was white under the freckles. He noticed that he still held the knife aloft and brought his arm down replacing the blade in the sheath. Then they all three laughed ashamedly and began to climb back to the track.
“I was choosing a place,” said Jack. “I was just waiting for a moment to decide where to stab him.”
“You should stick a pig,” said Ralph fiercely. “They always talk about sticking a pig.”
“You cut a pig’s throat to let the blood out,” said Jack, “otherwise you can’t eat the meat.”
“Why didn’t you—?”
They knew very well why he hadn’t: because of the enormity of the knife descending and cutting into living flesh; because of the unbearable blood.
“I was going to,” said Jack. He was ahead of them, and they could not see his face. “I was choosing a place. Next time—!”
He snatched his knife out of the sheath and slammed it into a tree trunk. Next time there would be no mercy. He looked round fiercely, daring them to contradict. Then they broke out into the sunlight and for a while they were busy finding and devouring food as they moved down the scar toward the platform and the meeting.
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, 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[8].”
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.
“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 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 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 platform. 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—”
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,