One would have liked to spend an indefinite time in these scenes of warlike activity 148 But nothing had stopped the rush of the Italians 160 And came up with reinforcements hurrying forward 172 The least severely wounded occupants jumped out of the wagon 186 And day by day one heard of minor successes in Trentino 198 The object of this being to hide movements of troops and convoys 210 Two infantry regiments, the 11th and 12th, forded and swam across the river 222 The soldiers round us now began to move forward, and we were practically carried up the gully with them 234 I was fortunate enough to get some interesting sketches of the cavalry crossing the river under fire 246 The only difficulty the officers experienced was in getting them to advance with caution 258 They came racing across the stretch of “No Man’s Land” 270 A grey-haired officer of medium height, whom I immediately recognized as the Generalissimo, was reading an official document 283 To advance through the jungle called for all the cool, disciplined courage of the Italian soldier 291 CHAPTER I Marching orders—I leave for Rome—Paris via Folkestone and Boulogne in war time—My campaigning kit—The war-correspondent’s list—Quaint item—Travelling “light”—A box of choice Havanas—Boulogne to Paris; well-intentioned ladies and their “Woodbines”—The one and only cigarette—Paris to Turin—Curious order on train—Method and prescience—Few soldiers on route—Arrival in Rome—A cheap room—No sign of excitement in streets—23rd May—Excitability of the Italian no longer noticeable—Rome unruffled—The declaration of war—On the Corso Umberto that evening—The Café Aragno—National stoicism—THE DAY—Business as usual—The general mobilisation—A triumph of organization—At the War Office. CHAPTER I “Gerrard 2575?” “Hello—Hello!” “That you, Julius Price? Charles Ingram speaking—When are you starting for Italy?” I had only received my marching orders from the office the previous day, so the thought came to my mind “Early next week,” but I hadn’t the pluck to give expression to it. Instead, I compromised lamely with “As soon as possible.” “Rubbish!” snapped the voice, “Get off at once.” I had known my Charles Ingram—best of chiefs—most loyal of friends—too long to attempt to argue. I had started on too many journeys for _The Illustrated London News_ not to realize that a War-Artist must have no collars to buy—no friends to bid farewell to—so there was only one stereotyped answer possible—“All right, I’ll leave to-morrow morning.”