This excerpt is from an exciting story about an adventure that a man named Rainsford had on a private island.  If you are able to find a copy, please read the entire story.

From “The Most Dangerous Game” by Richard Connell

Ten minutes of determined effort brought another sound to his ears—the muttering and growling of the sea breaking on a rocky shore.  He was almost on the rocks before he saw them; on a night less calm, he would have been shattered against them.  With his remaining strength, he dragged himself from the swirling waters.  Jagged crags appeared to jut into the opaqueness; he forced himself upward, hand over hand.  Grasping, his hands raw, he reached a flat place at the top.  Dense jungle came down to the very edge of  the cliffs.  What perils that tangle of trees and underbrush might hold for him did not concern Rainsford just then.  All he knew was that he was safe from his enemy, the sea, and that utter weariness that was on him.  He flung himself down at the jungle edge and tumbled headlong into the deepest sleep of his life.