BY THE late summer the news of
what had happened on Animal Farm had spread across half the county. Every day
Snowball and Napoleon sent out flights of pigeons whose instructions were to
mingle with the animals on neighbouring farms, tell them the story of the
Rebellion, and teach them the tune of Beasts of England.
Most of this time Mr. Jones had spent sitting in the taproom of the Red
Lion at Willingdon, complaining to anyone who would listen of the monstrous
injustice he had suffered in being turned out of his property by a pack of
good-for-nothing animals. The other farmers sympathised in principle, but they
did not at first give him much help. At heart, each of them was secretly
wondering whether he could not somehow turn Jones's misfortune to his own
advantage. It was lucky that the owners of the two farms wh ich adjoined
Animal Farm were on permanently bad terms. One of them, which was named
Foxwood, was a large, neglected, old-fashioned farm, much overgrown by
woodland, with all its pastures worn out and its hedges in a disgraceful
condition. Its owner, Mr. Pilkington, was an easy-going gentleman farmer who
spent most of his time in fishing or hunting according to the season. The
other farm, which was called Pinchfield, was smaller and better kept. Its
owner was a Mr. Frederick, a tough, shrewd man, perpetuall y involved in
lawsuits and with a name for driving hard bargains. These two disliked each
other so much that it was difficult for them to come to any agreement, even in
defence of their own interests.
Nevertheless, they were both thoroughly frightened by the rebellion on
Animal Farm, and very anxious to prevent their own animals from learning too
much about it. At first they pretended to laugh to scorn the idea of animals
managing a farm for themselves. The whole thing would be over in a fortnight,
they said. They put it about that the animals on the Manor Farm (they insisted
on calling it the Manor Farm; they would not tolerate the name "Animal Farm")
were perpetually fighting among themselves and w ere also rapidly starving to
death. When time passed and the animals had evidently not starved to death,
Frederick and Pilkington changed their tune and began to talk of the terrible
wickedness that now flourished on Animal Farm. It was given out that the
animals there practised cannibalism, tortured one another with red-hot
horseshoes, and had their females in common. This was what came of rebelling
against the laws of Nature, Frederick and Pilkington said.
However, these stories were never fully believed. Rumours of a wonderful
farm, where the human beings had been turned out and the animals managed their
own affairs, continued to circulate in vague and distorted forms, and
throughout that year a wave of rebelliousness ran through the countryside.
Bulls which had always been tractable suddenly turned savage, sheep broke down
hedges and devoured the clover, cows kicked the pail over, hunters refused
their fences and shot their riders on to the other side. Above all, the tune
and even the words of Beasts of England were known everywhere. It had spread
with astonishing speed. The human beings could not contain their rage when
they heard this song, though they pretended to think it merely ridiculous.
They could not understand, they said, how even animals could bring themselves
to sing such contemptible rubbish. Any animal caught singing it was given a
flogging on the spot. And yet the song was irrepressible. The blackbirds
whistled it in the hedges, the pigeons cooed it in the elms, it got into the
din of the smithies and the tune of the church bells. And when the human
beings listened to it, they secretly trembled, hearing in it a prophecy of
their future doom.
Early in October, when the corn was cut and stacked and some of it was
already threshed, a flight of pigeons came whirling through the air and
alighted in the yard of Animal Farm in the wildest excitement. Jones and all
his men, with half a dozen others from Foxwood and Pinchfield, had entered the
five-barred gate and were coming up the cart-track that led to the farm. They
were all carrying sticks, except Jones, who was marching ahead with a gun in
his hands. Obviously they were going to attempt the re capture of the farm.
This had long been expected, and all preparations had been made. Snowball,
who had studied an old book of Julius Caesar's campaigns which he had found in
the farmhouse, was in charge of the defensive operations. He gave his orders
quickly, and in a couple of minutes every animal was at his post.
As the human beings approached the farm buildings, Snowball launched his
first attack. All the pigeons, to the number of thirty-five, flew to and fro
over the men's heads and muted upon them from mid-air; and while the men were
dealing with this, the geese, who had been hiding behind the hedge, rushed out
and pecked viciously at the calves of their legs. However, this was only a
light skirmishing manoeuvre, intended to create a little disorder, and the men
easily drove the geese off with their sticks. S nowball now launched his
second line of attack. Muriel, Benjamin, and all the sheep, with Snowball at
the head of them, rushed forward and prodded and butted the men from every
side, while Benjamin turned around and lashed at them with his small hoofs.
But once again the men, with their sticks and their hobnailed boots, were too
strong for them; and suddenly, at a squeal from Snowball, which was the signal
for retreat, all the animals turned and fled through the gateway into the
yard.
The men gave a shout of triumph. They saw, as they imagined, their enemies
in flight, and they rushed after them in disorder. This was just what Snowball
had intended. As soon as they were well inside the yard, the three horses, the
three cows, and the rest of the pigs, who had been lying in ambush in the
cowshed, suddenly emerged in their rear, cutting them off. Snowball now gave
the signal for the charge. He himself dashed straight for Jones. Jones saw him
coming, raised his gun and fired. The pellets scored bloody streaks along
Snowball's back, and a sheep dropped dead. Without halting for an instant,
Snowball flung his fifteen stone against Jones's legs. Jones was hurled into a
pile of dung and his gun flew out of his hands. But the most terrifying
spectacle of all was Boxer, rearing up on his hind legs and striking out with
his great iron-shod hoofs like a stallion. His very first blow took a
stable-lad from Foxwood on the skull and stretched him lifeless in the mud. At
the sight, several men dropped their sticks and tried to run. Panic overtook
them, and the next moment all the animals together were chasing them round and
round the yard. They were gored, kicked, bitten, trampled on. There was not an
animal on the farm that did not take vengeance on them after his own fashion.
Even the cat suddenly leapt off a roof onto a cowman's shoulders and sank her
claws in his neck, at which he yelled horribly. At a moment when the opening
was clear, the men were glad enough to rush out of the yard and make a bol t
for the main road. And so within five minutes of their invasion they were in
ignominious retreat by the same way as they had come, with a flock of geese
hissing after them and pecking at their calves all the way.
All the men were gone except one. Back in the yard Boxer was pawing with
his hoof at the stable-lad who lay face down in the mud, trying to turn him
over. The boy did not stir.
"He is dead," said Boxer sorrowfully. "I had no intention of doing that. I
forgot that I was wearing iron shoes. Who will believe that I did not do this
on purpose?"
"No sentimentality, comrade!" cried Snowball from whose wounds the blood
was still dripping. "War is war. The only good human being is a dead one."
"I have no wish to take life, not even human life," repeated Boxer, and
his eyes were full of tears.
"Where is Mollie?" exclaimed somebody.
Mollie in fact was missing. For a moment there was great alarm; it was
feared that the men might have harmed her in some way, or even carried her off
with them. In the end, however, she was found hiding in her stall with her
head buried among the hay in the manger. She had taken to flight as soon as
the gun went off. And when the others came back from looking for her, it was
to find that the stable-lad, who in fact was only stunned, had already
recovered and made off.
The animals had now reassembled in the wildest excitement, each recounting
his own exploits in the battle at the top of his voice. An impromptu
celebration of the victory was held immediately. The flag was run up and
Beasts of England was sung a number of times, then the sheep who had
been killed was given a solemn funeral, a hawthorn bush being planted on her
grave. At the graveside Snowball made a little speech, emphasising the need
for all animals to be ready to die for Animal Farm if need be.
The animals decided unanimously to create a military decoration, "Animal
Hero, First Class," which was conferred there and then on Snowball and Boxer.
It consisted of a brass medal (they were really some old horse-brasses which
had been found in the harness-room), to be worn on Sundays and holidays. There
was also "Animal Hero, Second Class," which was conferred posthumously on the
dead sheep.
There was much discussion as to what the battle should be called. In the
end, it was named the Battle of the Cowshed, since that was where the ambush
had been sprung. Mr. Jones's gun had been found lying in the mud, and it was
known that there was a supply of cartridges in the farmhouse. It was decided
to set the gun up at the foot of the Flagstaff, like a piece of artillery, and
to fire it twice a yearonce on October the twelfth, the anniversary of the
Battle of the Cowshed, and once on Midsummer Day, the anniversary of the
Rebellion.
