When I came to my senses again I was lying on the ground under the gallery. The door of that Gehenna was standing open, twenty paces from me, and the stench from the corpses piled within tainted the air of the whole court.

My first thought was of Marian. I looked round as well as I was able, but could see no signs of her. The great weakness in which I found myself was such as to prevent me from standing on my feet, but I lifted myself up so far as to lean on one elbow, and in that posture glanced round over the little group of those who survived.

I counted twenty-two in all, less than one-sixth of the number of those who had been promised the mercy of Surajah Dowlah on the evening of yesterday. Close beside me lay Mr. Holwell, seeming to breathe painfully, as he laboured to gain his self-command. I heard afterwards that this worthy gentleman had been found unconscious and almost lifeless, on the floor; and that a lane had had to be cleared through the dead to bring out the twenty-three of us that remained alive.

But, look where I would, Marian was not there, and my heart misgave me that that beautiful form was lying in the loathsome charnel-house whence I had so hardly come out. A man near me, who appeared to have preserved his strength better than most of us, presently observing my trouble, and guessing its cause, undertook to enlighten me.

“You look for Mistress Rising?” he said. “She was among the survivors; I saw her brought out immediately before you. But she is not here; one of the Moors’ officers led her away out of the fort, no doubt to bestow her in safe keeping somewhere in the town.”

This intelligence served to remove my worst apprehensions, yet it left me not a little uneasy as to what next might befall Marian among those in whose hands we were still captives. At the moment of which I speak, however, I was too ill to pursue the inquiry as to what had become of her. The fever I had taken during the night was still strong upon me, indeed we were all in a very pitiful state, scarce able to move or speak, and looking more like ghosts than men. It was not till above a week had passed that I began to shake off the effects of those few hours’ torture; and I sometimes think that I have never yet wholly recovered from them.

Nor must I spare to mention those other changes which were wrought in me by that night, passed, I may say, in the Valley of the Shadow of Death. Up to this time, I perceived on looking back over my previous adventures, I had been no better than a mad young fool, following after a will-o’-the-wisp to my own hurt and destruction. And though I cannot say that that ill-starred and calamitous love of mine for Marian, which had haunted me since I first saw her in the tavern of the “Three-decker” at Yarmouth, was abated at this time, yet I think I did now begin to perceive how evil an influence it had exerted over my life, and to gradually bring myself to a manlier frame of mind. So that I no longer hugged myself with false and pernicious hopes of what could never be brought to pass, but set myself resolutely to uproot this my besetting weakness, and thus to transfer Marian, as it might be, from the place of a mistress to that of an old and dear friend.

In all which resolves and efforts at amendments I found myself greatly helped and encouraged by the recollection of those better thoughts which had come to me in my distress, when my eyes were opened to the wickedness of which I had been guilty towards my parents. And from this time on, through all the vicissitudes I was yet to encounter, I looked forward steadily to the day when I should turn my feet once more towards home, and behold my father and my mother, and the simple, loving face of little Patience Thurstan.

But before that day came there were many things to be done, nor would I have willingly left the land of Indostan till I had seen the blood of the English he had so barbarously murdered revenged upon Surajah Dowlah’s head. How this was to be brought about I did not then know, yet I had a confidence that it would be so, which sustained me. For I felt that I had witnessed, and been partly victim of, a most heinous and devilish crime, scarcely to be matched in the annals of mankind, and such as scarce any punishment within the power of man to inflict could wholly purge. It was as if there had been revealed to me, in the light of those flaring torches thrust in mockery between the bars of our prison windows, a whole secret hell of cruelty and darkness, such as our Christian land knows nothing of, which we can never understand, but which for ever lies waiting for the moment to burst forth, under the obsequious and servile behaviour of the natives of India. Since that time, I confess, I have never regarded, nor can regard, them as my fellow-beings; I look upon all faith or mercy shown to them as wasted, and were it possible for the English to overthrow every one of their governments, and to reduce the whole peninsula into slavery, I should not think enough had been done to extinguish the memory of that one misdeed.

The cup of the Nabob’s cruelty was even yet not full. In the morning, as soon as we had partaken of a little food and wine, merely enough to give us strength to stand up, our miserable remnant was ordered to come before him, to be questioned again.

We found Surajah Dowlah enthroned in the principal apartment of the fort, in even greater state than I had before seen him in, flushed with all the triumph of a conqueror. He looked to have just awakened from sleeping off a debauch, and glanced at us, as we came in, with a heavy, lowering eye. The supple, handsome Lal Moon was standing beside his master as usual, and close behind the favourite I saw my kinsman, with a countenance somewhat discomposed. He turned a very scrutinising look on our party, frowned when he caught sight of me, and was evidently disturbed at not perceiving Marian amongst the rest.

The Nabob, instead of displaying any interest in our condition, or pretending any regret for the massacre of our fellow prisoners, at once addressed Mr. Holwell in a very peremptory manner.

“Now, English dog, you have had a night to consider,” he said insolently, “are you disposed to behave more civilly to me in the matter of the treasure?”

Poor Mr. Holwell had scarce strength enough to answer him. He said feebly—

“I can only repeat what I told you last night. Your Highness has been deceived. There is no treasure here of the Company.”

“You are a liar, and the son of a liar!” returned Surajah fiercely. “Do you think I am a fool to believe that the English come all the way from your country here to amass a paltry sum of fifty thousand rupees? Such a sum would not pay the expense of your establishment here. I know well that you have a treasure somewhere hidden; but you are resolved to keep it from me, the rightful master of this country. I swear I will teach you that it is safer to stand in the path of a mad elephant than to disobey the least command of Surajah Dowlah!”

He rolled his eyes savagely as he made these threats, which struck dismay into the stoutest of us. Mr. Holwell attempted no further answer, and presently the Nabob rose in a fury and marched out of the hall, giving no orders concerning our disposal.

As soon as he was gone the general of his army, Meer Jaffier, came down off the daÏs and approached us. He began offering some expressions of sympathy to Mr. Holwell, and assured him that he would use his influence with his nephew to procure our release.

While Meer Jaffier was talking to Mr. Holwell, I saw my cousin slowly approaching me. I turned my back, so loth was I to hold intercourse with him, but he came up, and persisted in addressing me.

“Athelstane, what has become of Marian Rising?” he asked abruptly.

“Nay, I leave that to you to find out, who delivered her to Surajah Dowlah to be tortured and killed,” I answered bitterly.

“See here, cousin,” he said, infusing a touch of natural feeling into his voice, “I swear to you, on the faith of a Ford, that I had not so much as the least suspicion of the horrid treachery about to be practised on you last night by these damned black devils. If I could have had any notice of what was going forward, I would have returned last night at all hazards, and delivered you. As regards Marian, I had the most sacred pledges from both Meer Jaffier and Lal Moon that not one hair of her head should be injured. I swear it.”

“You swear very plentifully, it appears to me,” I returned, preserving a tone of mere contempt and hatred; “but I know not how your oaths can serve you at the present time. Thanks to your evil persuasions, the woman for whom you have many times pretended affection was last night brought to the very door of death, and is now ill and captive among the Moors. Me, your cousin, whom you first tempted to leave his home and friends, and have since betrayed and misused and many times attempted to slay, you see before you, in the power of those black fiends, as you call them, who appear to be your good friends. Had you not better prevail with them to put us both to death, and thus make an end of it?”

“No, by G——, Athelstane, you are wrong!” he exclaimed very earnestly. “I bear you no malice, nor ever should have done, had you not set yourself up as my rival and thwarted me on several occasions—and I am a man that will not brook opposition. As it is, if I have ever attempted anything against you, it was in hot blood, and had I hated you ten times worse than I did, yet last night’s business would have been too much for me to stomach.”

I gazed at him, doubtful whether to believe in his sincerity or no. It was difficult for me to refrain from some softening towards him as he thus spoke, and yet I asked myself whether these fair words were not the prelude to some new piece of knavery or treachery, for which he stood in need of my assistance.

He continued urging me.

“Have you forgot all those ties that are between us—our blood, and bringing-up in the same country, and the pleasant times we have had together when you were a youngster, and I was used to ride over to your house from Lynn, for my holidays? You were then content enough to call yourself your cousin Rupert’s little squire, and if it were a question of robbing orchards or taking bird’s-nests, you grudged to be left out. Can you not overlook the differences that have since arisen between us, and let us return to our former good comradeship and affection?”

Now I well knew that this man was a most accomplished villain, and an hour before I should have no more thought of sparing or making terms with him than with a speckled snake. Yet no sooner did he thus begin to wheedle me, than I found my just anger and hatred against him insensibly desert me.

“Why do you hold this language to me?” I said, as sullen as I could, so as to hide my secret relenting. “What need have you of me now? What fellowship can there be between a miserable prisoner in the Indians’ power, and you, their trusted friend and servant?”

He gave me a significant glance, and then stooped towards me, whispering—

“No, cousin, you are mistaken there, I tell you again. Either these Moors have all along meant to play me false, or else they consider themselves betrayed by me in the matter of the treasure which they expected to find. Instead of now enjoying their confidence, I find I am looked upon with distrust. They tell me nothing, and no longer consult with me about their dealings with the English. I tell you fairly, I am uneasy to find myself so much in their power as I am, and if I could I would gladly make my peace with my fellow-countrymen, and enter the service of the Company.”

This confession sounded to me sufficiently probable to be believed. I could now see plainly enough what was Rupert’s object in thus seeking to be reconciled with me. It was because I was the only witness against him in the English camp, able to denounce the crimes and treasons which he had committed, to the governor and his council. It was evidently necessary for him to have some person to answer for him, in case he should seek service with the Company, and for this reason, I concluded, he had decided that it would be of more profit to him to have my friendship than to get rid of me altogether.

With these thoughts I suffered myself to entertain his proposals. But there was another question of more importance to me than Rupert Gurney’s friendship or enmity.

“What of Marian?” I demanded. “Were you not the person who came for her this morning, and led her out of the fort?”

“No!” he cried, much disturbed. “Do you know what has happened to her? I have inquired everywhere, and been unable to gather the smallest information. It is this which has convinced me that I no longer possess the confidence of those about the Nabob. And I fear——”

He stopped, biting his lips, and looked at me, as if he would know what I suspected. I returned his look with interest.

“And I, too, fear,” I answered solemnly. “And pray heaven that my fear is unfounded, for if it should turn out otherwise, after your persuading her to trust in your protection, I tell you plainly, Rupert Gurney, that I will never rest till I see you dead at my feet.”

Though I thus threatened him, nevertheless I believed that he was really at a loss and anxious to find out what had become of Marian. He presently said to me—

“I will go now and make a further search, and if I hear any news, will let you know. And do you, on your part, trust me. If in the meantime I can do anything to effect your release, I will.”

With that he went off. About the same time an order arrived for our removal, and we were carried away to another part of the fort.

Whether in consequence of my cousin’s representations or of Meer Jaffier’s, as is more probable, Surajah Dowlah suddenly decided to release all his English prisoners, except three or four of the principal ones, including Mr. Holwell. This intelligence was brought us about supper time, and an officer shortly after attended, to make the selection of those who were to be continued in captivity.

Not apprehending that any importance could be attached to me, I rose joyfully to go out with those who were being dismissed, when, to my surprise, the officer told me in their language, very sharply, to keep my place.

“But why do you seek to detain this young man?” inquired Mr. Holwell. “He is not a person of any consequence among us.”

The Moor shook his head.

“This youth is to be kept in the Nabob’s hands because he is a friend of Sabat Jung’s,” he answered.

It may be imagined how mortified I was to find my boasting of the friendship of Colonel Clive thus turned against me. There was no help for it, however. With a heavy heart we saw our fellow-prisoners depart, some of them to examine their houses in Calcutta, others to take refuge with the English fleet, which about this time dropped down the river to Fulta, where it lay.

I heard afterwards that when the refugees arrived on board, and told the woeful tale of what had followed on the capture of Fort William, Mr. Drake and those with him bitterly repented of their cowardice and desertion. Messengers, that is to say, Indian spies, had already been despatched by land to Madras, the voyage thither being impossible at this time on account of the prevalent monsoon. Others were now sent after them, with letters recounting the whole of these transactions, and urgently entreating the Madras council to despatch succour at the earliest possible moment.

In the meanwhile, to pass over the next few days, Surajah Dowlah, finding no further mischief to execute in Calcutta, after he had plundered all the principal merchants, placed a force there under the command of an officer named Monichund, and marched back to Moorshedabad, carrying me in his train. My fellow prisoners, consisting of Mr. Holwell and two other gentlemen, named Walcot and Court (for poor Mr. Byng had been among those who perished in that cell of death), were despatched separately in irons, by a boat up the river.

If I had been traversing this strange, and in many parts beautiful, country under other circumstances I might have found much to interest me. But being, as I was, still weak and wretched from the effects of the night passed in the Black Hole, and, moreover, very anxious and troubled in mind about the fate of Marian (besides my own), I heeded little of it. The country was extremely flat, and much overgrown with trees, particularly mangoes, which tree hath a most delicious fruit, very grateful after toiling along the barren roads in the intolerable heat of this climate. Travelling in company with an army, we were not able to see much of the country people, who feared the Nabob’s character, and for the most part deserted their villages and retired into the woods while we passed. One day we lay without the walls of Chander Nugger, the French settlement in Bengal. These Frenchmen had managed to propitiate Surajah by aiding him with a supply of ammunition when he was on his march against Calcutta. To this they now added a large sum of money, and by this means prevailed on him to pass on without entering their town. They no doubt rejoiced, like true Frenchmen, at the misfortunes which had overtaken the English, not foreseeing at this time the happy revolution in our affairs which was to make them sing to another tune.

Our progress through the country was so gradual that it was about three weeks before we at last reached the Nabob’s capital. During our long march I had not once seen my cousin, nor did I know what had become of him, nor whether he had stayed behind in Calcutta or attached himself to the Moors’ army.

Moorshedabad is a great, rich place, very oriental in character, there being no foreigners resident in it, except a few Armenians, a race of thieves and pedlars, worse than Jews, who also infested Calcutta. But I had little opportunity of exploring its bazaars and palaces at this time, being conveyed straight to a filthy hut, formerly used as a cowshed, standing outside the Nabob’s palace, where I found my companions already arrived, and where I was forced to lie on straw, and not allowed to move abroad.

In this miserable place, guarded by sentries, we lay for some days, being all of us too feeble to contrive any plan of escape. Each morning Surajah Dowlah sent a messenger to us, to ask if we were yet prepared to disclose the truth about the treasure. We were informed that he was deeply incensed at the failure of his raid on Fort William, to which it seems he had looked to bring enormous sums into his treasury.

On the third or fourth night, just as I was settling myself to sleep on a rude heap of straw which I had gathered together against the wall of the shed, the door softly opened and a man entered. As soon as he spoke I knew him at once to be my cousin Rupert.

“Which of you is named Ford?” he asked, speaking in the Indian language; for it was too dark for him to see my face.

“I am,” I answered in English, sitting up.

He placed his finger to his lips, and stepped across the hut to where I was, while my three companions raised themselves eagerly on their elbows, to know what passed.

Rupert, who still wore his Moor’s dress, kneeled down on the straw beside me, and whispered in my ear—

“Hist! I am come to arrange for your escape, but you must say no word to these others, lest they should want to join you, which would only serve to ruin our chance.”

“In that case,” said I, answering him aloud in English, for I mistrusted him, “it is useless to proceed. I will entertain no project to escape which does not include these gentlemen here with me.”

Rupert ground his teeth, cursing me beneath his breath for a fool. But Mr. Holwell promptly rebuked me.

“You are not to act like that, Ford,” he said. “Neither I, nor, I am sure, either of these other gentlemen would consent that you should refuse any offer of escape merely because it is not extended to us also.”

My cousin, seeing that I was resolved not to have the conversation private between us two, now addressed himself to the others.

“I heartily wish it were in my power to deliver you all, gentlemen, but unfortunately that is what I can’t do. I have secured a means by which I may carry off my young kinsman here, though at great danger to myself. But if it comes to the four of you, then I confess I must abandon the scheme.”

On this Mr. Holwell renewed his protestations, urging me by no means to neglect Rupert’s offer.

“But how is it, sir,” he added, speaking not unkindly, “that I find you, an Englishman, and a relation of young Mr. Ford, in these parts, and apparently in a position of influence with the natives?”

“Oh, as to that, it is an old story,” replied my cousin, coolly. “I came to Bengal first by land from the Malabar coast, in the time of the late Nabob, and for that reason I was not at first included in the hatred which Surajah Dowlah bore to the English on the Hooghley. However, the efforts which I made to restrain the Nabob’s vindictive proceedings, and the disgust which I showed at his late barbarities, have greatly weakened my credit with him. I believe he knows or suspects that I am merely casting about for an opportunity to quit his service, and has set spies on me accordingly. I have at last devised measures for making my way down to the coast, to our fellow-countrymen, and have bribed your gaolers to allow my cousin Ford to escape with me to-night, if he will.”

So earnestly did Gurney tell this tale that I could see Mr. Holwell and the others were very favourably impressed, and took him for an honourably behaved man. As for me, I felt my cheeks burn with shame as I sat and listened, yet I neither felt inclined to admit to these gentlemen that I was cousin to a villain and a traitor, nor did I consider it to be my duty to denounce my own blood.

I therefore held my peace, while the conversation went on between the others. Mr. Holwell insisted that I should take Rupert’s offer, and be the means of conveying news to our friends of where the other three lay. I demurred, and should perhaps have rejected the invitation in the end, had not my cousin taken advantage to slyly whisper in my ear—

“Don’t you understand, fool? I have news of Marian, and want your aid to carry her off from Surajah Dowlah’s harem!”