CHAPTER TWELVE - Chapter one

CHAPTER TWELVE
Cry of the Hunters
Ralph lay in a covert, wondering about his wounds. The
bruised flesh was inches in diameter over his right ribs, with a
swollen and bloody scar where the spear had hit him. His hair was
full of dirt and tapped like the tendrils of a creeper. All over he was
scratched and bruised from his flight through the forest. By the time
his breathing was normal again, he had worked out that bathing these
injuries would have to wait. How could you listen for naked feet if you
were splashing in water? How could you be safe by the little stream or
on the open beach?
Ralph listened. He was not really far from the Castle Rock, and
during the first panic he had thought he heard sounds of pursuit But
the hunters had only sneaked into the fringes of the greenery,
retrieving spears perhaps, and then had rushed back to the sunny
rock as if terrified of the darkness under the leaves. He had even
glimpsed one of them, striped brown, black, and red, and had judged
that it was Bill. But really, thought Ralph, this was not Bill. This was a
savage whose image refused to blend with that ancient picture of a
boy in shorts and shirt.
The afternoon died away; the circular spots of sunlight moved
steadily over green fronds and brown fiber but no sound came from
behind the rock. At last Ralph wormed out of the ferns and sneaked
forward to the edge of that impenetrable thicket that fronted the neck
of land. He peered with elaborate caution between branches at the
edge and could see Robert sitting on guard at the top of the cliff. He
held a spear in his left hand and was tossing up a pebble and catching
it again with the right. Behind him a column of smoke rose thickly, so
that Ralph's nostrils flared and his mouth dribbled. He wiped his nose
and mouth with the back of his hand and for the first time since the
morning felt hungry. The tribe must be sitting round the gutted
pig, watching the fat ooze and burn among the ashes. They would be
intent
Another figure, an unrecognizable one, appeared by Robert and
gave him something, then turned and went back behind the rock.
Robert laid his spear on the rock beside him and began to gnaw
between his raised hands. So the feast was beginning and the
watchman had been given his portion.
Ralph saw that for the time being he was safe. He limped away
through the fruit trees, drawn by the thought of the poor food yet bitter
when he remembered the feast. Feast today, and then tomorrow.
He argued unconvincingly that they would let him alone,
perhaps even make an outlaw of him. But then the fatal
unreasoning knowledge came to him again. The breaking of the
conch and the deaths of Piggy and Simon lay over the island like a
vapor. These painted savages would go further and further. Then
there was that indefinable connection between himself and Jack; who
therefore would never let him alone; never.
He paused, sun-flecked, holding up a bough, prepared to duck
under it A spasm of terror set him shaking and he cried aloud.
"No. They're not as bad as that. It was an accident."
He ducked under the bough, ran clumsily, then stopped and
listened.
He came to the smashed acres of fruit and ate greedily. He saw
two littluns and, not having any idea of his own appearance,
wondered why they screamed and ran.
When he had eaten he went toward the beach. The sunlight was
slanting now into the palms by the wrecked shelter. There was the
platform and the pool. The best thing to do was to ignore this leaden
feeling about the heart and rely on their common sense, their daylight
sanity. Now that the tribe had eaten, the thing to do was to try again.
And anyway, he couldn't stay here all night in an empty shelter by the
deserted platform. His flesh crept and he shivered in the evening
sun. No fire; no smoke; no rescue. He turned and limped away
through the forest toward Jack's end of the island.
The slanting sticks of sunlight were lost among the branches.
At length he came to a clearing in the forest where rock prevented
vegetation from growing. Now it was a pool of shadows and Ralph
nearly flung himself behind a tree when he saw something standing
in the center; but then he saw that the white face was bone and that
the pig's skull grinned at him from the top of a stick. He walked slowly
into the middle of the clearing and looked steadily at the skull that
gleamed as white as ever the conch had done and seemed to jeer at
him cynically. An inquisitive ant was busy in one of the eye sockets
but otherwise the thing was lifeless.
Or was it?
Little prickles of sensation ran up and down his back. He stood,
the skull about on a level with his face, and held up his hair with two
hands. The teeth grinned, the empty sockets seemed to hold his gaze
masterfully and without effort.
What was it?
The skull regarded Ralph like one who knows all the answers
and won't tell. A sick fear andr age swept him. Fiercely he hit out at
the filthy thing in front of him that bobbed like a toy and came back,
still grinning into his face, so that he lashed and cried out in loathing.
Then he was licking his bruised knuckles and looking at the bare
stick, while the skull lay in two pieces, its grin now six feet across. He
wrenched the quivering stick from the crack and held it as a spear
between him and the white pieces. Then he backed away, keeping
his face to the skull that lay grinning at the sky.
When the green glow had gone from the horizon and night was
fully accomplished, Ralph came again to the thicket in front of the
Castle Rock. Peeping through, he could see that the height was still
occupied, and whoever it was up there had a spear at the ready.
He knelt among the shadows and felt his isolation bitterly. They
were savages it was true; but they were human, and the ambushing
fears of the deep night were coming on.
Ralph moaned faintly. Tired though he was, he could not relax
and fall into a well of sleep for fear of the tribe. Might it not be
possible to walk boldly into the fort, say—"I've got pax," laugh lightly
and sleep among the others? Pretend they were still boys,
schoolboys who had said, "Sir, yes, Sir"—and worn caps? Daylight
might have answered yes; but darkness and the horrors of death
said no. Lying there in the darkness, he knew he was an outcast.
" 'Cos I had some sense."
He rubbed his cheek along his forearm, smelling the acrid scent
of salt and sweat and the staleness of dirt. Over to the left, the
waves of ocean were breathing, sucking down, then boiling back over
the rock.
There were sounds coming from behind the Castle Rock
Listening carefully, detaching his mind from the swing of the sea,
Ralph could make out a familiar rhythm.
"Kill the beast! Cut his throat! Spill his blood!"
The tribe was dancing. Somewhere on the other side of this rocky
wall there would be a dark circle, a glowing fire, and meat.
They would be savoring food and the comfort of safety.
A noise nearer at hand made him quiver. Savages were
clambering up the Castle Rock, right up to the top, and he could hear
voices. He sneaked forward a few yards and saw the shape at the top
of the rock change and enlarge. There were only two boys on the
island who moved or talked like that.
Ralph put his head down on his forearms and accepted this new
fact like a wound. Samneric were part of the tribe now. They were
guarding the Castle Rock against him. There was no chance of
rescuing them and building up an outlaw tribe at the other end of the
island. Samneric were savages like the rest; Piggy was dead, and the
conch smashed to powder.
At length the guard climbed down. The two that remained
seemed nothing more than a dark extension of the rock. A star
appeared behind them and was momentarily eclipsed by some
movement.
Ralph edged forward, feeling his way over the uneven surface as
though he were bund. There were miles of vague water at his right
and the restless ocean lay under his left hand, as awful as the shaft
of a pit. Every minute the water breathed round the death rock and
flowered into a field of whiteness. Ralph crawled until he found
the ledge of the entry in his grasp. The lookouts were immediately
above him and he could see the end of a spear projecting over the
rock.
He called very gently.
"Samneric—"
There was no reply. To carry he must speak louder; and this
would rouse those striped and inimical creatures from their
feasting by the fire. He set his teeth and started to climb, finding
the holds by touch. The stick that had supported a skull hampered
him but he would not be parted from his only weapon. He was nearly
level with the twins before he spoke again.
"Samneric—"
He heard a cry and a flurry from the rock. The twins had grabbed
each other and were gibbering.
"It's me. Ralph."
Terrified that they would run and give the alarm, he hauled
himself up until his head and shoulders stuck over the top. Far below
his armpit he saw the luminous flowering round the rock.
"It’s only me. Ralph."
At length they bent forward and peered in his face.
"We thought it was—"
"—we didn't know what it was—"
"—we thought—"
Memory of their new and shameful loyalty came to them. Eric was
silent but Sam tried to do his duty.
"You got to go, Ralph. You go away now—"
He wagged his spear and essayed fierceness.
"You shove off. See?"
Eric nodded agreement and jabbed his spear in the air. Ralph
leaned on his arms and did not go.
"I came to see you two."
His voice was thick. His throat was hurting him now though it had
received no wound.
"I came to see you two—"
Words could not express the dull pain of these things. He fell
silent, while the vivid stars were spilt and danced all ways.
Sam shifted uneasily.
"Honest, Ralph, you'd better go."
Ralph looked up again.
"You two aren't painted. How can you—? If it were light—"
If it were light shame would burn them at admitting these things.
But the night was dark. Eric took up; and then the twins started their
antiphonal speech.
"You got to go because it's not safe—“
"—they made us. They hurt us—"
"Who? Jack?"
"Oh no—"
They bent to him and lowered their voices.
"Push off, Ralph—'
"—it's a tribe—"
"—they made us—"
"—we couldn't help it—"
When Ralph spoke again his voice was low, and seemed
breathless.
"What have I done? I liked him—and I wanted us to be rescued—"
Again the stars spilled about the sky. Eric shook his head,
earnestly.
"Listen, Ralph. Never mind what's sense. That's gone—"
"Never mind about the chief—"
“—you got to go for your own good."
"The chief and Roger—"
"—yes, Roger—"
"They hate you, Ralph. They're going to do you."
"They're going to hunt you tomorrow."
"But why?"
"I dunno. And Ralph, Jack, the chief, says it'll be dangerous—"
"—and we've got to be careful and throw our spears like at a pig."
"We’re going to spread out in a line across the island—"
"—we're going forward from this end—"
"—until we find you."
"We've got to give signals like this."
Eric raised his head and achieved a faint ululation by beating on
his open mouth. Then he glanced behind him nervously.
"Like that—"
"—only louder, of course."
"But I've done nothing," whispered Ralph, urgently. I only wanted
to keep up a fire!"
He paused for a moment, thinking miserably of the morrow. A
matter of overwhelming importance occurred to him.
"What are you—?"
He could not bring himself to be specific at first; but then fear and
loneliness goaded him.
"When they find me, what are they going to do?" The twins were
silent. Beneath him, the death rock flowered again.
"What are they—oh God! I’m hungry—"
The towering rock seemed to sway under him.
“Well—what—?”
The twins answered his question indirectly.
"You got to go now, Ralph."
"For your own good."
"Keep away. As far as you can."
"Won't you come with me? Three of us—we'd stand a chance."
After a moment's silence, Sam spoke in a strangled voice.
"You don't know Roger. He's a terror."
"And the chief—they're both—"
"—terrors—"
"—only Roger—"
Both boys froze. Someone was climbing toward them from the
tribe.
"He's coming to see if we're keeping watch. Quick, Ralph!"
As he prepared to let himself down the cliff, Ralph snatched at the
last possible advantage to be wrung out of this meeting.
"I’ll lie up close; in that thicket down there," he whispered, "so
keep them away from it. They'll never think to took so close—"
The footsteps were still some distance away.
"Sam—I'm going to be all right, aren't I?"
The twins were silent again.
"Here!" said Sam suddenly. "Take this—"
Ralph felt a chunk of meat pushed against him and grabbed it.
"But what are you going to do when you catch me?"
Silence above. He sounded silly to himself. He lowered himself
down the rock.
"What are you going to do—?"
From the top of the towering rock came the incomprehensible
reply.
"Roger sharpened a stick at both ends."
Roger sharpened a stick at both ends. Ralph tried to attach a
meaning to this but could not. He used all the bad words he could
think of in a fit of temper that passed into yawning. How long could
you go without sleep? He yearned for a bed and sheets—but the
only whiteness here was the slow spilt milk, luminous round the rock
forty feet below, where Piggy had fallen. Piggy was everywhere, was
on this neck, was become terrible in darkness and death. If Piggy
were to come back now out of the water, with his empty head—
Ralph whimpered and yawned like a littlun. The stick in his hand
became a crutch on which he reeled.
Then he tensed again. There were voices raised on the top of the
Castle Rock. Samneric were arguing with someone. But the ferns and
the grass were near. That was the place to be in, hidden, and next to
the thicket that would serve for tomorrow's hide-out. Here—and his
hands touched grass—was a place to be in for the night, not far from
the tribe, so that if the horrors of the supernatural emerged one could
at least mix with humans for the time being, even if it meant . . .
What did it mean? A stick sharpened at both ends. What was
there in that? They had thrown spears and missed; all but one.
Perhaps they would miss next time, too.
He squatted down in the tall grass, remembered the meat that
Sam had given him, and began to tear at it ravenously. While he was
eating, he heard fresh noises—cries of pain from Samneric, cries of
panic, angry voices. What did it mean? Someone besides himself
was in trouble, for at least one of the twins was catching it. Then the
voices passed away down the rock and he ceased to think of them.
He felt with his hands and found cool, delicate fronds backed against
the thicket. Here then was the night's lair. At first light he would
creep into the thicket, squeeze between the twisted stems,
ensconce himself so deep that only a crawler like himself could
come through, and that crawler would be jabbed. There he would sit,
and the search would pass him by, and the cordon waver on, ululating
along the island, and he would be free.
He pulled himself between the ferns, tunneling in. He laid the
stick beside him, and huddled himself down in the blackness. One
must remember to wake at first light, in order to diddle the
savages—and he did not know how quickly sleep came and hurled
him down a dark interior slope.
He was awake before his eyes were open, listening to a noise
that was near. He opened an eye, found the mold an inch or so from
his face and his fingers gripped into it, light filtering between the
fronds of fern. He had just time to realize that the age-long
nightmares of falling and death were past and that the morning was
come, when he heard the sound again.' It was an ululation over by
the seashore —and now the next savage answered and the next. The
cry swept by him across the narrow end of the island from sea to
lagoon, like the cry of a flying bird. He took no time to consider but
grabbed his sharp stick and wriggled back among the ferns. Within
seconds he was worming his way into the thicket; but not before he
had glimpsed the legs of a savage coming toward him. The ferns
were thumped and beaten and he heard legs moving in the long
grass. The savage, whoever he was, ululated twice; and the cry
was repeated in both directions, then died away. Ralph crouched
still, tangled in the ferns, and for a time he heard nothing.
At last he examined the thicket itself. Certainly no one could
attack him here—and moreover he had a stroke of luck. The great
rock that had killed Piggy had bounded into this thicket and bounced
there, right in the center, making a smashed space a few feet in
extent each way. When Ralph had wriggled into this he felt secure,
and clever. He sat down carefully among the smashed stems and
waited for the hunt to pass. Looking up between the leaves he
caught a glimpse of something red. That must be the top of the
Castle Rock, distant and unmenacing. He composed himself
triumphantly, to hear the sounds of the hunt dying away.
Yet no one made a sound; and as the minutes passed, in the
green shade, his feeling of triumph faded.
At last he heard a voice—Jack's voice, but hushed.
"Are you certain?"
The savage addressed said nothing. Perhaps he made a gesture.
Roger spoke.
"If you're fooling us—"
Immediately after this, there came a gasp, and a squeal of pain.
Ralph crouched instinctively. One of the twins was there, outside the
thicket, with Jack and Roger.
"You're sure he meant in there?"
The twin moaned faintly and then squealed again.
"He meant he'd hide in there?"
"Yes—yes—oh—!"
Silvery laughter scattered among the trees.
So they knew.
Ralph picked up his stick and prepared for battle. But what could
they do? It would take them a week to break a path through the
thicket; and anyone who wormed his way in would be helpless. He
felt the point of his spear with his thumb and grinned without
amusement Whoever tried that would be stuck, squealing like a pig.
They were going away, back to the tower rock. He could hear
feet moving and then someone sniggered. There came again that
high, bird-like cry that swept along the line, So some were still
watching for him; but some—?
There was a long, breathless silence. Ralph found that he had
bark in his mouth from the gnawed spear. He stood and peered
upwards to the Castle Rock.
As he did so, he heard Jack's voice from the top.
"Heave! Heave! Heave!"
The red rock that he could see at the top of the cliff vanished like
a curtain, and he could see figures and blue sky. A moment later the
earth jolted, there was a rushing sound in the air, and the top of the
thicket was cuffed as with a gigantic hand. The rock bounded on,
thumping and smashing toward the beach, while a shower of broken
twigs and leaves fell on him. Beyond the thicket, the tribe was
cheering.
Silence again.
Ralph put his fingers in his mouth and bit them. There was only
one other rock up there that they might conceivably move; but that
was half as big as a cottage, big as a car, a tank. He visualized its
probable progress with agonizing clearness—that one would start
slowly, drop from ledge to ledge, trundle across the neck like an
outsize steam roller.
"Heave! Heave! Heave!"
Ralph put down his spear, then picked it up again. He pushed
his hair back irritably, took two hasty steps across the little space
and then came back. He stood looking at the broken ends of
branches.
Still silence.
He caught sight of the rise and fall of his diaphragm and was
surprised to see how quickly he was breathing. Just left of center
his heart-beats were visible. He put the spear down again.
"Heave! Heave! Heave!"
A shrill, prolonged cheer.
Something boomed up on the red rock, then the earth jumped
and began to shake steadily, while the noise as steadily
increased. Ralph was shot into the air, thrown down, dashed against
branches. At his right hand, and only a few feet away, the whole
thicket bent and the roots screamed as they came out of the earth
together. He saw something red that turned over slowly as a mill
wheel. Then the red thing was past and the elephantine progress
diminished toward the sea.
Ralph knelt on the plowed-up soil, and waited for the earth to
come back. Presently the white, broken stumps, the split sticks and
the tangle of the thicket refocused. There was a kind of heavy feeling
in his body where he had watched his own pulse.
Silence again.
Yet not entirely so. They were whispering out there; and
suddenly the branches were shaken furiously at two places on his
right. The pointed end of a stick appeared. In panic, Ralph thrust his
own stick through the crack and struck with all his might.
"Aaa-ah!"
His spear twisted a little in his hands and then he withdrew it
again.
"Ooh-ooh—"
Someone was moaning outside and a babble of voices rose. A
fierce argument was going on and the wounded savage kept
groaning. Then when there was silence, a single voice spoke and
Ralph decided that it was not Jack's.
"See? I told you—he's dangerous."
The wounded savage moaned again.
What else? What next?
Ralph fastened his hands round the chewed spear and his hair
fell. Someone was muttering, only a few yards away toward the
Castle Rock. He heard a savage say "No!" in a shocked voice; and
then there was suppressed laughter. He squatted back on his heels
and showed his teeth at the wall of branches. He raised his spear,
snarled a little, and waited.
Once more the invisible group sniggered. He heard a curious
trickling sound and then a louder crepitation as if someone were
unwrapping great sheets of cellophane. A stick snapped and he
stifled a cough. Smoke was seeping through the branches in white
and yellow wisps, the patch of blue sky overhead turned to the color
of a storm cloud, and then the smoke billowed round him.
Someone laughed excitedly, and a voice shouted.
"Smoke!"
He wormed his way through the thicket toward the forest,
keeping as far as possible beneath the smoke. Presently he saw
open space, and the green leaves of the edge of the thicket. A
smallish savage was standing between him and the rest of the
forest, a savage striped red and white, and carrying a spear. He
was coughing and smearing the paint about his eyes with the back
of his hand as he tried to see through the increasing smoke. Ralph
launched himself like a cat; stabbed, snarling, with the spear, and the
savage doubled up. There was a shout from beyond the thicket and
then Ralph was running with the swiftness of fear through the
undergrowth. He came to a pig-run, followed it for perhaps a
hundred yards, and then swerved off. Behind him the ululation
swept across the island once more and a single voice shouted three
times. He guessed that was the signal to advance and sped away
again, till his chest was like fire. Then he flung himself down under a
bush and waited for a moment till his breathing steadied. He
passed his tongue tentatively over his teeth and lips and heard far
off the ululation of the pursuers.
There were many things he could do. He could climb a tree;
but that was putting all his eggs in one basket. If he were
detected, they had nothing more difficult to do than wait.
If only one had time to think!
Another double cry at the same distance gave him a clue to their
plan. Any savage balked in the forest would utter the double shout
and hold up the line till he was free again. That way they might hope
to keep the cordon unbroken right across the island. Ralph thought of
the boar that had broken through them with such ease. If necessary,
when the chase came too close, he could charge the cordon while it
was still thin, burst through, and run back. But run back where? The
cordon would turn and sweep again. Sooner or later he would have
to sleep or eat—and then he would awaken with hands clawing at
him; and the hunt would become a running down.
What was to be done, then? The tree? Burst the line like a boar?
Either way the choice was terrible.
A single cry quickened his heart-beat and, leaping up, be dashed
away toward the ocean side and the thick jungle till he was hung up
among creepers; he stayed there for a moment with his calves
quivering. If only one could have quiet, a long pause, a time to think!
And there again, shrill and inevitable, was the ululation
sweeping across the island. At that sound he shied like a horse
among the creepers and ran once more till he was panting. He flung
himself down by some ferns. The tree, or the charge? He mastered
his breathing for a moment, wiped his mouth, and told himself to be
calm. Samneric were somewhere in that line, and hating it. Or were
they? And supposing, instead of them, he met the chief, or Roger who
carried death in his hands?
Ralph pushed back his tangled hair and wiped the sweat out of his
best eye. He spoke aloud.
"Think."
What was the sensible thing to do?
There was no Piggy to talk sense. There was no solemn assembly
for debate nor dignity of the conch.
"Think."
Most, he was beginning to dread the curtain that might waver
in his brain, blacking out the sense of danger, making a simpleton
of him.
A third idea would be to hide so well that the advancing line would
pass without discovering him.
He jerked his head off the ground and listened. There was
another noise to attend to now, a deep grumbling noise, as though
the forest itself were angry with him, a somber noise across which the
ululations were scribbled excruciatingly as on slate. He knew he had
heard it before somewhere, but had no time to remember.
Break the line.
A tree.
Hide, and let them pass.
A nearer cry stood him on his feet and immediately he was away
again, running fast among thorns and brambles. Suddenly he
blundered into the open, found himself again in that open space—
and there was the fathom-wide grin of the skull, no longer ridiculing a
deep blue patch of sky but jeering up into a blanket of smoke. Then
Ralph was running beneath trees, with the grumble of the forest
explained. They had smoked him out and set the island on fire.
Hide was better than a tree because you had a chance of
breaking the line if you were discovered.
Hide, then.
He wondered it a pig would agree, and grimaced at nothing.
Find the deepest thicket, the darkest hole on the island, and creep
in. Now, as he ran, he peered about him. Bars and splashes of
sunlight flitted over him and sweat made glistening streaks on his dirty
body. The cries were far now, and faint.
At last he found what seemed to him the right place, though the
decision was desperate. Here, bushes and a wild tangle of creeper
made a mat that kept out all the light of the sun. Beneath it was a
space, perhaps a foot high, though it was pierced everywhere by
parallel and rising stems. If you wormed into the middle of that you
would be five yards from the edge, and hidden, unless the savage
chose to lie down and look for you; and even then, you would be in
darkness—and if the worst happened and he saw you, then you had
a chance to burst out at him, fling the whole line out of step and
double back.
Cautiously, his stick trailing behind him, Ralph wormed between
the rising stems. When he reached the middle of the mat he lay and
listened.
The fire was a big one and the drum-roll that he had thought
was left so far behind was nearer. Couldn't a fire outrun a
galloping horse? He could see the sun-splashed ground over an
area of perhaps fifty yards from where he lay, and as he watched,
the sunlight in every patch blinked at him. This was so like the curtain
that flapped in his brain that for a moment he thought the blinking was
inside him. But then the patches blinked more rapidly, dulled and went
out, so that he saw that a great heaviness of smoke lay between the
island and the sun.
If anyone peered under the bushes and chanced to glimpse
human flesh it might be Samneric who would pretend not to see and
say nothing. He laid his cheek against the chocolate-colored earth,
licked his dry lips and closed his eyes. Under the thicket, the earth
was vibrating very slightly; or perhaps there was a sound
beneath the obvious thunder of the fire and scribbled ululations
that was too low to hear.
Someone cried out. Ralph jerked his cheek off the earth and
looked into the dulled light. They must be near now, he thought, and
his chest began to thump. Hide, break the line, climb a tree—which
was the best after all? The trouble was you only had one chance.
Now the fire was nearer; those volleying shots were great limbs,
trunks even, bursting. The fools! The fools! The fire must be almost
at the fruit trees—what would they eat tomorrow?
Ralph stirred restlessly in his narrow bed. One chanced nothing!
What could they do? Beat him? So what? Kill him? A stick sharpened
at both ends.
The cries, suddenly nearer, jerked him up. He could see a
striped savage moving hastily out of a green tangle, and coming
toward the mat where he hid, a savage who carried a spear. Ralph
gripped his fingers into the earth. Be ready now, in case.
Ralph fumbled to hold his spear so that it was point foremost; and
now he saw that the stick was sharpened at both ends.
The savage stopped fifteen yards away and uttered his cry.
Perhaps he can hear my heart over the noises of the fire. Don't
scream. Get ready.
The savage moved forward so that you could only see him from
the waist down. That was the butt of his spear. Now you could see
him from the knee down. Don't scream. A herd of pigs came
squealing out of the greenery behind the savage and rushed away
into the forest. Birds were screaming, mice shrieking, and a little
hopping thing came under the mat and cowered.
Five yards away the savage stopped, standing right by the
thicket, and cried out. Ralph drew his feet up and crouched. The
stake was in his hands, the stake sharpened at both ends, the stake
that vibrated so wildly, that grew long, short, light, heavy, light again.
The ululation spread from shore to shore. The savage knelt down
by the edge of the thicket, and there were lights flickering n the forest
behind him. You could see a knee disturb the mold. Now the other.
Two hands. A spear.
A face.
The savage peered into the obscurity beneath the thicket. You
could tell that he saw light on this side and on that, but not in he
middle—there. In the middle was a blob of dark and the savage
wrinkled up his face, trying to decipher the darkness.
The seconds lengthened Ralph was looking straight into the
savage's eyes.
Don't scream.
You'll get back.
Now he's seen you. He's making sure. A stick sharpened.
Ralph screamed, a scream of fright and anger and desperation.
His legs straightened, the screams became continuous and
foaming. He shot forward, burst the thicket, was in the open,
screaming, snarling, bloody. He swung the stake and the savage
tumbled over; but there were others coming toward him, crying
out. He swerved as a spear flew past and then was silent, running.
All at once the lights flickering ahead of him merged together, the
roar of the forest rose to thunder and a tall bush directly in his path
burst into a great fan-shaped flame. He swung to the right, running
desperately fast, with the heat beating on his left side and the fire
racing forward like a tide. The ululation rose behind him and spread
along, a series of short sharp cries, the sighting call. A brown figure
showed up at his right and fell away. They were all running, all crying
out madly. He could hear them crashing in the undergrowth and on
the left was the hot, bright thunder of the fire. He forgot his wounds,
his hunger and thirst, and became fear; hopeless fear on flying
feet, rushing through the forest toward the open beach. Spots
jumped before his eyes and turned into red circles that expanded
quickly till they passed out of sight. Below him someone's legs were
getting tired and the desperate ululation advanced like a jagged fringe
of menace and was almost overhead.
H e stumbled over a rootand the cry thatpursued him rose even
higher.H e saw a shelter burstinto flames and the fire flapped at his
right shoulder and there was the glitter of water. Then he was
down, rolling over and over in the warm sand, crouching with arm up
to ward off, trying to cry for mercy.
He staggered to his feet, tensed for more terrors, and looked up
at a huge peaked cap. It was a white-topped cap, and above the
green shade or the peak was a crown, an anchor, gold foliage. He
saw white drill, epaulettes, a revolver, a row of gilt buttons down
the front of a uniform.
A naval officer stood on the sand, looking down at Ralph in wary
astonishment. On the beach behind him was a cutter, her bows
hauled up and held by two ratings. In the stern-sheets another rating
held a sub-machine gun.
The ululation faltered and died away.
The officer looked at Ralph doubtfully for a moment, then took his
hand away from the butt of the revolver.
"Hullo."
Squirming a little, conscious of his filthy appearance, Ralph
answered shyly.
"Hullo."
The officer nodded, as if a question had been answered.
"Are there any adults—any grownups with you?"
Dumbly, Ralph shook his head. He turned a half-pace on the
sand. A semicircle of little boys, their bodies streaked with colored
clay, sharp sticks in their hands, were standing on the beach making
no noise at all.
“Fun and games," said the officer.
The fire reached the coconut palms by the beach and swallowed
them noisily. A flame, seemingly detached, swung like an acrobat
and licked up the palm heads on the platfonn. The sky was black. The
officer grinned cheerfully at Ralph.
"We saw your smoke. What have you been doing? Having a war
or something?"
Ralph nodded.
The officer inspected the little scarecrow in front of him. The kid
needed a bath, a haircut, a nose-wipe and a good deal of ointment.
"Nobody killed, I hope? Any dead bodies?"
"Only two. And they’ve gone."
The officer leaned down and looked closely at Ralph.
"Two? Killed?"
Ralph nodded again. Behind him, the whole island was
shuddering with flame. The officer knew, as a rule, when people
were telling the truth. He whistled softly.
Other boys were appearing now, tiny tots some of them, brown,
with the distended bellies of small savages. One of them came dose
to the officer and looked up.
“I'm, I'm—"
But there was no more to come. Percival Wemys Madison sought
in his head for an incantation that had faded clean away.
The officer turned back to Ralph.
"We’ll take you off. How many of you are there?"
Ralph shook his head. The officer looked past him to the group of
painted boys.
"Who's boss here?"
"I am," said Ralph loudly.
A little boy who wore the remains of an extraordinary black cap
on his red hair and who carried the remains of a pair of spectacles
at his waist, started forward, then changed his mind and stood still.
"We saw your smoke. And you don't know how many of you there
are?"
"No, sir."
"I should have thought," said the officer as he visualized the
search before him, "I should have thought that a pack of British
boys—you're all British, aren't you?—would have been able to put up
a better show than that—I mean—"
"It was like that at first," said Ralph, "before things—"
He stopped.
"We were together then—"
The officer nodded helpfully.
"I know. Jolly good show. Like the Coral Island."
Ralph looked at him dumbly. For a moment he had a fleeting
picture of the strange glamour that had once invested the
beaches. But the island was scorched up like dead wood—Simon
was dead—and Jack had. . . . The tears began to flow and sobs
shook him. He gave himself up to them now for the first time on the
island; great, shuddering spasms of grief that seemed to wrench his
whole body. His voice rose under the black smoke before the
burning wreckage of the island; and infected by that emotion, the
other little boys began to shake and sob too. And in the middle of
them, with filthy body, matted hair, and unwiped nose, Ralph wept
for the end of innocence, the darkness of man's heart, and the fall
through the air of the true, wise friend called Piggy.
The officer, surrounded by these noises, was moved and a
little embarrassed. He turned away to give them time to pull
themselves together; and waited, allowing his eyes to rest on the trim
cruiser in the distance.
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