CHAPTER 2
Three nights later old Major died peacefully in his sleep. His body was buried
at the foot of the orchard.
This was early in March. During the next three months there was much
secret activity. Major’s speech had given to the more intelligent animals on the
farm a completely new outlook on life. They did not know when the Rebellion
predicted by Major would take place, they had no reason for thinking that it
would be within their own lifetime, but they saw clearly that it was their duty
to prepare for it. The work of teaching and organising the others fell naturally
upon the pigs, who were generally recognised as being the cleverest of the
animals. Pre-eminent among the pigs were two young boars named Snowball
and Napoleon, whom Mr. Jones was breeding up for sale. Napoleon was a
large, rather fierce-looking Berkshire boar, the only Berkshire on the farm, not
much of a talker, but with a reputation for getting his own way. Snowball was
a more vivacious pig than Napoleon, quicker in speech and more inventive,
but was not considered to have the same depth of character. All the other male
pigs on the farm were porkers. The best known among them was a small fat
pig named Squealer, with very round cheeks, twinkling eyes, nimble
movements, and a shrill voice. He was a brilliant talker, and when he was
arguing some difficult point he had a way of skipping from side to side and
whisking his tail which was somehow very persuasive. The others said of
Squealer that he could turn black into white.
These three had elaborated old Major’s teachings into a complete system
of thought, to which they gave the name of Animalism. Several nights a week,
after Mr. Jones was asleep, they held secret meetings in the barn and
expounded the principles of Animalism to the others. At the beginning they
met with much stupidity and apathy. Some of the animals talked of the duty of
loyalty to Mr. Jones, whom they referred to as “Master,” or made elementary
remarks such as “Mr. Jones feeds us. If he were gone, we should starve to
death.” Others asked such questions as “Why should we care what happens
after we are dead?” or “If this Rebellion is to happen anyway, what difference
does it make whether we work for it or not?”, and the pigs had great difficulty
in making them see that this was contrary to the spirit of Animalism. The
stupidest questions of all were asked by Mollie, the white mare. The very first
question she asked Snowball was: “Will there still be sugar after the
Rebellion?”
“No,” said Snowball firmly. “We have no means of making sugar on this
farm. Besides, you do not need sugar. You will have all the oats and hay you
want.”
“And shall I still be allowed to wear ribbons in my mane?” asked Mollie.
“Comrade,” said Snowball, “those ribbons that you are so devoted to are
the badge of slavery. Can you not understand that liberty is worth more than
ribbons?”
Mollie agreed, but she did not sound very convinced.
The pigs had an even harder struggle to counteract the lies put about by
Moses, the tame raven. Moses, who was Mr. Jones’s especial pet, was a spy
and a tale-bearer, but he was also a clever talker. He claimed to know of the
existence of a mysterious country called Sugarcandy Mountain, to which all
animals went when they died. It was situated somewhere up in the sky, a little
distance beyond the clouds, Moses said. In Sugarcandy Mountain it was
Sunday seven days a week, clover was in season all the year round, and lump
sugar and linseed cake grew on the hedges. The animals hated Moses because
he told tales and did no work, but some of them believed in Sugarcandy
Mountain, and the pigs had to argue very hard to persuade them that there
was no such place.
Their most faithful disciples were the two cart-horses, Boxer and Clover.
These two had great difficulty in thinking anything out for themselves, but
having once accepted the pigs as their teachers, they absorbed everything that
they were told, and passed it on to the other animals by simple arguments.
They were unfailing in their attendance at the secret meetings in the barn, and
led the singing of ‘Beasts of England’, with which the meetings always ended.
Now, as it turned out, the Rebellion was achieved much earlier and more
easily than anyone had expected. In past years Mr. Jones, although a hard
master, had been a capable farmer, but of late he had fallen on evil days. He
had become much disheartened after losing money in a lawsuit, and had taken
to drinking more than was good for him. For whole days at a time he would
lounge in his Windsor chair in the kitchen, reading the newspapers, drinking,
and occasionally feeding Moses on crusts of bread soaked in beer. His men
were idle and dishonest, the fields were full of weeds, the buildings wanted
roofing, the hedges were neglected, and the animals were underfed.
June came and the hay was almost ready for cutting. On Midsummer’s
Eve, which was a Saturday, Mr. Jones went into Willingdon and got so drunk
at the Red Lion that he did not come back till midday on Sunday. The men had
milked the cows in the early morning and then had gone out rabbiting,
without bothering to feed the animals. When Mr. Jones got back he
immediately went to sleep on the drawing-room sofa with the News of the
World over his face, so that when evening came, the animals were still unfed.
At last they could stand it no longer. One of the cows broke in the door of the
store-shed with her horn and all the animals began to help themselves from
the bins. It was just then that Mr. Jones woke up. The next moment he and his
four men were in the store-shed with whips in their hands, lashing out in all
directions. This was more than the hungry animals could bear. With one
accord, though nothing of the kind had been planned beforehand, they flung
themselves upon their tormentors. Jones and his men suddenly found
themselves being butted and kicked from all sides. The situation was quite out
of their control. They had never seen animals behave like this before, and this
sudden uprising of creatures whom they were used to thrashing and
maltreating just as they chose, frightened them almost out of their wits. After
only a moment or two they gave up trying to defend themselves and took to
their heels. A minute later all five of them were in full flight down the carttrack that led to the main road, with the animals pursuing them in triumph.
Mrs. Jones looked out of the bedroom window, saw what was happening,
hurriedly flung a few possessions into a carpet bag, and slipped out of the farm
by another way. Moses sprang off his perch and flapped after her, croaking
loudly. Meanwhile the animals had chased Jones and his men out on to the
road and slammed the five-barred gate behind them. And so, almost before
they knew what was happening, the Rebellion had been successfully carried
through: Jones was expelled, and the Manor Farm was theirs.
For the first few minutes the animals could hardly believe in their good
fortune. Their first act was to gallop in a body right round the boundaries of
the farm, as though to make quite sure that no human being was hiding
anywhere upon it; then they raced back to the farm buildings to wipe out the
last traces of Jones’s hated reign. The harness-room at the end of the stables
was broken open; the bits, the nose-rings, the dog-chains, the cruel knives
with which Mr. Jones had been used to castrate the pigs and lambs, were all
flung down the well. The reins, the halters, the blinkers, the degrading
nosebags, were thrown on to the rubbish fire which was burning in the yard.
So were the whips. All the animals capered with joy when they saw the whips
going up in flames. Snowball also threw on to the fire the ribbons with which
the horses’ manes and tails had usually been decorated on market days.
“Ribbons,” he said, “should be considered as clothes, which are the mark
of a human being. All animals should go naked.”
When Boxer heard this he fetched the small straw hat which he wore in
summer to keep the flies out of his ears, and flung it on to the fire with the
rest.
In a very little while the animals had destroyed everything that reminded
them of Mr. Jones. Napoleon then led them back to the store-shed and served
out a double ration of corn to everybody, with two biscuits for each dog. Then
they sang ‘Beasts of England’ from end to end seven times running, and after
that they settled down for the night and slept as they had never slept before.
But they woke at dawn as usual, and suddenly remembering the glorious
thing that had happened, they all raced out into the pasture together. A little
way down the pasture there was a knoll that commanded a view of most of the
farm. The animals rushed to the top of it and gazed round them in the clear
morning light. Yes, it was theirs — everything that they could see was theirs!
In the ecstasy of that thought they gambolled round and round, they hurled
themselves into the air in great leaps of excitement. They rolled in the dew,
they cropped mouthfuls of the sweet summer grass, they kicked up clods of the
black earth and snuffed its rich scent. Then they made a tour of inspection of
the whole farm and surveyed with speechless admiration the ploughland, the
hayfield, the orchard, the pool, the spinney. It was as though they had never
seen these things before, and even now they could hardly believe that it was all
their own.
Then they filed back to the farm buildings and halted in silence outside the
door of the farmhouse. That was theirs too, but they were frightened to go
inside. After a moment, however, Snowball and Napoleon butted the door
open with their shoulders and the animals entered in single file, walking with
the utmost care for fear of disturbing anything. They tiptoed from room to
room, afraid to speak above a whisper and gazing with a kind of awe at the
unbelievable luxury, at the beds with their feather mattresses, the lookingglasses, the horsehair sofa, the Brussels carpet, the lithograph of Queen
Victoria over the drawing-room mantelpiece. They were lust coming down the
stairs when Mollie was discovered to be missing. Going back, the others found
that she had remained behind in the best bedroom. She had taken a piece of
blue ribbon from Mrs. Jones’s dressing-table, and was holding it against her
shoulder and admiring herself in the glass in a very foolish manner. The
others reproached her sharply, and they went outside. Some hams hanging in
the kitchen were taken out for burial, and the barrel of beer in the scullery was
stove in with a kick from Boxer’s hoof, otherwise nothing in the house was
touched. A unanimous resolution was passed on the spot that the farmhouse
should be preserved as a museum. All were agreed that no animal must ever
live there.
The animals had their breakfast, and then Snowball and Napoleon called
them together again.
“Comrades,” said Snowball, “it is half-past six and we have a long day
before us. Today we begin the hay harvest. But there is another matter that
must be attended to first.”
The pigs now revealed that during the past three months they had taught
themselves to read and write from an old spelling book which had belonged to
Mr. Jones’s children and which had been thrown on the rubbish heap.
Napoleon sent for pots of black and white paint and led the way down to the
five-barred gate that gave on to the main road. Then Snowball (for it was
Snowball who was best at writing) took a brush between the two knuckles of
his trotter, painted out MANOR FARM from the top bar of the gate and in its
place painted ANIMAL FARM. This was to be the name of the farm from now
onwards. After this they went back to the farm buildings, where Snowball and
Napoleon sent for a ladder which they caused to be set against the end wall of
the big barn. They explained that by their studies of the past three months the
pigs had succeeded in reducing the principles of Animalism to Seven
Commandments. These Seven Commandments would now be inscribed on the
wall; they would form an unalterable law by which all the animals on Animal
Farm must live for ever after. With some difficulty (for it is not easy for a pig
to balance himself on a ladder) Snowball climbed up and set to work, with
Squealer a few rungs below him holding the paint-pot. The Commandments
were written on the tarred wall in great white letters that could be read thirty
yards away. They ran thus:
THE SEVEN COMMANDMENTS
1. Whatever goes upon two legs is an enemy.
2. Whatever goes upon four legs, or has wings, is a friend.
3. No animal shall wear clothes.
4. No animal shall sleep in a bed.
5. No animal shall drink alcohol.
6. No animal shall kill any other animal.
7. All animals are equal.
It was very neatly written, and except that “friend” was written “freind” and
one of the “S’s” was the wrong way round, the spelling was correct all the way
through. Snowball read it aloud for the benefit of the others. All the animals
nodded in complete agreement, and the cleverer ones at once began to learn
the Commandments by heart.
“Now, comrades,” cried Snowball, throwing down the paint-brush, “to the
hayfield! Let us make it a point of honour to get in the harvest more quickly
than Jones and his men could do.”
But at this moment the three cows, who had seemed uneasy for some time
past, set up a loud lowing. They had not been milked for twenty-four hours,
and their udders were almost bursting. After a little thought, the pigs sent for
buckets and milked the cows fairly successfully, their trotters being well
adapted to this task. Soon there were five buckets of frothing creamy milk at
which many of the animals looked with considerable interest.
“What is going to happen to all that milk?” said someone.
“Jones used sometimes to mix some of it in our mash,” said one of the
hens.
“Never mind the milk, comrades!” cried Napoleon, placing himself in front
of the buckets. “That will be attended to. The harvest is more important.
Comrade Snowball will lead the way. I shall follow in a few minutes. Forward,
comrades! The hay is waiting.”
So the animals trooped down to the hayfield to begin the harvest, and
when they came back in the evening it was noticed that the milk had
disappeared.
CHAPTER 3
How they toiled and sweated to get the hay in! But their efforts were rewarded,
for the harvest was an even bigger success than they had hoped.
Sometimes the work was hard; the implements had been designed for
human beings and not for animals, and it was a great drawback that no animal
was able to use any tool that involved standing on his hind legs. But the pigs
were so clever that they could think of a way round every difficulty. As for the
horses, they knew every inch of the field, and in fact understood the business
of mowing and raking far better than Jones and his men had ever done. The
pigs did not actually work, but directed and supervised the others. With their
superior knowledge it was natural that they should assume the leadership.
Boxer and Clover would harness themselves to the cutter or the horse-rake (no
bits or reins were needed in these days, of course) and tramp steadily round
and round the field with a pig walking behind and calling out “Gee up,
comrade!” or “Whoa back, comrade!” as the case might be. And every animal
down to the humblest worked at turning the hay and gathering it. Even the
ducks and hens toiled to and fro all day in the sun, carrying tiny wisps of hay
in their beaks. In the end they finished the harvest in two days’ less time than
it had usually taken Jones and his men. Moreover, it was the biggest harvest
that the farm had ever seen. There was no wastage whatever; the hens and
ducks with their sharp eyes had gathered up the very last stalk. And not an
animal on the farm had stolen so much as a mouthful.
All through that summer the work of the farm went like clockwork. The
animals were happy as they had never conceived it possible to be. Every
mouthful of food was an acute positive pleasure, now that it was truly their
own food, produced by themselves and for themselves, not doled out to them
by a grudging master. With the worthless parasitical human beings gone, there
was more for everyone to eat. There was more leisure too, inexperienced
though the animals were. They met with many difficulties — for instance, later
in the year, when they harvested the corn, they had to tread it out in the
ancient style and blow away the chaff with their breath, since the farm
possessed no threshing machine — but the pigs with their cleverness and
Boxer with his tremendous muscles always pulled them through. Boxer was
the admiration of everybody. He had been a hard worker even in Jones’s time,
but now he seemed more like three horses than one; there were days when the
entire work of the farm seemed to rest on his mighty shoulders. From morning
to night he was pushing and pulling, always at the spot where the work was
hardest. He had made an arrangement with one of the cockerels to call him in
the mornings half an hour earlier than anyone else, and would put in some
volunteer labour at whatever seemed to be most needed, before the regular
day’s work began. His answer to every problem, every setback, was “I will
work harder!”— which he had adopted as his personal motto.
But everyone worked according to his capacity. The hens and ducks, for
instance, saved five bushels of corn at the harvest by gathering up the stray
grains. Nobody stole, nobody grumbled over his rations, the quarrelling and
biting and jealousy which had been normal features of life in the old days had
almost disappeared. Nobody shirked — or almost nobody. Mollie, it was true,
was not good at getting up in the mornings, and had a way of leaving work
early on the ground that there was a stone in her hoof. And the behaviour of
the cat was somewhat peculiar. It was soon noticed that when there was work
to be done the cat could never be found. She would vanish for hours on end,
and then reappear at meal-times, or in the evening after work was over, as
though nothing had happened. But she always made such excellent excuses,
and purred so affectionately, that it was impossible not to believe in her good
intentions. Old Benjamin, the donkey, seemed quite unchanged since the
Rebellion. He did his work in the same slow obstinate way as he had done it in
Jones’s time, never shirking and never volunteering for extra work either.
About the Rebellion and its results he would express no opinion. When asked
whether he was not happier now that Jones was gone, he would say only
“Donkeys live a long time. None of you has ever seen a dead donkey,” and the
others had to be content with this cryptic answer.
On Sundays there was no work. Breakfast was an hour later than usual,
and after breakfast there was a ceremony which was observed every week
without fail. First came the hoisting of the flag. Snowball had found in the
harness-room an old green tablecloth of Mrs. Jones’s and had painted on it a
hoof and a horn in white. This was run up the flagstaff in the farmhouse
garden every Sunday morning. The flag was green, Snowball explained, to
represent the green fields of England, while the hoof and horn signified the
future Republic of the Animals which would arise when the human race had
been finally overthrown. After the hoisting of the flag all the animals trooped
into the big barn for a general assembly which was known as the Meeting.
Here the work of the coming week was planned out and resolutions were put
forward and debated. It was always the pigs who put forward the resolutions.
The other animals understood how to vote, but could never think of any
resolutions of their own. Snowball and Napoleon were by far the most active in
the debates. But it was noticed that these two were never in agreement:
whatever suggestion either of them made, the other could be counted on to
oppose it. Even when it was resolved — a thing no one could object to in itself
— to set aside the small paddock behind the orchard as a home of rest for
animals who were past work, there was a stormy debate over the correct
retiring age for each class of animal. The Meeting always ended with the
singing of ‘Beasts of England’, and the afternoon was given up to recreation.
The pigs had set aside the harness-room as a headquarters for themselves.
Here, in the evenings, they studied blacksmithing, carpentering, and other
necessary arts from books which they had brought out of the farmhouse.
Snowball also busied himself with organising the other animals into what he
called Animal Committees. He was indefatigable at this. He formed the Egg
Production Committee for the hens, the Clean Tails League for the cows, the
Wild Comrades’ Re-education Committee (the object of this was to tame the
rats and rabbits), the Whiter Wool Movement for the sheep, and various
others, besides instituting classes in reading and writing. On the whole, these
projects were a failure. The attempt to tame the wild creatures, for instance,
broke down almost immediately. They continued to behave very much as
before, and when treated with generosity, simply took advantage of it. The cat
joined the Re-education Committee and was very active in it for some days.
She was seen one day sitting on a roof and talking to some sparrows who were
just out of her reach. She was telling them that all animals were now comrades
and that any sparrow who chose could come and perch on her paw; but the
sparrows kept their distance.
The reading and writing classes, however, were a great success. By the
autumn almost every animal on the farm was literate in some degree.
As for the pigs, they could already read and write perfectly. The dogs
learned to read fairly well, but were not interested in reading anything except
the Seven Commandments. Muriel, the goat, could read somewhat better than
the dogs, and sometimes used to read to the others in the evenings from
scraps of newspaper which she found on the rubbish heap. Benjamin could
read as well as any pig, but never exercised his faculty. So far as he knew, he
said, there was nothing worth reading. Clover learnt the whole alphabet, but
could not put words together. Boxer could not get beyond the letter D. He
would trace out A, B, C, D, in the dust with his great hoof, and then would
stand staring at the letters with his ears back, sometimes shaking his forelock,
trying with all his might to remember what came next and never succeeding.
On several occasions, indeed, he did learn E, F, G, H, but by the time he knew
them, it was always discovered that he had forgotten A, B, C, and D. Finally he
decided to be content with the first four letters, and used to write them out
once or twice every day to refresh his memory. Mollie refused to learn any but
the six letters which spelt her own name. She would form these very neatly out
of pieces of twig, and would then decorate them with a flower or two and walk
round them admiring them.
None of the other animals on the farm could get further than the letter A.
It was also found that the stupider animals, such as the sheep, hens, and
ducks, were unable to learn the Seven Commandments by heart. After much
thought Snowball declared that the Seven Commandments could in effect be
reduced to a single maxim, namely: “Four legs good, two legs bad.” This, he
said, contained the essential principle of Animalism. Whoever had thoroughly
grasped it would be safe from human influences. The birds at first objected,
since it seemed to them that they also had two legs, but Snowball proved to
them that this was not so.
“A bird’s wing, comrades,” he said, “is an organ of propulsion and not of
manipulation. It should therefore be regarded as a leg. The distinguishing
mark of man is the HAND, the instrument with which he does all his
mischief.”
The birds did not understand Snowball’s long words, but they accepted his
explanation, and all the humbler animals set to work to learn the new maxim
by heart. FOUR LEGS GOOD, TWO LEGS BAD, was inscribed on the end wall
of the barn, above the Seven Commandments and in bigger letters. When they
had once got it by heart, the sheep developed a great liking for this maxim,
and often as they lay in the field they would all start bleating “Four legs good,
two legs bad! Four legs good, two legs bad!” and keep it up for hours on end,
never growing tired of it.
Napoleon took no interest in Snowball’s committees. He said that the
education of the young was more important than anything that could be done
for those who were already grown up. It happened that Jessie and Bluebell
had both whelped soon after the hay harvest, giving birth between them to
nine sturdy puppies. As soon as they were weaned, Napoleon took them away
from their mothers, saying that he would make himself responsible for their
education. He took them up into a loft which could only be reached by a ladder
from the harness-room, and there kept them in such seclusion that the rest of
the farm soon forgot their existence.
The mystery of where the milk went to was soon cleared up. It was mixed
every day into the pigs’ mash. The early apples were now ripening, and the
grass of the orchard was littered with windfalls. The animals had assumed as a
matter of course that these would be shared out equally; one day, however, the
order went forth that all the windfalls were to be collected and brought to the
harness-room for the use of the pigs. At this some of the other animals
murmured, but it was no use. All the pigs were in full agreement on this point,
even Snowball and Napoleon. Squealer was sent to make the necessary
explanations to the others.
“Comrades!” he cried. “You do not imagine, I hope, that we pigs are doing
this in a spirit of selfishness and privilege? Many of us actually dislike milk
and apples. I dislike them myself. Our sole object in taking these things is to
preserve our health. Milk and apples (this has been proved by Science,
comrades) contain substances absolutely necessary to the well-being of a pig.
We pigs are brainworkers. The whole management and organisation of this
farm depend on us. Day and night we are watching over your welfare. It is for
YOUR sake that we drink that milk and eat those apples. Do you know what
would happen if we pigs failed in our duty? Jones would come back! Yes,
Jones would come back! Surely, comrades,” cried Squealer almost pleadingly,
skipping from side to side and whisking his tail, “surely there is no one among
you who wants to see Jones come back?”
Now if there was one thing that the animals were completely certain of, it
was that they did not want Jones back. When it was put to them in this light,
they had no more to say. The importance of keeping the pigs in good health
was all too obvious. So it was agreed without further argument that the milk
and the windfall apples (and also the main crop of apples when they ripened)
should be reserved for the pigs alone.
CHAPTER 4
By the late summer the news of what had happened on Animal Farm had
spread across half the county. Every day Snowball and Napoleon sent out
flights of pigeons whose instructions were to mingle with the animals on
neighbouring farms, tell them the story of the Rebellion, and teach them the
tune of ‘Beasts of England’.
Most of this time Mr. Jones had spent sitting in the taproom of the Red
Lion at Willingdon, complaining to anyone who would listen of the monstrous
injustice he had suffered in being turned out of his property by a pack of goodfor-nothing animals. The other farmers sympathised in principle, but they did
not at first give him much help. At heart, each of them was secretly wondering
whether he could not somehow turn Jones’s misfortune to his own advantage.
It was lucky that the owners of the two farms which adjoined Animal Farm
were on permanently bad terms. One of them, which was named Foxwood,
was a large, neglected, old-fashioned farm, much overgrown by woodland,
with all its pastures worn out and its hedges in a disgraceful condition. Its
owner, Mr. Pilkington, was an easy-going gentleman farmer who spent most
of his time in fishing or hunting according to the season. The other farm,
which was called Pinchfield, was smaller and better kept. Its owner was a Mr.
Frederick, a tough, shrewd man, perpetually involved in lawsuits and with a
name for driving hard bargains. These two disliked each other so much that it
was difficult for them to come to any agreement, even in defence of their own
interests.
Nevertheless, they were both thoroughly frightened by the rebellion on
Animal Farm, and very anxious to prevent their own animals from learning
too much about it. At first they pretended to laugh to scorn the idea of animals
managing a farm for themselves. The whole thing would be over in a fortnight,
they said. They put it about that the animals on the Manor Farm (they insisted
on calling it the Manor Farm; they would not tolerate the name “Animal
Farm”) were perpetually fighting among themselves and were also rapidly
starving to death. When time passed and the animals had evidently not
starved to death, Frederick and Pilkington changed their tune and began to
talk of the terrible wickedness that now flourished on Animal Farm. It was
given out that the animals there practised cannibalism, tortured one another
with red-hot horseshoes, and had their females in common. This was what
came of rebelling against the laws of Nature, Frederick and Pilkington said.
However, these stories were never fully believed. Rumours of a wonderful
farm, where the human beings had been turned out and the animals managed
their own affairs, continued to circulate in vague and distorted forms, and
throughout that year a wave of rebelliousness ran through the countryside.
Bulls which had always been tractable suddenly turned savage, sheep broke
down hedges and devoured the clover, cows kicked the pail over, hunters
refused their fences and shot their riders on to the other side. Above all, the
tune and even the words of ‘Beasts of England’ were known everywhere. It had
spread with astonishing speed. The human beings could not contain their rage
when they heard this song, though they pretended to think it merely
ridiculous. They could not understand, they said, how even animals could
bring themselves to sing such contemptible rubbish. Any animal caught
singing it was given a flogging on the spot. And yet the song was irrepressible.
The blackbirds whistled it in the hedges, the pigeons cooed it in the elms, it got
into the din of the smithies and the tune of the church bells. And when the
human beings listened to it, they secretly trembled, hearing in it a prophecy of
their future doom.
Early in October, when the corn was cut and stacked and some of it was
already threshed, a flight of pigeons came whirling through the air and
alighted in the yard of Animal Farm in the wildest excitement. Jones and all
his men, with half a dozen others from Foxwood and Pinchfield, had entered
the five-barred gate and were coming up the cart-track that led to the farm.
They were all carrying sticks, except Jones, who was marching ahead with a
gun in his hands. Obviously they were going to attempt the recapture of the
farm.
This had long been expected, and all preparations had been made.
Snowball, who had studied an old book of Julius Caesar’s campaigns which he
had found in the farmhouse, was in charge of the defensive operations. He
gave his orders quickly, and in a couple of minutes every animal was at his
post.
As the human beings approached the farm buildings, Snowball launched
his first attack. All the pigeons, to the number of thirty-five, flew to and fro
over the men’s heads and muted upon them from mid-air; and while the men
were dealing with this, the geese, who had been hiding behind the hedge,
rushed out and pecked viciously at the calves of their legs. However, this was
only a light skirmishing manoeuvre, intended to create a little disorder, and
the men easily drove the geese off with their sticks. Snowball now launched his
second line of attack. Muriel, Benjamin, and all the sheep, with Snowball at
the head of them, rushed forward and prodded and butted the men from every
side, while Benjamin turned around and lashed at them with his small hoofs.
But once again the men, with their sticks and their hobnailed boots, were too
strong for them; and suddenly, at a squeal from Snowball, which was the
signal for retreat, all the animals turned and fled through the gateway into the
yard.
The men gave a shout of triumph. They saw, as they imagined, their
enemies in flight, and they rushed after them in disorder. This was just what
Snowball had intended. As soon as they were well inside the yard, the three
horses, the three cows, and the rest of the pigs, who had been lying in ambush
in the cowshed, suddenly emerged in their rear, cutting them off. Snowball
now gave the signal for the charge. He himself dashed straight for Jones.
Jones saw him coming, raised his gun and fired. The pellets scored bloody
streaks along Snowball’s back, and a sheep dropped dead. Without halting for
an instant, Snowball flung his fifteen stone against Jones’s legs. Jones was
hurled into a pile of dung and his gun flew out of his hands. But the most
terrifying spectacle of all was Boxer, rearing up on his hind legs and striking
out with his great iron-shod hoofs like a stallion. His very first blow took a
stable-lad from Foxwood on the skull and stretched him lifeless in the mud. At
the sight, several men dropped their sticks and tried to run. Panic overtook
them, and the next moment all the animals together were chasing them round
and round the yard. They were gored, kicked, bitten, trampled on. There was
not an animal on the farm that did not take vengeance on them after his own
fashion. Even the cat suddenly leapt off a roof onto a cowman’s shoulders and
sank her claws in his neck, at which he yelled horribly. At a moment when the
opening was clear, the men were glad enough to rush out of the yard and make
a bolt for the main road. And so within five minutes of their invasion they
were in ignominious retreat by the same way as they had come, with a flock of
geese hissing after them and pecking at their calves all the way.
All the men were gone except one. Back in the yard Boxer was pawing with
his hoof at the stable-lad who lay face down in the mud, trying to turn him
over. The boy did not stir.
“He is dead,” said Boxer sorrowfully. “I had no intention of doing that. I
forgot that I was wearing iron shoes. Who will believe that I did not do this on
purpose?”
“No sentimentality, comrade!” cried Snowball from whose wounds the
blood was still dripping. “War is war. The only good human being is a dead
one.”
“I have no wish to take life, not even human life,” repeated Boxer, and his
eyes were full of tears.
“Where is Mollie?” exclaimed somebody.
Mollie in fact was missing. For a moment there was great alarm; it was
feared that the men might have harmed her in some way, or even carried her
off with them. In the end, however, she was found hiding in her stall with her
head buried among the hay in the manger. She had taken to flight as soon as
the gun went off. And when the others came back from looking for her, it was
to find that the stable-lad, who in fact was only stunned, had already
recovered and made off.
The animals had now reassembled in the wildest excitement, each
recounting his own exploits in the battle at the top of his voice. An impromptu
celebration of the victory was held immediately. The flag was run up and
‘Beasts of England’ was sung a number of times, then the sheep who had been
killed was given a solemn funeral, a hawthorn bush being planted on her
grave. At the graveside Snowball made a little speech, emphasising the need
for all animals to be ready to die for Animal Farm if need be.
The animals decided unanimously to create a military decoration, “Animal
Hero, First Class,” which was conferred there and then on Snowball and
Boxer. It consisted of a brass medal (they were really some old horse-brasses
which had been found in the harness-room), to be worn on Sundays and
holidays. There was also “Animal Hero, Second Class,” which was conferred
posthumously on the dead sheep.
There was much discussion as to what the battle should be called. In the
end, it was named the Battle of the Cowshed, since that was where the ambush
had been sprung. Mr. Jones’s gun had been found lying in the mud, and it was
known that there was a supply of cartridges in the farmhouse. It was decided
to set the gun up at the foot of the Flagstaff, like a piece of artillery, and to fire
it twice a year — once on October the twelfth, the anniversary of the Battle of
the Cowshed, and once on Midsummer Day, the anniversary of the Rebellion.
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