As the gale of winter struck the frosted land of Willingdon, England, Mr Wiesler was travelling through a small timber yard which was a couple of miles away from the farm, ambling with his chest up, inspecting the naked logging crew, in stark contrast to himself who was in a chunky wool jumper, against the freezing cold squall.
Those within the line of the logging crew did not dare to make a sound. Among the silence through the yard, it was hard to tell whether the roar of the storm or the presence of a clad hound dog made the animals tremble. A horse attached to a fully loaded carriage of timber logs lumbered across the path in front of Mr Wiesler.
“Make way!” Mr Wiesler snapped.
Beyond the yard, there came an obese pig in a tie and suit, running, on two feet, towards Mr Wiesler.
“I am very sorry about this unpleasant interruption of your trip,” uttered an intimidated and shaking voice which quickly turned into a furious and determined one to the obviously shattered horse, “Get to work, you lazy bastard.”
The horse exhausted itself to have itself and the carriage on the kerb so that Mr Wiesler and the foreman pig could walk through the path.
The foreman pig invited Mr Wiesler into a lodge made of wood and bricks. He offered Mr Wiesler a glass of milk as he introduced his name, Pinkie, and carefully expressed his confusion over Mr Wiesler’s unexpected visit to the newly established site. Mr Wiesler was an inspector from the high command of the Committee of Manor Farm. By the order of supreme commander Napoleon, Mr Wiesler came to the timber yard to investigate a recent rumour about an insurgency against the governance of the committee. The committee learnt a rebellion was being organised against the pigs’ authority which had generously brought peace, freedom, justice, and security to Manor Farm.
“There were forbidden ideas on our native soil and we believe they originated in this facility which clearly has been a breach, or more precisely, a matter of farm security,” said Mr Wiesler.
The worrying news with which Mr Wiesler came shocked Pinkie as he was assigned to oversee the logging site to provide timber for the constructions back in Manor Farm and trades with neighbouring farms run by humans. As Mr Wiesler further explained, Pinkie learnt that a little sparrow was spreading the twisted Animalism.
Mr Wiesler started interrogating the animals in the timber yard. He began with the horse that blocked his way when he came. With its shrunken haunches, the horse limped into the lodge. During the interrogation, the horse complained about its health condition because supply shipments had been missing for two months in a row. Animals working there had to ration the last remnants of food in the face of the awfully harsh environment of overworking, coldness, and starvation. Yet, it admitted knowledge of neither the sparrow nor the twisted Animalism; so did every other animal in the timber yard.
As Mr Wiesler’s investigation was in limbo, he lived in a guest’s bedroom on the second floor of Pinkie’s warm lodge. That night, after Mr Wiesler had a fine dinner with biscuits, corn, apple pies and hot milk, he went for a walk in the timber yard. Mr Wiesler was strolling when he suddenly heard something down deep in the woods. It was something rhythmic like a chant. He slowly approached the source of the sound. Near a stable, he saw a campfire surrounded by seven or eight animals of horses, geese, cows, and a tiny brown and white sparrow.
The closer Mr Wiesler sneaked to the animals, the clearer the lyrics of the song were. It was only when did he hear they were singing Beasts of England that he realised the whole timber crew was the very insurgents he was looking for.
All of a sudden, the sparrow spotted Mr Wiesler’s ambush. Mr Wiesler knew his location had been compromised so he began the arrest. He jumped onto the smallest goose as other animals frightenedly broke themselves apart. Mr Wiesler gripped the goose’s neck with his paws that were as sharp as a butcher’s blade, growled and bared his dreadful fangs to the shrieking, escaping animals.
As the captured goose was almost suffocated, the sparrow flew back and led the panicking animals to retaliate. Their crying travelled through the quiet woods, echoed with each other, like a sword stabbed into the enemy’s heart. They surrounded Mr Wiesler and charged ahead. Mr Wiesler was outnumbered. When the horses of times of his size assaulted him, the skirmish did not last long and he was completely and utterly defeated. The strongest horse’s hooves were above the head of Mr Wiesler and were ready by any second to crush his head brutally and mercilessly. It could have killed Mr Wiesler if the sparrow had not stopped it.
“Stop! Mr Cleverly, stop!” cried the sparrow. “Do you not remember the Sixth Commandment?”
“No animal shall kill any other animal,” answered the horse. It let Mr Wiesler go.
Mr Wiesler dragged his wounded body several feet away from the animals and glared at them. Both sides remained wordless for quite a moment.
“In the name of the supreme commander, I command you to surrender,” demanded Mr Wiesler. “Your sad devotion to the twisted Animalism is a mistaken belief.”
“Only our ‘mistaken belief’ is the very original principles of Animalism and used to be written black and white on the end wall of the big barn,” said the sparrow. “In the past, we sang Beasts of England when we rebelled against the human tyranny that had exploited us for lifetimes. We, together, had defended to the death our farm from the human intruders. And now, the milk and apples that were produced and harvested by any animal except the pigs belong to the pigs; the electricity from the windmills that were built by any animal except the pigs belongs to the pigs. For years, Napoleon and his committee have once again proven absolute power corrupts absolutely. The revolution is near, comrade. All you need to do is to turn a blind eye.”
Mr Wiesler did not respond. He stumbled along the path back to the lodge.
By the dawn of the next day, Mr Wiesler left the timber yard and headed home. He went through the gate of the farm. He was summoned by Napoleon to the house. In a room on the second floor, Napoleon dressed in a newly bought two-button grey suit, club-collared white shirt with a light blue bowtie around the neck. He was sitting behind his desk, reading Daily Mirror, eating a slide of pancake that was made of the hens’ eggs.
“When can I expect a full report of the rumoured rebellion in the timber yard?” asked Napoleon as he put down the newspaper and removed his spectacles. He glanced at Mr Wiesler’s injuries but said nothing as if they to him mattered not at all.
“By the end of the day, sir,” replied Mr Wiesler.
“Splendid, inspector,” said Napoleon. “If you will excuse me, I have a breakfast to finish.”
Mr Wiesler headed back to his place. When he passed the end wall of the big red barn and looked up at the writings on it. He for a minute or two stood gazing at the barn’s wall with its white lettering. The only sentence of the commandment is “all animals are equal but some animals are more equal than others”. He tried to think through the meaning of “equality” while he was drinking a cup of fresh milk in his cosy kennel. Later, Mr Wiesler made up his mind and went to the committee to submit his investigation report.
When the sun rose above the horizon the next day, its light shone on the ranks of dogs running across the English grassland.
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