It may be mentioned here that the word “Monte” in Italian does not necessarily signify a “mountain” as it is understood in English. The Italian “Monte” is a very elastic term, and, according to the dictionary, may mean a mountain, a hill, or a heap. Monte San Michele in the Carso, for example, is an ant-heap as compared with, say, Monte Cristallo in the Alps, but they are both referred to as “Monte.” I mention this because so many people I have met speak of the Carso and the lower Isonzo round Gorizia as a mountainous region, whereas the elevations there are merely in the nature of “foothills.” However, to revert to the spectacle we had before us at Vipulzano. From Monte San Gabriele to Monte San Michele, a distance of, roughly, nine miles, was one continuous line of bursting shells of every calibre; it never ceased for a moment, and this we were told had been going on without a lull for forty-eight hours. The whole country appeared to be in a state of irruption, and columns or smoke of various colours and fantastic shapes were to be seen rising everywhere like embryo volcanoes. All this, combined with the incessant thunder of the guns near and far, and the crash of the explosions, was positively blood-curdling. Meanwhile the Austrian artillery was returning shell for shell apparently, and the Italians were not having it all their own way, though, as it turned out, the Austrian defensive had no backbone to it, and its weakness was becoming more and more evident as time went on. Seen through the telescope, the desolation of the countryside was revealed in all its horrors. At a first glance it was a rich and smiling landscape bathed in the glorious sunshine of an Italian summer morning, but one soon discovered that the white houses of the villages were now but heaps of ruins. There was no indication of life in them anywhere—the God of war reigned supreme. Along the roads there was not a sign of troops nor of any military activity, yet hidden in the dense woods, we were told, masses of troops were concealed waiting the signal to advance as soon as the artillery had finished its work. I was making a sketch when a shell burst somewhat nearer to the terrace than was agreeable, and shortly after came another. To my surprise then an officer hurried across to us and said, in French, that the General would feel very much obliged if I would sit in a less exposed position, as the sun was catching the glass of the motor goggles I was carrying on my cap, and was attracting the attention of an Austrian battery opposite. [Illustration: And day by day one heard of minor successes in Trentino (_see page 188_) _To face page 198_] I did not require to be asked twice; one well-aimed shell of the calibre they were using would, I knew, have made short work of the Headquarter chateau.