The headquarters of General Capello, the commander of the 6th Corps d’armée, were in a large and picturesque house standing in its own grounds on a slight acclivity off the road, and about as near to the operations as one could get that day; in fact, a battery was stationed in a vineyard within a hundred yards of the building, and was firing with clockwork regularity the whole time we were up there, whilst the Austrian shells in reply were bursting much too near to us to be pleasant. A cottage on the opposite side of the road had been taken by the British Red Cross Society, and fixed up as an emergency station. One of their big ambulance waggons, with an English chauffeur in khaki, was waiting outside. The General received us with marked cordiality, and readily gave his permission for us to go wherever we chose in the vicinity, but there was no need to go far, for, as it turned out, one could not have hit on a spot better situated for getting a panoramic view of the battlefield. There was a broad terrace at the back of the house, from which one obtained a glorious _coup d’oeil_ of the whole area from Monte Sabottina to the Carso, and here we found a group of staff officers keenly watching the wonderful spectacle with the aid of a powerful telescope on a tripod. There were two civilians amongst them who looked strangely out of keeping with the martial surroundings. One of these, an elderly man, was the famous Socialist Deputy, now a Cabinet Minister, Leonida Bissolati, who was making a tour of the Front, accompanied by his private secretary, Cavaliere Eusebio Allamandola. There was also another Deputy present, Signor Arci, but he was in the uniform of a sub-lieutenant of artillery. Everyone was very elated, as well they might have been considering the way things were shaping for the Italians, the General telling us that further good news had been received that morning and that still more prisoners had been taken. So far as one could judge the action was still in the nature of a colossal artillery duel, but the scene before us was so vast that it took some little time to grasp the full import of what was taking place. I will depict it roughly in order to convey some idea of our position. On our left was Monte Sabottina. In front of us was Monte San Gabriele. The richly wooded undulating plain of Friuli, dotted with villages, stretched away from below the terrace. In the distance, a couple of miles or so away, was the Podgora Ridge, bristling with gaunt tree-stumps; beyond it you could just distinguish the houses of Gorizia. To the right was the Carso and Monte San Michele, some five miles away.