Luke Baldwin's Vow

by Morley Callaghan

  And Captain Dan shouted, “Give me my glass, son!” and as he mounted up to the tower they all heard his wild laughter. “I see a Spanish treasure galleon asailing up from Panama,” he sang hoarsely.

  And young Luke, the favorite lieutenant, chanted, “Row, boys, row. Row, boys, row.”

  “Aye, soon we’ll be looting it, looting it. Row, boys, row,” Captain Dan shouted.

  Then they rushed to the raft, Dan leading the way and leaping, his cry sounding strangely like the bark of a great dog. Some even said that he looked like a wild dog that had roamed the valleys of the moon. He played up to this idea. In battle he covered himself with a dog skin, and an amber colored fur cap. And there he was now looking strangely like a dog, his cries like the barking of the dog as he shouted his instructions to young Luke. “Push off, son. Heave ho.”

  “Aye, my Captain,” Luke answered proudly. They pushed the raft out on the quiet waters of the great harbor, then they jumped off the raft and crept down to the great waterfall, the frightening roar of tons of water deafening them, and there at anchor was their long rakish craft with the black sails. Captain Dan leaped into the boat. It was that magnificent leap, covered as he was with the skin of a wild dog, that was so frightening; for in the dark of the moon he really became a dog with a glaring yellow eye. As Luke took the oars, Captain Dan stood proudly in the bow of the boat, and they headed downstream toward the great sea which was their domain.

  The river widened and on the banks great jagged rocks jutted out with tall trees rising behind the rocks, and in the sunlight, paths through the trees shone with a strange golden light. In the river’s shadows and stillness and shimmering light, and just the two of them in the boat with nothing needing explaining and the perfect trust and confidence so completely shared, it was very beautiful.

  “Any instructions, Captain Dan?” Luke asked quietly.

  But Dan, maintaining his peaceful attitude, only flicked his head as if to say, “Luke, are you asking me for instructions at this hour? After all I’ve taught you?”

  “Then I’m to take the boarding party, Captain?”

  “Aye, lad.”

  “And if there are damsels aboard, Captain Dan?”

  “Reserve for me the fairest one to do the chores around the fort. Do no more than box her ears if she makes trouble, a clip on the ear with the open hand, son.”

  “Aw, Captain Dan, we don’t need a damsel around the fort.”

  “Blast my golden eye, maybe you’re right, son.”

  “I ask a boon. A boon, Captain Dan.”

  “Name it, Luke. Out with it, you scallion.”

  “Let’s throw the damsels in the sea.”

  “Aye, throw the damsels in the sea,” Dan chanted, and then they both burst into crazy laughter, with Dan’s laughter sounding like a bark, and Luke singing happily, “Throw the damsels, the dirty damsels into the sea.”

  They were now at the mouth of the river with the wide sea blue and shimmering, and over there in the sheltered inlet the galleons were hiding. They beached their boat and Dan, leaping out, waited while Luke drew up the oars. Then they both drew their great swords from their sashes. In the name of Captain Dan, Luke addressed the motley crew who had beached their boats. Night would fall, he said, by the time they crossed through the woods to take the town from the rear. They began the long march.

  The sun sank and the moon rose. A wind came up. And when they were camped behind the town watching the lighted windows of the castle, the sea began to moan. In the dark of the moon they converged on the castle. The signal was a wild howl from Captain Dan, and the howl was like a seaborne wail; then they charged. And storytellers who told about it years later in taverns in strange ports said the charge was like the rush of wolves and wild men that paralyzed with fear the soldiers of the terrible Spanish Don, for the charge was led by a form with a wild, gleaming, yellow eye and it was like a monstrous wild dog. They swore it was a dog. But those who knew, only shook their heads sympathetically; they knew it was Captain Dan; and they knew that behind him was his trusted lieutenant, Luke Baldwin, whose sword was as red as blood against the moon. And when they broke into the castle and the retainers were all slaughtered, it was young Luke who faced the burly, two hundred-and-thirty-pound, red-necked Spaniard; he faced him with a cold superior smile; then he leaped and danced around him like a mad-man and all the sensible rules of combat the Spaniard knew were of no avail against this frenzy.

  With a sudden deft twist of his wrist, Luke sent the blade of the burly Spaniard spinning across the room and it rattled on the stone floor. Thrusting the point of his own blade against the Spaniard’s red neck, Luke forced him to his knees. “Mercy!” cried the Spaniard, his great red face full of terror.

  “Yes, I’ll be merciful,” Luke said with a merry laugh. “I’ll give you a chance for your life. Get down there on your back. Go on. Get.” And as the Spaniard rolled on his back with Luke’s blade still pricking at his neck, Luke said, “If you answer a couple of simple questions, I’ll spare you.”

  “Are they riddles?” the Spaniard asked unhappily. “I’m a businessman. Riddles are childish.”

  “No. I’m after plain facts,” Luke said, and the members of the pirate crew who were sitting around in a circle rocked with laughter.

  “The question?” the Spaniard asked eagerly.

  “All right. Here it is. What color is the deep blue sea?”

  “Ah. There’s a trick there,” the Spaniard said with a cunning smile. “Only I won’t be taken in. You see, if I take a little water from the sea and hold it in my hand, why it has no color. It’s just water.”

  “Wrong,” Luke said grandly. “The plain fact was right under your nose. I told you it was a deep blue sea.”

  “But I thought that was a trick.”

  “No, it was such a plain fact you couldn’t believe it. All right, one more question.”

  “I’m ready,” the Spaniard grunted with a scowl.

  “What’s the price of the red feathers on a robin’s red breast?”

  “Now that’s a little difficult,” the Spaniard said, closing his eyes as he rested his head on the stone floor. “The trick there is in calling the feathers red and making it seem that red feathers are more expensive than other kinds of feathers. I won’t be taken in, though. If I only had my notebook here.”

  “Go on. Start thinking.”

  “The only thing such feathers could be used for would be as stuffing for pillows and so on,” the Spaniard said profoundly. “Red feathers would be no better than any other kind. If I had my notebook, I’d calculate how much goose feathers cost a pound. I’d figure out the price of a pound of feathers no matter what the color. Look here, can’t you have them bring me my black notebook? It’s in the pocket of my green doublet.”

  “What’s the use?” Luke jeered. “You’re crazy. The red feathers on a robin’s breast have no price. They are just something you like looking at and like having around. Anybody knows that. Say, you’re kind of dumb, my friend.” And with a gesture of contempt he called to three huge pirates, “Take him and put him in chains. Have him grow a beard and let him trail around after us.”

  And so it was done, and the castle burned and the town wiped out and the galleons looted.

  When all was done there was only the quiet flowing river and the bare sandy beach littered with sun-bleached branches twisted into strange forms; it was like a long strip of desert with the yellow sun-baked branches and logs as smooth as the bones of men who had died in the desert. And it was hot.

  Tired now, Luke sat down crosslegged and Dan squatted beside him, his red tongue dripping out and fluttering, his good eye dancing as he waited and puffed and panted.

  “That was pretty good, eh, Dan?” Luke said.

  The dog flopped down and put his neck on Luke’s shoe.

  “I hurt my finger when I was pulling the oars in. I kind of crushed it. Look, Dan.”

  Dan looked and then licked the finger.

  �
�You know something, Dan? Saliva is good for wounds. I read it somewhere. It’s a good idea to lick your wounds. Of course, you know that anyway. I had to read it to find out. Well, it’s no fun staying here. Come on.”

  They went down the beach together, taking their time, for now they were just a boy and his dog, and Luke knew where there was a raspberry patch just back beyond the line of trees. When they got to the trees Luke stopped to look up at the heavy vines which were like ropes. He climbed one of the trees and grabbed the vines and swung from one branch to another, wishing there was another boy in the neighborhood so they could play tree tag. The collie barked and began to make anxious movements with his right front paw. “Okay, Dan,” Luke called finally and he jumped down. Then they went into the berry patch where there were three women and two children picking berries. Circling around these women Dan barked wildly, trying to chase them. They paid no attention to him, so he settled down beside Luke, who picked handfuls of raspberries and sat down in the shade and ate them. Dan ate the berries too. It was remarkable how Dan would eat anything Luke ate.

  Luke’s hands were stained from the crushed berries; they were stained as if with blood.

  “See that, Dan,” he said, holding out his hands. “That’s blood. It’s blood on my hands for some great wrong I’ve done. We must get to the temple, Dan.”

  It was cool in the woods and each stone and tree and trickling brook was part of the one big friendly place. When they got to the big rock they looked at each other contentedly, but they did not climb to the top. The strong sunlight was hitting the top of the rock. The stone there would be hot. In a little shaded place where the grass was cool and green and sweet smelling they lay down to rest and talk. Luke lay with his head down on his arms, with Dan stretched out beside him, and while Luke talked, Dan did a very thorough licking job on the back of Luke’s neck. The long red tongue became like a smooth brush which the dog applied patiently and exactly with a vast tender concern.

  Then Luke began to say things to Dan that he could not say to his uncle or aunt. Not that what he had to say was important. It was just stuff about himself that he might have told to his own father and mother if they had been alive. “Sleeping in that room of mine is all right, Dan, but I can’t get used to the bed,” he said. “Why is a hard bed like that supposed to be good for a kid’s spine? If it’s any good for the spine, you’d think, wouldn’t you, Dan, that my father would have known about it?”

  After brooding a little he said suddenly, “It’s a funny thing, Dan, but I’m getting to like Uncle Henry a little more all the time. What I mean is that he’s a man you can count on, and he’s a kind man, too, and he’s never done anything cheap or mean, or a thing that didn’t make sense. And I know he likes me, but you probably know that, too, Dan. I think he’d be always there to fall back on if you really needed him. Yeah, that’s right. That’s Uncle Henry,” he said.

  Picking a long blade of grass he split it and tired to whistle through it and failed and instead began to chew it, frowning a little. “But you’d wonder, wouldn’t you, Dan, that my father and Uncle Henry could be so far apart on what was useful in the world? You didn’t know my father, Dan, but he was a man who was always fixing up people who were pretty useless. Old ladies and sick babies, and men who had to lie in bed all the time. I mean invalids. How could those people ever be useful? Why, they were old crocks. Yet my father thought it was important to have them around, and he must have known they were worth something to somebody. See what I mean, Dan?

  “But there are some things I don’t quite get the hang of,” he went on. And as if Dan had said, “What things, Luke?” he explained. “Well, it’s this business of what’s useful or valuable and what isn’t. I don’t see how Uncle Henry gets it straight so easily.” He pondered over these matters, asking himself why it was of no value to Uncle Henry that the blue mountains were blue. Nor would Uncle Henry agree that Dan had any value. Even the fleecy clouds overhead in the sky that he liked watching had no real value, and the sound of the rain on the water which was often so fascinating to him was of no worthwhile significance. And Maria Stanowski, who seemed to him to be such a kind-hearted laughing girl, was supposed to be worthless. It was all pretty complicated; the things that made his life entertaining and often magical were the useless things according to Uncle Henry. Luke sighed and wondered how long it would take him to be wise enough to judge truly of what was really important in the world.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The Trials of a New Kid

  The old dog helped Luke get better acquainted with the boys at school and particularly with Elmer Highbottom, son of the rich merchant who had Uncle Henry’s approval. Luke himself was too reticent and too quiet; he spoke too politely, and so the other boys jeered at him, not believing he was really one of them. But the dog was always with him when he arrived at the ball field behind Stevenson’s orchard; the boys would talk with the dog and play with him and compare him with Elmer’s dog which was also supposed to be a thoroughbred.

  Elmer was a skinny red-haired kid, two years older than Luke, who had become the leader of the boys by the power of his abusive voice and his frantic bad temper. Of course, all the kids argued in loud jeering tones, but Elmer could scream and jeer and swing his arms more passionately than the others.

  They all wanted to be big-league ballplayers, and Elmer had decided that he would become a great left-handed pitcher. One way of being friendly with Elmer was to stand behind him when he was pitching and say, “Wow, did you see that curve? How did you throw it, Elmer?”

  Luke, who was lonely and wanted to have friends, would stand behind Elmer, and one day he said enthusiastically, “Boy, what a hook you had on that one, Elmer.” It made him a little sick at his stomach to say it, for the ball didn’t curve at all; but he wanted Elmer’s friendship and he would have liked to believe that Elmer would someday be a great ballplayer.

  All Elmer really had was a first baseman’s mitt. When he was pitching he used this first baseman’s mitt and when a ball came his way he stuck the glove down like a broom and hoped the ball would stick in the pocket. For another thing, he insisted on wearing a fancy rainproof cloth hat, like a man’s felt hat, which his father had bought in the city. Luke could not imagine a pitcher, even a left-hander with red hair, ever amounting to anything when he wanted to pitch wearing a hat like that one.

  But the day Luke said wistfully, “I wish you’d show me how to throw that great curve of yours,” Elmer thawed and became friendly and took Luke home with him to show him his valuable thoroughbred dog.

  There are several breeds of collie dog, some big and some smaller, but as soon as Luke saw this dog, Thor, which was chained up at a kennel at the back of the big Highbottom house, he doubted that the dog was a thoroughbred. Its legs were too long; it didn’t have the long-haired coat of a collie; the hair was more like that of an Alsatian; but it was a big, powerful, bad-tempered dog which was always kept on a leash.

  “It’s a thoroughbred,” Elmer said, “and it can lick any dog in this town.”

  “If that dog’s a thoroughbred, then our Dan isn’t,” Luke said.

  “Then your Dan isn’t. This is a fighting thoroughbred.”

  “Aw, go on,” Luke said.

  “Aw, go on yourself. Nuts to you.”

  “Nuts to you, Elmer. Why has it got that crazy look in its eyes?”

  “Because it doesn’t like strangers, see, and it doesn’t like other dogs,” Elmer said.

  But then Mr. Highbottom came out of the house. He was a plump, affable, sandy-haired man with rimless glasses and a round pink face and he talked cheerfully with Luke about Thor. He had a great deal of assurance and a pleasant little smile, and his clothes were expensive, with no doubt about his being a rich man, and a good friend of Uncle Henry’s. When Elmer went into the house to get his new first baseman’s glove, Mr. Highbottom explained that Thor was kept as a watchdog; he had got the dog from some people in the city who had kept it locked up in an apartment
and it was too big to be locked up like that; it had been badly treated. The first night he, Mr. Highbottom, had got it he had had to hit it on the head with a club to let it know who was master. It was half collie and half Alsatian and a wonderful dog to have around the place at night as a protection against tramps and burglars.

  When Elmer came out of the house, Luke said nothing about knowing the dog was not a thoroughbred; he wanted to keep Elmer’s friendship.

  All the bigger boys at school were friends of Elmer’s and now Luke could trail along with them after school and in the evenings. He would go home after school and get Dan and then walk back to the field where they played ball. He had no real influence with Elmer and no influence with Elmer’s friends, for he couldn’t get used to that technique of abuse which was Elmer’s effective weapon. Elmer would scream, “You dope, you great big dope. You lunkhead,” and get his way even with the boys who were his own size.

  In the gang there were six of them; Eddie Shore, the dark and muscular son of a grocer; Woodie Aliston, the undertaker’s son; Jimmie Steward, the minister’s boy; Dave Dalton, the left-handed first baseman, whose father owned the ice-cream parlor; Hank Hennessey, whose father worked in the shipyard; and Norm McLeod, whose father was the superintendent of the grain elevator.

  If they were playing ball and Luke missed a fly ball, Elmer, the potential big leaguer, would scream at him in derision and Luke secretly hated him. Lying in the grass by the third-base line with Dan, Luke would whisper, “He’s a one-armed ballplayer himself. He just swings that glove at the ball, Dan. If the ball sticks in the pocket, he’s all right.”

  He was not afraid of Elmer, but he never said these things to him; he wanted to go on hanging around with the boys.

  In the evenings they would all go up to the fairgrounds, especially if a team from one of the grain boats in the harbor was playing the town team. The players on a ship’s team came from cities like Chicago, St. Louis and Detroit, and the kids believed that each one of them was a major-league ballplayer. Luke was always ill at ease because he didn’t even know the members of the town team; he couldn’t stand behind the bench when the home team was batting and chat and kid with these great players.