For some days the besieged remained unmolested, but the waters of the pond continued to decrease visibly; the provision stores began to fail, threatening an absolute scarcity of food. The stifling heat of the weather, the great numbers of men cooped up together in a confined space, and more especially the want of proper nourishment, carried off the sick and wounded by hundreds. Many of the soldiers perished in defending the breach: all the messengers whom Firley despatched to the king to apprize him of the fearful position of the small garrison of Zbaraz, anxiously expecting every instant but in vain the arrival of reinforcements, were either taken or killed by the troops of Khmielnitski. To crown all these disasters, a putrid fever broke out amongst the besieged, and did more havoc in the Polish camp than did the balls of the enemy. Meanwhile, Firley continued to sustain the drooping courage of his countrymen, scarcely allowing himself time for sleep; present everywhere, providing with promptness and decision for every emergency, and constantly impressing on the minds of his companions in distress how preferable it was to die nobly in the breach, than to expire in lingering torment. After consuming all the horses, dogs, cats, rats, frogs, snakes, reptiles, and the miserable remnant of such food as desperation suggests or chance supplies, Firley, seeing that his garrison was reduced to the very last extremity, ordered all the bodies of the young Cossacks recently killed to be collected, had them cut up and salted with gunpowder, and then distributed amongst his famishing troops. Some of these, indeed, testified an insurmountable repugnance to taste of this fare so novel and revolting; but the rest, impelled by the imperious rage of hunger, were fain to follow the example set them by their chief himself. Monks, artizans, and priests, crowded to die in the breach. Occasionally, the Cossacks speculated on the chances of an assault: every day, towards evening, and at sunrise, whilst the Polish flag waved at the summit of the castle, was chaunted, to the sound of martial music, the solemn hymn to the Blessed Virgin, queen and patroness of Poland, to the intent that she might deliver the remnant of her brave people from their hapless fate: and many a time did the strains of this pious and warlike hymn revive the courage of the dying, and pour into the despairing soul the balm of cheering hope and the quietude of resignation.
The Cossacks, having heard of the misery that prevailed in the Polish camp, made, in the middle of the night, a last and desperate effort to surprise it. They forced the first, second, and third intrenchments; they were already on the point of butchering the womided; already had they raised their cry of triumph; when, at a given signal, the report of fire-arms was heard in their rear: they fell by hundreds, and these incessant and murderous discharges fully impressed them with the belief that they were being attacked by some new enemy, whereupon they turned about and fled, the garrison making a sortie and pursuing them. The day broke, and an arrow, shot by some unknown hand, fell in the centre of the Polish camp: it bore an inscription announcing the arrival of the king with reinforcements. The arrow and its tidings were, at first, looked upon as a stratagem of the enemy, but soon the continued movements perceptible amongst the hostile troops, and the evident symptoms of disorder in the Cossack and Tatar armies, left no further doubt as to something of the kind having happened. The arrow had been sent by a Polish noble, who, in resentment of an affront, had joined the standard of Khmielnitski: but the important intelligence he had forwarded to Firley, and the good service he had rendered the king by transmitting to him news of the fearful state to which the garrison of Zbaraz was reduced,, procured him a free pardon for his desertion to the enemy. Firley had completely exhausted his stock of gunpowder and ball, so that his garrison could not possibly have held out longer. The king of Poland, John Kasimir, was now actually advancing to its relief, and had already reached Zborof, a small town not far from Leopold.