It bled a little, but it had to be done. He gave up on the cleaver early. It was too clumsy. The mechanical grinder was worse; it used him up so fast, besides making an awful mess.
In the end, he used a long knife to make thin slices of meat, starting from the feet and working up. Then the bones went under the mill-wheel, one at a time, each making a handful of flour. While his hands held out, of course.
He was no Englishman, of course. It spoiled the taste a bit. But he had his daily bread.