Peter Pan
THE MERMAIDS’ LAGOON
If you your and are a lucky one, you may see at times a of in the darkness; then if you your tighter, the to take shape, and the so that with another they must go on fire. But just they go on fire you see the lagoon. This is the nearest you to it on the mainland, just one moment; if there be two moments you might see the and the singing.
The children often long days on this lagoon, or most of the time, playing the in the water, and so forth. You must not think from this that the were on terms with them: on the contrary, it was among Wendy’s that all the time she was on the she had a word from one of them. When she to the of the she might see them by the score, on Marooners’ Rock, where they loved to bask, out their in a lazy way that her; or she might swim, on as it were, to a of them, but then they saw her and dived, her with their tails, not by accident, but intentionally.
They all the boys in the same way, of Peter, who with them on Marooners’ Rock by the hour, and sat on their when they got cheeky. He gave Wendy one of their combs.
The most time at which to see them is at the turn of the moon, when they cries; but the is for then, and until the of which we have now to tell, Wendy had the by moonlight, less from fear, for of Peter would have her, than she had about every one being in by seven. She was often at the lagoon, however, on sunny days after rain, when the come up in numbers to play with their bubbles. The of many in water they as balls, them from one to another with their tails, and trying to keep them in the till they burst. The are at each end of the rainbow, and the only are allowed to use their hands. Sometimes a dozen of these will be going on in the at a time, and it is a sight.
But the moment the children to join in they had to play by themselves, for the disappeared. Nevertheless we have proof that they the interlopers, and were not above taking an idea from them; for John a new way of the bubble, with the of the hand, and the it. This is the one mark that John has left on the Neverland.
It must also have been to see the children on a for an hour after their mid-day meal. Wendy on their doing this, and it had to be a though the was make-believe. So they there in the sun, and their in it, while she sat them and looked important.
It was one such day, and they were all on Marooners’ Rock. The was not much larger than their great bed, but of they all how not to take up much room, and they were dozing, or at least with their shut, and occasionally when they Wendy was not looking. She was very busy, stitching.
While she a came to the lagoon. Little ran over it, and the sun away and across the water, it cold. Wendy no longer see to her needle, and when she looked up, the that had always been such a laughing place and unfriendly.
It was not, she knew, that night had come, but something as dark as night had come. No, than that. It had not come, but it had sent that through the sea to say that it was coming. What was it?
There upon her all the she had been told of Marooners’ Rock, so called captains put on it and them there to drown. They when the rises, for then it is submerged.
Of she should have the children at once; not of the unknown that was toward them, but it was no longer good for them to sleep on a chilly. But she was a mother and she did not know this; she you must to your about an hour after the mid-day meal. So, though was upon her, and she to male voices, she would not them. Even when she the of oars, though her was in her mouth, she did not them. She over them to let them have their sleep out. Was it not of Wendy?
It was well for those boys then that there was one among them who in his sleep. Peter erect, as wide at once as a dog, and with one he the others.
He motionless, one hand to his ear.
“Pirates!” he cried. The others came closer to him. A was playing about his face, and Wendy saw it and shuddered. While that was on his no one address him; all they do was to to obey. The order came and incisive.
“Dive!”
There was a of legs, and the deserted. Marooners’ Rock alone in the as if it were itself marooned.
The nearer. It was the dinghy, with three in her, Smee and Starkey, and the third a captive, no other than Tiger Lily. Her hands and were tied, and she what was to be her fate. She was to be left on the to perish, an end to one of her more terrible than death by fire or torture, for is it not in the book of the that there is no path through water to the happy hunting-ground? Yet her was impassive; she was the of a chief, she must die as a chief’s daughter, it is enough.
They had her the ship with a knife in her mouth. No watch was on the ship, it being Hook’s that the wind of his name the ship for a mile around. Now her would help to it also. One more would go the in that wind by night.
In the that they with them the two did not see the till they into it.
“Luff, you lubber,” an Irish voice that was Smee’s; “here’s the rock. Now, then, what we have to do is to the on to it and her here to drown.”
It was the work of one moment to land the girl on the rock; she was too proud to offer a resistance.
Quite near the rock, but out of sight, two were up and down, Peter’s and Wendy’s. Wendy was crying, for it was the she had seen. Peter had many tragedies, but he had them all. He was less sorry than Wendy for Tiger Lily: it was two against one that him, and he meant to save her. An easy way would have been to wait until the had gone, but he was one to choose the easy way.
There was almost nothing he not do, and he now the voice of Hook.
“Ahoy there, you lubbers!” he called. It was a imitation.
“The captain!” said the pirates, at each other in surprise.
“He must be out to us,” Starkey said, when they had looked for him in vain.
“We are the on the rock,” Smee called out.
“Set her free,” came the answer.
“Free!”
“Yes, cut her and let her go.”
“But, captain—”
“At once, d’ye hear,” Peter, “or I’ll my 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 she Starkey’s into the water.
Of Wendy was very over Peter’s cleverness; but she that he would be also and very likely and thus himself, so at once her hand out to his mouth. But it was in the act, for “Boat ahoy!” over the in Hook’s voice, and this time it was not Peter who had spoken.
Peter may have been about to crow, but his in a of instead.
“Boat ahoy!” again came the voice.
Now Wendy understood. The Hook was also in the water.
He was to the boat, and as his men a light to him he had soon them. In the light of the Wendy saw his the boat’s side; she saw his as he rose from the water, and, quaking, she would have liked to swim away, but Peter would not budge. He was with life and also top-heavy with conceit. “Am I not a wonder, oh, I am a wonder!” he to her, and though she so also, she was for the of his that no one him herself.
He to her to listen.
The two were very to know what had their captain to them, but he sat with his on his in a position of melancholy.
“Captain, is all well?” they asked timidly, but he answered with a moan.
“He sighs,” said Smee.
“He 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 a mother.”
Affrighted though she was, Wendy with pride.
“O day!” Starkey.
“What’s a mother?” asked the Smee.
Wendy was so that she exclaimed. “He doesn’t know!” and always after this she that if you have a Smee would be her one.
Peter her the water, for Hook had started up, crying, “What was that?”
“I nothing,” said Starkey, the over the waters, and as the looked they saw a sight. It was the I have told you of, on the lagoon, and the Never bird was on it.
“See,” said Hook in answer to Smee’s question, “that is a mother. What a lesson! The must have into the water, but would the mother her eggs? No.”
There was a in his voice, as if for a moment he days when—but he away this with his hook.
Smee, much impressed, at the bird as the was past, but the more Starkey said, “If she is a mother, she is about here to help Peter.”
Hook winced. “Ay,” he said, “that is the that me.”
He was from this by Smee’s voice.
“Captain,” said Smee, “could we not these boys’ mother and make her our mother?”
“It is a scheme,” Hook, and at once it took practical shape in his great brain. “We will the children and them to the boat: the boys we will make walk the plank, and Wendy shall be our mother.”
Again Wendy herself.
“Never!” she cried, and bobbed.
“What was that?”
But they see nothing. They it must have been a in the wind. “Do you agree, my bullies?” asked Hook.
“There is my hand on it,” they said.
“And there is my hook. Swear.”
They all swore. By this time they were on the rock, and Hook Tiger Lily.
“Where is the redskin?” he abruptly.
He had a at moments, and they this was one of the moments.
“That is all right, captain,” Smee answered complacently; “we let her go.”
“Let her go!” Hook.
“’Twas your own orders,” the bo’sun faltered.
“You called over the water to us to let her go,” said Starkey.
“Brimstone and gall,” Hook, “what is going on here!” His had gone black with rage, but he saw that they their words, and he was startled. “Lads,” he said, a little, “I gave no such order.”
“It is queer,” Smee said, and they all uncomfortably. Hook his voice, but there was a in it.
“Spirit that this dark to-night,” he cried, “dost me?”
Of Peter should have quiet, but of he did not. He answered in Hook’s voice:
“Odds, bobs, and tongs, I you.”
In that moment Hook did not blanch, at the gills, but Smee and Starkey to each other in terror.
“Who are you, stranger? Speak!” Hook demanded.
“I am James Hook,” the voice, “captain of the Jolly Roger.”
“You are not; you are not,” Hook hoarsely.
“Brimstone and gall,” the voice retorted, “say that again, and I’ll in you.”
Hook a more manner. “If you are Hook,” he said almost humbly, “come tell me, who am I?”
“A codfish,” the voice, “only a codfish.”
“A codfish!” Hook blankly, and it was then, but not till then, that his proud broke. He saw his men from him.
“Have we been all this time by a codfish!” they muttered. “It is to our pride.”
They were his dogs at him, but, though he had become, he them. Against such it was not their in him that he needed, it was his own. He his from him. “Don’t me, bully,” he to it.
In his dark nature there was a touch of the feminine, as in all the great pirates, and it sometimes gave him intuitions. Suddenly he the game.
“Hook,” he called, “have you another voice?”
Now Peter a game, and he answered in his own voice, “I have.”
“And another name?”
“Ay, ay.”
“Vegetable?” asked Hook.
“No.”
“Mineral?”
“No.”
“Animal?”
“Yes.”
“Man?”
“No!” This answer out scornfully.
“Boy?”
“Yes.”
“Ordinary boy?”
“No!”
“Wonderful boy?”
To Wendy’s pain the answer that out this time was “Yes.”
“Are you in England?”
“No.”
“Are you here?”
“Yes.”
Hook was puzzled. “You ask him some questions,” he said to the others, his brow.
Smee reflected. “I can’t think of a thing,” he said regretfully.
“Can’t guess, can’t guess!” Peter. “Do you give it up?”
Of in his he was the game too far, and the saw their chance.
“Yes, yes,” they answered eagerly.
“Well, then,” he cried, “I am Peter Pan.”
Pan!
In a moment Hook was himself again, and Smee and Starkey were his henchmen.
“Now we have him,” Hook shouted. “Into the water, Smee. Starkey, mind the boat. Take him or alive!”
He as he spoke, and came the voice of Peter.
“Are you ready, boys?”
“Ay, ay,” from parts of the lagoon.
“Then into the pirates.”
The was and sharp. First to blood was John, who into the and Starkey. There was struggle, in which the was from the pirate’s grasp. He and John after him. The away.
Here and there a up in the water, and there was a of by a or a whoop. In the some at their own side. The of Smee got Tootles in the fourth rib, but he was himself in turn by Curly. Farther from the Starkey was pressing Slightly and the hard.
Where all this time was Peter? He was game.
The others were all boys, and they must not be for from the captain. His iron a circle of water him, from which they like fishes.
But there was one who did not him: there was one prepared to enter that circle.
Strangely, it was not in the water that they met. Hook rose to the to breathe, and at the same moment Peter it on the opposite side. The was as a ball, and they had to than climb. Neither that the other was coming. Each for a met the other’s arm: in they their heads; their were almost touching; so they met.
Some of the have that just they to they had a sinking. Had it been so with Peter at that moment I would admit it. After all, he was the only man that the Sea-Cook had feared. But Peter had no sinking, he had one only, gladness; and he his teeth with joy. Quick as he a knife from Hook’s and was about to drive it home, when he saw that he was higher up the than his foe. It would not have been fair. He gave the a hand to help him up.
It was then that Hook him.
Not the pain of this but its was what Peter. It him helpless. He only stare, horrified. Every child is thus the time he is unfairly. All he thinks he has a right to when he comes to you to be yours is fairness. After you have been to him he will love you again, but will be the same boy. No one over the unfairness; no one Peter. He often met it, but he always it. I that was the him and all the rest.
So when he met it now it was like the time; and he just stare, helpless. Twice the iron hand him.
A moments the other boys saw Hook in the water for the ship; no on the now, only white fear, for the was in of him. On ordinary occasions the boys would have alongside cheering; but now they were uneasy, for they had Peter and Wendy, and were the for them, calling them by name. They the and home in it, “Peter, Wendy” as they went, but no answer came save from the mermaids. “They must be or flying,” the boys concluded. They were not very anxious, they had such in Peter. They chuckled, boylike, they would be late for bed; and it was all mother Wendy’s fault!
When their voices died away there came cold over the lagoon, and then a cry.
“Help, help!”
Two small were against the rock; the girl had and on the boy’s arm. With a last Peter her up the and then her. Even as he also he saw that the water was rising. He that they would soon be drowned, but he do no more.
As they by a Wendy by the feet, and her into the water. Peter, her from him, with a start, and was just in time to her back. But he had to tell her the truth.
“We are on the rock, Wendy,” he said, “but it is smaller. Soon the water will be over it.”
She did not now.
“We must go,” she said, almost brightly.
“Yes,” he answered faintly.
“Shall we swim or fly, Peter?”
He had to tell her.
“Do you think you swim or as as the island, Wendy, without my help?”
She had to admit that she was too tired.
He moaned.
“What is it?” she asked, about him at once.
“I can’t help you, Wendy. Hook me. I can neither swim.”
“Do you we shall be drowned?”
“Look how the water is rising.”
They put their hands over their to out the sight. They they would soon be no more. As they sat thus something against Peter as light as a kiss, and there, as if saying timidly, “Can I be of any use?”
It was the of a kite, which Michael had some days before. It had itself out of his hand and away.
“Michael’s kite,” Peter said without interest, but next moment he had the tail, and was the toward him.
“It Michael off the ground,” he cried; “why should it not you?”
“Both of us!”
“It can’t two; Michael and Curly tried.”
“Let us lots,” Wendy said bravely.
“And you a lady; never.” Already he had the her. She to him; she to go without him; but with a “Good-bye, Wendy,” he pushed her from the rock; and in a minutes she was out of his sight. Peter was alone on the lagoon.
The was very small now; soon it would be submerged. Pale of light across the waters; and by and by there was to be a at once the most and the most in the world: the calling to the moon.
Peter was not like other boys; but he was at last. A ran through him, like a over the sea; but on the sea one another till there are hundreds of them, and Peter just the one. Next moment he was on the again, with that on his and a him. It was saying, “To die will be an big adventure.”
