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 destroyer 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 i.ne 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 drastically reduced, and
it was announced that an extra potato ration would be issued to make up
for it. Then it was 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 discoloured, 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 windmill, 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
contrary 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 instructed 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 appeared in public, but spent all his time in
the farmhouse, 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, 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 Frederick, 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 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 investigation into
Snowball’s activities. With his dogs in attendance 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, ad 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. Snowball 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 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 myself. 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.”
“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.”
“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 ordered 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 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 countenances. Napoleon now called
upon them to confess their crimes. They were the same four pigs as had
protested when Napoleon abolished the Sunday Meetings. Without any
further prompting they confessed that they had been secretly in touch
with Snowball ever since his expulsion, that they had collaborated with
him in destroying the windmill, and that they had entered into an
agreement with him to hand over Animal Farm to Mr. Frederick. 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 anything 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 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 retribution 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 animal. 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, swishing 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 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 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 tunefully, 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 announced that, by a special decree of
Comrade Napoleon, Beasts of England had been abolished. From now
onwards 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.
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.

Chapter 7 of George Orwell’s “Animal Farm” delves deeper into the dynamics of power and control on the farm, showcasing the pigs’ continued manipulation of their fellow animals, the worsening living conditions, and the erosion of the revolutionary spirit that once characterized the farm.

The chapter opens with a vivid depiction of the harsh winter weather that grips Animal Farm. Despite the biting cold and challenging conditions, the animals persist in their efforts to rebuild the windmill, which serves as a symbol of progress and self-sufficiency. However, their resolve is tested by the realization that their every move is being scrutinized by the outside world, particularly the humans who look upon their struggles with disdain.

As food becomes increasingly scarce, the animals face a new set of challenges. The reduction in the corn ration and the ruin of the potato crop exacerbate their hunger and hardship. Yet, instead of acknowledging the failures of leadership or seeking solutions to address the shortages, Napoleon and the pigs resort to deception. They fill the store-shed bins with sand to create the illusion of abundance, all the while negotiating with neighboring farms for additional grain. This deception underscores the pigs’ willingness to prioritize their own interests over the well-being of their comrades.

Meanwhile, rumors swirl about the return of Snowball, the exiled boar who once vied for leadership alongside Napoleon. The animals, already on edge due to the harsh conditions and food shortages, become increasingly paranoid and fearful of Snowball’s alleged presence. Napoleon and Squealer exploit this fear to further cement their control over the farm, painting Snowball as a traitor and scapegoat for any misfortune that befalls them.

The atmosphere on Animal Farm grows increasingly oppressive as Napoleon consolidates his power through fear and intimidation. Those accused of collaborating with Snowball are swiftly executed, their confessions extracted under duress and their deaths serving as a warning to any who dare challenge Napoleon’s authority. The executions, carried out by Napoleon’s fierce dogs, instill a sense of dread and resignation among the other animals, who witness the brutality of their once-revolutionary leaders.

Despite the growing disillusionment and despair, Boxer, the loyal and hardworking workhorse, remains steadfast in his dedication to the farm and its leadership. He embodies the ethos of “work harder” espoused by the pigs, believing that their sacrifices are necessary to protect the farm from the return of human oppression. Boxer’s unwavering loyalty highlights the power of propaganda and manipulation in perpetuating the pigs’ control over the farm, even in the face of hardship and suffering.

Clover, another devoted animal, reflects on the stark contrast between the ideals of the rebellion and the grim reality of life under Napoleon’s rule. She mourns the loss of their original dreams of freedom and equality, realizing that the farm has fallen far short of their revolutionary aspirations. Yet, despite her disillusionment, she remains resigned to the status quo, convinced that their struggles are necessary to prevent the return of human tyranny.

The chapter culminates in the abolition of “Beasts of England,” the anthem of the rebellion, by Napoleon’s decree. The loss of the song, which once symbolized the animals’ hope and unity, serves as a poignant reminder of the erosion of their revolutionary ideals and the pigs’ tightening grip on power. Although a new anthem, “Animal Farm, Animal Farm,” is introduced in its place, it fails to inspire the animals in the same way, underscoring the loss of their collective identity and purpose.

In summary, Chapter 7 of “Animal Farm” paints a bleak portrait of life under Napoleon’s dictatorship, marked by deception, oppression, and the erosion of revolutionary ideals. Through vivid imagery and compelling characterizations, Orwell explores themes of power, control, and the corrupting influence of authority, offering a scathing critique of totalitarianism and the perversion of socialist ideals.