，冒险的 | |
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85
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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86
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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87
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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88
muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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89
assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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90
vacancy
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| n.（旅馆的）空位，空房，（职务的）空缺 | |
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91
rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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92
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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93
jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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94
tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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95
squatted
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| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的过去式和过去分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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96
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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97
entanglement
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| n.纠缠，牵累 | |
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98
graveyard
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| n.坟场 | |
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99
smelt
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| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
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100
evacuated
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| 撤退者的 | |
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101
noxious
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| adj.有害的，有毒的；使道德败坏的，讨厌的 | |
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102
strands
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| n.（线、绳、金属线、毛发等的）股( strand的名词复数 )；缕；海洋、湖或河的)岸；（观点、计划、故事等的）部份v.使滞留，使搁浅( strand的第三人称单数 ) | |
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103
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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104
pounce
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| n.猛扑；v.猛扑，突然袭击，欣然同意 | |
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105
dissuade
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| v.劝阻，阻止 | |
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106
cramped
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| a.狭窄的 | |
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107
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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108
hoarsely
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| adv.嘶哑地 | |
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109
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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110
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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111
scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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112
flopped
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| v.（指书、戏剧等）彻底失败( flop的过去式和过去分词 )；（因疲惫而）猛然坐下；（笨拙地、不由自主地或松弛地）移动或落下；砸锅 | |
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113
onlookers
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| n.旁观者，观看者( onlooker的名词复数 ) | |
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114
middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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115
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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116
trek
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| vi.作长途艰辛的旅行；n.长途艰苦的旅行 | |
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117
swampy
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| adj.沼泽的，湿地的 | |
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118
eastwards
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| adj.向东方（的），朝东（的）；n.向东的方向 | |
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119
mightiest
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| adj.趾高气扬( mighty的最高级 )；巨大的；强有力的；浩瀚的 | |
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