Read Online Peter Pan in Scarlet by Geraldine McCaughrean - Free Book Online
Authors: Geraldine McCaughrean
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hunt!’ A treasure hunt, across uncharted waters, round the island and ashore again in unknown territories—along the untrodden paths of Neverland and into the unimagined dangers of Never-been-there-land! All thoughts but these—all plans but this—melted from the minds of Pan’s comrades.
Even the ocean felt the surge of excitement—TREASURE!—for it fairly rushed into the bay. The tide came in much faster than it does on unremarkable days. It refloated the Jolly Roger and spun her round so that her bowsprit pointed out to sea— en garde! Peter’s trusty crew swarmed into the rigging, hoping that, from up there, they would be able to see over the horizon. Sparks from the burning forest swarmed around their heads and brushed the canvas sails. Not a moment too soon, they left the Bay of Dragons behind them and sailed into the night. As they crossed the bar, and a salt spray wetted their faces, even the ship seemed caught up by the splendour of the enterprise, for at midnight the ship’s bell rang eight times.
And no one was anywhere near it.
The Jolly Roger , after so long without a crew, answered eagerly to the smallest turn of the ship’s helm. Peter cut such a dash in his scarlet frock coat (once the sleeves were shortened) that the League of Pan would have walked on water to please him. Here and there along the coast, he took them ashore to forage for breadfruit, and for butternuts and honeycomb to spread on it. He rigged awnings out of sails, where they could shelter when it rained. He gave them ranks—Rear Admiral, Front Admiral, First Sea Lord, Other Sea Lord, Best Mate, Deckmaster, Mastmaster, and Keeper of the Crow’s Nest. He told them: ‘I’ll stick by you for ever and lay down my life for you, if you’ll join my Company of Explorers!’—And they would have sworn on their sword hilts if they had had any proper swords.
Sometimes the ferocity of his orders took them by surprise, but it was worth it to serve in such a happy crew. His cleverness at sailing a ship astonished them. The names of obscure ropes and bits of rigging came to him in an instant. He even knew how to curse like a sailor.
‘That’s quite enough of that, thank you,’ said Wendy.
For hours, he would sit at the chart desk in Hook’s stateroom at the stern of the vessel, and write up the ship’s log using a raven’s feather, dipping it into a china flagon of blood red ink. Since he had never learned to read or write, he filled the pages with pictures instead of words, recording the day’s events.
Then he would return to poring over Hook’s treasure map, wondering what had taken the villain so far from the sea carrying a heavy treasure chest, what booty Hook had taken such pains to stash away? What hardships would face explorers who went in search of it?
He changed the brig’s name, of course—to the Jolly Peter —and refused to sail under the pirate flag. ‘I am no scurvy brigand to fly the skull-and-crossbones!’ he told Wendy. ‘Make me a flag, girl!’
‘What’s the little word that gets things done?’ said Wendy, who was a stickler for good manners.
Peter racked his brains. Having had no mother to teach him manners, he had no idea what the little word might be. ‘Button?’ he suggested. ‘Thimble? Flag?’
Wendy smiled, kissed him lightly on the cheek, and went to make a flag out of her sundress, a dress out of the pirate flag. So it was under the emblem of sunflower-and-two rabbits that the Jolly Peter sailed through the Straits of Zigzag and the Widego Narrows and into the Sea of One Thousand Islands. Flying fish leapt over the ship and diving gulls plunged under it, resurfacing with beaks full of whitebait.
The Thousand Islands came in all shapes and sizes. There were rocks only fit to strand a sailor on; desert islands with one palm tree and some coconut matting; mangrove islands noisy with parrots; archipelagos of red coral and archipelouses strewn with fine, green lawns. There were extinct
Even the ocean felt the surge of excitement—TREASURE!—for it fairly rushed into the bay. The tide came in much faster than it does on unremarkable days. It refloated the Jolly Roger and spun her round so that her bowsprit pointed out to sea— en garde! Peter’s trusty crew swarmed into the rigging, hoping that, from up there, they would be able to see over the horizon. Sparks from the burning forest swarmed around their heads and brushed the canvas sails. Not a moment too soon, they left the Bay of Dragons behind them and sailed into the night. As they crossed the bar, and a salt spray wetted their faces, even the ship seemed caught up by the splendour of the enterprise, for at midnight the ship’s bell rang eight times.
And no one was anywhere near it.
The Jolly Roger , after so long without a crew, answered eagerly to the smallest turn of the ship’s helm. Peter cut such a dash in his scarlet frock coat (once the sleeves were shortened) that the League of Pan would have walked on water to please him. Here and there along the coast, he took them ashore to forage for breadfruit, and for butternuts and honeycomb to spread on it. He rigged awnings out of sails, where they could shelter when it rained. He gave them ranks—Rear Admiral, Front Admiral, First Sea Lord, Other Sea Lord, Best Mate, Deckmaster, Mastmaster, and Keeper of the Crow’s Nest. He told them: ‘I’ll stick by you for ever and lay down my life for you, if you’ll join my Company of Explorers!’—And they would have sworn on their sword hilts if they had had any proper swords.
Sometimes the ferocity of his orders took them by surprise, but it was worth it to serve in such a happy crew. His cleverness at sailing a ship astonished them. The names of obscure ropes and bits of rigging came to him in an instant. He even knew how to curse like a sailor.
‘That’s quite enough of that, thank you,’ said Wendy.
For hours, he would sit at the chart desk in Hook’s stateroom at the stern of the vessel, and write up the ship’s log using a raven’s feather, dipping it into a china flagon of blood red ink. Since he had never learned to read or write, he filled the pages with pictures instead of words, recording the day’s events.
Then he would return to poring over Hook’s treasure map, wondering what had taken the villain so far from the sea carrying a heavy treasure chest, what booty Hook had taken such pains to stash away? What hardships would face explorers who went in search of it?
He changed the brig’s name, of course—to the Jolly Peter —and refused to sail under the pirate flag. ‘I am no scurvy brigand to fly the skull-and-crossbones!’ he told Wendy. ‘Make me a flag, girl!’
‘What’s the little word that gets things done?’ said Wendy, who was a stickler for good manners.
Peter racked his brains. Having had no mother to teach him manners, he had no idea what the little word might be. ‘Button?’ he suggested. ‘Thimble? Flag?’
Wendy smiled, kissed him lightly on the cheek, and went to make a flag out of her sundress, a dress out of the pirate flag. So it was under the emblem of sunflower-and-two rabbits that the Jolly Peter sailed through the Straits of Zigzag and the Widego Narrows and into the Sea of One Thousand Islands. Flying fish leapt over the ship and diving gulls plunged under it, resurfacing with beaks full of whitebait.
The Thousand Islands came in all shapes and sizes. There were rocks only fit to strand a sailor on; desert islands with one palm tree and some coconut matting; mangrove islands noisy with parrots; archipelagos of red coral and archipelouses strewn with fine, green lawns. There were extinct
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