Hey there, and welcome back to Animal Farm: The Novel. It's doing good so far, but I want to ask you all: Is the first-person POV good, or does it seem distracting? I've decided to leave it in third-person POV since I'm used to doing third-person POV stories, but I'd like to see what you guys think.
Now, this is where the story starts to pick up. This chapter is when the first chapter of Animal Farm starts. I wanted to try and change some of the dialogue since I don't want to plagiarize. Not sure about Beasts of England because of this site's rules about song lyrics. If anyone has a way of saying it somewhat differently, I'm all ears.
Uploading Date: October 21, 2021
Enjoy!
Chapter 2: Old Major's Speech
That night, Mr. Jones had returned from the party at the Red Lion. He had locked the henhouses for the night, but it was thanks to being drunk that he had forgotten to shut the pop-holes. Carrying the lantern that swung its light from side to side, he shuffled to the back door, where he drew a last mug of beer from the scullery and stumbled off to bed with his wife.
As soon as the lights in the farmhouse went out, there came a rustling in the farmyard. The animals had waited for this chance to attend the meeting, ready to lose just a little bit of sleep so that they could hear Old Major's speech. Making sure that no human was coming out of the farmhouse, they crept through the farmyard and towards the barn.
Old Major was already sitting on his bed of straw, under a lit lantern that hung from a beam. This old Middle White boar - who had been called Willingdon Beauty in his youth - was twelve years old and had lately grown portly, but he was still a grand-looking pig, and he had a wise and pleasant demeanor. He watched as the other animals began to arrive and make themselves comfortable.
The first to arrive were the four dogs: Sam, Jessie, Bluebell, and Pinscher. Bluebell was a sandy-brown Smooth Collie with patches of merle gray, and Pinscher was a black-and-tan Rottweiler (as it usually was for a Rottweiler). Next came the pigs, who settled down in front of the platform, wanting to be first in everything. Two such pigs were Snowball and Napoleon. Snowball was a spirited white pig, an excitable speaker. Napoleon was a fierce-looking black Berkshire boar, known for getting his way but not offering ideas of his own; he was even less polite about it.
Then the birds came in. The hens were perching on the windowsills and ladders, the pigeons flew up to the rafters and kept an eye out for owls, and the ducks and geese settled down in the straw. The sheep and cows came in to lay down behind the pigs, the latter chewing the cud.
"Good to see you here on time, girls," Jessie told the sheep with a smile. "I told you you'd make it."
The sheep bleated into a flurry of chanting "We made it! We made it!" before someone had to tell them to shut up.
After the sheep and cows came Boxer and Clover, the two cart-horses on the farm. They carefully walked in together and settled down, checking if there were small animals beneath them. Clover was a stout gentle mare, a middle-aged English Suffolk Punch who had already had her fourth foal. Boxer was a huge and powerful Clydesdale: eighteen hands high and as strong as two horses put together. He had a white blaze down his face that gave him a stupid appearance, and he indeed wasn't one of the smartest animals. But he made up for it by having a steadfast character and great strength, which earned him respect from the other animals.
After the horses came Muriel the goat and Benjamin the donkey. Muriel was one of the oldest animals on the farm, having come from a nearby farm called Pinchfield. Benjamin was just as old as she, but he never really talked. If he did, he would make a cynical and sarcastic comment; when asked why he had a tail by the youngsters, for example, he would say that God had given him his tail to swat the flies away, but he would have preferred no tail and no flies. He never laughed and told anyone who asked why he didn't that there was nothing to laugh at. Despite his grumpy attitude, he considered Boxer his best friend without openly admitting it, and the two would be resting together on Sundays in the small enclosure beyond the orchard. They would graze and not talk, and that suited both just fine.
As the larger animals lay down, a group of orphaned ducklings filed into the barn, quacking feebly and wandering around for a safe spot. "Come here, little ones. It's all right," Clover encouraged the ducklings, and she held out a foreleg. "I'll keep you safe."
The ducklings cheeped and waddled over to the mare, where they settled down and fell asleep. Boxer gave Clover a gentle proud smile, while Benjamin rolled his eyes and looked the other way but said nothing about it.
"Sorry I'm late," Mollie's voice rang out, and the pretty white mare trotted over to settle down on Clover's opposite side; she appeared to be chewing on some sugar, her mane decorated with green ribbons. "Did I miss anything?"
"Surprised you arrived on time," answered Benjamin. "The meeting's just beginning."
Mollie nickered in thanks and lay down beside Clover, still chewing the sugar.
Finally, the cat was the last animal to arrive, coming later than Mollie had. Old Major gave her a forgiving smile, but he did look annoyed when she took her time to find a good spot. The tabby cat finally settled down beside Sam so that he was between her and Jessie.
"Animals," said Snowball from the front, "we are glad that you've come tonight. The oldest and wisest of us all - Old Major - wishes to tell us some words."
"These words have come to Old Major in a dream," added Napoleon, "and we would do well to listen."
When Major saw that the others had all made themselves comfortable and were waiting attentively, he cleared his throat and began to talk. His voice was low and hoarse, but he spoke loud enough for the animals in the barn to hear:
"Comrades, Snowball and Napoleon were right in saying that I've had a dream. I will get to it, but I wish to say something first. I have had a long life, but I'm afraid that I will not be with you for much longer. So before I die, I wish to pass on some wisdom that I have learned over the years. I have had a lot to think about while I stay in my stall, and I understand the nature of life in this world as much as any animal now living. I wish to tell you about it now.
"What is the life of an animal, comrades? Let's face it: Our lives are miserable, laden with work, and short; that's the plain truth. We are born, given enough food, forced to work until we drop, and then we are slain with hideous cruelty once we are no longer useful. Our children are born to such a life, cold and hungry. Look at them while you can."
When Major said this, a mother ewe looked down at her black lamb that lay nuzzled to her side. What would happen to her dear child in the future? The black lamb let out a little bleat, which was cut off by a fierce scolding squeal from Napoleon.
Old Major went on. "No animal in England knows happiness or rest after he is a year old; few of us will ever know the blessings of a peaceful old age. No animal in England is free, nor is any animal in this world. The life of an animal is misery and slavery. But this cannot be simply nature, or this land is too poor to support any animal. Oh no, England's soil is fertile, its climate is good, and it can produce plenty of food. Take our single farm here: it can supply a dozen horses, twenty cows, hundreds of sheep, and much more living in comfort.
"So why do we continue living in this poor condition? Because what we produce is stolen from us by that one creature. Tell me, comrades: What is the number one enemy we animals have to fight with?"
"Fleas," barked Pinscher, grunting as he scratched an ear.
Old Major almost smiled. "No, comrade. There are worse enemies than fleas, believe me."
"The whip," called out Clover.
"That is closer to the mark," said Old Major. "Here is the answer: Man. Man is the real enemy of all animals. He is the only creature that does not produce milk, he doesn't lay eggs, he doesn't pull the plow, and he can't run fast to catch rabbits. Yet he acts with total authority over all the animals. He sends them out to work and gives them back little food while he keeps the rest for himself. Our labor tills the soil, our manure fertilizes it, and yet there is not one of us that owns more than his bare skin. You cows, how much milk have you given during this last year, and how much milk has been used for nourishing healthy and strong calves? None. Every drop of it has gone down the throats of our enemies."
The cows let out some sad mooing. Those who still had their calves by them gently nuzzled them, to comfort them for not having milk.
"And you hens, how many eggs have you laid in this past year, and how many of those eggs have ever hatched into chicks and grown into chickens? None. The rest have all gone to market to bring in money for Jones and his men."
The hens clucked and trembled. Any hen who had chicks shielded them under their wings and breasts.
"And Clover, where are your four foals, who should have been the support and pleasure of your old age? Who knows? Each was sold at a year old; you will never see them again."
Clover bent her head in sadness, knowing that it was true. After her fourth foal was born, she never saw them ever again. Boxer noticed this and reached over to gently nuzzle her, to comfort her.
"In return for a sleeping place and all your work in the fields," continued Old Major, "you have had nothing except less food and a stall. And even the miserable lives we lead are not allowed to reach their natural lifespan. I do not complain, for I am one of the lucky ones. I am twelve years old and have sired over four hundred children, which is the natural thing for a pig to do. But no animal escapes the knife in the end. You young porkers who sit in front of me, do you know what the future holds for you? Think of the stockyard, think of the butcher's. For every one of you will scream your lives out at the block within a year."
The pigs moaned in horror at the notion of meeting their end at the blade of the knife. Some of the hens and geese squawked with terror, for they too had seen their kind butchered.
"Even the horses and the dogs have no better fate. You, Boxer, when you have given the last of your great strength, what then?" Without waiting for Boxer to give a reply, the old pig went on, "I'll tell you: Jones will sell you to the knacker, who will cut your throat and boil you down for the foxhounds."
Boxer sighed and lowered his head. "I have heard the stories ever since I was a foal," he admitted. "But I didn't want to believe that they're true."
"Believe that, and you'll believe anything," Benjamin remarked, not unkindly but not helpfully either.
"Sadly, they are," replied Mollie. "I had an uncle whom I saw get sent to the knacker's."
"You deserve better," said Clover, gently nudging Boxer. "You ought to have a pasture set aside for yourself and all the hay you can eat."
They stopped talking as Old Major continued. "As for the dogs: Jessie, Bluebell, Pinscher, and the American newcomer Sam...when you four grow old and toothless, Jones will tie bricks around your necks and drown you in the nearest pond. Yes, he will even do the same to the cat!"
The dogs and the cat looked around at each other. The fur along their spines bristled as they thought of Jones wrapping wires around their neck and tossing them into a pond, weighed down by bricks. Even the cat looked worried, her tabby tail swishing with agitation.
"Jones keeps us tired and hungry!" Snowball yelled.
"Jones ruins everything!" snarled Napoleon.
"Down with Jones! Down with Jones" chanted the sheep. "Death to Jones! Death to Jones!"
Old Major called, waving a trotter for silence, "Comrades, it is not enough to wish death upon Jones. Instead, wish death upon humanity, the extinction of the human race. It is crystal clear then, comrades, that all evil in life springs from the cruelty of humans. Only get rid of man, and we will claim the produce of our labor for ourselves; we can even become rich and free. Remove man from the picture, and all of our problems concerning hunger and abuse will be over forever.
"So what must we do to make it happen? Why, we work night and day, body and soil, until we can overthrow the human race. This is what we must do, comrades: Rebellion. I do not know when this rebellion will come. It may come in a week or even in a hundred years. But as surely as I see the straw beneath my trotters, I know that we will have justice. Remember this throughout the rest of your lives, comrades. Pass on my message to animals after you, so that generation upon generation of animals shall carry on the struggle until Man is defeated once and for all. Cows, pigs, sheep, hens, and everyone else, we must all come together."
The animals all nodded together. They were all in the same boat due to being mistreated by Jones, and they would stay side-by-side.
"Remember to keep up your resolve. Do not let arguments lead you astray. When they tell you that man and animals can work together, that animals have served humans for a long time, do not listen. It is all lies. No human is a friend, and no animal is an enemy. Humans care only about themselves and no animals. So we animals must live in perfect unity during this fight. All men are enemies. All animals are comrades."
But Major had just stopped talking when Pinscher let out a bark. Everyone turned their attention to where the Rottweiler had been barking at. Four big rats had come out of their hole to listen to Old Major, sitting up on their haunches. When the other three dogs and the cat caught sight of them, the rats squeaked and made a run for it back to their hole.
Old Major raised his trotter for silence. "Comrades," he said, "here is a point that must be settled. Let us put it to a vote: Are rats - and other wild animals like rabbits and foxes - enemies or comrades?"
The vote was taken immediately, and it was agreed by almost all of the animals that rats and other wild animals were comrades. There were only five who disagreed: the four dogs and the cat, Sam and the cat eventually discovered to have voted on both sides.
Satisfied, Major continued: "I don't have much more to say. But I would like to repeat my point: always remember your duty of hatred towards Man and anything related to him. Whatever goes upon two legs is an enemy. Whatever goes upon four legs, or has wings, is a friend. Also, remember to not become Man as we fight him. Even when you defeat him, do not adopt his ways. No animal must live in a house, or sleep in a bed, or wear clothes, or drink alcohol, or smoke tobacco, or touch money, or engage in trade. Everything related to Man and his ways is evil. No animal must tyrannize over his fellow animals. No animal must kill another animal. Large or small, clever or simple, fur or feathers, now and forever, we are all brothers and sisters. All animals are equal."
An uproar of excitement followed this declaration. Sam cheered with them, but he couldn't help but feel a twinge of doubt. It was true that Mr. Jones was a cruel and harsh master, but that didn't seem to describe all human beings; he knew already that some humans could be nice. Yet he decided that if his new friends needed help in making their farm free from Mr. Jones, then he could give all the help he could give.
Old Major began again. "Comrades, here is my dream from last night. I had dreamed of the earth as it will be when humanity is dead and animals are free. But it brought back a memory. When I was a piglet many years ago, my mother and the other sows had sung an old song, but they knew only the tune and the first verse. I knew only the tune, but I had forgotten it a long time ago. But the words came back last night, words that have been sung by animals of long ago and have been lost to time. Comrades, I will sing you the song now. I am old, and my voice is hoarse, but you can sing it better for yourselves once you learn. The song is called Beasts of England."
Old Major cleared his throat and began to sing. As he had said, his voice was hoarse, but he sang well enough. The song sounded like a mix of "Clementine" and "La Cucaracha", and the words ran as thus:
"Beasts of England, beasts of Ireland,
Beasts of every land and clime,
Hearken to my joyful tidings
Of the golden future time.
"Soon or late the day is coming,
Tyrant Man shall be overthrown,
And the fruitful fields of England
Shall be trod by beasts alone.
"Rings shall vanish from our noses,
And the harness from our back,
Bit and spur shall rust forever,
Cruel whips no more shall crack.
"Riches more than mind can picture,
Wheat and barley, oats and hay,
Clover, beans and mangel-wurzels
Shall be ours upon that day.
"Bright will shine the fields of England,
Purer shall its waters be,
Sweeter yet shall blow its breezes
On the day that sets us free.
"For that day we all must labor,
Though we die before it break;
Cows and horses, geese and turkeys,
All must toil for freedom's sake.
"Beasts of England, beasts of Ireland,
Beasts of every land and clime,
Hearken forth and spread my tidings
Of the golden future time."
Now this song roused excitement in all of the animals, and as Old Major sang another round, the whole barn joined him with enthusiasm. The cows mooed it, the dogs barked it, the sheep bleated it, the horses whinnied it, the birds squawked it, and the pigs squealed it. With such delight, we sang it five times and wanted to keep singing.
Unfortunately, they couldn't. Their singing had woken Mr. Jones up, the farmer thinking that a fox had broken into the farmyard and was after the chickens. He grabbed his shotgun which he had made stand in a corner of the bedroom, and from where he looked out the window, he fired several rounds into the darkness. The bullets shot into the barn wall, which frightened the animals and put an end to the meeting. Everyone fled to their sleeping places, unable to venture out for the rest of the night.
Old Major remained on his platform and glared out the window at Mr. Jones with contempt. Jones may rest easy, and he may rule over us for now, he thought, laying his head down to rest. But Man will pay the price for their treatment of animals one day. After all, tyrants will pay for what they have done. The rebellion will come.
To be continued...
