I was therefore delighted to have a chance of being on the spot when it happened, and was now on tenterhooks to get off at once; every minute of delay meant perhaps missing seeing something important, for on such an occasion every detail would doubtless be of absorbing interest. It was indeed a slice of good fortune to be going with Barzini, as he is certainly the best known and most popular of Italian war correspondents, and where he can’t manage to go isn’t worth going to. His genial personality is an open sesame in itself, as I soon found. Curiously enough, as it turned out, we were the only correspondents to leave Udine that morning. Whether it was that the others did not realise the importance of what was likely to happen or did not learn it in time, I could not understand; but it was certainly somewhat strange. Our car was driven by a very well-known journalist of the staff of the _Corriere della Sera_, named Bitetti, who is doing his military service as a chauffeur and is a very expert one at that, and with him was a friend, also a soldier chauffeur, so we were well guarded against minor accidents to the car _en route_. Well, Barzini and I got off without undue delay, and I soon discovered that with him there would be no “holding up” the car on the way. We made straight for Mossa, which is close to the Gorizia bridgehead. There we got some great news. During the early part of the night detachments of the Casale and Pavia brigades had crossed the Isonzo and consolidated themselves on the left bank, and the heights west of Gorizia were completely occupied by the Italian infantry. The enemy was in full retreat, and had abandoned large quantities of arms, ammunition and _materiel_. Over 11,000 prisoners had been taken, and more were coming in. Everything was going _à merveille_, and Austria’s Verdun was virtually in the hands of the Italians already. [Illustration: The object of this being to hide movements of troops and convoys (_see page 195_) _To face page 210_] There was no time to lose if we were to be in “at the death.” Half a mile further on we reached Lucinico. The Italian troops had only passed through a couple of hours before, so we were close on their heels. The village was in a complete state of ruin, hardly a house left standing, and reminded one of what one got so accustomed to see on the Western Front. The car had to be left here, the road being so blocked that driving any further was out of the question; so, accompanied by two officers and our chauffeur and his friend, we set off on foot with the idea of attempting to cross the battlefield. Beyond Lucinico we were right in the very thick of it. The railway line to Gorizia ran through the village, but just outside the houses the rails had been pulled up and a solid barricade of stones had been erected across the permanent way.