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When the night did end and the awakened despot did allow the door of the Blackhole to be opened, only twenty-three out of the hundred and forty-six victims were alive. The hundred and twenty-three dead bodies were hurriedly buried in a common pit. It is simply impossible to exonerate Surajah Dowlah from the shame and stain of that deed.

The soldiery, whether prompted by revenge or mere merciless cruelty, forced the prisoners, one hundred and forty-six in number, into the garrison prison a fearful place, only twenty feet square, known as the Blackhole. The senses sicken in reading what happened after this determination was carried out.

"No. 19 is sinking." "Oh! is he? "Been in his cell, sir, without labor since he came. Blackhole yesterday, for communicating in chapel." "What is the matter with him?" "Doctor says he is sinking." "What the devil do you mean by his sinking?" "Well, sir," replied the surgeon, with a sort of dry deference, "he is dying that is what I mean." "Oh, he is dying, is he; d n him, we'll stop that.

When Lord Macaulay, eighty-four years after the event, penned his famous passage in which he declared that nothing in history or in fiction, not even the story which Ugolino told in the sea of everlasting ice, approached the horrors of the Blackhole, he wrote before the worst horrors of Indian history had yet become portion and parcel of our own history.