Two small figures were beating against the rock;the girl had fainted and lay on the boy’s arm.With a last effort Peter pulled her up the rock and then lay down beside her.Even as he also fainted he saw that the water was rising.He knew that they would soon be drowned,but he could do no more.
As they lay side by side a mermaid caught Wendy by the feet,and began pulling her softly into the water. Peter,feeling her slip from him, woke with a start,and was just in time to draw her back.But he had to tell her the truth.
“We are on the rock, Wendy,” he said,“but it is growing smaller.Soon the water will be over it.”
She did not understand even now.
“We must go,” she said, almost brightly.
“Yes,” he answered faintly.
“Shall we swim or fly, Peter?”
He had to tell her.
“Do you think you could swim or fly as far as the island,Wendy, without my help?”
She had to admit that she was too tired.
He moaned.
“What is it?” she asked, anxious about him at once.
“I can’t help you, Wendy. Hook wounded me.I can neither fly nor swim.”
“Do you mean we shall both be drowned?”
“Look how the water is rising.”
They put their hands over their eyes to shut out the sight.They thought they would soon be no more.As they sat thus something brushed against Peter as light as a kiss,and stayed there, as if saying timidly,“Can I be of any use?”
It was the tail of a kite,which Michael had made some days before.It had torn itself out of his hand and floated away.
“Michael’s kite,” Peter said without interest,but next moment he had seized the tail,and was pulling the kite toward him.
“It lifted Michael off the ground,” he cried;“why should it not carry you?”
“Both of us!”
“It can’t lift two; Michael and Curly tried.”
“Let us draw lots,” Wendy said bravely.
“And you a lady; never.” Already he had tied the tail round her.She clung to him; she refused to go without him;but with a “Good-bye, Wendy,” he pushed her from the rock;and in a few minutes she was borne out of his sight.Peter was alone on the lagoon.
The rock was very small now; soon it would be submerged.Pale rays of light tiptoed across the waters;and by and by there was to be heard a sound at once the most musical and the most melancholy in the world: the mermaids calling to the moon.
Peter was not quite like other boys;but he was afraid at last. A tremour ran through him,like a shudder passing over the sea;but on the sea one shudder follows another till there are hundreds of them,and Peter felt just the one.Next moment he was standing erect on the rock again,with that smile on his face and a drum beating within him.It was saying, “To die will be an awfully big adventure. ”
Chapter IX. THE NEVER BIRD
The last sound Peter heard before he was quite alone were the mermaids retiring one by one to their bedchambers under the sea. He was too far away to hear their doors shut; but every door in the coral caves where they live rings a tiny bell when it opens or closes (as in all the nicest houses on the mainland), and he heard the bells.
Steadily the waters rose till they were nibbling at his feet;and to pass the time until they made their final gulp,he watched the only thing on the lagoon.He thought it was a piece of floating paper,perhaps part of the kite,and wondered idly how long it would take to drift ashore.
Presently he noticed as an odd thing that it was undoubtedly out upon the lagoon with some definite purpose, for it was fighting the tide, and sometimes winning; and when it won, Peter, always sympathetic to the weaker side, could not help clapping; it was such a gallant piece of paper.
It was not really a piece of paper;it was the Never bird,making desperate efforts to reach Peter on the nest.By working her wings,in a way she had learned since the nest fell into the water,she was able to some extent to guide her strange craft,but by the time Peter recognised her she was very exhausted.She had come to save him, to give him her nest,though there were eggs in it.I rather wonder at the bird,for though he had been nice to her,he had also sometimes tormented her.I can suppose only that, like Mrs.Darling and the rest of them,she was melted because he had all his first teeth.
She called out to him what she had come for,and he called out to her what she was doing there;but of course neither of them understood the other’s language.In fanciful stories people can talk to the birds freely,and I wish for the moment I could pretend that this were such a story,and say that Peter replied intelligently to the Never bird;but truth is best, and I want to tell you only what really happened.Well, not only could they not understand each other,but they forgot their manners.
“I—want—you—to—get—into—the—nest,” the bird called,speaking as slowly and distinctly as possible,“and—then—you—can—drift—ashore,but—I—am—too—tired—to—bring—it—any—nearer—so—you—must—try to—swim—to—it. ”
“What are you quacking about?” Peter answered. “Why don’t you let the nest drift as usual?”
“I—want—you—” the bird said, and repeated it all over.
Then Peter tried slow and distinct.
“What—are—you—quacking—about?” and so on.
The Never bird became irritated;they have very short tempers.
“You dunderheaded little jay!” she screamed, “Why don’t you do as I tell you?”
Peter felt that she was calling him names,and at a venture he retorted hotly:
“So are you!”
Then rather curiously they both snapped out the same remark:
“Shut up!”
“Shut up!”
Nevertheless the bird was determined to save him if she could,and by one last mighty effort she propelled the nest against the rock.Then up she flew; deserting her eggs,so as to make her meaning clear.
Then at last he understood,and clutched the nest and waved his thanks to the bird as she fluttered overhead. It was not to receive his thanks, however, that she hung there in the sky; it was not even to watch him get into the nest; it was to see what he did with her eggs.
There were two large white eggs,and Peter lifted them up and reflected.The bird covered her face with her wings,so as not to see the last of them;but she could not help peeping between the feathers.
I forget whether I have told you that there was a stave on the rock,driven into it by some buccaneers of long ago to mark the site of buried treasure. The children had discovered the glittering hoard, and when in a mischievous mood used to fling showers of moidores, diamonds, pearls and pieces of eight to the gulls, who pounced upon them for food, and then flew away, raging at the scurvy trick that had been played upon them. The stave was still there, and on it Starkey had hung his hat, a deep tarpaulin, watertight, with a broad brim. Peter put the eggs into this hat and set it on the lagoon. It floated beautifully.
The Never bird saw at once what he was up to,and screamed her admiration of him; and, alas,Peter crowed his agreement with her.Then he got into the nest,reared the stave in it as a mast,and hung up his shirt for a sail.At the same moment the bird fluttered down upon the hat and once more sat snugly on her eggs. She drifted in one direction, and he was borne off in another, both cheering.
Of course when Peter landed he beached his barque in a place where the bird would easily find it; but the hat was such a great success that she abandoned the nest. It drifted about till it went to pieces, and often Starkey came to the shore of the lagoon, and with many bitter feelings watched the bird sitting on his hat. As we shall not see her again, it may be worth mentioning here that all Never birds now build in that shape of nest, with a broad brim on which the youngsters take an airing.