Ransacking Jake’s treasury one afternoon, I made an unexpected find—no less than a Spanish doubloon hidden away in an old sporran of a great-uncle of his.

The history of the fox-marked rapier, of the blood-stained tress of hair found at Cawnpore, and of the yellow robe of the Brahmin, I knew already; but the heavy Spanish coin suggested something of a different order.

‘Come,’ said I, holding it up so as to attract his attention, ‘tell me the tale connected with this—something to do with a pirate, or the Spanish Main, I dare swear.’

Jake smiled quaintly as he fingered the coin with deliberation. ‘Weel, it’s a queer tale, sartinly, that’s connected wi’ yon coin, but all I can tell ye is what my aunt telled me langsyne, when she presented it to me on my joining the sarvice, just before I left for India.

‘Noo, my aunt, ye mun ken, was a widow woman who lived on a bit property she had left her doon at the small, ootlandish-named seaport, as it was then, o’ Bocca Chica, on the Northumberland coast.

‘There was a man there she kenned nicely—in fact, she aye said afterwards, wi’ a shudder at the thocht o’t, that at one time he wanted to marry wi’ her—who cut a big figure i’ the place, by name Isaac Stephenson—“Black Isaac,” as he was mair usually styled. It seems he had been bred and born i’ the place, but had run awa to sea i’ his youth, an’ after many voyagings here an’ there turns up again wi’ pockets fu’ o’ siller, and a wee, misbegotten heathen dwarf o’ a Malay as his attendant.

‘The dwarf called hissel’ Chilpo, or some such uncanny name, an’ was a kind o’ body-servant an’ clerk an’ dirty-job man to Isaac. But Isaac never let on where he picked him up, an’ Chilpo was a sour-tempered little deil, whom maist folks were terrified o’; sae naebody e’er kenned muckle o’ his antecedents or ancestry.

‘Weel, Isaac, on his settling doon again at home, set up i’ business as a shipowner an’ broker, an’ carried on a large business as an exporter o’ coals, an’ did a bit, as maist everybody did i’ those days, i’ the smuggling line—salt, an’ lace, an’ brandy, ye ken. He had siller, as I said, when he started his new trade, though naebody kenned hoo he had come by it; but it was no lang before he was the richest man i’ the toon, an’ folk began to talk weel o’ him, an’ praise him up as a good citizen as was a credit to the toon, an’ ask him to open bazaars for them, an’ suchlike.

‘There was just one strange thing aboot him, an’ that was that the womenfolk couldn’t abide him. E’en after he had made hisself the richest man i’ the toon, he could ne’er get hissel’ married, though ’twas said my aunt, when he took up wi’ religion, had aince had a thocht o’ him, but no for lang, for there was suthin’ aboot him that tarrified her when it came near the point.

‘He was no ill-favoured neither, for I mind seein’ him mysel’ as a lad aince I was stayin’ wi’ my aunt—a tall, poo’erfu’, black-haired man, wi’ heavy eyebrows, an’ a lustfu’ sort o’ eye—half hectorin’, half cowardly. But he had a cruel sort o’ look aboot him—thick-lipped, an’ greedy, sweaty sort o’ hands.

‘Weel, after a good few years o’ prosperity he turned sort o’ sickly-like, an’ for the first time i’ his life began to think upon his latter end, an’ at the finish takes up wi’ a sect o’ Bible Christians, or Christadelphians, or some such body, who were glad to get hold o’ such a rich, influential sort o’ person withoot askin’ ower mony questions.

‘Weel, he gans to his chapel, an’ he prays, an’ he gies his testimony, an’ calls hissel’ all sorts o’ names, but was ay cautious no to gie ower mony details o’ his sins, an’ the good folk were highly edified by it, my aunt amangst them, an’ asked him for subscriptions for every sort o’ charity.

‘But Chilpo, he couldna stand this sudden right-about-face, for there was nae releegion at aal i’ his wee, misshapen anatomy, naething but love o’ siller, and beastly, secretive pleasures o’ opium drams an’ such like. An’ he mutinies against it, an’ cusses an’ swears to hissel’ i’ his pigeon-English talk, for Isaac by degrees began to hae his doots aboot the lawfu’ness o’ smugglin’ an’ saeforth, an’ Chilpo’s wages an’ profits dootless wud suffer by his maister’s scruples.

‘Consequence was, there grew to be bad blood betwixt maister an’ man, an’ folk could hear them quarrelling inside the office o’ nights, till at the finish there’s a grand flare-up, Isaac seemingly strikin’ Chilpo, an’ Chilpo clickin’ his maister wi’ his knife.

‘Chilpo gets the bag for that, Isaac no daurin’ to prosecute him, for he kenned ower muckle. But he disna leave the toon; just hangs aboot, doggin’ Isaac’s footsteps, an’ cussin’ to hissel’ i’ his queer, ootlandish way o’ talk. “Him coward,” he would mutter, “but Chilpo brave man. He no take no blowee. Chilpo hang Isaac—hang himselfee—no matter—Chilpo fear nozzin’,” an’ he would gnash wi’ his white teeth savagely like a mad dog as he saw Isaac pass along the street.

‘His heart was just as black as his sweaty, black phiznommy, an’ he properly haunted Isaac till he fair plagued him to death.

‘One Sabbath, when there was a great function on at Isaac’s chapel, he actually follows him in, an’ sat sneerin’ an’ mimickin’ an’ makin’ game o’ Isaac as he prayed an’ groaned, an’ confessed to bein’ a muckle great sinner i’ the past, till Isaac was near mad wi’ rage an’ terror. He tried to pray, but the words wouldn’t come richt, an’ the sweat poured aff his brow, they said, till folk thought he was about to hae a fit or seizure o’ some sort.

‘At the finish he gies it up, an’, staggerin’ on to his feet, points i’ a frenzied sort o’ way to Chilpo sittin’ there below him, an’ cries oot loud: “It’s the deil, it’s the deil! Drive him awa; drive him oot o’ the holy place! I tell ye he’s sin hissel’. See the sooty face on him!”

‘“Ugh! Black Isaac, him coward!” shouts Chilpo, standin’ up on his seat. “Him sky-pilot nowee, no goodee any more. Once a timee diffelent; good pilate once, grand pilate with Chilpo; men’s pilate, women’s pilates, temple’s pilates, all sorts pilates. Oh yez; huzza! Dam good timee then; ping-pang, click-click, plenty moneys, plenty grogs, plenty funee. O yez; Chilpo, he knowee.” The little heathen chuckled to himself, makin’ uncanny motions wi’ his hands o’ throat-cuttin’ an’ liquor-drinkin’ an’ fillin’ his pockets wi’ siller.

‘“Him hipple-clite nowee,” continued Chilpo, shoutin’ aloud to all the chapel-folks who hadn’t recovered theirsels from their amazement; “dam hipple-clite! Why, him worship the debbil like Chilpo former timee. Him no use for prayee; him dam-ee, curs-ee; him Church’s pilate, women’s pilate, then burnee together. Oh yes, him lemember allight; askee him,” an’ wi’ that he points his finger at Isaac, whose face was workin’ in a frightful fashion, his eyes starin’ this way an’ that, wi’ no meanin’ i’ them, his lips black, an’ his mouth slobberin’; then sudden he starts to run, but catches his foot an’ falls full length doon on the floor an’ drums wi’ his hands amangst the cushions.

‘There was a panic at that; half o’ the women faints dead awa, the bairns scream, and some o’ the men drives Chilpo, still chucklin’ to himself, oot at the door wi’ blows, whilst others attend to Isaac lyin’ wi’ his head covered i’ the dusty cushions an’ his hands hard a-grip o’ the seat-stanchions.

‘They loosens his grasp wi’ difficulty, but lifts him up at the finish wi’ a shockin’ face on him, an’ a senseless tongue that babbled aboot a parrot. Some said it mun ha’ been i’ reference someway to some wicked episode i’ his past life which Chilpo kenned o’ an’ alluded to i’ the chapel. Maybe a parrot had been left the sole survivor after a sack, ye ken, an’ Isaac couldna forget the scene. Anyways, Chilpo, the dam cunnin’ little de’il, kenned o’ the hidden sore i’ Isaac’s mind, an’ laid a cruel finger on ’t wi’ the blackest malice. An’ there was nae doot aboot the outcome o’t, for Isaac was gone clean daft, an’ died not long afterwards i’ the asylum.

‘Weel, they gied him a big buryin’, for his brethren i’ the chapel said they believed he was a true repentant sinner, an’ forbye that he had left a good bit siller amangst them, which would dootless assist them to that conclusion; an’ as there had been some body-snatchin’ lately, they determined to form a small watch committee to keep guard at the graveside for a night or two. ‘Weel, the watch was composed o’ some decent elderly folk, who didn’t trash theirselves ower the job; an’ mevvies the funeral festivities had delayed them a bit, for they didn’t arrive at the graveyard till aboot half-past ten o’ the clock.

‘It was ane o’ thae tempestuous October nights, wi’ half a gale blowin’, an’ clouds gallopin’, wi’ flittin’s o’ moonlight like jockeys ridin’ ’em; an’ when they came nigh to the graveside, an’ saw a dark, misshapen sort o’ a figure plyin’ an axe vigorously, an’ heard a thud, thud, same as ye may when passin’ by a butcher’s shop any day, why, they turned tail and fled, the most o’ them stumblin’ this way an’ that amangst the headstones.

‘Two o’ them, though, was a bit bolder, an’ pressed on up to the graveside, whereupon the little black demon figure thuds doon his axe wi’ a sickenin’ sound, then dives awa into the darkness, screechin’ oot: “Chilpo, Chilpo! he makee sicker, he makee sicker!” and therewith vanished frae Bocca Chica.

‘As for the doubloon,’ concluded Jake, spinning it into the air as he spoke, ‘it was found amangst some leavin’s o’ Chilpo’s at his lodgin’s, an’ sold wi’ some other trinkets to pay some small debts he had left behind him.

‘My aunt bought it up as a memento o’ the marcifu’ preservation she had had frae marryin’ wi’ a buccaneer; an’ when I said good-bye to her on startin’ for India, she presented it to me, wi’ an admonition ne’er to have any traffic wi’ dwarfs or pirates.’