“I think that this evening, or before evening, they will move to the storm again.“
“But I say they will leave us in peace till tomorrow.“
Scarcely had Zagloba finished speaking, when long white puffs of smoke blossomed out on the breastwork, and balls flew over the intrenchment.
“There!“ exclaimed Zatsvilikhovski.
“Oh, they know nothing of military art!“ said Zagloba.
Old Zatsvilikhovski was right. Hmelnitski had began a regular siege. He had closed all roads and escapes, had taken away the pasture, made approaches and breastworks, had dug zigzags near the camp, but had not abandoned assaults. He had resolved to give no rest to the besieged; to harass, to frighten, to keep them in continual sleeplessness, and press upon them till their arms should fall from their stiffened hands. In t
