Then it seemed to become thinner, and, just as the midshipman was thinking to himself how glorious it would be if the man and boy in the boat should prove to be his old friends Ram and Jemmy Dadd, there came a peculiar squeaking sound from somewhere ahead.
"Lowering sail, sir," said Dirty Dick, who was pulling first oar.
"Then we have not missed them," thought Archy, as the men pulled steadily on, with the rushing, plunging noise of the waves beginning to be heard as they washed the foot of the cliffs.

"I'll be bound to say it is Ram and that big scoundrel.

Oh, what a chance to get them aboard in irons and under hatches, for them to have a taste of what they gave me!" It seemed perfectly reasonable that those two should have been off somewhere in a boat, and were now returning.

Who more likely to be making for the ledge, which, as far as he could judge, was a point or two off to the right.
All at once, after a few minutes' pulling, the boat glided right out of the bank of mist which hung between them like a soft grey veil, while in front, lit up by the first beams of the morning sun, was the great wall of cliff, the ledge over which the waves washed gently, the green pasture high up, and the ledges dotted with grey and white gulls.

The picture was lovely in the extreme, but it wanted two things in Archy's eyes to make it perfect; and those two things were a background formed by the great cliff, down which he had crept, and the feature which would have given it life and interest--to wit, the fishing-boat containing Ram and Jemmy Dadd.
"Hold hard, my lads!" cried the midshipman, and the men ceased rowing, holding their oars balanced, with the diamond-like drops falling sparkling from their blades into the clear sea, while the boat glided slowly on towards the ledge, which was just in front.
"Why, where's the boat ?" cried Archy excitedly, as he swept the face of the cliff with his eyes.
"She aren't here, sir," said Dick.
"Well, I can see that, my man.