CHAPTER XI
THE BLACK HOLE
I have now to tell how we passed through that night, the memory of which to this day moves me to tremble and sicken like a man in strong fear.
At sunset the Moorish soldiers who had charge of the prisoners marched us all together into a covered gallery or verandah that ran along one side of the courtyard, from which it was screened off by a row of arches. While we waited here a part of the soldiers ran to and fro, as if looking for accommodation for us. Surajah Dowlah’s promises, reported to us by Mr. Holwell, had so far raised our spirits that some of the prisoners made merry at the difficulty the guard seemed to be in. One man asked if we were to pass the night in that gallery. Another, who stood near me, observed in jest—
“They don’t seem to know of the Black Hole.”
“I’m afraid we shouldn’t all go into that,” replied another, laughing.
“What place do you mean?” I asked out of curiosity.