. . . At five or six o'clock one morning, I was
awakened by a prodigious noise on the ramparts under my windows. I
sprang out of bed, and saw numbers of people rushing towards the
Rhone. I foreboded the disaster! dressed myself, and hastened to the
river. . . When I reached the Rhone, I beheld a tremendous sight!
All the work of several weeks, carried on daily by nearly a hundred
men, had been swept away. Piles, timber, barrows, tools, and large
parts of expensive machinery were all carried down the torrent, and
thrown in broken pieces upon the banks. The principal part of the
machinery had been erected upon an island opposite the rampart; here
there still remained some valuable timber and engines, which might,
probably, be saved by immediate exertion. The old boatman, whom I
have mentioned before, was at the water-side; I asked him to row me
over to the island, that I might give orders how to preserve what
remained belonging to the company. My old friend, the boatman,
represented to me, with great kindness, the imminent danger to which
I should expose myself. "Sir," he added, "the best swimmer in Lyons,
unless he were one of the Rhone-men, could not save himself if the
boat overset, and you cannot swim at all.
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