he Thanksgiving. His eyes dilate. It wakes her
from her trance) What is that?

BRASSBOUND. It is farewell. Rescue for you--safety, freedom! You were
made to be something better than the wife of Black Paquito. (He kneels
and takes her hands) You can do no more for me now: I have blundered
somehow on the secret of command at last (he kisses her hands): thanks
for that, and for a man's power and purpose restored and righted. And
farewell, farewell, farewell.

LADY CICELY (in a strange ecstasy, holding his hands as he rises). Oh,
farewell. With my heart's deepest feeling, farewell, farewell.

BRASSBOUND. With my heart's noblest honor and triumph, farewell. (He
turns and flies.)

LADY CICELY. How glorious! how glorious! And what an escape!

CURTAIN

NOTES TO CAPTAIN BRASSBOUND'S CONVERSION

SOURCES OF THE PLAY

I claim as a notable merit in the authorship of this play that I have
been intelligent enough to steal its scenery, its surroundings, its
atmosphere, its geography, its knowledge of the east, its fascinating
Cadis and Kearneys and Sheikhs and mud castles from an excellent book of
philosophic travel and vivid adventure entitled Mogreb-el-Acksa (Morocco
the Most Holy) by Cunninghame Graham. My own first hand knowledge of
Morocco is based on a morning's walk through Tangier, and a cursory
observation of the coast through a binocular from the deck of an Orient
steamer, both later in date than the writing of the play.

Cunninghame Graham is the hero of his own book; but I have not made
him the hero of my play, because so incredible a personage must have
destroyed its likelihood--such as it is. There are moments when I do
not myself believe in his existence. And yet he must be real; for I have
seen him with these eyes; and I am one of the few men living who can
decipher the curious alphabet in which he writes his private letters.
The man is on public record too. The battle of Trafalgar Square, in
which he personally and bodily assailed civilization as represented by
the concentrated military and constabular forces of the capital of the
world, can scarcely be forgotten by the more discreet spectators,
of whom I was one. On that occasion civilization, qualitatively his
inferior, was quantitatively so hugely in excess of him that it put him
in prison, but had not sense enough to keep him there. Yet his getting
out of prison was as nothing compared to his getting into the House of
Commons. How he did it I know no