第 十五 章 · “HOOK OR ME THIS TIME”

. “HOOK OR ME THIS TIME”

Odd things happen to all of us on our way through life without our

noticing for a time that they have happened. Thus, to take an instance,

we suddenly discover that we have been deaf in one ear for we don’t

know how long, but, say, half an hour. Now such an experience had come

that night to Peter. When last we saw him he was stealing across the

island with one finger to his lips and his dagger at the ready. He had

seen the crocodile pass by without noticing anything peculiar about it,

but by and by he remembered that it had not been ticking. At first he

thought this eerie, but soon concluded rightly that the clock had run

down.

Without giving a thought to what might be the feelings of a

fellow-creature thus abruptly deprived of its closest companion, Peter

began to consider how he could turn the catastrophe to his own use; and

he decided to tick, so that wild beasts should believe he was the

crocodile and let him pass unmolested. He ticked superbly, but with one

unforeseen result. The crocodile was among those who heard the sound,

and it followed him, though whether with the purpose of regaining what

it had lost, or merely as a friend under the belief that it was again

ticking itself, will never be certainly known, for, like slaves to a

fixed idea, it was a stupid beast.

Peter reached the shore without mishap, and went straight on, his legs

encountering the water as if quite unaware that they had entered a new

element. Thus many animals pass from land to water, but no other human

of whom I know. As he swam he had but one thought: “Hook or me this

time.” He had ticked so long that he now went on ticking without

knowing that he was doing it. Had he known he would have stopped, for

to board the brig by help of the tick, though an ingenious idea, had

not occurred to him.

On the contrary, he thought he had scaled her side as noiseless as a

mouse; and he was amazed to see the pirates cowering from him, with

Hook in their midst as abject as if he had heard the crocodile.

The crocodile! No sooner did Peter remember it than he heard the

ticking. At first he thought the sound did come from the crocodile, and

he looked behind him swiftly. Then he realised that he was doing it

himself, and in a flash he understood the situation. “How clever of

me!” he thought at once, and signed to the boys not to burst into

applause.

It was at this moment that Ed Teynte the quartermaster emerged from the

forecastle and came along the deck. Now, reader, time what happened by

your watch. Peter struck true and deep. John clapped his hands on the

ill-fated pirate’s mouth to stifle the dying groan. He fell forward.

Four boys caught him to prevent the thud. Peter gave the signal, and

the carrion was cast overboard. There was a splash, and then silence.

How long has it taken?

“One!” (Slightly had begun to count.)

None too soon, Peter, every inch of him on tiptoe, vanished into the

cabin; for more than one pirate was screwing up his courage to look

round. They could hear each other’s distressed breathing now, which

showed them that the more terrible sound had passed.

“It’s gone, captain,” Smee said, wiping off his spectacles. “All’s

still again.”

Slowly Hook let his head emerge from his ruff, and listened so intently

that he could have caught the echo of the tick. There was not a sound,

and he drew himself up firmly to his full height.

“Then here’s to Johnny Plank!” he cried brazenly, hating the boys more

than ever because they had seen him unbend. He broke into the

villainous ditty:

“Yo ho, yo ho, the frisky plank,

You walks along it so,

Till it goes down and you goes down

To Davy Jones below!”

To terrorise the prisoners the more, though with a certain loss of

dignity, he danced along an imaginary plank, grimacing at them as he

sang; and when he finished he cried, “Do you want a touch of the cat

before you walk the plank?”

At that they fell on their knees. “No, no!” they cried so piteously

that every pirate smiled.

“Fetch the cat, Jukes,” said Hook; “it’s in the cabin.”

The cabin! Peter was in the cabin! The children gazed at each other.

“Ay, ay,” said Jukes blithely, and he strode into the cabin. They

followed him with their eyes; they scarce knew that Hook had resumed

his song, his dogs joining in with him:

“Yo ho, yo ho, the scratching cat,

Its tails are nine, you know,

And when they’re writ upon your back—”

What was the last line will never be known, for of a sudden the song

was stayed by a dreadful screech from the cabin. It wailed through the

ship, and died away. Then was heard a crowing sound which was well

understood by the boys, but to the pirates was almost more eerie than

the screech.

“What was that?” cried Hook.

“Two,” said Slightly solemnly.

The Italian Cecco hesitated for a moment and then swung into the cabin.

He tottered out, haggard.

“What’s the matter with Bill Jukes, you dog?” hissed Hook, towering

over him.

“The matter wi’ him is he’s dead, stabbed,” replied Cecco in a hollow

voice.

“Bill Jukes dead!” cried the startled pirates.

“The cabin’s as black as a pit,” Cecco said, almost gibbering, “but

there is something terrible in there: the thing you heard crowing.”

The exultation of the boys, the lowering looks of the pirates, both

were seen by Hook.

“Cecco,” he said in his most steely voice, “go back and fetch me out

that doodle-doo.”

Cecco, bravest of the brave, cowered before his captain, crying “No,

no”; but Hook was purring to his claw.

“Did you say you would go, Cecco?” he said musingly.

Cecco went, first flinging his arms despairingly. There was no more

singing, all listened now; and again came a death-screech and again a

crow.

No one spoke except Slightly. “Three,” he said.

Hook rallied his dogs with a gesture. “’S’death and odds fish,” he

thundered, “who is to bring me that doodle-doo?”

“Wait till Cecco comes out,” growled Starkey, and the others took up

the cry.

“I think I heard you volunteer, Starkey,” said Hook, purring again.

“No, by thunder!” Starkey cried.

“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.