“Mmm. Well, bridges are cool. But in this case, a North Shore citizens’ committee got worried about low-class Manhattan refugees overrunning their valuable real estate. Hired a couple of ex-Army Corps to do the deed just as a Cat 5 was on the way, I forget which one.” He huffed out an ironic laugh. “So the bridges were destroyed, but within the next few days, most of their land was under water and their fancy homes washed out to sea.” He zigged Melville around a jagged islet of concrete that had been invisible till the swell dropped around it. “This was the Willis.”

I hadn’t thought much about bridges when boats were a part of my daily life, except for making sure whatever I was sailing would fit under them.

The tide was fully turned by now, heading out, but the north-riding swell made for directional agitation. Threading Melville’s forty-two feet through the bridge wreckage slowed us down. We were barely free of it when the wind stepped up its pace and the rain came on again full force, chill and biting. Waves splitting over our bow sent spray slashing into our faces. And the storm was only getting started.

“You going back up front?” I yelled over a sudden return crack of thunder.

Daniel shook his head. “See better from here.”

But better was practically nothing. The rain and the spray were a thick curtain, and his battered eye made it worse. We lost sight of the end of the convoy every time we dropped into a trough. Worse, the light was fading. The trip was taking way too long.

“How much further?”

Daniel squinted toward the uplands off to port. If he saw anything identifiable, I congratulated him. “Twenty minutes, maybe.”

Twenty minutes of bleary, salt-stung eyes and muscles cramping from holding on too hard. “Whoa! Look out ahead!”

A dark hulk crested over the top of the swell just ahead. It hung there, caught in a flash of lightning, then zoomed toward us.

“Loose raft!” Daniel slammed the tiller away, swinging our bow sharply to starboard. The engine whined as the screws were lifted out of the water. I careened against the gunwale, arms outstretched. Melville wallowed broadside for a beat, then Daniel pulled us straight again, nose into the wave, as the raft grazed alongside us with a rending squeal. Then it was past, trailing its broken tow rope and dropping into the trough behind.

“Nice sailing! Did you get a look?” I was shuddering again, this time from pure relief.

Daniel stared after it till it rose again on another swell. “Cargo raft. No one aboard.”

At least, not by the time we met up with it. But one more batch of supplies less than we started with.