The Anarchy

by William Dalrymple

  On the Imperial Prince first coming out of Shahjahanabad, his circumstances were initially so distressing and his poverty so complete, that few would think of assisting him or following his fortunes. Everyone was, besides, in dread of the Vizier Imad ul-Mulk’s resentment … But my father undertook to prepare some field equipage with some other necessaries, and to bring into his service, on the fame of this expedition, and in the hopes of bettering their fortunes, as many disbanded Mughal soldiers as they could persuade to join them.

  As soon as it became certain that Shah Alam intended an expedition into the provinces of Bihar and Bengal, and that he was imminently coming to Azimabad [Patna], there was not an inhabitant who on the strength of the good government which they had formerly experienced from the Prince’s ancestors, did not pray for victory to him, and for prosperity to his undertaking. They seemed to have but one mouth and one heart on that subject, though not one of them had yet received any favour from him, or tasted the crumbs that might have fallen from the table of His Goodness.95

  But in truth, Shah Alam was already too late. The Bengal he was heading to was in the process of being changed for ever by a new force in Indian politics: the East India Company and, in particular, the machinations of Robert Clive.

  * The modern equivalences of these sums are: £1.25 and £2 million = £130 million and £210 million today; £1 million = £105 million; £8 million = £840 million; £3.2 millon = £336 million; £1.1 million = £115 million; £6 million = £630 million.

  * Over £4 million today.

  * The Reverend Nevil Maskelyne was, of course, the villain of Dava Sobel’s bestseller Longitude: The Story of a Lone Genius Who Solved the Greatest Scientific Problem of His Time, London, 1995. Here Maskelyne is painted, as one critic put it, as ‘a dull but jealous and snobbish Cambridge-trained cleric, whose elitism and privileging of astronomy over mechanical inventiveness prejudice him against the Yorkshire-born and Lincolnshire-bred [hero of the book, John] Harrison. He is jealous, petty and obstructive, putting potential personal gain over disinterested judgement.’

  † As well as generous stock dividends, the other very valuable thing that the directors and the servants in India had to offer was, of course, patronage: that is, appointments to lucrative places in India for the connections of politicians. This was another major reason for MPs to rally around the EIC and send the fleets of the Royal Navy and regiments of British army troops to protect it.

  * Nearly £19 million today.

  * £105,000 today.

  * £390 million today.

  * Almost £4 million today.

  3

  Sweeping With the Broom of Plunder

  Siraj ud-Daula led his troops down to Calcutta at far greater speed than anyone imagined possible. Mughal armies were usually notoriously slow-moving, often managing no more than three miles a day; but Siraj urged his forces forward, making some 130 miles in ten days despite the drenching tropical heat of a Bengali June.

  Governor Drake believed for several days after the fall of the Kasimbazar factory that the new Nawab was merely bluffing and would never dare to attack Fort William. So poor was his intelligence that he continued to think this even as Siraj’s forces were nearing his outer defences. Before the Company’s Council at Calcutta had managed even to discuss any coherent defence strategy, the first of Siraj’s troops were sighted on 13 June approaching the northern suburbs near Dumdum, and advancing steadily towards the Maratha Ditch.

  Drake was not just incompetent, he was also deeply unpopular. According to William Tooke, one of the Calcutta civilians who volunteered to join the town militia, Drake was such a divisive figure that it was practically impossible for him to organise a coherent defence: ‘Mr Drake’s conduct of late years had without doubt been very blameable,’ he wrote, carrying on ‘that indiscreet (not to say any worse) affair with his sister, is a circumstance that can never be forgiven him; for the crime was not only itself bad, but after that, every man of character and good sense shunned and avoided him, which was the cause of his running after and keeping very indifferent company, and of committing a thousand little meannesses and low actions, far unbecoming any man, much more a Governour.’1

  Nor was Drake’s military commander, Colonel Minchin, any more reassuring. As one survivor later wrote, ‘Touching the military capacity of our commandant, I am a stranger. I can only say we were either unhappy in his keeping it to himself if he had any, as neither I, nor I believe anyone else, was witness to any part of his conduct that spoke or bore the appearance of his being the commanding military officer.’2

  Watts estimated that Siraj was marching on Calcutta with a force of around 70,000. Against these Drake could field 265 uniformed Company troops and an armed but untrained militia of 250 civilians, a grand total of 515 men in arms.3 Of these ‘there were about 100 Armenians who were entirely useless, and then there was a number among the militia boys and slaves who were not capable of holding a musket, so that in fact our garrison did not consist of more than 250 fighting men, officers included’.4 In such a situation, grovelling apologies and negotiations would probably have been the wisest strategy. Instead, Drake began, belatedly, to build a series of batteries guarding the principal crossing places over the Maratha Ditch.

  The idea of demolishing some of the buildings encroaching upon and overlooking the Fort was mooted, but quickly rejected. According to the account of Captain Grant, the Adjutant General, ‘Such was the levity of the times that severe measures were not esteemed necessary’:

  Our Intelligence of the Nabob’s Motions, and numbers, was always very uncertain, and we could never be thoroughly persuaded that he would advance against our Batterys. The most we imagined was that he would form a Blockade and Cut off our Provision until we came to an accommodation …

  So little credit was then given, and even to the very last day, that the Nabob would venture to attack us, that it occasion’d a general grumbling to leave any of the European Houses without [the outer perimeter of the defences]. And should it be proposed by any Person to demolish as many Houses as would be necessary to make the Fort defensible, his opinion would have been thought Ridiculous, even had there been sufficient time to execute such a work or powder sufficient to blow them up.5

  The ‘levity of the times’ began to dissipate when Siraj ud-Daula arrived in person on 16 June and directed his heavy artillery to begin firing into the town. The first two attempts by Mughal forces to cross the Ditch were driven off with heavy casualties. But by evening, twenty of the defenders were dead and ‘just before dark, the whole body [of the Mughal advance guard had] inclined southward, and successfully crossed the Ditch that surrounds the Black Town, the extent of it being so great, and passable in all parts, that it was impossible to do anything to interrupt them’.6

  The following day, the Black Town was comprehensively looted: ‘vast numbers entered our bounds, plundering and setting fire to every house, and by the evening the whole town was surrounded … Several thousands this night got into the great bazaar where they murdered every person they met and plundered and set fire to all the houses.’7 The garrison did not make the slightest effort to protect the Black Town or offer shelter in the fort to the terrified inhabitants. No wonder, then, that by the second day all the Indian support staff had defected, leaving the garrison without lascars to pull the guns, coolies to carry shot and powder, carpenters to build batteries and repair the gun carriages, or even cooks to feed the militia.

  On the morning of the 18th, the Mughal advance was repulsed in tough house-to-house street fighting to the north of the Fort, but Siraj’s troops were still making steady progress advancing forward in the east. There, at 3 p.m., Company forces were impelled to retreat from their stronghold at the gaol, with heavy losses: ‘the small party bravely defended it for six hours, till most of the men being wounded, were obliged to retire.’ By the evening, the Mughals had also broken through the Company lines near the Great Tank. The northern and south-west batteries were now both in
danger of being cut off and so were quickly abandoned. All Company forces were now compelled to withdraw to the inner line of defence, the Fort itself: ‘The next thing considered of was a disposition for the Defence of the Fort, which was all that was left us now to maintain,’ wrote Captain Grant.

  Few expected that the Batterys would have been so suddenly quitted, and most people foresaw that the fall of them would be attended with fatal consequences. For the Enemy’s getting possession of the houses contiguous to the Fort and the Church would command the Bastions and Ramparts, so that it would be impossible to stand at the Guns, exposed to the small arms of such a multitude as would occupy those, especially as the parapets of the [Fort’s] bastions were very low, and the embrasures so wide that they hardly afforded any shelter. We had sandbags, which might in some measure supply this defect, but we were so abandon’d by all sorts of labourers that we could not get them carried upon the ramparts. And our Military and Militia were so harassed for want of rest and refreshment, that it was at first impossible to get them to do anything.8

  A late-night Council of War established that there was a maximum of three days’ ammunition left, and that the soldiers were already exhausted and in many cases drunk: ‘Half our men in liquor, no supplies of provisions or water sent out, the drum beat to arms three different times on alarm of the enemy being under the walls, but hardly a man could be got up onto the ramparts.’9

  ‘Now for the first time we began to look upon ourselves in a dangerous way,’ wrote David Renny of the militia.

  We were in a very distressed condition … It is almost impossible to conceive the confusion there was in the Fort there being at least two thousand women and children, nor was there any method to prevent these coming in as the military and militia declared they would not fight unless their families were admitted in the factory. The Enemy began now to fire warmly upon the Fort from all quarters. Our garrison began to murmur for want of provisions having not a single cook in the Fort, notwithstanding there had been several lodged there on purpose to dress their provisions. The whole Garrison was quite fatigued having been under arms great part of the preceding night. Many of the military and militia having got liquor begun to be very mutinous and under no command, having drawn bayonets on several of their officers.

  It was now thought necessary to send our ladies on board some of the ships, which was accordingly done. About 12 o’clock [midnight] news was brought us that the Enemy were going to storm the Fort there being ladders preparing close under the range of godowns [warehouses] to the southward. Immediately every person repaired to the curtain [wall] where we heard them at work. Orders were now given to beat to arms but none of the Armenians or Portuguese appeared, having hid themselves in different parts of the Fort. We threw some hand Grenades down amongst the Enemy, which soon dislodged them.10

  The following day, the 19th, resistance began to give way to outright panic. The Nawab’s principal general, Mir Jafar Ali Khan, pressed forward with his assault and by noon, when it became known there was only two days’ supply of ammunition left, the majority of the Council argued in favour of abandoning the Fort altogether and retreating to the ships anchored in the river. By 2 p.m., while the Council were still debating their plans for withdrawal, a cannonball burst through the Council Chamber and the meeting broke up ‘with the utmost clamour, confusion, tumult and perplexity’.11 Morale had now hit rock bottom and despairing drunkenness had broken out everywhere. Soon after lunchtime, there began a chaotic evacuation.

  As flights of fire arrows poured into the Fort and onto the shore, one ship, the Dodally, headed upriver without orders, to avoid catching fire. The other vessels began to do the same. Thinking the ships were departing without them, the waiting women and children took fright, ran out of the Fort and stampeded down to the shore in an attempt to board and save themselves. All the boats were filled to overcapacity and several capsized.

  At that point, ‘many of the gentlemen on shore, who perhaps never dreamt of leaving the factory before everybody else did, immediately jumped into such boats as were at the factory and rowed to the ships. Among those who left the factory in this unaccountable manner were the Governor Mr Drake … [and] Commandant Minchin … This ill-judged circumstance occasioned all the uproar and misfortune which followed.’12 Within an hour, all the ships had weighed anchor and began drifting slowly downstream towards the jungles of the Sunderbans, and the coast beyond.

  ‘Finding that matters went hard with him,’ wrote Ghulam Hussain Khan, ‘Mr Drake abandoned everything and fled, without so much as giving notice to his countrymen.’

  He took shelter on board of a ship, and with a small number of friends and principal persons, he disappeared at once. Those who remained, finding themselves abandoned by their chief, concluded their case must be desperate, yet preferring death to life, they fought it out, until their powder and ball failing at last, they bravely drank up the bitter cup of death; some others, seized by the claws of destiny, were made prisoners.13

  The remaining garrison hoped to escape on the Prince George, which was still anchored a little upriver. But early the following morning, the ship ran aground at low tide, and could not be budged. ‘Finding all Retreat cut off, the remaining defenders shut the Gates and were resolved to sell their lives as dear as they could, and fought like mad men.’14

  Under the command of the Dublin-born John Zephaniah Holwell, the roughly 150 remaining members of the garrison who had failed to make their escape continued the resistance for one more morning. But the Mughal troops attacked fiercely and, just as Captain Grant had predicted, Mir Jafar sent his sharpshooters with their long-barrelled jezails onto the flat parapet of the church tower and the houses overlooking the ramparts, ‘which being loftier than the walls, and commanding all the bastions, galled us so badly with shot that no man could stand them, they killing or wounding all that appeared in sight, wounding most of our Officers, several of whom after dyed of wounds. The surviving officers were obliged to exert themselves, pistol in hand, to keep the soldiers to their quarters.’15

  By mid-afternoon, many more of the defenders were dead, and those that lived were ‘exhausted of strength and vigour’. With only a hundred fighters left on the ramparts, ‘about 4 o’clock in the afternoon, the Enemy called out to us not to fire, in consequence to which Holwell shewed a flag of truce, and gave orders for the garrison not to fire’.

  Upon which the Enemy in vast numbers came under our walls, and at once began to set fire to the windows and Gates of the Fort which were stopt up with bales of cotton and cloth, and began to break open the Fort Gate, scaling our walls on all sides. This put us in the utmost confusion, some opening the back gate and running into the river, others to take possession of a boat that lay ashore half afloat and half dry. It was so full in an instant that she could not be got off.16

  Inside the Fort, Siraj’s forces were now beginning to loot: ‘The factory was in a few minutes filled with the enemy,’ recalled John Cook, ‘who without loss of time began plundering everything they could set their hands on; we were rifled of our watches, buckles, buttons &c but no farther violence used to our persons. The bales of broadcloth, chests of coral, plate and treasure laying in the apartments of the gentlemen who resided in the factory were broke open, and the Moors were wholly taken up in plundering.’17

  That evening, having ‘swept the town of Calcutta with the broom of plunder’, Siraj ud-Daula was brought in his litter to visit his new possession.18 He held a durbar in the centre of the Fort where he announced that Calcutta was to be renamed Alinagar, after Imam Ali – appropriately for a prominent city in a Shia-ruled province. He then appointed one of his Hindu courtiers, Raja Manikchand, to be the Fort Keeper of Alinagar and ordered the demolition of Government House, whose beauty he admired, but considered it worthy to be ‘the dwelling of Princes rather than merchants’, apparently mistaking it for the private property of the detested Drake.19 ‘Siraj ud-Daula seemed astonished to find so small a garrison,’ rememb
ered one of the prisoners, ‘and immediately enquired for Mr Drake, with whom he appeared much incensed. Mr Holwell was carried to him with his hands bound, and upon complaining of that usage, the Nabob gave orders for loosing his hands and assured him upon the faith of a soldier that not a hair of our heads should be hurt.’20 He then offered thanksgiving prayers for his success in battle, and was carried out to his tents.

  So far, the surrendered garrison had been treated unusually well by Mughal standards: there had been no immediate enslavement, no summary executions, no impaling, no beheading and no torture, all of which would have been, in the Mughal scheme of things, quite routine punishments for rebellious subjects. It was only after Siraj had left that things began to fall apart.

  Many in the Company’s garrison were still blind drunk, and in the early evening one intoxicated soldier who was being stripped of his goods became incensed and promptly pulled out a pistol and shot his Mughal plunderer dead. Immediately the tone changed. All the survivors were herded into a tiny punishment cell, eighteen feet long by fourteen feet ten inches wide, with only one small window, little air and less water. The cell was known as the Black Hole. There, according to the Mughal chronicler Yusuf Ali Khan, the officers ‘confined nearly 100 Firangis who fell victim to the claws of fate on that day in a small room. As luck would have it, in the room where the Firangis were kept confined, all of them got suffocated and died.’21

  The numbers are unclear, and much debated: Holwell, who wrote a highly coloured account of the Black Hole in 1758, and began the mythologising of the event, wrote that one woman and 145 Company men were shoved inside, of whom 123 died.22 This was clearly an exaggeration. The most painstaking recent survey of the evidence concludes 64 people entered the Black Hole and that 21 survived. Among the young men who did not come out was the nineteen-year-old Stair Dalrymple from North Berwick, who only two years earlier had been complaining of Calcutta’s cost of living and dreaming of becoming Governor.