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“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.”
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