The more quickly this horror
is disposed of the better. The
first to emerge from his tree
was Curly. He rose out of it
into the arms of Cecco, who flung
him to Smee, who flung him to
Starkey, who flung him to Bill
Jukes, who flung him to Noodler,
and so he was tossed from one
to another till he fell at the
feet of the black pirate. All
the boys were plucked from their
trees in this ruthless manner;
and several of them were in the
air at a time, like bales of
goods flung from hand to hand.
A different treatment was accorded
to Wendy, who came last. With
ironical politeness Hook raised
his hat to her, and, offering
her his arm, escorted her to
the spot where the others were
being gagged. He did it with
such an air, he was so frightfully
DISTINGUE [imposingly distinguished],
that she was too fascinated to
cry out. She was only a little
girl.
Perhaps it is tell-tale to
divulge that for a moment Hook
entranced her, and we tell on
her only because her slip led
to strange results. Had she haughtily
unhanded him (and we should have
loved to write it of her), she
would have been hurled through
the air like the others, and
then Hook would probably not
have been present at the tying
of the children; and had he not
been at the tying he would not
have discovered Slightly's secret,
and without the secret he could
not presently have made his foul
attempt on Peter's life.
They were tied to prevent their
flying away, doubled up with
their knees close to their ears;
and for the trussing of them
the black pirate had cut a rope
into nine equal pieces. All went
well until Slightly's turn came,
when he was found to be like
those irritating parcels that
use up all the string in going
round and leave no tags [ends]
with which to tie a knot. The
pirates kicked him in their rage,
just as you kick the parcel (though
in fairness you should kick the
string); and strange to say it
was Hook who told them to belay
their violence. His lip was curled
with malicious triumph. While
his dogs were merely sweating
because every time they tried
to pack the unhappy lad tight
in one part he bulged out in
another, Hook's master mind had
gone far beneath Slightly's surface,
probing not for effects but for
causes; and his exultation showed
that he had found them. Slightly,
white to the gills, knew that
Hook had surprised [discovered]
his secret, which was this, that
no boy so blown out could use
a tree wherein an average man
need stick. Poor Slightly, most
wretched of all the children
now, for he was in a panic about
Peter, bitterly regretted what
he had done. Madly addicted to
the drinking of water when he
was hot, he had swelled in consequence
to his present girth, and instead
of reducing himself to fit his
tree he had, unknown to the others,
whittled his tree to make it
fit him.
Sufficient of this Hook guessed
to persuade him that Peter at
last lay at his mercy, but no
word of the dark design that
now formed in the subterranean
caverns of his mind crossed his
lips; he merely signed that the
captives were to be conveyed
to the ship, and that he would
be alone.
How to convey them? Hunched
up in their ropes they might
indeed be rolled down hill like
barrels, but most of the way
lay through a morass. Again Hook's
genius surmounted difficulties.
He indicated that the little
house must be used as a conveyance.
The children were flung into
it, four stout pirates raised
it on their shoulders, the others
fell in behind, and singing the
hateful pirate chorus the strange
procession set off through the
wood. I don't know whether any
of the children were crying;
if so, the singing drowned the
sound; but as the little house
disappeared in the forest, a
brave though tiny jet of smoke
issued from its chimney as if
defying Hook.
Hook saw it, and it did Peter
a bad service. It dried up any
trickle of pity for him that
may have remained in the pirate's
infuriated breast.
The first thing he did on finding
himself alone in the fast falling
night was to tiptoe to Slightly's
tree, and make sure that it provided
him with a passage. Then for
long he remained brooding; his
hat of ill omen on the sward,
so that any gentle breeze which
had arisen might play refreshingly
through his hair. Dark as were
his thoughts his blue eyes were
as soft as the periwinkle. Intently
he listened for any sound from
the nether world, but all was
as silent below as above; the
house under the ground seemed
to be but one more empty tenement
in the void. Was that boy asleep,
or did he stand waiting at the
foot of Slightly's tree, with
his dagger in his hand?
There was no way of knowing,
save by going down. Hook let
his cloak slip softly to the
ground, and then biting his lips
till a lewd blood stood on them,
he stepped into the tree. He
was a brave man, but for a moment
he had to stop there and wipe
his brow, which was dripping
like a candle. Then, silently,
he let himself go into the unknown.
He arrived unmolested at the
foot of the shaft, and stood
still again, biting at his breath,
which had almost left him. As
his eyes became accustomed to
the dim light various objects
in the home under the trees took
shape; but the only one on which
his greedy gaze rested, long
sought for and found at last,
was the great bed. On the bed
lay Peter fast asleep.
Unaware of the tragedy being
enacted above, Peter had continued,
for a little time after the children
left, to play gaily on his pipes:
no doubt rather a forlorn attempt
to prove to himself that he did
not care. Then he decided not
to take his medicine, so as to
grieve Wendy. Then he lay down
on the bed outside the coverlet,
to vex her still more; for she
had always tucked them inside
it, because you never know that
you may not grow chilly at the
turn of the night. Then he nearly
cried; but it struck him how
indignant she would be if he
laughed instead; so he laughed
a haughty laugh and fell asleep
in the middle of it.
Sometimes, though not often,
he had dreams, and they were
more painful than the dreams
of other boys. For hours he could
not be separated from these dreams,
though he wailed piteously in
them. They had to do, I think,
with the riddle of his existence.
At such times it had been Wendy's
custom to take him out of bed
and sit with him on her lap,
soothing him in dear ways of
her own invention, and when he
grew calmer to put him back to
bed before he quite woke up,
so that he should not know of
the indignity to which she had
subjected him. But on this occasion
he had fallen at once into a
dreamless sleep. One arm dropped
over the edge of the bed, one
leg was arched, and the unfinished
part of his laugh was stranded
on his mouth, which was open,
showing the little pearls.
Thus defenceless Hook found
him. He stood silent at the foot
of the tree looking across the
chamber at his enemy. Did no
feeling of compassion disturb
his sombre breast? The man was
not wholly evil; he loved flowers
(I have been told) and sweet
music (he was himself no mean
performer on the harpsichord);
and, let it be frankly admitted,
the idyllic nature of the scene
stirred him profoundly. Mastered
by his better self he would have
returned reluctantly up the tree,
but for one thing.
What stayed him was Peter's
impertinent appearance as he
slept. The open mouth, the drooping
arm, the arched knee: they were
such a personification of cockiness
as, taken together, will never
again, one may hope, be presented
to eyes so sensitive to their
offensiveness. They steeled Hook's
heart. If his rage had broken
him into a hundred pieces every
one of them would have disregarded
the incident, and leapt at the
sleeper.
Though a light from the one
lamp shone dimly on the bed,
Hook stood in darkness himself,
and at the first stealthy step
forward he discovered an obstacle,
the door of Slightly's tree.
It did not entirely fill the
aperture, and he had been looking
over it. Feeling for the catch,
he found to his fury that it
was low down, beyond his reach.
To his disordered brain it seemed
then that the irritating quality
in Peter's face and figure visibly
increased, and he rattled the
door and flung himself against
it. Was his enemy to escape him
after all?
But what was that? The red
in his eye had caught sight of
Peter's medicine standing on
a ledge within easy reach. He
fathomed what it was straightaway,
and immediately knew that the
sleeper was in his power.
Lest he should be taken alive,
Hook always carried about his
person a dreadful drug, blended
by himself of all the death-
dealing rings that had come into
his possession. These he had
boiled down into a yellow liquid
quite unknown to science, which
was probably the most virulent
poison in existence.
Five drops of this he now added
to Peter's cup. His hand shook,
but it was in exultation rather
than in shame. As he did it he
avoided glancing at the sleeper,
but not lest pity should unnerve
him; merely to avoid spilling.
Then one long gloating look he
cast upon his victim, and turning,
wormed his way with difficulty
up the tree. As he emerged at
the top he looked the very spirit
of evil breaking from its hole.
Donning his hat at its most rakish
angle, he wound his cloak around
him, holding one end in front
as if to conceal his person from
the night, of which it was the
blackest part, and muttering
strangely to himself, stole away
through the trees.
Peter slept on. The light guttered
[burned to edges] and went out,
leaving the tenement in darkness;
but still he slept. It must have
been not less than ten o'clock
by the crocodile, when he suddenly
sat up in his bed, wakened by
he knew not what. It was a soft
cautious tapping on the door
of his tree.
Soft and cautious, but in that
stillness it was sinister. Peter
felt for his dagger till his
hand gripped it. Then he spoke.
"Who is that?"
For long there was no answer:
then again the knock.
"Who are you?"
No answer.
He was thrilled, and he loved
being thrilled. In two strides
he reached the door. Unlike Slightly's
door, it filled the aperture
[opening], so that he could not
see beyond it, nor could the
one knocking see him.
"I won't open unless you speak," Peter
cried.
Then at last the visitor spoke,
in a lovely bell-like voice.
"Let me in,
Peter."
It was Tink, and quickly he
unbarred to her. She flew in
excitedly, her face flushed and
her dress stained with mud.
"What is it?"
"Oh, you could never guess!" she
cried, and offered him three
guesses. "Out with it!" he shouted,
and in one ungrammatical sentence,
as long as the ribbons that conjurers
[magicians] pull from their mouths,
she told of the capture of Wendy
and the boys.
Peter's heart bobbed up and
down as he listened. Wendy bound,
and on the pirate ship; she who
loved everything to be just so!
"I'll rescue her!" he
cried, leaping at his weapons.
As he
leapt he thought of something
he could do to please her. He
could take his medicine.
His hand closed on the fatal
draught.
"No!" shrieked
Tinker Bell, who had heard
Hook mutter about
his deed as he sped through the
forest.
"Why not?"
"It is poisoned."
"Poisoned?
Who could have poisoned it?"
"Hook."
"Don't be silly.
How could Hook have got down
here?"
Alas, Tinker Bell could not
explain this, for even she did
not know the dark secret of Slightly's
tree. Nevertheless Hook's words
had left no room for doubt. The
cup was poisoned.
"Besides," said Peter, quite
believing himself "I never fell
asleep."
He raised the cup. No time
for words now; time for deeds;
and with one of her lightning
movements Tink got between his
lips and the draught, and drained
it to the dregs.
"Why, Tink,
how dare you drink my medicine?"
But she did not answer. Already
she was reeling in the air.
"What is the matter with you?" cried
Peter, suddenly afraid.
"It was poisoned, Peter," she
told him softly; "and now I am
going to be dead."
"O Tink, did
you drink it to save me?"
"Yes."
"But why, Tink?"
Her wings would
scarcely carry her now, but
in reply she alighted
on his shoulder and gave his
nose a loving bite. She whispered
in his ear "You silly ass," and
then, tottering to her chamber,
lay down on the bed.
His head almost filled the
fourth wall of her little room
as he knelt near her in distress.
Every moment her light was growing
fainter; and he knew that if
it went out she would be no more.
She liked his tears so much that
she put out her beautiful finger
and let them run over it.
Her voice was so low that at
first he could not make out what
she said. Then he made it out.
She was saying that she thought
she could get well again if children
believed in fairies.
Peter flung out his arms. There
were no children there, and it
was night time; but he addressed
all who might be dreaming of
the Neverland, and who were therefore
nearer to him than you think:
boys and girls in their nighties,
and naked papooses in their baskets
hung from trees.
"Do you believe?" he
cried.
Tink sat up in bed almost briskly
to listen to her fate.
She fancied she heard answers
in the affirmative, and then
again she wasn't sure.
"What do you think?" she
asked Peter.
"If you believe," he shouted
to them, "clap your hands; don't
let Tink die."
Many clapped.
Some didn't.
A few beasts hissed.
The clapping stopped suddenly;
as if countless mothers had rushed
to their nurseries to see what
on earth was happening; but already
Tink was saved. First her voice
grew strong, then she popped
out of bed, then she was flashing
through the room more merry and
impudent than ever. She never
thought of thanking those who
believed, but she would have
like to get at the ones who had
hissed.
"And now to
rescue Wendy!"
The moon was riding in a cloudy
heaven when Peter rose from his
tree, begirt [belted] with weapons
and wearing little else, to set
out upon his perilous quest.
It was not such a night as he
would have chosen. He had hoped
to fly, keeping not far from
the ground so that nothing unwonted
should escape his eyes; but in
that fitful light to have flown
low would have meant trailing
his shadow through the trees,
thus disturbing birds and acquainting
a watchful foe that he was astir.
He regretted now that he had
given the birds of the island
such strange names that they
are very wild and difficult of
approach.
There was no other course but
to press forward in redskin fashion,
at which happily he was an adept
[expert]. But in what direction,
for he could not be sure that
the children had been taken to
the ship? A light fall of snow
had obliterated all footmarks;
and a deathly silence pervaded
the island, as if for a space
Nature stood still in horror
of the recent carnage. He had
taught the children something
of the forest lore that he had
himself learned from Tiger Lily
and Tinker Bell, and knew that
in their dire hour they were
not likely to forget it. Slightly,
if he had an opportunity, would
blaze [cut a mark in] the trees,
for instance, Curly would drop
seeds, and Wendy would leave
her handkerchief at some important
place. The morning was needed
to search for such guidance,
and he could not wait. The upper
world had called him, but would
give no help.
The crocodile passed him, but
not another living thing, not
a sound, not a movement; and
yet he knew well that sudden
death might be at the next tree,
or stalking him from behind.
He swore this
terrible oath: "Hook
or me this time."
Now he crawled forward like
a snake, and again erect, he
darted across a space on which
the moonlight played, one finger
on his lip and his dagger at
the ready. He was frightfully
happy.
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