by J. M. Barrie
Hook smiled on them with his teeth closed, and took a step toward Wendy. His intention was to turn her face so that she should see the boys walking the plank one by one. But he never reached her, he never heard the cry of anguish he hoped to wring 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 whence 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 round 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 the 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.
1. Kidd’s Creek. William Kidd (1645–1701) was hanged at Execution Dock on May 23, 1701. One of the most famous of pirates, he was reputed to have amassed a fortune. He is immortalized in works by Edgar Allan Poe and Robert Louis Stevenson, and the pirates have named the creek at which their boat is docked after him.
2. a rakish-looking craft. The descriptions of the Jolly Roger and the everyday life of the pirates reads like a parody of parts of Treasure Island. In Peter Pan, the chief pirate is missing a hand rather than a leg, like Long John Silver.
3. This inscrutable man. Odd as it may seem, Captain Hook’s attributes may have been inspired by Herman Melville’s description of Captain Ahab. David Park Williams points out that both authors use the terms “dark,” “inscrutable,” and “sinister” for the two captains, who also share a “slouch (hat)” and a black brow with eyes of fire. We know that Barrie admired Melville’s early work (he refers to Typee and Omoo), and it is unlikely that he would have missed reading Moby-Dick. See Williams 483–88.
4. Hook was not his true name. In 1927, Barrie gave a speech entitled “Captain Hook at Eton,” in which he proved that “Hook was a good Etonian, though not a great one.” He claimed that Hook had attended the most prestigious of England’s schools under the name “Jacobus Hook.” Barrie revealed much else in the well-received speech, including the fact that Hook had borrowed books of poetry (“mainly the Lake School”) from Balliol College at Oxford. In his novel Sentimental Tommy, Barrie had introduced a Captain Stroke, who forced his enemies to walk the plank. In the scenario for the screen version of Peter Pan, Barrie describes Hook’s cabin as being furnished like a boy’s room at Eton: “It has a wicker chair and a desk with a row of books as in an Eton room. On the walls besides weapons are the colours he won at school, the ribbons, etc., arranged in the eccentric Etonian way, and the old school lists, caps, and also two pictures, which when shown in close-ups are seen to be (1) Eton College, (2) a photograph of an Eton football eleven; the central figure is Hook, as he was when a boy, but distinguishable, with a football in his hands and the prize cup between his knees.”
5. he had been at a famous public school. Right up to opening night, Barrie had envisioned Hook ending as a schoolmaster, and he was to be “dressed as a schoolmaster and carrying birch.” Hook described his role in a soliloquy: “I’m a schoolmaster—to revenge myself on boys. I hook them so, and then lay on like this.” He denounces Wendy for breaking the law by failing to send Peter to school and proposes catching the boys “and then I’ll whack them, whack them” (Green 39). School can, of course, be the chief enemy of childhood, demanding earnestness and application in ways that play does not.
6. passion for good form. Hook will remain devoted, right to the end, to the idea of adhering to the codes, conventions, and values of schools for upper-class boys.
7. “Barbecue, Flint—what house?” Imagining Robert Louis Stevenson’s pirates at Eton is even more hilarious than the idea of Hook at that educational institution.
8. presentiment of his early dissolution. Here we have a particularly striking example of Barrie’s mock melodramatic style, which makes no concessions to child readers.
9. “No little children love me.” Pauline Chase, the American actress who played Peter Pan from 1906 to 1913 in New York, recounted children’s reactions to this line: “Stern voices in front have been heard calling out in reply, ‘Serves you right!’ but all are not so hard-hearted. I remember two mites being brought round, behind the scenes because they had something they wanted to say to Captain Hook, but awe fell upon them when he shook their hands (with his hook), and they could only stare at him, and say not a word. When he had gone, however, they looked very woeful, and kept repeating ‘We wanted to tell him, we wanted to tell him,’ and they explained to me that what they wanted to tell him was that they loved him” (Hammerton 379–80).
10. eligible for Pop. Pop is the name of an elite debating society and social club at Eton. The name has been given many fanciful derivations, but it most likely comes from the Latin word for tavern. In Enemies of Promise, the renowned critic Cyril Connolly described Pop as “an oligarchy of two dozen boys. . . . Pop were the rulers of Eton, fawned on by the masters and the helpless sixth form” (Connolly 178).
11. they broke into a bacchanalian dance. The bacchanalia were associated with the cult of Bacchus, Roman god of wine and intoxication. Originally held in secret and attended by women, they expanded to include men. In Barrie’s day, the term was extended to drunken festivities in general. The Greek god Pan is also associated with music and dance, but in a less licentious mode.
12. “Quiet, you scugs.” “Scug” (now obsolete) was used to designate Eton boys who, because they had received no colors in any sport, were viewed as losers.
13. “walk the plank.” Walking the plank was a practice associated with pirates and other rogue seafarers, who made their victims—hands bound or weighed down—walk to the end of a wooden plank extended over the side of the ship. The term was first documented in 1785, and evidence of the practice can be found in many nineteenth-century accounts. It is more than likely that most pirates and mutineers preferred less elaborate means of disposing of their captives, though walking the plank erased agency and might have eased the conscience of some, since the victim was not actually pushed, fired upon, or stabbed.
14. maths. Mathematics is shortened to “math” in English-speaking North America, but it is abbreviated as “maths” elsewhere.
15. “Red-handed Jack.” A pirate with that name appears in a U.S. magazine story called “Red Handed Jack: The Terror of the Gulch” (Barnes 208). Although there is no publication date for the story, a report about it and its ill effects on youth was published in 1890 by Raymond P. Barnes in A History of Roanoke (Radford, VA: Commonwealth Press, 1968), 208.
16. “Rule Britannia!” The origins of this popular British song can be traced to a masque called Alfred, first performed in 1740 to commemorate George I’s accession to the throne. A line in the third stanza provides a link with Neverland: “Britons never, never, never shall be slaves.” Britannia was us
ed by the Romans to refer to Great Britain (northern regions were known as Caledonia), and the area came to be personified as a goddess. Today, statues of the goddess represent the spirit of British nationalism.
17. buffeted them in the mouth. To “buffet” is to beat or strike with the hand, to cuff or knock about.
18. soiled his ruff. Hook’s ruff is an article of neckwear made of muslin or linen that was worn during the reigns of Elizabeth and James I.
CHAPTER 15
“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 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 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 that he was doing it. 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 gets Hook. (Peter Pan and Wendy by J. M. Barrie, Retold for the Nursery by May Byron. Illustrated by Kathleen Atkins)
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 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 cat1 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.”2
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. “ ’Sdeath3 and odds fish,”4 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 swing5 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, 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 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 gentleman 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.
&nbs
p; “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 to 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,6 her cloak around him so that he should pass for her. Then he took a great breath and crowed.7