CAPTAIN BRASSBOUND'S CONVERSION

BERNARD SHAW




ACT I

On the heights overlooking the harbor of Mogador, a seaport on
the west coast of Morocco, the missionary, in the coolness of the
late afternoon, is following the precept of Voltaire by
cultivating his garden. He is an elderly Scotchman, spiritually a
little weatherbeaten, as having to navigate his creed in strange
waters crowded with other craft but still a convinced son of the
Free Church and the North African Mission, with a faithful brown
eye, and a peaceful soul. Physically a wiry small-knit man, well
tanned, clean shaven, with delicate resolute features and a
twinkle of mild humor. He wears the sun helmet and pagri, the
neutral-tinted spectacles, and the white canvas Spanish sand
shoes of the modern Scotch missionary: but instead of a cheap
tourist's suit from Glasgow, a grey flannel shirt with white
collar, a green sailor knot tie with a cheap pin in it, he wears
a suit of clean white linen, acceptable in color, if not in cut,
to the Moorish mind.

The view from the garden includes much Atlantic Ocean and a long
stretch of sandy coast to the south, swept by the north east
trade wind, and scantily nourishing a few stunted pepper trees,
mangy palms, and tamarisks. The prospect ends, as far as the