CHAPTER TWO
Fire on the Mountain
By the time Ralph finished blowing the conch the platform was
crowded. There were differences between this meeting and the one
held in the morning. The afternoon sun slanted in from the other side
of the platform and most of the children, feeling too late the smart of
sunburn, had put their clothes on. The choir, noticeably less of a
group, had discarded their cloaks.
Ralph sat on a fallen trunk, his left side to the sun. On his right
were most of the choir; on his left the larger boys who had not known
each other before the evacuation; before him small children squatted
in the grass.
Silence now. Ralph lifted the cream and pink shell to his knees
and a sudden breeze scattered light over the platform. He was
uncertain whether to stand up or remain sitting. He looked sideways
to his left, toward the bathing pool. Piggy was sitting near but giving
no help.
Ralph cleared his throat.
"Well then."
All at once he found he could talk fluently and explain what he had
to say. He passed a hand through his fair hair and spoke.
"We're on an island. We've been on the mountain top and seen
water all round. We saw no houses, no smoke, no footprints, no
boats, no people. We're on an uninhabited island with no other people
on it."
Jack broke in.
“All the same you need an army—for hunting. Hunting pigs-"
“Yes. There are pigs on the island."
All three of them tried to convey the sense of the pink live thing
struggling in the creepers.
"We saw—"
"Squealing—"
"It broke away—"
"Before I could kill it—but—next time!"
Jack slammed his knife into a trunk and looked round
challengingly.
The meeting settled down again.
"So you see," said Ralph, "we need hunters to get us meat. And
another thing."
He lifted the shell on his knees and looked round the sun-slashed
faces.
"There aren't any grownups. We shall have to look after
ourselves."
The meeting hummed and was silent.
"And another thing. We can't have everybody talking at once. Well
have to have 'Hands up' like at school."
He held the conch before his face and glanced round the mouth.
"Then I’ll give him the conch."
"Conch?"
"That's what this shell's called. I`11 give the conch to the next
person to speak. He can hold it when he's speaking."
"But—"
"Look—"
"And he won't be interrupted. Except by me."
Jack was on his feet.
"We'll have rules!" he cried excitedly. "Lots of rules! Then when
anyone breaks 'em—"
"Whee-oh!"
"Wacco!"
"Bong!"
"Doink!"
Ralph felt the conch lifted from his lap. Then Piggy was standing
cradling the great cream shell and the shouting died down. Jack, left
on his feet, looked uncertainly at Ralph who smiled and patted the
log. Jack sat down. Piggy took off his glasses and blinked at the
assembly while he wiped them on his shirt.
"You're hindering Ralph. You're not letting him get to the most
important thing."
He paused effectively.
"Who knows we're here? Eh?"
"They knew at the airport"
“The man with a trumpet-thing—"
"My dad."
Piggy put on his glasses.
"Nobody knows where we are," said Piggy. He was paler than
before and breathless. "Perhaps they knew where we was going to;
and perhaps not. But they don't know where we are 'cos we never
got there." He gaped at them for a moment, then swayed and sat
down. Ralph took the conch from his hands.
"That's whatI was going to say," he wenton,"when you
all ,a l l ...." H e gazed attheir intentfaces."The p lane was shot
down in flames. Nobody knows where we are. We may be here a long
time."
The silence was so complete that they could hear the
unevenness of Piggy's breathing. The sun slanted in and lay
golden over half the platform. The breezes that on the lagoon had
chased their tails like kittens were finding then-way across the
platform and into the forest. Ralph pushed back the tangle of fair hair
that hung on his forehead.
"So we may be here a long time."
Nobody said anything. He grinned suddenly.
"But this is a good island. We—Jack, Simon and me— we climbed
the mountain. It's wizard. There's food and drink, and—"
"Rocks—"
"Blue flowers—"
Piggy, partly recovered, pointed to the conch in Ralph's hands,
and Jack and Simon fell silent. Ralph went on.
"While we're waiting we can have a good time on this island."
He gesticulated widely.
"It's like in a book."
At once there was a clamor.
"Treasure Island—"
"Swallows and Amazons—"
"Coral Island—"
Ralph waved the conch.
"This is our island. It's a good island. Until the grownups come to
fetch us we'll have fun."
Jack held out his hand for the conch.
There's pigs," he said. "There's food; and bathing water in that
little stream along there—and everything. Didn't anyone find anything
else?"
He handed the conch back to Ralph and sat down. Apparently no
one had found anything. The older boys first noticed the child when
he resisted. There was a group of little boys urging him forward and
he did not wantto go.H e was a shrimp ofa boy,aboutsix years
old,and one side ofhis face was blotted outby a mulberry-colored
birthmark. He stood now, warped out of the perpendicular by the
fierce light of publicity, and he bored into the coarse grass with one
toe. He was muttering and about to cry.
The other little boys, whispering but serious, pushed him toward
Ralph.
"All right," said Ralph, "come on then."
The small boy looked round in panic.
"Speak up!"
The small boy held out his hands for the conch and the assembly
shouted with laughter; at once 'he snatched back his hands and
started to cry.
"Let him have the conch!" shouted Piggy. "Let him have it!"
At last Ralph induced him to hold the shell but by then the blow of
laughter had taken away the child's voice. Piggy knelt by him, one
hand on the great shell, listening and interpreting to the assembly.
"He wants to know what you're going to do about the snake-thing."
Ralph laughed, and the other boys laughed with him. The small
boy twisted further into himself.
"Tell us about the snake-thing."
"Now he says it was a beastie."
"Beastie?"
"A snake-thing. Ever so big. He saw it"
"Where?"
"In the woods."
Either the wandering breezes or perhaps the decline of the sun
allowed a little coolness to lie under the trees. The boys felt it and
stirred restlessly.
"You couldn't have a beastie, a snake-thing, on an island this
size," Ralph explained kindly. "You only get them in big countries,
like Africa, or India.”
Murmur; and the grave nodding of heads.
"He says the beastie came in the dark."
"Then he couldn't see it!"
Laughter and cheers.
"Did you hear that? Says he saw the thing in the dark—"
"He still says he saw the beastie. It came and went away again
an' came back and wanted to eat him—"
"He was dreaming."
Laughing, Ralph looked for confirmation round the ring of faces.
The older boys agreed; but here and there among the little ones was
the doubt that required more than rational assurance.
"He must have had a nightmare. Stumbling about among all those
creepers."
More grave nodding; they knew about nightmares.
"He says he saw the beastie, the snake-thing, and will it come
back tonight?"
"But there isn't a beastie!"
"He says in the morning it turned into them things like ropes in the
trees and hung in the branches. He says will it come back tonight?"
"But there isn't a beastie!"
There was no laughter at all now and more grave watching.
Ralph pushed both hands through his hair and looked at the little boy
in mixed amusement and exasperation.
Jack seized the conch.
"Ralph's right of course. There isn't a snake-thing. But if there
was a snake we'd hunt it and kill it. We're going to hunt pigs to get
meat for everybody. And we'll look for the snake too—"
"But there isn't a snake!"
"We'll make sure when we go hunting."
Ralph was annoyed and, for the moment, defeated. He felt
himself facing something ungraspable. The eyes that looked so
intently at him were without humor.
"But there isn't a beast!"
Something he had not known was there rose in him and
compelled him to make the point, loudly and again.
"But I tell you there isn't a beast!"
The assembly was silent.
Ralph lifted the conch again and his good humor came back as he
thought of what he had to say next.
"Now we come to the most important thing. I've been thinking. I
was thinking while we were climbing the mountain." He flashed a
conspiratorial grin at the other two. "And on the beach just now. This
is what I thought. We want to have fun. And we want to be rescued."
The passionate noise of agreement from the assembly hit him like
a wave and he lost his thread. He thought again.
"We want to be rescued; and of course we shall be rescued."
Voices babbled. The simple statement, unbacked by any proof
but the weight of Ralph's new authority, brought light and happiness.
He had to wave the conch before he could make them hear him.
"My father's in the Navy. He said there aren't any unknown
islands left. He says the Queen has a big room full of maps and all
the islands in the world are drawn there. So the Queen's got a picture
of this island."
Again came the sounds of cheerfulness and better heart.
"And sooner or later a ship will put in here. It might even be
Daddy's ship. So you see, sooner or later, we shall be rescued."
He paused, with the point made. The assembly was lifted
toward safety by his words. They liked and now respected him.
Spontaneously they began to clap and presently the platform was
loud with applause. Ralph flushed, looking sideways at Piggy's
open admiration, and then the other way at Jack who was smirking
and showing that he too knew how to clap.
Ralph waved the conch.
"Shut up! Wait! Listen!"
He went on in the silence, borne on his triumph.
"There's another thing. We can help them to find us. If a ship
comes near the island they may not notice us. So we must make
smoke on top of the mountain. We must make a fire."
"A fire! Make a fire!"
At once half the boys were on their feet. Jack clamored among
them, the conch forgotten. "Come on! Follow me!"
The space under the palm trees was full of noise and
movement. Ralph was on his feet too, shouting for quiet, but no one
heard him. All at once the crowd swayed toward the island and was
gone—following Jack. Even the tiny children went and did their best
among the leaves and broken branches. Ralph was left, holding the
conch, with no one but Piggy.
Piggy's breathing was quite restored.
"Like kids!" he said scornfully. "Acting like a crowd of lads!"
Ralph looked at him doubtfully and laid the conch on the tree
trunk.
"I bet it's gone tea-time," said Piggy. "What do they think they're
going to do on that mountain?"
He caressed the shell respectfully, then stopped and looked up.
"Ralph! Hey! Where you going?"
Ralph was already clambering over the first smashed swathes
of the scar. A long way ahead of him was crashing and laughter.
Piggy watched him in disgust.
"Like a crowd of lads—"
He sighed, bent, and laced up his shoes. The noise of the errant
assembly faded up the mountain. Then, with the martyred
expression of a parent who has to keep up with the senseless
ebullience of the children, he picked up the conch, turned toward the
forest, and began to pick his way over the tumbled scar.
Below the other side of the mountain top was a platform of
forest. Once more Ralph found himself making the cupping gesture.
“Down there we could get as much wood as we want."
Jack nodded and pulled at his underlip. Starting perhaps a
hundred feet below them on the steeper side of the mountain, the
patch might have been designed expressly for fuel. Trees, forced by
the damp heat, found too little soil for full growth, fell early and
decayed: creepers cradled them, and new saplings searched a way
up.
Jack turned to die choir, who stood ready. Their black caps of
maintenance were slid over one ear like berets.
"Well build a pile. Come on."
They found the likeliest path down and began tugging at the
dead wood. And the small boys who had reached the top came
sliding too till everyone but Piggy was busy. Most of the wood was so
rotten that when they pulled it broke up into a shower of fragments
and woodlice and decay; but some trunks came out in one piece. The
twins, Sam 'n Eric, were the first to get a likely fog but they could do
nothing till Ralph, Jack, Simon, Roger and Maurice found room for a
hand-hold. Then they inched the grotesque dead thing up the rock
and toppled it over on top. Each party of boys added a quota,
less or more, and the pile grew. At the return Ralph found himself
alone on a limb with Jack and they grinned at each other, sharing
this burden. Once more, amid the breeze, the shouting, the slanting
sunlight on the high mountain, was shed that glamour, that strange
invisible light of friendship, adventure, and content.
"Almost too heavy."
Jack grinned back.
"Not for the two of us." Together, joined in effort by the burden,
they staggered up the last steep of the mountain. Together, they
chanted One! Two! Three! and crashed the log on to the great pile.
Then they stepped back, laughing with triumphant pleasure, so that
immediately Ralph had to stand on his head. Below them, boys were
still laboring, though some of the small ones had lost interest and
were searching this new forest for fruit. Now the twins, with
unsuspected intelligence, came up the mountain with armfuls of
dried leaves and dumped them against the pile. One by one, as they
sensed that the pile was complete, the boys stopped going back for
more and stood, with the pink, shattered top of the mountain around
them. Breath came evenly by now, and sweat dried. Ralph and Jack
looked at each other while society paused about them. The shameful
knowledge grew in them and they did not know how to begin
confession.
Ralph spoke first, crimson in the face.
"Will your?"
He cleared his throat and went on.
"Will you light the fire?"
Now the absurd situation was open, Jack blushed too. He began
to mutter vaguely.
"You rub two sticks. You rub—"
He glanced at Ralph, who blurted out the last confession of
incompetence. "Has anyone got any matches?"
"You make a bow and spin the arrow," said Roger. He rubbed his
hands in mime. "Psss. Psss."
A little air was moving over the mountain. Piggy came with it, in
shorts and shirt, laboring cautiously out of the forest with the evening
sunlight gleaming from his glasses. He held the conch under his arm.
Ralph shouted at him.
"Piggy! Have you got any matches?"
The other boys took up the cry till the mountain rang. Piggy shook
his head and came to the pile.
"My! You've made a big heap, haven't you?"
Jack pointed suddenly.
"His specs—use them as burning glasses!"
Piggy was surrounded before he could back away.
"Here—let me go!" His voice rose to a shriek of terror as Jack
snatched toe glasses off his face. "Mind out! Give'em back! I can
hardly see! You'll break the conch!"
Ralph elbowed him to one side and knelt by the pile.
"Stand out of the light."
There was pushing and pulling and officious cries. Ralph moved
the lenses back and forth, this way and that, till a glossy white
image of the declining sun lay on a piece of rotten wood. Almost at
once a thin trickle of smoke rose up and made him cough. Jack knelt
too and blew gently, so that the smoke drifted away, thickening, and a
tiny name appeared. The flame, nearly invisible at first in that bright
sunlight, enveloped a small twig, grew, was enriched with color and
reached up to a branch which exploded with a sharp crack. The
flame flapped higher and the boys broke into a cheer.
"My specs!" howled Piggy. "Give me my specs!"
Ralph stood away from the pile and put the glasses into Piggy s
groping hands. His voice subsided to a mutter.
“Jus` blurs, that's all. Hardly see my hand—"
The boys were dancing. The pile was so rotten, and now so
tinder-dry, that whole limbs yielded passionately to the yellow flames
that poured upwards and shook a great beard of flame twenty feet in
the air. For yards round the fire the heat was like a blow, and the
breeze was a river of sparks. Trunks crumbled to white dust.
Ralph shouted.
"More wood! All of you get more wood!"
Life became a race with the fire and the boys scattered through
the upper forest. To keep a clean flag of flame flying on the mountain
was the immediate end and no one looked further. Even the smallest
boys, unless fruit claimed them, brought little pieces of wood and
threw them in. The air moved a little faster and became a light wind,
so that leeward and windward side were clearly differentiated. On
one side the air was cool, but on the other the fire thrust out a
savage arm of heat that crinkled hair on the instant. Boys who felt the
evening wind on their damp faces paused to enjoy the freshness of it
and then found they were exhausted. They flung themselves
down in the shadows that lay among die shattered rocks. The
beard of flame diminished quickly; then the pile fell inwards with a
soft, cindery sound, and sent a great tree of sparks upwards that
leaned away and drifted downwind. The boys lay, panting like dogs.
Ralph raised his head off his forearms.
"That was no good."
Roger spat efficiently into the hot dust.
"What d'you mean?"
"There wasn't any smoke. Only flame."
Piggy had settled himself in a space between two rocks, and sat
with the conch on his knees.
"We haven't made a fire," he said, "what's any use. We couldn't
keep a fire like that going, not if we tried.'
"A fat lot you tried," said Jack contemptuously. "You just sat."
"We used his specs," said Simon, smearing a black cheek with his
forearm. He helped that way."
"I got the conch," said Piggy indignantly. "You let me speak!"
"The conch doesn't count on top of the mountain," said Jack, "so
you shut up."
"I got the conch in my hand."
"Put on green branches," said Maurice. "That's the best way to
make smoke."
“I got the conch—"
Jack turned fiercely. "You shut up!"
Piggy wilted. Ralph took the conch from him and looked round the
circle of boys.
"We've got to have special people for looking after the fire. Any
day there may be a ship out there"—he waved his arm at the taut wire
of the horizon—"and if we have a signal going they'll come and take
us off. And another thing. We ought to have more rules. Where the
conch is, that's a meeting. The same up here as down there."
They assented. Piggy opened his mouth to speak, caught Jack's
eye and shut it again. Jack held out his hands for the conch and
stood up, holding the delicate thing carefully in his sooty hands.
"I agree with Ralph. We've got to have rules and obey them. After
all, we're not savages. We're English, and the English are best at
everything. So we've got to do the right things."
He turned to Ralph.
"Ralph, I'll split up the choir—my hunters, that is—into groups, and
we'll be responsible for keeping the fire going—"
This generosity brought a spatter of applause from the boys, so
that Jack grinned at them, then waved the conch for silence.
"We'll let the fire burn out now. Who would see smoke at night-
time, anyway? And we can start the fire again whenever we like.
Altos, you can keep the fire going this week, and trebles the next—"
The assembly assented gravely.
"And we’ll be responsible for keeping a lookout too. If we see a
ship out there"—they followed the direction of his bony arm with their
eyes—"we’ll put green branches on. Then there'll be more smoke."
They gazed intently at the dense blue of the horizon, as if a little
silhouette might appear there at any moment.
The sun in the west was a drop of burning gold that slid nearer
and nearer the sill of the world. All at once they were aware of the
evening as the end of light and warmth.
Roger took the conch and looked round at them gloomily.
"I've been watching the sea. There hasn't been the trace of a ship.
Perhaps we'll never be rescued."
A murmur rose and swept away. Ralph took back the conch.
"I said before we'll be rescued sometime. We've just got to wait,
that's all."
Daring, indignant, Piggy took the conch.
"That's what I said! I said about our meetings and things and then
you said shut up—"
His voice lifted into the whine of virtuous recrimination. They
stirred and began to shout him down.
"You said you wanted a small fire and you been and
builtapile like a hayrick. If I say anything,' cried Piggy, with bitter
realism, "you say shut up; but if Jack or Maurice or Simon—“
He paused in the tumult, standing, looking beyond them and
down the unfriendly side of the mountain to the great patch where
they had found dead wood. Then he laughed so strangely that they
were hushed, looking at the flash of his spectacles in astonishment.
They followed his gaze to find the sour joke.
"You got your small fire all right."
Smoke was rising here and there among the creepers that
festooned the dead or dying trees. As they watched, a flash of fire
appeared at the root of one wisp, and then the smoke thickened.
Small flames stirred at the trunk of a tree and crawled away through
leaves and brushwood, dividing and increasing. One paten touched a
tree trunk and scrambled up like a bright squirrel. The smoke
increased, sifted, rolled outwards. The squirrel leapt on the wings of
the wind and clung to another standing tree, eating downwards.
Beneath the dark canopy of leaves and smoke the fire laid hold on
the forest and began to gnaw. Acres of black and yellow smoke rolled
steadily toward the sea. At the sight of the flames and the irresistible
course of the fire, the boys broke into shrill, excited cheering. The
flames, as though they were a kind of wild life, crept as a jaguar
creeps on its belly toward a line of birch-like saplings that fledged
an outcrop of the pink rock. They flapped at the first of the trees,
and the branches grew a brief foliage of fire. The heart of flame leapt
nimbly across the gap between the trees and then went swinging and
flaring along the whole row of them. Beneath the capering boys a
quarter of a mile square of forest was savage with smoke and flame.
The separate noises of the fire merged into a drum-roll that seemed to
shake the mountain.
"You got your small fire all right"
Startled, Ralph realized that the boys were falling still and silent,
feeling the beginnings of awe at the power set free below them. The
knowledge and the awe made him savage.
"Oh, shut up!"
"I got the conch," said Piggy, in a hurt voice. "I got a right to
speak."
They looked at him with eyes that lacked interest in what they
saw, and cocked ears at the drum-roll of the fire. Piggy glanced
nervously into hell and cradled the conch.
"We got to let that burn out now. And that was our firewood."
He licked his lips.
There ain't nothing we can do. We ought to be more careful. I'm
scared—"
Jack dragged his eyes away from the fire. You're always scared.
Yah—Fatty!"
"I got the conch," said Piggy bleakly. He turned to Ralph. "I got the
conch, ain't I Ralph?"
Unwillingly Ralph turned away from the splendid, awful sight.
"What's that?"
“The conch. I got a right to speak."
The twins giggled together.
"We wanted smoke—"
"Now look—!"
A pall stretched for miles away from the island. All the boys
except Piggy started to giggle; presently they were shrieking with
laughter.
Piggy lost his temper.
"I got the conch! Just you listen! The first thing we ought to have
made was shelters down there by the beach. It wasn't half cold down
there in the night. But the first time Ralph says 'fire' you goes howling
and screaming up this here mountain. Like a pack of kids!”
By now they were listening to the tirade.
"How can you expect to be rescued if you don't put first things first
and act proper?"
He took off his glasses and made as if to put down the conch;
but the sudden motion toward it of most of the older boys changed
his mind. He tucked the shell under his arm, and crouched back on a
rock.
"Then when you get here you build a bonfire that isn't no use.
Now you been and set the whole island on fire. Won't we look funny if
the whole island burns up? Cooked fruit, that's what we’ll have to
eat, and roast pork. And that's nothing to laugh at! You said Ralph
was chief and you don't give him time to think. Then when he says
something you rush off, like, like—"
He paused for breath, and the fire growled at them.
"And that's not all. Them kids. The little 'uns. Who took any notice
of 'em? Who knows how many we got?"
Ralph took a sudden step forward.
"I told you to. I told you to get a list of names!"
"How could I," cried Piggy indignantly, "all by myself? They waited
for two minutes, then they fell in the sea; they went into the forest;
they just scattered everywhere. How was I to know which was which?"
Ralph licked pale lips.
Then you don't know how many of us there ought to be?"
"How could I with them little 'uns running round like insects?
Then when you three came back, as soon as you said make a fire,
they all ran away, and I never had a chance—"
“That's enough!" said Ralph sharply, and snatched back the conch. "If you didn't
you didn't."
"—then you come up here an' pinch my specs—"
Jack turned on him.
“You shut up!"
"—and them little 'uns was wandering about down there where the
fire is. How d'you know they aren't still there?"
Piggy stood up and pointed to the smoke and flames. A murmur
rose among the boys and died away. Something strange was
happening to Piggy, for he was gasping for breath.
That little 'un—" gasped Piggy—"him with the mark on his face, I
don't see him. Where is he now?"
The crowd was as silent as death.
"Him that talked about the snakes. He was down there—"
A tree exploded in the fire like a bomb. Tall swathes of
creepers rose for a moment into view, agonized, and went down
again. The little boys screamed at them.
"Snakes! Snakes! Look at the snakes!"
In the west, and unheeded, the sun lay only an inch or two above
the sea. Their faces were lit redly from beneath. Piggy fell against a
rock and clutched it with both hands.
"That little 'un that had a mark on his face—where is —he now? I
tell you I don't see him."
The boys looked at each other fearfully, unbelieving.
"—where is he now?"
Ralph muttered the reply as if in shame.
"Perhaps he went back to the, the—"
Beneath them, on the unfriendly side of the mountain, the drum-
roll continued.
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