Bedtime Story: Peter Pan Pt. 7

Hello beautiful souls,

Please enjoy the seventh instalment of Peter Pan, the boy who never grew up, written by Sir James Matthew Barrie.

Let's continue our adventures with Peter, Wendy, John, Michael, the Lost Boys, and, of course, Captain Hook.

You can find all parts of this wonderful story in my Peter Pan playlist on my profile.

I hope you have a wonderful sleep and wake up feeling relaxed and refreshed.

Transcript

Good evening,

Beautiful souls,

And welcome to tonight's recording of Peter Pan Part 7.

Before we get back into our story,

Just take in some moments now to arrive fully in your bed,

Taking your arms overhead and stretching out your body,

Making yourself as long as you can possibly be,

Pointing and flexing your toes,

Stretching out your legs,

Making any noises that come to you,

And relaxing down into your bed,

And sinking down,

Down into your mattress,

And lengthening your inhales now and your exhales,

Just allowing your body to relax,

To arrive here in your bed for rest,

Rejuvenation,

And releasing any tension in the jaw,

By taking a great big yawn,

Making any sounds,

Feeling the vibration,

And making any last minute adjustments that you need,

And sinking,

Sinking down,

Heavy and soft,

Everything unfolding and relaxing,

And when you are ready,

We will continue with our story.

The children are carried off.

The pirate attack had been a complete surprise,

A sure proof that the unscrupulous hook had conducted it improperly,

For to surprise redskins fairly is beyond the wit of the white man.

By all the unwritten laws of savage warfare,

It is always the redskins who attack,

And with the wiliness of his race,

He does it just before the dawn,

At which time he knows the courage of the whites to be at its lowest ebb.

The white men have,

In the meantime,

Made a rude stockade on the summit of yonder undulating ground,

At the foot of which a stream runs,

For it is destruction to be too far from water.

There they await the onslaught,

The inexperienced ones clutching their revolvers and treading on twigs,

But the old hands sleeping,

Tranquilly,

Until just before the dawn,

Through the long black night,

The savage scouts wriggle,

Snake-like,

Among the grass without stirring a blade.

The brushwood closes behind them as silently as sand into which a mole has dived.

Not a sound is to be heard,

Save when they give vent to a wonderful imitation of the lonely call of the coyote.

The cry is answered by other braves,

And some of them do it even better than the coyotes,

Who are not very good at it,

So the chill hours wear on,

And the long suspense is horribly trying to the pale face who has to live through it for the first time,

But to the trained hand,

Those ghastly calls and still ghastlier silences are but an indication of how the night is marching.

That this was the usual procedure was so well known to Hook,

That in disregarding it,

He cannot be excused on the plea of ignorance.

The Picaninnies,

On their part,

Trusted implicitly to his honour,

And their whole action of the night stands out in marked contrast to his.

They left nothing undone that was consistent with the reputation of their tribe.

With that alertness of the senses,

Which is at once the marvel and despair of civilised people,

They knew that the pirates were on the island from the moment one of them trod on a dry stick,

And in an incredibly short space of time,

The coyote cries began,

Every foot of ground between the spot where Hook had landed his forces and the home under the trees was stealthily examined by braves wearing their macassans with their heels in front.

They found only one hillock with a stream at its base,

So that Hook had no choice.

Here he must establish himself and wait for just before the dawn,

Everything being thus mapped out with almost diabolical cunning.

The main body of the Redskins folded their blankets around them,

And in the manner that is known to them,

The pearl of manhood squatted above the children's home,

Awaiting the cold moment when they should deal pale death.

Here,

Dreaming,

Though wide awake,

Of the exquisite tortures to which they were to put him at break of day,

Those confiding savages were found by the treacherous Hook.

From the accounts afterwards,

Supplied by such of the scouts as escaped the carnage,

He does not seem even to have paused at the rising ground,

Though it is certain that in the grey light he must have seen it.

No thought of waiting to be attacked appears from first to last to have visited his subtle mind.

He would not even hold off till the night was nearly spent on.

On he pounded,

With no policy but to fall to.

What could the bewildered scouts do?

The masters,

As they were,

Of every warlike artifice,

Save this one,

But trot helplessly after him,

Exposing themselves fatally to view,

The while they gave pathetic utterance to the coyote cry.

Around the brave Tiger Lily were a dozen of her stoutest warriors,

And they suddenly saw the pirates bearing down upon them.

Fell from their eyes,

Then,

The film through which they had looked at victory.

No more would they torture at the stake,

For them the happy hunting grounds now.

They knew it,

But as their father's sons,

They acquitted themselves.

It is written that the noble savage must never express surprise in the presence of the white.

Thus terrible as the sudden appearance of the pirates must have been to them,

They remained stationary for a moment,

Not a muscle moving.

As if the foe had come by invitation,

Then,

Indeed,

The tradition gallantly upheld.

They seized their weapons,

And the air was torn with the war cry.

But it was now too late.

It is no part of ours to describe what was a massacre,

Rather than a fight.

Thus perished many of the flower of the Picaninny tribe.

Not all,

Unavenged,

Did they die.

For with lean wharf fell Alf Mason,

To disturb the Spanish main no more.

And among others who bit the dust were Geo Scoury,

Chas Curley,

And the Alsatian Fogarty.

Turley fell to the tomahawk of the terrible panther,

Who ultimately cut a way through the pirates with Tiger Lily and a small remnant of the tribe.

To what extent Hook is to blame for his tactics on this occasion is for the historian to decide.

Had he waited on the rising ground till the proper hour,

He and his men would probably have been butchered.

And,

In judging him,

It is only fair to take this into account.

What he should perhaps have done was to equate his opponents that he proposed to follow a new method.

On the other hand,

This,

As destroying the element of surprise,

Would have made his strategy of no avail,

So that the whole question is beset with difficulties.

One cannot at least withhold a reluctant admiration for the wit that had conceived so bold a scheme,

And the felled genius with which it was carried out.

What were his own feelings about himself at that triumphant moment?

Fain would his dogs have known,

As breathing heavily and wiping their cutlasses,

They gathered at a discreet distance from his hook and squinted through their ferret eyes at this extraordinary man.

Elation must have been in his heart,

But his face did not reflect it.

Ever a dog and solitary enigma,

He stood aloof from his followers,

In spirit as in substance.

The night's work was not yet over,

For it was not the red skins he had come out to destroy,

They were but the bees to be smote,

So that he should get at the honey.

It was Pan he wanted,

Pan and Wendy and their band,

But chiefly Pan.

Peter was such a small boy that one tends to wonder at the man's hatred of him.

True,

He had flung Hook's arm to the crocodile,

But even this and the increased insecurity of life to which it led,

Owing to the crocodile's pertinacity,

Hardly account for a vindictiveness so relentless and malignant.

The truth is that there was a something about Peter which goaded the pirate captain to a frenzy.

It was not his courage,

It was not his engaging appearance,

It was not there is no beating about the bush,

For we know quite well what it was and have got to tell.

It was Peter's cockiness,

This had got on Hook's nerves.

It made his iron claw twitch,

And at night it disturbed him like an insect.

While Peter lived,

The tortured man felt that he was a lion in a cage into which a sparrow had come.

The question now was how to get down the trees,

Or how to get his dogs down.

He ran his greedy eyes over them,

Searching for the thinnest one.

They wriggled uncomfortably,

For they knew he would not scruple to ram them down with poles.

In the meantime,

What of the boys?

We have seen them at the first clang of weapons,

Turned as it were into stone figures,

Open-mouthed,

All appealing with outstretched arms to Peter.

And we return to them as their mouths close and their arms fall to their sides.

The pandemonium above has ceased almost as suddenly as it arose,

Passed like a fierce gust of wind.

But they know that in the passing it has determined their fate.

Which side had won?

The pirates,

Listening avidly at the mouths of the trees,

Heard the question put by every boy.

And alas,

They also heard Peter's answer.

If the Redskins have won,

Peter said,

They will beat the Tom Tom.

It is always their sign of victory.

Now Smee had found the Tom Tom,

And was at that moment sitting on it.

You will never hear the Tom Tom again,

He muttered.

But inaudibly,

Of course,

For strict silence had been enjoined.

To his amazement,

Hook signed to him to beat the Tom Tom.

And slowly there came to Smee an understanding of the dreadful wickedness of the Order.

Never,

Ever,

Probably,

Had this simple man admired Hook so much.

Twice Smee beat upon the instrument,

And then stopped to listen gleefully.

The Tom Tom?

The miscreants heard Peter crying.

An Indian victory!

The doomed children answered with a cheer.

That was music to the black hearts above.

And almost immediately,

They repeated their goodbyes to Peter.

This puzzled the pirates,

But all their other feelings were swallowed By a base delight that the enemy were about to come up the trees.

They smirked at each other and rubbed their hands.

Rapidly and silently,

Hook gave his orders.

One man to each tree,

And the others to arrange themselves in a line two yards apart.

Do you believe in fairies?

The more quickly this horror is disposed of,

The better.

The first to emerge from his tree was Curling.

He rose out of it into the arms of Sacco,

Who flung him to Smee,

Who flung him to Starkey,

Who flung him to Bill Dukes,

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 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 that 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 round,

And leave no tacks with which to tie a knot.

The Pirates kicked him in their rage,

Just as you kick a parcel,

Though in fairness you should kick the string and not the parcel.

And strange to say it was Hook who told them to relay 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 mastermind 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 his secret,

Which was this,

That no boy so blown out Could use a tree wherein an average man needs 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 him fit.

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 downhill like boughs,

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 woods.

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.

He put his hat of ill omen on the swan so that a 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 netherworld.

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 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 blood stood upon 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 that they had left.

Then he decided not to take his medicine so as to grieve Wendy.

Then he laid down on the bed outside of the coverlet to vex her still even more for she had always tucked them inside of it because you never know that you may not grow chilly at the turn of 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 and wailed 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 to 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 drooped 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.

A helpless,

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 him the man was not wholly evil he loved flowers,

I have been told and sweet music 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 personifications 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 there were lights from the one lamp shone dimply on the bed Hook stood in darkness and at the first stealthy step forward he discovered an obstacle the door of Slightly's tree it did not fit entirely the aperture and he had been looking over it feeling for the catch he found to his fury that it was low down far 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 straight away and immediately he 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 stolen away through the trees Peter slept on the light guttered and went out leaving the tenement in darkness but still Peter 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 his door unlike Slightly's door it filled the aperture 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 Tink?

Oh you could never guess she cried and offered him three guesses out with it he shouted and in one ungrammatical sentence 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 draft no!

Shrieked Tinkerbell who had heard Huck muttering about his deed as he sped through the forest why not Tink?

It's poison Peter poison?

Who could have poisoned it?

Huck?

Don't be silly Tink how could Huck have got down here?

Alas Tinkerbell could not explain this for even she did not know the dark secret of Slightly's tree nevertheless Huck's words had left no room for doubt the cup was poison 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 draft and drained it to the dregs why Tinkerbell how dare you drink my medicine but she did not answer already she was reeling in the air what is the matter with you Tink?

Cried Peter suddenly afraid it was poison Peter she told him softly and now I'm going to be dead oh 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 chin 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 Netherlands and who were therefore nearer to him than you may think boys and girls in their nineties and naked papooses in their baskets hung from trees do you believe in fairies?

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 little 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 liked 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 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 unwanted should escape his eyes but in that fitful light to have flown low would have meant trailing his shadow through the trees thus disturbing the 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 red-skinned fashion at which happily he was adept but in what direction for he could not be sure that the children had been taken to the ship a slight fall of snow 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 Tinkerbell and knew that in their dire hour he was not likely to forget it slightly if he had an opportunity would blaze the trees for instance Curly would drop seeds and Wendy would leave her handkerchief at some important place but 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 lips and his dagger at the ready he was frightfully happy