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 towards 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 seed-beds, 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 stores-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 stalk 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 their 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 comer, in the barn, in the cowshed, 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 and 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.