There's a rug in my tilbury, if we can only reach it.

Now then, follow me close--and gently over the shingle!" Like shadows we stole forth and across the cove.

No one spied us, and, thanks perhaps to Major Dilke's sustained oratory, no one heard.
"There's a track hereabouts," my new friend whispered as we gained the farther cliff.

"This looks like it--no--yes, here it is! Close after me, sonny, and up we go.

Surely, 'tis Robinson Crusoe and man Friday with a touch of something else thrown in--can't think what, for the moment, unless 'tis the scaling of Plataea.