Euterpe," he blurted, and I stopped dead, jarred to the backbone. "What?" I whispered. "What?" "Lost," he said, in a voice that wasn't his own. "Lost. With all hands." "No," I said, trying for reason. "No, it's not." He looked at me directly then, for the first time, and seized me by the forearm. "Listen to me," he said, and the pressure of his fingers terrified me. I tried to jerk away but couldn't. "Listen," he said again. "I heard it this morning from a naval captain I know. I met him at the coffeehouse, and he was recounting the tragedy. He saw it." His voice trembled, and he stopped for a moment, firming his jaw. "A storm. He had been chasing the ship, meaning to stop and board her, when the storm came upon them both. His own ship survived and limped in, badly damaged, but he saw the Euterpe swamped by a broaching wave, he said-I have no notion what that is-" He waved away his own digression, annoyed. "She went down before his eyes. The Roberts-his ship-hung about in hopes of picking up survivors." He swallowed. "There were none.
( Diana Gabaldon )
[ The Fiery Cross, A Breath of ]
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