Chapter Two
Plato finally escaped from the pigpen, trotting towards the main barn. His eyes darted left and right, making out the forms of the other animals. He entered the farm, spotting Joan and the pigs gathering before a stack of hay bales. A pigeon was perched on top of it, the representative, Plato figured. Golden Hill's own flock of pigeons were resting in the rafters, glancing down at the events going on below them. In a corner, resting on a bed of straw, was Mary, the mother Border Collie. Her four-month-old puppies were playing with each other, nipping at each other's ears and tails. Occasionally, Mary would call them, "Come away, little ones!", before they could wander into the path of some larger beast. Dodger meanwhile was pacing and muttering to himself, and though Plato couldn't exactly make out his words, the occasional glances the he-dog would make at Joan put two and two together in his mind. Plato stepped out of the way of the barn door, watching the animals flooding in.
The first to arrive after him was the sheep flock, led by their bellwether ram, a Scottish Blackface named Balthasar. He was an interesting creature, being perhaps the only sheep on the farm to have a bit more character to him than grazing and bleating for hours on end (though, as the bellwether, perhaps it was the be expected). He was considered to be closer to the horses in terms of intelligence, nothing too spectacular, but it made it easier to respect him as an individual. The sheep settled behind the pigs and were soon joined by the cows and goats, gathering together to share body heat. The carthorses were next, one approaching middle age, while the other being about four and a half years old. The eldest, Gale, was the father of the younger mare, Poppy. Poppy's mother was one of Animal Farm's horses, Clover. Mr. Irons had paid a great deal of money to breed the mare with his stallion, and once Poppy had reached a year old, she was taken from her mother's side. Poppy never forgot her mother, however, and hearing that someone from Animal Farm had come to speak to them got her excited.
"Should I ask about Mother?" asked the young mare to her father. Gale chuckled softly in response.
"I don't see why not," he replied. "It'd be nice to hear about her again."
"Maybe we'll get to go and visit her once we're free…" A dreamy look had come to Poppy's eyes. "I hope she still remembers me…"
"Well, why wouldn't she? You're her daughter! Don't you worry, love."
Gale gave his daughter a playful bump with his thigh, before they both took their place behind the rest of the hooved animals. Finally, came the chickens, ducks, and geese, the chickens fluttering up to higher perches, and the ducks and geese nestling down in the straw. It seemed that every animal had arrived, and the time to listen to the representative had come. Plato took another glance towards the farmhouse, and seeing the darkened windows, decided that it was safe enough to sit down and heed the pigeon's words.
"Comrades," the pigeon chirped. "It was months ago, during the spring, that I, and my comrades in Animal Farm, were told of a future where animals lived in freedom, where we were no longer threatened by the gun and the whip, and we provided ourselves with an abundance of food. Many believed we would never see such a future, and yet, earlier this summer, we chased away the humans that have oppressed us for so many years. And what's more, we've continued to operate the farm far better than the humans have!" The pigeon paused as the animals below her murmured in curiosity and excitement.
"Really?" Poppy gasped in awe. "Running the farm all on your own? But...how do you manage to work the plows without a human? Or milk cows? You'd need hands to do all that...right?"
"It all sounds too good to be true…" growled Dodger.
"That was what many of us thought at first, Comrade," the pigeon continued. "But with the intelligence of our pigs, who have learned to read and write in the months before our rebellion, we have managed to make do without humans." The exclamations of amazement continued. None of the humans had ever mentioned Animal Farm's estudious pigs, and hearing that their species had been the cause of so much good on Animal Farm caused a bit of pride to swell within Joan and the porkers surrounding her. Once things began to quiet down, The pigeon carried on.
"Listen comrades...the two leading pigs of Animal Farm, Snowball and Napoleon, have sent pigeons like myself all throughout the county, telling every animal to join us in our rebellion. I have seen how cruelly you've all been treated, especially you, Joan." Joan sat up a bit, and she could feel the other creatures gazing at her and the bruises on her body. "There's no denying it, comrades...you deserve to be free from this. You must rebel!"
"But we'll be beaten if we even think of acting out," a cow looed in alarm.
"Or killed!" bleated most of the sheep. "Killed! Killed! Killed!"
The thought of death caused a wave of uneasiness to wash over the animals, and they began to cause a bit of an uproar in their fear. Plato, his eyes widening, glanced out at the farmhouse. The lights were still off, but if the noise continued…
"Shhh!" he shushed everyone loudly. "Everyone, settle down!" Fortunately, Plato's words were enough to bring the noise down a bit. The pigeon cooed softly, attempting the bring the attention back to her.
"I understand your fear, comrades. Death and pain is a very real risk for partaking in a rebellion...but I believe the benefits far outweigh the drawbacks. Together, you are strong, and with hope and courage, you can take on whatever Man throws at you. Here...allow me to sing you the song of the rebellion. I hope it will come to inspire you as it had come to inspire the members of Animal Farm." The pigeon fell silent for only a second, before clearing her throat and singing, "Beasts of England":
"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 o'erthrown,
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 labour,
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 well, and spread my tidings
Of the Golden future time."
The pigeon repeated the song a few times, allowing the rest of the animals to memorize to lyrics and tune to the best of his or her ability. Joan was the first to begin singing along, and slowly, the others began to follow. Those who could not quite grasp all of the words were content to simply hum along. Even the puppies, who were still quite unsure as to what was going on, join in, singing whatever words they had managed to pick up. Plato watched, not having begun to sing just yet. Fear still clung to his heart, not just at the fear of being punished, but also at the growing noise. He looked outside again, and felt his blood run cold. One of the farmhouse windows was illuminated.
"Oh no…" Plato whispered, his body beginning to quiver. He stood up, rushing into the center of the barn, crying out as loudly as he could: "Farmer Irons is awake! He can hear us!"
The singing came to a sharp halt, and panic instantly swept over the animals. The courage had been slowly building within some of their hearts had vanished, and they began scrambling to their feet in an attempt to return to their sleeping-spots and avoid punishment. Joan, however, saw this as their golden opportunity, and called out to her friends as loudly as she could.
"Comrades!" shouted Joan. "Don't forget what the pigeon said! Together, we're strong! Let Irons come! We'll take our vengeance for all he's done to us!" The Gloucestershire's words seemed to get to the other animals, and they slowed to a halt, although some continued to shuffle about, nostrils flared or feathers ruffled. They all looked to Plato, who in turn peered outside. The farmhouse door was open, and Mr. Irons was walking towards the barn, a whip in hand. Plato gritted his teeth, his shaking becoming more and more violent. Joan quickly trotted to his side, glaring out at their oppressor. A silence followed, broken only by Irons' approaching footsteps. Soon, stood at the barn door, his silhouette stretching over the animals before him. Plato took a step back, but Joan continued to stare up at him, her trotters stamping at the ground. Mr. Irons looked around, his eyes narrowing.
"What are you all doing out of your stalls?" he asked slowly. He raised his arm, and brought it down, the whip letting out a thunderous CRACK! Most of the animals flinched, and backed further away. "You're all gathered here...singing that song as if it isn't the product of a sick and twisted lot of animals. And here I thought you were all smarter than that. No matter; you'll all be punished for this. I will instruct the farmhands to hold off on feeding you for the rest of the week, and once every day, we'll drag you out onto the courtyard, one by one, and give each animal a good beating. Maybe that'll teach you not to conspire against your masters." Some of the animals had urinated themselves in fear, if they hadn't simply fainted first. Mr. Irons looked down at Joan, who continued to bare her tusks at him. "And you...I've finally lost my patience with you. If you're not going to behave like a proper pig, then it's the chopping block for you!"
The animals gasped in terror; even Joan seemed caught off-guard for a moment. Farmer Irons bent down, attempting to grasp the rope still wrapped around the gilt's neck. It was then that Joan broke out of her shock, seeing Mr. Irons' hand getting closer and closer. With a mighty squeal, Joan suddenly lashed out and sank her teeth into Mr. Irons' hand. A stunned silence fell upon the animals as the farmer screamed in agony, dropping the whip in his other hand. Seeing that he had lost his instrument of torture, coupled with Joan's brave attack, the other animals began to to regain their lost courage. They recalled the cruelty and abuse of the past season, and together, they began to step toward Mr. Irons. No longer was fear controlling them. Mr. Irons, momentarily forgetting his pain, looked around, seeing that he no longer had a grip on his animals.
"No…" he said in a sickening realization. "No! You foolish animals! Don't even think off-!" The rest of Mr. Irons' sentence was drowned out by the bellows and cries of the animals as they charged in a body. Finally managing to wrestle his hand free, Mr. Irons turned on his heel and rushed back towards the farmhouse. The animals chased after him, teeth gnashing and horns attempting to butt and gorge. The ducks, geese, and hens pecked at his ankles, and the pigeons at his head. Even the representative pigeon joined in on the attack. Once Mr. Irons reached the farmhouse, he shut himself in, bolting the door shut.
"The coward!" Joan roared, throwing herself at the door, to no avail. "He tortures us to no end, and when the time comes to pay for him, he runs and hides!? Comrades, break down this door! We'll drag him out and dispose of him once and for all!" With cries of agreement, the Gale and Poppy came forward, and kicked at their door with their feathered hooves.
"For justice!" whinnied Gale. "Justice and freedom!"
"Hold on!" Balthasar called out. "Look there! Mr. Irons is in the window! He's got his gun!"
The animals looked up, and as the ram had said, Mr. Irons was there, his gun raised and aimed at the animals below.
"We'll be killed!" bleated the rest of the sheep once again. "Killed! Killed! Killed!"
"Animals!" Plato yelled. "Fall back!"
"No!" Joan argued, looking back at the Yorkshire with a fiery spark in her eyes. "We're nearly in, Plato!"
Plato was about to reply, when the gun fired, the echoing explosion sending the animals into a frenzy. A goat had been caught between the ribs, the bullet going into his heart and killing him instantly. He crumbled to the ground, and the rest of the animals turned tail and fled. Not even Joan could ignore the fear of the gun. The animals regrouped back inside the barn, shaken up and grief-stricken by the loss of a comrade.
"That damned coward," Joan seethed, her eyes brimming with tears. "I swear…the moment we get into the farmhouse, I'll tear out his throat myself!"
"Joan," Plato began, trying his best to keep calm despite the circumstances. "We cannot afford to be rash. Rebellion or no, I refuse to let anyone else die needlessly. Freedom is worth nothing to a dead animal."
"What do you suppose we do, Plato?" someone asked. The Yorkshire was quiet for a moment, tabbing his trotter furiously against the straw.
"The pigeons," Plato finally replied. "We'll send them out to distract Mr. Irons; he won't be able to use his gun then. Gale, you'll go out next; you should be strong enough to break down the rest of the door. After that—"
"I'll rush him and take him out!" Joan interrupted, to wish the rest of the animals cried out in excitement. Plato shook his head.
"Try to chase him out of the house instead, Joan," said the boar. "Or, at the very least, grab his gun."
"But he deserves to die!"
"Freedom is our top priority, Joan, not being a martyr."
"I shall fly alongside the other pigeons," the representative spoke up, perching with the rest of the flock. Her interjection seemed to temporarily break up the tension between the two disagreeing pigs.
"You don't have to do that," said Plato. "You've already performed your duty. This rebellion is our responsibility."
"I'll never forsake my fellow animal," the representative argued. "For your freedom, comrade, I'll gladly lay down my life." Plato reluctantly nodded, internally hoping that no one else would die before the night's end. The plan was then put into action, with the pigeons flying out of the barn and towards Mr. Irons' open bedroom window. Mr. Irons, who had been looking out for any signs of an approaching animal, cried out in alarm, and pulled up his gun to shoot into the approaching flock. The gun fired, and most of the birds were able to scatter just in in time, though one unlucky pigeon fell lifeless on the hard cobblestone below. Gathering together again, the pigeons flew onward, swarming the man before he could prepare another shot. Mr. Irons flailed his arms wildly, dropping the gun on the floor. It fired again, though no one seemed to have noticed. Outside, Plato was watching the bedroom window, and seeing that Mr. Irons had disappeared from view, he called for Gale to act. As ordered, Gale galloped towards the farmhouse, and kicked at the door with his hind legs. It only took two good kicks before the door broke from its hinges, clattering against the floor. Joan raced out of the barn then, screaming at the top of her lungs:
"DEATH TO IRONS!"
The rest of the animals followed, some of them stopping along the way to gather the bodies of the fallen pigeon and goat. Joan entered the house, looking around. She had never been inside the farmhouse before, and on any other day, she'd take a moment to look around. Seeing as there were other matters at hand, Joan carried on, finding the stairs and following the sounds of Mr. Irons' screams until she had reached the bedroom. She charged blindly, forgetting what Plato had told her before, and bitting into Irons' leg. Mr. Irons staggered back towards the open window, and with a gasp, found himself beginning to fall over.
"Joan!" a pigeon called. "He's going to fall! Back away!" Joan ignored the pigeon, however, wanting to see Mr. Irons' death with her own eyes. It was then, however, she felt a tug at her neck; someone had grasped the rope around her neck. She let go of Mr. Irons leg, and watched, maw agape, as he fell back with a bloodcurdling scream. It lasted for a few seconds, before being cut off by a low and heavy-sounding thud. The pigeons settled down on the windowsill, and Joan turned to see what animal had stopped her. It was Plato, who had the end of the rope gripped tightly with his teeth.
"Plato…" Joan began quietly. Plato spat the rope out a let out a somewhat mirthless laugh.
"Had to make sure you didn't end up falling out with him."
"Heh...thank you. I...I suppose it was a good thing Archie kept me tied up, eh? Though...I'd like to take it off now, if you don't mind."
Plato nodded, and slipped the rope off of Joan's neck, tossing it aside. Joan shook her head, sighing in relief. Freedom, at last… Joan's joy was short-lived, however, when she saw the look of sadness of Plato's face. Following his eyes, she spotted another lifeless pigeon. It wasn't just any pigeon, either; by some stroke of misfortune, it had been the representative who had fallen into the line of fire when the gun went off. Joan's heart sank with remorse, and tears began to stream down her cheek. Plato gave her a comforting nudge.
"We'll bury her," he promised. "And the others who fell."
"We wouldn't be here right now had it not been for her…" Joan murmured.
"I know, Joan, I know…"
Joan had been the one to carry the representative out of the house, where the other animals had gathered. They stood around Mr. Irons' body, sniffing and pawing at him.
"What'll we do with him?" asked somebody.
"Destroy his body," Joan seethed. "Set it ablaze, toss it into the well, I don't care."
"No," said Plato, shaking his head. "He might have been our enemy, but we should grant him a proper burial. Let Man's actions remind us, comrades, to never lose our senses of honor." With those words said, it was agreed that Mr. Irons would be buried, even Joan agreed, albeit reluctantly. The animals carried the dead to the highest point in the pasture and had the funeral there.
"I hadn't even gotten to know your name," said Joan in the representative's memory. "But you were just as much my comrade as anyone else I know. Rest in peace, my friend."