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 refused 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 who
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 entitled 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
Pinchfield 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, and 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 starved
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 beingdone 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 favour 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 "Animal 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 masterpiece, 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 windmill,
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 terrible 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 Foxwood.
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 instructed 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 stones 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, speeches, 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 indoors
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 animals 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."
