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 was
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 difference, 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, with 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 occasion 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
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 again 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
'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 Benjamin,
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
spend 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 shouted. '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,
'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
'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 through
it and rapidly disappearing down the road. Boxer was never seen
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, Comrade
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
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.
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