He was a swimmer whose
strokes counted for all that prodigious strength and excellent
training could afford; he rushed through the water with long
sweeps, making a semicircle, rounding against the current, so as
to swing down upon the drowning man.
Less than a half-hour later a rumor by some means spread
throughout the town that Father Beret and Lieutenant Beverley were
drowned in the Wabash. But when a crowd gathered to verify the
terrible news it turned out to be untrue. Gaspard Roussillon had
once more distinguished himself by an exhibition of heroic nerve
and muscle.
"Ventrebleu! Quel homme!" exclaimed Oncle Jazon, when told that M.
Roussillon had come up the bank of the Wabash with Lieutenant
Beverley under one arm and Father Beret under the other, both men
apparently dead.
"Bring them to my house immediately," M. Roussillon ordered, as
soon as they were restored to consciousness; and he shook himself,
as a big wet animal sometimes does, covering everybody near him
with muddy water. Then he led the way with melodramatic strides.
In justice to historical accuracy there must be a trifling reform
of what appeared on the face of things to be grandly true. Gaspard
Roussillon actually dragged Father Beret and Lieutenant Beverley
one at a time out of the eddy water and up the steep river bank.
That was truly a great feat; but the hero never explained.
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