George Orwell’s “Animal Farm: Chapter 8” by Mr. Briggs Lyrics

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."