“Hmm. We’d better test it ourselves,” said the Rat.
“Capital!” cried the Otter.
Taking a length of rope from his boathouse, the Rat tied it about his waist and, giving the loose end to the Otter, clambered down the muddy bank till his ankles were in the water.
“Hand me down the tureen, there’s a good fellow” he sang out, “and if I tug at the rope three times haul me in without further ado. Otherwise, be sure to let it out so that I may make what progress I can under the water, and don’t worry if I am longer than you expect. Time is slower for those who watch than for those who do.”
With this philosophical thought the Rat placed the tureen over his head, held fast to its handles with each hand, and boldly waded through the muddy water. The Otter watched with very mixed feelings and his heart gave a jolt when, with a muffled cry of farewell, the Rat disappeared beneath the water.
The glint of the submerged tureen was soon lost to view and the rope pulled away from the Otter’s hands erratically. The Otter was tempted to haul him in at once, or better still dive in and rescue him, but he recognized that the experiment was for Toad and the Mole’s benefit rather than their own. After all, he and the Water Rat were such expert swimmers that they had no need of air supplies.
Eventually, after an uncomfortably long wait, and astonished that the Rat could still find air to breathe, the Otter saw the tureen break the surface of the water near the other bank. Letting forth an involuntary cheer, he watched as his friend took the tureen off his head and turned to wave most cheerfully.
Shortly afterwards, as he dried off in his house and changed his clothes, the Water Rat told the Otter of the experience.
“I couldn’t see anything at all, of course, unless 1 pulled my head out of the vessel and looked about. That’s why I stumbled a couple of times. But where the river flows in the Village the bottom is clear and gravelly and even Toad should be able to find a footing. We must be practical, however. I doubt that we will be able to persuade Toad to set forth from his cell into the culvert willingly, so between us the Mole and I will have to force him.”
“I could come and help too,” said the Otter.
The Rat shook his head. “No, I want you to stay nearby with the boat we secreted away near the Village against such an eventuality as this. But we must blacken it so that the guards don’t see it…”
“I’ve done that already,” said the excellent Otter.
“Good fellow Now then, when we get out you can help Toad and Mole aboard, and we can make our getaway I think it might be wise to take some flotation aids for Mole and Toad, for the river by the Gaol runs fast and if they lose their footing they might be glad of some artificial help. I have just the thing…”
He went back into the boathouse and emerged moments later with some pigs’ bladders, which he kept as an aid to winter fishing. Then they made their final preparations and set out for the Village as darkness fell, to recover the boat and position themselves in good time for the rescue attempt.
It was a cold night and the two animals were chilled to the bone by the time they heard the clock of the Village church strike ten. But they did not have to wait long for evidence of the diversion.
The members of the Committee, acting on the Rat’s instruction to the letter, adopted the stratagem of extending their normal bar-room merriment to the street outside, and there allowing matters to get so out of hand that it soon became a brawl. When nearby weasels and stoats tried to restore order, the brawl turned nasty, and other guards, including those watching over Toad and the Mole, had to be hastily summoned.
Their departure was the signal the resourceful Rat had waited for, and he slipped out of the rescue boat into the rushing river, with a bag containing the tureen, the jam pan and assorted pigs’ bladders on his back.
The Mole and Toad were fast asleep when the Rat appeared in the culvert below the cell and called up to them. He did so as quietly as he could against the rush of the water in the hope that the Mole would wake first, for otherwise the alarmed Toad might easily have given the game away.
“Is that really you, Ratty?” whispered a very nervous Mole into the watery gloom below.
“It is,” whispered the Rat, “and I’ve come to get you out of here. Now listen, Mole, this is not a time for niceties but resolute action…”
He quickly told Mole the plan, warning him that they must find a way of getting Toad into the noisome culvert, and quickly.
“Once you’ve got him down here leave me to do the rest,” said the Rat grimly.
The Mole nodded and contemplated Toad, upon whose face was a happy smile that suggested he was dreaming of former glories, or of wonderful meals in the world’s best hotels.
“Toad,” said the Mole urgently, shaking him awake, “I’ve found a way out of here.”
Toad sat up woozily.
“Come and look… quickly over here.”
The still sleepy Toad meekly did as he was told and peered down into the culvert.
“What am I meant to see?”
It was at such moments as this, when decisive action was needed, that the normally quiet and modest Mole surprised the other River Bankers. Without more ado, not even an apology, he placed his hand firmly in the small of Toad’s back, and shoved him over the culvert’s edge and down into the waiting arms of the Rat.
As Toad let out a cry, as of one whose dream seems about to turn into a nightmare, the Rat caught him, tied an inflated pig’s bladder to each of his four limbs and cried out to the Mole, “Wait down here till my return!” Then he thrust the tureen on to the bewildered Toad’s head and bodily pulled him down into the water and away through the underwater stone arches of the ancient culvert.
Toad was suddenly aware that his body was very wet and very cold, and his extremities were being pulled in different directions by strange balloons attached with twine, and that in his ears was the rushing sound of water on metal. Certain that he was having a nightmare, he began to fight off his attackers.
As the Rat and he broke the water’s surface, which they did as a cork might burst from a vigorously shaken champagne bottle by virtue of the upward pull of the too-eager bladders, they very nearly capsized the waiting rescue vessel and threw the Otter into the water.
“Hold on to him,” cried the Water Rat, thrusting the struggling Toad to the side of the boat, “I’m going back for Mole.”
As Toad began a relentless assault on his second rescuer, shouting for help as he did so, and running the danger of attracting the attention of those very guards they had been hoping to evade, the brave Rat plunged back into the depths. He effected the Mole’s rescue as sweetly as extracting the last pea from its pod, and the Mole and he reappeared on the surface with plenty of air left in the jam pan — so much indeed that the Mole was rather reluctant to let it go as the Rat pulled him towards the boat, for there was a certain novelty to the situation that he rather enjoyed.
Of the chaotic moments that followed not even a Royal Commission of Enquiry could establish the full and absolute truth, were it to spend twenty years doing so.
Of the participants themselves, the Otter remembered trying to wrest a heavy metal rowlock from Toad’s grasp; the Rat remembered the Otter falling forward upon the Mole; the Mole remembered their rescue craft capsizing right on top of him, and Toad remembered, quite distinctly, a nightmare he had had, which turned into an heroic dream, in which he, brave, brilliant and resourceful as ever, had the brilliant idea of rescuing all three of his friends with pigs’ bladders and letting the river’s rapid flow float them away from the dark, dank walls of the Gaol, and from there, under cover of night and all unseen, right through the Village, past the church, and away to liberty.
Thus began an escapade that was very soon to be described in the national press as rivalling the Marie Celeste for mystery, the Prisoner of Zenda for daring, and the Scarlet Pimpernel, in the form of Toad, for its hero.
When the Rat, the Otter and the Mole had recover
ed their senses, and restored the now gibbering Toad to some form of normality, they made their way to the boathouse on Toad’s estate. By the time they had dried themselves off, warmed themselves up and gained a little rest, the sun was rising.
Only then did the Parish Clerk and the minions of the Court discover the appalling truth: the birds had flown, and nobody knew how The gentlemen of the press descended in very short order upon the Village, and in no time at all the visages of Toad and his accomplice in crime, the Mole, were emblazoned on the front page of every newspaper in the land, along with various offers of reward, not least a very substantial one from the ticket touts who stood to lose a great deal of money if the trial did not take place as planned.
Although the reports universally condemned Toad for his actions, the fact was that they could not help portraying him as a hero — and a victim too.
Headlines such as TOAD ESCAPES! were soon replaced by TOAD ESCAPES TO PROVE HIS INNOCENCE. Followed by IS TOAD A SECRET AGENT? And then I AM INNOCENT!!! TOAD’S OWN STORY.
These fabrications added fuel to the fire of interest in Toad and Mole that swept the land, and was the sole source of conversation and debate from Lords’ libraries to tramps’ park benches; from emporia serving the better classes to those dark taverns serving the lowest.
Thus it was that two days later, having moved from Toad’s boathouse to a safe retreat on the River near the outskirts of the Town lent to them by a boating friend of the Rat, the two fugitives remained in hiding. The Rat and the Otter had long since realized that if they were not to be accused of being party to the escape they must be back in their own homes the day after it.
“You have enough food to lie low for days without showing your faces,” the Rat told Toad and the Mole. “Do not go out or let yourselves be seen. Mole, make sure temptation does not come Toad’s way Let him see no motor-cars, no motor-launches, no flying machines — nothing that will lead him into temptation.”
The Mole nodded, more confident of his success because Toad’s friends had deemed it in his best interests to handcuff him to a chain attached to a pillar in the basement of their hiding place. There he might cry out all he liked, but he would be safe.
For two days, and with just one more to go before the trial was due to start, the Mole listened to Toad’s pleas and entreaties that he might be released, but remained firm. He plied his friend with food and comforting words, and said again and again that it was in their best interests that he stayed where he was.
“I wish only to breathe the fresh air of liberty,” said Toad. “Only to stretch my limbs into the firmament of freedom! Only to set my eyes upon the sunlight of hope! Only to… ha! ha!… got you, Mole!”
“Let me go!” cried the Mole, who in a single unguarded moment found the chain wrapped round him, his keys taken, the handcuffs loosened and replaced upon himself, and the thoughtless and ungrateful Toad climbing the stairs towards the world outside and leaving him in darkness.
“Toad, do not be so foolish!” cried the Mole. “Set me free at once!”
Toad made no reply, but skipped lightly through the outside door of their retreat, and headed off in the direction of the Town.
Being confined was never an easy thing for Toad and he had grown bored with the Mole’s conversation. If only he had freed him then what fun they might have had, but as he had refused, what else could a Toad do?
Thinking such thoughts, and dressed in the garb of a low type which the Rat had thought might be the best disguise, Toad soon found that wandering the streets was not to his liking. He needed sustenance. He needed company He needed an audience.
It alarmed him greatly to see the many “WANTED” signs that bore his image, and that of the Mole. He pulled his cap over his head and thought he would probably be better disguised in the dark, smoky atmosphere of a tavern, where he might also get some food.
The ever-practical Rat had provided both fugitives with cash, little thinking what dangerous use Toad would put it to.
“What d’yer want?” said the landlord.
“Boiled beef an’ carrerts,” said Toad in that rough accent he liked to adopt in such situations. “An’ a jug o’ yer best.”
The beer was quickly drawn, the food soon served, and the happy Toad found himself sitting in the shadows of an inglenook by a roaring fire, while the rest of the low clientele carried on with their own business.
It was only when he had eaten his food and had a slice of lardy cake as well as another jug of the best, that he harkened to the conversation of his fellow revellers. He was astonished and delighted to hear they were talking about him and his remarkable escape. What was more, they were doing so in words of respect and admiration!
The mystery of the escape remained unsolved and the Town’s evening paper had offered a special reward to anyone who could come up with a satisfactory explanation of how Mr Toad of Toad Hall had effected his brilliant escape.
“He didn’t do it on his tod but ‘ad ‘elp,” said one; “that’s for certain.
“Official ‘elp, if you ask me,” said another.
“It’s generally agreed ‘e’s an agent, but fer ‘oo, that’s the question.”
“Yeh, but just supposin’ ‘e didn’t ‘ave ‘elp, ‘ow could ‘e get out of his cell and leave no trace?”
“Well, actually, it wasn’t so difficult…” began Toad before he realized what he was doing.
“Not difficult?” said one near him. “I suppose you know how it was done then!”
There was a general laugh at this and all eyes turned on Toad.
“No, honestly, I haven’t, I mean I ‘aven’t no notion of wot ‘appened.”
“Well, mate, if you did ‘ave this paper ‘ere would give you a hundred pounds in cash if you tell ‘em how”
Another drinker held up the paper in question, which had a picture of Toad for all to see. Toad pulled his cap lower down his face, and held his beer close to him to add to his disguise.
“One thing’s certain, that Mr Toad’s the greatest toad wot ever lived. ‘E’s cocked a snook at authority like we all would like to do. ‘E must be the cleverest criminal that ever was.
“To Mr Toad,” cried another, raising his glass, “in the hope we might meet ‘im one day and shake ‘is ‘and.”
Once more Toad’s natural vanity and desire for applause briefly got the better of him and he rose as if to reply to the toast.
“Gentlemen,” he began, “I… I…” and then he sat down again with a thump.
Too late! For once more all eyes were on him and before their cheerful gaze Toad felt what he had not felt for many long days and nights — the thrill of others wanting to hear what he had to say.
“Don’t be bashful, chum,” said another, “if you want to speechify in ‘onour of Mr Toad there’s none ‘ere will stop you!”
That word “speechify” was like nectar to Toad, as were the shouts of others in his audience of “Speech! Speech!”
“Well then,” began Toad, quite forgetting himself and the danger he was in, “I think I may offer you an explanation of how the great Mr Toad and his feeble-minded accomplice Mr Mole escaped.”
Silence fell.
E’s got inside information,” whispered one.
“‘E looks like a member of the Albert gang,” said another in an awed voice, for that gang was known to be the most vicious and dangerous in the Town, and its name had been attached to the escape.
“I do indeed have inside information,” said Toad, his chest swelling, “and I can tell you exactly how the most audacious, most cleverly conceived, most memorable escape from a locked cell was done, without breaking the locks!”
Complete silence had now fallen among the cognoscenti of the tavern as they pushed forward to hear the speaker — the more so because rumours had spread rapidly to the furthest reaches of the tavern to the effect that Mr Albert ‘imself, leader of the Albert gang, was even now spilling the beans on Mr Toad’s escape in the front bar.
Toad
waxed eloquent, describing the escape in detail, making clear that at each stage Mr Toad showed great bravery, the more so because of the necessity of helping his weaker accomplice Mr Mole, who as the papers had frequently pointed out, was not of Mr Toad’s calibre, and indeed was as weak of brain as he was of body.
“Mr Albert,” cried one of his listeners to Toad during a brief recess while Toad gratefully accepted the offer of further liquid refreshment, “‘ow do you know all this if—?”
“Who’s Mr Albert?” asked Toad, not quite liking the idea of someone else muscling in on his patch.
The matter was quickly explained, and with many a nod and wink Toad’s new friends gave him to understand that they knew he was Mr Albert but his secret was safe with them.
This mistaken identity somewhat offended Toad, but as he resumed his account he felt it wisest not to react to it, for it would keep his disguise all the better. So it was that Toad continued to inflate himself in public, adding falsehood to fabrication to make himself appear ever more heroic, ever more brilliant and ever more beyond the reach of the law.
It was a pity, therefore, that when one of his listeners persisted in calling him Mr Albert, and worse, suggested that he, Mr Albert, was perhaps a braver person in many ways than Toad, that Toad’s common sense finally gave way He had not seen the people who had recently appeared at the tavern door, dressed in the blue and silver-button garb of constables.
“Gentlemen,” cried Toad, “I have one last secret to reveal before I must away.
With that he took his cap off and said, “No Albert am I, but Toad himself, here honouring you with his flesh and blood. Applaud me, honour me, but never attempt to do what I have done, for without my skill and brilliance you are bound to get caught!”
Toad could not resist holding up the newspaper with his image on its front page to prove what all there knew was true the moment he removed his cap.
“Strike a light!” cried one.
“Stap me vitals,” said another.
The Willows at Christmas Page 14
