THE HOME UNDER THE GROUND
_We see simultaneously the home under the ground with the children
in it and the wood above ground with the redskins on it. Below, the
children are gobbling their evening meal; above, the redskins are
squatting in their blankets near the little house guarding the children
from the pirates. The only way of communicating between these two
parties is by means of the hollow trees._
_The home has an earthen floor, which is handy for digging in if you
want to go fishing; and owing to there being so many entrances there is
not much wall space. The table at which the lost ones are sitting is a
board on top of a live tree trunk, which has been cut flat but has such
growing pains that the board rises as they eat, and they have sometimes
to pause in their meals to cut a bit more off the trunk. Their seats
are pumpkins or the large gay mushrooms of which we have seen an
imitation one concealing the chimney. There is an enormous fireplace
which is in almost any part of the room where you care to light it, and
across this Wendy has stretched strings, made of fibre, from which she
hangs her washing. There are also various tomfool things in the room of
no use whatever._
_Michael’s basket bed is nailed high up on the wall as if to protect
him from the cat, but there is no indication at present of where
the others sleep. At the back between two of the tree trunks is a
grindstone, and near it is a lovely hole, the size of a band-box, with
a gay curtain drawn across so that you cannot see what is inside. This
is Tink’s withdrawing-room and bed-chamber, and it is just as well that
you cannot see inside, for it is so exquisite in its decoration and
in the personal apparel spread out on the bed that you could scarcely
resist making off with something. Tink is within at present, as one
can guess from a glow showing through the chinks. It is her own glow,
for though she has a chandelier for the look of the thing, of course
she lights her residence herself. She is probably wasting valuable
time just now wondering whether to put on the smoky blue or the
apple-blossom._
_All the boys except Peter are here, and Wendy has the head of the
table, smiling complacently at their captivating ways, but doing
her best at the same time to see that they keep the rules about
hands-off-the-table, no-two-to-speak-at-once, and so on. She is
wearing romantic woodland garments, sewn by herself, with red berries
in her hair which go charmingly with her complexion, as she knows;
indeed she searched for red berries the morning after she reached the
island. The boys are in picturesque attire of her contrivance, and if
these don’t always fit well the fault is not hers but the wearers’, for
they constantly put on each other’s things when they put on anything
at all. Michael is in his cradle on the wall. First Twin is apart on a
high stool and wears a dunce’s cap, another invention of Wendy’s, but
not wholly successful because everybody wants to be dunce._
_It is a pretend meal this evening, with nothing whatever on the table,
not a mug, nor a crust, nor a spoon. They often have these suppers and
like them on occasions as well as the other kind, which consist chiefly
of bread-fruit, tappa rolls, yams, mammee apples and banana splash,
washed down with calabashes of poe-poe. The pretend meals are not
Wendy’s idea; indeed she was rather startled to find, on arriving, that
Peter knew of no other kind, and she is not absolutely certain even now
that he does eat the other kind, though no one appears to do it more
heartily. He insists that the pretend meals should be partaken of with
gusto, and we see his band doing their best to obey orders._
WENDY (_her fingers to her ears, for their chatter and clatter are
deafening_). Si-lence! Is your mug empty, Slightly?
SLIGHTLY (_who would not say this if he had a mug_). Not quite empty,
thank you.
NIBS. Mummy, he has not even begun to drink his poe-poe.
SLIGHTLY (_seizing his chance, for this is tale-bearing_). I complain
of Nibs!
(JOHN _holds up his hand_.)
WENDY. Well, John?
JOHN. May I sit in Peter’s chair as he is not here?
WENDY. In your father’s chair? Certainly not.
JOHN. He is not really our father. He did not even know how to be a
father till I showed him.
(_This is insubordination._)
SECOND TWIN. I complain of John!
(_The gentle_ TOOTLES _raises his hand_.)
TOOTLES (_who has the poorest opinion of himself_). I don’t suppose
Michael would let me be baby?
MICHAEL. No, I won’t.
TOOTLES. May I be dunce?
FIRST TWIN (_from his perch_). No. It’s awfully difficult to be dunce.
TOOTLES. As I can’t be anything important would any of you like to see
me do a trick?
OMNES. No.
TOOTLES (_subsiding_). I hadn’t really any hope.
(_The tale-telling breaks out again._)
NIBS. Slightly is coughing on the table.
CURLY. The twins began with tappa rolls.
SLIGHTLY. I complain of Nibs!
NIBS. I complain of Slightly!
WENDY. Oh dear, I am sure I sometimes think that spinsters are to be
envied.
MICHAEL. Wendy, I am too big for a cradle.
WENDY. You are the littlest, and a cradle is such a nice homely thing
to have about a house. You others can clear away now. (_She sits down
on a pumpkin near the fire to her usual evening occupation, darning._)
Every heel with a hole in it!
(_The boys clear away with dispatch, washing dishes they don’t have
in a non-existent sink and stowing them in a cupboard that isn’t
there. Instead of sawing the table-leg to-night they crush it into
the ground like a concertina, and are now ready for play, in which
they indulge hilariously._
_A movement of the Indians draws our attention to the scene above.
Hitherto, with the exception of_ PANTHER, _who sits on guard on top
of the little house, they have been hunkering in their blankets,
mute but picturesque; now all rise and prostrate themselves before
the majestic figure of_ PETER, _who approaches through the forest
carrying a gun and game bag. It is not exactly a gun. He often
wanders away alone with this weapon, and when he comes back you are
never absolutely certain whether he has had an adventure or not. He
may have forgotten it so completely that he says nothing about it;
and then when you go out you find the body. On the other hand he may
say a great deal about it, and yet you never find the body. Sometimes
he comes home with his face scratched, and tells_ WENDY, _as a thing
of no importance, that he got these marks from the little people for
cheeking them at a fairy wedding, and she listens politely, but she
is never quite sure, you know; indeed the only one who is sure about
anything on the island is_ PETER.)
PETER. The Great White Father is glad to see the Piccaninny braves
protecting his wigwam from the pirates.
TIGER LILY. The Great White Father save me from pirates. Me his velly
nice friend now; no let pirates hurt him.
BRAVES. Ugh, ugh, wah!
TIGER LILY. Tiger Lily has spoken.
PANTHER. Loola, loola! Great Big Little Panther has spoken.
PETER. It is well. The Great White Father has spoken.
(_This has a note of finality about it, with the implied ‘And now
shut up,’ which is never far from the courteous receptions of
well-meaning inferiors by born leaders of men. He descends his tree,
not unheard by_ WENDY.)
WENDY. Children, I hear your father’s step. He likes you to meet him at
the door. (PETER _scatters pretend nuts among them and watches sharply
to see that they crunch with relish_.) Peter, you just spoil them, you
know!
JOHN (_who would be incredulous if he dare_). Any sport, Peter?
PETER. Two tigers and a pirate.
JOHN (_boldly_). Where are their heads?
PETER (_contracting his little brows_). In the bag.
JOHN. (_No, he doesn’t say it. He backs away._)
WENDY (_peeping into the bag_). They are beauties! (_She has learned
her lesson._)
FIRST TWIN. Mummy, we all want to dance.
WENDY. The mother of such an armful dance!
SLIGHTLY. As it is Saturday night?
(_They have long lost count of the days, but always if they want to
do anything special they say this is Saturday night, and then they do
it._)
WENDY. Of course it is Saturday night, Peter? (_He shrugs an
indifferent assent._) On with your nighties first.
(_They disappear into various recesses, and_ PETER _and_ WENDY _with
her darning are left by the fire to dodder parentally. She emphasises
it by humming a verse of ‘John Anderson my Jo,’ which has not the
desired effect on_ PETER. _She is too loving to be ignorant that he
is not loving enough, and she hesitates like one who knows the answer
to her question._)
What is wrong, Peter?
PETER (_scared_). It is only pretend, isn’t it, that I am their father?
WENDY (_drooping_). Oh yes.
(_His sigh of relief is without consideration for her feelings._)
But they are ours, Peter, yours and mine.
PETER (_determined to get at facts, the only things that puzzle him_).
But not really?
WENDY. Not if you don’t wish it.
PETER. I don’t.
WENDY (_knowing she ought not to probe but driven to it by something
within_). What are your exact feelings for me, Peter?
PETER (_in the class-room_). Those of a devoted son, Wendy.
WENDY (_turning away_). I thought so.
PETER. You are so puzzling. Tiger Lily is just the same; there is
something or other she wants to be to me, but she says it is not my
mother.
WENDY (_with spirit_). No, indeed it isn’t.
PETER. Then what is it?
WENDY. It isn’t for a lady to tell.
(_The curtain of the fairy chamber opens slightly, and_ TINK, _who
has doubtless been eavesdropping, tinkles a laugh of scorn_.)
PETER (_badgered_). I suppose she means that she wants to be my mother.
(TINK’S _comment is ‘You silly ass.’_)
WENDY (_who has picked up some of the fairy words_). I almost agree
with her!
(_The arrival of the boys in their nightgowns turns_ WENDY’S _mind to
practical matters, for the children have to be arranged in line and
passed or not passed for cleanliness._ SLIGHTLY _is the worst. At
last we see how they sleep, for in a babel the great bed which stands
on end by day against the wall is unloosed from custody and lowered
to the floor. Though large, it is a tight fit for so many boys, and_
WENDY _has made a rule that there is to be no turning round until one
gives the signal, when all turn at once_.
FIRST TWIN _is the best dancer and performs mightily on the bed and
in it and out of it and over it to an accompaniment of pillow fights
by the less agile; and then there is a rush at_ WENDY.)
NIBS. Now the story you promised to tell us as soon as we were in bed!
WENDY (_severely_). As far as I can see you are not in bed yet.
(_They scramble into the bed, and the effect is as of a boxful of
sardines._)
WENDY (_drawing up her stool_). Well, there was once a gentleman----
CURLY. I wish he had been a lady.
NIBS. I wish he had been a white rat.
WENDY. Quiet! There was a lady also. The gentleman’s name was Mr.
Darling and the lady’s name was Mrs. Darling----
JOHN. I knew them!
MICHAEL (_who has been allowed to join the circle_). I think I knew
them.
WENDY. They were married, you know; and what do you think they had?
NIBS. White rats?
WENDY. No, they had three descendants. White rats are descendants also.
Almost everything is a descendant. Now these three children had a
faithful nurse called Nana.
MICHAEL (_alas_). What a funny name!
WENDY. But Mr. Darling--(_faltering_) or was it Mrs. Darling?--was
angry with her and chained her up in the yard; so all the children flew
away. They flew away to the Never Land, where the lost boys are.
CURLY. I just thought they did; I don’t know how it is, but I just
thought they did.
TOOTLES. Oh, Wendy, was one of the lost boys called Tootles?
WENDY. Yes, he was.
TOOTLES (_dazzled_). Am I in a story? Nibs, I am in a story!
PETER (_who is by the fire making Pan’s pipes with his knife, and is
determined that_ WENDY _shall have fair play, however beastly a story
he may think it_). A little less noise there.
WENDY (_melting over the beauty of her present performance, but without
any real qualms_). Now I want you to consider the feelings of the
unhappy parents with all their children flown away. Think, oh think, of
the empty beds. (_The heartless ones think of them with glee._)
FIRST TWIN (_cheerfully_). It’s awfully sad.
WENDY. But our heroine knew that her mother would always leave the
window open for her progeny to fly back by; so they stayed away for
years and had a lovely time.
(PETER _is interested at last_.)
FIRST TWIN. Did they ever go back?
WENDY (_comfortably_). Let us now take a peep into the future. Years
have rolled by, and who is this elegant lady of uncertain age alighting
at London station?
(_The tension is unbearable._)
NIBS. Oh, Wendy, who is she?
WENDY (_swelling_). Can it be--yes--no--yes, it is the fair Wendy!
TOOTLES. I am glad.
WENDY. Who are the two noble portly figures accompanying her? Can
they be John and Michael? They are. (_Pride of_ MICHAEL.) ‘See, dear
brothers,’ says Wendy, pointing upward, ‘there is the window standing
open.’ So up they flew to their loving parents, and pen cannot inscribe
the happy scene over which we draw a veil. (_Her triumph is spoilt
by a groan from_ PETER _and she hurries to him_.) Peter, what is it?
(_Thinking he is ill, and looking lower than his chest._) Where is it?
PETER. It isn’t that kind of pain. Wendy, you are wrong about mothers.
I thought like you about the window, so I stayed away for moons and
moons, and then I flew back, but the window was barred, for my mother
had forgotten all about me and there was another little boy sleeping in
my bed.
(_This is a general damper._)
JOHN. Wendy, let us go back!
WENDY. Are you sure mothers are like that?
PETER. Yes.
WENDY. John, Michael! (_She clasps them to her._)
FIRST TWIN (_alarmed_). You are not to leave us, Wendy?
WENDY. I must.
NIBS. Not to-night?
WENDY. At once. Perhaps mother is in half-mourning by this time! Peter,
will you make the necessary arrangements?
(_She asks it in the steely tones women adopt when they are prepared
secretly for opposition._)
PETER (_coolly_). If you wish it.
(_He ascends his tree to give the redskins their instructions. The
lost boys gather threateningly round_ WENDY.)
CURLY. We won’t let you go!
WENDY (_with one of those inspirations women have, in an emergency, to
make use of some male who need otherwise have no hope_). Tootles, I
appeal to you.
TOOTLES (_leaping to his death if necessary_). I am just Tootles and
nobody minds me, but the first who does not behave to Wendy I will
blood him severely. (PETER _returns_.)
PETER (_with awful serenity_). Wendy, I told the braves to guide you
through the wood as flying tires you so. Then Tinker Bell will take you
across the sea. (_A shrill tinkle from the boudoir probably means ‘and
drop her into it.’_)
NIBS (_fingering the curtain which he is not allowed to open_). Tink,
you are to get up and take Wendy on a journey. (_Star-eyed_) She says
she won’t!
PETER (_taking a step toward that chamber_). If you don’t get up, Tink,
and dress at once---- She is getting up!
WENDY (_quivering now that the time to depart has come_). Dear ones, if
you will all come with me I feel almost sure I can get my father and
mother to adopt you.
(_There is joy at this, not that they want parents, but novelty is
their religion._)
NIBS. But won’t they think us rather a handful?
WENDY (_a swift reckoner_). Oh no, it will only mean having a few
beds in the drawing-room; they can be hidden behind screens on first
Thursdays.
(_Everything depends on_ PETER.)
OMNES. Peter, may we go?
PETER (_carelessly through the pipes to which he is giving a finishing
touch_). All right.
(_They scurry off to dress for the adventure_.)
WENDY (_insinuatingly_). Get your clothes, Peter.
PETER (_skipping about and playing fairy music on his pipes, the only
music he knows_). I am not going with you, Wendy.
WENDY. Yes, Peter!
PETER. No.
(_The lost ones run back gaily, each carrying a stick with a bundle
on the end of it._)
WENDY. Peter isn’t coming!
(_All the faces go blank._)
JOHN (_even_ JOHN). Peter not coming!
TOOTLES (_overthrown_). Why, Peter?
PETER (_his pipes more riotous than ever_). I just want always to be a
little boy and to have fun.
(_There is a general fear that they are perhaps making the mistake of
their lives._)
Now then, no fuss, no blubbering. (_With dreadful cynicism_) I hope you
will like your mothers! Are you ready, Tink? Then lead the way.
(TINK _darts up any tree, but she is the only one. The air above is
suddenly rent with shrieks and the clash of steel. Though they cannot
see, the boys know that_ HOOK _and his crew are upon the Indians.
Mouths open and remain open, all in mute appeal to_ PETER. _He is
the only boy on his feet now, a sword in his hand, the same he slew
Barbicue with; and in his eye is the lust of battle._
_We can watch the carnage that is invisible to the children._ HOOK
_has basely broken the two laws of Indian warfare, which are that
the redskins should attack first, and that it should be at dawn.
They have known the pirate whereabouts since, early in the night,
one of_ SMEE’S _fingers crackled. The brushwood has closed behind
their scouts as silently as the sand on the mole; for hours they
have imitated the lonely call of the coyote; no stratagem has been
overlooked, but, alas, they have trusted to the pale-faces’ honour
to await an attack at dawn, when his courage is known to be at
the lowest ebb._ HOOK _falls upon them pell-mell, and one cannot
withhold a reluctant admiration for the wit that conceived so subtle
a scheme and the fell genius with which it is carried out. If the
braves would rise quickly they might still have time to scalp, but
this they are forbidden to do by the traditions of their race, for
it is written that they must never express surprise in the presence
of the pale-face. For a brief space they remain recumbent, not a
muscle moving, as if the foe were here by invitation. Thus perish
the flower of the Piccaninnies, though not unavenged, for with_ LEAN
WOLF _fall_ ALF MASON _and_ CANARY ROBB, _while other pirates to bite
dust are_ BLACK GILMOUR _and_ ALAN HERB, _that same_ HERB _who is
still remembered at Manaos for playing skittles with the mate of the_
Switch _for each other’s heads_. CHAY TURLEY, _who laughed with the
wrong side of his mouth (having no other), is tomahawked by_ PANTHER,
_who eventually cuts a way through the shambles with_ TIGER LILY _and
a remnant of the tribe_.
_This onslaught passes and is gone like a fierce wind. The victors
wipe their cutlasses, and squint, ferret-eyed, at their leader. He
remains, as ever, aloof in spirit and in substance. He signs to them
to descend the trees, for he is convinced that_ PAN _is down there,
and though he has smoked the bees it is the honey he wants. There is
something in_ PETER _that at all times goads this extra-ordinary man
to frenzy; it is the boy’s cockiness, which disturbs_ HOOK _like an
insect. If you have seen a lion in a cage futilely pursuing a sparrow
you will know what is meant. The pirates try to do their captain’s
bidding, but the apertures prove to be not wide enough for them; he
cannot even ram them down with a pole. He steals to the mouth of a
tree and listens._)
PETER (_prematurely_). All is over!
WENDY. But who has won?
PETER. Hst! If the Indians have won they will beat the tom-tom; it is
always their signal of victory.
(HOOK _licks his lips at this and signs to_ SMEE, _who is sitting
on it, to hold up the tom-tom. He beats upon it with his claw, and
listens for results._)
TOOTLES. The tom-tom!
PETER (_sheathing his sword_). An Indian victory!
(_The cheers from below are music to the black hearts above._)
You are quite safe now, Wendy. Boys, good-bye. (_He resumes his pipes._)
WENDY. Peter, you will remember about changing your flannels, won’t you?
PETER. Oh, all right!
WENDY. And this is your medicine.
(_She puts something into a shell and leaves it on a ledge between
two of the trees. It is only water, but she measures it out in
drops._)
PETER. I won’t forget.
WENDY. Peter, what are you to me?
PETER (_through the pipes_). Your son, Wendy.
WENDY. Oh, good-bye!
(_The travellers start upon their journey, little witting that_ HOOK
_has issued his silent orders: a man to the mouth of each tree, and
a row of men between the trees and the little house. As the children
squeeze up they are plucked from their trees, trussed, thrown like
bales of cotton from one pirate to another, and so piled up in the
little house. The only one treated differently is_ WENDY, _whom_ HOOK
_escorts to the house on his arm with hateful politeness. He signs to
his dogs to be gone, and they depart through the wood, carrying the
little house with its strange merchandise and singing their ribald
song. The chimney of the little house emits a jet of smoke fitfully,
as if not sure what it ought to do just now._
HOOK _and_ PETER _are now, as it were, alone on the island. Below_,
PETER _is on the bed, asleep, no weapon near him; above_, HOOK,
_armed to the teeth, is searching noiselessly for some tree down
which the nastiness of him can descend. Don’t be too much alarmed
by this; it is precisely the situation_ _PETER_ _would have chosen;
indeed if the whole thing were pretend--. One of his arms droops over
the edge of the bed, a leg is arched, and the mouth is not so tightly
closed that we cannot see the little pearls. He is dreaming, and in
his dreams he is always in pursuit of a boy who was never here, nor
anywhere: the only boy who could beat him._
HOOK _finds the tree. It is the one set apart for_ SLIGHTLY, _who
being addicted when hot to the drinking of water has swelled in
consequence and surreptitiously scooped his tree for easier descent
and egress. Down this the pirate wriggles a passage. In the aperture
below his face emerges and goes green as he glares at the sleeping
child. Does no feeling of compassion disturb his sombre breast? The
man is not wholly evil: he has a_ Thesaurus _in his cabin, and is no
mean performer on the flute. What really warps him is a presentiment
that he is about to fail. This is not unconnected with a beatific
smile on the face of the sleeper, whom he cannot reach owing to
being stuck at the foot of the tree. He, however, sees the medicine
shell within easy reach, and to_ WENDY’S _draught he adds from a
bottle five drops of poison distilled when he was weeping from the
red in his eye. The expression on_ PETER’S _face merely implies that
something heavenly is going on_. HOOK _worms his way upwards, and
winding his cloak around him, as if to conceal his person from the
night of which he is the blackest part, he stalks moodily toward the
lagoon._
_A dot of light flashes past him and darts down the nearest tree,
looking for_ PETER, _only for_ PETER, _quite indifferent about the
others when she finds him safe_.)
PETER (_stirring_). Who is that? (TINK _has to tell her tale, in one
long ungrammatical sentence_.) The redskins were defeated? Wendy and
the boys captured by the pirates! I’ll rescue her, I’ll rescue her!
(_He leaps first at his dagger, and then at his grindstone, to sharpen
it._ TINK _alights near the shell, and rings out a warning cry_.) Oh,
that is just my medicine. Poisoned? Who could have poisoned it? I
promised Wendy to take it, and I will as soon as I have sharpened my
dagger. (TINK, _who sees its red colour and remembers the red in the
pirate’s eye, nobly swallows the draught as_ PETER’S _hand is reaching
for it_.) Why, Tink, you have drunk my medicine! (_She flutters
strangely about the room, answering him now in a very thin tinkle._)
It was poisoned and you drank it to save my life! Tink, dear Tink, are
you dying? (_He has never called her dear Tink before, and for a moment
she is gay; she alights on his shoulder, gives his chin a loving bite,
whispers ‘You silly ass,’ and falls on her tiny bed. The boudoir, which
is lit by her, flickers ominously. He is on his knees by the opening._)
Her light is growing faint, and if it goes out, that means she is
dead! Her voice is so low I can scarcely tell what she is saying.
She says--she says she thinks she could get well again if children
believed in fairies! (_He rises and throws out his arms he knows not
to whom, perhaps to the boys and girls of whom he is not one._) Do you
believe in fairies? Say quick that you believe! If you believe, clap
your hands! (_Many clap, some don’t, a few hiss. Then perhaps there is
a rush of Nanas to the nurseries to see what on earth is happening.
But_ TINK _is saved_.) Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you! And now to
rescue Wendy!
(TINK _is already as merry and impudent as a grig, with not a thought
for those who have saved her_. PETER _ascends his tree as if he were
shot up it. What he is feeling is_ ‘_Hook or me this time!_’ _He
is frightfully happy. He soon hits the trail, for the smoke from
the little house has lingered here and there to guide him. He takes
wing._)