Fort William, prized jewel of Britain's East India Company, lay smoking in the stiff, still Calcutta midnight. Governor Drake had angered the Nawab, Siraj-ad-daula, with a number of offenses both real and imaginary. For three days, since Wednesday, June 15th, the Nawab and his forces had besieged the fort, repelled mainly by luck and the heroics of a handful of junior officers. It was beginning to crumble now, under the continuous onslaught.
It was on days like these that John Holwell, chief magistrate, wished he had never left his comfortable medical practice at Guy's hospital in London. Wiping his face with a handkerchief already gray from smoke, he passed beneath the arcade formed by a series of arches along the east wall and onto the fort's parade ground. The last two arches in the arcade had been walled in to form a small prison eighteen feet long by fourteen feet wide called the Black Hole for unruly soldiers to sleep off a drunk. Here Drake had imprisoned the powerful Hindu merchant, Omichand, who sometimes acted as intermediary between the Nawab and the British. That had been Drake's first mistake.
Holwell had been assigned the task of trying to placate the man into writing a conciliatory letter to the Nawab for them. Holwell had talked himself hoarse to no avail in the stifling, foul little room while Omichand peered at him from his perch on the sleeping platform like an enormously fat vulture waiting for his dinner to die.
The air outside the Black Hole smelled little better. Every breath left the acrid taste of sulfur in his mouth. It was midnight but the Indians had abandoned their usual practice of stopping before sundown and were still haphazardly shelling the fort.
Holwell hurried across the huge parade ground, pushing his way through the more than 2000 native women and children who had sought refuge in the fort. They swarmed around him, crying with their palms held up to plead with him.
One wealthy family sat eating rice and lamb, oblivious of the dark, hungry eyes of the bony children who squatted nearby. Holwell's own stomach rumbled. He had eaten only one hot meal and a handful of dry biscuits in the last few days. Swallowing hard, he turned his head.
Inside the governor's mansion, Holwell threaded a path around the European women and children gathered in the grand ballroom. This group was quieter but the little white faces looked just as hungry. The humid air seemed to grow heavier by the minute with the perspiration of fear. He stopped to help button a shoe, smiled, patted a few heads. It was all he could offer.
Hearing the angry voices from inside the council chamber, Holwell drew in a breath then opened the door. George Minchin stood with his hand on his sword, his red tunic noticeably unsoiled, nostrils flared, dark head thrown back, arguing with the much shorter Charles Manningham. Minchin's voice had risen to almost feminine pitch. Apparently, now they were down to arguing who would get what spoils.
Slipping into the room, Holwell wondered for the hundredth time how Minchin had made commander of the garrison. He had lost all control over his subordinates.
Governor Drake sat on a keg of gunpowder as if ready to defend it with every ounce of strength in his corpulent body, wiping his round face with his sleeve and making no effort to end the argument.
Holwell sat down beside the young clerk, Darton, who tried to take notes as fast as his hands could move. His paper had great splotches of ink from his haste in dipping into the inkwell.
Doomsday could come but the East India Company would have a proper record of it.
Drake waved his arms at last and raised his voice. "Enough gentlemen. We must think of the safety of our people first. Manningham, go make sure the women and children get safely aboard the Dodaldy."
From his position, Holwell could see the triumphant look on Manningham's ferret face. Manningham had spent his year of service to the Company in a constant state of dissipation, his capacity for drink exceeded only by his capacity for complaint. They would never get the young man back off the ship.
As Manningham scampered away, Minchin turned on Drake. He never had the chance to speak.
A great screech of air filled Holwell's head. The resulting bang he felt more than heard and found himself on the floor with drops of limestone raining down around him. The Nawab's cannonball put an effective end to the council.
Although unhurt, the others seemed to have lost their senses. They abandoned the chamber, becoming part of the melee outside.
The Hoogly River fronting Fort William's west side proved to be their only strategic advantage. The European women and children quietly evacuated, half through the governor's wharf, the other half through the back gate to the northwest. Quietly that is until a cry went up, reverberating across the water.
Pulling himself up on the wall above the governor's wharf, Holwell strained to get a better look at the ship. It was lighter now and he could see a knot of women at the edge of the water. The young Indian girl, Mary Carey, who had married a British soldier only a month ago, stood in their midst, hers the one calm face. Lady Russell, like an angry bantam rooster stood in a protective stance beside the girl. It was not difficult to figure that Manningham had refused to allow Mary aboard.
Several men joined Holwell on the wall to watch. A grubby, sweating sergeant tore the cap off his head, swearing, and pointed a gun-powder stained finger toward the Dodaldy. The ship had raised anchor. Drake and Minchin were on the beach arguing with a sailor in a boat. With all his years of ingrained cynicism about human nature, Holwell still could not believe what he saw next. Drake and Minchin got into the boat and rowed out to the ship without a backward glance.
Feeling a tug on his sleeve, Holwell looked into the frowning face of the sergeant.
"What do we do now, sir?" the man asked.
"We negotiate."

***

Holwell was never quite sure afterwards how it happened but the ensuing panic was calmed at last. The remaining Company officials elected him emergency commander. Knowing that they would have greater negotiating power if the Nawab thought they might last indefinitely, Holwell pushed his men, his powder and his own soul to hold out one more day.
At the last moment, the Dutch mercenaries betrayed them by opening the back gate. Within a few brave deaths, Fort William fell to Siraj-ad-daula.
That was around 10:00 on the morning of June 20th. Sometime around 8:00 that night a drunk soldier fired a shot at an Indian guard. One hundred and forty five men and the only woman left in the fort, little Mary Carey who had refused to be separated from her husband Peter, were herded into the Black Hole. The temperature was 100 degrees.
Holwell felt dread lapping over him, a tide of panic swelling behind him as he stepped over the threshold, the first one in. The air was as foul as it had been on his earlier visit to Omichand. The vulture was free now. He would not have to wait long for his feast.
The men cried, shouted, pushed and shoved for a space to breathe. Holwell swayed in twisted agony, crushed into his position by one of the two tiny windows. His own will to survive held him there despite the intense pressure. Within an hour, dead men stood among the living. The rising steam created a palpable stench so smothering, Holwell could turn his head from the window only a few seconds at a time. Still, he called out to the men trying to calm them, bring some order in that roasting sarcophagus.
More men died.
In the waning hours of the night, Holwell could no longer control the raging thirst that was burning the life from his body. Relinquishing his position, he forced his way to the sleeping platform.
His eyes met the dark stare of Mary Carey. She held her dead husband in her arms, her eyes dry. No drop of moisture remained in the room. Her fingers brushed Holwell's then fell back limp to her side. Holwell laid down beside her and waited to die.
At last, by 6:00 the morning of June 21st, the desperate entreaties of the prisoners induced the guards to release them. Twenty three people including Holwell and Mary Carey came out alive from the Black Hole of Calcutta.
The outrage this tragedy ignited would change the East India Company's course in India forever. It would lead to the creation of the largest empire the world had ever seen.
Years later, when John Holwell recalled the cowardice of Governor Drake and Captain Minchin, the horrors of the Black Hole, and all that the East India Company became afterwards, he would sometimes wonder, what if it had been planned that way?