n. 'How
think ye? Was it sorcery?'

'Was it anything like this?' Dan fished out his old brass
pocket-compass, that generally lived with his knife and key-ring. 'The
glass has got cracked, but the needle waggles all right, sir.'

The knight drew a long breath of wonder. 'Yes, yes! The Wise Iron shook
and swung in just this fashion. Now it is still. Now it points to the
South.'

'North,' said Dan.

'Nay, South! There is the South,' said Sir Richard. Then they both
laughed, for naturally when one end of a straight compass-needle points
to the North, the other must point to the South.

'Te,' said Sir Richard, clicking his tongue. 'There can be no sorcery if
a child carries it. Wherefore does it point South--or North?'

'Father says that nobody knows,' said Una.

Sir Richard looked relieved. 'Then it may still be magic. It was magic
to _us_. And so we voyaged. When the wind served we hoisted sail, and
lay all up along the windward rail, our shields on our backs to break
the spray. When it failed, they rowed with long oars; the Yellow Man sat
by the Wise Iron, and Witta steered. At first I feared the great
white-flowering waves, but as I saw how wisely Witta led his ship among
them I grew bolder. Hugh liked it well from the first. My skill is not
upon the water; and rocks and whirlpools such as we saw by the West
Isles of France, where an oar caught on a rock and broke, are much
against my stomach. We sailed South across a stormy sea, where by
moonlight, between clouds, we saw a Flanders ship roll clean over and
sink. Again, though Hugh laboured with Witta all night, I lay under the
deck with the Talking Bird, and cared not whether I lived or died. There
is a sickness of the sea which for three days is pure death! When we
next saw land Witta said it was Spain, and we stood out to sea. That
coast was full of ships busy in the Duke's war against the Moors, and we
feared to be hanged by the Duke's men or sold into slavery by the Moors.
So we put into a small harbour which Witta knew. At night men came down
with loaded mules, and Witta exchanged amber out of the North against
little wedges of iron and packets of beads in earthen pots. The pots he
put under the decks, and the wedges of iron he laid on the bottom of the
ship after he had cast out the stones and shingle which till then had
been our ballast. Wine, too, he bought for lumps of sweet-smelling grey
amber--a little morsel no bigger than a thumbnail purchased a cas