A FEW days later, when the terror
caused by the executions had died down, some of the animals remembered—or
thought they remembered—that the Sixth Commandment decreed "No animal shall
kill any other animal." And though no one cared to mention it in the hearing
of the pigs or the dogs, it was felt that the killings which had taken place
did not square with this. Clover asked Benjamin to read her the Sixth
Commandment, and when Benjamin, as usual, said that he refus ed to meddle in
such matters, she fetched Muriel. Muriel read the Commandment for her. It ran:
"No animal shall kill any other animal without cause." Somehow or
other, the last two words had slipped out of the animals' memory. But they saw
now that the Commandment had not been violated; for clearly there was good
reason for killing the traitors who had leagued themselves with Snowball.
Throughout the year the animals worked even harder than they had worked in
the previous year To rebuild the windmill, with walls twice as thick as
before, and to finish it by the appointed date, together with the regular work
of the farm, was a tremendous labour. There were times when it seemed to the
animals that they worked longer hours and fed no better than they had done in
Jones's day. On Sunday mornings Squealer, holding down a long strip of paper
with his trotter, would read out to them lists of figures proving that the
production of every class of foodstuff had increased by two hundred per cent,
three hundred per cent, or five hundred per cent, as the case might be. The
animals saw no reason to disbelieve him, especially as they could no longer
remember very clearly what conditions had been like before the Rebellion. All
the same, there were days when they felt that they would sooner have had less
figures and more food.
All orders were now issued through Squealer or one of the other pigs.
Napoleon himself was not seen in public as often as once in a fortnight. When
he did appear, he was attended not only by his retinue of dogs but by a black
cockerel who marched in front of him and acted as a kind of trumpeter, letting
out a loud "cock-a-doodle-doo" before Napoleon spoke. Even in the farmhouse,
it was said, Napoleon inhabited separate apartments from the others. He took
his meals alone, with two dogs to wait upon him, and always ate from the Crown
Derby dinner service which had been in the glass cupboard in the drawing-room.
It was also announced that the gun would be fired every year on Napoleon's
birthday, as well as on the other two anniversaries.
Napoleon was now never spoken of simply as "Napoleon." He was always
referred to in formal style as "our Leader, Comrade Napoleon," and this pigs
liked to invent for him such titles as Father of All Animals, Terror of
Mankind, Protector of the Sheep-fold, Ducklings' Friend, and the like. In his
speeches, Squealer would talk with the tears rolling down his cheeks of
Napoleon's wisdom the goodness of his heart, and the deep love he bore to all
animals everywhere, even and especially the unhappy animals wh o still lived
in ignorance and slavery on other farms. It had become usual to give Napoleon
the credit for every successful achievement and every stroke of good fortune.
You would often hear one hen remark to another, "Under the guidance of our
Leader, Comrade Napoleon, I have laid five eggs in six days"; or two cows,
enjoying a drink at the pool, would exclaim, "Thanks to the leadership of
Comrade Napoleon, how excellent this water tastes!" The general feeling on the
farm was well expressed in a poem entit led Comrade Napoleon, which was
composed by Minimus and which ran as follows:
Friend of fatherless!
Fountain of happiness!
Lord of the swill-bucket! Oh, how my soul is on
Fire when I gaze at thy
Calm and commanding eye,
Like the sun in the sky,
Comrade Napoleon!
Thou are the giver of
All that thy creatures love,
Full belly twice a day, clean straw to roll upon;
Every beast great or small
Sleeps at peace in his stall,
Thou watchest over all,
Comrade Napoleon!
Had I a sucking-pig,
Ere he had grown as big
Even as a pint bottle or as a rolling-pin,
He should have learned to be
Faithful and true to thee,
Yes, his first squeak should be
"Comrade Napoleon!"
Napoleon approved of this poem and caused it to be inscribed on the wall
of the big barn, at the opposite end from the Seven Commandments. It was
surmounted by a portrait of Napoleon, in profile, executed by Squealer in
white paint.
Meanwhile, through the agency of Whymper, Napoleon was engaged in
complicated negotiations with Frederick and Pilkington. The pile of timber was
still unsold. Of the two, Frederick was the more anxious to get hold of it,
but he would not offer a reasonable price. At the same time there were renewed
rumours that Frederick and his men were plotting to attack Animal Farm and to
destroy the windmill, the building of which had aroused furious jealousy in
him. Snowball was known to be still skulking on Pinchf ield Farm. In the
middle of the summer the animals were alarmed to hear that three hens had come
forward and confessed that, inspired by Snowball, they had entered into a plot
to murder Napoleon. They were executed immediately, and fresh precautions for
Napoleon's safety were taken. Four dogs guarded his bed at night, one at each
corner, and a young pig named Pinkeye was given the task of tasting all his
food before he ate it, lest it should be poisoned.
At about the same time it was given out that Napoleon had arranged to sell
the pile of timber to Mr. Pilkington; he was also going to enter into a
regular agreement for the exchange of certain products between Animal Farm and
Foxwood. The relations between Napoleon and Pilkington, though they were only
conducted through Whymper, were now almost friendly. The animals distrusted
Pilkington, as a human being, but greatly preferred him to Frederick, whom
they both feared and hated. As the summer wore on, an d the windmill neared
completion, the rumours of an impending treacherous attack grew stronger and
stronger. Frederick, it was said, intended to bring against them twenty men
all armed with guns, and he had already bribed the magistrates and police, so
that if he could once get hold of the title-deeds of Animal Farm they would
ask no questions. Moreover, terrible stories were leaking out from Pinchfield
about the cruelties that Frederick practised upon his animals. He had flogged
an old horse to death, he s tarved his cows, he had killed a dog by throwing
it into the furnace, he amused himself in the evenings by making cocks fight
with splinters of razor-blade tied to their spurs. The animals' blood boiled
with rage when they heard of these things being done to their comrades, and
sometimes they clamoured to be allowed to go out in a body and attack
Pinchfield Farm, drive out the humans, and set the animals free. But Squealer
counselled them to avoid rash actions and trust in Comrade Napoleon's
strategy.
Nevertheless, feeling against Frederick continued to run high. One Sunday
morning Napoleon appeared in the barn and explained that he had never at any
time contemplated selling the pile of timber to Frederick; he considered it
beneath his dignity, he said, to have dealings with scoundrels of that
description. The pigeons who were still sent out to spread tidings of the
Rebellion were forbidden to set foot anywhere on Foxwood, and were also
ordered to drop their former slogan of "Death to Humanity" in fa vour of
"Death to Frederick." In the late summer yet another of Snowball's
machinations was laid bare. The wheat crop was full of weeds, and it was
discovered that on one of his nocturnal visits Snowball had mixed weed seeds
with the seed corn. A gander who had been privy to the plot had confessed his
guilt to Squealer and immediately committed suicide by swallowing deadly
nightshade berries. The animals now also learned that Snowball had never—as
many of them had believed hitherto—received the order of "An imal Hero, First
Class." This was merely a legend which had been spread some time after the
Battle of the Cowshed by Snowball himself. So far from being decorated, he had
been censured for showing cowardice in the battle. Once again some of the
animals heard this with a certain bewilderment, but Squealer was soon able to
convince them that their memories had been at fault.
In the autumn, by a tremendous, exhausting effort—for the harvest had to
be gathered at almost the same time—the windmill was finished. The machinery
had still to be installed, and Whymper was negotiating the purchase of it, but
the structure was completed. In the teeth of every difficulty, in spite of
inexperience, of primitive implements, of bad luck and of Snowball's
treachery, the work had been finished punctually to the very day! Tired out
but proud, the animals walked round and round their masterp iece, which
appeared even more beautiful in their eyes than when it had been built the
first time. Moreover, the walls were twice as thick as before. Nothing short
of explosives would lay them low this time! And when they thought of how they
had laboured, what discouragements they had overcome, and the enormous
difference that would be made in their lives when the sails were turning and
the dynamos running—when they thought of all this, their tiredness forsook
them and they gambolled round and round the win dmill, uttering cries of
triumph. Napoleon himself, attended by his dogs and his cockerel, came down to
inspect the completed work; he personally congratulated the animals on their
achievement, and announced that the mill would be named Napoleon Mill.
Two days later the animals were called together for a special meeting in
the barn. They were struck dumb with surprise when Napoleon announced that he
had sold the pile of timber to Frederick. Tomorrow Frederick's wagons would
arrive and begin carting it away. Throughout the whole period of his seeming
friendship with Pilkington, Napoleon had really been in secret agreement with
Frederick.
All relations with Foxwood had been broken off; insulting messages had
been sent to Pilkington. The pigeons had been told to avoid Pinchfield Farm
and to alter their slogan from "Death to Frederick" to "Death to Pilkington."
At the same time Napoleon assured the animals that the stories of an impending
attack on Animal Farm were completely untrue, and that the tales about
Frederick's cruelty to his own animals had been greatly exaggerated. All these
rumours had probably originated with Snowball and his agents. It now appeared
that Snowball was not, after all, hiding on Pinchfield Farm, and in fact had
never been there in his life: he was living—in considerable luxury, so it was
said—at Foxwood, and had in reality been a pensioner of Pilkington for years
past.
The pigs were in ecstasies over Napoleon's cunning. By seeming to be
friendly with Pilkington he had forced Frederick to raise his price by twelve
pounds. But the superior quality of Napoleon's mind, said Squealer, was shown
in the fact that he trusted nobody, not even Frederick. Frederick had wanted
to pay for the timber with something called a cheque, which, it seemed, was a
piece of paper with a promise to pay written upon it. But Napoleon was too
clever for him. He had demanded payment in real five- pound notes, which were
to be handed over before the timber was removed. Already Frederick had paid
up; and the sum he had paid was just enough to buy the machinery for the
windmill.
Meanwhile the timber was being carted away at high speed. When it was all
gone, another special meeting was held in the barn for the animals to inspect
Frederick's bank-notes. Smiling beatifically, and wearing both his
decorations, Napoleon reposed on a bed of straw on the platform, with the
money at his side, neatly piled on a china dish from the farmhouse kitchen.
The animals filed slowly past, and each gazed his fill. And Boxer put out his
nose to sniff at the bank-notes, and the flimsy white things stirred and
rustled in his breath.
Three days later there was a terrible hullabaloo. Whymper, his face deadly
pale, came racing up the path on his bicycle, flung it down in the yard and
rushed straight into the farmhouse. The next moment a choking roar of rage
sounded from Napoleon's apartments. The news of what had happened sped round
the farm like wildfire. The banknotes were forgeries! Frederick had got the
timber for nothing!
Napoleon called the animals together immediately and in a terrible voice
pronounced the death sentence upon Frederick. When captured, he said,
Frederick should be boiled alive. At the same time he warned them that after
this treacherous deed the worst was to be expected. Frederick and his men
might make their long-expected attack at any moment. Sentinels were placed at
all the approaches to the farm. In addition, four pigeons were sent to Foxwood
with a conciliatory message, which it was hoped might re- establish good
relations with Pilkington.
The very next morning the attack came. The animals were at breakfast when
the look-outs came racing in with the news that Frederick and his followers
had already come through the five-barred gate. Boldly enough the animals
sallied forth to meet them, but this time they did not have the easy victory
that they had had in the Battle of the Cowshed. There were fifteen men, with
half a dozen guns between them, and they opened fire as soon as they got
within fifty yards. The animals could not face the terribl e explosions and
the stinging pellets, and in spite of the efforts of Napoleon and Boxer to
rally them, they were soon driven back. A number of them were already wounded.
They took refuge in the farm buildings and peeped cautiously out from chinks
and knot-holes. The whole of the big pasture, including the windmill, was in
the hands of the enemy. For the moment even Napoleon seemed at a loss. He
paced up and down without a word, his tail rigid and twitching. Wistful
glances were sent in the direction of Fox wood. If Pilkington and his men
would help them, the day might yet be won. But at this moment the four
pigeons, who had been sent out on the day before, returned, one of them
bearing a scrap of paper from Pilkington. On it was pencilled the words:
"Serves you right."
Meanwhile Frederick and his men had halted about the windmill. The animals
watched them, and a murmur of dismay went round. Two of the men had produced a
crowbar and a sledge hammer. They were going to knock the windmill down.
"Impossible!" cried Napoleon. "We have built the walls far too thick for
that. They could not knock it down in a week. Courage, comrades!"
But Benjamin was watching the movements of the men intently. The two with
the hammer and the crowbar were drilling a hole near the base of the windmill.
Slowly, and with an air almost of amusement, Benjamin nodded his long muzzle.
"I thought so," he said. "Do you not see what they are doing? In another
moment they are going to pack blasting powder into that hole."
Terrified, the animals waited. It was impossible now to venture out of the
shelter of the buildings. After a few minutes the men were seen to be running
in all directions. Then there was a deafening roar. The pigeons swirled into
the air, and all the animals, except Napoleon, flung themselves flat on their
bellies and hid their faces. When they got up again, a huge cloud of black
smoke was hanging where the windmill had been. Slowly the breeze drifted it
away. The windmill had ceased to exist!
At this sight the animals' courage returned to them. The fear and despair
they had felt a moment earlier were drowned in their rage against this vile,
contemptible act. A mighty cry for vengeance went up, and without waiting for
further orders they charged forth in a body and made straight for the enemy.
This time they did not heed the cruel pellets that swept over them like hail.
It was a savage, bitter battle. The men fired again and again, and, when the
animals got to close quarters, lashed out with their sticks and their heavy
boots. A cow, three sheep, and two geese were killed, and nearly everyone was
wounded. Even Napoleon, who was directing operations from the rear, had the
tip of his tail chipped by a pellet. But the men did not go unscathed either.
Three of them had their heads broken by blows from Boxer's hoofs; another was
gored in the belly by a cow's horn; another had his trousers nearly torn off
by Jessie and Bluebell. And when the nine dogs of Napoleon's own bodyguard,
whom he had instruct ed to make a detour under cover of the hedge, suddenly
appeared on the men's flank, baying ferociously, panic overtook them. They saw
that they were in danger of being surrounded. Frederick shouted to his men to
get out while the going was good, and the next moment the cowardly enemy was
running for dear life. The animals chased them right down to the bottom of the
field, and got in some last kicks at them as they forced their way through the
thorn hedge.
They had won, but they were weary and bleeding. Slowly they began to limp
back towards the farm. The sight of their dead comrades stretched upon the
grass moved some of them to tears. And for a little while they halted in
sorrowful silence at the place where the windmill had once stood. Yes, it was
gone; almost the last trace of their labour was gone! Even the foundations
were partially destroyed. And in rebuilding it they could not this time, as
before, make use of the fallen stones. This time the ston es had vanished too.
The force of the explosion had flung them to distances of hundreds of yards.
It was as though the windmill had never been.
As they approached the farm Squealer, who had unaccountably been absent
during the fighting, came skipping towards them, whisking his tail and beaming
with satisfaction. And the animals heard, from the direction of the farm
buildings, the solemn booming of a gun.
"What is that gun firing for?" said Boxer.
"To celebrate our victory!" cried Squealer.
"What victory?" said Boxer. His knees were bleeding, he had lost a shoe
and split his hoof, and a dozen pellets had lodged themselves in his hind leg.
"What victory, comrade? Have we not driven the enemy off our soil—the
sacred soil of Animal Farm? "
"But they have destroyed the windmill. And we had worked on it for two
years!"
"What matter? We will build another windmill. We will build six windmills
if we feel like it. You do not appreciate, comrade, the mighty thing that we
have done. The enemy was in occupation of this very ground that we stand upon.
And now—thanks to the leadership of Comrade Napoleon—we have won every inch of
it back again!"
"Then we have won back what we had before," said Boxer.
"That is our victory," said Squealer.
They limped into the yard. The pellets under the skin of Boxer's leg
smarted painfully. He saw ahead of him the heavy labour of rebuilding the
windmill from the foundations, and already in imagination he braced himself
for the task. But for the first time it occurred to him that he was eleven
years old and that perhaps his great muscles were not quite what they had once
been.
But when the animals saw the green flag flying, and heard the gun firing
again—seven times it was fired in all—and heard the speech that Napoleon made,
congratulating them on their conduct, it did seem to them after all that they
had won a great victory. The animals slain in the battle were given a solemn
funeral. Boxer and Clover pulled the wagon which served as a hearse, and
Napoleon himself walked at the head of the procession. Two whole days were
given over to celebrations. There were songs, speeche s, and more firing of
the gun, and a special gift of an apple was bestowed on every animal, with two
ounces of corn for each bird and three biscuits for each dog. It was announced
that the battle would be called the Battle of the Windmill, and that Napoleon
had created a new decoration, the Order of the Green Banner, which he had
conferred upon himself. In the general rejoicings the unfortunate affair of
the banknotes was forgotten.
It was a few days later than this that the pigs came upon a case of whisky
in the cellars of the farmhouse. It had been overlooked at the time when the
house was first occupied. That night there came from the farmhouse the sound
of loud singing, in which, to everyone's surprise, the strains of Beasts of
England were mixed up. At about half past nine Napoleon, wearing an old
bowler hat of Mr. Jones's, was distinctly seen to emerge from the back door,
gallop rapidly round the yard, and disappear in doors again. But in the
morning a deep silence hung over the farmhouse. Not a pig appeared to be
stirring. It was nearly nine o'clock when Squealer made his appearance,
walking slowly and dejectedly, his eyes dull, his tail hanging limply behind
him, and with every appearance of being seriously ill. He called the animals
together and told them that he had a terrible piece of news to impart. Comrade
Napoleon was dying!
A cry of lamentation went up. Straw was laid down outside the doors of the
farmhouse, and the animals walked on tiptoe. With tears in their eyes they
asked one another what they should do if their Leader were taken away from
them. A rumour went round that Snowball had after all contrived to introduce
poison into Napoleon's food. At eleven o'clock Squealer came out to make
another announcement. As his last act upon earth, Comrade Napoleon had
pronounced a solemn decree: the drinking of alcohol was to be punished by
death.
By the evening, however, Napoleon appeared to be somewhat better, and the
following morning Squealer was able to tell them that he was well on the way
to recovery. By the evening of that day Napoleon was back at work, and on the
next day it was learned that he had instructed Whymper to purchase in
Willingdon some booklets on brewing and distilling. A week later Napoleon gave
orders that the small paddock beyond the orchard, which it had previously been
intended to set aside as a grazing-ground for anima ls who were past work, was
to be ploughed up. It was given out that the pasture was exhausted and needed
re-seeding; but it soon became known that Napoleon intended to sow it with
barley.
About this time there occurred a strange incident which hardly anyone was
able to understand. One night at about twelve o'clock there was a loud crash
in the yard, and the animals rushed out of their stalls. It was a moonlit
night. At the foot of the end wall of the big barn, where the Seven
Commandments were written, there lay a ladder broken in two pieces. Squealer,
temporarily stunned, was sprawling beside it, and near at hand there lay a
lantern, a paint-brush, and an overturned pot of white paint. The dogs
immediately made a ring round Squealer, and escorted him back to the farmhouse
as soon as he was able to walk. None of the animals could form any idea as to
what this meant, except old Benjamin, who nodded his muzzle with a knowing
air, and seemed to understand, but would say nothing.
But a few days later Muriel, reading over the Seven Commandments to
herself, noticed that there was yet another of them which the animals had
remembered wrong. They had thought the Fifth Commandment was "No animal shall
drink alcohol," but there were two words that they had forgotten. Actually the
Commandment read: "No animal shall drink alcohol to excess."
