Chapter one

the uncommunicative forest Then again he stole forward and cast 
this way and that over the ground. 
The silence of the forest was more oppressive than the heat, 
and at this hour of the day there was not even the whine of 
insects. Only when Jack himself roused a gaudy bird from a 
primitive nest of sticks was the silence shattered and echoes set 
ringing by a harsh cry that seemed to come out of the abyss of 
ages. Jack himself shrank at this cry with a hiss of indrawn breath, 
and for a minute became less a hunter than a furtive thing, ape-
like among the tangle of trees. Then the trail, the frustration, 
claimed' him again and he searched the ground avidly. By the trunk of 
a vast tree that grew pale flowers on its grey bark he checked, closed 
his eyes, and once more drew in the warm air; and this time his 
breath came short, there was even a passing pallor in his face, and 
then the surge of blood again. He passed like a shadow under the 
darkness of the tree and crouched, looking down at the trodden 
ground at his feet. 
The droppings were warm. They lay piled among turned earth. 
They were olive green, smooth, and they steamed a little. Jack 
lifted his head and stared at the inscrutable masses of creeper 
that lay across the trail. Then he raised his spear and sneaked 
forward. Beyond the creeper, the trail joined a pig-run that was wide 
enough and trodden enough to be a path. The ground was 
hardened by an accustomed tread and as Jack rose to his full height 
he heard something moving on it. He swung back his right arm and 
hurled the spear with all his strength. From the pig-run came the 
quick, hard patter of hoofs, a castanet sound, seductive, 
maddening—the promise of meat. He rushed out of the undergrowth 

and snatched up his spear. The pattering of pig's trotters died away in 
the distance. 
Jack stood there, streaming with sweat, streaked with brown 
earth, stained by all the vicissitudes of a day's hunting. 
Swearing, he turned off the trail and pushed his way through until 
the forest opened a little and instead of bald trunks supporting a 
dark roof there were light grey trunks and crowns of feathery palm. 
Beyond these was the glitter of the sea and he could hear voices. 
Ralph was standing by a contraption of palm trunks and leaves, a 
rude shelter that faced the lagoon and seemed very near to falling 
down. He did not notice when Jack spoke. 
"Got any water?" 
Ralph looked up, frowning, from the complication of leaves. He did 
not notice Jack even when he saw him. 
"I said have you got any water? I'm thirsty." 
Ralph withdrew his attention from the shelter and realized Jack 
with a start. 
"Oh, hullo. Water? There by the tree. Ought to be some left." 
Jack took up a coconut shell that brimmed with fresh water from 
among a group that was arranged in the shade, and drank. 
The water splashed over his chin and neck and chest. He 
breathed noisily when he had finished. 
"Needed that." 
Simon spoke from inside the shelter. 
"Up a bit." 
Ralph turned to the shelter and lifted a branch with a whole tiling 
of leaves. 

The leaves came apart and fluttered down. Simon's contrite face 
appeared in the hole. 
"Sorry." 
Ralph surveyed the wreck with distaste. 
"Never get it done." 
He flung himself down at Jack's feet Simon remained, looking out 
of the hole in the shelter. Once down, Ralph explained. 
“Been working for days now. And look!" 
Two shelters were in position, but shaky. This one was a ruin. 
"And they keep running off. You remember the meeting? How 
everyone was going to work hard until the shelters were finished?" 
"Except me and my hunters—" 
"Except the hunters. Well, the littluns are—" 
He gesticulated, sought for a word. 
“They're hopeless. The older ones aren't much better. D'you see? All day 
I've been working with Simon. No one else. They're off bathing, or eating, 
or playing." 
Simon poked his head out carefully. 
"You're chief. You tell 'em off." 
Ralph lay flat and looked up at the palm trees and the sky. 
"Meetings. Don't we love meetings? Every day. Twice a day. We 
talk." He got on one elbow. "I bet if I blew the conch this minute, 
they'd come running. Then we'd be, you know, very solemn, and 
someone would say we ought to build a jet, or a submarine, or a TV 
set. When the meeting was over they'd work for five minutes, then 
wander off or go hunting." 
Jack flushed. 
"We want meat." 

"Well, we haven't got any yet. And we want shelters. Besides, 
the rest of your hunters came back hours ago. They've been 
swimming." 
"I went on," said Jack. "I let them go. I had to go on. I—" 
He tried to convey the compulsion to track down and kill that was 
swallowing him up. 
"I went on. I thought, by myself—" 
The madness came into his eyes again. 
"I thought I might loll." 
"But you didn't." 
"I thought I might." 
Some hidden passion vibrated in Ralph's voice. 
"But you haven't yet." 
His invitation might have passed as casual, were it not for the 
undertone. 
"You wouldn't care to help with the shelters, I suppose?" 
"We want meat—" 
"And we don't get it." 
Now the antagonism was audible. 
"But I shall! Next time! I've got to get a barb on this spear! We 
wounded a pig and the spear fell out. If we could only make barbs—" 
"We need shelters.” 
Suddenly Jack shouted in rage. 
"Are you accusing—?" 
"All I'm saying is we've worked dashed hard. That's all." 
They were both red in the face and found looking at each other 
difficult. Ralph rolled on his stomach and began to play with the 
grass. 

“If it rains like when we dropped in well need shelters all right. And 
then another thing. We need shelters because of the—" 
He paused for a moment and they both pushed their anger away. 
Then he went on with the safe, changed subject.
"You've noticed, haven't you?" 
Jack put down his spear and squatted. 
'Noticed what?" 
"Well. They're frightened." 
He rolled over and peered into Jack's fierce, dirty face. 
"I mean the way things are. They dream. You can hear 'em. Have 
you been awake at night?" 
Jack shook his head. 
“They talk and scream. The littluns. Even some of the others. As if—" 
"As if it wasn't a good island." . 
Astonished at the interruption, they looked up at Simon's serious 
face. 
"As if," said Simon, "the beastie, the beastie or the snake-thing, 
was real. Remember?" 
The two older boys flinched when they heard the shameful 
syllable. Snakes were not mentioned now, were not mentionable. 
"As if this wasn't a good island," said Ralph slowly. "Yes, that's 
right." 
Jack sat up and stretched out his legs. 
"Crackers. Remember when we went exploring?" 
They grinned at each other, remembering the glamour of the first 
day. Ralph went on. 
"So we need shelters as a sort of—" 
"Home." 

"That's right." 
Jack drew up his legs, clasped his knees, and frowned in an effort 
to attain clarity. 
"All the same—in the forest. I mean when you're hunting, not 
when you're getting fruit, of course, but when you're on your own—" 
He paused for a moment, not sure if Ralph would take him 
seriously. 
“Go on.” 
"If you're hunting sometimes you catch yourself feeling as if—" 
He flushed suddenly. "There's nothing in it of course. Just a feeling. 
But you can feel as if you're not hunting, but—being hunted, as if 
something's behind you all the time in the jungle." 
They were silent again: Simon intent, Ralph incredulous and 
faintly indignant. He sat up, rubbing one shoulder with a dirty hand. 
"Well, I don't know." 
Jack leapt to his feet and spoke very quickly. 
"That's how you can feel in the forest. Of course there's nothing in 
it. Only—only—" 
He took a few rapid steps toward the beach, then came back. 
"Only I know how they feel. See? That's all." 
"The best thing we can do is get ourselves rescued." 
Jack had to think for a moment before he could remember what 
rescue was. 
"Rescue? Yes, of course! All the same, I'd like to catch a pig 
first—" He snatched up his spear and dashed it into the: ground. 
The opaque, mad look came into his eyes again. Ralph looked at 
him critically through his tangle of fair hair. 
"So long as your hunters remember the fire—" 

"You and your fire—" 
The two boys trotted down the beach, and, turning at the 
water's edge, looked back at the pink mountain. The trickle of 
smoke sketched a chalky line up the solid blue of the sky, wavered 
high up and faded. Ralph frowned. 
"I wonder how far off you could see that" 
"Miles." 
"We don't make enough smoke." 
The bottom part of the trickle, as though conscious of their 
gaze, thickened to a creamy blur which crept up the feeble column. 
"They've put on green branches," muttered Ralph. "I wonder!" 
He screwed up his eyes and swung round to search the horizon.” 
"Got it!" 
Jack shouted so loudly that Ralph jumped. 
"What? Where? Is it a ship?" 
But Jack was pointing to the high declivities that led down from 
the mountain to the flatter part of the island. 
"Of course! They'll Be up there—they must, when the sun's too 
hot—" 
Ralph gazed bewildered at his rapt face. 
"—they get up high. High up and in the shade, resting during the 
heat, like cows at home—" 
"I thought you saw a ship!" 
"We could steal up on one—paint our faces so they wouldn't 
see—perhaps surround them and then—" 
Indignation took away Ralph's control. 
"I was talking about smoke! Don't you want to be rescued? All you 
can talk about is pig, pig, pig!" 

"But we want meat!" 
"And I work all day with nothing but Simon and you come back 
and don't even notice the huts!" 
"I was working too—" 
"But you like it!" shouted Ralph. "You want to hunt! While I—" 
They faced each other on the bright beach, astonished at the rub 
of feeling. Ralph looked away first, pretending interest in a group of 
littluns on the sand. From beyond the platform came the shouting of 
the hunters in the swimming pool. On the end of the platform Piggy 
was lying flat, looking down into the brilliant water. 
"People don't help much." 
He wanted to explain how people were never quite what you 
thought they were. 
"Simon. He helps." He pointed at the shelters. 
"All the rest rushed off. He's done as much as I have. Only—" 
"Simon's always about." 
Ralph started back to the shelters with Jack by his side. 
"Do a bit for you," muttered Jack, "before I have a bathe." 
"Don't bother." 
But when they reached the shelters Simon was not to be seen. 
Ralph put his head in the hole, withdrew it, and turned to Jack. 
"He's buzzed off." 
"Got fed up," said Jack, "and gone for a bathe." 
Ralph frowned. 
"He’s queer. He's funny." 
Jack nodded, as much for the sake of agreeing as anything, and 
by tacit consent they left the shelter and went toward the bathing 
pool. 

"And then," said Jack, "when I've had a bathe and something to 
eat, I'll just trek over to the other side of the mountain and see if I can 
see any traces. Coming?"
"But the sun's nearly set!" 
"I might have time—" 
They walked along, two continents of experience and feeling, 
unable to communicate. 
"If I could only get a pig!" 
"I'll come back and go on with the shelter." 
They looked at each other, baffled, in love and hate. All the 
warm salt water of the bathing pool and the shouting and 
splashing and laughing were only just sufficient to bring them together 
again. 
Simon was not in the bathing pool as they had expected. 
When the other two had trotted down the beach to look back at 
the mountain he had followed them for a few yards and then stopped. 
He had stood frowning down at a pile of sand on the beach where 
somebody had been trying to build a little house or hut Then he 
turned his back on this and walked into the forest with an air of 
purpose. He was a small, skinny boy, his chin pointed, and his 
eyes so bright they had deceived Ralph into thinking him 
delightfully gay and wicked. The coarse mop of black hair was long 
and swung down, almost concealing a low, broad forehead. He 
wore the remains of shorts and his feet were bare like Jack's. 
Always darkish in color, Simon was burned by the sun to a deep tan 
that glistened with sweat. 
He picked his way up the scar, passed the great rock where 
Ralph had climbed on the first morning, then turned off to his right 

among the trees. He walked with an accustomed tread through the 
acres of fruit trees, where the least energetic could find an easy if 
unsatisfying meal. Flower and fruit grew together on the same tree 
and everywhere was the scent of ripeness and the booming of a 
million bees at pasture. Here the littlums who had run after him 
caught up with him. They talked, cried out unintelligibly, lugged him 
toward the trees. Then, amid the roar of bees in the afternoon 
sunlight, Simon found for them the fruit they could not reach, pulled 
off the choicest from up in the foliage, passed them back down to the 
endless, outstretched hands. When he had satisfied them he paused 
and looked round. The littluns watched him inscrutably over double 
handfuls of ripe fruit. 
Simon turned away from them and went where the just perceptible 
path led him. Soon high jungle closed in. Tall trunks bore unexpected 
pale flowers all the way up to the dark canopy where life went on 
clamorously. The air here was dark too, and the creepers dropped 
their ropes like the rigging of foundered ships. His feet left prints in the 
soft soil and the creepers shivered throughout their lengths when he 
bumped them. 
He came at last to a place where more sunshine fell. Since they 
had not so far to go for light the creepers had woven a great mat that 
hung at the side of an open space in the jungle; for here a patch of 
rock came close to the surface and would not allow more than little 
plants and ferns to grow. The whole space was walled with dark 
aromatic bushes, and was a bowl of heat and light. A great tree, 
fallen across one comer, leaned against the trees that still stood arid 
a rapid climber flaunted red and yellow sprays right to the top. 

Simon paused. He looked over his shoulder as Jack had done 
at the close ways behind him and glanced swiftly round to confirm 
that he was utterly alone. For a moment his movements were almost 
furtive. Then he bent down and wormed his way into the center of 
the mat. The creepers and the bushes were so close that he left his 
sweat on them and they pulled together behind him. When he was 
secure in the middle he was in a little cabin screened off from the 
open space by a few leaves. He squatted down, parted the leaves 
arid looked out into the clearing. Nothing moved but a pair of gaudy 
butterflies that danced round each other in the hot air. Holding his 
breath he cocked a critical ear at the sounds of the island. Evening 
was advancing toward the island; the sounds of the bright fantastic 
birds, the bee-sounds, even the crying of the gulls that were 
returning to their roosts among the square rocks, were fainter. The 
deep sea breaking miles away on the reef made an undertone 
less perceptible than the susurration of the blood. 
Simon dropped the screen of leaves back into place. The slope of 
the bars of honey-colored sunlight decreased; they slid up the 
bushes, passed over the green candle-like buds, moved up toward 
tile canopy, and darkness thickened under the trees. With the fading 
of the light the riotous colors died and the heat and urgency cooled 
away. The candle-buds stirred. Their green sepals drew back a little 
and the white tips of the flowers rose delicately to meet the open air. 
Now the sunlight had lifted clear of the open space and 
withdrawn from the sky. Darkness poured out, submerging the ways 
between the trees tin they were dim and strange as the bottom of 
the sea. The candle-buds opened their wide white flowers 

glimmering under the light that pricked down from the first stars. Their 
scent spilled out into the air and took possession of the island. 

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