Yes, James Hook, or Jas., as he is now known to have referred to himself, was an old Etonian, and a Pop at that. From Eton we can make sense of Hook's reverence for good form; his "distinguished slouch;" and, Barrie wrote, the fact that "[h]e was never more sinister than when he was at his most polite, which is probably the truest test of breeding."
Indeed, Hook's dying words in the play are "Floreat Etona": "May Eton flourish," the school's crested motto.
In 1927, more than two decades after the story was put to page, Barrie was invited to Eton to give a lecture. The prompt, as given by the provost a month prior, was to refute the statement: "James Hook, the pirate captain, was a great Etonian, but not a good one."
The lecture is here; and it is magnificent.
Barrie takes the tone of an investigative reporter or prosecutor-judge, dutifully presenting the facts he has found. "We should not even know that he had been an Etonian but for the statement 'Eton and Balliol' in a work that is probably unreliable," he told his young audience, referring to his own writing. Balliol being a college of Oxford, and the one that Hook purportedly attended.
Barrie's inquiry unearths books Hook withdrew from the library while at Oxford, "all of them, oddly enough, poetry, and mostly of the lake school;" and a curious medical record indicating that Hook, when hurt on the football pitch, had 'bled yellow. And that "after the fatal affair" with Peter Pan, "a search made in the cabin of his floating hulks brought to light that throughout the years of his piracy he had been a faithful subscriber the Eton Chronicle. Hundreds of copies of it, much thumb-marked, were found littering his bunk."
But the magic of the speech comes after Barrie has built his credentials as an investigator, as he describes the fateful return to Eton by a man who loved his school dearly. A man who knew his own legacy was more damning to the school than perhaps anything else in its past.
Barrie's chief source, we learn, was an old Etonian, a man who remained tethered to Windsor—as some alums tend to do—unable or unwilling to venture out. One night, wandering the campus after lights out, G.F.T.Jasparin, the informant, came upon Hook, dressed in the coattails and silk hat of an Etonian, and sitting atop the school's wall.
"[N]ever, I say, could I have conceived a Colossus so shrunken," Jasparin recounted to Barrie. "It was mournfully obvious that he was gazing with
peeled eyes through the darkness of his present to the innocence of his
past, from the monster he had become on the Spanish Main, to the person
he had been at Eton."
Hook, there atop the wall, where only members of the Eton Society might sit--though Hook was such a member, a Pop--was confronted by a bobby in the night.
"Are you a Pop, Sir?" the policeman asked huskily, for he knew that every stone in the wall was listening. The Solitary not only lowered his hook, but, shocking to relate, hid it behind his back. After an agonizing struggle, "No," he said. Once a Pop always a Pop, but for the honour of Eton Society, he denied his proud connection with it.
The solitary had merely to slew around his right arm to end the fellow, but for the honour of the school, he humbly got off the wall-his wall.
Hook was seen later that night by others on campus. And it is clear that he had returned to tear his records from the Eton Society's logs. And that, not long thereafter, the captain died. A will, returned to his aunt Emily by a landshark of Rio, left all his belongings to Eton; the school's governor refused the marauder's pillagings.