In chapter 2
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“There’s another thing. We can help them to ﬁnd us. If a ship comes near the island they may not notice us. So we must make smoke on top of the mountain. We must make a ﬁre.”
The ﬂame, nearly invisible at ﬁrst in that bright sunlight, enveloped a small twig, grew, was enriched with color and reached up to a branch which exploded with a sharp crack. The ﬂame ﬂapped higher and the boys broke into a cheer.
The pile was so rotten, and now so tinder-dry, that whole limbs yielded passionately to the yellow ﬂames that poured upwards and shook a great beard of ﬂame twenty feet in the air. For yards round the ﬁre the heat was like a blow, and the breeze was a river of sparks. Trunks crumbled to white dust.
Life became a race with the ﬁre and the boys scattered through the upper forest. To keep a clean ﬂag of ﬂame ﬂying on the mountain was the immediate end and no one looked further. Even the smallest boys, unless fruit claimed them, brought little pieces of wood and threw them in.
Lord of the Flies