The  buzz from the  hunters  was  one  of admiration  at this  handsome
behavior. Clearly  they were of the  opinion  that Jack had done the  decent
thing,  had put himself  in  the right by his  generous apology  and  Ralph,
obscurely, in the wrong. They waited for an appropriately decent answer.
     Yet Ralph's throat refused to pass one.  He resented, as an addition to
Jack's misbehavior, this verbal trick. The fire was dead, the ship was gone.
Could they not see? Anger instead of decency passed his throat.
     "That was a dirty trick."
     They were silent on the mountain-top while the opaque look  appeared in
Jack's eyes and passed away.
     Ralph's final word was an ungracious mutter.
     "All right. Light the fire."
     With some  positive action before them, a  little of  die tension died.
Ralph said no  more, did nothing, stood  looking down at the ashes round his
feet. Jack was loud  and  active.  He  gave orders,  sang,  whistled,  threw
remarks  at the  silent Ralph-remarks  that  did  not  need an  answer,  and
therefore could not invite a snub; and still Ralph was  silent. No one,  not
even Jack, would ask him to  move and in the end  they had to build the fire
three yards away and in a place not really as convenient. So Ralph  asserted
his chieftainship and could not have chosen a  better way  if he had thought
for  days. Against this  weapon, so indefinable  and  so effective, Jack was
powerless and  raged  without knowing why.  By the time  the pile was built,
they were on different sides of a high barrier.
     When  they had dealt with the fire  another  crisis arose. Jack had  no
means of lighting it. Then to his surprise, Ralph went to Piggy and took the
glasses from  him. Not even Ralph  knew now a link between him  and Jack had
been snapped and fastened elsewhere.
     'I'll bring 'em back."
     "I'll come too."
     Piggy stood behind him, islanded in a sea  of meaningless color,  while
Ralph knelt and focused the glossy spot. Instantly the fire was alight Piggy
held out his hands and grabbed the glasses back.
     Before  these  fantastically attractive flowers  of violet and red  and
yellow, unkindness melted  away. They became  a circle of boys round a  camp
fire and even Piggy and Ralph were half-drawn in. Soon some of the boys were
rushing down the slope for more wood while  Jack hacked  the pig. They tried
holding the whole carcass on a stake over the fire, but the stake burnt more
quickly than the pig  roasted.  In the  end  they skewered bits  of meat  on
branches and held them in the flames: and even  then almost  as much boy was
roasted as meat.
     Ralph's mouth  watered. He meant to  refuse meat  but his  past diet of
fruit and nuts, with an odd crab or fish, gave him too little resistance. He
accepted a piece of half-raw meat and gnawed it like a wolf.
     Piggy spoke, also dribbling.
     "Aren't I having none?"
     Jack  had meant to  leave him in doubt,  as an assertion of power;  but
Piggy by advertising his omission made more cruelty necessary.
     "You didn't hunt."
     "No more did  Ralph,"  said  Piggy  wetly,  "nor Simon."  He amplified.
"There isn't more than a ha'porth of meat in a crab."
     Ralph stirred uneasily. Simon,  sitting between  the  twins  and Piggy,
wiped  his mouth and shoved his piece of meat  over the rocks  to Piggy, who
grabbed it. The twins giggled and Simon lowered his face in shame.
     Then  Jack leapt to  his feet, slashed  off a  great hunk  of meat, and
flung it down at Simon's feet.
     "Eat! Damn you!"
     He glared at Simon.
     "Take it!"
     He spun on his heel, center of a bewildered circle of boys.
     "I got you meat!"
     Numberless  and  inexpressible frustrations  combined to make his  rage
elemental and awe-inspiring.
     "I painted my face-I stole up. Now you eat-all of you -and I-"
     Slowly the silence  on the mountain-top deepened till the click  of the
fire and the soft hiss of roasting meat could be  heard clearly. Jack looked
round for understanding but found only respect. Ralph stood  among the ashes
of the signal fire, his hands full of meat, saying nothing.
     Then at last Maurice broke the  silence. He changed  the subject to the
only one that could bring the majority of them together.
     "Where did you find the pig?"
     Roger pointed down the unfriendly side. "They were there-by the sea."
     Jack, recovering, could not  bear  to have  his story told. He broke in
quickly.
     "We  spread  round. I crept, on  hands and knees.  The spears fell  out
because they hadn't barbs on. The pig ran away and made an awful noise-"
     "It turned back and ran into the circle, bleeding-"
     All the boys were talking at once, relieved and excited.
     "We closed in-"
     The first blow had  paralyzed its  hind quarters,  so  then  the circle
could close in and beat and beat-
     "I cut the pig's throat-"
     The  twins, still sharing their identical grin, jumped up and ran round
each other. Then the rest joined in, making pig-dying noises and shouting.
     "One for his nob!"
     "Give him a fourpenny one!"
     Then Maurice pretended to be the pig and ran squealing into the center,
and the hunters, circling still, pretended to beat him. As they danced, they
sang.
     <i>"Kill the pig. Cut her throat. Bash her in"</i>
     Ralph  watched them, envious and  resentful. Not till they flagged  and
the chant died away, did he speak.
     "I'm calling an assembly."
     One by one, they halted, and stood watching him.
     "With  the conch. I'm calling a  meeting even  if we have to go on into
the dark. Down on the platform. When I blow it. Now."
     He turned away and walked off, down the mountain.





     CHAPTER FIVE
     <i>Beast from Water</i>

     The tide was coming in and there was only a narrow  strip of firm beach
between the  water  and the white, stumbling stuff  near  the palm  terrace.
Ralph chose the firm strip  as  a path because he needed to think,  and only
here could he allow his feet to move without having to watch them. Suddenly,
pacing by the  water,  he  was overcome with astonishment. He found  himself
understanding  the wearisomeness  of  this life, where  every  path  was  an
improvisation  and a  considerable  part  of  one's  waking  life  was spent
watching  one's  feet. He stopped,  facing  the strip;  and remembering that
first  enthusiastic  exploration  as  though  it  were  part  of a  brighter
childhood, he smiled jeeringly. He  turned then and walked  back toward  the
platform with the sun in his face. The time had come for the assembly and as
he walked into  the concealing splendors of  the sunlight  he went carefully
over the points of his speech. There must be no mistake about this assembly,
no chasing imaginary. . . .
     He lost himself in a  maze of thoughts that were rendered  vague by his
lack of words to express them. Frowning, he tried again.
     This meeting must not be fun, but business.
     At  that  he  walked  faster,  aware  all at once  of urgency  and  the
declining sun and a little wind created by his speed that breathed about his
face.  This  wind pressed  his  grey  shirt against  his  chest so  that  he
noticed-in this  new mood  of  comprehension-how  the folds were stiff  like
cardboard,  and unpleasant; noticed too  how the  frayed edges of his shorts
were making an uncomfortable,  pink area on the front of  his thighs. With a
convulsion of the mind, Ralph discovered dirt and decay, understood how much
he  disliked perpetually flicking the tangled  hair  out of his eyes, and at
last,  when the  sun was  gone, rolling noisily to rest among dry leaves. At
that he began to trot.
     The beach near the bathing pool was dotted with groups of boys  waiting
for the assembly. They made way for him silently, conscious of his grim mood
and the fault at the fire.
     The place  of assembly in  which he stood was  roughly a  triangle; but
irregular and sketchy, like everything they made. First there was the log on
which  he himself  sat; a dead tree that must  have been quite exceptionally
big for the  platform. Perhaps one of  those legendary storms of the Pacific
had shifted it here. This palm trunk lay parallel to the beach, so that when
Ralph  sat he  faced the island but to the boys was a darkish figure against
the shimmer  of the lagoon.  The two sides of the triangle  of which the log
was  base  were less  evenly defined.  On  the  right was a  log polished by
restless seats  along the top,  but not so large  as the chiefs and  not  so
comfortable.  On  the  left  were   four  small   logs,   one  of   them-the
farthest-lamentably springy.  Assembly  after  assembly  had  broken  up  in
laughter  when someone had  leaned too far  back and the log had whipped and
thrown half a dozen boys backwards into  the grass. Yet now,  he saw, no one
had had the wit-not himself nor Jack,  nor Piggy-to bring  a stone and wedge
the  thing. So  they  would  continue  enduring  the  ill-balanced  twister,
because, because. . . . Again he lost himself in deep waters.
     Crass was worn away in front of each trunk but  grew tall and untrodden
in tile center of the triangle. Then, at the apex, the grass was thick again
because no one sat  there. All round the place of assembly  the grey  trunks
rose, straight  or leaning,  and supported  the  low roof of leaves.  On two
sides was the  beach;  behind,  the  lagoon; in front, the  darkness  of the
island.
     Ralph turned  to the chief's seat. They  had  never had  an assembly as
late  before. That was why  the  place  looked  so different.  Normally  the
underside of the green roof was lit by  a  tangle of golden reflections, and
their faces  were lit  upside  down-like, thought  Ralph,  when  you hold an
electric torch in your  hands. But now  the sun was slanting in at one side,
so that the shadows were where they ought to be.
     Again he fell into that strange mood of speculation that was so foreign
to him. If  faces were  different  when  lit from above or below-what  was a
face? What was anything?
     Ralph moved  impatiently. The trouble was, if you were a  chief you had
to think, you  had to be  wise. And then the occasion slipped by so that you
had  to  grab at  a decision.  This made you  think; because thought  was  a
valuable thing, that got results. . . .
     Only, decided  Ralph as he faced the chiefs  seat,  I  can't think. Not
like Piggy.
     Once  more that  evening  Ralph had  to adjust  his values. Piggy could
think. He could go step by step inside that fat head of  his, only Piggy was
no chief. But Piggy, for  all his ludicrous body, had  brains. Ralph  was  a
specialist in thought now, and could recognize thought in another.
     The sun in his eyes reminded him how time  was passing, so he  took the
conch down from the tree and examined the surface.  Exposure  to the air had
bleached the  yellow and pink to  near-white, and transparency. Ralph felt a
land of affectionate reverence for the conch, even though he had  fished the
thing out of  the lagoon himself. He faced the place of assembly and put the
conch to his lips.
     The others were waiting for this and came straight away. Those who were
aware that a ship had passed  the island while the fire was out were subdued
by the thought of Ralph's anger; while those, including the littluns who did
not know,  were impressed by the  general air  of  solemnity. The  place  of
assembly filled  quickly;  Jack, Simon, Maurice,  most  of  the  hunters, on
Ralph's right; the  rest  on the left,  under the sun. Piggy came  and stood
outside the triangle. This indicated that he wished to listen, but would not
speak; and Piggy intended it as a gesture of disapproval
     "The thing is: we need an assembly."
     No one  said  anything  but  the faces turned to Ralph were  intent. He
flourished the conch. He had learnt as a practical business that fundamental
statements  like  this  had to be  said  at  least  twice,  before  everyone
understood them. One had to sit, attracting all eyes to the conch,  and drop
words like  heavy  round stones among  the little  groups  that crouched  or
squatted. He  was searching his  mind  for  simple  words  so that even  the
littluns  would  understand  what  the  assembly  was about. Later  perhaps,
practiced  debaters-Jack, Maurice, Piggy-would use their  whole art to twist
the meeting: but now at the beginning the subject of the debate must be laid
out clearly.
     "We need an assembly. Not for fun. Not for laughing and falling off the
log"-the  group  of littluns  on the  twister  giggled and  looked  at  each
other-"not for making  jokes, or for"-he  lifted the  conch in an effort  to
find the compelling word-"for cleverness.  Not for these things. But to  put
things straight.''
     He paused for a moment.
     "I've been alone. By myself I went, thinking what's what I know what we
need. An assembly to put things straight And first of all, I'm speaking."
     He paused for  a moment  and  automatically pushed back his hair. Piggy
tiptoed  to  the triangle,  his  ineffectual  protest  made, and  joined the
others.
     Ralph went on.
     "We have lots  of  assemblies.  Everybody  enjoys  speaking  and  being
together. We decide  things. But they don't get done. We were going  to have
water brought from the stream and left in  those coconut shells  under fresh
leaves. So it was, for a few days. Now there's no water. The shells are dry.
People drink from the river."
     There was a murmur of assent.
     "Not  that  there's anything wrong with drinking from the river. I mean
I'd sooner  have  water  from  that  place- you  know,  the  pool  where the
waterfall is-than out of an  old  coconut shell.  Only we said we'd have the
water  brought And  now  not  There  were  only two full  shells  there this
afternoon."
     He licked his lips.
     "Then there's huts. Shelters."
     The murmur swelled again and died away.
     "You mostly sleep in shelters. Tonight, except  for Sam-neric up by the
fire, you'll all sleep there. Who built the shelters?"
     Clamor rose at once. Everyone had built the shelters. Ralph had to wave
the conch once more.
     "Wait  a  minute!  I mean, who built all three? We all built  the first
one,  four of us  the second one, and me 'n Simon built  the  last one  over
there. That's why it's so tottery. No. Don't laugh. That shelter might  fall
down if the rain comes back. We'll need those shelters then."
     He paused and cleared his throat.
     "There's another  thing. We chose  those rocks  right along beyond  the
bathing pool as a lavatory. That was sensible too. The tide cleans the place
up. You littluns know about that."
     There were sniggers here and there and swift glances.
     "Now  people seem  to  use anywhere.  Even  near the  shelters and  the
platform. You littluns, when you're getting fruit; if you're taken short-"
     The assembly roared.
     "I  said if  you're taken short  you keep away from  the  fruit. That's
dirty."
     Laughter rose again.
     "I said that's dirty!"
     He plucked at his stiff, grey shirt.
     "That's  realty  dirty.  If  you're taken short you go  right along the
beach to the rocks. See?"
     Piggy held out his  hands  for the conch but Ralph shook his head. This
speech was planned, point by point.
     "We've all got to use the rocks again. This place is getting dirty." He
paused.  The assembly, sensing a crisis, was  tensely  expectant. "And then:
about the fire."
     Ralph  let out his spare breath with a little gasp  that  was echoed by
his  audience. Jack started to chip a piece  of  wood  with  his  knife  and
whispered something to Robert, who looked away.
     "The fire is the most important thing on the island. How can we ever be
rescued  except by luck, if  we don't keep a fire going? Is a fire  too much
for us to make?"
     He flung out an arm.
     "Look  at  us! How many are we? And yet we  can't  keep a fire going to
make  smoke. Don't you  understand? Can't  you see  we ought to-ought to die
before we let the fire out?"
     There was a self-conscious giggling among the hunters. Ralph  turned on
them passionately.
     "You hunters! You can laugh! But I tell you the smoke is more important
than the pig, however often you kill one. Do all of you see?"  He spread his
arms wide and turned to the whole triangle.
     "We've got to make smoke up there-or die."
     He paused, feeling for his next point
     "And another thing."
     Someone called out.
     "Too many things."
     There came mutters of agreement. Ralph overrode them.
     "And  another  thing.  We nearly set  the whole island  on fire. And we
waste  time, rolling rocks, and  making little cooking fires. Now I say this
and make it a rule, because I'm  chief. We won't have a fire anywhere but on
the mountain. Ever."
     There  was  a  row immediately. Boys stood  up  and  shouted  and Ralph
shouted back.
     "Because if you want a fire to cook fish or crab, you can jolly well go
up the mountain. That way we'll be certain."
     Hands were reaching for the conch in the light of the  setting  sun. He
held on and leapt on the trunk.
     "All this I meant to say. Now I've said it. You voted me for chief. Now
you do what I say."
     They quieted, slowly, and at last were seated again. Ralph dropped down
and spoke in his ordinary voice.
     "So remember.  The rocks  for a lavatory. Keep the fire going and smoke
showing as a signal. Don't take fire  from the mountain.  Take your  food up
mere."
     Jack stood up, scowling in the gloom, and held out his hands.
     "I haven't finished yet"
     "But you've talked and talked!"
     "I've got the conch."
     Jack sat down, grumbling.
     "Then the last mine. This is what people can talk about."
     He waited till the platform was very still.
     "Things are breaking up. I don't understand why. We began well; we were
happy. And then-"
     He moved the conch gently, looking beyond  them at nothing, remembering
the beastie, the snake, the fire, the talk of fear.
     "Then people started getting frightened."
     A murmur,  almost  a  moan,  rose  and  passed away.  Jack had  stopped
whittling. Ralph went on, abruptly.
     "But that's  littluns' talk. We'll get that straight. So the last part,
the bit we can all talk about, is kind of deciding on the fear."
     The hair was creeping into his eyes again.
     "We've got to talk about  this fear and  decide  there's nothing in it.
I'm frightened  myself, sometimes; only that's nonsense!  Like bogies. Then,
when we've  decided, we can start again and be careful about things like the
fire."  A  picture  of  three  boys walking along the  bright beach  flitted
through his mind. "And be happy."
     Ceremonially,  Ralph laid the conch on the trunk beside  him  as a sign
that the speech was over. What sunlight reached them was level.
     Jack stood up and took the conch.
     "So this  is a  meeting  to find out  what's what, I`ll tell you what's
what. You littluns started all this, with the fear talk. Beasts! Where from?
Of course we're frightened sometimes but  we  put up with being  frightened.
Only Ralph says you scream in the night. What does that mean but nightmares?
Anyway, you  don't  hunt  or build  or help-you're a  lot  of cry-babies and
sissies. That's what.  And as for the fear- you'll have to put  up with that
like the rest of us."
     Ralph looked at Jack open-mouthed, but Jack took no notice.
     'The thing is-fear  can't  hurt you any more than a dream. There aren't
any beasts  to  be afraid  of on this island." He  looked  along the row  of
whispering littluns. "Serve you right if  something did get you, you useless
lot of cry-babies! But there is no animal-"
     Ralph interrupted him testily.
     "What is all this? Who said anything about an animal?"
     "You  did,  the other  day.  You  said they dream and cry out Now  they
talk-not only the littluns, but my hunters sometimes-talk of a thing, a dark
thing, a beast, some sort of animal I've heard. You thought not, didn't you?
Now listen. You  don't get big animals on small islands. Only pigs. You only
get lions and tigers in big countries like Africa and India-"
     "And the Zoo-"
     "I've got  the conch. I'm not talking about the fear. I'm talking about
the beast. Be frightened if you like. But as for the beast-"
     Jack paused, cradling the conch, and turned to his hunt" ers with their
dirty black caps.
     "Am I a hunter or am I not?"
     They nodded, simply. He was a hunter all right. No one doubted that.
     "Well then-I've  been all over this island. By myself. If  there were a
beast  I'd have seen it Be frightened because  you're like that-but there is
no beast in the forest"
     Jack handed back the conch and sat down.  The  whole assembly applauded
him with relief. Then Piggy held out his hand.
     "I don't agree with all Jack said, but with some. `Course there isn't a
beast in the forest How could there be? What would a beast eat?"
     "Pig."
     "We eat pig."
     "Piggy!"
     "I  got the conch!"  said Piggy indignantly. "Ralph- they ought to shut
up, oughtn't they? You shut up,  you littluns! What I  mean is that I  don't
agree about this here fear. Of course there isn't nothing to be afraid of in
the forest Why-I been there myself! You'll be talking  about ghosts and such
things next We know  what goes  on  and if there's  something wrong, there's
someone to put it right."
     He took off his glasses and blinked at them. The sun had gone as if the
light had been turned off.
     He proceeded to explain.
     "If you get a pain  in your stomach, whether it's a little one or a big
one-"
     "Yours is a big one."
     "When you done laughing perhaps we can get on with the  meeting. And if
them  littluns climb  back on the twister  again they'll only  fall off in a
sec. So  they might  as well sit  on  the ground and  listen.  No.  You have
doctors for everything, even the inside of your  mind. You don't really mean
that  we  got to be  frightened all the time  of nothing?  Life," said Piggy
expansively, "is scientific, that's  what  it is. In a year  or two when the
war's over  they'll  be traveling  to Mars and  back. I know there isn't  no
beast-not with claws and all that, I  mean-but I know there  isn't  no fear,
either."
     Piggy paused.
     "Unless-"
     Ralph moved restlessly.
     "Unless what?"
     "Unless we get frightened of people."
     A sound,  half-laugh,  half-jeer, rose  among  the seated  boys.  Piggy
ducked his head and went on hastily.
     "So lets hear from that littlun who talked about a beast and perhaps we
can show him how silly he is."
     The littluns began to jabber among themselves, then one stood forward.
     "What's your name?"
     "Phil."
     For a  littlun he  was self-confident, holding out  his hands, cradling
the conch  as Ralph did,  looking round at them  to collect their  attention
before he spoke.
     "Last night I had a dream, a horrid  dream, fighting with things. I was
outside  the shelter by myself, fighting with things, those twisty things in
the trees."
     He paused, and the other littluns laughed in horrified sympathy.
     "Then I was frightened and  I woke up. And I was outside the shelter by
myself in the dark and the twisty things had gone away."
     The vivid horror  of this, so possible and so  nakedly terrifying, held
them  all  silent. The child's  voice went piping  on from behind the  white
conch.
     "And I was frightened and started to call out for Ralph and then  I saw
something moving among the trees, something big and horrid."
     He  paused,  half-frightened  by the  recollection  yet  proud  of  the
sensation he was creating.
     "That was a nightmare," said Ralph. "He was walking in his sleep."
     The assembly murmured in subdued agreement.
     The littlun shook his head stubbornly.
     "I was asleep when  the twisty things were  fighting and when they went
away I was awake, and I saw something big and horrid moving in the trees."
     Ralph held out his hands for the conch and the littlun sat down.
     "You  were  alseep.  There  wasn't anyone  there.  How could anyone  be
wandering about in the forest at night? Was anyone? Did anyone go out?"
     There was a long pause while the assembly grinned at
     the thought of anyone going out  in the darkness.  Then Simon stood  up
and Ralph looked at him in astonishment
     "You! What were you mucking about in the dark for?"
     Simon grabbed the conch convulsively.
     "I wanted-to go to a place-a place I know."
     "What place?"
     "Just a place I know. A place in the jungle."
     He hesitated.
     Jack settled the question for them with that contempt in his voice that
could sound so funny and so final.
     "He was taken short"
     With a feeling  of  humiliation on Simon's behalf,  Ralph took back the
conch, looking Simon sternly in the face as he did so.
     "Well, don't do it again. Understand? Not at night There's enough silly
talk about beasts, without the litthlus seeing you gliding about like a-"
     The derisive laughter that rose  had fear in it and condemnation. Simon
opened his mouth to speak but Ralph had the conch, so he backed to his seat
     When the assembly was silent Ralph turned to Piggy.
     "Well, Piggy?"
     "There was another one. Him."
     The  littlums  pushed  Percival forward, then left  him by  himself. He
stood knee-deep in the central grass, looking  at his hidden feet, trying to
pretend he was in  a  tent Ralph remembered another small boy who  had stood
like this  and he flinched  away from  the memory. He had pushed the thought
down  and out  of sight,  where only some positive reminder like this  could
bring it  to the  surface. There  had  been no  further  numberings  of  the
littluns,  partly  because there was  no means of insuring  that all of them
were accounted for and partly because Ralph knew  the answer to at least one
question Piggy  had asked on the mountain-top. There were little boys, fair,
dark,  freckled,  and all dirty, but their faces were all dreadfully free of
major blemishes. No  one had seen the mulberry-colored birthmark  again. But
that time Piggy had coaxed and bullied. Tacitly admitting that he remembered
the unmentionable, Ralph nodded to Piggy.
     "Go on. Ask him."
     Piggy knelt, holding the conch.
     "Now then. What's your name?"
     The small boy  twisted  away  into  his tent Piggy turned helplessly to
Ralph, who spoke sharply.
     "What's your name?"
     Tormented  by  the silence  and the refusal the assembly broke  into  a
chant.
     "What's your name? What's your name?"
     "Quiet!"
     Ralph peered at the child in the twilight
     "Now tell us. What's your name?"
     "Percival  Wemys  Madison,  The  Vicarage, Harcourt St. Anthony, Hants,
telephone, telephone, tele-"
     As if  this information was  rooted  far down in the springs of sorrow,
the littlun wept. His face puckered,  the tears  leapt  from  his eves,  his
mouth opened till  they  could see a  square black  hole. At first  he was a
silent effigy of sorrow; but then the lamentation rose out of him, loud  and
sustained as the conch.
     "Shut up, you! Shut up!"
     Percival Wemys Madison would not shut up. A spring had been tapped, far
beyond the reach of authority or even physical intimidation. The crying went
on, breath  after breath, and seemed  to sustain him upright as  if  he were
nailed to it.
     "Shut up! Shut up!"
     For now the littluns were no longer silent. They were reminded of their
personal sorrows; and perhaps felt themselves to share in a sorrow  that was
universal.  They  began to  cry in sympathy,  two of them  almost as loud as
Percival.
     Maurice saved them. He cried out.
     "Look at me!"
     He pretended to fall over. He rubbed his rump and sat on the twister so
that  he fell in the grass. He clowned  badly, but  Percival  and the others
noticed and  sniffed  and  laughed.  Presently they  were  all  laughing  so
absurdly that the biguns joined in.
     Jack was the first to make himself heard. He had not got  the conch and
thus spoke against the rules; but nobody minded.
     "And what about the beast?"
     Something strange  was happening to Percival. He  yawned and staggered,
so that Jack seized and shook him.
     "Where does the beast live?"
     Percival sagged in Jack's grip.
     "That's a clever beast," said Piggy, jeering, "if  it  can hide on this
island."
     "Jack's been everywhere-"
     "Where could a beast live?"
     "Beast my foot!"
     Percival  muttered  something  and  the  assembly laughed again.  Ralph
leaned forward.
     "What does he say?"
     Jack listened to Percival's answer  and  then let  go of him. Percival,
released, surrounded by the comfortable presence of humans, fell in the long
grass and went to sleep.
     Jack cleared his throat then reported casually.
     "He says the beast comes out of the sea."
     The last laugh  died away. Ralph turned  involuntarily, a black, humped
figure against the lagoon. The assembly looked with him, considered the vast
stretches  of  water,  the  high  sea beyond,  unknown  indigo  of  infinite
possibility, heard silently the sough and whisper from the reef.
     Maurice spoke, so loudly that they jumped.
     "Daddy said they haven't found all the animals in the sea yet"
     Argument started again. Ralph held out the glimmering conch and Maurice
took it obediently. The meeting subsided.
     "I mean  when  Jack  says you  can  be  frightened because  people  are
frightened  anyway that's all  right. But when he says there's  only pigs on
this  island  I  expect  he's right  but  he doesn't know,  not  really, not
certainly I mean-' Maurice  took a breath. "My  daddy  says  there's things,
what d`you call'em that make ink-squids-that are hundreds or  yards long and
eat  whales  whole." He  paused again ana laughed gaily. "I don't believe in
the beast of course. As Piggy says, life's scientific, but we don't know, do
we? Not certainly, I mean-"
     Someone shouted.
     "A squid couldn't come up out of the water!"
     "Could!"
     "Couldn't!"
     In a moment the platform was full of arguing, gesticulating shadows. To
Ralph,  seated, this seemed  the  breaking  up  of sanity. Fear, beasts,  no
general agreement that the fire was all-important: and when one tried to get
the thing straight  the argument sheered off, bringing up fresh,  unpleasant
matter.
     He could see  a  whiteness in the  gloom near him so he grabbed it from
Maurice  and  blew  as loudly  as he  could. The assembly  was shocked  into
silence. Simon was  close  to him, laying hands on  the conch.  Simon felt a
perilous necessity to speak; but  to speak in assembly was a terrible  thing
to him.
     "Maybe," he said hesitantly, "maybe there is a beast."
     The assembly cried out savagely and Ralph stood up in amazement.
     "You, Simon? You believe in this?"
     "I don't know," said Simon. His heartbeats were choking him. "But ..."
     The storm broke.
     "Sit down!"
     "Shut up!"
     "Take the conch!"
     "Sod you!"
     "Shut up!"
     Ralph shouted.
     "Hear him! He's got the conch!"
     "What I mean is . . . maybe it's only us."
     "Nuts!"
     That was from Piggy, shocked out of decorum. Simon want on.
     "We could be sort of. . . ."
     Simon became inarticulate in his effort to express mankind's  essential
illness. Inspiration came to him.
     "What's the dirtiest thing there is?"
     As an  answer  Jack  dropped  into  the  uncomprehending  silence  that
followed it  the  one crude expressive syllable.  Release was immense. Those
littluns  who had  climbed back on  the twister fell off again  and  did not
mind. The hunters were screaming with delight
     Simon's  effort fell about him in ruins; the laughter beat him  cruelly
and he shrank away defenseless to his seat.
     At last the assembly was silent again. Someone spoke out of turn.
     "Maybe he means it's some sort of ghost"
     Ralph Lifted the conch and  peered into  the gloom. The  lightest thing
was the pale beach.  Surely the littluns were nearer? Yes-there was no doubt
about  it, they were  huddled  into a tight knot  of  bodies in the  central
grass. A flurry of wind made the palms talk and  the noise  seemed very loud
now that darkness and silence  made it so noticeable. Two grey trunks rubbed
each other with an evil squeaking that no one had noticed by day.
     Piggy took the conch out of his hands. His voice was indignant.
     "I don't believe in no ghosts-ever!"
     Jack was up too, unaccountably angry.
     "Who cares what you believe--Fatty!"
     "I got the conch!"
     There was the sound of a brief tussle and the conch moved to and fro.
     "You gimme the conch back!"
     Ralph pushed between them and got a thump on  the chest. He wrested the
conch from someone and sat down breathlessly.
     "There's too much talk about ghosts. We ought to have left all this for
daylight."
     A hushed and anonymous voice broke in.
     "Perhaps that's what the beast is-a ghost."
     The assembly was shaken as by a wind.
     "There's too  much talking out of turn," Ralph  said, "because we can't
have proper assemblies if you don't stick to the rules."
     He stopped again. The careful plan of this assembly had broken down.
     "What d'you want me to say then? I was wrong  to call this assembly  so
late.  Well  have a vote on  them;  on ghosts  I  mean;  and then go to  the
shelters  because  we're all tired.  No-Jack  is it?-wait a minute. I'll say
here and now that I don t  believe in ghosts. Or I don't  think I  do. But I
don't like the thought  of  them. Not now that is, in  the dark. But we were
going to decide what's what."
     He raised the conch for a moment
     "Very  well then. I suppose what's what is whether there  are ghosts or
not-"
     He thought for a moment, formulating the question.
     "Who thinks there may be ghosts?"
     For a long time there was silence and no apparent  movement. Then Ralph
peered into the gloom and made out the hands. He spoke flatly.
     "I see."
     The  world, that understandable and  lawful world, was  slipping  away.
Once there was this and that; and now-and the ship had gone.
     The conch was snatched from his hands and Piggy's voice shrilled.
     "I didn't vote for no ghosts!"
     He whirled round on the assembly.
     "Remember that, all of you!"
     They heard him stamp.
     "What are we?  Humans? Or animals? Or savages? What's grownups going to
think? Going off-hunting pigs-letting fires out-and now!"
     A shadow fronted him tempestuously.
     "You shut up, you fat slug!'
     There was a  moment's struggle and  the glimmering conch  jigged up and
down. Ralph leapt to his feet.
     "Jack! Jack! You haven't got the conch! Let him speak."
     Jack's face swam near him.
     "And you  shut up!  Who are you,  anyway? Sitting  there telling people
what to do. You cant hunt, you can't sing-"
     "I'm chief. I was chosen."
     "Why should choosing make any difference? Just giving orders that don't
make any sense-"
     "Piggy's got the conch."
     That's right-favor Piggy as you always do-"
     "Jack!"
     "Jack's voice sounded in bitter mimicry.
     "Jack! Jack!"
     "The rules!" shouted Ralph. "You're breaking the rules!"
     "Who cares?"
     Ralph summoned his wits.
     "Because the rules are the only thing we've got!"
     But Jack was shouting against him.
     "Bollocks to the rules! We're strong-we hunt! If there's a beast, we'll
hunt it down! Well close in and beat and beat and beat-!"
     He gave  a wild whoop and leapt  down  to the  pale sand.  At once  the
platform  was  full  of  noise  and  excitement,  scramblings,  screams  and
laughter.  The  assembly shredded away  and became  a discursive and  random
scatter  from  the  palms  to the  water  and away  along the beach,  beyond
night-sight.  Ralph  found  his cheek touching  the  conch and  took it from
Piggy.
     "What's grownups going to say?" cried Piggy again. "Look at 'em!"
     The sound of  mock  hunting,  hysterical laughter and  real terror came
from the beach.
     "Blow the conch, Ralph."
     Piggy was so close that Ralph could see the glint of his one glass.
     "There's the fire. Can't they see?"
     "You got to be tough now. Make 'em do what you want."
     Ralph answered in the cautious voice of one who rehearses a theorem.
     "If  I  blow the  conch and they don't come back; then we've had it. We
shan't keep the fire going. We'll be like animals. We'll never be rescued."
     "If you don't  blow, we'll soon be  animals anyway.  I  can't  see what
they're doing but I can hear."
     The dispersed figures had  come together on  the sand  and were a dense
black mass that revolved. They were chanting something and littluns that had
had enough were staggering away, howling. Ralph raised the conch to his lips
and then lowered it.
     "The trouble is: Are there ghosts, Piggy? Or beasts?"
     "Course there aren't."
     "Why not?"
     "'Cos  things wouldn't  make  sense.  Houses an`  streets,  an'-TV-they
wouldn't work."
     The dancing, chanting boys had worked themselves  away till their sound
was nothing but a wordless rhythm.
     "But  s'pose they don't make sense? Not here, on this island? Supposing
things are watching us and waiting?"
     Ralph  shuddered  violently  and moved  closer  to Piggy, so that  they
bumped frighteningly.
     "You stop talking like that! We got enough trouble, Ralph, an' I've had
as much as I can stand. If there is ghosts-"
     "I ought to give up being chief. Hear 'em."
     "Oh lord! Oh no!"
     Piggy gripped Ralph's arm.
     "If Jack was chief he'd have all hunting and no fire. We'd be here till
we died."
     His voice ran up to a squeak.
     "Who's that sitting there?"
     "Me. Simon."
     "Fat lot of good we are," said Ralph. "Three blind mice, I`ll give up."
     "If you give up," said Piggy, in an  appalled whisper, "what `ud happen
to me?"
     "Nothing."
     "He hates me. I dunno  why.  If he could do what  he  wanted-you're all
right, he respects you. Besides- you'd hit him."
     "You were having a nice fight with him just now."
     "I had the conch," said Piggy simply. "I had a right to speak."
     Simon stirred in the dark.
     "Go on being chief."
     "You shut up, young Simon! Why couldn't you say there wasn't a beast?"
     "I'm scared of  him," said Piggy, "and that's why I know him. If you're
scared of someone you  hate him but you can't stop  thinking about  him. You
Kid yourself he's all  right really,  an' then when  you see him again; it's
like asthma an` you  can't  breathe.  I  tell you what. He  hates  you  too,
Ralph-"
     "Me? Why me?"
     "I dunno. You got him over the fire; an` you're chief an` he isn't."
     "But he's, he's, Jack Merridew!"
     "I been in bed  so  much  I done some thinking. I know  about people. I
know about me. And him.  He can't hurt you: but  if you stand out of the way
he'd hurt the next thing. And that's me."
     "Piggy's right, Ralph. There's you and Jack. Go on being chief."
     "We're all  drifting  and things are  going  rotten. At home there  was
always a grownup. Please, sir; please, miss; and then you got an answer. How
I wish!"
     "I wish my auntie was here."
     "I wish my father . . . Oh, what's the use?"
     "Keep the fire going."
     The dance was over and the hunters were going back to the shelters.
     "Grownups know things," said Piggy. "They  ain't  afraid of  the  dark.
They'd meet and have tea and discuss. Then things 'ud be all right-"
     "They wouldn't set fire to the island. Or lose-"
     "They'd build a ship-"
     The three boys stood in the darkness, striving unsuccessfully to convey
the majesty of adult life.
     "They wouldn't quarrel-"
     "Or break my specs-"
     "Or talk about a beast-"
     "If only they  could get a message to us," cried Ralph desperately. "If
only they could send us something grown-up . . . a sign or something."
     A  thin wail out of the darkness chilled them and set them grabbing for
each  other. Then  the  wail  rose, remote and  unearthly, and  turned to an
inarticulate gibbering.  Percival Wemys  Madison, of the Vicarage,  Harcourt
St.  Anthony, lying  in the long grass, was living through  circumstances in
which the incantation of his address was powerless to help him.





     CHAPTER SIX
     <i>Beast from Air</i>

     There  was  no light  left  save  that of  the  stars.  When  they  had
understood what made this  ghostly noise and Percival was quiet again, Ralph
and Simon  picked him up unhandily and carried him  to a shelter. Piggy hung
about near for all his brave words, and the three bigger boys went