rofound melancholy, save when he
was plunging his hook into you, at which time two red spots appeared in
them and lit them up horribly. In manner, something of the grand
seigneur still clung to him, so that he even ripped you up with an air,
and I have been told that he was a _raconteur_ of repute. He was never
more sinister than when he was most polite, which is probably the truest
test of breeding; and the elegance of his diction, even when he was
swearing, no less than the distinction of his demeanour, showed him one
of a different caste from his crew. A man of indomitable courage, it was
said of him that the only thing he shied at was the sight of his own
blood, which was thick and of an unusual colour. In dress he somewhat
aped the attire associated with the name of Charles II., having heard it
said in some earlier period of his career that he bore a strange
resemblance to the ill-fated Stuarts; and in his mouth he had a holder
of his own contrivance which enabled him to smoke two cigars at once.
But undoubtedly the grimmest part of him was his iron claw.

Let us now kill a pirate, to show Hook's method. Skylights will do. As
they pass, Skylights lurches clumsily against him, ruffling his lace
collar; the hook shoots forth, there is a tearing sound and one screech,
then the body is kicked aside, and the pirates pass on. He has not even
taken the cigars from his mouth.

Such is the terrible man against whom Peter Pan is pitted. Which will
win?

On the trail of the pirates, stealing noiselessly down the war-path,
which is not visible to inexperienced eyes, come the redskins, every
one of them with his eyes peeled. They carry tomahawks and knives, and
their naked bodies gleam with paint and oil. Strung around them are
scalps, of boys as well as of pirates, for these are the Piccaninny
tribe, and not to be confused with the softer-hearted Delawares or the
Hurons. In the van, on all fours, is Great Big Little Panther, a brave
of so many scalps that in his present position they somewhat impede his
progress. Bringing up the rear, the place of greatest danger, comes
Tiger Lily, proudly erect, a princess in her own right. She is the most
beautiful of dusky Dianas and the belle of the Piccaninnies, coquettish,
cold and amorous by turns; there is not a brave who would not have the
wayward thing to wife, but she staves off the altar with a hatchet.
Observe how they pass over fallen twigs without making the slightest
noise.