Harvey was a customs officer who caught so many smugglers that they decided to teach him a lesson. they made him meet them at the top of a cliff. They planned to kill him. At the last moment they had a different idea. Instead of throwing him over the cliff, they put him over the edge. He held on by his hands which were tied togetter so that he could not climb to safety. If he let go, he would fall to his death on the rocks below.
Hanging over my wide-open grave, I remembered my whole past life, things long forgotten, the joys and sadness of childhood, lessons learned my mother’s knee, boyhood, quarrels and adventures. I remembered how I used to run away from school I remembered how I won the prize, and how I was punished for some childish fault, These and many other memories of early life passed before my covered eyes. Then I was a man already. My first meeting with smugglers came before me with great clearness. Next I was a lover, walking at Lucy’s side among the trees in the fields. Then in my mind I saw little Alfred’s childish face and wondering eyes, very near to mine, it seemed. Then I laughed, or tried to laughed, a wild mad laugh. It shook and pained me, but the cloth was tight between my teeth and no sound came out.
I had already hung for some time over the rock, and my hands were aching and my neck was stiff. I still held on. My thoughts flew off to Lucy and her child. Sadness and difficulty were waiting for her because the bread winner was gone. I thought that I was already dead. I could not save myself. And then the clock of St. James’s Church in Dover struck the hour and the wind carried the sound to my ears. Twelve Eight more hours of darkness.
The wind now blew less. The cold rain fell and cut my face and hand, but I still held on. If I fell on the shore below while the tide was still out, it would kill me, surely. If I held on until the tide came in, the sea would give me a painless ending. Because of this sad hope, I held on more strongly. I could not live, but drowning, I had heard, was an easier death than the falling. But why die at all if I could hold on till the sea washed the cliff’s foot. I could swim well. I might escape. Never, never; the cruel ropes that tide my wrists would prevent me from fighting with the waves. My strength was disappearing fast. I was sick and tired. Ha! It is best to die like a man, in a fight for life. I remembered that by a great effort I might climb to the top of the cliff and save myself. It is true that effort would use up my remaining strength. However, I tried.
For a moment I rose. I was succeeding, but the ropes stopped me. I sank, my face slipped of the rock, and I swung from side to side. This could not last.The pain was great. My strength was gone. In a minute I must let go and fall to die. Then I had a wild idea. Perhaps the smugglers, less cruel than I thought, were nearby watching me, ready to save me after all. Surely, surely it must be like that. I tried the hard to cry to them for help, to shout. My mouth was covered up. I could not speak a word. I let go. But no rush, no quick fall into the air followed. My feet sank only a few inches, and then touched the ground It was no dream. Everything became black, and I fell to the earth.