The chief difficulty, however, still remained unsolved: the siege
still slowly dragged itself along. Sebastopol refused to fall, and,
with its gallant garrison under the indomitable Todleben, still
obstinately kept the Allies at bay.
The besiegers' lines were, however, slowly but surely tightening
round the place. Many miles of trenches were now open and innumerable
batteries had been built and armed. The struggle daily became closer
and more strenuously maintained. The opposing forces--besiegers and
besieged--were in constant collision. Sharpshooters interchanged shots
all day long, and guns answered guns. The Russians made frequent
sorties by night; and every day there were hand-to-hand conflicts for
the possession of rifle-pits and the more advanced posts.
It was a dreary, disappointing season. This siege seemed interminable.
No one saw the end of it. All alike--from generals to common men--were
despondent and dispirited with the weariness of hope long deferred.
Why did we not attack the place? This was the burden of every song.
The attack--always imminent, always postponed--was the one topic of
conversation wherever soldiers met and talked together.
It was debated and discussed seriously, and from every point of view,
in the council-chamber, where Lord Raglan met his colleagues and the
great officers of the staff.
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