VI
ALL that year the animals worked like slaves. But they were happy in
their work; they grudged no effort or sacrifice, well aware that
everything that they did was for the benefit of themselves and those of
their kind who would come after them, and not for a pack of idle,
thieving human beings.
Throughout the spring and summer they worked a sixty-hour week, and
in August Napoleon announced that there would be work on Sunday
afternoons as well. This work was strictly voluntary, but any animal
who absented himself from it would have his rations reduced by half.
Even so, it was found necessary to leave certain tasks undone. The
harvest was a little less successful than in the previous year, and two
fields which should have been sown with roots in the early summer
were not sown because the ploughing had not been completed early
enough. It was possible to foresee that the coming winter would be a
hard one.
The windmill presented unexpected difficulties. There was a good
quarry of limestone on the farm, and plenty of sand and cement had
been found in one of the outhouses, so that all the materials for building
were at hand. But the problem the animals could not at first solve was
how to break up the stone into pieces of suitable size. There seemed no
way of doing this except with picks and crowbars, which no animal

could use, because no animal could stand on his hind legs. Only after
weeks of vain effort did the right idea occur to somebody-namely, to
utilise the force of gravity. Huge boulders, far too big to be used as they
were, were lying all over the bed of the quarry. The animals lashed
ropes round these, and then all together, cows, horses, sheep, any
animal that could lay hold of the rope-even the pigs sometimes joined
in at critical moments-they dragged them with desperate slowness up
the slope to the top of the quarry, where they were toppled over the
edge, to shatter to pieces below. Transporting the stone when it was
once broken was comparatively simple. The horses carried it off in
cart-loads, the sheep dragged single blocks, even Muriel and Benjamin
yoked themselves into an old governess-cart and did their share. By late
summer a sufficient store of stone had accumulated, and then the
building began, under the superintendence of the pigs.
But it was a slow, laborious process. Frequently it took a whole day of
exhausting effort to drag a single boulder to the top of the quarry, and
sometimes when it was pushed over the edge it failed to break. Nothing
could have been achieved without Boxer, whose strength seemed equal
to that of all the rest of the animals put together. When the boulder
began to slip and the animals cried out in despair at finding themselves
dragged down the hill, it was always Boxer who strained himself
against the rope and brought the boulder to a stop. To see him toiling
up the slope inch by inch, his breath coming fast, the tips of his hoofs
clawing at the ground, and his great sides matted with sweat, filled
everyone with admiration. Clover warned him sometimes to be careful
not to overstrain himself, but Boxer would never listen to her. His two
slogans, “I will work harder” and “Napoleon is always right,” seemed to
him a sufficient answer to all problems. He had made arrangements
with the cockerel to call him three-quarters of an hour earlier in the
mornings instead of half an hour. And in his spare moments, of which
there were not many nowadays, he would go alone to the quarry, collect
a load of broken stone, and drag it down to the site of the windmill
unassisted.
The animals were not badly off throughout that summer, in spite of the
hardness of their work. If they had no more food than they had had in
Jones’s day, at least they did not have less. The advantage of only
having to feed themselves, and not having to support five extravagant
human beings as well, was so great that it would have taken a lot of
failures to outweigh it. And in many ways the animal method of doing

things was more efficient and saved labour. Such jobs as weeding, for
instance, could be done with a thoroughness impossible to human
beings. And again, since no animal now stole, it was unnecessary to
fence off pasture from arable land, which saved a lot of labour on the
upkeep of hedges and gates. Nevertheless, as the summer wore on,
various unforeseen shortages began to make them selves felt. There was
need of paraffin oil, nails, string, dog biscuits, and iron for the horses’
shoes, none of which could be produced on the farm. Later there would
also be need for seeds and artificial manures, besides various tools and,
finally, the machinery for the windmill. How these were to be procured,
no one was able to imagine.
One Sunday morning, when the animals assembled to receive their
orders, Napoleon announced that he had decided upon a new policy.
From now onwards Animal Farm would engage in trade with the
neighbouring farms: not, of course, for any commercial purpose, but
simply in order to obtain certain materials which were urgently
necessary. The needs of the windmill must override everything else, he
said. He was therefore making arrangements to sell a stack of hay and
part of the current year’s wheat crop, and later on, if more money were
needed, it would have to be made up by the sale of eggs, for which
there was always a market in Willingdon. The hens, said Napoleon,
should welcome this sacrifice as their own special contribution towards
the building of the windmill.
Once again the animals were conscious of a vague uneasiness. Never to
have any dealings with human beings, never to engage in trade, never
to make use of money-had not these been among the earliest resolutions
passed at that first triumphant Meeting after Jones was expelled? All
the animals remembered passing such resolutions: or at least they
thought that they remembered it. The four young pigs who had
protested when Napoleon abolished the Meetings raised their voices
timidly, but they were promptly silenced by a tremendous growling
from the dogs. Then, as usual, the sheep broke into “Four legs good,
two legs bad!” and the momentary awkwardness was smoothed over.
Finally Napoleon raised his trotter for silence and announced that he
had already made all the arrangements. There would be no need for any
of the animals to come in contact with human beings, which would
clearly be most undesirable. He intended to take the whole burden upon
his own shoulders. A Mr. Whymper, a solicitor living in Willingdon,
had agreed to act as intermediary between Animal Farm and the outside

world, and would visit the farm every Monday morning to receive his
instructions. Napoleon ended his speech with his usual cry of “Long
live Animal Farm!” and after the singing of Beasts of England the
animals were dismissed.
Afterwards Squealer made a round of the farm and set the animals’
minds at rest. He assured them that the resolution against engaging in
trade and using money had never been passed, or even suggested. It
was pure imagination, probably traceable in the beginning to lies
circulated by Snowball. A few animals still felt faintly doubtful, but
Squealer asked them shrewdly, “Are you certain that this is not
something that you have dreamed, comrades? Have you any record of
such a resolution? Is it written down anywhere?” And since it was
certainly true that nothing of the kind existed in writing, the animals
were satisfied that they had been mistaken.
Every Monday Mr. Whymper visited the farm as had been arranged. He
was a sly-looking little man with side whiskers, a solicitor in a very
small way of business, but sharp enough to have realised earlier than
anyone else that Animal Farm would need a broker and that the
commissions would be worth having. The animals watched his coming
and going with a kind of dread, and avoided him as much as possible.
Nevertheless, the sight of Napoleon, on all fours, delivering orders to
Whymper, who stood on two legs, roused their pride and partly
reconciled them to the new arrangement. Their relations with the
human race were now not quite the same as they had been before. The
human beings did not hate Animal Farm any less now that it was
prospering; indeed, they hated it more than ever. Every human being
held it as an article of faith that the farm would go bankrupt sooner or
later, and, above all, that the windmill would be a failure. They would
meet in the public-houses and prove to one another by means of
diagrams that the windmill was bound to fall down, or that if it did
stand up, then that it would never work. And yet, against their will, they
had developed a certain respect for the efficiency with which the
animals were managing their own affairs. One symptom of this was that
they had begun to call Animal Farm by its proper name and ceased to
pretend that it was called the Manor Farm. They had also dropped their
championship of Jones, who had given up hope of getting his farm back
and gone to live in another part of the county. Except through
Whymper, there was as yet no contact between Animal Farm and the
outside world, but there were constant rumours that Napoleon was

about to enter into a definite business agreement either with Mr.
Pilkington of Foxwood or with Mr. Frederick of Pinchfield-but never, it
was noticed, with both simultaneously.
It was about this time that the pigs suddenly moved into the farmhouse
and took up their residence there. Again the animals seemed to
remember that a resolution against this had been passed in the early
days, and again Squealer was able to convince them that this was not
the case. It was absolutely necessary, he said, that the pigs, who were
the brains of the farm, should have a quiet place to work in. It was also
more suited to the dignity of the Leader (for of late he had taken to
speaking of Napoleon under the title of “Leader”) to live in a house
than in a mere sty. Nevertheless, some of the animals were disturbed
when they heard that the pigs not only took their meals in the kitchen
and used the drawing-room as a recreation room, but also slept in the
beds. Boxer passed it off as usual with “Napoleon is always right!”, but
Clover, who thought she remembered a definite ruling against beds,
went to the end of the barn and tried to puzzle out the Seven
Commandments which were inscribed there. Finding herself unable to
read more than individual letters, she fetched Muriel.
“Muriel,” she said, “read me the Fourth Commandment. Does it not say
something about never sleeping in a bed?”
With some difficulty Muriel spelt it out.
“It says, ‘No animal shall sleep in a bed with sheets,”‘ she announced
finally.
Curiously enough, Clover had not remembered that the Fourth
Commandment mentioned sheets; but as it was there on the wall, it
must have done so. And Squealer, who happened to be passing at this
moment, attended by two or three dogs, was able to put the whole
matter in its proper perspective.
“You have heard then, comrades,” he said, “that we pigs now sleep in
the beds of the farmhouse? And why not? You did not suppose, surely,
that there was ever a ruling against beds? A bed merely means a place
to sleep in. A pile of straw in a stall is a bed, properly regarded. The
rule was against sheets, which are a human invention. We have
removed the sheets from the farmhouse beds, and sleep between
blankets. And very comfortable beds they are too! But not more
comfortable than we need, I can tell you, comrades, with all the

brainwork we have to do nowadays. You would not rob us of our
repose, would you, comrades? You would not have us too tired to carry
out our duties? Surely none of you wishes to see Jones back?”
The animals reassured him on this point immediately, and no more was
said about the pigs sleeping in the farmhouse beds. And when, some
days afterwards, it was announced that from now on the pigs would get
up an hour later in the mornings than the other animals, no complaint
was made about that either.
By the autumn the animals were tired but happy. They had had a hard
year, and after the sale of part of the hay and corn, the stores of food for
the winter were none too plentiful, but the windmill compensated for
everything. It was almost half built now. After the harvest there was a
stretch of clear dry weather, and the animals toiled harder than ever,
thinking it well worth while to plod to and fro all day with blocks of
stone if by doing so they could raise the walls another foot. Boxer
would even come out at nights and work for an hour or two on his own
by the light of the harvest moon. In their spare moments the animals
would walk round and round the half-finished mill, admiring the
strength and perpendicularity of its walls and marvelling that they
should ever have been able to build anything so imposing. Only old
Benjamin refused to grow enthusiastic about the windmill, though, as
usual, he would utter nothing beyond the cryptic remark that donkeys
live a long time.
November came, with raging south-west winds. Building had to stop
because it was now too wet to mix the cement. Finally there came a
night when the gale was so violent that the farm buildings rocked on
their foundations and several tiles were blown off the roof of the barn.
The hens woke up squawking with terror because they had all dreamed
simultaneously of hearing a gun go off in the distance. In the morning
the animals came out of their stalls to find that the flagstaff had been
blown down and an elm tree at the foot of the orchard had been plucked
up like a radish. They had just noticed this when a cry of despair broke
from every animal’s throat. A terrible sight had met their eyes. The
windmill was in ruins.
With one accord they dashed down to the spot. Napoleon, who seldom
moved out of a walk, raced ahead of them all. Yes, there it lay, the fruit
of all their struggles, levelled to its foundations, the stones they had
broken and carried so laboriously scattered all around. Unable at first to

speak, they stood gazing mournfully at the litter of fallen stone
Napoleon paced to and fro in silence, occasionally snuffing at the
ground. His tail had grown rigid and twitched sharply from side to side,
a sign in him of intense mental activity. Suddenly he halted as though
his mind were made up.
“Comrades,” he said quietly, “do you know who is responsible for this?
Do you know the enemy who has come in the night and overthrown our
windmill? SNOWBALL!” he suddenly roared in a voice of thunder.
“Snowball has done this thing! In sheer malignity, thinking to set back
our plans and avenge himself for his ignominious expulsion, this traitor
has crept here under cover of night and destroyed our work of nearly a
year. Comrades, here and now I pronounce the death sentence upon
Snowball. ‘Animal Hero, Second Class,’ and half a bushel of apples to
any animal who brings him to justice. A full bushel to anyone who
captures him alive!”
The animals were shocked beyond measure to learn that even Snowball
could be guilty of such an action. There was a cry of indignation, and
everyone began thinking out ways of catching Snowball if he should
ever come back. Almost immediately the footprints of a pig were
discovered in the grass at a little distance from the knoll. They could
only be traced for a few yards, but appeared to lead to a hole in the
hedge. Napoleon snuffed deeply at them and pronounced them to be
Snowball’s. He gave it as his opinion that Snowball had probably come
from the direction of Foxwood Farm.
“No more delays, comrades!” cried Napoleon when the footprints had
been examined. “There is work to be done. This very morning we begin
rebuilding the windmill, and we will build all through the winter, rain
or shine. We will teach this miserable traitor that he cannot undo our
work so easily. Remember, comrades, there must be no alteration in our
plans: they shall be carried out to the day. Forward, comrades! Long
live the windmill! Long live Animal Farm!”

Chapter 6 of George Orwell’s “Animal Farm” is a pivotal point in the narrative, showcasing the further consolidation of power by the pigs, particularly Napoleon, and the manipulation and exploitation of the other animals. Through various events and developments in this chapter, Orwell presents a critical analysis of themes such as power, manipulation, and the consequences of blind obedience.

One of the central themes explored in Chapter 6 is the abuse of power by those in authority. Napoleon’s decision to extend the animals’ work hours, including Sundays, reflects his growing authoritarianism and disregard for the well-being of the animals. By demanding more labor from them, Napoleon demonstrates his desire to assert control and prioritize his own interests, such as the completion of the windmill, over the welfare of the animals.

Moreover, Napoleon’s decision to engage in trade with neighboring farms marks a significant departure from the principles of Animalism and the farm’s original resolutions against interacting with humans. This shift underscores the pigs’ manipulation of the other animals and their willingness to compromise their ideals in pursuit of power and self-interest.

The pigs’ move into the farmhouse further highlights their abuse of power and privilege. Despite their initial resolutions against living in luxury, the pigs justify their decision by claiming that they need a comfortable environment to effectively manage the farm. This justification not only reveals the pigs’ hypocrisy but also their willingness to exploit their position of authority for personal gain.

Throughout the chapter, Orwell also explores the theme of manipulation and propaganda. Squealer, the pigs’ chief propagandist, plays a key role in convincing the other animals to accept Napoleon’s decisions, even when they contradict their original principles. Through persuasive rhetoric and manipulation of the truth, Squealer successfully deceives the animals into believing that their interests align with those of the pigs, further cementing the pigs’ control over the farm.

The destruction of the windmill by a storm serves as a turning point in the narrative, with Napoleon seizing the opportunity to scapegoat Snowball and further consolidate his power. By blaming Snowball for the destruction, Napoleon exploits the animals’ fear and anger to maintain control over them. Despite some animals harboring doubts about Snowball’s guilt, they ultimately accept Napoleon’s version of events, demonstrating the power of propaganda and manipulation in shaping their beliefs.

Moreover, Napoleon’s declaration of Snowball as a traitor and the offering of rewards for his capture highlight the oppressive nature of his regime and the consequences of dissent. Through these actions, Napoleon reinforces his authority and suppresses any opposition or questioning of his leadership, instilling fear and obedience among the other animals.

The chapter concludes with Napoleon ordering the immediate reconstruction of the windmill, despite the animals’ exhaustion and despair. This demonstrates Napoleon’s determination to maintain control and pursue his own agenda, regardless of the sacrifices or hardships endured by the other animals.

Overall, Chapter 6 of “Animal Farm” provides a critical analysis of power, manipulation, and the consequences of blind obedience. Orwell depicts the pigs’ abuse of authority, their manipulation of the other animals through propaganda, and the suppression of dissent to maintain control. Through these themes, Orwell highlights the dangers of unchecked power and the vulnerability of individuals in the face of manipulation and oppression.