Bedtime Story: Peter Pan Pt. 8

Hello beautiful souls,

Please enjoy the eighth 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 this evening's recording of Peter Pan.

So just arriving in the space,

Taking some moments to make yourself comfortable and get ready for your bedtime story.

If it feels right for you taking a moment to stretch out,

Stretching your arms above you,

Stretching out your legs,

Pointing and flexing the toes,

Allowing your muscles to rest,

Knowing that there is nowhere else you need to be and there's nothing else that you need to do today.

Maybe you want to take a big yawn or just some longer inhales and exhales,

Allowing yourself to arrive fully here in your bed and when you are ready we will continue with our adventures with Peter Pan and the Lost Boys.

The pirate ship,

One green light squinting over Kidd's Creek which is near the mouth of the Pirate River,

Marked where the brig,

The Jolly Roger,

Lay low in the water.

A rakish looking craft,

Foul to the hull,

Every beam in her detestable like ground strewn with mangled feathers.

She was the cannibal of the seas and scarce needed that watchful eye for she floated immune in the horror of her name.

She was wrapped in the blanket of night through which no sound from her could have reached the shore.

There was little sound and non-agreeable save the whir of the ship's sewing machine at which Smee sat,

Ever industrious and obliging,

The essence of the commonplace,

Pathetic Smee.

I know not why he was so infinitely pathetic,

Unless it were because he was so pathetically unaware of it,

But even strong men had to turn hastily from looking at him and more than once on summer evenings he had touched the fount of Hook's tears and made it flow.

Of this,

As of almost everything else,

Smee was quite unconscious.

A few of the pirates leant over the bulwarks drinking in the midst of the night,

Others sprawled by barrels over games of dice and cards,

And the exhausted four who had carried the little house lay prone on the deck,

Where even in their sleep they rolled skillfully to this side or that out of Hook's reach,

Lest he should claw them mechanically in passing.

Hook trod the deck in thought,

Oh man unfathomable.

It was his hour of triumph,

Peter had been removed forever from his path,

And all the other boys were on the brig about to walk the plank.

It was his grimmest deed since the days when he had brought barbeque to heel,

And knowing as we do how vain a man is,

Could we be surprised had he now paced the deck unsteadily,

Bellied out by the winds of his success.

But there was no elation in his gait,

Which kept pace with the action of his sombre mind.

Hook was profoundly dejected.

He was often thus when communing with himself on board ship in the quietude of the night.

It was because he was so terribly alone.

This inscrutable man never felt more alone than when surrounded by his dogs.

They were socially so inferior to him.

Hook was not true to his name.

To reveal who he really was would even at this date set the country in a blaze.

But as those who read Between the Lines must already have guessed,

He had been at a famous public school,

And its traditions still clung to him like garments,

With which indeed they are largely concerned.

Thus it was offensive to him even now to board a ship in the same dress in which he grappled her.

And he still adhered to his walk in the school's distinguished slouch.

But above all,

He retained the passion for good form.

Good form.

However much he may have degenerated,

He still knew that this is all that really matters.

Far from within him he heard a creakings as of rusty portals,

And through them came a stern tap,

Tap,

Tap,

Like hammering in the night when one cannot sleep.

Have you been good form today?

Was their eternal question.

Fame,

Fame,

That glittering bauble.

It is mine,

He cried.

Is it quite good form to be distinguished at anything?

The tap,

Tap from his school replied.

I am the only man whom barbecue feared,

He urged.

And Flint himself feared barbecue.

Barbecue?

Flint?

What house?

Came the cutting retort.

Most disquieting reflection of all.

Was it not bad form to think about good form?

His vitals were tortured by this problem.

It was a claw within him,

Sharper than the iron one,

And as it tore him the perspiration dripped down his tallow countenance and streaked his doublet.

Oftentimes he drew his sleeve across his face,

But there was no damning that trickle.

Oh,

Envy not Hook.

There came to him a pre-sentiment of his early dissolution.

It was as if Peter's terrible oath had boarded the ship.

Hook felt a gloomy desire to make his dying speech,

Lest presently there should be no time for it.

Better for Hook,

He cried.

If he had had less ambition,

It was in his darkest hours only that he referred to himself in the third person.

No little children love me.

Strange that he should think of this,

Which had never troubled him before.

Perhaps the sewing machine brought it to his mind.

For long he muttered to himself,

Staring at Smee,

Who was hemming placidly under the conviction that all children feared him.

Feared him?

Feared Smee?

There was not a child on board the brig that night who did not already love him.

He had said horrid things to them and hit them with the palm of his hand,

Because he could not hit with his fist.

But they had only clung to him the more.

Michael had tried on his spectacles to tell poor Smee that they thought him lovable.

Hook itched to do it,

But it seemed too brutal.

Instead,

He revolved this mystery in his mind.

Why do they find Smee lovable?

He pursued the problem like the sleuth hound that he was.

If Smee was lovable,

What was it that made him so?

A terrible answer suddenly presented itself.

Good form?

Had the bosun good form without knowing it?

Which is the best form of all?

He remembered that you have to prove you don't know you have it before you are eligible for pop.

With a cry of rage,

He raised his iron hand over Smee's head.

But he did not tear.

What arrested him was this reflection.

To claw a man because he is good form.

What would that be?

Bad form.

The unhappy Hook was as impotent as he was damp.

And he fell forward like a cut flower.

His dogs thinking him out of the way for a time.

Discipline instantly relaxed.

And they broke into a bacchanalian dance,

Which brought him to his feet at once.

All traces of human weakness gone.

As if a bucket of water had passed over him.

Quiet,

You skugs,

He cried.

Or I'll cast anchor in you.

And at once the din was hushed.

Are all the children chained so that they cannot fly away?

Aye,

Aye,

Hook.

Then hoist them up.

The wretched prisoners were dragged from the hold.

All except Wendy.

And ranged in line in front of him.

For a time he seemed unconscious of their presence.

He lulled at his ease.

Humming and fingering a pack of cards.

Ever and anon the light from his cigar gave a touch of colour to his face.

Now then,

Bullies,

He said briskly.

Six of you walk the plank tonight.

But I have room for two cabin boys.

Which of you is it to be?

Don't irritate him unnecessarily.

Had been Wendy's instructions in the hold.

So Tootles stepped forward politely.

Tootles hated the idea of signing under such a man.

But an instinct told him that it would be prudent to lay the responsibility on an absent person.

And though a somewhat silly boy,

He knew that mothers alone are always willing to be the buffer.

All children know this about mothers and despise them for it.

But make constant use of it.

So Tootles explained prudently.

You see,

Sir,

I don't think my mother would like me to be a pirate.

Would your mother like you to be a pirate slightly?

He winked at Slightly,

Who said mournfully,

I don't think so.

As if he wished things had been otherwise.

Would your mother like you to be a pirate twin?

I don't think so.

Said the first twin,

As clever as the others.

Nibs would stow this gab.

Roared Hook.

And the spokesmen were dragged back.

You boy,

He said,

Addressing John.

You look as if you had a little pluck in you.

Did never want to be a pirate,

My hearty.

Now,

John had sometimes experienced this hankering at maths and was struck by Hook's picking him out.

I once thought of calling myself Red-Handed Jack,

He said diffidently.

And a good name too.

We'll call you that here,

Bully,

If you join.

What do you think,

Michael?

Asked John.

What would you call me if I join?

Michael demanded.

Black Beard Joe.

Michael was naturally impressed.

What do you think,

John?

He wanted John to decide.

And John wanted him to decide.

Shall we still be respectful subjects of the king?

John inquired.

Through Hook's teeth came the answer.

You would have to swear down with the king.

Perhaps John had not behaved very well so far.

But he shone out now.

Then I refuse,

He cried,

Banging the barrel in front of Hook.

And I refuse,

Cried Michael.

Rule Britannia,

Squeaked Curly.

The infuriated pirates buffeted them in the mouth.

And Hook roared out.

That seals your doom.

Bring up their mother.

Get the plank ready.

They were only boys.

And they went white as they saw Dukes and Secco preparing the fatal plank.

But they've tried to look brave when Wendy was brought up.

No words of mine can tell you how Wendy despised those pirates.

To the boys,

There was at least some glamour in the pirate calling.

But all that she saw was that the ship had not been scrubbed for years.

There was not a porthole on the grimy glass of which you might not have written with your finger,

Dirty Pig.

And she had already written it on several.

But as the boys gathered around her,

She had no thought,

Of course,

Save for them.

So,

My beauty,

Said Hook,

As if he spoke in syrup.

You are to see your children walk the plank.

Fine gentleman though he was,

The intensity of his communings had soiled his rough.

And suddenly he knew that she was gazing at it.

With a hasty gesture,

He tried to hide it.

But he was too late.

Are they to die?

Asked Wendy,

With a look of such frightful contempt that he nearly fainted.

They are,

He snarled.

Silence all,

He called gloatingly,

For a mother's last words to her children.

At this moment,

Wendy was grand.

These are my last words,

Dear boys,

She said firmly.

I feel that I have a message to you,

From your real mothers.

And it is this.

We hope our sons will die like English gentlemen.

Even the pirates were awed,

And Tootles cried out hysterically.

I am going to do what my mother hopes.

What are you going to do,

Nibs?

What my mother hopes.

What are you to do,

Twin?

What my mother hopes.

John,

What are you?

But Hook had found his voice again.

Tie her up,

He shouted.

It was Smee who tied her to the mast.

See here,

Honey,

He whispered.

I'll save you if you promise to be my mother.

But not even for Shmee would she make such a promise.

I would almost rather have no children at all,

She said disdainfully.

It is sad to know that not a boy was looking at her as Smee tied her to the mast.

The eyes of all were on the plank,

That last little walk they were about to take.

They were no longer able to hope that they would walk it manfully,

For the capacity to think had gone from them.

They could stare and shiver only.

Hook smiled on them with his teeth closed and took a step toward Wendy.

His intention was to turn her face so that she could see the boys walking the plank one by one.

But he never reached her.

He never heard the cry of anguish he hoped to ring from her.

He heard something else instead.

It was the terrible tick-tick of the crocodile.

They all heard it.

Pirates,

Boys,

Wendy.

And immediately every head was blown in one direction.

Not to the water,

Once the sound proceeded.

But toward Hook.

All knew that what was about to happen concerned him alone.

And that from being actors,

They were suddenly become spectators.

Very frightful was it to see the change that came over him.

It was as if he had been clipped at every joint.

He fell in a little heap.

The sound came steadily nearer.

And in advance of it came this ghastly thought.

The crocodile is about to board the ship.

Even the iron claw hung inactive,

As if knowing that it was no intrinsic part of what the attacking force wanted.

Left so fearfully alone,

Any other man would have lain with his eyes shut where he fell.

But the gigantic brain of Hook was still working.

And under its guidance,

He crawled on his knees along the deck,

As far from the sound as he could go.

The pirates respectfully cleared a passage for him.

And it was only when he brought up against the bulwarks that he spoke.

Hide me,

He cried hoarsely.

They gathered around him,

All eyes averted from the thing that was coming aboard.

They had no thought of fighting it.

It was fate.

Only when Hook was hidden from them,

Did curiosity loosen the limbs of the boys,

So that they could rush to the ship's side to see the crocodile climbing it.

Then they got the strangest surprise of this night of nights,

For it was no crocodile that was coming to their aid.

It was Peter.

He signed to them not to give vent to any cry of admiration that might rouse suspicion.

Then he went on ticking,

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 he 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 at once considered 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 all 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 what he was doing.

Had he known he would have stopped,

For to board the brig by the 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 Tenyet,

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?

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 around.

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 his spectacles.

All is still again.

Slowly,

Hook let his head emerge from his roof,

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.

Fetch the cat,

Jukes,

Said Hook.

It's in the cabin,

The cabin.

Peter was in the cabin.

The children all gazed at each other.

Aye,

Aye,

Said Jukes,

Said Jukes,

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.

All 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 secco 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 with him is he's dead.

Stabbed,

Replied secco in a hollow voice.

Bill Jukes dead,

Cried the startled pirates.

The cabin's as black as a pit,

Secco said.

Almost gibbering.

But there is something terrible in there.

The thing that you heard crowing.

The exultation of the boys.

The lowering looks of the pirates.

Both were seen by Hook.

Secco,

He said,

In his most steely voice.

Go back and fetch me out that doodle-doo.

Secco,

Bravest of the brave,

Cowered before his captain,

Crying no.

But Hook was purring to his claw.

Did you say you would go,

Secco?

He said musingly.

Secco went,

First flinging up his arms despairingly.

There was no more singing now.

All listened.

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.

Who is to bring me that doodle-doo?

Wait till secco 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 it mutiny,

Asked Hook,

More pleasantly than ever.

Starkey's ringleader.

Captain,

Have mercy,

Starkey whimpered.

Starkey whimpered.

All of a tremble now.

Shake hands,

Starkey,

Said Hook.

Starkey looked around for help,

But all deserted him.

As he backed,

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 asked,

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.

Five.

How slightly long 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 Seko,

Demanded Noodler.

He's as dead as dukes,

Said Hook.

His reluctance to return to the cabin impressed them all unfavourably,

And mutinous sounds again broke forth.

All pirates are superstitious,

And Cookson cried.

They do say the surest sign a ship's accursed is when there's one on board more than can be accounted for.

I've heard,

Muttered Mullins,

He always boards the pirate craft at 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.

Did he have 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 forgotten his prisoners,

But as he swung round on them now,

His face lit up again.

Lads,

He cried to his crew,

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 are none the worse.

For the last time his dogs admired Hook,

And devoutedly 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.

Well,

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 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 to them to hide,

Peter cut Wendy's bonds,

And then nothing could have been easier for them to all fly off together.

But one thing barred the way.

An oath,

Hook or me,

This time.

So when he had freed Wendy,

He whispered to 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.

Aye,

They snarled,

A man with a hook.

No,

Lads,

No,

It's the girl.

Never was luck on a pirate ship with 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 that can save you now,

Missy,

Mullins hissed jeeringly.

There's one,

Replied the figure.

Who is that?

Peter Pan,

The Avenger,

Came the terrible answer,

And as he spoke,

Peter flung off his cloak.

Then they all knew who it was 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 all 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,

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 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 hut,

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.

I,

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 pouring the air.

But Peter doubled under it,

And lunging fiercely,

Pierced him in the ribs.

At 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.

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 am youth,

I am joy,

Peter answered at a venture.

I am 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.

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 around 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 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 as he staggered about the deck,

Striking up at them impotently,

His mind was no longer with them.

It was slouching in the playing field 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.

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 paposes.

A melancholy comedown 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 all 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 all to bed in the pirates' bunks pretty quickly,

You may be sure.

All but Peter,

Who strutted up and down on 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 tight.

Reviews

Such an exciting part! 👍💪👏
Yay for the children!