IX
BOXER’S split hoof was a long time in healing. They had started the
rebuilding of the windmill the day after the victory celebrations were
ended Boxer refused to take even a day off work, and made it a point of
honour not to let it be seen that he was in pain. In the evenings he

would admit privately to Clover that the hoof troubled him a great deal.
Clover treated the hoof with poultices of herbs which she prepared by
chewing them, and both she and Benjamin urged Boxer to work less
hard. “A horse’s lungs do not last for ever,” she said to him. But Boxer
would not listen. He had, he said, only one real ambition left-to see the
windmill well under way before he reached the age for retirement.
At the beginning, when the laws of Animal Farm were first formulated,
the retiring age had been fixed for horses and pigs at twelve, for cows at
fourteen, for dogs at nine, for sheep at seven, and for hens and geese at
five. Liberal old-age pensions had been agreed upon. As yet no animal
had actually retired on pension, but of late the subject had been
discussed more and more. Now that the small field beyond the orchard
had been set aside for barley, it was rumoured that a corner of the large
pasture was to be fenced off and turned into a grazing-ground for
superannuated animals. For a horse, it was said, the pension would be
five pounds of corn a day and, in winter, fifteen pounds of hay, with a
carrot or possibly an apple on public holidays. Boxer’s twelfth birthday
was due in the late summer of the following year.
Meanwhile life was hard. The winter was as cold as the last one had
been, and food was even shorter. Once again all rations were reduced,
except those of the pigs and the dogs. A too rigid equality in rations,
Squealer explained, would have been contrary to the principles of
Animalism. In any case he had no difficulty in proving to the other
animals that they were not in reality short of food, whatever the
appearances might be. For the time being, certainly, it had been found
necessary to make a readjustment of rations (Squealer always spoke of
it as a “readjustment,” never as a “reduction”), but in comparison with
the days of Jones, the improvement was enormous. Reading out the
figures in a shrill, rapid voice, he proved to them in detail that they had
more oats, more hay, more turnips than they had had in Jones’s day, that
they worked shorter hours, that their drinking water was of better
quality, that they lived longer, that a larger proportion of their young
ones survived infancy, and that they had more straw in their stalls and
suffered less from fleas. The animals believed every word of it. Truth to
tell, Jones and all he stood for had almost faded out of their memories.
They knew that life nowadays was harsh and bare, that they were often
hungry and often cold, and that they were usually working when they
were not asleep. But doubtless it had been worse in the old days. They
were glad to believe so. Besides, in those days they had been slaves and

now they were free, and that made all the difference, as Squealer did
not fail to point out.
There were many more mouths to feed now. In the autumn the four
sows had all littered about simultaneously, producing thirty-one young
pigs between them. The young pigs were piebald, and as Napoleon was
the only boar on the farm, it was possible to guess at their parentage. It
was announced that later, when bricks and timber had been purchased,
a schoolroom would be built in the farmhouse garden. For the time
being, the young pigs were given their instruction by Napoleon himself
in the farmhouse kitchen. They took their exercise in the garden, and
were discouraged from playing with the other young animals. About
this time, too, it was laid down as a rule that when a pig and any other
animal met on the path, the other animal must stand aside: and also that
all pigs, of whatever degree, were to have the privilege of wearing
green ribbons on their tails on Sundays.
The farm had had a fairly successful year, but was still short of money.
There were the bricks, sand, and lime for the schoolroom to be
purchased, and it would also be necessary to begin saving up again for
the machinery for the windmill. Then there were lamp oil and candles
for the house, sugar for Napoleon’s own table (he forbade this to the
other pigs, on the ground that it made them fat), and all the usual
replacements such as tools, nails, string, coal, wire, scrap-iron, and dog
biscuits. A stump of hay and part of the potato crop were sold off, and
the contract for eggs was increased to six hundred a week, so that that
year the hens barely hatched enough chicks to keep their numbers at the
same level. Rations, reduced in December, were reduced again in
February, and lanterns in the stalls were forbidden to save Oil. But the
pigs seemed comfortable enough, and in fact were putting on weight if
anything. One afternoon in late February a warm, rich, appetising scent,
such as the animals had never smelt before, wafted itself across the yard
from the little brew-house, which had been disused in Jones’s time, and
which stood beyond the kitchen. Someone said it was the smell of
cooking barley. The animals sniffed the air hungrily and wondered
whether a warm mash was being prepared for their supper. But no
warm mash appeared, and on the following Sunday it was announced
that from now onwards all barley would be reserved for the pigs. The
field beyond the orchard had already been sown with barley. And the
news soon leaked out that every pig was now receiving a ration of a
pint of beer daily, with half a gallon for Napoleon himself, which was

always served to him in the Crown Derby soup tureen.
But if there were hardships to be borne, they were partly offset by the
fact that life nowadays had a greater dignity than it had had before.
There were more songs, more speeches, more processions. Napoleon
had commanded that once a week there should be held something
called a Spontaneous Demonstration, the object of which was to
celebrate the struggles and triumphs of Animal Farm. At the appointed
time the animals would leave their work and march round the precincts
of the farm in military formation, with the pigs leading, then the horses,
then the cows, then the sheep, and then the poultry. The dogs flanked
the procession and at the head of all marched Napoleon’s black
cockerel. Boxer and Clover always carried between them a green
banner marked with the hoof and the horn and the caption, “Long live
Comrade Napoleon! ” Afterwards there were recitations of poems
composed in Napoleon’s honour, and a speech by Squealer giving
particulars of the latest increases in the production of foodstuffs, and on
occasion a shot was fired from the gun. The sheep were the greatest
devotees of the Spontaneous Demonstration, and if anyone complained
(as a few animals sometimes did, when no pigs or dogs were near) that
they wasted time and meant a lot of standing about in the cold, the
sheep were sure to silence him with a tremendous bleating of “Four legs
good, two legs bad!” But by and large the animals enjoyed these
celebrations. They found it comforting to be reminded that, after all,
they were truly their own masters and that the work they did was for
their own benefit. So that, what with the songs, the processions,
Squealer’s lists of figures, the thunder of the gun, the crowing of the
cockerel, and the fluttering of the flag, they were able to forget that
their bellies were empty, at least part of the time.
In April, Animal Farm was proclaimed a Republic, and it became
necessary to elect a President. There was only one candidate, Napoleon,
who was elected unanimously. On the same day it was given out that
fresh documents had been discovered which revealed further details
about Snowball’s complicity with Jones. It now appeared that Snowball
had not, as the animals had previously imagined, merely attempted to
lose the Battle of the Cowshed by means of a stratagem, but had been
openly fighting on Jones’s side. In fact, it was he who had actually been
the leader of the human forces, and had charged into battle with the
words “Long live Humanity!” on his lips. The wounds on Snowball’s
back, which a few of the animals still remembered to have seen, had

been inflicted by Napoleon’s teeth.
In the middle of the summer Moses the raven suddenly reappeared on
the farm, after an absence of several years. He was quite unchanged,
still did no work, and talked in the same strain as ever about
Sugarcandy Mountain. He would perch on a stump, flap his black
wings, and talk by the hour to anyone who would listen. “Up there,
comrades,” he would say solemnly, pointing to the sky with his large
beak-“up there, just on the other side of that dark cloud that you can
see-there it lies, Sugarcandy Mountain, that happy country where we
poor animals shall rest for ever from our labours!” He even claimed to
have been there on one of his higher flights, and to have seen the
everlasting fields of clover and the linseed cake and lump sugar
growing on the hedges. Many of the animals believed him. Their lives
now, they reasoned, were hungry and laborious; was it not right and
just that a better world should exist somewhere else? A thing that was
difficult to determine was the attitude of the pigs towards Moses. They
all declared contemptuously that his stories about Sugarcandy
Mountain were lies, and yet they allowed him to remain on the farm,
not working, with an allowance of a gill of beer a day.
After his hoof had healed up, Boxer worked harder than ever. Indeed,
all the animals worked like slaves that year. Apart from the regular
work of the farm, and the rebuilding of the windmill, there was the
schoolhouse for the young pigs, which was started in March.
Sometimes the long hours on insufficient food were hard to bear, but
Boxer never faltered. In nothing that he said or did was there any sign
that his strength was not what it had been. It was only his appearance
that was a little altered; his hide was less shiny than it had used to be,
and his great haunches seemed to have shrunken. The others said,
“Boxer will pick up when the spring grass comes on”; but the spring
came and Boxer grew no fatter. Sometimes on the slope leading to the
top of the quarry, when he braced his muscles against the weight of
some vast boulder, it seemed that nothing kept him on his feet except
the will to continue. At such times his lips were seen to form the words,
“I will work harder”; he had no voice left. Once again Clover and
Benjamin warned him to take care of his health, but Boxer paid no
attention. His twelfth birthday was approaching. He did not care what
happened so long as a good store of stone was accumulated before he
went on pension.
Late one evening in the summer, a sudden rumour ran round the farm

that something had happened to Boxer. He had gone out alone to drag a
load of stone down to the windmill. And sure enough, the rumour was
true. A few minutes later two pigeons came racing in with the news:
“Boxer has fallen! He is lying on his side and can’t get up!”
About half the animals on the farm rushed out to the knoll where the
windmill stood. There lay Boxer, between the shafts of the cart, his
neck stretched out, unable even to raise his head. His eyes were glazed,
his sides matted with sweat. A thin stream of blood had trickled out of
his mouth. Clover dropped to her knees at his side.
“Boxer!” she cried, “how are you?”
“It is my lung,” said Boxer in a weak voice. “It does not matter. I think
you will be able to finish the windmill without me. There is a pretty
good store of stone accumulated. I had only another month to go in any
case. To tell you the truth, I had been looking forward to my retirement.
And perhaps, as Benjamin is growing old too, they will let him retire at
the same time and be a companion to me.”
“We must get help at once,” said Clover. “Run, somebody, and tell
Squealer what has happened.”
All the other animals immediately raced back to the farmhouse to give
Squealer the news. Only Clover remained, and Benjamin7 who lay
down at Boxer’s side, and, without speaking, kept the flies off him with
his long tail. After about a quarter of an hour Squealer appeared, full of
sympathy and concern. He said that Comrade Napoleon had learned
with the very deepest distress of this misfortune to one of the most
loyal workers on the farm, and was already making arrangements to
send Boxer to be treated in the hospital at Willingdon. The animals felt
a little uneasy at this. Except for Mollie and Snowball, no other animal
had ever left the farm, and they did not like to think of their sick
comrade in the hands of human beings. However, Squealer easily
convinced them that the veterinary surgeon in Willingdon could treat
Boxer’s case more satisfactorily than could be done on the farm. And
about half an hour later, when Boxer had somewhat recovered, he was
with difficulty got on to his feet, and managed to limp back to his stall,
where Clover and Benjamin had prepared a good bed of straw for him.
For the next two days Boxer remained in his stall. The pigs had sent out
a large bottle of pink medicine which they had found in the medicine
chest in the bathroom, and Clover administered it to Boxer twice a day

after meals. In the evenings she lay in his stall and talked to him, while
Benjamin kept the flies off him. Boxer professed not to be sorry for
what had happened. If he made a good recovery, he might expect to live
another three years, and he looked forward to the peaceful days that he
would spend in the corner of the big pasture. It would be the first time
that he had had leisure to study and improve his mind. He intended, he
said, to devote the rest of his life to learning the remaining twenty-two
letters of the alphabet.
However, Benjamin and Clover could only be with Boxer after working
hours, and it was in the middle of the day when the van came to take
him away. The animals were all at work weeding turnips under the
supervision of a pig, when they were astonished to see Benjamin come
galloping from the direction of the farm buildings, braying at the top of
his voice. It was the first time that they had ever seen Benjamin
excited-indeed, it was the first time that anyone had ever seen him
gallop. “Quick, quick!” he shouted. “Come at once! They’re taking
Boxer away!” Without waiting for orders from the pig, the animals
broke off work and raced back to the farm buildings. Sure enough,
there in the yard was a large closed van, drawn by two horses, with
lettering on its side and a sly-looking man in a low-crowned bowler hat
sitting on the driver’s seat. And Boxer’s stall was empty.
The animals crowded round the van. “Good-bye, Boxer!” they
chorused, “good-bye!”
“Fools! Fools!” shouted Benjamin, prancing round them and stamping
the earth with his small hoofs. “Fools! Do you not see what is written
on the side of that van?”
That gave the animals pause, and there was a hush. Muriel began to
spell out the words. But Benjamin pushed her aside and in the midst of
a deadly silence he read:
” ‘Alfred Simmonds, Horse Slaughterer and Glue Boiler, Willingdon.
Dealer in Hides and Bone-Meal. Kennels Supplied.’ Do you not
understand what that means? They are taking Boxer to the knacker’s! “
A cry of horror burst from all the animals. At this moment the man on
the box whipped up his horses and the van moved out of the yard at a
smart trot. All the animals followed, crying out at the tops of their
voices. Clover forced her way to the front. The van began to gather
speed. Clover tried to stir her stout limbs to a gallop, and achieved a

canter. “Boxer!” she cried. “Boxer! Boxer! Boxer!” And just at this
moment, as though he had heard the uproar outside, Boxer’s face, with
the white stripe down his nose, appeared at the small window at the
back of the van.
“Boxer!” cried Clover in a terrible voice. “Boxer! Get out! Get out
quickly! They’re taking you to your death!”
All the animals took up the cry of “Get out, Boxer, get out!” But the
van was already gathering speed and drawing away from them. It was
uncertain whether Boxer had understood what Clover had said. But a
moment later his face disappeared from the window and there was the
sound of a tremendous drumming of hoofs inside the van. He was
trying to kick his way out. The time had been when a few kicks from
Boxer’s hoofs would have smashed the van to matchwood. But alas! his
strength had left him; and in a few moments the sound of drumming
hoofs grew fainter and died away. In desperation the animals began
appealing to the two horses which drew the van to stop. “Comrades,
comrades!” they shouted. “Don’t take your own brother to his death! “
But the stupid brutes, too ignorant to realise what was happening,
merely set back their ears and quickened their pace. Boxer’s face did
not reappear at the window. Too late, someone thought of racing ahead
and shutting the five-barred gate; but in another moment the van was
through it and rapidly disappearing down the road. Boxer was never
seen again.
Three days later it was announced that he had died in the hospital at
Willingdon, in spite of receiving every attention a horse could have.
Squealer came to announce the news to the others. He had, he said,
been present during Boxer’s last hours.
“It was the most affecting sight I have ever seen!” said Squealer, lifting
his trotter and wiping away a tear. “I was at his bedside at the very last.
And at the end, almost too weak to speak, he whispered in my ear that
his sole sorrow was to have passed on before the windmill was finished.
‘Forward, comrades!’ he whispered. ‘Forward in the name of the
Rebellion. Long live Animal Farm! Long live Comrade Napoleon!
Napoleon is always right.’ Those were his very last words, comrades.”
Here Squealer’s demeanour suddenly changed. He fell silent for a
moment, and his little eyes darted suspicious glances from side to side
before he proceeded.

It had come to his knowledge, he said, that a foolish and wicked rumour
had been circulated at the time of Boxer’s removal. Some of the animals
had noticed that the van which took Boxer away was marked “Horse
Slaughterer,” and had actually jumped to the conclusion that Boxer was
being sent to the knacker’s. It was almost unbelievable, said Squealer,
that any animal could be so stupid. Surely, he cried indignantly,
whisking his tail and skipping from side to side, surely they knew their
beloved Leader, Comrade Napoleon, better than that? But the
explanation was really very simple. The van had previously been the
property of the knacker, and had been bought by the veterinary surgeon,
who had not yet painted the old name out. That was how the mistake
had arisen.
The animals were enormously relieved to hear this. And when Squealer
went on to give further graphic details of Boxer’s death-bed, the
admirable care he had received, and the expensive medicines for which
Napoleon had paid without a thought as to the cost, their last doubts
disappeared and the sorrow that they felt for their comrade’s death was
tempered by the thought that at least he had died happy.
Napoleon himself appeared at the meeting on the following Sunday
morning and pronounced a short oration in Boxer’s honour. It had not
been possible, he said, to bring back their lamented comrade’s remains
for interment on the farm, but he had ordered a large wreath to be made
from the laurels in the farmhouse garden and sent down to be placed on
Boxer’s grave. And in a few days’ time the pigs intended to hold a
memorial banquet in Boxer’s honour. Napoleon ended his speech with a
reminder of Boxer’s two favourite maxims, “I will work harder” and
“Comrade Napoleon is always right”-maxims, he said, which every
animal would do well to adopt as his own.
On the day appointed for the banquet, a grocer’s van drove up from
Willingdon and delivered a large wooden crate at the farmhouse. That
night there was the sound of uproarious singing, which was followed by
what sounded like a violent quarrel and ended at about eleven o’clock
with a tremendous crash of glass. No one stirred in the farmhouse
before noon on the following day, and the word went round that from
somewhere or other the pigs had acquired the money to buy themselves
another case of whisky.

Chapter 9 of “Animal Farm” by George Orwell portrays several key conflicts that drive the narrative and reveal the underlying tensions on the farm. These conflicts arise from the power struggles, manipulation, and betrayal perpetrated by the pigs, particularly Napoleon, as they seek to maintain control over the other animals.

Man vs. Animal: The conflict between man and animal continues to simmer beneath the surface, as the pigs exploit the other animals’ labor and resources for their own gain. The pigs’ collusion with humans, such as trading with neighboring farms and sending Boxer to the knacker, represents a betrayal of the animals’ initial rebellion against human oppression.

Animal vs. Animal: The central conflict between the pigs and the rest of the animals intensifies in this chapter. The pigs, led by Napoleon, exploit and manipulate the other animals through propaganda and deceit, creating a widening gap between the ruling elite and the oppressed masses. Boxer’s betrayal by the pigs and subsequent death at the hands of humans further exacerbates tensions among the animals.

Truth vs. Propaganda: Throughout the chapter, there is a conflict between truth and propaganda, with the pigs, particularly Squealer, manipulating the truth to maintain control over the other animals. Squealer distorts facts, fabricates stories, and spreads misinformation to justify the pigs’ actions and suppress dissent among the animals.

Loyalty vs. Betrayal: The conflict between loyalty and betrayal is epitomized in Boxer’s tragic story. Despite his unwavering loyalty and dedication to the farm, Boxer is ultimately betrayed by the pigs, who send him to his death at the knacker’s. This betrayal shocks and saddens the other animals, highlighting the pigs’ callous disregard for their comrades’ well-being.

Class Struggle: The chapter also highlights the ongoing class struggle between the ruling elite (the pigs) and the working class (the other animals). The pigs exploit their position of power to live luxuriously while the other animals endure hardship and deprivation. This unequal distribution of resources and privileges fuels resentment and dissent among the animals.

Overall, Chapter 9 of “Animal Farm” portrays a complex web of conflicts driven by power struggles, manipulation, and betrayal. These conflicts underscore the novel’s central themes of oppression, injustice, and the corrupting influence of power.