This is Animal Farm by George Orwell.
Chapter 6.
All 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 did 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 pigs.
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
tell 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 him of intense
mental activity.
Suddenly he halted as though his mind were
made up.
"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
Farm.
"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 Animal Farm!"
