I didn't want to go through those piles.

It wouldn't be nice, and I might lose an hour in the bight on my way out with the tide.
I undressed in the water and struck out with a strong, single-overhand stroke, crossing the current at right-angles.

Nor did I cease until, by the wharf lights, I knew I was safe to sweep by the end.

Then I turned over and rested.

The stroke had been a telling one, and I was a little time in recovering my breath.
I was elated, for I had succeeded in avoiding the suck.