Chapter 2: 2 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, 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
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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 strug-
gling 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. We'll
have to have 'Hands up' like at school."
He held the conch before his face and glanced round the mouth.
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"Then I'll give him the conch."
"Conch?"
"That's what this shell's called. I'll 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 impor-
tant thing."
He paused effectively.
"Who knows we're here? Eh?"
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"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 what I was going to say," he went on, "when you all, all. . . ."He
gazed at their intent faces. "The plane 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 plat-
form. The breezes that on the lagoon had chased their tails like kittens
were finding their 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–"
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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 want to go. He
was a shrimp of a boy, about six years old, and one side of his face was
blotted out by 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.
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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 rest-
lessly.
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"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
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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 conspira-
torial 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
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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."
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"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 kids!"
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 kids–"
He sighed, bent, and laced up his shoes. The noise of the errant as-
sembly faded up the mountain. Then, with the martyred expression of a
parent who has to keep up with the senseless ebullience of the children,
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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 cra-
dled them, and new saplings searched a way up.
Jack turned to the choir, who stood ready. Their black caps of mainte-
nance were slid over one ear like berets.
"We'll 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 log 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
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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 an 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 you?"
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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 incompe-
tence.
"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
the glasses off his face. "Mind out! Give 'em back! I can hardly see! You'll
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break the conch!"
Ralph elbowed him to the 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 flame 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!"
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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 the 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."
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"We used his specs," said Simon, smearing a black cheek with his fore-
arm. "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.
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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 sil-
houette 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
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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 built a pile 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 patch 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
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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 nim-
bly 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 sepa-
rate 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, feel-
ing the beginnings of awe at the power set free below them. The knowl-
edge 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.
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"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
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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."
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"–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?"
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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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