Indeed, I had little time at my disposal. Messieurs Sharpe and Fowler had left the night before in the persuasion9 that I was a liar10 of the first magnitude; the genial11 belief brought them aboard again with the earliest opportunity, proffering12 help to one who had proved how little he required it, and hospitality to so respectable a character. I had business to mind, I had some need both of assistance and diversion; I liked Fowler — I don’t know why; and in short, I let them do with me as they desired. No creditor13 intervening, I spent the first half of the day inquiring into the conditions of the tea and silk market under the auspices14 of Sharpe; lunched with him in a private apartment at the Hawaiian Hotel — for Sharpe was a teetotaler in public; and about four in the afternoon was delivered into the hands of Fowler. This gentleman owned a bungalow15 on the Waikiki beach; and there in company with certain young bloods of Honolulu, I was entertained to a sea-bathe, indiscriminate cocktails16, a dinner, a hula-hula, and (to round off the night), poker17 and assorted18 liquors. To lose money in the small hours to pale, intoxicated19 youth, has always appeared to me a pleasure overrated. In my then frame of mind, I confess I found it even delightful20; put up my money (or rather my creditors’), and put down Fowler’s champagne21 with equal avidity and success; and awoke the next morning to a mild headache and the rather agreeable lees of the last night’s excitement. The young bloods, many of whom were still far from sober, had taken the kitchen into their own hands, vice22 the Chinaman deposed23; and since each was engaged upon a dish of his own, and none had the least scruple24 in demolishing25 his neighbour’s handiwork, I became early convinced that many eggs would be broken and few omelets made. The discovery of a jug26 of milk and a crust of bread enabled me to stay my appetite; and since it was Sunday, when no business could be done, and the festivities were to be renewed that night in the abode27 of Fowler, it occurred to me to slip silently away and enjoy some air and solitude28.
I turned seaward under the dead crater29 known as Diamond Head. My way was for some time under the shade of certain thickets30 of green, thorny31 trees, dotted with houses. Here I enjoyed some pictures of the native life: wide-eyed, naked children, mingled32 with pigs; a youth asleep under a tree; an old gentleman spelling through glasses his Hawaiian Bible; the somewhat embarrassing spectacle of a lady at her bath in a spring; and the glimpse of gaudy-coloured gowns in the deep shade of the houses. Thence I found a road along the beach itself, wading33 in sand, opposed and buffeted34 by the whole weight of the Trade: on one hand, the glittering and sounding surf, and the bay lively with many sails; on the other, precipitous, arid35 gullies and sheer cliffs, mounting towards the crater and the blue sky. For all the companionship of skimming vessels36, the place struck me with a sense of solitude. There came in my head what I had been told the day before at dinner, of a cavern37 above in the bowels38 of the volcano, a place only to be visited with the light of torches, a treasure-house of the bones of priests and warriors39, and clamorous40 with the voice of an unseen river pouring seaward through the crannies of the mountain. At the thought, it was revealed to me suddenly, how the bungalows41, and the Fowlers, and the bright busy town and crowding ships, were all children of yesterday; and for centuries before, the obscure life of the natives, with its glories and ambitions, its joys and crimes and agonies, had rolled unseen, like the mountain river, in that sea-girt place. Not Chaldea appeared more ancient, nor the Pyramids of Egypt more abstruse42; and I heard time measured by “the drums and tramplings” of immemorial conquests, and saw myself the creature of an hour. Over the bankruptcy43 of Pinkerton and Dodd, of Montana Block, S. F., and the conscientious44 troubles of the junior partner, the spirit of eternity45 was seen to smile.
To this mood of philosophic46 sadness, my excesses of the night before no doubt contributed; for more things than virtue48 are at times their own reward: but I was greatly healed at least of my distresses49. And while I was yet enjoying my abstracted humour, a turn of the beach brought me in view of the signal-station, with its watch-house and flag-staff, perched on the immediate50 margin51 of a cliff. The house was new and clean and bald, and stood naked to the Trades. The wind beat about it in loud squalls; the seaward windows rattled53 without mercy; the breach54 of the surf below contributed its increment55 of noise; and the fall of my foot in the narrow verandah passed unheard by those within.
There were two on whom I thus entered unexpectedly: the look-out man, with grizzled beard, keen seaman’s eyes, and that brand on his countenance56 that comes of solitary57 living; and a visitor, an oldish, oratorical58 fellow, in the smart tropical array of the British man-o’-war’s man, perched on a table, and smoking a cigar. I was made pleasantly welcome, and was soon listening with amusement to the sea-lawyer.
“No, if I hadn’t have been born an Englishman,” was one of his sentiments, “damn me! I’d rather ‘a been born a Frenchy! I’d like to see another nation fit to black their boots.” Presently after, he developed his views on home politics with similar trenchancy59. “I’d rather be a brute60 beast than what I’d be a liberal,” he said. “Carrying banners and that! a pig’s got more sense. Why, look at our chief engineer — they do say he carried a banner with his own ‘ands: “Hooroar for Gladstone!” I suppose, or “Down with the Aristocracy!” What ‘arm does the aristocracy do? Show me a country any good without one! Not the States; why, it’s the ‘ome of corruption61! I knew a man — he was a good man, ‘ome born — who was signal quartermaster in the Wyandotte. He told me he could never have got there if he hadn’t have ‘run with the boys’— told it me as I’m telling you. Now, we’re all British subjects here ——” he was going on.
“I am afraid I am an American,” I said apologetically.
He seemed the least bit taken aback, but recovered himself; and with the ready tact62 of his betters, paid me the usual British compliment on the riposte. “You don’t say so!” he exclaimed. “Well, I give you my word of honour, I’d never have guessed it. Nobody could tell it on you,” said he, as though it were some form of liquor.
I thanked him, as I always do, at this particular stage, with his compatriots: not so much perhaps for the compliment to myself and my poor country, as for the revelation (which is ever fresh to me) of Britannic self-sufficiency and taste. And he was so far softened63 by my gratitude64 as to add a word of praise on the American method of lacing sails. “You’re ahead of us in lacing sails,” he said. “You can say that with a clear conscience.”
“Thank you,” I replied. “I shall certainly do so.”
At this rate, we got along swimmingly; and when I rose to retrace65 my steps to the Fowlery, he at once started to his feet and offered me the welcome solace66 of his company for the return. I believe I discovered much alacrity67 at the idea, for the creature (who seemed to be unique, or to represent a type like that of the dodo) entertained me hugely. But when he had produced his hat, I found I was in the way of more than entertainment; for on the ribbon I could read the legend: “H.M.S. Tempest.”
“I say,” I began, when our adieus were paid, and we were scrambling68 down the path from the look-out, “it was your ship that picked up the men on board the Flying Scud69, wasn’t it?”
“You may say so,” said he. “And a blessed good job for the Flying-Scuds. It’s a God-forsaken spot, that Midway Island.”
“I’ve just come from there,” said I. “It was I who bought the wreck70.”
“Beg your pardon, sir,” cried the sailor: “gen’lem’n in the white schooner71?”
“The same,” said I.
My friend saluted73, as though we were now, for the first time, formally introduced.
“Of course,” I continued, “I am rather taken up with the whole story; and I wish you would tell me what you can of how the men were saved.”
“It was like this,” said he. “We had orders to call at Midway after castaways, and had our distance pretty nigh run down the day before. We steamed half-speed all night, looking to make it about noon; for old Tootles — beg your pardon, sir — the captain — was precious scared of the place at night. Well, there’s nasty, filthy74 currents round that Midway; YOU know, as has been there; and one on ‘em must have set us down. Leastways, about six bells, when we had ought to been miles away, some one sees a sail, and lo and be’old, there was the spars of a full- rigged brig! We raised her pretty fast, and the island after her; and made out she was hard aground, canted on her bilge, and had her ens’n flying, union down. It was breaking ‘igh on the reef, and we laid well out, and sent a couple of boats. I didn’t go in neither; only stood and looked on; but it seems they was all badly scared and muddled75, and didn’t know which end was uppermost. One on ‘em kep’ snivelling and wringing76 of his ‘ands; he come on board all of a sop47 like a monthly nurse. That Trent, he come first, with his ‘and in a bloody77 rag. I was near ‘em as I am to you; and I could make out he was all to bits — ‘eard his breath rattle52 in his blooming lungs as he come down the ladder. Yes, they was a scared lot, small blame to ‘em, I say! The next after Trent, come him as was mate.”
“Goddedaal!” I exclaimed.
“And a good name for him too,” chuckled78 the man-o’-war’s man, who probably confounded the word with a familiar oath. “A good name too; only it weren’t his. He was a gen’lem’n born, sir, as had gone maskewerading. One of our officers knowed him at ‘ome, reckonises him, steps up, ‘olds out his ‘and right off, and says he: ‘‘Ullo, Norrie, old chappie!’ he says. The other was coming up, as bold as look at it; didn’t seem put out — that’s where blood tells, sir! Well, no sooner does he ‘ear his born name given him, than he turns as white as the Day of Judgment79, stares at Mr. Sebright like he was looking at a ghost, and then (I give you my word of honour) turned to, and doubled up in a dead faint. ‘Take him down to my berth,’ says Mr. Sebright. ‘‘Tis poor old Norrie Carthew,’ he says.”
“And what — what sort of a gentleman was this Mr. Carthew?” I gasped80.
“The ward-room steward81 told me he was come of the best blood in England,” was my friend’s reply: “Eton and ‘Arrow bred; — and might have been a bar’net!”
“No, but to look at?” I corrected him.
“The same as you or me,” was the uncompromising answer: “not much to look at. I didn’t know he was a gen’lem’n; but then, I never see him cleaned up.”
“How was that?” I cried. “O yes, I remember: he was sick all the way to ‘Frisco, was he not?”
“Sick, or sorry, or something,” returned my informant. “My belief, he didn’t hanker after showing up. He kep’ close; the ward-room steward, what took his meals in, told me he ate nex’ to nothing; and he was fetched ashore82 at ‘Frisco on the quiet. Here was how it was. It seems his brother had took and died, him as had the estate. This one had gone in for his beer, by what I could make out; the old folks at ‘ome had turned rusty83; no one knew where he had gone to. Here he was, slaving in a merchant brig, shipwrecked on Midway, and packing up his duds for a long voyage in a open boat. He comes on board our ship, and by God, here he is a landed proprietor84, and may be in Parliament to-morrow! It’s no less than natural he should keep dark: so would you and me in the same box.”
“I daresay,” said I. “But you saw more of the others?”
“To be sure,” says he: “no ‘arm in them from what I see. There was one ‘Ardy there: colonial born he was, and had been through a power of money. There was no nonsense about ‘Ardy; he had been up, and he had come down, and took it so. His ‘eart was in the right place; and he was well-informed, and knew French; and Latin, I believe, like a native! I liked that ‘Ardy; he was a good-looking boy, too.”
“Did they say much about the wreck?” I asked.
“There wasn’t much to say, I reckon,” replied the man-o’-war’s man. “It was all in the papers. ‘Ardy used to yarn85 most about the coins he had gone through; he had lived with book-makers, and jockeys, and pugs, and actors, and all that: a precious low lot!” added this judicious86 person. “But it’s about here my ‘orse is moored87, and by your leave I’ll be getting ahead.”
“One moment,” said I. “Is Mr. Sebright on board?”
“No, sir, he’s ashore to-day,” said the sailor. “I took up a bag for him to the ‘otel.”
With that we parted. Presently after my friend overtook and passed me on a hired steed which seemed to scorn its cavalier; and I was left in the dust of his passage, a prey88 to whirling thoughts. For I now stood, or seemed to stand, on the immediate threshold of these mysteries. I knew the name of the man Dickson — his name was Carthew; I knew where the money came from that opposed us at the sale — it was part of Carthew’s inheritance; and in my gallery of illustrations to the history of the wreck, one more picture hung; perhaps the most dramatic of the series. It showed me the deck of a warship in that distant part of the great ocean, the officers and seamen89 looking curiously90 on; and a man of birth and education, who had been sailing under an alias91 on a trading brig, and was now rescued from desperate peril92, felled like an ox by the bare sound of his own name. I could not fail to be reminded of my own experience at the Occidental telephone. The hero of three styles, Dickson, Goddedaal, or Carthew, must be the owner of a lively — or a loaded — conscience, and the reflection recalled to me the photograph found on board the Flying Scud; just such a man, I reasoned, would be capable of just such starts and crises, and I inclined to think that Goddedaal (or Carthew) was the mainspring of the mystery.
One thing was plain: as long as the Tempest was in reach, I must make the acquaintance of both Sebright and the doctor. To this end, I excused myself with Mr. Fowler, returned to Honolulu, and passed the remainder of the day hanging vainly round the cool verandahs of the hotel. It was near nine o’clock at night before I was rewarded.
“That is the gentleman you were asking for,” said the clerk.
I beheld93 a man in tweeds, of an incomparable languor94 of demeanour, and carrying a cane95 with genteel effort. From the name, I had looked to find a sort of Viking and young ruler of the battle and the tempest; and I was the more disappointed, and not a little alarmed, to come face to face with this impracticable type.
“I believe I have the pleasure of addressing Lieutenant96 Sebright,” said I, stepping forward.
“Aw, yes,” replied the hero; “but, aw! I dawn’t knaw you, do I?” (He spoke97 for all the world like Lord Foppington in the old play — a proof of the perennial98 nature of man’s affectations. But his limping dialect, I scorn to continue to reproduce.)
“It was with the intention of making myself known, that I have taken this step,” said I, entirely99 unabashed (for impudence100 begets101 in me its like — perhaps my only martial102 attribute). “We have a common subject of interest, to me very lively; and I believe I may be in a position to be of some service to a friend of yours — to give him, at least, some very welcome information.”
The last clause was a sop to my conscience: I could not pretend, even to myself, either the power or the will to serve Mr. Carthew; but I felt sure he would like to hear the Flying Scud was burned.
“I don’t know — I— I don’t understand you,” stammered103 my victim. “I don’t have any friends in Honolulu, don’t you know?”
“The friend to whom I refer is English,” I replied. “It is Mr. Carthew, whom you picked up at Midway. My firm has bought the wreck; I am just returned from breaking her up; and — to make my business quite clear to you — I have a communication it is necessary I should make; and have to trouble you for Mr. Carthew’s address.”
It will be seen how rapidly I had dropped all hope of interesting the frigid104 British bear. He, on his side, was plainly on thorns at my insistence105; I judged he was suffering torments106 of alarm lest I should prove an undesirable107 acquaintance; diagnosed him for a shy, dull, vain, unamiable animal, without adequate defence — a sort of dishoused snail108; and concluded, rightly enough, that he would consent to anything to bring our interview to a conclusion. A moment later, he had fled, leaving me with a sheet of paper, thus inscribed:—
Norris Carthew,
Stallbridge-le-Carthew,
Dorset.
I might have cried victory, the field of battle and some of the enemy’s baggage remaining in my occupation. As a matter of fact, my moral sufferings during the engagement had rivalled those of Mr. Sebright; I was left incapable109 of fresh hostilities110; I owned that the navy of old England was (for me) invincible111 as of yore; and giving up all thought of the doctor, inclined to salute72 her veteran flag, in the future, from a prudent112 distance. Such was my inclination113, when I retired114 to rest; and my first experience the next morning strengthened it to certainty. For I had the pleasure of encountering my fair antagonist115 on his way on board; and he honoured me with a recognition so disgustingly dry, that my impatience116 overflowed117, and (recalling the tactics of Nelson) I neglected to perceive or to return it.
Judge of my astonishment118, some half-hour later, to receive a note of invitation from the Tempest.
“Dear Sir,” it began, “we are all naturally very much interested in the wreck of the Flying Scud, and as soon as I mentioned that I had the pleasure of making your acquaintance, a very general wish was expressed that you would come and dine on board. It will give us all the greatest pleasure to see you to-night, or in case you should be otherwise engaged, to luncheon119 either to-morrow or to-day.” A note of the hours followed, and the document wound up with the name of “J. Lascelles Sebright,” under an undeniable statement that he was sincerely mine.
“No, Mr. Lascelles Sebright,” I reflected, “you are not, but I begin to suspect that (like the lady in the song) you are another’s. You have mentioned your adventure, my friend; you have been blown up; you have got your orders; this note has been dictated120; and I am asked on board (in spite of your melancholy protests) not to meet the men, and not to talk about the Flying Scud, but to undergo the scrutiny121 of some one interested in Carthew: the doctor, for a wager122. And for a second wager, all this springs from your facility in giving the address.” I lost no time in answering the billet, electing for the earliest occasion; and at the appointed hour, a somewhat blackguard-looking boat’s crew from the Norah Creina conveyed me under the guns of the Tempest.
The ward-room appeared pleased to see me; Sebright’s brother officers, in contrast to himself, took a boyish interest in my cruise; and much was talked of the Flying Scud; of how she had been lost, of how I had found her, and of the weather, the anchorage, and the currents about Midway Island. Carthew was referred to more than once without embarrassment123; the parallel case of a late Earl of Aberdeen, who died mate on board a Yankee schooner, was adduced. If they told me little of the man, it was because they had not much to tell, and only felt an interest in his recognition and pity for his prolonged ill- health. I could never think the subject was avoided; and it was clear that the officers, far from practising concealment125, had nothing to conceal124.
So far, then, all seemed natural, and yet the doctor troubled me. This was a tall, rugged126, plain man, on the wrong side of fifty, already gray, and with a restless mouth and bushy eyebrows127: he spoke seldom, but then with gaiety; and his great, quaking, silent laughter was infectious. I could make out that he was at once the quiz of the ward-room and perfectly128 respected; and I made sure that he observed me covertly129. It is certain I returned the compliment. If Carthew had feigned130 sickness — and all seemed to point in that direction — here was the man who knew all — or certainly knew much. His strong, sterling131 face progressively and silently persuaded of his full knowledge. That was not the mouth, these were not the eyes, of one who would act in ignorance, or could be led at random132. Nor again was it the face of a man squeamish in the case of malefactors; there was even a touch of Brutus there, and something of the hanging judge. In short, he seemed the last character for the part assigned him in my theories; and wonder and curiosity contended in my mind.
Luncheon was over, and an adjournment133 to the smoking-room proposed, when (upon a sudden impulse) I burned my ships, and pleading indisposition, requested to consult the doctor.
“There is nothing the matter with my body, Dr. Urquart,” said I, as soon as we were alone.
He hummed, his mouth worked, he regarded me steadily134 with his gray eyes, but resolutely135 held his peace.
“I want to talk to you about the Flying Scud and Mr. Carthew,” I resumed. “Come: you must have expected this. I am sure you know all; you are shrewd, and must have a guess that I know much. How are we to stand to one another? and how am I to stand to Mr. Carthew?”
“I do not fully136 understand you,” he replied, after a pause; and then, after another: “It is the spirit I refer to, Mr. Dodd.”
“The spirit of my inquiries137?” I asked.
He nodded.
“I think we are at cross-purposes,” said I. “The spirit is precisely138 what I came in quest of. I bought the Flying Scud at a ruinous figure, run up by Mr. Carthew through an agent; and I am, in consequence, a bankrupt. But if I have found no fortune in the wreck, I have found unmistakable evidences of foul139 play. Conceive my position: I am ruined through this man, whom I never saw; I might very well desire revenge or compensation; and I think you will admit I have the means to extort140 either.”
He made no sign in answer to this challenge.
“Can you not understand, then,” I resumed, “the spirit in which I come to one who is surely in the secret, and ask him, honestly and plainly: How do I stand to Mr. Carthew?”
“I must ask you to be more explicit,” said he.
“You do not help me much,” I retorted. “But see if you can understand: my conscience is not very fine-spun; still, I have one. Now, there are degrees of foul play, to some of which I have no particular objection. I am sure with Mr. Carthew, I am not at all the person to forgo141 an advantage; and I have much curiosity. But on the other hand, I have no taste for persecution142; and I ask you to believe that I am not the man to make bad worse, or heap trouble on the unfortunate.”
“Yes; I think I understand,” said he. “Suppose I pass you my word that, whatever may have occurred, there were excuses — great excuses — I may say, very great?”
“It would have weight with me, doctor,” I replied.
“I may go further,” he pursued. “Suppose I had been there, or you had been there: after a certain event had taken place, it’s a grave question what we might have done — it’s even a question what we could have done — ourselves. Or take me. I will be plain with you, and own that I am in possession of the facts. You have a shrewd guess how I have acted in that knowledge. May I ask you to judge from the character of my action, something of the nature of that knowledge, which I have no call, nor yet no title, to share with you?”
I cannot convey a sense of the rugged conviction and judicial143 emphasis of Dr. Urquart’s speech. To those who did not hear him, it may appear as if he fed me on enigmas144; to myself, who heard, I seemed to have received a lesson and a compliment.
“I thank you,” I said. “I feel you have said as much as possible, and more than I had any right to ask. I take that as a mark of confidence, which I will try to deserve. I hope, sir, you will let me regard you as a friend.”
He evaded145 my proffered146 friendship with a blunt proposal to rejoin the mess; and yet a moment later, contrived147 to alleviate148 the snub. For, as we entered the smoking-room, he laid his hand on my shoulder with a kind familiarity.
“I have just prescribed for Mr. Dodd,” says he, “a glass of our Madeira.”
I have never again met Dr. Urquart: but he wrote himself so clear upon my memory that I think I see him still. And indeed I had cause to remember the man for the sake of his communication. It was hard enough to make a theory fit the circumstances of the Flying Scud; but one in which the chief actor should stand the least excused, and might retain the esteem149 or at least the pity of a man like Dr. Urquart, failed me utterly150. Here at least was the end of my discoveries; I learned no more, till I learned all; and my reader has the evidence complete. Is he more astute151 than I was? or, like me, does he give it up?
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buoy
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| n.浮标；救生圈；v.支持，鼓励 | |
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groves
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| 树丛，小树林( grove的名词复数 ) | |
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triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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reptile
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| n.爬行动物；两栖动物 | |
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warship
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| n.军舰，战舰 | |
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plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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heed
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persuasion
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liar
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genial
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proffering
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creditor
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auspices
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bungalow
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cocktails
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| n.鸡尾酒( cocktail的名词复数 )；餐前开胃菜；混合物 | |
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poker
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assorted
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intoxicated
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delightful
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champagne
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vice
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deposed
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scruple
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demolishing
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jug
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abode
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solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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crater
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| n.火山口，弹坑 | |
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30
thickets
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| n.灌木丛( thicket的名词复数 )；丛状物 | |
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31
thorny
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| adj.多刺的，棘手的 | |
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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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33
wading
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| （从水、泥等）蹚，走过，跋( wade的现在分词 ) | |
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34
buffeted
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| 反复敲打( buffet的过去式和过去分词 )； 连续猛击； 打来打去； 推来搡去 | |
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35
arid
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| adj.干旱的；(土地)贫瘠的 | |
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36
vessels
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| n.血管( vessel的名词复数 )；船；容器；（具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的）人 | |
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37
cavern
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| n.洞穴，大山洞 | |
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38
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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39
warriors
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| 武士，勇士，战士( warrior的名词复数 ) | |
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40
clamorous
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| adj.吵闹的，喧哗的 | |
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41
bungalows
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| n.平房( bungalow的名词复数 )；单层小屋，多于一层的小屋 | |
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42
abstruse
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| adj.深奥的，难解的 | |
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43
bankruptcy
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| n.破产；无偿付能力 | |
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44
conscientious
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| adj.审慎正直的，认真的，本着良心的 | |
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45
eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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46
philosophic
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| adj.哲学的，贤明的 | |
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47
sop
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| n.湿透的东西，懦夫；v.浸，泡，浸湿 | |
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48
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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49
distresses
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| n.悲痛( distress的名词复数 )；痛苦；贫困；危险 | |
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50
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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51
margin
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| n.页边空白；差额；余地，余裕；边，边缘 | |
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52
rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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53
rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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54
breach
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| n.违反，不履行；破裂；vt.冲破，攻破 | |
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55
increment
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| n.增值，增价；提薪，增加工资 | |
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56
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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57
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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58
oratorical
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| adj.演说的，雄辩的 | |
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59
trenchancy
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| n.锐利，鲜明，有力 | |
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60
brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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61
corruption
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| n.腐败，堕落，贪污 | |
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62
tact
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| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
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63
softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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64
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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65
retrace
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| v.折回；追溯，探源 | |
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66
solace
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| n.安慰；v.使快乐；vt.安慰(物)，缓和 | |
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67
alacrity
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| n.敏捷，轻快，乐意 | |
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68
scrambling
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的现在分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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69
scud
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| n.疾行；v.疾行 | |
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70
wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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71
schooner
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| n.纵帆船 | |
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72
salute
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| vi.行礼，致意，问候，放礼炮；vt.向…致意，迎接，赞扬；n.招呼，敬礼，礼炮 | |
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73
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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74
filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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75
muddled
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| adj.混乱的；糊涂的；头脑昏昏然的v.弄乱，弄糟( muddle的过去式)；使糊涂；对付，混日子 | |
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76
wringing
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| 淋湿的，湿透的 | |
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77
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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78
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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79
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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80
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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81
steward
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| n.乘务员，服务员；看管人；膳食管理员 | |
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82
ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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83
rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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84
proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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85
yarn
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| n.纱，纱线，纺线；奇闻漫谈，旅行轶事 | |
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86
judicious
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| adj.明智的，明断的，能作出明智决定的 | |
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87
moored
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| adj. 系泊的 动词moor的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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88
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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89
seamen
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| n.海员 | |
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90
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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91
alias
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| n.化名；别名；adv.又名 | |
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92
peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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93
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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94
languor
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| n.无精力，倦怠 | |
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95
cane
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| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
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96
lieutenant
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| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
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97
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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98
perennial
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| adj.终年的；长久的 | |
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99
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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100
impudence
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| n.厚颜无耻；冒失；无礼 | |
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101
begets
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| v.为…之生父( beget的第三人称单数 )；产生，引起 | |
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102
martial
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| adj.战争的，军事的，尚武的，威武的 | |
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103
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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104
frigid
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| adj.寒冷的，凛冽的；冷淡的；拘禁的 | |
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105
insistence
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| n.坚持；强调；坚决主张 | |
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106
torments
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| （肉体或精神上的）折磨，痛苦( torment的名词复数 )； 造成痛苦的事物[人] | |
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107
undesirable
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| adj.不受欢迎的，不良的，不合意的，讨厌的；n.不受欢迎的人，不良分子 | |
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108
snail
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| n.蜗牛 | |
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109
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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110
hostilities
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| n.战争；敌意(hostility的复数)；敌对状态；战事 | |
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111
invincible
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| adj.不可征服的，难以制服的 | |
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112
prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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113
inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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114
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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115
antagonist
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| n.敌人，对抗者，对手 | |
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116
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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117
overflowed
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| 溢出的 | |
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118
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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119
luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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120
dictated
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| v.大声讲或读( dictate的过去式和过去分词 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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121
scrutiny
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| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
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122
wager
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| n.赌注；vt.押注，打赌 | |
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123
embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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124
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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125
concealment
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| n.隐藏, 掩盖，隐瞒 | |
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126
rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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127
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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128
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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129
covertly
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| adv.偷偷摸摸地 | |
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130
feigned
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| a.假装的，不真诚的 | |
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131
sterling
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| adj.英币的(纯粹的，货真价实的)；n.英国货币(英镑) | |
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132
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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133
adjournment
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| 休会； 延期； 休会期； 休庭期 | |
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134
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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135
resolutely
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| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
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136
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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137
inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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138
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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139
foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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140
extort
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| v.勒索，敲诈，强要 | |
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141
forgo
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| v.放弃，抛弃 | |
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142
persecution
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| n. 迫害,烦扰 | |
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143
judicial
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| adj.司法的，法庭的，审判的，明断的，公正的 | |
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144
enigmas
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| n.难于理解的问题、人、物、情况等，奥秘( enigma的名词复数 ) | |
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145
evaded
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| 逃避( evade的过去式和过去分词 )； 避开； 回避； 想不出 | |
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146
proffered
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| v.提供，贡献，提出( proffer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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147
contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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148
alleviate
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| v.减轻，缓和，缓解(痛苦等) | |
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149
esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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150
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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151
astute
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| adj.机敏的，精明的 | |
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