A Far Horizon (30 page)

T
he Chief Magistrate had not imagined that his meeting with Siraj Uddaulah would take such a humiliating form. He had refused to hand over his sword when the nawab’s men entered the fort, although he had relinquished his pistols. His hands had been tied like a common prisoner while he stood in the sun awaiting the nawab. Finally, at the approach of Siraj Uddaulah, the Chief Magistrate had been marched to the top of the ramparts to stand in full view of the nawab’s palanquin. The irony of this struck him, for it was at exactly this spot that he had stood so recently in triumph before Fort William. Now, from this same pinnacle, he was forced to watch, like a ceremonial deflowering, the nawab’s final penetration of Fort William. The Chief Magistrate pulled himself up and tried to project dignity. This was not easy, for his shoes had been divested of their buckles by looting soldiers, and they flapped about him as he walked. The formal coat he had put on to meet the nawab had similarly been stripped of its silver buttons and hung in a slovenly manner about him. While dressing that morning he had hurriedly donned a wig but the officer who had accompanied him up to the ramparts had accidentally knocked it askew. The Chief Magistrate was aware that every eye within and without the fort was on him. As the nawab’s entourage halted before the gate, the Chief
Magistrate at last relinquished his sword before the crowd to a turbanned officer. Although his hands were freed for the ceremony, Holwell knew he must cut a ridiculous figure. He suddenly remembered the fleeing Demonteguy and his fugitive appearance. The nawab approached and the Chief Magistrate made the
customary
salaam. Looking down from the ramparts of Fort William, Holwell observed the arrogant face of Siraj Uddaulah peering out of his palanquin in open curiosity. The nawab returned the Chief Magistrate’s greeting with a casual wave before his litter proceeded towards the fort. Behind him on horseback sat the treacherous Rai Durlabh. The Chief Magistrate had a great desire to throw himself from the ramparts upon the man, but his hands were quickly tied once more. He was marched back to stand again beside the Chaplain and the other survivors of the siege. As they watched, the nawab was carried up the last steps to enter Fort William. His palanquin was set down in the square before Writers’ Row.

The Chief Magistrate had expected, as Acting Governor, to be granted an immediate interview with the nawab. Instead he saw Kishindas and then Omichand escorted forward. Kishindas, as a nobleman of royal blood, went first before the nawab, who received him graciously, even presenting him with a ceremonial dress as a sign that all was forgiven. The fat merchant followed, and although he received no gift, it was clear that Siraj Uddaulah did not view him as a conspirator in Fort William’s affairs. The Chief Magistrate noted the expression of satisfaction on the merchant’s face. Both men were escorted from the fort with considerable pomp.

The Chief Magistrate prepared to step forward but instead found himself ignored once more. Siraj Uddaulah’s great palanquin was lifted up again to tour the interior of the fort and enter the Governor’s House. The tour was extensive and took much time. The nawab was particularly interested in Drake’s private apartment and the manner in which the Governor had lived. The Governor’s cupboards were opened and his waistcoats and wigs displayed. The stays and petticoats of the Governor’s wife were held up for the
nawab’s inspection. He had taken a liking to a mahogany coat stand, and secured it as a trophy, along with a set of Mrs Drake’s stays. A harpsichord, a fine marquetry table and several sets of chairs, were also carried out. Finally, Siraj Uddaulah returned to the parade ground.

Beside the Chief Magistrate, Reverend Bellamy grew faint as they waited in the heat, and swayed precariously. Although his hands were tied, Holwell turned to the bodyguards in anger, demanding a seat for his friend. The men took no notice, and when he continued with his requests, he was struck in the small of the back with a musket. Eventually Siraj Uddaulah returned from his tour of the defeated fort and the Chief Magistrate was brought before him.

Evening was falling quickly. The last fiery rays of sun licked the beaten-silver birds that covered Siraj Uddaulah’s great litter. The Chief Magistrate stood grimly before the nawab, and his bow was a paltry affair. The bodyguard prodded him hard, forcing Holwell to prostrate himself. His wig fell off, revealing to all the closely cropped hair on his head. The dust of the parade ground filled his mouth and he spat out the grit with some force. For this insolence he received a further kick from a guard, so that he sprawled ignominiously before the nawab. Eventually, the Chief Magistrate heard Siraj Uddaulah give a command. Immediately, the bonds about Holwell’s wrists were loosed and he was pulled to his feet. He stood up to meet the eyes of the nawab.

‘They do not extend the right courtesy to an Acting Governor and for this I apologise.’ The nawab spoke through an interpreter.

‘We have surrendered in an honourable way. I request honourable treatment for my men and a negotiated settlement,’ the Chief Magistrate demanded, brushing the dust from his coat, settling his wig on his head once more. At these words the nawab snorted with anger.

‘What is honourable about standing in my way? What is honourable about concealing my treasure? Where is it hidden? Have it brought out.’ Siraj Uddaulah leaned forward within his silver litter.
His eyes were of exceptional brightness and glittered now like black quartz. For a moment the Chief Magistrate was taken aback by the sheer force of the nawab’s anger.

Rai Durlabh stood silently beside the palanquin, his head held high, his gaze unconcerned. Holwell kept his eyes upon the commander, willing some sign of recognition, but Rai Durlabh was unyielding. He turned his face away, as if the proceedings bored him.

‘What treasure we have is in our treasury. Take it if you wish,’ Holwell answered; if the mercenaries had not already looted the treasury a few chests of insignificant coins might still remain.

‘You have come over the seas to plague my country. The merchant Omichand and my relative Kishindas were imprisoned in this fort and divested of the treasure to satisfy your greed.’ The nawab began to grow agitated.

‘I know of no treasure, search if you wish.’ Holwell stuck to his story. Unbeknown to him the fort had already been searched and the paltry amount of plate and bullion found did not cover the nawab’s expectations.

‘My treasure is on your ships with your cowardly Governor. I shall pursue it. Did you see him take it when he left? How was it loaded? In how many boxes and chests? It came into this fort from Omichand’s house at the time of his arrest; there are witnesses to this. I
will
have what is mine,’ the nawab screamed.

The Chief Magistrate lowered his head. The words rained down on him as he knelt before the nawab. The shadows had deepened and already flares were being lit, but Siraj Uddaulah’s tirade continued. At last the nawab became silent and looked angrily about him, seeking a way to place his stamp permanently upon Fort William. Turning again to Holwell, he pointed to Governor’s House.

‘That is the residence of Drake is it not?’ he queried, squinting up at the building with an expression Holwell could not interpret.

‘It is the Governor’s residence,’ Holwell confirmed, following the nawab’s gaze. A sudden wave of regret trickled through him.
Whatever dreams he had had of eventually taking his place in that mansion must now be temporarily shelved.

‘If that is his residence, then burn it,’ ordered the nawab as he lay back in his litter. The Chief Magistrate began to protest that the house did not belong personally to Drake, but felt a musket butt strike him again. As he sprawled once more in the dust, Holwell saw the nawab’s great litter lifted free of the parade ground for the return to his camp.

‘Tonight you will think very hard where the treasure might be. In the morning we shall talk again.’ The nawab’s voice drifted to Holwell as the litter was borne away.

The Chief Magistrate’s hands were not bound again, for the nawab had given orders to treat him and his men with respect. As he returned to Bellamy’s side, the first flames shot up the walls of Governor’s House. The Chief Magistrate reached out to support the old man who had begun to tremble at the sight of the fire. For some moments they stood silently together, unable to speak for emotion. The guards moved away, and they were left alone. Within reason now it appeared that the Fort William men could wander about, although a strict eye was kept upon them. For a wild moment Holwell wondered if he could retrieve old Jaya’s diamonds from their hiding place, but the constant vigilance of the guards made this plan impossible.

A confused crowd still filled the parade ground. Refugees continued to leave the fort, looters went assiduously about their job, gravediggers carted away the piles of rotting corpses left from the siege and vast numbers of the nawab’s army drilled wherever they could. The Dutch mercenaries who had betrayed Fort William were now swaggering about the parade ground again, more drunk than ever before. The Fort William men stood about uncertainly, kicking the dust and discussing their chances of escape. They were thirsty, hungry and exhausted. The Chief Magistrate looked about him. So few familiar faces were left. During the last of the fighting all that remained of the garrison had been twenty-five men, and many of
these had already departed Fort William, slipping through the nawab’s indifferent security. Many in the groups about the Chief Magistrate were, like Bellamy, already sick, touched by fevers or dysentery or badly wounded like young Baillee, Witherington, Blagg and Captain Clayton, all of whom had shared the East Battery with Holwell on the first day of the siege. They were no more than ten men altogether.

Soon the nawab’s soldiers approached with a group of sepoys and a few Europeans who had volunteered for the militia from the boats on the Hoogly. Trailing behind were three young writers, Court, Burdet and Walcot. The soldiers began to round up the Fort William men and finally ordered everyone across the parade ground. The Chief Magistrate took the Chaplain by the arm to help him forward. Bellamy leaned heavily on Holwell and his breath came in short, laboured gasps. In spite of the warm night, his hand on the Chief Magistrate’s arm was cold.

‘They are taking us to the open barracks along the east wall. There we shall have a passable night.’ The Chief Magistrate tried to cheer the Chaplain as they proceeded towards the area where Omichand had been confined.

Fire now circled them wherever they looked. There appeared to be no building in Fort William that had not been torched. ‘They wish to burn us. That way we can then be got rid of without trace or explanation,’ the Chaplain panted. Behind them the men of Fort William followed, those few like the Chief Magistrate who were in reasonable health helping forward those who were afflicted by illness or wounds.

Eventually they reached the colonnaded arches of the east wall and sat down gratefully on the wooden benches there. The Chaplain leaned back, breathing hard. A short distance away a group of Dutch mercenaries were fraternising loudly with the nawab’s professional looters. All had been drinking hard. By now the Fort William men were sitting comfortably. The wounded were helped to stretch themselves out, and what little could be done for them was done. It
seemed as if a destination had been reached at last, and the morning light would bring a turning point of more positive dimensions.

‘We have been left unmolested. Probably when this army is fed, which must be soon, we too shall be given food. After all, dead men cannot lead the nawab to his treasure. Besides, he needs our trade too badly to be rid of us,’ the Chief Magistrate reasoned to Bellamy.

Before them the parade ground was filled with distorted shadows and the fierce, garish light of the fires. The sound of the muezzin calling the army to prayer rose above the crackling and the crashing of falling timber.

The men of Fort William began to relax. Their thoughts turned now to the food they felt sure they would soon receive. Some had already fallen asleep. All were unprepared for the musket shot which rang out suddenly a short distance away. They sat up with a start, peering into the night. The trouble appeared to be with the drunken Dutch mercenaries, who had taken a quarrel with the nawab’s looters to dangerous extremes. At the intervention of a soldier, the mercenaries had became even more riotous. One had pulled a pistol from his belt and shot the soldier at point-blank range. The man now lay slumped on the ground in a heap. Immediately a crowd of officers ran up and an argument began. The dead man was dragged away and the five Dutch mercenaries were escorted to the Black Hole and locked away within it. They banged on the door and yelled from the barred windows, all to no avail. The men of Fort William sat on their benches, observing the scene with interest.

‘They may be common mercenaries, but their behaviour reflects upon us. In the nawab’s eyes we are all birds of a feather. The fools have done us no good,’ the Chief Magistrate grumbled. He was worried for Bellamy, whose fever raged. The groans of Baillee, Clayton and Witherington, who were all afflicted with musket wounds, filled him with foreboding.

The nawab’s soldiers walked back to their posts, giving the men of Fort William no more than a cursory glance, so that they settled down again to await the food they hoped would soon appear. Some
dozed off once more. The young writers, Burdet, Walcot and Court, played five-stones to pass the time with some chips of brick found beneath the benches. Bellamy began to mutter deliriously but there was nothing Holwell could do to help him. The evening wore slowly on. No food appeared, although smells of cooking drifted to them, aggravating their misery.

Although the evening appeared dull, the Fort William men were unaware that word of the Dutch mercenaries’ drunken bawl had been relayed to the nawab. His advisers counselled that if a single Hatman, even if of a lesser caste than the Chief Magistrate and his men, could cause such trouble then a large group, left at liberty through the night, might eventually prove disastrous.