Boldwin waited but a moment, and then gave the order:
"Hard over, sir!" cried the quartermaster; and the rattling clank of the engine sounded the signal for me to take advantage of the opportunity to get outside by the lee door.
If it had been blowing before while we were running, it was now a blast.
The Prince Alfred laid down her whole five hundred feet of steel side into that sea, and the crash of the mighty hill that swept her shook her as though she had been struck amidships by the ram of a battleship. The forward funnel guys parted, and I had a momentary glimpse of a great pillar of iron going over the side to leeward. Then she began to head the sea, and no human could face the storm of flying water which swept the bridge.
With heads down, gasping for breath, Boldwin and myself gripped the bridge rail. The flying atmosphere tore past us. We dared not loose our grasp for an instant, and to get back to the shelter of the pilot house was impossible without following the iron rail aft.
After a thunderous rush of quick and vicious squalls, there was a sudden lull. A giant comber showed ahead, and its white and foaming crest lifted clear into the night. She buried her whole forward deck, and, as the water cleared, we could see about us. The dull snore of a giant sea sounded close aboard. It was uncanny, this sudden stillness, full of a palpitating murmur and pregnant with an ominous power.
"Right in it!" gasped Boldwin. "How does she head now?"
"Southeast by south," I answered. "The next squall will probably come from the northwest."
"Well, I guess we'll swing her while it's still—Lord, what an awful sea!"
The Prince Alfred came slowly around with her engines turning at half speed. The high, leaping hills of water seemed to come from all directions at once. They fell upon her decks and shook her up a bit, but did no damage. Five, ten, fifteen minutes passed. A distant murmuring sounded over the torn sea.