The Wisdom of Father Brown HTML version

The Perishing of the Pendragons
FATHER BROWN was in no mood for adventures. He had lately fallen ill with over-
work, and when he began to recover, his friend Flambeau had taken him on a cruise in a
small yacht with Sir Cecil Fanshaw, a young Cornish squire and an enthusiast for Cornish
coast scenery. But Brown was still rather weak; he was no very happy sailor; and though
he was never of the sort that either grumbles or breaks down, his spirits did not rise above
patience and civility. When the other two men praised the ragged violet sunset or the
ragged volcanic crags, he agreed with them. When Flambeau pointed out a rock shaped
like a dragon, he looked at it and thought it very like a dragon. When Fanshaw more
excitedly indicated a rock that was like Merlin, he looked at it, and signified assent.
When Flambeau asked whether this rocky gate of the twisted river was not the gate of
Fairyland, he said "Yes." He heard the most important things and the most trivial with the
same tasteless absorption. He heard that the coast was death to all but careful seamen; he
also heard that the ship's cat was asleep. He heard that Fanshaw couldn't find his cigar-
holder anywhere; he also heard the pilot deliver the oracle "Both eyes bright, she's all
right; one eye winks, down she sinks." He heard Flambeau say to Fanshaw that no doubt
this meant the pilot must keep both eyes open and be spry. And he heard Fanshaw say to
Flambeau that, oddly enough, it didn't mean this: it meant that while they saw two of the
coast lights, one near and the other distant, exactly side by side, they were in the right
river-channel; but that if one light was hidden behind the other, they were going on the
rocks. He heard Fanshaw add that his country was full of such quaint fables and idioms;
it was the very home of romance; he even pitted this part of Cornwall against Devonshire,
as a claimant to the laurels of Elizabethan seamanship. According to him there had been
captains among these coves and islets compared with whom Drake was practically a
landsman. He heard Flambeau laugh, and ask if, perhaps, the adventurous title of
"Westward Ho!" only meant that all Devonshire men wished they were living in
Cornwall. He heard Fanshaw say there was no need to be silly; that not only had Cornish
captains been heroes, but that they were heroes still: that near that very spot there was an
old admiral, now retired, who was scarred by thrilling voyages full of adventures; and
who had in his youth found the last group of eight Pacific Islands that was added to the
chart of the world. This Cecil Fanshaw was, in person, of the kind that commonly urges
such crude but pleasing enthusiasms; a very young man, light-haired, high-coloured, with
an eager profile; with a boyish bravado of spirits, but an almost girlish delicacy of tint
and type. The big shoulders, black brows and black mousquetaire swagger of Flambeau
were a great contrast.
All these trivialities Brown heard and saw; but heard them as a tired man hears a tune in
the railway wheels, or saw them as a sick man sees the pattern of his wall-paper. No one
can calculate the turns of mood in convalescence: but Father Brown's depression must
have had a great deal to do with his mere unfamiliarity with the sea. For as the river
mouth narrowed like the neck of a bottle, and the water grew calmer and the air warmer
and more earthly, he seemed to wake up and take notice like a baby. They had reached
that phase just after sunset when air and water both look bright, but earth and all its
growing things look almost black by comparison. About this particular evening, however,
there was something exceptional. It was one of those rare atmospheres in which a
smoked-glass slide seems to have been slid away from between us and Nature; so that