Peter Pan
“My hook thinks you did,” said Hook, crossing to him. “I wonder if it
would not be advisable, Starkey, to humour the hook?”
“I’ll swing before I go in there,” replied Starkey doggedly, and again
he had the support of the crew.
“Is this mutiny?” asked Hook more pleasantly than ever. “Starkey’s
ringleader!”
“Captain, mercy!” Starkey whimpered, all of a tremble now.
“Shake hands, Starkey,” said Hook, proffering his claw.
Starkey looked round for help, but all deserted him. As he backed up
Hook advanced, and now the red spark was in his eye. With a despairing
scream the pirate leapt upon Long Tom and precipitated himself into the
sea.
“Four,” said Slightly.
“And now,” Hook said courteously, “did any other gentlemen say mutiny?”
Seizing a lantern and raising his claw with a menacing gesture, “I’ll
bring out that doodle-doo myself,” he said, and sped into the cabin.
“Five.” How Slightly longed to say it. He wetted his lips to be ready,
but Hook came staggering out, without his lantern.
“Something blew out the light,” he said a little unsteadily.
“Something!” echoed Mullins.
“What of Cecco?” demanded Noodler.
“He’s as dead as Jukes,” said Hook shortly.
His reluctance to return to the cabin impressed them all unfavourably,
and the mutinous sounds again broke forth. All pirates are
superstitious, and Cookson cried, “They do say the surest sign a ship’s
accurst is when there’s one on board more than can be accounted for.”
“I’ve heard,” muttered Mullins, “he always boards the pirate craft
last. Had he a tail, captain?”
“They say,” said another, looking viciously at Hook, “that when he
comes it’s in the likeness of the wickedest man aboard.”
“Had he a hook, captain?” asked Cookson insolently; and one after
another took up the cry, “The ship’s doomed!” At this the children
could not resist raising a cheer. Hook had well-nigh forgotten his
prisoners, but as he swung round on them now his face lit up again.
“Lads,” he cried to his crew, “now here’s a notion. Open the cabin door
and drive them in. Let them fight the doodle-doo for their lives. If
they kill him, we’re so much the better; if he kills them, we’re none
the worse.”
For the last time his dogs admired Hook, and devotedly they did his
bidding. The boys, pretending to struggle, were pushed into the cabin
and the door was closed on them.
“Now, listen!” cried Hook, and all listened. But not one dared to face
the door. Yes, one, Wendy, who all this time had been bound to the
mast. It was for neither a scream nor a crow that she was watching, it
was for the reappearance of Peter.
She had not long to wait. In the cabin he had found the thing for which
he had gone in search: the key that would free the children of their
manacles, and now they all stole forth, armed with such weapons as they
could find. First signing them to hide, Peter cut Wendy’s bonds, and
then nothing could have been easier than for them all to fly off
together; but one thing barred the way, an oath, “Hook or me this
time.” So when he had freed Wendy, he whispered for her to conceal
herself with the others, and himself took her place by the mast, her
cloak around him so that he should pass for her. Then he took a great
breath and crowed.
To the pirates it was a voice crying that all the boys lay slain in the
cabin; and they were panic-stricken. Hook tried to hearten them; but
like the dogs he had made them they showed him their fangs, and he knew
that if he took his eyes off them now they would leap at him.
“Lads,” he said, ready to cajole or strike as need be, but never
quailing for an instant, “I’ve thought it out. There’s a Jonah aboard.”
“Ay,” they snarled, “a man wi’ a hook.”
“No, lads, no, it’s the girl. Never was luck on a pirate ship wi’ a
woman on board. We’ll right the ship when she’s gone.”
Some of them remembered that this had been a saying of Flint’s. “It’s
worth trying,” they said doubtfully.
“Fling the girl overboard,” cried Hook; and they made a rush at the
figure in the cloak.
“There’s none can save you now, missy,” Mullins hissed jeeringly.
“There’s one,” replied the figure.
“Who’s that?”
“Peter Pan the avenger!” came the terrible answer; and as he spoke
Peter flung off his cloak. Then they all knew who ’twas that had been
undoing them in the cabin, and twice Hook essayed to speak and twice he
failed. In that frightful moment I think his fierce heart broke.
At last he cried, “Cleave him to the brisket!” but without conviction.
“Down, boys, and at them!” Peter’s voice rang out; and in another
moment the clash of arms was resounding through the ship. Had the
pirates kept together it is certain that they would have won; but the
onset came when they were still unstrung, and they ran hither and
thither, striking wildly, each thinking himself the last survivor of
the crew. Man to man they were the stronger; but they fought on the
defensive only, which enabled the boys to hunt in pairs and choose
their quarry. Some of the miscreants leapt into the sea; others hid in
dark recesses, where they were found by Slightly, who did not fight,
but ran about with a lantern which he flashed in their faces, so that
they were half blinded and fell as an easy prey to the reeking swords
of the other boys. There was little sound to be heard but the clang of
weapons, an occasional screech or splash, and Slightly monotonously
counting—five—six—seven—eight—nine—ten—eleven.
I think all were gone when a group of savage boys surrounded Hook, who
seemed to have a charmed life, as he kept them at bay in that circle of
fire. They had done for his dogs, but this man alone seemed to be a
match for them all. Again and again they closed upon him, and again and
again he hewed a clear space. He had lifted up one boy with his hook,
and was using him as a buckler, when another, who had just passed his
sword through Mullins, sprang into the fray.
“Put up your swords, boys,” cried the newcomer, “this man is mine.”
Thus suddenly Hook found himself face to face with Peter. The others
drew back and formed a ring around them.
For long the two enemies looked at one another, Hook shuddering
slightly, and Peter with the strange smile upon his face.
“So, Pan,” said Hook at last, “this is all your doing.”
“Ay, James Hook,” came the stern answer, “it is all my doing.”
“Proud and insolent youth,” said Hook, “prepare to meet thy doom.”
“Dark and sinister man,” Peter answered, “have at thee.”
Without more words they fell to, and for a space there was no advantage
to either blade. Peter was a superb swordsman, and parried with
dazzling rapidity; ever and anon he followed up a feint with a lunge
that got past his foe’s defence, but his shorter reach stood him in ill
stead, and he could not drive the steel home. Hook, scarcely his
inferior in brilliancy, but not quite so nimble in wrist play, forced
him back by the weight of his onset, hoping suddenly to end all with a
favourite thrust, taught him long ago by Barbecue at Rio; but to his
astonishment he found this thrust turned aside again and again. Then he
sought to close and give the quietus with his iron hook, which all this
time had been pawing the air; but Peter doubled under it and, lunging
fiercely, pierced him in the ribs. At the sight of his own blood, whose
peculiar colour, you remember, was offensive to him, the sword fell
from Hook’s hand, and he was at Peter’s mercy.
“Now!” cried all the boys, but with a magnificent gesture Peter invited
his opponent to pick up his sword. Hook did so instantly, but with a
tragic feeling that Peter was showing good form.
Hitherto he had thought it was some fiend fighting him, but darker
suspicions assailed him now.
“Pan, who and what art thou?” he cried huskily.
“I’m youth, I’m joy,” Peter answered at a venture, “I’m a little bird
that has broken out of the egg.”
This, of course, was nonsense; but it was proof to the unhappy Hook
that Peter did not know in the least who or what he was, which is the
very pinnacle of good form.
“To’t again,” he cried despairingly.
He fought now like a human flail, and every sweep of that terrible
sword would have severed in twain any man or boy who obstructed it; but
Peter fluttered round him as if the very wind it made blew him out of
the danger zone. And again and again he darted in and pricked.
Hook was fighting now without hope. That passionate breast no longer
asked for life; but for one boon it craved: to see Peter show bad form
before it was cold forever.
Abandoning the fight he rushed into the powder magazine and fired it.
“In two minutes,” he cried, “the ship will be blown to pieces.”
Now, now, he thought, true form will show.
But Peter issued from the powder magazine with the shell in his hands,
and calmly flung it overboard.
What sort of form was Hook himself showing? Misguided man though he
was, we may be glad, without sympathising with him, that in the end he
was true to the traditions of his race. The other boys were flying
around him now, flouting, scornful; and he staggered about the deck
striking up at them impotently, his mind was no longer with them; it
was slouching in the playing fields of long ago, or being sent up for
good, or watching the wall-game from a famous wall. And his shoes were
right, and his waistcoat was right, and his tie was right, and his
socks were right.
James Hook, thou not wholly unheroic figure, farewell.
For we have come to his last moment.
Seeing Peter slowly advancing upon him through the air with dagger
poised, he sprang upon the bulwarks to cast himself into the sea. He
did not know that the crocodile was waiting for him; for we purposely
stopped the clock that this knowledge might be spared him: a little
mark of respect from us at the end.
He had one last triumph, which I think we need not grudge him. As he
stood on the bulwark looking over his shoulder at Peter gliding through
the air, he invited him with a gesture to use his foot. It made Peter
kick instead of stab.
At last Hook had got the boon for which he craved.
“Bad form,” he cried jeeringly, and went content to the crocodile.
Thus perished James Hook.
“Seventeen,” Slightly sang out; but he was not quite correct in his
figures. Fifteen paid the penalty for their crimes that night; but two
reached the shore: Starkey to be captured by the redskins, who made him
nurse for all their papooses, a melancholy come-down for a pirate; and
Smee, who henceforth wandered about the world in his spectacles, making
a precarious living by saying he was the only man that Jas. Hook had
feared.
Wendy, of course, had stood by taking no part in the fight, though
watching Peter with glistening eyes; but now that all was over she
became prominent again. She praised them equally, and shuddered
delightfully when Michael showed her the place where he had killed one;
and then she took them into Hook’s cabin and pointed to his watch which
was hanging on a nail. It said “half-past one!”
The lateness of the hour was almost the biggest thing of all. She got
them to bed in the pirates’ bunks pretty quickly, you may be sure; all
but Peter, who strutted up and down on the deck, until at last he fell
asleep by the side of Long Tom. He had one of his dreams that night,
and cried in his sleep for a long time, and Wendy held him tightly.
Chapter XVI.
THE RETURN HOME
By three bells that morning they were all stirring their stumps; for
there was a big sea running; and Tootles, the bo’sun, was among them,
with a rope’s end in his hand and chewing tobacco. They all donned
pirate clothes cut off at the knee, shaved smartly, and tumbled up,
with the true nautical roll and hitching their trousers.
It need not be said who was the captain. Nibs and John were first and