Chapter One
THE SOUND OF
THE SHELL
THE BOY WITH FAIR HAIR LOWERED HIMSELFdown the last few feet of rock and began to pick his waytoward the lagoon. Though he had taken off his school sweaterand trailed it now from one hand, his grey shirt stuck to himand his hair was plastered to his forehead. All round him thelong scar smashed into the jungle was a bath of heat. He wasclambering heavily among the creepers and broken trunks whena bird, a vision of red and yellow, flashed upwards with a witchlikecry; and this cry was echoed by another.
"Hi!" it said. "Wait a minute!"
The undergrowth at the side of the scar was shaken and amultitude of raindrops fell pattering.
"Wait a minute," the voice said. "I got caught up."
The fair boy stopped and jerked his stockings with an automaticgesture that made the jungle seem for a moment like theHome Counties.
The voice spoke again.
"I can't hardly move with all these creeper things."
The owner of the voice came backing out of the undergrowthso that twigs scratched on a greasy wind-breaker. The nakedcrooks of his knees were plump, caught and scratched by thorns.He bent down, removed the thorns carefully, and turned around.He was shorter than the fair boy and very fat. He came forward,searching out safe lodgments for his feet, and then looked upthrough thick spectacles.
"Where's the man with the megaphone?"
The fair boy shook his head.
"This is an island. At least I think it's an island. That's a reefout in the sea. Perhaps there aren't any grownups anywhere."
The fat boy looked startled.
"There was that pilot. But he wasn't in the passenger cabin,he was up in front."
The fair boy was peering at the reef through screwed-up eyes.
"All them other kids," the fat boy went on. "Some of themmust have got out. They must have, mustn't they?"
The fair boy began to pick his way as casually as possibletoward the water. He tried to be offhand and not too obviouslyuninterested, but the fat boy hurried after him.
"Aren't there any grownups at all?"
"I don't think so."
The fair boy said this solemnly; but then the delight of arealized ambition overcame him. In the middle of the scar hestood on his head and grinned at the reversed fat boy.
"No grownups!"
The fat boy thought for a moment.
"That pilot."
The fair boy allowed his feet to come down and sat on thesteamy earth.
"He must have flown off after he dropped us. He couldn'tland here. Not in a place with wheels."
"We was attacked!"
"He'll be back all right."
The fat boy shook his head.
"When we was coming down I looked through one of themwindows. I saw the other part of the plane. There were flamescoming out of it."
He looked up and down the scar.
"And this is what the cabin done."
The fair boy reached out and touched the jagged end of atrunk. For a moment he looked interested.
"What happened to it?" he asked. "Where's it got to now?"
"That storm dragged it out to sea. It wasn't half dangerouswith all them tree trunks falling. There must have been some kidsstill in it."
He hesitated for a moment, then spoke again.
"What's your name?"
"Ralph."
The fat boy waited to be asked his name in turn but thisproffer of acquaintance was not made; the fair boy called Ralphsmiled vaguely, stood up, and began to make his way once moretoward the lagoon. The fat boy hung steadily at his shoulder.
"I expect there's a lot more of us scattered about. You haven'tseen any others, have you?"
Ralph shook his head and increased his speed. Then he trippedover a branch and came down with a crash.
The fat boy stood by him, breathing hard.
"My auntie told me not to run," he explained, "on account ofmy asthma."
"Ass-mar?"
"That's right. Can't catch my breath. I was the only boy inour school what had asthma," said the fat boy with a touch ofpride. "And I've been wearing specs since I was three."
He took off his glasses and held them out to Ralph, blinkingand smiling, and then started to wipe them against his grubbywind-breaker. An expression of pain and inward concentrationaltered the pale contours of his face. He smeared the sweat fromhis cheeks and quickly adjusted the spectacles on his nose.
"Them fruit."
He glanced round the scar.
"Them fruit," he said, "I expect—"
He put on his glasses, waded away from Ralph, and croucheddown among the tangled foliage.
"I'll be out again in just a minute—"
Ralph disentangled himself cautiously and stole away throughthe branches. In a few seconds the fat boy's grunts were behindhim and he was hurrying toward the screen that still lay betweenhim and the lagoon. He climbed over a broken trunk and wasout of the jungle.
The shore was fledged with palm trees. These stood or leanedor reclined against the light and their green feathers were a hundredfeet up in the air. The ground beneath them was a bankcovered with coarse grass, torn everywhere by the upheavals offallen trees, scattered with decaying coconuts and palm saplings.Behind this was the darkness of the forest proper and the openspace of the scar. Ralph stood, one hand against a grey trunk,and screwed up his eyes against the shimmering water. Out there,perhaps a mile away, the white surf flinked on a coral reef, andbeyond that the open sea was dark blue. Within the irregular arcof coral the lagoon was still as a mountain lake—blue of allshades and shadowy green and purple. The beach between thepalm terrace and the water was a thin stick, endless apparently,for to Ralph's left the perspectives of palm and beach and waterdrew to a point at infinity; and always, almost visible, was theheat.
He jumped down from the terrace. The sand was thick overhis black shoes and the heat hit him. He became conscious ofthe weight of clothes, kicked his shoes off fiercely and ripped offeach stocking with its elastic garter in a single movement. Thenhe leapt back on the terrace, pulled off his shirt, and stood thereamong the skull-like coconuts with green shadows from the palmsand the forest sliding over his skin. He undid the snake-clasp ofhis belt, lugged off his shorts and pants, and stood there naked,looking at the dazzling beach and the water.
He was old enough, twelve years and a few months, to havelost the prominent tummy of childhood and not yet old enoughfor adolescence to have made him awkward. You could see nowthat he might make a boxer, as far as width and heaviness ofshoulders went, but there was a mildness about his mouth andeyes that proclaimed no devil. He patted the palm trunk softly,and, forced at last to believe in the reality of the island laugheddelightedly again and stood on his head. He turned nearly on tohis feet, jumped down to the beach, knelt and swept a doublearmful of sand into a pile against his chest. Then he sat backand looked at the water with bright, excited eyes.
"Ralph—"
The fat boy lowered himself over the terrace and sat downcarefully, using the edge as a seat.
"I'm sorry I been such a time. Them fruit—"
He wiped his glasses and adjusted them on his button nose.The frame had made a deep, pink "V" on the bridge. He lookedcritically at Ralph's golden body and then down at his ownclothes. He laid a hand on the end of a zipper that extendeddown his chest.
"My auntie—"
Then he opened the zipper with decision and pulled the wholewind-breaker over his head.
"There!"
Ralph looked at him sidelong and said nothing.
"I expect we'll want to know all their names," said the fat boy,"and make a list. We ought to have a meeting."
Ralph did not take the hint so the fat boy was forced tocontinue.
"I don't care what they call me," he said confidentially, "solong as they don't call me what they used to call me at school."
Ralph was faintly interested.
"What was that?"
The fat boy glanced over his shoulder, then leaned towardRalph.
He whispered.
"They used to call me `Piggy.'"
Ralph shrieked with laughter. He jumped up.
"Piggy! Piggy!"
"Ralph—please!"
Piggy clasped his hands in apprehension.
"I said I didn't want—"
"Piggy! Piggy!"
Ralph danced out into the hot air of the beach and thenreturned as a fighter-plane, with wings swept back, and machine-gunnedPiggy.
"Sche-aa-ow!"
He dived in the sand at Piggy's feet and lay there laughing.
"Piggy!"
Piggy grinned reluctantly, pleased despite himself at even thismuch recognition.
"So long as you don't tell the others—"
Ralph giggled into the sand. The expression of pain and concentrationreturned to Piggy's face.
"Half a sec'."
He hastened back into the forest. Ralph stood up and trottedalong to the right.
Here the beach was interrupted abruptly by the square motifof the landscape; a great platform of pink granite thrust up uncompromisinglythrough forest and terrace and sand and lagoonto make a raised jetty four feet high. The top of this was coveredwith a thin layer of soil and coarse grass and shaded with youngpalm trees. There was not enough soil for them to grow to anyheight and when they reached perhaps twenty feet they fell anddried, forming a criss-cross pattern of trunks, very convenient tosit on. The palms that still stood made a green roof, covered onthe underside with a quivering tangle of reflections from the lagoon.Ralph hauled himself onto this platform, noted the coolnessand shade, shut one eye, and decided that the shadows onhis body were really green. He picked his way to the seawardedge of the platform and stood looking down into the water. Itwas clear to the bottom and bright with the efflorescence oftropical weed and coral. A school of tiny, glittering fish flickedhither and thither. Ralph spoke to himself, sounding the bassstrings of delight.
"Whizzoh!"
Beyond the platform there was more enchantment. Some actof God—a typhoon perhaps, or the storm that had accompaniedhis own arrival—had banked sand inside the lagoon so that therewas a long, deep pool in the beach with a high ledge of pinkgranite at the further end. Ralph had been deceived before nowby the specious appearance of depth in a beach pool and heapproached this one preparing to be disappointed. But the islandran true to form and the incredible pool, which clearly was onlyinvaded by the sea at high tide, was so deep at one end as to bedark green. Ralph inspected the whole thirty yards carefully andthen plunged in. The water was warmer than his blood and hemight have been swimming in a huge bath.
Piggy appeared again, sat on the rocky ledge, and watchedRalph's green and white body enviously.
"You can't half swim."
"Piggy."
Piggy took off his shoes and socks, ranged them carefully onthe ledge, and tested the water with one toe.
"It's hot!"
"What did you expect?"
"I didn't expect nothing. My auntie—"
"Sucks to your auntie!"
Ralph did a surface dive and swam under water with his eyesopen; the sandy edge of the pool loomed up like a hillside. Heturned over, holding his nose, and a golden light danced andshattered just over his face. Piggy was looking determined andbegan to take off his shorts. Presently he was palely and fatlynaked. He tiptoed down the sandy side of the pool, and sat thereup to his neck in water smiling proudly at Ralph.
"Aren't you going to swim?"
Piggy shook his head.
"I can't swim. I wasn't allowed. My asthma—"
"Sucks to your ass-mar!"
Piggy bore this with a sort of humble patience.
"You can't half swim well."
Ralph paddled backwards down the slope, immersed his mouthand blew a jet of water into the air. Then he lifted his chin andspoke.
"I could swim when I was five. Daddy taught me. He's acommander in the Navy. When he gets leave he'll come andrescue us. What's your father?"
Piggy flushed suddenly.
"My dad's dead," he said quickly, "and my mum—"
He took off his glasses and looked vainly for something withwhich to clean them.
"I used to live with my auntie. She kept a candy store. I usedto get ever so many candies. As many as I liked. When'll yourdad rescue us?"
"Soon as he can."
Piggy rose dripping from the water and stood naked, cleaninghis glasses with a sock. The only sound that reached them nowthrough the heat of the morning was the long, grinding roar ofthe breakers on the reef.
"How does he know we're here?"
Ralph lolled in the water. Sleep enveloped him like the swathingmirages that were wrestling with the brilliance of the lagoon.
"How does he know we're here?"
Because, thought Ralph, because, because. The roar from thereef became very distant.
"They'd tell him at the airport."
Piggy shook his head, put on his flashing glasses and lookeddown at Ralph.
"Not them. Didn't you hear what the pilot said? About theatom bomb? They're all dead."
Ralph pulled himself out of the water, stood facing Piggy, andconsidered this unusual problem.
Piggy persisted.
"This an island, isn't it?"
"I climbed a rock," said Ralph slowly, "and I think this is anisland."
"They're all dead," said Piggy, "an' this is an island. Nobodydon't know we're here. Your dad don't know, nobody don'tknow—"
His lips quivered and the spectacles were dimmed with mist.
"We may stay here till we die."
With that word the heat seemed to increase till it became athreatening weight and the lagoon attacked them with a blindingeffulgence.
"Get my clothes," muttered Ralph. "Along there."
He trotted through the sand, enduring the sun's enmity,crossed the platform and found his scattered clothes. To put ona grey shirt once more was strangely pleasing. Then he climbedthe edge of the platform and sat in the green shade on a convenienttrunk. Piggy hauled himself up, carrying most of hisclothes under his arms. Then he sat carefully on a fallen trunknear the little cliff that fronted the lagoon; and the tangled reflectionsquivered over him.
Presently he spoke.
"We got to find the others. We got to do something."
Ralph said nothing. Here was a coral island. Protected fromthe sun, ignoring Piggy's ill-omened talk, he dreamed pleasantly.
Piggy insisted.
"How many of us are there?"
Ralph came forward and stood by Piggy.
"I don't know."
Here and there, little breezes crept over the polished watersbeneath the haze of heat. When these breezes reached the platformthe palm fronds would whisper, so that spots of blurredsunlight slid over their bodies or moved like bright, winged thingsin the shade.
Piggy looked up at Ralph. All the shadows on Ralph's facewere reversed; green above, bright below from the lagoon. A blurof sunlight was crawling across his hair.
"We got to do something."
Ralph looked through him. Here at last was the imagined butnever fully realized place leaping into real life. Ralph's lips partedin a delighted smile and Piggy, taking this smile to himself as amark of recognition, laughed with pleasure.
"If it really is an island—"
"What's that?"
Ralph had stopped smiling and was pointing into the lagoon.Something creamy lay among the ferny weeds.
"A stone."
"No. A shell."
Suddenly Piggy was a-bubble with decorous excitement.
"S'right. It's a shell! I seen one like that before. On someone'sback wall. A conch he called it. He used to blow it and then hismum would come. It's ever so valuable—"
Near to Ralph's elbow a palm sapling leaned out over thelagoon. Indeed, the weight was already pulling a lump from thepoor soil and soon it would fall. He tore out the stem and beganto poke about in the water, while the brilliant fish flicked awayon this side and that. Piggy leaned dangerously.
"Careful! You'll break it—"
"Shut up."
Ralph spoke absently. The shell was interesting and pretty anda worthy plaything; but the vivid phantoms of his day-dream stillinterposed between him and Piggy, who in this context was anirrelevance. The palm sapling, bending, pushed the shell acrossthe weeds. Ralph used one hand as a fulcrum and pressed downwith the other till the shell rose, dripping, and Piggy could makea grab.
Now the shell was no longer a thing seen but not to betouched, Ralph too became excited. Piggy babbled:
"—a conch; ever so expensive. I bet if you wanted to buy one,you'd have to pay pounds and pounds and pounds—he had iton his garden wall, and my auntie—"
Ralph took the shell from Piggy and a little water ran downhis arm. In color the shell was deep cream, touched here andthere with fading pink. Between the point, worn away into a littlehole, and the pink lips of the mouth, lay eighteen inches of shellwith a slight spiral twist and covered with a delicate, embossedpattern. Ralph shook sand out of the deep tube.
"—mooed like a cow," he said. "He had some white stonestoo, an' a bird cage with a green parrot. He didn't blow the whitestones, of course, an' he said—"
Piggy paused for breath and stroked the glistening thing thatlay in Ralph's hands.
"Ralph!"
Ralph looked up.
"We can use this to call the others. Have a meeting. They'llcome when they hear us—"
He beamed at Ralph.
"That was what you meant, didn't you? That's why you gotthe conch out of the water?"
Ralph pushed back his fair hair.
"How did your friend blow the conch?"
"He kind of spat," said Piggy. "My auntie wouldn't let meblow on account of my asthma. He said you blew from downhere." Piggy laid a hand on his jutting abdomen. "You try, Ralph.You'll call the others."
Doubtfully, Ralph laid the small end of the shell against hismouth and blew. There came a rushing sound from its mouthbut nothing more. Ralph wiped the salt water off his lips andtried again, but the shell remained silent.
"He kind of spat."
Ralph pursed his lips and squirted air into the shell, whichemitted a low, farting noise. This amused both boys so muchthat Ralph went on squirting for some minutes, between boutsof laughter.
"He blew from down here."
Ralph grasped the idea and hit the shell with air from hisdiaphragm. Immediately the thing sounded. A deep, harsh noteboomed under the palms, Spread through the intricacies of theforest and echoed back from the pink granite of the mountain.Clouds of birds rose from the treetops, and something squealedand ran in the undergrowth.
Ralph took the shell away from his lips.
"Gosh!"
His ordinary voice sounded like a whisper after the harsh noteof the conch. He laid the conch against his lips, took a deepbreath and blew once more. The note boomed again: and thenat his firmer pressure, the note, fluking up an octave, became astrident blare more penetrating than before. Piggy was shoutingsomething, his face pleased, his glasses flashing. The birds cried,small animals scuttered. Ralph's breath failed; the note droppedthe octave, became a low wubber, was a rush of air.
The conch was silent, a gleaming tusk; Ralph's face was darkwith breathlessness and the air over the island was full of bird-clamorand echoes ringing.
"I bet you can hear that for miles."
Ralph found his breath and blew a series of short blasts.
Piggy exclaimed: "There's one!"
A child had appeared among the palms, about a hundred yardsalong the beach. He was a boy of perhaps six years, sturdy andfair, his clothes torn, his face covered with a sticky mess of fruit.His trousers had been lowered for an obvious purpose and hadonly been pulled back half-way. He jumped off the palm terraceinto the sand and his trousers fell about his ankles; he steppedout of them and trotted to the platform. Piggy helped him up.Meanwhile Ralph continued to blow till voices shouted in theforest. The small boy squatted in front of Ralph, looking upbrightly and vertically. As he received the reassurance of somethingpurposeful being done he began to look satisfied, and hisonly clean digit, a pink thumb, slid into his mouth.
Piggy leaned down to him.
"What's yer name?"
"Johnny."
Piggy muttered the name to himself and then shouted it toRalph, who was not interested because he was still blowing. Hisface was dark with the violent pleasure of making this stupendousnoise, and his heart was making the stretched shirt shake. Theshouting in the forest was nearer.
Signs of life were visible now on the beach. The sand, tremblingbeneath the heat haze, concealed many figures in its milesof length; boys were making their way toward the platformthrough the hot, dumb sand. Three small children, no older thanJohnny, appeared from startlingly close at hand, where they hadbeen gorging fruit in the forest. A dark little boy, not muchyounger than Piggy, parted a tangle of undergrowth, walked onto the platform, and smiled cheerfully at everybody. More andmore of them came. Taking their cue from the innocent Johnny,they sat down on the fallen palm trunks and waited. Ralph continuedto blow short, penetrating blasts. Piggy moved among thecrowd, asking names and frowning to remember them. The childrengave him the same simple obedience that they had given tothe men with megaphones. Some were naked and carrying theirclothes; others half-naked, or more or less dressed, in school uniforms,grey, blue, fawn, jacketed, or jerseyed. There were badges,mottoes even, stripes of color in stockings and pullovers. Theirheads clustered above the trunks in the green shade; heads brown,fair, black, chestnut, sandy, mouse-colored; heads muttering, whispering,heads full of eyes that watched Ralph and speculated.Something was being done.
The children who came along the beach, singly or in twos,leapt into visibility when they crossed the line from heat haze tonearer sand. Here, the eye was first attracted to a black, bat-likecreature that danced on the sand, and only later perceived thebody above it. The bat was the child's shadow, shrunk by thevertical sun to a patch between the hurrying feet. Even while heblew, Ralph noticed the last pair of bodies that reached the platformabove a fluttering patch of black. The two boys, bullet-headedand with hair like tow, flung themselves down and laygrinning and panting at Ralph like dogs. They were twins, andthe eye was shocked and incredulous at such cheery duplication.They breathed together, they grinned together, they were chunkyand vital. They raised wet lips at Ralph, for they seemed providedwith not quite enough skin, so that their profiles were blurredand their mouths pulled open. Piggy bent his flashing glasses tothem and could be heard between the blasts, repeating theirnames.
"Sam, Eric, Sam, Eric."
Then he got muddled; the twins shook their heads and pointedat each other and the crowd laughed.
At last Ralph ceased to blow and sat there, the conch trailingfrom one hand, his head bowed on his knees. As the echoes diedaway so did the laughter, and there was silence.
Within the diamond haze of the beach something dark wasfumbling along. Ralph saw it first, and watched till the intentnessof his gaze drew all eyes that way. Then the creature steppedfrom mirage on to clear sand, and they saw that the darkness wasnot all shadow but mostly clothing. The creature was a party ofboys, marching approximately in step in two parallel lines anddressed in strangely eccentric clothing. Shorts, shirts, and differentgarments they carried in their hands; but each boy wore a squareblack cap with a silver badge on it. Their bodies, from throat toankle, were hidden by black cloaks which bore a long silver crosson the left breast and each neck was finished off with a hambonefrill. The heat of the tropics, the descent, the search for food,and now this sweaty march along the blazing beach had giventhem the complexions of newly washed plums. The boy whocontrolled them was dressed in the same way though his capbadge was golden. When his party was about ten yards from theplatform he shouted an order and they halted, gasping, sweating,swaying in the fierce light. The boy himself came forward, vaultedon to the platform with his cloak flying, and peered into whatto him was almost complete darkness.
"Where's the man with the trumpet?"
Ralph, sensing his sun-blindness, answered him.
"There's no man with a trumpet. Only me."
The boy came close and peered down at Ralph, screwing uphis face as he did so. What he saw of the fair-haired boy withthe creamy shell on his knees did not seem to satisfy him. Heturned quickly, his black cloak circling.
"Isn't there a ship, then?"
Inside the floating cloak he was tall, thin, and bony; and hishair was red beneath the black cap. His face was crumpled andfreckled, and ugly without silliness. Out of this face stared twolight blue eyes, frustrated now, and turning, or ready to turn, toanger.
"Isn't there a man here?"
Ralph spoke to his back.
"No. We're having a meeting. Come and join in."
The group of cloaked boys began to scatter from close line.The tall boy shouted at them.
"Choir! Stand still!"
Wearily obedient, the choir huddled into line and stood thereswaying in the sun. None the less, some began to protest faintly.
"But, Merridew. Please, Merridew ... can't we?"
Then one of the boys flopped on his face in the sand and theline broke up. They heaved the fallen boy to the platform andlet him lie. Merridew, his eyes staring, made the best of a badjob.
"All right then. Sit down. Let him alone."
"But Merridew."
"He's always throwing a faint," said Merridew. "He did inGib.; and Addis; and at matins over the precentor."
This last piece of shop brought sniggers from the choir, whoperched like black birds on the criss-cross trunks and examinedRalph with interest. Piggy asked no names. He was intimidatedby this uniformed superiority and the offhand authority in Merridew'svoice. He shrank to the other side of Ralph and busiedhimself with his glasses.
Merridew turned to Ralph.
"Aren't there any grownups?"
"No."
Merridew sat down on a trunk and looked round the circle.
"Then we'll have to look after ourselves."
Secure on the other side of Ralph, Piggy spoke timidly.
"That's why Ralph made a meeting. So as we can decide what todo. We've heard names. That's Johnny. Those two—they're twins,Sam 'n Eric. Which is Eric—? You? No—you're Sam—"
"I'm Sam—"
"'n I'm Eric."
"We'd better all have names," said Ralph, "so I'm Ralph."
"We got most names," said Piggy. "Got 'em just now."
"Kids' names," said Merridew. "Why should I be Jack? I'mMerridew."
Ralph turned to him quickly. This was the voice of one whoknew his own mind.
"Then," went on Piggy, "that boy—I forget—"
"You're talking too much," said Jack Merridew. "Shut up,Fatty."
Laughter arose.
"He's not Fatty," cried Ralph, "his real name's Piggy!"
"Piggy!"
"Piggy!"
"Oh, Piggy!"
A storm of laughter arose and even the tiniest child joined in.For the moment the boys were a closed circuit of sympathy withPiggy outside: he went very pink, bowed his head and cleaned hisglasses again.
Finally the laughter died away and the naming continued.There was Maurice, next in size among the choir boys to Jack,but broad and grinning all the time. There was a slight, furtiveboy whom no one knew, who kept to himself with an innerintensity of avoidance and secrecy. He muttered that his namewas Roger and was silent again. Bill, Robert, Harold, Henry; thechoir boy who had fainted sat up against a palm trunk, smiledpallidly at Ralph and said that his name was Simon.
Jack spoke.
"We've got to decide about being rescued."
There was a buzz. One of the small boys, Henry, said that hewanted to go home.
"Shut up," said Ralph absently. He lifted the conch. "Seemsto me we ought to have a chief to decide things."
"A chief! A chief!"
"I ought to be chief," said Jack with simple arrogance, "becauseI'm chapter chorister and head boy. I can sing C sharp."
Another buzz.
"Well then," said Jack, "I—"
He hesitated. The dark boy, Roger, stirred at last and spokeup.
"Let's have a vote."
"Yes!"
"Vote for chief!"
"Let's vote—"
This toy of voting was almost as pleasing as the conch. Jackstarted to protest but the clamor changed from the general wishfor a chief to an election by acclaim of Ralph himself. None ofthe boys could have found good reason for this; what intelligencehad been shown was traceable to Piggy while the most obviousleader was Jack. But there was a stillness about Ralph as he satthat marked him out: there was his size, and attractive appearance;and most obscurely, yet most powerfully, there was the conch.The being that had blown that, had sat waiting for them on theplatform with the delicate thing balanced on his knees, was setapart.
"Him with the shell."
"Ralph! Ralph!"
"Let him be chief with the trumpet-thing."
Ralph raised a hand for silence.
"All right. Who wants Jack for chief?"
With dreary obedience the choir raised their hands.
"Who wants me?"
Every hand outside the choir except Piggy's was raised immediately.Then Piggy, too, raised his hand grudgingly into theair.
Ralph counted.
"I'm chief then."
The circle of boys broke into applause. Even the choir applauded;and the freckles on Jack's face disappeared under a blushof mortification. He started up, then changed his mind and satdown again while the air rang. Ralph looked at him, eager tooffer something.
"The choir belongs to you, of course."
"They could be the army—"
"Or hunters—"
"They could be—"
The suffusion drained away from Jack's face. Ralph wavedagain for silence.
"Jack's in charge of the choir. They can be—what do youwant them to be?"
"Hunters."
Jack and Ralph smiled at each other with shy liking. The restbegan to talk eagerly.
Jack stood up.
"All right, choir. Take off your togs."
As if released from class, the choir boys stood up, chattered,piled their black cloaks on the grass. Jack laid his on the trunkby Ralph. His grey shorts were sticking to him with sweat. Ralphglanced at them admiringly, and when Jack saw his glance heexplained.
"I tried to get over that hill to see if there was water all round.But your shell called us."
Ralph smiled and held up the conch for silence.
"Listen, everybody. I've got to have time to think things out.I can't decide what to do straight off. If this isn't an island wemight be rescued straight away. So we've got to decide if this isan island. Everybody must stay round here and wait and not goaway. Three of us—if we take more we'd get all mixed, and loseeach other—three of us will go on an expedition and find out.I'll go, and Jack, and, and...."
He looked round the circle of eager faces. There was no lackof boys to choose from.
Continues...
Excerpted from Lord of the Fliesby William Golding Copyright © 1999 by William Golding. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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