The Adventures of Peter Pan HTML version
Chapter 14. 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
[speedy-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 none 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
A few of the pirates leant over the bulwarks, drinking in the miasma [putrid mist] 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. O man unfathomable. It was his hour of triumph. Peter
had been removed for ever from his path, and all the other boys were in the brig, about to
walk the plank. It was his grimmest deed since the days when he had brought Barbecue to
heel; and knowing as we do how vain a tabernacle is man, 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 inferior to him.
Hook was not his true 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 [attacked] her, and he still adhered in
his walk to the school's distinguished slouch. But above all he retained the passion for