“I need a great wave that shall whelm away the foreign ship that follows us. A month ago it lay in wait for us, by the pillars of the gods, and it follows, follows, to find out the secret of Tyre—the place of the Tin Islands. If I could steer by night I could escape them yet, but tonight there will be no stars.” “My magic will not serve you here,” said the Egyptian. But Robert said, “My magic will not bring up great waves, but I can show you how to steer without stars.” He took out the shilling compass, still, fortunately, in working order, that he had bought off another boy at school for fivepence, a piece of indiarubber, a strip of whalebone, and half a stick of red sealing-wax. And he showed Pheles how it worked. And Pheles wondered at the compass’s magic truth. “I will give it to you,” Robert said, “in return for that charm about your neck.” Pheles made no answer. He first laughed, snatched the compass from Robert’s hand, and turned away still laughing. “Be comforted,” the Priest whispered, “our time will come.” The dusk deepened, and Pheles, crouched beside a dim lantern, steered by the shilling compass from the Crystal Palace. No one ever knew how the other ship sailed, but suddenly, in the deep night, the look-out man at the stern cried out in a terrible voice— “She is close upon us!” “And we,” said Pheles, “are close to the harbour.” He was silent a moment, then suddenly he altered the ship’s course, and then he stood up and spoke. “Good friends and gentlemen,” he said, “who are bound with me in this brave venture by our King’s command, the false, foreign ship is close on our heels. If we land, they land, and only the gods know whether they might not beat us in fight, and themselves survive to carry back the tale of Tyre’s secret island to enrich their own miserable land. Shall this be?” “Never!” cried the half-dozen men near him. The slaves were rowing hard below and could not hear his words. The Egyptian leaped upon him; suddenly, fiercely, as a wild beast leaps. “Give me back my Amulet,” he cried, and caught at the charm. The chain that held it snapped, and it lay in the Priest’s hand. Pheles laughed, standing balanced to the leap of the ship that answered the oarstroke. “This is no time for charms and mummeries,” he said. “We’ve lived like men, and we’ll die like gentlemen for the honour and glory of Tyre, our splendid city. ‘Tyre, Tyre for ever! It’s Tyre that rules the waves.’ I steer her straight for the Dragon rocks, and we go down for our city, as brave men should. The creeping cowards who follow shall go down as slaves—and slaves they shall be to us—when we live again. Tyre, Tyre for ever!” A great shout went up, and the slaves below joined in it.