Peter Pan
I have tossed, and the lagoon has won. This almost makes one wish that
the gulch or the cake or Tink’s leaf had won. Of course I could do it
again, and make it best out of three; however, perhaps fairest to stick
to the lagoon.
Chapter VIII.
THE MERMAIDS’ LAGOON
If you shut your eyes and are a lucky one, you may see at times a
shapeless pool of lovely pale colours suspended in the darkness; then
if you squeeze your eyes tighter, the pool begins to take shape, and
the colours become so vivid that with another squeeze they must go on
fire. But just before they go on fire you see the lagoon. This is the
nearest you ever get to it on the mainland, just one heavenly moment;
if there could be two moments you might see the surf and hear the
mermaids singing.
The children often spent long summer days on this lagoon, swimming or
floating most of the time, playing the mermaid games in the water, and
so forth. You must not think from this that the mermaids were on
friendly terms with them: on the contrary, it was among Wendy’s lasting
regrets that all the time she was on the island she never had a civil
word from one of them. When she stole softly to the edge of the lagoon
she might see them by the score, especially on Marooners’ Rock, where
they loved to bask, combing out their hair in a lazy way that quite
irritated her; or she might even swim, on tiptoe as it were, to within
a yard of them, but then they saw her and dived, probably splashing her
with their tails, not by accident, but intentionally.
They treated all the boys in the same way, except of course Peter, who
chatted with them on Marooners’ Rock by the hour, and sat on their
tails when they got cheeky. He gave Wendy one of their combs.
The most haunting time at which to see them is at the turn of the moon,
when they utter strange wailing cries; but the lagoon is dangerous for
mortals then, and until the evening of which we have now to tell, Wendy
had never seen the lagoon by moonlight, less from fear, for of course
Peter would have accompanied her, than because she had strict rules
about every one being in bed by seven. She was often at the lagoon,
however, on sunny days after rain, when the mermaids come up in
extraordinary numbers to play with their bubbles. The bubbles of many
colours made in rainbow water they treat as balls, hitting them gaily
from one to another with their tails, and trying to keep them in the
rainbow till they burst. The goals are at each end of the rainbow, and
the keepers only are allowed to use their hands. Sometimes a dozen of
these games will be going on in the lagoon at a time, and it is quite a
pretty sight.
But the moment the children tried to join in they had to play by
themselves, for the mermaids immediately disappeared. Nevertheless we
have proof that they secretly watched the interlopers, and were not
above taking an idea from them; for John introduced a new way of
hitting the bubble, with the head instead of the hand, and the mermaids
adopted it. This is the one mark that John has left on the Neverland.
It must also have been rather pretty to see the children resting on a
rock for half an hour after their mid-day meal. Wendy insisted on their
doing this, and it had to be a real rest even though the meal was
make-believe. So they lay there in the sun, and their bodies glistened
in it, while she sat beside them and looked important.
It was one such day, and they were all on Marooners’ Rock. The rock was
not much larger than their great bed, but of course they all knew how
not to take up much room, and they were dozing, or at least lying with
their eyes shut, and pinching occasionally when they thought Wendy was
not looking. She was very busy, stitching.
While she stitched a change came to the lagoon. Little shivers ran over
it, and the sun went away and shadows stole across the water, turning
it cold. Wendy could no longer see to thread her needle, and when she
looked up, the lagoon that had always hitherto been such a laughing
place seemed formidable and unfriendly.
It was not, she knew, that night had come, but something as dark as
night had come. No, worse than that. It had not come, but it had sent
that shiver through the sea to say that it was coming. What was it?
There crowded upon her all the stories she had been told of Marooners’
Rock, so called because evil captains put sailors on it and leave them
there to drown. They drown when the tide rises, for then it is
submerged.
Of course she should have roused the children at once; not merely
because of the unknown that was stalking toward them, but because it
was no longer good for them to sleep on a rock grown chilly. But she
was a young mother and she did not know this; she thought you simply
must stick to your rule about half an hour after the mid-day meal. So,
though fear was upon her, and she longed to hear male voices, she would
not waken them. Even when she heard the sound of muffled oars, though
her heart was in her mouth, she did not waken them. She stood over them
to let them have their sleep out. Was it not brave of Wendy?
It was well for those boys then that there was one among them who could
sniff danger even in his sleep. Peter sprang erect, as wide awake at
once as a dog, and with one warning cry he roused the others.
He stood motionless, one hand to his ear.
“Pirates!” he cried. The others came closer to him. A strange smile was
playing about his face, and Wendy saw it and shuddered. While that
smile was on his face no one dared address him; all they could do was
to stand ready to obey. The order came sharp and incisive.
“Dive!”
There was a gleam of legs, and instantly the lagoon seemed deserted.
Marooners’ Rock stood alone in the forbidding waters as if it were
itself marooned.
The boat drew nearer. It was the pirate dinghy, with three figures in
her, Smee and Starkey, and the third a captive, no other than Tiger
Lily. Her hands and ankles were tied, and she knew what was to be her
fate. She was to be left on the rock to perish, an end to one of her
race more terrible than death by fire or torture, for is it not written
in the book of the tribe that there is no path through water to the
happy hunting-ground? Yet her face was impassive; she was the daughter
of a chief, she must die as a chief’s daughter, it is enough.
They had caught her boarding the pirate ship with a knife in her mouth.
No watch was kept on the ship, it being Hook’s boast that the wind of
his name guarded the ship for a mile around. Now her fate would help to
guard it also. One more wail would go the round in that wind by night.
In the gloom that they brought with them the two pirates did not see
the rock till they crashed into it.
“Luff, you lubber,” cried an Irish voice that was Smee’s; “here’s the
rock. Now, then, what we have to do is to hoist the redskin on to it
and leave her here to drown.”
It was the work of one brutal moment to land the beautiful girl on the
rock; she was too proud to offer a vain resistance.
Quite near the rock, but out of sight, two heads were bobbing up and
down, Peter’s and Wendy’s. Wendy was crying, for it was the first
tragedy she had seen. Peter had seen many tragedies, but he had
forgotten them all. He was less sorry than Wendy for Tiger Lily: it was
two against one that angered him, and he meant to save her. An easy way
would have been to wait until the pirates had gone, but he was never
one to choose the easy way.
There was almost nothing he could not do, and he now imitated the voice
of Hook.
“Ahoy there, you lubbers!” he called. It was a marvellous imitation.
“The captain!” said the pirates, staring at each other in surprise.
“He must be swimming out to us,” Starkey said, when they had looked for
him in vain.
“We are putting the redskin on the rock,” Smee called out.
“Set her free,” came the astonishing answer.
“Free!”
“Yes, cut her bonds and let her go.”
“But, captain—”
“At once, d’ye hear,” cried Peter, “or I’ll plunge my hook in you.”
“This is queer!” Smee gasped.
“Better do what the captain orders,” said Starkey nervously.
“Ay, ay,” Smee said, and he cut Tiger Lily’s cords. At once like an eel
she slid between Starkey’s legs into the water.
Of course Wendy was very elated over Peter’s cleverness; but she knew
that he would be elated also and very likely crow and thus betray
himself, so at once her hand went out to cover his mouth. But it was
stayed even in the act, for “Boat ahoy!” rang over the lagoon in Hook’s
voice, and this time it was not Peter who had spoken.
Peter may have been about to crow, but his face puckered in a whistle
of surprise instead.
“Boat ahoy!” again came the voice.
Now Wendy understood. The real Hook was also in the water.
He was swimming to the boat, and as his men showed a light to guide him
he had soon reached them. In the light of the lantern Wendy saw his
hook grip the boat’s side; she saw his evil swarthy face as he rose
dripping from the water, and, quaking, she would have liked to swim
away, but Peter would not budge. He was tingling with life and also
top-heavy with conceit. “Am I not a wonder, oh, I am a wonder!” he
whispered to her, and though she thought so also, she was really glad
for the sake of his reputation that no one heard him except herself.
He signed to her to listen.
The two pirates were very curious to know what had brought their
captain to them, but he sat with his head on his hook in a position of
profound melancholy.
“Captain, is all well?” they asked timidly, but he answered with a
hollow moan.
“He sighs,” said Smee.
“He sighs again,” said Starkey.
“And yet a third time he sighs,” said Smee.
Then at last he spoke passionately.
“The game’s up,” he cried, “those boys have found a mother.”
Affrighted though she was, Wendy swelled with pride.
“O evil day!” cried Starkey.
“What’s a mother?” asked the ignorant Smee.
Wendy was so shocked that she exclaimed. “He doesn’t know!” and always
after this she felt that if you could have a pet pirate Smee would be
her one.
Peter pulled her beneath the water, for Hook had started up, crying,
“What was that?”
“I heard nothing,” said Starkey, raising the lantern over the waters,
and as the pirates looked they saw a strange sight. It was the nest I
have told you of, floating on the lagoon, and the Never bird was
sitting on it.
“See,” said Hook in answer to Smee’s question, “that is a mother. What
a lesson! The nest must have fallen into the water, but would the
mother desert her eggs? No.”
There was a break in his voice, as if for a moment he recalled innocent
days when—but he brushed away this weakness with his hook.
Smee, much impressed, gazed at the bird as the nest was borne past, but
the more suspicious Starkey said, “If she is a mother, perhaps she is
hanging about here to help Peter.”
Hook winced. “Ay,” he said, “that is the fear that haunts me.”
He was roused from this dejection by Smee’s eager voice.
“Captain,” said Smee, “could we not kidnap these boys’ mother and make
her our mother?”
“It is a princely scheme,” cried Hook, and at once it took practical
shape in his great brain. “We will seize the children and carry them to
the boat: the boys we will make walk the plank, and Wendy shall be our
mother.”
Again Wendy forgot herself.
“Never!” she cried, and bobbed.
“What was that?”
But they could see nothing. They thought it must have been a leaf in
the wind. “Do you agree, my bullies?” asked Hook.
“There is my hand on it,” they both said.
“And there is my hook. Swear.”
They all swore. By this time they were on the rock, and suddenly Hook
remembered Tiger Lily.
“Where is the redskin?” he demanded abruptly.
He had a playful humour at moments, and they thought this was one of