And so it was: the boat, drawing quite two feet of water, had plunged into the mud, and was now stuck fast. All was instantly confusion and clamour on board. The chieftain stormed and raged, notwithstanding it was entirely his own fault; for he had not followed the wake of the raft, but had tried to cut it off. The raft was still in comparatively deep water, and was going away merrily. The men on board all stood up, and pushed and tugged at their oars, but as fast as they pushed their oars in, and moved the boat at all, they pulled her on again by trying to get their oars out of the deep, clinging, holding mud. Fierce imprecations and abusive epithets flew from the commander, but all to no purpose.
"Get out, men! out with ye, or we shall remain here for ever. See how the tide is falling!" shouted the old man.
The men tumbled over the gunwale into the shallow water, but they could hardly have done a more useless thing. Instead of pushing the boat off they only pulled it all the deeper into the mud; for not being able to obtain any foothold, they hung on to the sides of the boat to prevent themselves sinking in. It was a ludicrous sight to see all these strong men hanging round the boat, wallowing and plunging in the black, clinging mud. The helmsman grew more and more furious, the more it became apparent that their position was hopeless. The men, disgusted with the mud and their fruitless exertions, tried to get in again, and the sight was still more comic, as they all struggled to climb over the side of the high and awkward boat. Their muddy legs all had the appearance of wearing long black silk stockings, and as they wriggled and plunged, they gradually became covered with the same horrible, greasy, shiny coating. Sometimes a man would be seen to raise himself up, get one leg over the gunwale, lie down on his side, and try to roll himself into the boat, his other leg would wave in the air, and just as he was succeeding, some of the other men, intent on their own endeavours, would pull the boat too much down on that side, and he would roll over into the mud again. At last one or two succeeded in getting in, and the others, with their assistance, were hauled over the side, not without much bruising of legs and arms, and a plentiful bedaubment of mud.
Meanwhile Ædric and Corman were getting on well. The monk had rested a little when he saw that they had got far enough away to be safe from any arrow, supposing the men had bows and arrows with them, and he and Ædric were laughing at the miserable plight of their pursuers.
Suddenly Corman began to row vigorously again. He had looked round, and instantly worked as hard, or harder, than ever at the oars.
"Why, Corman, what is the matter?" said Ædric; but the monk did not answer. Ædric looked about, puzzled; there was no other boat in sight, and the men were still far too busy trying to get into their boat to be thinking of any means of pursuing them, even if they had a chance of finding any. But while Ædric was wondering what had caused these renewed exertions of brother Corman, the raft came to a stop. It also had run on the mud.
Their position was now singular, and very tantalising to both parties, but especially so for Corman and Ædric, for a few strokes more or a few inches more water and they would have been over the bank and into the little lake that ran into the deep channel on the other side. But there was no help for it. They could not push the logs of wood across, tied together as they were, and they were compelled to sit patiently and watch the struggles of the men in the other boat.
These latter had at last got in again, and a loud shout told Corman and Ædric they had discovered that they also were aground.
"What shall we do?" asked Ædric, ruefully.
"Sit here, my son, until the Lord sends the water back again."