Chapter VII
It was a bitter winter. The stormy weather was followed
by sleet and snow, and then by a hard frost which did
not break till well into February. The animals carried on
as best they could with the rebuilding of the windmill,
well knowing that the outside world was watching them
and that the envious human beings would rejoice and
triumph if the mill were not finished on time.
Out of spite, the human beings pretended not to believe
that it was Snowball who had destroyed the windmill:
they said that it had fallen down because the walls were
too thin. The animals knew that this was not the case.
Still, it had been decided to build the walls three feet
thick this time instead of eighteen inches as before, which
meant collecting much larger quantities of stone. For a
long time the quarry was full of snowdrifts and nothing
could be done. Some progress was made in the dry frosty
weather that followed, but it was cruel work, and the
animals could not feel so hopeful about it as they had felt
before. They were always cold, and usually hungry as well.
Only Boxer and Clover never lost heart. Squealer made
excellent speeches on the joy of service and the dignity of
labour, but the other animals found more inspiration in
Boxer’s strength and his never-failing cry of “I will work
harder!”
In January food fell short. The corn ration was drasti-
cally reduced, and it was announced that an extra potato
ration would be issued to make up for it. Then it was
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discovered that the greater part of the potato crop had
been frosted in the clamps, which had not been covered
thickly enough. The potatoes had become soft and dis-
coloured, and only a few were edible. For days at a time
the animals had nothing to eat but chaff and mangels.
Starvation seemed to stare them in the face.
It was vitally necessary to conceal this fact from the
outside world. Emboldened by the collapse of the wind-
mill, the human beings were inventing fresh lies about
Animal Farm. Once again it was being put about that
all the animals were dying of famine and disease, and
that they were continually fighting among themselves and
had resorted to cannibalism and infanticide. Napoleon
was well aware of the bad results that might follow if
the real facts of the food situation were known, and he
decided to make use of Mr. Whymper to spread a con-
trary impression. Hitherto the animals had had little
or no contact with Whymper on his weekly visits: now,
however, a few selected animals, mostly sheep, were in-
structed to remark casually in his hearing that rations
had been increased. In addition, Napoleon ordered the
almost empty bins in the store-shed to be filled nearly
to the brim with sand, which was then covered up with
what remained of the grain and meal. On some suitable
pretext Whymper was led through the store-shed and
allowed to catch a glimpse of the bins. He was deceived,
and continued to report to the outside world that there
was no food shortage on Animal Farm.
Nevertheless, towards the end of January it became
obvious that it would be necessary to procure some more
grain from somewhere. In these days Napoleon rarely ap-
peared in public, but spent all his time in the farmhouse,
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which was guarded at each door by fierce-looking dogs.
When he did emerge, it was in a ceremonial manner, with
an escort of six dogs who closely surrounded him and
growled if anyone came too near. Frequently he did not
even appear on Sunday mornings, but issued his orders
through one of the other pigs, usually Squealer.
One Sunday morning Squealer announced that the
hens, who had just come in to lay again, must surrender
their eggs. Napoleon had accepted, through Whymper, a
contract for four hundred eggs a week. The price of these
would pay for enough grain and meal to keep the farm
going till summer came on and conditions were easier.
When the hens heard this, they raised a terrible outcry.
They had been warned earlier that this sacrifice might
be necessary, but had not believed that it would really
happen. They were just getting their clutches ready for
the spring sitting, and they protested that to take the
eggs away now was murder. For the first time since the
expulsion of Jones, there was something resembling a
rebellion. Led by three young Black Minorca pullets,
the hens made a determined effort to thwart Napoleon’s
wishes. Their method was to fly up to the rafters and
there lay their eggs, which smashed to pieces on the floor.
Napoleon acted swiftly and ruthlessly. He ordered the
hens’ rations to be stopped, and decreed that any animal
giving so much as a grain of corn to a hen should be
punished by death. The dogs saw to it that these orders
were carried out. For five days the hens held out, then
they capitulated and went back to their nesting boxes.
Nine hens had died in the meantime. Their bodies were
buried in the orchard, and it was given out that they had
died of coccidiosis. Whymper heard nothing of this affair,
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and the eggs were duly delivered, a grocer’s van driving
up to the farm once a week to take them away.
All this while no more had been seen of Snowball. He
was rumoured to be hiding on one of the neighbouring
farms, either Foxwood or Pinchfield. Napoleon was by
this time on slightly better terms with the other farmers
than before. It happened that there was in the yard a
pile of timber which had been stacked there ten years
earlier when a beech spinney was cleared. It was well
seasoned, and Whymper had advised Napoleon to sell it;
both Mr. Pilkington and Mr. Frederick were anxious to
buy it. Napoleon was hesitating between the two, unable
to make up his mind. It was noticed that whenever he
seemed on the point of coming to an agreement with Fred-
erick, Snowball was declared to be in hiding at Foxwood,
while, when he inclined toward Pilkington, Snowball was
said to be at Pinchfield.
Suddenly, early in the spring, an alarming thing was
discovered. Snowball was secretly frequenting the farm
by night! The animals were so disturbed that they could
hardly sleep in their stalls. Every night, it was said, he
came creeping in under cover of darkness and performed
all kinds of mischief. He stole the corn, he upset the
milk-pails, he broke the eggs, he trampled the seedbeds,
he gnawed the bark off the fruit trees. Whenever anything
went wrong it became usual to attribute it to Snowball. If
a window was broken or a drain was blocked up, someone
was certain to say that Snowball had come in the night
and done it, and when the key of the store-shed was
lost, the whole farm was convinced that Snowball had
thrown it down the well. Curiously enough, they went
on believing this even after the mislaid key was found
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under a sack of meal. The cows declared unanimously
that Snowball crept into their stalls and milked them in
their sleep. The rats, which had been troublesome that
winter, were also said to be in league with Snowball.
Napoleon decreed that there should be a full investi-
gation into Snowball’s activities. With his dogs in atten-
dance he set out and made a careful tour of inspection
of the farm buildings, the other animals following at a
respectful distance. At every few steps Napoleon stopped
and snuffed the ground for traces of Snowball’s footsteps,
which, he said, he could detect by the smell. He snuffed
in every corner, in the barn, in the cow-shed, in the
henhouses, in the vegetable garden, and found traces
of Snowball almost everywhere. He would put his snout
to the ground, give several deep sniffs, and exclaim in a
terrible voice, “Snowball! He has been here! I can smell
him distinctly!” and at the word “Snowball” all the dogs
let out blood-curdling growls and showed their side teeth.
The animals were thoroughly frightened. It seemed
to them as though Snowball were some kind of invisible
influence, pervading the air about them and menacing
them with all kinds of dangers. In the evening Squealer
called them together, and with an alarmed expression
on his face told them that he had some serious news to
report.
“Comrades!” cried Squealer, making little nervous
skips, “a most terrible thing has been discovered. Snow-
ball has sold himself to Frederick of Pinchfield Farm, who
is even now plotting to attack us and take our farm away
from us! Snowball is to act as his guide when the attack
begins. But there is worse than that. We had thought that
Snowball’s rebellion was caused simply by his vanity and
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ambition. But we were wrong, comrades. Do you know
what the real reason was? Snowball was in league with
Jones from the very start! He was Jones’s secret agent all
the time. It has all been proved by documents which he
left behind him and which we have only just discovered.
To my mind this explains a great deal, comrades. Did
we not see for ourselves how he attempted—fortunately
without success—to get us defeated and destroyed at the
Battle of the Cowshed?”
The animals were stupefied. This was a wickedness far
outdoing Snowball’s destruction of the windmill. But it
was some minutes before they could fully take it in. They
all remembered, or thought they remembered, how they
had seen Snowball charging ahead of them at the Battle
of the Cowshed, how he had rallied and encouraged them
at every turn, and how he had not paused for an instant
even when the pellets from Jones’s gun had wounded his
back. At first it was a little difficult to see how this fitted
in with his being on Jones’s side. Even Boxer, who seldom
asked questions, was puzzled. He lay down, tucked his
fore hoofs beneath him, shut his eyes, and with a hard
effort managed to formulate his thoughts.
“I do not believe that,” he said.
“Snowball fought
bravely at the Battle of the Cowshed. I saw him my-
self. Did we not give him ‘Animal Hero, First Class,’
immediately afterwards?”
“That was our mistake, comrade. For we know now—it
is all written down in the secret documents that we have
found—that in reality he was trying to lure us to our
doom.”
“But he was wounded,” said Boxer. “We all saw him
running with blood.”
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“That was part of the arrangement!” cried Squealer.
“Jones’s shot only grazed him. I could show you this in
his own writing, if you were able to read it. The plot
was for Snowball, at the critical moment, to give the
signal for flight and leave the field to the enemy. And
he very nearly succeeded—I will even say, comrades, he
would
have succeeded if it had not been for our heroic
Leader, Comrade Napoleon. Do you not remember how,
just at the moment when Jones and his men had got
inside the yard, Snowball suddenly turned and fled, and
many animals followed him? And do you not remember,
too, that it was just at that moment, when panic was
spreading and all seemed lost, that Comrade Napoleon
sprang forward with a cry of ‘Death to Humanity!’ and
sank his teeth in Jones’s leg? Surely you remember that,
comrades?” exclaimed Squealer, frisking from side to
side.
Now when Squealer described the scene so graphically,
it seemed to the animals that they did remember it. At
any rate, they remembered that at the critical moment
of the battle Snowball had turned to flee. But Boxer was
still a little uneasy.
“I do not believe that Snowball was a traitor at the
beginning,” he said finally. “What he has done since is
different. But I believe that at the Battle of the Cowshed
he was a good comrade.”
“Our
Leader,
Comrade
Napoleon,”
announced
Squealer, speaking very slowly and firmly, “has stated
categorically—categorically, comrade—that Snowball was
Jones’s agent from the very beginning—yes, and from
long before the Rebellion was ever thought of.”
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“Ah, that is different!”
said Boxer.
“If Comrade
Napoleon says it, it must be right.”
“That is the true spirit, comrade!” cried Squealer, but
it was noticed he cast a very ugly look at Boxer with his
little twinkling eyes. He turned to go, then paused and
added impressively: “I warn every animal on this farm
to keep his eyes very wide open. For we have reason to
think that some of Snowball’s secret agents are lurking
among us at this moment!”
Four days later, in the late afternoon, Napoleon or-
dered all the animals to assemble in the yard. When they
were all gathered together, Napoleon emerged from the
farmhouse, wearing both his medals (for he had recently
awarded himself “Animal Hero, First Class,” and “Animal
Hero, Second Class”), with his nine huge dogs frisking
round him and uttering growls that sent shivers down
all the animals’ spines. They all cowered silently in their
places, seeming to know in advance that some terrible
thing was about to happen.
Napoleon stood sternly surveying his audience; then
he uttered a high-pitched whimper. Immediately the
dogs bounded forward, seized four of the pigs by the ear
and dragged them, squealing with pain and terror, to
Napoleon’s feet. The pigs’ ears were bleeding, the dogs
had tasted blood, and for a few moments they appeared
to go quite mad. To the amazement of everybody, three
of them flung themselves upon Boxer. Boxer saw them
coming and put out his great hoof, caught a dog in mid-
air, and pinned him to the ground. The dog shrieked
for mercy and the other two fled with their tails between
their legs. Boxer looked at Napoleon to know whether
he should crush the dog to death or let it go. Napoleon
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appeared to change countenance, and sharply ordered
Boxer to let the dog go, whereat Boxer lifted his hoof, and
the dog slunk away, bruised and howling.
Presently the tumult died down. The four pigs waited,
trembling, with guilt written on every line of their counte-
nances. Napoleon now called upon them to confess their
crimes. They were the same four pigs as had protested
when Napoleon abolished the Sunday Meetings. With-
out any further prompting they confessed that they had
been secretly in touch with Snowball ever since his expul-
sion, that they had collaborated with him in destroying
the windmill, and that they had entered into an agree-
ment with him to hand over Animal Farm to Mr. Fred-
erick. They added that Snowball had privately admitted
to them that he had been Jones’s secret agent for years
past. When they had finished their confession, the dogs
promptly tore their throats out, and in a terrible voice
Napoleon demanded whether any other animal had any-
thing to confess.
The three hens who had been the ringleaders in the
attempted rebellion over the eggs now came forward and
stated that Snowball had appeared to them in a dream
and incited them to disobey Napoleon’s orders. They,
too, were slaughtered. Then a goose came forward and
confessed to having secreted six ears of corn during the
last year’s harvest and eaten them in the night. Then a
sheep confessed to having urinated in the drinking pool—
urged to do this, so she said, by Snowball—and two
other sheep confessed to having murdered an old ram,
an especially devoted follower of Napoleon, by chasing
him round and round a bonfire when he was suffering
from a cough. They were all slain on the spot. And so the
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tale of confessions and executions went on, until there
was a pile of corpses lying before Napoleon’s feet and the
air was heavy with the smell of blood, which had been
unknown there since the expulsion of Jones.
When it was all over, the remaining animals, except
for the pigs and dogs, crept away in a body. They were
shaken and miserable. They did not know which was
more shocking—the treachery of the animals who had
leagued themselves with Snowball, or the cruel retribu-
tion they had just witnessed. In the old days there had
often been scenes of bloodshed equally terrible, but it
seemed to all of them that it was far worse now that it
was happening among themselves. Since Jones had left
the farm, until today, no animal had killed another an-
imal. Not even a rat had been killed. They had made
their way on to the little knoll where the half-finished
windmill stood, and with one accord they all lay down
as though huddling together for warmth—Clover, Muriel,
Benjamin, the cows, the sheep, and a whole flock of geese
and hens—everyone, indeed, except the cat, who had
suddenly disappeared just before Napoleon ordered the
animals to assemble. For some time nobody spoke. Only
Boxer remained on his feet. He fidgeted to and fro, swish-
ing his long black tail against his sides and occasionally
uttering a little whinny of surprise. Finally he said:
“I do not understand it. I would not have believed that
such things could happen on our farm. It must be due
to some fault in ourselves. The solution, as I see it, is to
work harder. From now onwards I shall get up a full hour
earlier in the mornings.”
And he moved off at his lumbering trot and made for
the quarry. Having got there, he collected two successive
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loads of stone and dragged them down to the windmill
before retiring for the night.
The animals huddled about Clover, not speaking. The
knoll where they were lying gave them a wide prospect
across the countryside. Most of Animal Farm was within
their view—the long pasture stretching down to the main
road, the hayfield, the spinney, the drinking pool, the
ploughed fields where the young wheat was thick and
green, and the red roofs of the farm buildings with the
smoke curling from the chimneys. It was a clear spring
evening. The grass and the bursting hedges were gilded
by the level rays of the sun. Never had the farm—and
with a kind of surprise they remembered that it was their
own farm, every inch of it their own property—appeared
to the animals so desirable a place. As Clover looked
down the hillside her eyes filled with tears. If she could
have spoken her thoughts, it would have been to say
that this was not what they had aimed at when they had
set themselves years ago to work for the overthrow of
the human race. These scenes of terror and slaughter
were not what they had looked forward to on that night
when old Major first stirred them to rebellion. If she
herself had had any picture of the future, it had been of
a society of animals set free from hunger and the whip,
all equal, each working according to his capacity, the
strong protecting the weak, as she had protected the lost
brood of ducklings with her foreleg on the night of Major’s
speech. Instead—she did not know why—they had come
to a time when no one dared speak his mind, when fierce,
growling dogs roamed everywhere, and when you had to
watch your comrades torn to pieces after confessing to
shocking crimes. There was no thought of rebellion or
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Chapter VII
disobedience in her mind. She knew that, even as things
were, they were far better off than they had been in the
days of Jones, and that before all else it was needful
to prevent the return of the human beings. Whatever
happened she would remain faithful, work hard, carry
out the orders that were given to her, and accept the
leadership of Napoleon. But still, it was not for this that
she and all the other animals had hoped and toiled. It
was not for this that they had built the windmill and
faced the bullets of Jones’s gun. Such were her thoughts,
though she lacked the words to express them.
At last, feeling this to be in some way a substitute
for the words she was unable to find, she began to sing
Beasts of England
. The other animals sitting round her
took it up, and they sang it three times over—very tune-
fully, but slowly and mournfully, in a way they had never
sung it before.
They had just finished singing it for the third time
when Squealer, attended by two dogs, approached them
with the air of having something important to say. He an-
nounced that, by a special decree of Comrade Napoleon,
Beasts of England
had been abolished. From now on-
wards it was forbidden to sing it.
The animals were taken aback.
“Why?” cried Muriel.
“It’s no longer needed, comrade,” said Squealer stiffly.
“Beasts of England was the song of the Rebellion. But the
Rebellion is now completed. The execution of the traitors
this afternoon was the final act. The enemy both external
and internal has been defeated. In Beasts of England we
expressed our longing for a better society in days to come.
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Chapter VII
But that society has now been established. Clearly this
song has no longer any purpose.”
Frightened though they were, some of the animals
might possibly have protested, but at this moment the
sheep set up their usual bleating of “Four legs good, two
legs bad,” which went on for several minutes and put an
end to the discussion.
So Beasts of England was heard no more. In its place
Minimus, the poet, had composed another song which
began:
Animal Farm, Animal Farm,
Never through me shalt thou come to harm!
and this was sung every Sunday morning after the
hoisting of the flag. But somehow neither the words nor
the tune ever seemed to the animals to come up to Beasts
of England
.
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