Peter Pan - Do You Believe in Fairies?

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Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:02):
Chapter thirteen of Peter Pan. This is a LibriVox recording.
All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more
information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox dot org. This
recording is by Mark Smith of Simpsonville, South Carolina. Peter

(00:22):
Pan by J. M. Barry, Chapter thirteen. Do you believe
in fairies? The more quickly this horror is disposed of,
the better. The first to emerge from his tree was Curly.
He rose out of it into the arms of Seco,

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who flung him to Smee, who flung him to Starkey,
who flung him to Bill Jukes, 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

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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 distngay that she was too fascinated
to cry out she was only a little girl, perhaps

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at his tell tale to divulge that for a moment
Hook entranced her, And we tell on her only because
her slip let the strange results. Had she haughtily unhanded him,
and we should have loved to write it of her,
she would have been hurled through the air like the others.
And then Hook would probably not have been present at

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the tying of the children. And had he not been
at the tying, he would not have discovered slightly 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 trusting of them, the

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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 and going round and leave no tags
with which to tie a knot. The pirates kicked him
in their rage, just as you kicked the parcel, though

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in fairness, you should kick the string, and strange to
say it was Hook who told them to belay 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 master mind had gone far beneath slightly surface,

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probing not for effects, but for 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 kneeds stick poor slightly most wretched

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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 it

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fit him. 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 these
subterranean caverns of his mind. Crossed his lips. He merely
signed that the captives were to be conveyed to the ship,

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and that he would be alone. How to convey them?
Hunched up in their ropes, they might indeed be rolled
downhill like barrels, 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

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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 wood. 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,

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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 infuriating breast.
The first thing he did, on finding himself alone in
the fast falling night, was to tiptoe to slight his

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tree and make sure that it provided him with a passage.
Then for long he remained, brooding his hat of ill
omen on the sward, so that any 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

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nether world, 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 his hand. There was no

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way of knowing, save by going down hook, let his
cloak slip softly to the ground, and then, biting his
lips till a leude blood stood on 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

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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

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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.

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Then he decided not to take his medicine so as
to grieve Wendy. Then he lay down on the bed
outside the coverlet to vex her still more, for she
had always tuck them inside it, because you never know
that you may not grow chilly at the turn of
the night. Then he nearly cried, but it struck him
how indignant she would be if he laughed instead. So

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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 those dreams,
though he wailed piteously in them. They had to do,
I think with the riddle of his existence. At such

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times it had been Wendy's custom to take him out
of bed and sit with him on her lap, soothing
him in dear ways of her own invention, and when
he grew calm olmer, 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

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a dreamless sleep. One arm dropped 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. Thus defenseless hook found him. He
stood silent at the foot of the tree, looking across

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the chamber at his enemy. Did no feeling of compassion
disturb his somber breast. The man was not wholly evil.
He loved flowers, I have been told, and sweet music.
He was himself no mean performer on the harpsichord, and,
let it be frankly admitted, the idyllic nature of the

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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

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were such a personification 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 leaped at

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the sleeper. Though a light from the one lamp shone
dimly on the bed, Hooks stood in darkness himself, and
at the first stealthy step forward he discovered an obstacle,
the door of Slightly's tree. It did not entirely fill
the aperture, and he had been looking over it feeling

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for the catch. He found, to his fury that it
was low down, 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

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eye had caught sight of Peter's medicine, standing on a
ledge within easy reach. He fathomed what it was straight away,
and immediately 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

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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 virilent poison
in existence. Five drops of this he added to Peter's cup.
His hand shook, but it was in exultation rather than

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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

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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,

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stole away through the trees. Peter slept on the light
guttered and went out, leaving the tenement in darkness. But
still he 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.

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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?

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He was thrilled, and he loved being thrilled. In two strides,
he reached the 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,

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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? Oh, you can never guess,
she cried, and offered him three guesses. Out with it,

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he shouted, and in one ungrammatical sentence, as long as
the ribbons the conjurors pulled from their mouths, 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.

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As he leaped, he thought of something he could do
to please her. He could take his medicine. His hand
closed on the fatal draft. No, shrieked tinker Pell, who
had heard Hook mutter about his deed as he sped
through the forest. Why not, it is poisoned, poisoned, could

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have poisoned it? Hook, don't be silly. How could Hook
have got down here? Alas, tinker Bell could not explain this,
for even she did not know the dark secret of
Slightly's tree. Nevertheless, Hook's words had left no room for doubt.
The cup was poisoned. Besides, said Peter, quite believing himself.

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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 tink, how
dare you drink my medicine? But she did not answer.
Already she was reeling in the air. What is the

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matter with you? Cried Peter, suddenly afraid it was poisoned? Peter,
she told him softly, and now I am going to
be dead. Oh Tank, did you drink it to save me? Yes?
But why tink? Her wings would scarcely carry her now.

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But in reply she alighted on his shoulder and gave
his nose 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

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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

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again if children believed in fairies. Peter flung out his arms.
There were no children there, and it was nighttime, but
he addressed all who might be dreaming of the Neverland,
and who were therefore nearer to him than you think,
boys and girls in their nighties, and naked papooses in
their baskets hung from trees. Do you believe? He cried?

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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.

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A few 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 safe. First
her voice grew strong, Then she popped out of bed.
Then she was flashing through the room, more men and
impudent than ever. She never thought of thanking those who believed,

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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, begirt 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

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to fly, keeping not far from the ground, so that
nothing unwonted should escape his eyes. But in that fitful light,
to a flown low would have meant trailing his shadow
through the trees, thus disturbing 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

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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 an adept, But in what direction,
for he could not be sure that the children had
been taken to the ship. A light fall of snow
had obliterated all footmarks, and a deathly silence pervaded the island,

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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 tinker Bell, and knew that in their
dire hour, they were not likely to forget it slightly.
If he had an opportunity, would blaze the trees, for instance,

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Curly would drop seeds, and Wendy would leave her handkerchief
at some important place. The 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,

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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 the space on which the

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moonlight played, one finger on his lip and his dagger
at the ready. He was frightfully happy. End of chapter