THAT YEAR the animals worked like slaves. But they were happy
in their work; they grudged no effort or sacrifice, well aware
that everything that they did was for the benefit of themselves
and those of their kind who would come after them, and not for
a pack of idle, thieving human beings.
Throughout the spring and summer they worked a sixty-hour week,
and in August Napoleon announced that there would be work on Sunday
afternoons as well. This work was strictly voluntary, but any
animal who absented himself from it would have his rations reduced
by half. Even so, it was found necessary to leave certain tasks
undone. The harvest was a little less successful than in the previous
year, and two fields which should have been sown with roots in
the early summer were not sown because the ploughing had not been
completed early enough. It was possible to foresee that the coming
winter would be a hard one.
The windmill presented unexpected difficulties. There was a good
quarry of limestone on the farm, and plenty of sand and cement
had been found in one of the outhouses, so that all the materials
for building were at hand. But the problem the animals could not
at first solve was how to break up the stone into pieces of suitable
size. There seemed no way of doing this except with picks and
crowbars, which no animal could use, because no animal could stand
on his hind legs. Only after weeks of vain effort d id the right
idea occur to somebody - namely, to utilise the force of gravity.
Huge boulders, far too big to be used as they were, were lying
all over the bed of the quarry. The animals lashed ropes round
these, and then all together, cows, horses, sheep, any animal
that could lay hold of the rope - even the pigs sometimes joined
in at critical moments - they dragged them with desperate slowness
up the slope to the top of the quarry, where they were toppled
over the edge, to shatter to pieces below. Transporting the stone
when it was once broken was comparatively simple. The horses carried
it off in cart-loads, the sheep dragged single blocks, even Muriel
and Benjamin yoked themselves into an old governess-cart and did
their share. By late summer a sufficient store of stone had accumulated,
and then the building began, under the superintendence of the
But it was a slow, laborious process. Frequently it took a whole
day of exhausting effort to drag a single boulder to the top of
the quarry, and sometimes when it was pushed over the edge it
failed to break. Nothing could have been achieved without Boxer,
whose strength seemed equal to that of all the rest of the animals
put together. When the boulder began to slip and the animals cried
out in despair at finding themselves dragged down the hill, it
was always Boxer who strained himself against the rope and brought
the boulder to a stop. To see him toiling up the slope inch by
inch, his breath coming fast, the tips of his hoofs clawing at
the ground, and his great sides matted with sweat, filled everyone
with admiration. Clover warned him sometimes to be careful not
to overstrain himself, but Boxer would never listen to her. His
two slogans, 'I will work harder' and 'Napoleon is always right,'
seemed to him a sufficient answer to all problems. He had made
arrangements with the cockerel to call him three-quarters of an
hour earlier in the mornings instead of half an hour. And in his
spare moments, of which there were not many nowadays, he would
go alone to the quarry, collect a load of broken stone, and drag
it down to the site of the windmill unassisted.
The animals were not badly off throughout that summer, in spite
of the hardness of their work. If they had no more food than they
had had in Jones's day, at least they did not have less. The advantage
of only having to feed themselves, and not having to support five
extravagant human beings as well, was so great that it would have
taken a lot of failures to outweigh it. And in many ways the animal
method of doing things was more efficient and saved labour. Such
jobs as weeding, for instance, could be done with a thoroughness
impossible to human beings. And again, since no animal now stole,
it was unnecessary to fence off pasture from arable land, which
saved a lot of labour on the upkeep of hedges and gates. Nevertheless,
as the summer wore on, various unforeseen shortages began to make
them selves felt. There was need of paraffin oil, nails, string,
dog biscuits, and iron for the horses' shoes, none of which could
be produced on the farm. Later there would also be need for seeds
and artificial manures, besides various tools and, finally, the
machinery for the windmill. How these were to be procured, no
one was able to imagine.
One Sunday morning, when the animals assembled to receive their
orders, Napoleon announced that he had decided upon a new policy.
From now onwards Animal Farm would engage in trade with the neighbouring
farms: not, of course, for any commercial purpose, but simply
in order to obtain certain materials which were urgently necessary.
The needs of the windmill must override everything else, he said.
He was therefore making arrangements to sell a stack of hay and
part of the current year's wheat crop, and later on, if more money
were needed, it would have to be made up by the sale of eggs,
for which there was always a market in Willingdon. The hens, said
Napoleon, should welcome this sacrifice as their own special contribution
towards the building of the windmill.
Once again the animals were conscious of a vague uneasiness. Never
to have any dealings with human beings, never to engage in trade,
never to make use of money - had not these been among the earliest
resolutions passed at that first triumphant Meeting after Jones
was expelled? All the animals remembered passing such resolutions:
or at least they thought that they remembered it. The four young
pigs who had protested when Napoleon abolished the Meetings raised
their voices timidly, but they were promptly silenced by a tremendous
growling from the dogs. Then, as usual, the sheep broke into 'Four
legs good, two legs bad!' and the momentary awkwardness was smoothed
over. Finally Napoleon raised his trotter for silence and announced
that he had already made all the arrangements. There would be
no need for any of the animals to come in contact with human beings,
which would clearly be most undesirable. He intended to take the
whole burden upon his own shoulders. A Mr. Whymper, a solicitor
living in Willingdon, had agreed to act as intermediary between
Animal Farm and the outside world, and would visit the farm every
Monday morning to receive his instructions. Napoleon ended his
speech with his usual cry of 'Long live Animal Farm!' and after
the singing of 'Beasts of England' the animals were dismissed.
Afterwards Squealer made a round of the farm and set the animals'
minds at rest. He assured them that the resolution against engaging
in trade and using money had never been passed, or even suggested.
It was pure imagination, probably traceable in the beginning to
lies circulated by Snowball. A few animals still felt faintly
doubtful, but Squealer asked them shrewdly, 'Are you certain that
this is not something that you have dreamed, comrades? Have you
any record of such a resolution? Is it written down anywhere?'
And since it was certainly true that nothing of the kind existed
in writing, the animals were satisfied that they had been mistaken.
Every Monday Mr. Whymper visited the farm as had been arranged.
He was a sly-looking little man with side whiskers, a solicitor
in a very small way of business, but sharp enough to have realised
earlier than anyone else that Animal Farm would need a broker
and that the commissions would be worth having. The animals watched
his coming and going with a kind of dread, and avoided him as
much as possible. Nevertheless, the sight of Napoleon, on all
fours, delivering orders to Whymper, who stood on two legs, roused
their pride and partly reconciled them to the new arrangement.
Their relations with the human race were now not quite the same
as they had been before. The human beings did not hate Animal
Farm any less now that it was prospering; indeed, they hated it
more than ever. Every human being held it as an article of faith
that the farm would go bankrupt sooner or later, and, above all,
that the windmill would be a failure. They would meet in the public-houses
and prove to one another by means of diagrams that the windmill
was bound to fall down, or that if it did stand up, then that
it would never work. And yet, against their will, they had developed
a certain respect for the efficiency with which the animals were
managing their own affairs. One symptom of this was that they
had begun to call Animal Farm by its proper name and ceased to
pretend that it was called the Manor Farm. They had also dropped
their championship of Jones, who had given up hope of getting
his farm back and gone to live in another part of the county.
Except through Whymper, there was as yet no contact between Animal
Farm and the outside world, but there were constant rumours that
Napoleon was about to enter into a definite business agreement
either with Mr. Pilkington of Foxwood or with Mr. Frederick of
Pinchfield - but never, it was noticed, with both simultaneously.
It was about this time that the pigs suddenly moved into the farmhouse
and took up their residence there. Again the animals seemed to
remember that a resolution against this had been passed in the
early days, and again Squealer was able to convince them that
this was not the case. It was absolutely necessary, he said, that
the pigs, who were the brains of the farm, should have a quiet
place to work in. It was also more suited to the dignity of the
Leader (for of late he had taken to speaking of Napoleon under
the title of 'Leader') to live in a house than in a mere sty.
Nevertheless, some of the animals were disturbed when they heard
that the pigs not only took their meals in the kitchen and used
the drawing-room as a recreation room, but also slept in the beds.
Boxer passed it off as usual with 'Napoleon is always right!',
but Clover, who thought she remembered a definite ruling against
beds, went to the end of the barn and tried to puzzle out the
Seven Commandments which were inscribed there. Finding herself
unable to read more than individual letters, she fetched Muriel.
'Muriel,' she said, 'read me the Fourth Commandment. Does it not
say something about never sleeping in a bed?'
With some difficulty Muriel spelt it out.
'It says, 'No animal shall sleep in a bed with sheets,''
she announced finally.
Curiously enough, Clover had not remembered that the Fourth Commandment
mentioned sheets; but as it was there on the wall, it must have
done so. And Squealer, who happened to be passing at this moment,
attended by two or three dogs, was able to put the whole matter
in its proper perspective.
'You have heard then, comrades,' he said, 'that we pigs now sleep
in the beds of the farmhouse? And why not? You did not suppose,
surely, that there was ever a ruling against beds? A bed
merely means a place to sleep in. A pile of straw in a stall is
a bed, properly regarded. The rule was against sheets,
which are a human invention. We have removed the sheets from the
farmhouse beds, and sleep between blankets. And very comfortable
beds they are too! But not more comfortable than we need, I can
t ell you, comrades, with all the brainwork we have to do nowadays.
You would not rob us of our repose, would you, comrades? You would
not have us too tired to carry out our duties? Surely none of
you wishes to see Jones back?'
The animals reassured him on this point immediately, and no more
was said about the pigs sleeping in the farmhouse beds. And when,
some days afterwards, it was announced that from now on the pigs
would get up an hour later in the mornings than the other animals,
no complaint was made about that either.
By the autumn the animals were tired but happy. They had had a
hard year, and after the sale of part of the hay and corn, the
stores of food for the winter were none too plentiful, but the
windmill compensated for everything. It was almost half built
now. After the harvest there was a stretch of clear dry weather,
and the animals toiled harder than ever, thinking it well worth
while to plod to and fro all day with blocks of stone if by doing
so they could raise the walls another foot. Boxer would even come
out at nights and work for an hour or two on his own by the light
of the harvest moon. In their spare moments the animals would
walk round and round the half-finished mill, admiring the strength
and perpendicularity of its walls and marvelling that they should
ever have been able to build anything so imposing. Only old Benjamin
refused to grow enthusiastic about the windmill, though, as usual,
he would utter nothing beyond the cryptic remark that donkeys
live a long time.
November came, with raging south-west winds. Building had to stop
because it was now too wet to mix the cement. Finally there came
a night when the gale was so violent that the farm buildings rocked
on their foundations and several tiles were blown off the roof
of the barn. The hens woke up squawking with terror because they
had all dreamed simultaneously of hearing a gun go off in the
distance. In the morning the animals came out of their stalls
to find that the flagstaff had been blown down and an elm tree
at the foot of the orchard had been plucked up like a radish.
They had just noticed this when a cry of despair broke from every
animal's throat. A terrible sight had met their eyes. The windmill
was in ruins.
With one accord they dashed down to the spot. Napoleon, who seldom
moved out of a walk, raced ahead of them all. Yes, there it lay,
the fruit of all their struggles, levelled to its foundations,
the stones they had broken and carried so laboriously scattered
all around. Unable at first to speak, they stood gazing mournfully
at the litter of fallen stone Napoleon paced to and fro in silence,
occasionally snuffing at the ground. His tail had grown rigid
and twitched sharply from side to side, a sign in hi m of intense
mental activity. Suddenly he halted as though his mind were made
'Comrades,' he said quietly, 'do you know who is responsible for
this? Do you know the enemy who has come in the night and overthrown
our windmill? SNOWBALL!' he suddenly roared in a voice of thunder.
'Snowball has done this thing! In sheer malignity, thinking to
set back our plans and avenge himself for his ignominious expulsion,
this traitor has crept here under cover of night and destroyed
our work of nearly a year. Comrades, here and now I pronounce
the death sentence upon Snowball. 'Animal Hero, Second Class,'
and half a bushel of apples to any animal who brings him to justice.
A full bushel to anyone who captures him alive!'
The animals were shocked beyond measure to learn that even Snowball
could be guilty of such an action. There was a cry of indignation,
and everyone began thinking out ways of catching Snowball if he
should ever come back. Almost immediately the footprints of a
pig were discovered in the grass at a little distance from the
knoll. They could only be traced for a few yards, but appeared
to lead to a hole in the hedge. Napoleon snuffed deeply at them
and pronounced them to be Snowball's. He gave it as his opinion
that Snowball had probably come from the direction of Foxwood
'No more delays, comrades!' cried Napoleon when the footprints
had been examined. 'There is work to be done. This very morning
we begin rebuilding the windmill, and we will build all through
the winter, rain or shine. We will teach this miserable traitor
that he cannot undo our work so easily. Remember, comrades, there
must be no alteration in our plans: they shall be carried out
to the day. Forward, comrades! Long live the windmill! Long live
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