but also because such a
number of things went West in it. Some time after the original duck-boards
had sunk out of our depth we could still move along Styx on a solid bottom
composed of lost gum-boots, abandoned rations and the like. At last, when
Frankie, struggling up to the line with the rum ration, was forced to dump
his precious burden in order to save his life, we pronounced Styx
impassable and thenceforth proceeded along the top after dusk.

The Great Ooze still remained just possible for those whose business took
them back and forward during the day, but even here were spots in which it
was worse than unwise to linger. As I squelched painfully through one of
these on our last day in the line, I found one Private Harrison firmly
embedded to the top of his thigh-boots. He told me he had been struggling
vainly for about an hour.

"Give me your hands," I said.

I tugged, but could get no proper purchase. Harrison grew gradually black
in the face, but remained immovable. I tried another plan. I turned about,
and Harrison clasped his hands round my neck. Then I walked away.... At
least that was the idea.

"Harrison," I said anxiously after a determined struggle, "were you
standing on the duckboards?"

"Yes, Sir. I still am."

"Heavens, so am I. Let go. I've got to get myself out now."

By using Harrison as a stepping-stone to higher things I just managed to
heave myself out. I surveyed him panting.

"In about an hour it'll be dusk. I'll bring some men and a rope and haul
you out then. If that fails we'll simply have to hand you over as trench
stores when we get relieved."

As soon as Fritz's wire had disappeared into the gathering gloom I took out
my little rescue party. We threw the captive a rope and began to pull
scientifically under direction of a sergeant skilled in tugs-of-war.

"Heave, you men," I whispered excitedly. "He's coming."

He was, but without his boots. Inch by inch we dragged him out of them. The
strain was terrific. Suddenly--much too suddenly--the tension broke.
Harrison shot into the air and fell again with a dull thud in the Ooze
beside his boots, while the rescue party collapsed head over heels into an
adjacent shell-hole.

Harrison seemed a little peevish, but consented to try again. The rope
tautened, and there was a sharp crack from below.

"'Old on," cried the prisoner sharply, "me braces is bust."

"Can't think o' braces now," grunted my burly sergeant. "Heave-ho, lads, up