Chapter VIII
A few days later, when the terror caused by the execu-
tions had died down, some of the animals remembered—
or thought they remembered—that the Sixth Command-
ment 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 Ben-
jamin 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 Com-
mandment 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
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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 the 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
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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
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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
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Foxwood. The relations between Napoleon and Pilking-
ton, though they were only conducted through Whymper,
were now almost friendly. The animals distrusted Pilk-
ington, 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 being done
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 deal-
ings 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
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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 swal-
lowing deadly nightshade berries. The animals now also
learned that Snowball had never—as many of them had
hitherto believed—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 bewil-
derment, 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 pur-
chase 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 discourage-
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ments 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 person-
ally 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 wag-
ons would arrive and begin carting it away. Throughout
the whole period of his seeming friendship with Pilking-
ton, Napoleon had really been in secret agreement with
Frederick.
All relations with Foxwood had been broken off; insult-
ing 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 lux-
ury, so it was said—at Foxwood, and had in reality been
a pensioner of Pilkington for years past.
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The pigs were in ecstasies over Napoleon’s cunning. By
seeming to be friendly with Pilkington he had forced Fred-
erick 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. Fred-
erick 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. Whym-
per, 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!
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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
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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
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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 wind-
mill 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
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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 unac-
countably been absent during the fighting, came skipping
towards them, whisking his tail and beaming with satis-
faction. 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 founda-
tions, and already in imagination he braced himself for
the task. But for the first time it occurred to him that he
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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, congrat-
ulating 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 sur-
prise, 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
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was nearly nine o’clock when Squealer made his appear-
ance, 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,
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Chapter VIII
and the animals rushed out of their stalls. It was a moon-
lit night. At the foot of the end wall of the big barn, where
the Seven Commandments were written, there lay a lad-
der 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.”
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