We laboured with the oars to thrust off, but could touch no solid ground, to obtain purchase sufficient for our purpose. Then said Donelly: "The only thing to be done is for one of us to step onto the bank and thrust the boat off. I will do that. I have on an old shabby pair of trousers that don't matter." "No, indeed, you shall not. I will go," and at the word I sprang overboard. But the major had jumped simultaneously, and simultaneously we sank in the horrible slime. It had the consistency of spinach. I do not mean such as English cooks send us to table, half-mashed and often gritty, but the spinach as served at a French table d'hôte, that has been pulped through a fine hair sieve. And what is more, it apparently had no bottom. For aught I know it might go down a mile in depth towards the centre of the globe, and it stank abominably. We both clung to the sides of the boat to save ourselves from sinking altogether. There we were, one on each side, clinging to the bulwarks and looking at one another. For a moment or two neither spoke. Donelly was the first to recover his presence of mind, and after wiping his mouth on the gunwale from the mud that had squirted over it, he said: "Can you get out?" "Hardly," said I. We tugged at the boat, it squelched about, splashing the slime over us, till it plastered our heads and faces and covered our hands. "This will never do," said he. "We must get in together, and by instalments. Look here! when I say 'three,' throw in your left leg if you can get it out of the mud." "I will do my best." "And," he said further, "we must do so both at the same moment. Now, don't be a sneak and try to get in your body whilst I am putting in my leg, or you will upset the boat." "I never was a sneak," I retorted angrily, "and I certainly will not be one in what may be the throes of death." "All right," said the major. "One--two--three!" Instantly both of us drew our left legs out of the mud, and projected them over the sides into the boat. "How are you?" asked he. "Got your leg in all right?" "All but my boot," I replied, "and that has been sucked off my foot." "Oh, bother the boot," said the major, "so long as your leg is safe within, and has not been sucked off. That would have disturbed the equipoise. Now then--next we must have our trunks and right legs within. Take a long breath, and wait till I call 'three.'" We paused, panting with the strain; then Donelly, in a stentorian voice, shouted: "One--two--three!" Instantly we writhed and strained, and finally, after a convulsive effort, both were landed in the bottom of the boat. We picked ourselves up and seated ourselves, each on one bulwark, looking at one another. We were covered with the foul slime from head to foot, our clothes were caked, so were our hands and faces. But we were secure.