This is a fascinating read by a writer who brings us the story of The Black Hole of Calcutta.

The Nabob of Bengal 1756:
P.44
"For years now he had distrusted their [British] promises not to interfere with the government of Bengal. They had abused their trading rights. He knew the Hindus hated the Muslim rulers. The British still harbored Kissendass, his rival to the throne."

Omichand was a Jain merchant in Calcutta.
P.62:
"Omichand's troops had been ordered to keep out the British from the compound until his chief footman, Jaggernath Singh, had killed the women of the harem.

Many men in the fort [William] were now to witness the ghastly scene. The sound of shooting must have drawn them to the east curtain, where some had a clear view of Omichand's compound. The footman was leading A procession to the edge of a small Coconut Grove. 13 women and three children followed him in single file. When they reached the palms they stood in a line with a quiet dignity and submission. There was no warning of what was to follow. Without hesitation, the first woman in the line stepped forward and tore her dress from her breasts. The footman drew a Dagger from his sash and stabbed her in the heart. She made no sound as she slumped to the ground, and the next woman stepped forward. One by one they moved out of the line as the horrifying ritual proceeded. if there were any shouts from startled Watchers in the fort or the bell tower of the church, Singh took no notice. In a few moments it was all over. Then, expressionless, Singh held the dagger high and plunged it into his chest."

Hague, captain of The Prince George, a ship anchored in the River Hoogley, defending Perrin's Redoubt, North of Fort Williams, waited for the right moment to target the Indians pouring out of the jungle towards the Redoubt.
P.74:
"meantime, new waves were pouring out of the jungle. Hague now had time to reload, but his guns were trained on the jungle and Ditch and the bulk of the Indians were now halfway across Perrin's garden. This was the moment Piccard [Ensign defending Perrin's Redoubt] had been waiting for. He himself dropped the burning portfire to the torch-hole and waited for the shivering air to burst and crack his eardrums as the first ball shrieked into the midst of the Moors barely 50 yards away.

Those at the loophole had an instant vision of the Carnage, the scrabbling figures, the bodies and flesh, the heads and entrails, the arms and disconnected feet, the spurting blood. One man, his leg blown off, tried to stand, holding up the Nabob's flag in a pathetic gesture of defiance. But his remaining leg gave way beneath him and soon he was crawling around in circles, still clutching the banner."

P.166-7:
"The story of the siege of Calcutta is one in which, even allowing for the blunders of its leaders, bad luck - sheer misfortune - seems to have dogged The defenders each time they appeared near to overcoming disaster. Now, about 5:00, when everything seemed to be going so well, when hopes were higher than they had been since the morning, when enemy attacks had been beaten back, a new disaster--the one stroke of bad luck nobody ever envisaged - befell the Fort. The [ship] The Prince George, upon which everything now depended, ran aground on a sandbank.

The news shattered the morale of the Garrison. Here was an accident that must have made them wonder in their disMay if even the Lord had not abandoned them. And indeed, in the whole story of The siege, It is not the blunders and crass incompetence for which blame can be apportioned, but the almost uncanny succession of unaccountable misfortunes which makes it seem as though Fort William lay under some inexplicable and preordained curse. The run of ill - luck was so persistent that had it been Incorporated in a work of fiction, the novelist would be criticized for clumsily contriving situations in order to heighten the drama. Yet all these events actually occurred in unrelenting sequence, with disastrous results which the unhappy Garrison could hardly foresee even in their worst nightmares."

This story is about the last men left defending the Fort, and their attempt to negotiate surrender of the Fort to the Nabob, on honorable terms. They were instead tricked and tortured. 146 humans (one woman) were crammed into a room 18x24 feet, from 8:00 pm to 6 am the following morning, with only two small, barred windows for breathing space. Only 22 men and the one woman survived. Most were trampled to death and suffocated, others merely suffocated, pinned tightly in place standing, and dead.

An especially gruesome scene takes place when Holwell, the leader of the last remainders of the Garrison, begged his Indian guards to pass some water into the dying humans inside. There were no receptacles to hold the water, so the soldiers' hats were passed through the bars of the window. A stampede commenced, all trying to get near the window to the few drops of water that would not be sloshed out of the hats by passing through. The Indians were vastly amused by this scene and called to their friends to come to watch.

P.217:
"Again and again the prisoners made desperate attempts to force the door-- invariably without success. Next, some of them began hurling insults at the guards in the hope of provoking them to open fire and at least put an end to the nightmare. But the guards ignored them until the men's piteous and insistent Cries for 'water! Water!' made the old guard whom Holwell had tried to bribe take pity on them.

Despite his own thirst, this was just what Holwell had dreaded. To his horror, he watched as the guard 'ordered the people to bring some skins of water, little dreaming, I believe of its fatal effects. I foresaw it would prove the ruin of the small chance left us.' HolWell's medical knowledge left him in little doubt that water itself could do nothing to assuage their raging thirst, but only accentuate the danger and lead to fighting.

With his face pressed to the bars, HolWell shouted to the guard to desist, but the old man apparently did not hear, and after a few minutes 'the water appeared. Words cannot paint to you the universal agitation and raving the sight of it threw us into. I had flattered myself that some, by preserving an equal temper of mind, might outlive the night; but now the reflection that gave me the greatest pain was that I saw no possibility of one escaping to tell the dismal tale.'

As every man fought to reach the window--and the water--Holwell tried to control the fighting that inevitably broke out. The only containers suitable for distributing the precious liquid were hats which Holwell and Lushington pushed through the bar so that the guards could fill them from the skins. These were almost useless. 'Though we brought full hats between the bars, there ensued such violent struggles and frequent contests to get at it that, before it reached the lips of anyone, there would scarcely be a small teacup full left in them. These supplies, like sprinkling water on fire, only served to feed and raise the flame.'

Time after Time whole hatfuls of water were spilled. Men fought like maniacs, dipped their hands into the empty felts, then licked them. The urge to drink was so desperate that several men at the other window left it--abandoning their only chance of Air and life--and 'pressed down on those in their way... And trampled them to death' as they tried to reach HolWell's window."
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I added titles from the defunct Common Reader catalog to my to-read list ages ago and finally thought to request them from the library. Not usually sympathetic to colonizers, I was not overly interested in the incident, and the book didn't inspire either or in the first few pages. With grotesque voyeurism, I flipped to the chapter, 3/4 of the way through, on the 14-hour horror itself. What I hadn't known that was worth learning was that the situation allowed the British to justify to themselves their stranglehold on India for the next nearly two centuries.

Barber's historical look into the 1756 Siege of Calcutta by Siraj-ud-Daula is chilling and fascinating all at once. His descriptions of the people involved in the struggle on their last day in the prison reaches a level that few historians can accomplish. Even though the first edition of this text was written 40 years ago, it still shows virtuosity and panache. Anyone interested in colonial history should read this. ( )