Other editions of book The Son of Tarzan: Edgar Rice Burroughs Authorized Library

The Son of Tarzan Chapter 1 The long boat of the Marjorie W. was floating down the broad Ugambi with ebb tide and current. Her crew were lazily enjoying this respite from the arduous labor of rowing up stream. Three miles below them lay the Marjorie W. herself, quite ready to sail so soon as they should have clambered aboard and swung the long boat to its davits. Presently the attention of every man was drawn from his dreaming or his gossiping to the northern bank of the river. There, screaming at them in a cracked falsetto and with skinny arms outstretched, stood a strange apparition of a man. "Wot the 'ell?" ejaculated one of the crew. "A white man!" muttered the mate, and then: "Man the oars, boys, and we'll just pull over an' see what he wants." When they came close to the shore they saw an emaciated creature with scant white locks tangled and matted. The thin, bent body was naked but for a loin cloth. Tears were rolling down the sunken pock-marked cheeks. The man jabbered at them in a strange tongue. "Rooshun," hazarded the mate. "Savvy English?" he called to the man. He did, and in that tongue, brokenly and haltingly, as though it had been many years since he had used it, he begged them to take him with them away from this awful country. Once on board the Marjorie W. the stranger told his rescuers a pitiful tale of privation, hardships, and torture, extending over a period of ten years. How he happened to have come to Africa he did not tell them, leaving them to assume he had forgotten the incidents of his life prior to the frightful ordeals that had wrecked him mentally and physically. He did not even tell them his true name, and so they knew him only as Michael Sabrov, nor was there

The long boat of the Marjorie W. was floating down the broad Ugambi with ebb tide and current. Her crew were lazily enjoying this respite from the arduous labor of rowing up stream. Three miles below them lay the Marjorie W. herself, quite ready to sail so soon as they should have clambered aboard and swung the long boat to its davits. Presently the attention of every man was drawn from his dreaming or his gossiping to the northern bank of the river. There, screaming at them in a cracked falsetto and with skinny arms outstretched, stood a strange apparition of a man."Wot the 'ell?" ejaculated one of the crew."A white man!" muttered the mate, and then: "Man the oars, boys, and we'll just pull over an' see what he wants."When they came close to the shore they saw an emaciated creature with scant white locks tangled and matted. The thin, bent body was naked but for a loin cloth. Tears were rolling down the sunken pock-marked cheeks. The man jabbered at them in a strange tongue."Rooshun," hazarded the mate. "Savvy English?" he called to the man.

The long boat of the Marjorie W. was floating down the broad Ugambi with ebb tide and current. Hercrew were lazily enjoying this respite from the arduous labor of rowing up stream. Three miles below themlay the Marjorie W. herself, quite ready to sail so soon as they should have clambered aboard and swung thelong boat to its davits. Presently the attention of every man was drawn from his dreaming or his gossiping tothe northern bank of the river. There, screaming at them in a cracked falsetto and with skinny armsoutstretched, stood a strange apparition of a man."Wot the 'ell?" ejaculated one of the crew."A white man!" muttered the mate, and then: "Man the oars, boys, and we'll just pull over an' see whathe wants."When they came close to the shore they saw an emaciated creature with scant white locks tangled andmatted. The thin, bent body was naked but for a loin cloth. Tears were rolling down the sunken pock-markedcheeks. The man jabbered at them in a strange tongue."Rooshun," hazarded the mate. "Savvy English?" he called to the man.He did, and in that tongue, brokenly and haltingly, as though it had been many years since he had usedit, he begged them to take him with them away from this awful country. Once on board the Marjorie W. thestranger told his rescuers a pitiful tale of privation, hardships, and torture, extending over a period of tenyears. How he happened to have come to Africa he did not tell them, leaving them to assume he hadforgotten the incidents of his life prior to the frightful ordeals that had wrecked him mentally and physically.He did not even tell them his true name, and so they knew him only as Michael Sabrov, nor was there anyresemblance between this sorry wreck and the virile, though unprincipled, Alexis Paulvitch of old.

The long boat of the Marjorie W. was floating down the broad Ugambi with ebb tide and current. Her crew were lazily enjoying this respite from the arduous labor of rowing up stream. Three miles below them lay the Marjorie W. herself, quite ready to sail so soon as they should have clambered aboard and swung the long boat to its davits. Presently the attention of every man was drawn from his dreaming or his gossiping to the northern bank of the river. There, screaming at them in a cracked falsetto and with skinny arms outstretched, stood a strange apparition of a man.“Wot the ‘ell?” ejaculated one of the crew.“A white man!” muttered the mate, and then: “Man the oars, boys, and we’ll just pull over an’ see what he wants.”

Alexis Paulvitch is not dead! He still despises Tarzan and has a score to settle with him. He lures Jack, Tarzan’s son, away from London with Vengence in mind. But no son of Tarzan’s is easily used. Jack escapes with the help of the ape named Akut and flees into the deep African jungle where his father, Tarzan had been raised. On his own, Jack becomes known as Korak the Killer and builds a reputation for himself in the deepest jungle. As his father before him, he finds his own place among the great apes.

The Son of Tarzan is a novel by American writer Edgar Rice Burroughs, the fourth in his series of twenty-four books about the title character Tarzan. It was written between January 21 and May 11, 1915, and first published in the magazine All-Story Weekly as a six-part serial from December 4, 1915 to January 8, 1916. It was first published in book form by A. C. McClurg & Co. in March 1917 and has been reprinted numerous times since by various publishers.

The Son of Tarzan is a novel written by Edgar Rice Burroughs, the fourth in his series of books about the title character Tarzan. It was written between January 21 and May 11, 1915, and first published in the magazine All-Story Weekly as a six-part serial from December 4, 1915 – January 8, 1916. It was first published in book form by A. C. McClurg & Co. in March, 1917 and has been reprinted numerous times since by various publishers.Edgar Rice Burroughs (September 1, 1875 – March 19, 1950) was an American writer best known for his creations of the jungle hero Tarzan and the heroic Mars adventurer John Carter, although he produced works in many genres. Aiming his work at the pulps, Burroughs had his rst story, Under the Moons of Mars, serialized by Frank Munsey in the February to July 1912 issues of The All-Story – under the name "Norman Bean" to protect his reputation. Under the Moons of Mars inaugurated the Barsoom series and earned Burroughs US$400 ($9,927 today). It was rst published as a book by A. C. McClurg of Chicago in 1917, entitled A Princess of Mars.In a Paris Review interview, Ray Bradbury said of Burroughs that "Edgar Rice Burroughs never would have looked upon himself as a social mover and shaker with social obligations. But as it turns out – and I love to say it because it upsets everyone terribly – Burroughs is probably the most influential writer in the entire history of the world." Bradbury continued that "By giving romance and adventure to a whole generation of boys, Burroughs caused them to go out and decide to become special." In Something of Myself (published posthumously in 1937) Rudyard Kipling wrote: “My Jungle Books begat Zoos of them. But the genius of all the genii was one who wrote a series called Tarzan of the Apes.”This classic title has been published by RADLEY BOOKS. Each RADLEY CLASSIC is a meticulously restored, luxurious and faithful reproduction of a classic book; produced with elegant text layout, clarity of presentation, and stylistic features that make reading a true pleasure. Special attention is given to legible fonts and adequate letter sizing, correct line length for readability, generous margins and triple lead (lavish line separation); plus we do not allow any mistakes/changes/additions to creep into the author’s words.Visit RADLEY BOOKS at www.radleybooks.com (or search RADLEY CLASSIC on Amazon) to see more classic book titles in this series.

The long boat of the Marjorie W. was floating down the broad Ugambi with ebb tide andcurrent. Her crew were lazily enjoying this respite from the arduous labor of rowing upstream. Three miles below them lay the Marjorie W. herself, quite ready to sail so soon asthey should have clambered aboard and swung the long boat to its davits. Presently theattention of every man was drawn from his dreaming or his gossiping to the northern bankof the river. There, screaming at them in a cracked falsetto and with skinny armsoutstretched, stood a strange apparition of a man."Wot the 'ell?" ejaculated one of the crew."A white man!" muttered the mate, and then: "Man the oars, boys, and we'll just pullover an' see what he wants."When they came close to the shore they saw an emaciated creature with scant whitelocks tangled and matted. The thin, bent body was naked but for a loin cloth. Tears wererolling down the sunken pock-marked cheeks. The man jabbered at them in a strangetongue."Rooshun," hazarded the mate. "Savvy English?" he called to the man.He did, and in that tongue, brokenly and haltingly, as though it had been many yearssince he had used it, he begged them to take him with them away from this awful country.Once on board the Marjorie W. the stranger told his rescuers a pitiful tale of privation,hardships, and torture, extending over a period of ten years. How he happened to havecome to Africa he did not tell them, leaving them to assume he had forgotten the incidentsof his life prior to the frightful ordeals that had wrecked him mentally and physically. Hedid not even tell them his true name, and so they knew him only as Michael Sabrov, nor wasthere any resemblance between this sorry wreck and the virile, though unprincipled, AlexisPaulvitch of old.