Whilst we were taking our walk, the Austrian guns had not been idle by any means, and the crash of explosions in the streets around indicated that the peril of the women and children living in the houses was actually accentuated by the entry of the Italians. It was a glaring instance of the mentality of the pure-bred Austrian or German. Our newly-found Italian friend suggested that probably from the Castle we could obtain a fine view of the positions and the fighting north of the town. So we went in that direction. The Castle, or as it is called there, the “Schloss,” of Gorizia, stands on a steep hill which dominates the older part of the city; steep, narrow, cobble-paved streets lead up to it. We soon found that this quarter was the “danger zone,” and that one ran more risk here than anywhere else. The shells were bursting all around, and one could not help a feeling of deep pity for the unfortunate people who were thus suffering at the hands of their own people. The Austrians might have averred, and I believe they afterwards did, that they were firing on the Castle, though with what object it is difficult to understand, since it is merely an archæological monument; anyhow, every time they missed it they hit the town, so there is nothing more to be said. It was a bit of a climb, and as I had hobnails in my boots I was sliding all over the road. One part of the street was very old and picturesque, with a low parapet on one side and a fine view from it towards the Austrian positions. It was a very hot corner to get past as it was quite exposed to rifle fire, so we had to take it singly, crouching down and at the double, an awkward and undignified performance when one is inclined to _embonpoint_. The street now narrowed considerably, with lofty houses on either side. We stopped for a few moments in the middle of the road to get our breath. Just behind us was a house built on low solid arches such as one sees everywhere in Italy. Suddenly we heard the screeching wail of a big shell approaching. With one accord we made a bolt for the shelter of the arches, and were only just in time; with a report like a thunderclap the projectile burst on the house above us, and a huge mass of masonry and bricks came tumbling down with a crash in the roadway just where we had been standing. A cloud of dust blotted out everything, and for a moment I thought that the whole building would come down and bury us all under it, but fortunately it was stout enough to withstand the shock. We waited a moment, on the alert, in case another shell came over, and then, without further ado, we deferred our visit to the Castle and made a dash down the street for the comparatively safe regions below. But our adventures were not yet over even here. We were walking through one of the wide main streets when we heard bombs exploding close by—there is no mistaking the difference between the explosion of a shell and that of an aeroplane bomb.