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Lord of the Flies

By William Golding

Ralph sat up.

   “Well. We shan’t find what we’re looking for at this rate.”

   One by one they stood up, twitching rags into place.

   Ralph looked at Jack.

   “Now for the mountain.”

   “Shouldn’t we go back to Piggy,” said Maurice, “before dark?”

   The twins nodded like one boy.

   “Yes, that’s right. Let’s go up there in the morning.”

   Ralph looked out and saw the sea.

   “We’ve got to start the fire again.”

   “You haven’t got Piggy’s specs,” said Jack, “so you can’t.”

   “Then we’ll find out if the mountain’s clear.”

   Maurice spoke, hesitating, not wanting to seem a funk.

   “Supposing the beast’s up there?”

   Jack brandished his spear.

   “We`1l kill it.”

   The sun seemed a little cooler. He slashed with the spear.

   “What are we waiting for?”

   “I suppose,” said Ralph, “if we keep on by the sea this way, well come out below the burnt bit and then we can climb the mountain.”

   Once more Jack led them along by the suck and heave of the blinding sea.

   Once more Ralph dreamed, letting his skillful feet deal with the difficulties of the path. Yet here his feet seemed less skillful than before. For most of the way they were forced right down to the bare rock by the water and had to edge along between that and the dark luxuriance of the forest There were little cliffs to be scaled, some to be used as paths, lengthy traverses where one used hands as well as feet. Here and there they could clamber over wave-wet rock, leaping across clear pools that the tide had left. They came to a gully that split the narrow foreshore like a defense. This seemed to have no bottom and they peered awe-stricken into the gloomy crack where water gurgled. Then the wave came back, the gully boiled before them and spray dashed up to the very creeper so that the boys were wet and shrieking. They tried the forest but ft was thick and woven like a bird’s nest In the end they had to jump one by one, waiting till the water sank; and even so, some of them got a second drenching. After that the rocks seemed to be growing impassable so they sat for a time, letting their rags dry and watching the clipped outlines of the rollers that moved so slowly past the island. They found fruit in a haunt of bright little birds that hovered like insects. Then Ralph said they were going too slowly. He himself climbed a tree and parted the canopy, and saw the square head of the mountain seeming still a great way off. Then they tried to hurry along the rocks and Robert cut his knee quite badly and they had to recognize that this path must be taken slowly if they were to be safe. So they proceeded after that as if they were climbing a dangerous mountain, until the rocks became an uncompromising cliff, overhung with impossible jungle and falling sheer into the sea.

   Ralph looked at the sun critically.

   “Early evening. After tea-time, at any rate.”

   “I don’t remember this cliff,” said Jack, crestfallen, “so this must be the bit of the coast I missed.”

   Ralph nodded.

   “Let me think.”

   By now, Ralph had no self-consciousness in public thinking but would treat the day’s decisions as though he were playing chess. The only trouble was that he would never be a very good chess player. He thought of the littluns and Piggy. Vividly he imagined Piggy by himself, huddled in a shelter that was silent except for the sounds of nightmare.

   “We can’t leave the littluns alone with Piggy. Not all night.”

   The other boys said nothing but stood round, watching him.

   “If we went back we should take hours.”

   Jack cleared his throat and spoke in a queer, tight voice.

   “We mustn’t let anything happen to Piggy, must we?”

   Ralph tapped his teeth with the dirty point of Eric’s spear.

   “If we go across-”

   He glanced round him.

   “Someone’s got to go across the island and tell Piggy we’ll be back after dark.”

   Bill spoke, unbelieving.

   “Through the forest by himself? Now?”

   “We can’t spare more than one.”

   Simon pushed his way to Ralph’s elbow.

   “I’ll go if you like. I don’t mind, honestly.”

   Before Ralph had time to reply, he smiled quickly, turned and climbed into the forest

   Ralph looked back at Jack, seeing him, infuriatingly, for the first time.

   “Jack-that time you went the whole way to the castle rock.”

   Jack glowered.

   “Yes?”

   “You came alone part of this shore-below the mountain, beyond there.”

   “Yes.”

   “And then?”

   “I found a pig-run. It went for miles.”

   “So the pig-run must be somewhere in there.”

   Ralph nodded. He pointed at the forest

   Everybody agreed, sagely.

   “All right then. We’ll smash a way through till we find the pig-run.”

   He took a step and halted.

   “Wait a minute though! Where does the pig-run go to?”

   “The mountain,” said Jack, “I told you. He sneered. “Don’t you want to go to the mountain?”

   Ralph sighed, sensing the rising antagonism, understanding that this was how Jack felt as soon as he ceased to lead.

   “I was thinking of the light. We’ll be stumbling about.”

   “We were going to look for the beast.”

   “There won’t be enough light.”

   “I don’t mind going, said Jack hotly. “Ill go when we get there. Won’t you? Would you rather go back to the shelters and tell Piggy?”

   Now it was Ralph’s turn to flush but he spoke despairingly, out of the new understanding that Piggy had given him.

   “Why do you hate me?”

   The boys stirred uneasily, as though something indecent had been said. The silence lengthened.

   Ralph, still hot and hurt, turned away first.

   “Come on.”

   He led the way and set himself as by right to hack at the tangles. Jack brought up the rear, displaced and brooding.

   The pig-track was a dark tunnel, for the sun was sliding quickly toward the edge of the world and in the forest shadows were never-far to seek. The track was broad and beaten and they ran along at a swift trot, Then the roof of leaves broke up and they halted, breathing quickly, looking at the few stars that pricked round the head of the mountain.

   “There you are.”

   The boys peered at each other doubtfully. Ralph made a decision.

   “We’ll go straight across to the platform and climb tomorrow.”

   They murmured agreement; but Jack was standing by his shoulder.

   “If you’re frightened of course-”

   Ralph turned on him.

   “Who went first on the castle rock?”

   “I went too. And that was daylight.”

   “All right. Who wants to climb the mountain now?”

   Silence was the only answer.

   “Samneric? What about you?”

   “We ought to go an’ tell Piggy-”

   “-yes, tell Piggy that-”

   “But Simon went!”

   “We ought to tell Piggy-in case-”

   “Robert? Bill?”

   They were going straight back to the platform now. Not, of course, that they were afraid-but tired.

   Ralph turned back to Jack.

   “You see?”

   “I’m going up the mountain.” The words came from Jack viciously, as though they were a curse. He looked at Ralph, his thin body tensed, his spear held as if he threatened him.

   “I’m going up the mountain to look for the beast-now.” Then the supreme sting, the casual, bitter, word. “Coming?”

   At that word the other boys forgot their urge to be gone and turned back to sample this fresh rub of two spirits in the dark. The word was too good, too bitter, too successfully daunting to be repeated. It took Ralph at low water when his nerve was relaxed for the return to the shelter and the still, friendly waters of the lagoon.

   “I don’t mind.”

   Astonished, he heard his voice come out, cool and casual, so that the bitterness of Jack’s taunt fell powerless.

   “If you don’t mind, of course.”

   “Oh, not at all.”

   Jack took a step.

   “Well then-”

   Side by side, watched by silent boys, the two started up the mountain.

   Ralph stopped.

   “We’re silly. Why should only two go? If we find anything, two won’t be enough.”

   There came the sound of boys scuttling away. Astonishingly, a dark figure moved against the tide.

   “Roger?”

   “Yes.”

   “That’s three, then.”

   Once more they set out to climb the slope of the mountain. The darkness seemed to flow round them like a tide. Jack, who had said nothing, began to choke and cough, and a gust of wind set all three spluttering. Ralph’s eyes were blinded with tears.

   “Ashes. We’re on the edge of the burnt patch.”

   Their footsteps and the occasional breeze were stirring up small devils of dust. Now that they stopped again, Ralph had time while he coughed to remember how silly they were. If there was no beast-and almost certainly there was no beast-in tiiat case, well and good; but if there was something waiting on top of the mountain-what was the use of three of them, handicapped by the darkness and carrying only sticks?

   “We’re being fools.”

   Out of the darkness came the answer.

   “Windy?”

   Irritably Ralph shook himself. This was all Jack’s fault

   “ ‘Course I am. But we’re still being fools.”

   “If you don’t want to go on,” said the voice sarcastically,

   Ralph heard the mockery and hated Jack. The sting of ashes in his eyes, tiredness, fear, enraged him. “Go on then! We’ll wait here.” There was silence.

   “Why don’t you go? Are you frightened?”

   A stain in the darkness, a stain that was Jack, detached itself and began to draw away. “All right. So long.”

   The stain vanished. Another took its place.

   Ralph felt his knee against something hard and rocked a charred trunk that was edgy to the touch. He felt the sharp cinders that had been bark push against the back of his knee and knew that Roger had sat down. He felt with his hands and lowered himself beside Roger, while the trunk rocked among invisible ashes. Roger, uncommunicative by nature, said nothing. He offered no opinion on the beast nor told Ralph why he had chosen to come on this mad expedition. He simply sat and rocked the trunk gently. Ralph noticed a rapid and infuriating tapping noise and realized that Roger was banging his silly wooden stick against something.

   So they sat, the rocking, tapping, impervious Roger and Ralph, fuming; round them the close sky was loaded with stars, save where the mountain punched up a hole of blackness.

   There was a slithering noise high above them, the sound of someone taking giant and dangerous strides on rock or ash. Then Jack found them, and was shivering and croaking in a voice they could just recognize as his.

   “I saw a thing on top.”

   They heard him blunder against the trunk which rocked violently. He lay silent for a moment, then muttered.

   “Keep a good lookout. It may be following.”

   A shower of ash pattered round them. Jack sat up.

   “I saw a thing bulge on the mountain.”

   “You only imagined it,” said Ralph shakily, “because nothing would bulge. Not any sort of creature.”

   Roger spoke; they jumped, for they had forgotten him.

   “A frog.”

   Jack giggled and shuddered.

   “Some frog. There was a noise too. A kind of ‘plop’ noise. Then the thing bulged.”

   Ralph surprised himself, not so much by the quality of his voice, which was even, but by the bravado of its intention.

   “We’ll go and look.”

   For the first time since he had first known Jack, Ralph could feel him hesitate.

   “Now-?”

   His voice spoke for him.

   “Of course.”

   He got off the trunk and led the way across the clinking cinders up into the dark, and the others followed.

   Now that his physical voice was silent the inner voice of reason, and other voices too, made themselves heard. Piggy was calling him a kid. Another voice told him not to be a fool; and the darkness and desperate enterprise gave the night a kind of dentist’s chair unreality.

   As they came to the last slope, Jack and Roger drew near, changed from the ink-stains to distinguishable figures. By common consent they stopped and crouched together. Behind them, on the horizon, was a patch of lighter sky where in a moment the moon would rise. The wind roared once in the forest and pushed their rags against them.

   Ralph stirred.

   “Come on.”

   They crept forward, Roger lagging a little. Jack and Ralph turned the shoulder of the mountain together. The glittering lengths of the lagoon lay below them and beyond that a long white smudge that was the reef. Roger joined them.

   Jack whispered.

   “Let’s creep forward on hands and knees. Maybe it’s asleep.”

   Roger and Ralph moved on, this time leaving Jack in the rear, for all his brave words. They came to the fiat top where the rock was hard to hands and knees. A creature that bulged.

   Ralph put his hand in the cold, soft ashes of the fire and smothered a cry. His hand and shoulder were twitching from the unlooked-for contact. Green lights of nausea appeared for a moment and ate into the darkness. Roger lay behind him and Jack’s mouth was at his ear.

   “Over there, where there used to be a gap in the rock. A sort of hump-see?”

   Ashes blew into Ralph’s face from the dead fire. He could not see the gap or anything else, because the green lights were opening again and growing, and the top of the mountain was sliding sideways.

   Once more, from a distance, he heard Jack’s whisper.

   “Scared?”

   Not scared so much as paralyzed; hung up here immovable on the top of a diminishing, moving mountain. Jack slid away from him, Roger bumped, fumbled with a hiss of breath, and passed onwards. He heard them whispering.

   “Can you see anything?”

   “There-”

   In front of them, only three or four yards away, was a rock-like hump where no rock should be. Ralph could hear a tiny chattering noise coming from somewhere-perhaps from his own mouth. He bound himself together with his will, fused his fear and loathing into a hatred, and stood up. He took two leaden steps forward.

   Behind them the sliver of moon had drawn dear of the horizon. Before them, something like a great ape was sitting asleep with its head between its knees. Then the wind roared in the forest, there was confusion in the darkness and the creature lifted its head, holding toward them the ruin of a face.

   Ralph found himself taking giant strides among the ashes, heard other creatures crying out and leaping and dared the impossible on the dark slope; presently the mountain was deserted, save for the three abandoned sticks and the thing that bowed.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Gift for the Darkness

   Piggy looked up miserably from the dawn-pale beach to the dark mountain. “Are you sure? Really sure, I mean?”

   “I told you a dozen times now,” said Ralph, “we saw it.”

   “D’you think we’re safe down here?”

   “How the heck should I know?”

   Ralph jerked away from him and walked a few paces along the beach. Jack was kneeling and drawing a circular pattern in the sand with his forefinger. Piggy’s voice came to them, hushed.

   “Are you sure? Really?”

   “Go up and see,” said Jack contemptuously, “and good riddance.”

   “No fear.”

   “The beast had teeth,” said Ralph, “and big black eyes.”

   He shuddered violently. Piggy took off his one round of glass and polished the surface.

   “What we going to do?”

   Ralph turned toward the platform. The conch glimmered among the trees, a white blob against the place where the sun would rise. He pushed back his mop.

   “I don’t know.”

   He remembered the panic flight down the mountainside.

   “I don’t think we’d ever fight a thing that size, honestly, you know. We’d talk but we wouldn’t fight a tiger. We’d hide. Even Jack ‘ud hide.”

   Jack still looked at the sand.

   “What about my hunters?”

   Simon came stealing out of the shadows by the shelters. Ralph ignored Jack’s question. He pointed to the touch of yellow above the sea.

   “As long as there’s light we’re brave enough. But then? And now that thing squats by the fire as though it didn’t want us to be rescued-”

   He was twisting his hands now, unconsciously. His voice rose.

   “So we can’t have a signal fire. . . . We’re beaten.”

   A point of gold appeared above the sea and at once all the sky lightened.

   “What about my hunters?”

   “Boys armed with sticks.”

   Jack got to his feet. His face was red as he marched away. Piggy put on his one glass and looked at Ralph.

   “Now you done it. You been rude about his hunters.”

   “Oh shut up!”

   The sound of the inexpertly blown conch interrupted them. As though he were serenading the rising sun, Jack went on blowing till the shelters were astir and the hunters crept to the platform and the littluns whimpered as now they so frequently did. Ralph rose obediently, and Piggy, and they went to the platform.

   “Talk,” said Ralph bitterly, “talk, talk, talk.”

   He took the conch from Jack.

   “This meeting-”

   Jack interrupted him.

   “I called it.”

   “If you hadn’t called it I should have. You just blew the conch.”

   “Well, isn’t that calling it?”

   “Oh, take it! Go on-talk!”

   Ralph thrust the conch into Jack’s arms and sat down on the trunk.

   “I’ve called an assembly,” said Jack, “because of a lot of things. First, you know now, we’ve seen the beast. We crawled up. We were only a few feet away. The beast sat up and looked at us. I don’t know what it does. We don’t even know what it is-”

   “The beast comes out of the sea-”

   “Out of the dark-”

   “Trees-”

   “Quiet!” shouted Jack. “You, listen. The beast is sitting up there, whatever it is--”

   “Perhaps it’s waiting-”

   “Hunting-”

   “Yes, hunting.”

   “Hunting,” said Jack. He remembered his age-old tremors in the forest. “Yes. The beast is a hunter. Only- shut up! The next thing is that we couldn’t kill it. And the next thing is that Ralph said my hunters are no good.”

   “I never said that!”

   “I’ve got the conch. Ralph thinks you’re cowards, running away from the boar and the beast. And that’s not all.”

   There was a kind of sigh on the platform as if everyone knew what was coming. Jack’s voice went on, tremulous yet determined, pushing against the uncooperative silence.

   “He’s like Piggy. He says things like Piggy. He isn’t a proper chief.”

   Jack clutched the conch to him.

   “He’s a coward himself.”

   For a moment he paused and then went on.

   “On top, when Roger and me went on-he stayed back.”

   “I went too!”

   “After.”

   The two boys glared at each other through screens of hair.

   “I went on too,” said Ralph, “then I ran away. So did you.”

   “Call me a coward then.”

   Jack turned to the hunters.

   He’s not a hunter. He’d never have got us meat He isn’t a prefect and we don’t know anything about him. He just gives orders and expects people to obey for nothing. All this talk-”

   “All this talk!” shouted Ralph. “Talk, talk! Who wanted it? Who called the meeting?”

   Jack turned, red in the face, his chin sunk back. He glowered up under his eyebrows.

   “All right then,” he said in tones of deep meaning, and menace, all right.”

   He held the conch against his chest with one hand and stabbed the air with his index finger.

   “Who thinks Ralph oughtn’t to be chief?”

   He looked expectantly at the boys ranged round, who had frozen. Under the palms there was deadly silence.

   “Hands up,” said Jack strongly, “whoever wants Ralph not to be chief?”

   The silence continued, breathless and heavy and full of shame. Slowly the red drained from Jack’s cheeks, then came back with a painful rush. He licked his lips and turned his head at an angle, so that his gaze avoided the embarrassment of linking with another’s eye.

   “How many think-”

   His voice tailed off. The hands that held the conch shook. He cleared his throat, and spoke loudly.

   “All right then.”

   He laid the conch with great care in the grass at his feet. The humiliating tears were running from the comer of each eye.

   “I’m not going to play any longer. Not with you.”

   Most of the boys were looking down now, at the grass or their feet. Jack cleared his throat again.

   “I’m not going to be part of Ralph’s lot-”

   He looked along the right-hand logs, numbering the hunters that had been a choir.

   “I’m going off by myself. He can catch his own pigs. Anyone who wants to hunt when I do can come too.”

   He blundered out of the triangle toward the drop to the white sand.

   “Jack!”

   Jack turned and looked back at Ralph. For a moment he paused and then cried out, high-pitched, enraged.

   “No!”

   He leapt down from the platform and ran along the beach, paying no heed to the steady fall of his tears; and until he dived into the forest Ralph watched him.

   Piggy was indignant.

   “I been talking, Ralph, and you just stood there like-”

   Softly, looking at Piggy and not seeing him, Ralph spoke to himself.

   “He’ll come back. When the sun goes down he’ll come.” He looked at the conch in Piggy’s hand.

   “What?”

   “Well there!”

   Piggy gave up the attempt to rebuke Ralph. He polished his glass again and went back to his subject.

   “We can do without Jack Merridew. There’s others besides him on this island. But now we really got a beast, though I can’t hardly believe it, well need to stay close to the platform; there’ll be less need of him and his hunting. So now we can really decide on what’s what.”

   “There’s no help, Piggy. Nothing to be done.”

   For a while they sat in depressed silence. Then Simon stood up and took the conch from Piggy, who was so astonished that he zremained on his feet. Ralph looked up at Simon.

   “Simon? What is it this time?”

   A half-sound of jeering ran round the circle and Simon shrank from it.

   “I thought there might be something to do. Something we-”

   Again die pressure of the assembly took his voice away. He sought for help and sympathy and chose Piggy. He turned half toward him, clutching the conch to his brown chest

   “I think we ought to climb the mountain.”

   The circle shivered with dread. Simon broke off and turned to Piggy who was looking at him with an expression of derisive incomprehension.

   “What’s the good of climbing up to this here beast when Ralph and the other two couldn’t do nothing?”

   Simon whispered his answer.

   “What else is there to do?”

   His speech made, he allowed Piggy to lift the conch out of his hands. Then he retired and sat as far away from the others as possible.

   Piggy was speaking now with more assurance and with what, if the circumstances had- not been so serious, the others would have recognized as pleasure.

   “I said we could all do without a certain person. Now I say we got to decide on what can be done. And I think I could tell you what Ralph’s going to say next. The most important thing on the island is the smoke and you can’t have no smoke without a fire.”

   Ralph made a restless movement.

   “No go, Piggy. We’ve got no fire. That thing sits up there-we’ll have to stay here.”

   Piggy lifted the conch as though to add power to his next words.

   “We got no fire on the mountain. But what’s wrong with a fire down here? A fire could be built on them rocks. On the sand, even. We’d make smoke just the same.”

   “That’s right!”

   “Smoke!”

   “By the bathing pool!”

   The boys began to babble. Only Piggy could have the intellectual daring to suggest moving the fire from the mountain.

   “So well have the fire down here,” said Ralph. He looked about him. “We can build it just here between the bathing pool and the platform. Of course-”

   He broke off, frowning, thinking the thing out, unconsciously tugging at the stub of a nail with his teeth.

   “Of course the smoke won’t show so much, not be seen so far away. But we needn’t go near, near the-”

   The others nodded in perfect comprehension. There would be no need to go near.

   “We’ll build the fire now.”

   The greatest ideas are the simplest Now there was something to be done they worked with passion. Piggy was so full of delight and expanding liberty in Jack’s departure, so full of pride in his contribution to the good of society, that he helped to fetch wood. The wood he fetched was close at hand, a fallen tree on the platform that they did not need for the assembly, yet to the others the sanctity of the platform had protected even what was useless there. Then the twins realized they would have a fire near them as a comfort in the night and this set a few littluns dancing and clapping hands.

   The wood was not so dry as the fuel they had used on the mountain. Much of it was damply rotten and full of insects that scurried; logs had to be lined from the soil with care or they crumbled into sodden powder. More than this, in order to avoid going deep into the forest the boys worked near at hand on any fallen wood no matter how tangled with new growth. The skirts of the forest and the scar were familiar, near the conch and the shelters and sufficiently friendly in daylight. What they might become in darkness nobody cared to think. They worked therefore with great energy and cheerfulness, though as time crept by there was a suggestion of panic in the energy and hysteria in the cheerfulness. They built a pyramid of leaves and twigs, branches and togs, on the bare sand by the platform. For the first time on the island, Piggy himself removed his one glass, knelt down and focused the sun on tinder. Soon there was a ceiling of smoke and a bush of yellow flame.

   The littluns who had seen few fires since the first catastrophe became wildly excited. They danced and sang and there was a partyish air about the gathering.

   At last Ralph stopped work and stood up, smudging the sweat from his face with a dirty forearm.

   “We’ll have to have a small fire. This one’s too big to keep up.”

   Piggy sat down carefully on the sand and began to polish his glass.

   “We could experiment. We could find out how to make a small hot fire and then put green branches on to make smoke. Some of them leaves must be better for that than the others.”

   As the fire died down so did the excitement The littluns stopped singing and dancing and drifted away toward the sea or the fruit trees or the shelters.

   Ralph flopped down in the sand.

   “We’ll have to make a new list of who’s to took after the fire.”

   “If you can find ‘em.”

   He looked round. Then for the first time he saw how few biguns there were and understood why the work had been so hard.

   “Where’s Maurice?”

   Piggy wiped his glass again.

   “I expect ... no, he wouldn’t go into the forest by himself, would he?”

   Ralph jumped up, ran swiftly round the fire- and stood by Piggy, holding up his hair.

   “But we’ve got to have a list! There’s you and me and Samneric and-”

   He would not look at Piggy but spoke casually.

   “Where’s Bill and Roger?”

   Piggy leaned forward and put a fragment of wood on the fire.

   “I expect they’ve gone. I expect they won’t play either.”

   Ralph sat down and began to poke little holes in the sand. He was surprised to see that one had a drop of blood by it He examined his bitten nail closely and watched the little globe of blood that gathered where the quick was gnawed away.

   Piggy went on speaking.

   “I seen them stealing off when we was gathering wood. They went that way. The same way as he went himself.”

   Ralph finished his inspection and looked up into the air. The sky, as if in sympathy with the great changes among them, was different today and so misty that in some places the hot air seemed white. The disc of the sun was dull silver as though it were nearer and not so hot, yet the air stifled.

   “They always been making trouble, haven’t they?”

   The voice came near his shoulder and sounded anxious.

   “We can do without ‘em. We’ll be happier now, won’t we?”

   Ralph sat. The twins came, dragging a great log and grinning in their triumph. They dumped the log among the embers so that sparks flew.

   “We can do all right on our own, can’t we?”

   For a long time while the log dried, caught fire and turned red hot, Ralph sat in the sand and said nothing. He did not see Piggy go to the twins and whisper with them, nor how the three boys went together into the forest.

   “Here you are.”

   He came to himself with a jolt. Piggy and the other two were by him. They were laden with fruit

   “I thought perhaps,” said Piggy, “we ought to have a feast, kind of.”

   The three boys sat down. They had a great mass of the fruit with them and all of it properly ripe. They grinned at Ralph as he took some and began to eat.

   ‘Thanks,” he said. Then with an accent of pleased surprise-”Thanks!”

   “Do all right on our own,” said Piggy. “It’s them that haven’t no common sense that make trouble on this island. We’ll make a little hot fire-”

   Ralph remembered what had been worrying him.

   “Where’s Simon?”

   “I don’t know.”

   “You don’t think he’s climbing the mountain?”

   Piggy broke into noisy laughter and took more fruit.

   “He might be.” He gulped his mouthful. “He’s cracked.”

   Simon had passed through the area of fruit trees but today the littluns had been too busy with the fire on the beach and they had not pursued him there. He went on among the creepers until he reached the great mat that was woven by the open space and crawled inside. Beyond the screen of leaves the sunlight pelted down and the butterflies danced in the middle their unending dance. He knelt down and the arrow of the sun fell on him. That other time the air had seemed to vibrate with heat; but now it threatened. Soon the sweat was running from his long coarse hair. He shifted restlessly but there was no avoiding the sun. Presently he was thirsty, and then very thirsty.

   He continued to sit

   Far off alone the beach, Jack was standing before a small group of boys. He was looking brilliantly happy.

   “Hunting,” he said. He sized them up. Each of them wore the remains of a black cap and ages ago they had stood in two demure rows and their voices had been the song of angels.

   “We’ll hunt. I’m going to be chief.”

   They nodded, and the crisis passed easily.

   “And then-about the beast.”

   They moved, looked at the forest.

   “I say this. We aren’t going to bother about the beast.”

   He nodded at them.

   “We’re going to forget the beast.”

   “That’s right!”

   “Yes!”

   “Forget the beast!”

   If Jack was astonished by their fervor he did not show it.

   “And another thing. We shan’t dream so much down here. This is near the end of the island.”

   They agreed passionately out of the depths of their tormented private lives.

   “Now listen. We might go later to the castle rock. But now I’m going to get more of the biguns away from the conch and all that We’ll kill a pig and give a feast.” He paused and went on more slowly. “And about the beast When we kill we’ll leave some of the kill for it. Then it won’t bother us, maybe.”

   He stood up abruptly.

   “We’ll go into the forest now and hunt.”

   He turned and trotted away and after a moment they followed him obediently.

   They spread out, nervously, in the forest. Almost at once Jack found the dung and scattered roots that told of pig and soon the track was fresh. Jack signaled the rest of the hunt to be quiet and went forward by himself. He was happy and wore the damp darkness of the forest like his old clothes. He crept down a slope to rocks and scattered trees by the sea.

   The pigs lay, bloated bags of fat, sensuously enjoying the shadows under the trees. There was no wind and they were unsuspicious; and practice had made Jack silent as the shadows. He stole away again and instructed his hidden hunters. Presently they all began to inch forward sweating in the silence and heat. Under the trees an ear flapped idly. A little apart from the rest, sunk in deep maternal bliss, lay the largest sow of the lot. She was black and pink; and the great bladder of her belly was fringed with a row of piglets that slept or burrowed and squeaked.

   Fifteen yards from the drove Jack stopped, and his arm, straightening, pointed at the sow. he looked round in inquiry to make sure that everyone understood and the other boys nodded at him. The row of right arms slid back.

   “Now!”

   The drove of pigs started up; and at a range of only ten yards the wooden spears with fire-hardened points flew toward the chosen pig. One piglet, with a demented shriek, rushed into the sea trailing Roger’s spear behind it. The sow gave a gasping squeal and staggered up, with two spears sticking in her fat flank. The boys shouted and rushed forward, the piglets scattered and the sow burst the advancing line and went crashing away through the forest.

   “After her!”

   They raced along the pig-track, but the forest was too dark and tangled so that Jack, cursing, stopped them and cast among the trees. Then he said nothing for a time but breathed fiercely so that they were awed by him and looked at each other in uneasy admiration. Presently he stabbed down at the ground with his finger.

   “There-”

   Before the others could examine the drop of blood, Jack had swerved off, judging a trace, .touching a bough that gave. So he followed, mysteriously right and assured, and the hunters trod behind him.

   He stopped before a covert.

   “In there.”

   They surrounded the covert but the sow got away with the sting of another spear in her flank. The trailing butts hindered her and the sharp, cross-cut points were a torment She blundered into a tree, forcing a spear still deeper; and after that any of the hunters could follow her easily by the drops of vivid blood. The afternoon wore on, hazy and dreadful with damp heat; the sow staggered her way ahead of them, bleeding and mad, and the hunters followed, wedded to her in lust, excited by the long chase and the dropped blood. They could see her now, nearly got up with her, out she spurted with her last strength and held ahead of them again. They were just behind her when she staggered into an open space where bright flowers grew and butterflies danced round each other and the air was hot and still.

   Here, struck down by the heat, the sow fell and the hunters hurled themselves at her. This dreadful eruption from an unknown world made her frantic; she squealed and bucked and the air was full of sweat and noise and blood and terror. Roger ran round the heap, prodding with his spear whenever pigflesh appeared. Jack was on top of the sow, stabbing downward with his knife. Roger found a lodgment for his point and began to push till he was leaning with his whole weight The spear moved forward inch by inch and die terrified squealing became a high-pitched scream. Then Jack found the throat and the hot blood spouted over his hands. The sow collapsed under them and they were heavy and fulfilled upon her. The butterflies still danced, preoccupied in the center of die clearing.

   At last the immediacy of the kill subsided. The boys drew back, and Jack stood up, holding out his hands.

   “Look.”

   He giggled and flicked them while the boys laughed at his reeking palms. Then Jack grabbed Maurice and rubbed the stuff over his cheeks. Roger began to withdraw his spear and the boys noticed it for the first time. Robert stabilized the thing in a phrase which was received uproariously.

   “Right up her butt!”

   “Did you hear?”

   “Did you hear what he said?”

   “Right up her butt!”

   This time Robert and Maurice acted the two parts; and Maurice’s acting of the pig’s efforts to avoid the advancing spear was so funny that the boys cried with laughter.

   At length even this palled. Jack began to clean his bloody hands on the rock. Then he started work on the sow and paunched her, lugging out the hot bags of colored guts, pushing them into a pile on the rock while the others watched him. He talked as he worked.

   “We’ll take the meat along the beach. I’ll go back to the platform and invite them to a feast That should give us time.”

   Roger spoke.

   “Chief-”

   “Uh-?”

   “How can we make a fire?”

   Jack squatted back and frowned at the pig.

   “We’ll raid them and take fire. There must be four of you; Henry and you, Bill and Maurice. We’ll put on paint and sneak up; Roger can snatch a branch while I say what I want. The rest of you can get this back to where we were. We’ll build the fire there. And after that-”

   He paused and stood up, looking at the shadows under the trees. His voice was lower when he spoke again.

   “But we’ll leave part of the kill for ...”

   He knelt down again and was busy with his knife. The boys crowded round him. He spoke over his shoulder to Roger.

   “Sharpen a stick at both ends.”

   Presently he stood up, holding the dripping sow’s head in his hands.

   “Where’s that stick?”

   “Here.”

   “Ram one end in the earth. Oh-it’s rock. Jam it in that crack. There.”

   Jack held up the head and jammed the soft throat down on the pointed end of the stick which pierced through into the mouth. He stood back and the head hung there, a little blood dribbling down the stick.

   Instinctively the boys drew back too; and the forest was very still. They listened, and the loudest noise was the buzzing of flies over the spilled guts.

   Jack spoke in a whisper.

   ‘‘Pick up the pig.”

   Maurice and Robert skewered the carcass, lifted the dead weight, and stood ready. In the silence, and standing over the dry blood, they looked suddenly furtive.

   Jack spoke loudly.

   “This head is for the beast. It’s a gift.”

   The silence accepted the gift and awed them. The head remained there, dim-eyed, grinning faintly, blood blackening between the teeth. All at once they were running away, as fast as they could, through the forest toward the open beach.