Peter Pan
At once the lost boys—but where are they? They are no longer there.
Rabbits could not have disappeared more quickly.
I will tell you where they are. With the exception of Nibs, who has
darted away to reconnoitre, they are already in their home under the
ground, a very delightful residence of which we shall see a good deal
presently. But how have they reached it? for there is no entrance to be
seen, not so much as a large stone, which if rolled away, would
disclose the mouth of a cave. Look closely, however, and you may note
that there are here seven large trees, each with a hole in its hollow
trunk as large as a boy. These are the seven entrances to the home
under the ground, for which Hook has been searching in vain these many
moons. Will he find it tonight?
As the pirates advanced, the quick eye of Starkey sighted Nibs
disappearing through the wood, and at once his pistol flashed out. But
an iron claw gripped his shoulder.
“Captain, let go!” he cried, writhing.
Now for the first time we hear the voice of Hook. It was a black voice.
“Put back that pistol first,” it said threateningly.
“It was one of those boys you hate. I could have shot him dead.”
“Ay, and the sound would have brought Tiger Lily’s redskins upon us. Do
you want to lose your scalp?”
“Shall I after him, Captain,” asked pathetic Smee, “and tickle him with
Johnny Corkscrew?” Smee had pleasant names for everything, and his
cutlass was Johnny Corkscrew, because he wiggled it in the wound. One
could mention many lovable traits in Smee. For instance, after killing,
it was his spectacles he wiped instead of his weapon.
“Johnny’s a silent fellow,” he reminded Hook.
“Not now, Smee,” Hook said darkly. “He is only one, and I want to
mischief all the seven. Scatter and look for them.”
The pirates disappeared among the trees, and in a moment their Captain
and Smee were alone. Hook heaved a heavy sigh, and I know not why it
was, perhaps it was because of the soft beauty of the evening, but
there came over him a desire to confide to his faithful bo’sun the
story of his life. He spoke long and earnestly, but what it was all
about Smee, who was rather stupid, did not know in the least.
Anon he caught the word Peter.
“Most of all,” Hook was saying passionately, “I want their captain,
Peter Pan. ’Twas he cut off my arm.” He brandished the hook
threateningly. “I’ve waited long to shake his hand with this. Oh, I’ll
tear him!”
“And yet,” said Smee, “I have often heard you say that hook was worth a
score of hands, for combing the hair and other homely uses.”
“Ay,” the captain answered, “if I was a mother I would pray to have my
children born with this instead of that,” and he cast a look of pride
upon his iron hand and one of scorn upon the other. Then again he
frowned.
“Peter flung my arm,” he said, wincing, “to a crocodile that happened
to be passing by.”
“I have often,” said Smee, “noticed your strange dread of crocodiles.”
“Not of crocodiles,” Hook corrected him, “but of that one crocodile.”
He lowered his voice. “It liked my arm so much, Smee, that it has
followed me ever since, from sea to sea and from land to land, licking
its lips for the rest of me.”
“In a way,” said Smee, “it’s sort of a compliment.”
“I want no such compliments,” Hook barked petulantly. “I want Peter
Pan, who first gave the brute its taste for me.”
He sat down on a large mushroom, and now there was a quiver in his
voice. “Smee,” he said huskily, “that crocodile would have had me
before this, but by a lucky chance it swallowed a clock which goes tick
tick inside it, and so before it can reach me I hear the tick and
bolt.” He laughed, but in a hollow way.
“Some day,” said Smee, “the clock will run down, and then he’ll get
you.”
Hook wetted his dry lips. “Ay,” he said, “that’s the fear that haunts
me.”
Since sitting down he had felt curiously warm. “Smee,” he said, “this
seat is hot.” He jumped up. “Odds bobs, hammer and tongs I’m burning.”
They examined the mushroom, which was of a size and solidity unknown on
the mainland; they tried to pull it up, and it came away at once in
their hands, for it had no root. Stranger still, smoke began at once to
ascend. The pirates looked at each other. “A chimney!” they both
exclaimed.
They had indeed discovered the chimney of the home under the ground. It
was the custom of the boys to stop it with a mushroom when enemies were
in the neighbourhood.
Not only smoke came out of it. There came also children’s voices, for
so safe did the boys feel in their hiding-place that they were gaily
chattering. The pirates listened grimly, and then replaced the
mushroom. They looked around them and noted the holes in the seven
trees.
“Did you hear them say Peter Pan’s from home?” Smee whispered,
fidgeting with Johnny Corkscrew.
Hook nodded. He stood for a long time lost in thought, and at last a
curdling smile lit up his swarthy face. Smee had been waiting for it.
“Unrip your plan, captain,” he cried eagerly.
“To return to the ship,” Hook replied slowly through his teeth, “and
cook a large rich cake of a jolly thickness with green sugar on it.
There can be but one room below, for there is but one chimney. The
silly moles had not the sense to see that they did not need a door
apiece. That shows they have no mother. We will leave the cake on the
shore of the Mermaids’ Lagoon. These boys are always swimming about
there, playing with the mermaids. They will find the cake and they will
gobble it up, because, having no mother, they don’t know how dangerous
’tis to eat rich damp cake.” He burst into laughter, not hollow
laughter now, but honest laughter. “Aha, they will die.”
Smee had listened with growing admiration.
“It’s the wickedest, prettiest policy ever I heard of!” he cried, and
in their exultation they danced and sang:
“Avast, belay, when I appear,
By fear they’re overtook;
Nought’s left upon your bones when you
Have shaken claws with Hook.”
They began the verse, but they never finished it, for another sound
broke in and stilled them. There was at first such a tiny sound that a
leaf might have fallen on it and smothered it, but as it came nearer it
was more distinct.
Tick tick tick tick!
Hook stood shuddering, one foot in the air.
“The crocodile!” he gasped, and bounded away, followed by his bo’sun.
It was indeed the crocodile. It had passed the redskins, who were now
on the trail of the other pirates. It oozed on after Hook.
Once more the boys emerged into the open; but the dangers of the night
were not yet over, for presently Nibs rushed breathless into their
midst, pursued by a pack of wolves. The tongues of the pursuers were
hanging out; the baying of them was horrible.
“Save me, save me!” cried Nibs, falling on the ground.
“But what can we do, what can we do?”
It was a high compliment to Peter that at that dire moment their
thoughts turned to him.
“What would Peter do?” they cried simultaneously.
Almost in the same breath they cried, “Peter would look at them through
his legs.”
And then, “Let us do what Peter would do.”
It is quite the most successful way of defying wolves, and as one boy
they bent and looked through their legs. The next moment is the long
one, but victory came quickly, for as the boys advanced upon them in
the terrible attitude, the wolves dropped their tails and fled.
Now Nibs rose from the ground, and the others thought that his staring
eyes still saw the wolves. But it was not wolves he saw.
“I have seen a wonderfuller thing,” he cried, as they gathered round
him eagerly. “A great white bird. It is flying this way.”
“What kind of a bird, do you think?”
“I don’t know,” Nibs said, awestruck, “but it looks so weary, and as it
flies it moans, ‘Poor Wendy.’”
“Poor Wendy?”
“I remember,” said Slightly instantly, “there are birds called
Wendies.”
“See, it comes!” cried Curly, pointing to Wendy in the heavens.
Wendy was now almost overhead, and they could hear her plaintive cry.
But more distinct came the shrill voice of Tinker Bell. The jealous
fairy had now cast off all disguise of friendship, and was darting at
her victim from every direction, pinching savagely each time she
touched.
“Hullo, Tink,” cried the wondering boys.
Tink’s reply rang out: “Peter wants you to shoot the Wendy.”
It was not in their nature to question when Peter ordered. “Let us do
what Peter wishes!” cried the simple boys. “Quick, bows and arrows!”
All but Tootles popped down their trees. He had a bow and arrow with
him, and Tink noted it, and rubbed her little hands.
“Quick, Tootles, quick,” she screamed. “Peter will be so pleased.”
Tootles excitedly fitted the arrow to his bow. “Out of the way, Tink,”
he shouted, and then he fired, and Wendy fluttered to the ground with
an arrow in her breast.
Chapter VI.
THE LITTLE HOUSE
Foolish Tootles was standing like a conqueror over Wendy’s body when
the other boys sprang, armed, from their trees.
“You are too late,” he cried proudly, “I have shot the Wendy. Peter
will be so pleased with me.”
Overhead Tinker Bell shouted “Silly ass!” and darted into hiding. The
others did not hear her. They had crowded round Wendy, and as they
looked a terrible silence fell upon the wood. If Wendy’s heart had been
beating they would all have heard it.
Slightly was the first to speak. “This is no bird,” he said in a scared
voice. “I think this must be a lady.”
“A lady?” said Tootles, and fell a-trembling.
“And we have killed her,” Nibs said hoarsely.
They all whipped off their caps.
“Now I see,” Curly said: “Peter was bringing her to us.” He threw
himself sorrowfully on the ground.
“A lady to take care of us at last,” said one of the twins, “and you
have killed her!”
They were sorry for him, but sorrier for themselves, and when he took a
step nearer them they turned from him.
Tootles’ face was very white, but there was a dignity about him now
that had never been there before.
“I did it,” he said, reflecting. “When ladies used to come to me in
dreams, I said, ‘Pretty mother, pretty mother.’ But when at last she
really came, I shot her.”
He moved slowly away.
“Don’t go,” they called in pity.
“I must,” he answered, shaking; “I am so afraid of Peter.”
It was at this tragic moment that they heard a sound which made the
heart of every one of them rise to his mouth. They heard Peter crow.
“Peter!” they cried, for it was always thus that he signalled his
return.
“Hide her,” they whispered, and gathered hastily around Wendy. But
Tootles stood aloof.
Again came that ringing crow, and Peter dropped in front of them.
“Greetings, boys,” he cried, and mechanically they saluted, and then
again was silence.
He frowned.
“I am back,” he said hotly, “why do you not cheer?”
They opened their mouths, but the cheers would not come. He overlooked
it in his haste to tell the glorious tidings.
“Great news, boys,” he cried, “I have brought at last a mother for you
all.”
Still no sound, except a little thud from Tootles as he dropped on his
knees.
“Have you not seen her?” asked Peter, becoming troubled. “She flew this
way.”
“Ah me!” one voice said, and another said, “Oh, mournful day.”
Tootles rose. “Peter,” he said quietly, “I will show her to you,” and
when the others would still have hidden her he said, “Back, twins, let
Peter see.”
So they all stood back, and let him see, and after he had looked for a
little time he did not know what to do next.
“She is dead,” he said uncomfortably. “Perhaps she is frightened at
being dead.”
He thought of hopping off in a comic sort of way till he was out of
sight of her, and then never going near the spot any more. They would
all have been glad to follow if he had done this.