As Tarzan struck the water, his first impulse was to swim clear of
the ship and possible danger from her propellers. He knew whom to
thank for his present predicament, and as he lay in the sea, just
supporting himself by a gentle movement of his hands, his chief
emotion was one of chagrin that he had been so easily bested by
Rokoff.

He lay thus for some time, watching the receding and rapidly
diminishing lights of the steamer without it ever once occurring
to him to call for help. He never had called for help in his life,
and so it is not strange that he did not think of it now. Always
had he depended upon his own prowess and resourcefulness, nor had
there ever been since the days of Kala any to answer an appeal for
succor. When it did occur to him it was too late.

There was, thought Tarzan, a possible one chance in a hundred
thousand that he might be picked up, and an even smaller chance that
he would reach land, so he determined that to combine what slight
chances there were, he would swim slowly in the direction of the
coast--the ship might have been closer in than he had known.

His strokes were long and easy--it would be many hours before those
giant muscles would commence to feel fatigue. As he swam, guided
toward the east by the stars, he noticed that he felt the weight
of his shoes, and so he removed them. His trousers went next, and
he would have removed his coat at the same time but for the precious
papers in its pocket. To assure himself that he still had them
he slipped his hand in to feel, but to his consternation they were
gone.