"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
she comes!"