บทที่ บทที่ 9 · THE NEVER BIRD

that built in a tree overhanging the lagoon, and how

the nest fell into the water, and still the bird sat on her eggs, and

Peter gave orders that she was not to be disturbed. That is a pretty

story, and the end shows how grateful a bird can be; but if we tell it

we must also tell the whole adventure of the lagoon, which would of

course be telling two adventures rather than just one. A shorter

adventure, and quite as exciting, was Tinker Bell’s attempt, with the

help of some street fairies, to have the sleeping Wendy conveyed on a

great floating leaf to the mainland. Fortunately the leaf gave way and

Wendy woke, thinking it was bath-time, and swam back. Or again, we

might choose Peter’s defiance of the lions, when he drew a circle round

him on the ground with an arrow and dared them to cross it; and though

he waited for hours, with the other boys and Wendy looking on

breathlessly from trees, not one of them dared to accept his challenge.

Which of these adventures shall we choose? The best way will be to toss

for it.

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 8. 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

the moments.

“That is all right, captain,” Smee answered complacently; “we let her

go.”

“Let her go!” cried 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,” thundered Hook, “what cozening is going on here!”

His face had gone black with rage, but he saw that they believed their

words, and he was startled. “Lads,” he said, shaking a little, “I gave

no such order.”

“It is passing queer,” Smee said, and they all fidgeted uncomfortably.

Hook raised his voice, but there was a quiver in it.

“Spirit that haunts this dark lagoon to-night,” he cried, “dost hear

me?”

Of course Peter should have kept quiet, but of course he did not. He

immediately answered in Hook’s voice:

“Odds, bobs, hammer and tongs, I hear you.”

In that supreme moment Hook did not blanch, even at the gills, but Smee

and Starkey clung to each other in terror.

“Who are you, stranger? Speak!” Hook demanded.

“I am James Hook,” replied the voice, “captain of the _Jolly Roger_.”

“You are not; you are not,” Hook cried hoarsely.

“Brimstone and gall,” the voice retorted, “say that again, and I’ll

cast anchor in you.”

Hook tried a more ingratiating manner. “If you are Hook,” he said

almost humbly, “come tell me, who am I?”

“A codfish,” replied the voice, “only a codfish.”

“A codfish!” Hook echoed blankly, and it was then, but not till then,

that his proud spirit broke. He saw his men draw back from him.

“Have we been captained all this time by a codfish!” they muttered. “It

is lowering to our pride.”

They were his dogs snapping at him, but, tragic figure though he had

become, he scarcely heeded them. Against such fearful evidence it was

not their belief in him that he needed, it was his own. He felt his ego

slipping from him. “Don’t desert me, bully,” he whispered hoarsely 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 tried

the guessing game.

“Hook,” he called, “have you another voice?”

Now Peter could never resist a game, and he answered blithely in his

own voice, “I have.”

“And another name?”

“Ay, ay.”

“Vegetable?” asked Hook.

“No.”

“Mineral?”

“No.”

“Animal?”

“Yes.”

“Man?”

“No!” This answer rang out scornfully.

“Boy?”

“Yes.”

“Ordinary boy?”

“No!”

“Wonderful boy?”

To Wendy’s pain the answer that rang out this time was “Yes.”

“Are you in England?”

“No.”

“Are you here?”

“Yes.”

Hook was completely puzzled. “You ask him some questions,” he said to

the others, wiping his damp brow.

Smee reflected. “I can’t think of a thing,” he said regretfully.

“Can’t guess, can’t guess!” crowed Peter. “Do you give it up?”

Of course in his pride he was carrying the game too far, and the

miscreants 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

faithful henchmen.

“Now we have him,” Hook shouted. “Into the water, Smee. Starkey, mind

the boat. Take him dead or alive!”

He leaped as he spoke, and simultaneously came the gay voice of Peter.

“Are you ready, boys?”

“Ay, ay,” from various parts of the lagoon.

“Then lam into the pirates.”

The fight was short and sharp. First to draw blood was John, who

gallantly climbed into the boat and held Starkey. There was fierce

struggle, in which the cutlass was torn from the pirate’s grasp. He

wriggled overboard and John leapt after him. The dinghy drifted away.

Here and there a head bobbed up in the water, and there was a flash of

steel followed by a cry or a whoop. In the confusion some struck at

their own side. The corkscrew of Smee got Tootles in the fourth rib,

but he was himself pinked in turn by Curly. Farther from the rock

Starkey was pressing Slightly and the twins hard.

Where all this time was Peter? He was seeking bigger game.

The others were all brave boys, and they must not be blamed for backing

from the pirate captain. His iron claw made a circle of dead water

round him, from which they fled like affrighted fishes.

But there was one who did not fear him: there was one prepared to enter

that circle.

Strangely, it was not in the water that they met. Hook rose to the rock

to breathe, and at the same moment Peter scaled it on the opposite

side. The rock was slippery as a ball, and they had to crawl rather

than climb. Neither knew that the other was coming. Each feeling for a

grip met the other’s arm: in surprise they raised their heads; their

faces were almost touching; so they met.

Some of the greatest heroes have confessed that just before they fell

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 feeling only, gladness; and he

gnashed his pretty teeth with joy. Quick as thought he snatched a knife

from Hook’s belt and was about to drive it home, when he saw that he

was higher up the rock than his foe. It would not have been fighting

fair. He gave the pirate a hand to help him up.

It was then that Hook bit him.

Not the pain of this but its unfairness was what dazed Peter. It made

him quite helpless. He could only stare, horrified. Every child is

affected thus the first time he is treated unfairly. All he thinks he

has a right to when he comes to you to be yours is fairness. After you

have been unfair to him he will love you again, but will never

afterwards be quite the same boy. No one ever gets over the first

unfairness; no one except Peter. He often met it, but he always forgot

it. I suppose that was the real difference between him and all the

rest.

So when he met it now it was like the first time; and he could just

stare, helpless. Twice the iron hand clawed him.

A few moments afterwards the other boys saw Hook in the water striking

wildly for the ship; no elation on the pestilent face now, only white

fear, for the crocodile was in dogged pursuit of him. On ordinary

occasions the boys would have swum alongside cheering; but now they

were uneasy, for they had lost both Peter and Wendy, and were scouring

the lagoon for them, calling them by name. They found the dinghy and

went home in it, shouting “Peter, Wendy” as they went, but no answer

came save mocking laughter from the mermaids. “They must be swimming

back or flying,” the boys concluded. They were not very anxious,

because they had such faith in Peter. They chuckled, boylike, because

they would be late for bed; and it was all mother Wendy’s fault!

When their voices died away there came cold silence over the lagoon,

and then a feeble cry.

“Help, help!”

Two small figures were beating against the rock; the girl had fainted

and lay on the boy’s arm. With a last effort Peter pulled her up the

rock and then lay down beside her. Even as he also fainted he saw that

the water was rising. He knew that they would soon be drowned, but he

could do no more.

As they lay side by side a mermaid caught Wendy by the feet, and began

pulling her softly into the water. Peter, feeling her slip from him,

woke with a start, and was just in time to draw her back. But he had to

tell her the truth.

“We are on the rock, Wendy,” he said, “but it is growing smaller. Soon

the water will be over it.”

She did not understand even 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 could swim or fly as far as the island, Wendy,

without my help?”

She had to admit that she was too tired.

He moaned.

“What is it?” she asked, anxious about him at once.

“I can’t help you, Wendy. Hook wounded me. I can neither fly nor swim.”

“Do you mean we shall both be drowned?”

“Look how the water is rising.”

They put their hands over their eyes to shut out the sight. They

thought they would soon be no more. As they sat thus something brushed

against Peter as light as a kiss, and stayed there, as if saying

timidly, “Can I be of any use?”

It was the tail of a kite, which Michael had made some days before. It

had torn itself out of his hand and floated away.

“Michael’s kite,” Peter said without interest, but next moment he had

seized the tail, and was pulling the kite toward him.

“It lifted Michael off the ground,” he cried; “why should it not carry

you?”

“Both of us!”

“It can’t lift two; Michael and Curly tried.”

“Let us draw lots,” Wendy said bravely.

“And you a lady; never.” Already he had tied the tail round her. She

clung to him; she refused to go without him; but with a “Good-bye,

Wendy,” he pushed her from the rock; and in a few minutes she was borne

out of his sight. Peter was alone on the lagoon.

The rock was very small now; soon it would be submerged. Pale rays of

light tiptoed across the waters; and by and by there was to be heard a

sound at once the most musical and the most melancholy in the world:

the mermaids calling to the moon.

Peter was not quite like other boys; but he was afraid at last. A

tremour ran through him, like a shudder passing over the sea; but on

the sea one shudder follows another till there are hundreds of them,

and Peter felt just the one. Next moment he was standing erect on the

rock again, with that smile on his face and a drum beating within him.

It was saying, “To die will be an awfully big adventure.”

Chapter 9. THE NEVER BIRD

The last sound Peter heard before he was quite alone were the mermaids

retiring one by one to their bedchambers under the sea. He was too far

away to hear their doors shut; but every door in the coral caves where

they live rings a tiny bell when it opens or closes (as in all the

nicest houses on the mainland), and he heard the bells.

Steadily the waters rose till they were nibbling at his feet; and to

pass the time until they made their final gulp, he watched the only

thing on the lagoon. He thought it was a piece of floating paper,

perhaps part of the kite, and wondered idly how long it would take to

drift ashore.

Presently he noticed as an odd thing that it was undoubtedly out upon

the lagoon with some definite purpose, for it was fighting the tide,

and sometimes winning; and when it won, Peter, always sympathetic to

the weaker side, could not help clapping; it was such a gallant piece

of paper.

It was not really a piece of paper; it was the Never bird, making

desperate efforts to reach Peter on the nest. By working her wings, in

a way she had learned since the nest fell into the water, she was able

to some extent to guide her strange craft, but by the time Peter

recognised her she was very exhausted. She had come to save him, to

give him her nest, though there were eggs in it. I rather wonder at the

bird, for though he had been nice to her, he had also sometimes

tormented her. I can suppose only that, like Mrs. Darling and the rest

of them, she was melted because he had all his first teeth.

She called out to him what she had come for, and he called out to her

what she was doing there; but of course neither of them understood the

other’s language. In fanciful stories people can talk to the birds

freely, and I wish for the moment I could pretend that this were such a

story, and say that Peter replied intelligently to the Never bird; but

truth is best, and I want to tell you only what really happened. Well,

not only could they not understand each other, but they forgot their

manners.

“I—want—you—to—get—into—the—nest,” the bird called, speaking as slowly

and distinctly as possible, “and—then—you—can—drift—ashore,

but—I—am—too—tired—to—bring—it—any—nearer—so—you—must—try

to—swim—to—it.”

“What are you quacking about?” Peter answered. “Why don’t you let the

nest drift as usual?”

“I—want—you—” the bird said, and repeated it all over.

Then Peter tried slow and distinct.

“What—are—you—quacking—about?” and so on.

The Never bird became irritated; they have very short tempers.

“You dunderheaded little jay!” she screamed, “Why don’t you do as I

tell you?”

Peter felt that she was calling him names, and at a venture he retorted

hotly:

“So are you!”

Then rather curiously they both snapped out the same remark:

“Shut up!”

“Shut up!”

Nevertheless the bird was determined to save him if she could, and by

one last mighty effort she propelled the nest against the rock. Then up

she flew; deserting her eggs, so as to make her meaning clear.

Then at last he understood, and clutched the nest and waved his thanks

to the bird as she fluttered overhead. It was not to receive his

thanks, however, that she hung there in the sky; it was not even to

watch him get into the nest; it was to see what he did with her eggs.

There were two large white eggs, and Peter lifted them up and

reflected. The bird covered her face with her wings, so as not to see

the last of them; but she could not help peeping between the feathers.

I forget whether I have told you that there was a stave on the rock,

driven into it by some buccaneers of long ago to mark the site of

buried treasure. The children had discovered the glittering hoard, and

when in a mischievous mood used to fling showers of moidores, diamonds,

pearls and pieces of eight to the gulls, who pounced upon them for

food, and then flew away, raging at the scurvy trick that had been

played upon them. The stave was still there, and on it Starkey had hung

his hat, a deep tarpaulin, watertight, with a broad brim. Peter put the

eggs into this hat and set it on the lagoon. It floated beautifully.

The Never bird saw at once what he was up to, and screamed her

admiration of him; and, alas, Peter crowed his agreement with her. Then

he got into the nest, reared the stave in it as a mast, and hung up his

shirt for a sail. At the same moment the bird fluttered down upon the

hat and once more sat snugly on her eggs. She drifted in one direction,

and he was borne off in another, both cheering.

Of course when Peter landed he beached his barque in a place where the

bird would easily find it; but the hat was such a great success that

she abandoned the nest. It drifted about till it went to pieces, and

often Starkey came to the shore of the lagoon, and with many bitter

feelings watched the bird sitting on his hat. As we shall not see her

again, it may be worth mentioning here that all Never birds now build

in that shape of nest, with a broad brim on which the youngsters take

an airing.

Great were the rejoicings when Peter reached the home under the ground

almost as soon as Wendy, who had been carried hither and thither by the

kite. Every boy had adventures to tell; but perhaps the biggest

adventure of all was that they were several hours late for bed. This so

inflated them that they did various dodgy things to get staying up

still longer, such as demanding bandages; but Wendy, though glorying in

having them all home again safe and sound, was scandalised by the

lateness of the hour, and cried, “To bed, to bed,” in a voice that had

to be obeyed. Next day, however, she was awfully tender, and gave out

bandages to every one, and they played till bed-time at limping about

and carrying their arms in slings.