BOXER'S split hoof was a long time
in healing. They had started the rebuilding of the windmill the day after the
victory celebrations were ended Boxer refused to take even a day off work, and
made it a point of honour not to let it be seen that he was in pain. In the
evenings he would admit privately to Clover that the hoof troubled him a great
deal. Clover treated the hoof with poultices of herbs which she prepared by
chewing them, and both she and Benjamin urged Boxer to work less hard. "A
horse's lungs do not last for ever," she said to him. But Boxer would not
listen. He had, he said, only one real ambition left—to see the windmill well
under way before he reached the age for retirement.
At the beginning, when the laws of Animal Farm were first formulated, the
retiring age had been fixed for horses and pigs at twelve, for cows at
fourteen, for dogs at nine, for sheep at seven, and for hens and geese at
five. Liberal old-age pensions had been agreed upon. As yet no animal had
actually retired on pension, but of late the subject had been discussed more
and more. Now that the small field beyond the orchard had been set aside for
barley, it was rumoured that a corner of the large pasture wa s to be fenced
off and turned into a grazing-ground for superannuated animals. For a horse,
it was said, the pension would be five pounds of corn a day and, in winter,
fifteen pounds of hay, with a carrot or possibly an apple on public holidays.
Boxer's twelfth birthday was due in the late summer of the following year.
Meanwhile life was hard. The winter was as cold as the last one had been,
and food was even shorter. Once again all rations were reduced, except those
of the pigs and the dogs. A too rigid equality in rations, Squealer explained,
would have been contrary to the principles of Animalism. In any case he had no
difficulty in proving to the other animals that they were not in
reality short of food, whatever the appearances might be. For the time being,
certainly, it had been found necessary to make a readjustment of rations
(Squealer always spoke of it as a "readjustment," never as a "reduction"), but
in comparison with the days of Jones, the improvement was enormous. Reading
out the figures in a shrill, rapid voice, he proved to them in detail that
they had more oats, more hay, more turnips than they had had in Jones's day,
that they worked shorter hours, that their drinking water was of better
quality, that they lived longer, that a larger proportion of their young ones
survived infancy, and that they had more straw in their stalls and suffered
less from fleas. The animals believed every word of it. Truth to tell, Jones
and all he stood for had almost faded out of their memories. They knew that
life nowadays was harsh and bare, that they were often hungry and often cold,
and that they were usually working when they were not asleep. But doubtless it
had been worse in the old days. They were glad to believe so. Besides, in
those days they had been slaves and now they were free, and that made all the
diffe rence, as Squealer did not fail to point out.
There were many more mouths to feed now. In the autumn the four sows had
all littered about simultaneously, producing thirty-one young pigs between
them. The young pigs were piebald, and as Napoleon was the only boar on the
farm, it was possible to guess at their parentage. It was announced that
later, when bricks and timber had been purchased, a schoolroom would be built
in the farmhouse garden. For the time being, the young pigs were given their
instruction by Napoleon himself in the farmhouse kitchen . They took their
exercise in the garden, and were discouraged from playing with the other young
animals. About this time, too, it was laid down as a rule that when a pig and
any other animal met on the path, the other animal must stand aside: and also
that all pigs, of whatever degree, were to have the privilege of wearing green
ribbons on their tails on Sundays.
The farm had had a fairly successful year, but was still short of money.
There were the bricks, sand, and lime for the schoolroom to be purchased, and
it would also be necessary to begin saving up again for the machinery for the
windmill. Then there were lamp oil and candles for the house, sugar for
Napoleon's own table (he forbade this to the other pigs, on the ground that it
made them fat), and all the usual replacements such as tools, nails, string,
coal, wire, scrap-iron, and dog biscuits. A stump o f hay and part of the
potato crop were sold off, and the contract for eggs was increased to six
hundred a week, so that that year the hens barely hatched enough chicks to
keep their numbers at the same level. Rations, reduced in December, were
reduced again in February, and lanterns in the stalls were forbidden to save
Oil. But the pigs seemed comfortable enough, and in fact were putting on
weight if anything. One afternoon in late February a warm, rich, appetising
scent, such as the animals had never smelt before, wafted itself across the
yard from the little brew-house, which had been disused in Jones's time, and
which stood beyond the kitchen. Someone said it was the smell of cooking
barley. The animals sniffed the air hungrily and wondered whether a warm mash
was being prepared for their supper. But no warm mash appeared, and on the
following Sunday it was announced that from now onwards all barley would be
reserved for the pigs. The field beyond the orchard had already been sown with
barley. And the news soon leaked out that every pig was now receiving a ration
of a pint of beer daily, with half a gallon for Napoleon himself, which was
always served to him in the Crown Derby soup tureen.
But if there were hardships to be borne, they were partly offset by the
fact that life nowadays had a greater dignity than it had had before. There
were more songs, more speeches, more processions. Napoleon had commanded that
once a week there should be held something called a Spontaneous Demonstration,
the object of which was to celebrate the struggles and triumphs of Animal
Farm. At the appointed time the animals would leave their work and march round
the precincts of the farm in military formation, w ith the pigs leading, then
the horses, then the cows, then the sheep, and then the poultry. The dogs
flanked the procession and at the head of all marched Napoleon's black
cockerel. Boxer and Clover always carried between them a green banner marked
with the hoof and the horn and the caption, "Long live Comrade Napoleon! "
Afterwards there were recitations of poems composed in Napoleon's honour, and
a speech by Squealer giving particulars of the latest increases in the
production of foodstuffs, and on occasi on a shot was fired from the gun. The
sheep were the greatest devotees of the Spontaneous Demonstration, and if
anyone complained (as a few animals sometimes did, when no pigs or dogs were
near) that they wasted time and meant a lot of standing about in the cold, the
sheep were sure to silence him with a tremendous bleating of "Four legs good,
two legs bad!" But by and large the animals enjoyed these celebrations. They
found it comforting to be reminded that, after all, they were truly their own
masters and that the work they did was for their own benefit. So that, what
with the songs, the processions, Squealer's lists of figures, the thunder of
the gun, the crowing of the cockerel, and the fluttering of the flag, they
were able to forget that their bellies were empty, at least part of the time.
In April, Animal Farm was proclaimed a Republic, and it became necessary
to elect a President. There was only one candidate, Napoleon, who was elected
unanimously. On the same day it was given out that fresh documents had been
discovered which revealed further details about Snowball's complicity with
Jones. It now appeared that Snowball had not, as the animals had previously
imagined, merely attempted to lose the Battle of the Cowshed by means of a
stratagem, but had been openly fighting on Jones's side . In fact, it was he
who had actually been the leader of the human forces, and had charged into
battle with the words "Long live Humanity!" on his lips. The wounds on
Snowball's back, which a few of the animals still remembered to have seen, had
been inflicted by Napoleon's teeth.
In the middle of the summer Moses the raven suddenly reappeared on the
farm, after an absence of several years. He was quite unchanged, still did no
work, and talked in the same strain as ever about Sugarcandy Mountain. He
would perch on a stump, flap his black wings, and talk by the hour to anyone
who would listen. "Up there, comrades," he would say solemnly, pointing to the
sky with his large beak—"up there, just on the other side of that dark cloud
that you can see—there it lies, Sugarcandy Mountain, that happy country where
we poor animals shall rest for ever from our labours!" He even claimed to have
been there on one of his higher flights, and to have seen the everlasting
fields of clover and the linseed cake and lump sugar growing on the hedges.
Many of the animals believed him. Their lives now, they reasoned, were hungry
and laborious; was it not right and just that a better world should exist
somewhere else? A thing that was difficult to determine was the attitude of
the pigs towards Moses. They all declared contemptuously that his stories
about Sugarcandy Mountain were lies, and yet they allowed him to remain on the
farm, not working, with an allowance of a gill of beer a day.
After his hoof had healed up, Boxer worked harder than ever. Indeed, all
the animals worked like slaves that year. Apart from the regular work of the
farm, and the rebuilding of the windmill, there was the schoolhouse for the
young pigs, which was started in March. Sometimes the long hours on
insufficient food were hard to bear, but Boxer never faltered. In nothing that
he said or did was there any sign that his strength was not what it had been.
It was only his appearance that was a little altered; his hide was less shiny
than it had used to be, and his great haunches seemed to have shrunken. The
others said, "Boxer will pick up when the spring grass comes on"; but the
spring came and Boxer grew no fatter. Sometimes on the slope leading to the
top of the quarry, when he braced his muscles against the weight of some vast
boulder, it seemed that nothing kept him on his feet except the will to
continue. At such times his lips were seen to form the words, "I will work
harder"; he had no voice left. Once agai n Clover and Benjamin warned him to
take care of his health, but Boxer paid no attention. His twelfth birthday was
approaching. He did not care what happened so long as a good store of stone
was accumulated before he went on pension.
Late one evening in the summer, a sudden rumour ran round the farm that
something had happened to Boxer. He had gone out alone to drag a load of stone
down to the windmill. And sure enough, the rumour was true. A few minutes
later two pigeons came racing in with the news: "Boxer has fallen! He is lying
on his side and can't get up!"
About half the animals on the farm rushed out to the knoll where the
windmill stood. There lay Boxer, between the shafts of the cart, his neck
stretched out, unable even to raise his head. His eyes were glazed, his sides
matted with sweat. A thin stream of blood had trickled out of his mouth.
Clover dropped to her knees at his side.
"Boxer!" she cried, "how are you?"
"It is my lung," said Boxer in a weak voice. "It does not matter. I think
you will be able to finish the windmill without me. There is a pretty good
store of stone accumulated. I had only another month to go in any case. To
tell you the truth, I had been looking forward to my retirement. And perhaps,
as Benjamin is growing old too, they will let him retire at the same time and
be a companion to me."
"We must get help at once," said Clover. "Run, somebody, and tell Squealer
what has happened."
All the other animals immediately raced back to the farmhouse to give
Squealer the news. Only Clover remained, and Benjamin7 who lay down at Boxer's
side, and, without speaking, kept the flies off him with his long tail. After
about a quarter of an hour Squealer appeared, full of sympathy and concern. He
said that Comrade Napoleon had learned with the very deepest distress of this
misfortune to one of the most loyal workers on the farm, and was already
making arrangements to send Boxer to be treated in the hospital at Willingdon.
The animals felt a little uneasy at this. Except for Mollie and Snowball, no
other animal had ever left the farm, and they did not like to think of their
sick comrade in the hands of human beings. However, Squealer easily convinced
them that the veterinary surgeon in Willingdon could treat Boxer's case more
satisfactorily than could be done on the farm. And about half an hour later,
when Boxer had somewhat recovered, he was with difficulty got on to his feet,
and managed to limp back to his stall, where Clover and Benjamin had prepared
a good bed of straw for him.
For the next two days Boxer remained in his stall. The pigs had sent out a
large bottle of pink medicine which they had found in the medicine chest in
the bathroom, and Clover administered it to Boxer twice a day after meals. In
the evenings she lay in his stall and talked to him, while Benjamin kept the
flies off him. Boxer professed not to be sorry for what had happened. If he
made a good recovery, he might expect to live another three years, and he
looked forward to the peaceful days that he would sp end in the corner of the
big pasture. It would be the first time that he had had leisure to study and
improve his mind. He intended, he said, to devote the rest of his life to
learning the remaining twenty-two letters of the alphabet.
However, Benjamin and Clover could only be with Boxer after working hours,
and it was in the middle of the day when the van came to take him away. The
animals were all at work weeding turnips under the supervision of a pig, when
they were astonished to see Benjamin come galloping from the direction of the
farm buildings, braying at the top of his voice. It was the first time that
they had ever seen Benjamin excited—indeed, it was the first time that anyone
had ever seen him gallop. "Quick, quick!" he sh outed. "Come at once! They're
taking Boxer away!" Without waiting for orders from the pig, the animals broke
off work and raced back to the farm buildings. Sure enough, there in the yard
was a large closed van, drawn by two horses, with lettering on its side and a
sly-looking man in a low-crowned bowler hat sitting on the driver's seat. And
Boxer's stall was empty.
The animals crowded round the van. "Good-bye, Boxer!" they chorused,
"good-bye!"
"Fools! Fools!" shouted Benjamin, prancing round them and stamping the
earth with his small hoofs. "Fools! Do you not see what is written on the side
of that van?"
That gave the animals pause, and there was a hush. Muriel began to spell
out the words. But Benjamin pushed her aside and in the midst of a deadly
silence he read:
" 'Alfred Simmonds, Horse Slaughterer and Glue Boiler, Willingdon. Dealer
in Hides and Bone-Meal. Kennels Supplied.' Do you not understand what that
means? They are taking Boxer to the knacker's!"
A cry of horror burst from all the animals. At this moment the man on the
box whipped up his horses and the van moved out of the yard at a smart trot.
All the animals followed, crying out at the tops of their voices. Clover
forced her way to the front. The van began to gather speed. Clover tried to
stir her stout limbs to a gallop, and achieved a canter. "Boxer!" she cried.
"Boxer! Boxer! Boxer!" And just at this moment, as though he had heard the
uproar outside, Boxer's face, with the white stripe down his nose, appeared at
the small window at the back of the van.
"Boxer!" cried Clover in a terrible voice. "Boxer! Get out! Get out
quickly! They're taking you to your death!"
All the animals took up the cry of "Get out, Boxer, get out!" But the van
was already gathering speed and drawing away from them. It was uncertain
whether Boxer had understood what Clover had said. But a moment later his face
disappeared from the window and there was the sound of a tremendous drumming
of hoofs inside the van. He was trying to kick his way out. The time had been
when a few kicks from Boxer's hoofs would have smashed the van to matchwood.
But alas! his strength had left him; and in a few moments the sound of
drumming hoofs grew fainter and died away. In desperation the animals began
appealing to the two horses which drew the van to stop. "Comrades, comrades!"
they shouted. "Don't take your own brother to his death! " But the stupid
brutes, too ignorant to realise what was happening, merely set back their ears
and quickened their pace. Boxer's face did not reappear at the window. Too
late, someone thought of racing ahead and shutting the five-barred gate; but
in another moment the van was th rough it and rapidly disappearing down the
road. Boxer was never seen again.
Three days later it was announced that he had died in the hospital at
Willingdon, in spite of receiving every attention a horse could have. Squealer
came to announce the news to the others. He had, he said, been present during
Boxer's last hours.
"It was the most affecting sight I have ever seen!" said Squealer, lifting
his trotter and wiping away a tear. "I was at his bedside at the very last.
And at the end, almost too weak to speak, he whispered in my ear that his sole
sorrow was to have passed on before the windmill was finished. 'Forward,
comrades!' he whispered. 'Forward in the name of the Rebellion. Long live
Animal Farm! Long live Comrade Napoleon! Napoleon is always right.' Those were
his very last words, comrades."
Here Squealer's demeanour suddenly changed. He fell silent for a moment,
and his little eyes darted suspicious glances from side to side before he
proceeded.
It had come to his knowledge, he said, that a foolish and wicked rumour
had been circulated at the time of Boxer's removal. Some of the animals had
noticed that the van which took Boxer away was marked "Horse Slaughterer," and
had actually jumped to the conclusion that Boxer was being sent to the
knacker's. It was almost unbelievable, said Squealer, that any animal could be
so stupid. Surely, he cried indignantly, whisking his tail and skipping from
side to side, surely they knew their beloved Leader, C omrade Napoleon, better
than that? But the explanation was really very simple. The van had previously
been the property of the knacker, and had been bought by the veterinary
surgeon, who had not yet painted the old name out. That was how the mistake
had arisen.
The animals were enormously relieved to hear this. And when Squealer went
on to give further graphic details of Boxer's death-bed, the admirable care he
had received, and the expensive medicines for which Napoleon had paid without
a thought as to the cost, their last doubts disappeared and the sorrow that
they felt for their comrade's death was tempered by the thought that at least
he had died happy.
Napoleon himself appeared at the meeting on the following Sunday morning
and pronounced a short oration in Boxer's honour. It had not been possible, he
said, to bring back their lamented comrade's remains for interment on the
farm, but he had ordered a large wreath to be made from the laurels in the
farmhouse garden and sent down to be placed on Boxer's grave. And in a few
days' time the pigs intended to hold a memorial banquet in Boxer's honour.
Napoleon ended his speech with a reminder of Boxer's two favourite maxims, "I
will work harder" and "Comrade Napoleon is always right"—maxims, he said,
which every animal would do well to adopt as his own.
On the day appointed for the banquet, a grocer's van drove up from
Willingdon and delivered a large wooden crate at the farmhouse. That night
there was the sound of uproarious singing, which was followed by what sounded
like a violent quarrel and ended at about eleven o'clock with a tremendous
crash of glass. No one stirred in the farmhouse before noon on the following
day, and the word went round that from somewhere or other the pigs had
acquired the money to buy themselves another case of whisky.
