And where they funnel into ocean-facing waterways, they are squeezed by the narrowing confines, thereby increasing their height, speed, power and malevolence. When a watercourse can no longer accommodate the hurricane's growing ambition, the monster waves overflow the geographical bounds, spilling devastation well beyond the normal jurisdiction. When flow becomes rampage, there are no second chances.
Decisions are either right on or dead wrong.
People are snatched from sea walls, drowned where they stand, swept to doom by the houseful. A 20-foot surge enters the Connecticut River at its mouth, and 7 miles later it powers into the Essex yacht fleet, strewing, smashing, sinking and sending two captains to the bottom. Ten miles later, it pours into Norwich, and in less than an hour, the city is under 11 feet of water. Buzzards Bay gulps a 30-foot head of foam that is still frothing when it washes into towns at the mouth of the Cape Cod Canal 30 miles away. But no place is more surprised by a visit from the Atlantic than Providence, some 40 miles from the ocean's angry shores.