I have already described a night in this “Black Hole of Calcutta,” but it might not be out of place to try and give a slight description of the first night Ibrahim Pasha Fauzi—one of Gordon’s favourite officers—spent in that inferno, especially as he wishes me to do so. When taken to the anvil, as I have already remarked, Fauzi broke down completely, was carried off in a swoon to the Umm Hagar, placed sitting with his back in the angle of the wall furthest from the door, and there left—as I was, to “come round.” When the first batch of prisoners was driven in at sunset, there was room for all to lie down on the foul and saturated ground. When the second batch was driven in about an hour and a half later, those lying down had to sit up with the new-comers, and Fauzi’s outstretched legs gave a dry and comfortable seat to four big Soudanese. I was driven in with the third batch after the night prayers, and then all in the Umm Hagar had to stand up or be trampled on. Fauzi, still suffering from the effects of the shell wound he received in one of the sorties from Khartoum, with four people sitting or standing on him, and being heavily chained as well, was unable to rise to his feet. I could hear him from my place near the door feebly expostulating with the people who were standing upon him; I thought that maybe he was being trampled to death, and in my then frenzied state commenced to fight my way towards him, striking friend and foe |219| indiscriminately, and striking harder as I received blows in return. A general fight was soon in progress over the few yards I had to travel, as none were certain in the darkness who struck the blow they had received, and struck out at random in retaliation. My friends told me afterwards that I was a “shaitan” (devil), a mad fool, and showered other dubious compliments upon me; but I reached Fauzi. The warders, hearing the uproar, had opened the doors, and, as usual, commenced to belabour the heads of all they could reach with their sticks and whips. While the uproar was at its height, and the prisoners swaying from side to side, I recognized the voices of one or two near Fauzi who were under obligations to me for occasional little kindnesses in the way of food; and, enlisting their services on most extravagant promises, we tackled the people standing on Fauzi’s legs, pushed them away, and made a sort of barricade round him with our bodies. In clearing the space, we must have struck each other as often as we struck those whom we wished to get out of the way, and Fauzi could not tell whether an attempt was being made to murder or to rescue him. When we did at last get him clear, we had to use a bit of old rag as a sort of punka in order to bring him round; then he babbled.