It was now time for us to be thinking of getting back to Udine, as Barzini had to send off his despatch and I had my sketches to work up. We had a longish walk before us to Lucinico, but there was no particular need to hurry, so we made our way slowly to the wooden bridge we had crossed in the morning. I was loaded with trophies I hoped to take back to London; a rifle slung over my shoulder, an Austrian knapsack full of heavy rubbish on my back, and in my hand a much battered Gorizia policeman’s helmet, something like a _pickelhaube_, in black with a silver spike, which we had picked up in the street. There were a good many soldiers round about the bridge, and my appearance between our soldier chauffeur and his friend excited much unpleasant comment as we elbowed our way through the crowd. I was evidently mistaken for an Austrian spy in custody. It was much quieter now along the river. The firing which continued in a desultory way being directed further down stream, so there was no necessity to rush across the bridge this time, though it was advisable not to dally, as one could not tell what might come screeching over at any moment. We retraced our steps by the road we had previously come. Nothing was changed yet: the dead were still lying about everywhere, but at the archway under the railway embankment soldiers were already beginning to clear the place. General Marazzi, who was still there, advised us not to take the road across the battlefield, as it was being heavily shelled at the moment; in fact, had it not been for the protection afforded by the high embankment, it would have been very uncomfortable here; as it was, every moment I quite expected something to burst over us. We made our way, therefore, by a sunken pathway amongst the bushes and small trees that skirted the foot of the embankment for some distance; a procession of soldiers, carrying wounded men, leading the way. This gulley had evidently been exposed to the full fire of the Italian batteries during the battle. From end to end it was a gruesome spectacle of foulness and death. The Austrians had evidently used it as a sort of back exit from their trenches, and whilst beating a retreat in this direction had found it a veritable cul de sac, from which there was no escape. Lucinico was full of movement when we got back there: troops coming in, motor ambulances arriving, and numbers of officers’ cars waiting. A start had also been made at clearing the _débris_ of ruin from the road, so no time was being lost. Wounded were being brought in continually, and one saw them lying about on stretchers everywhere, waiting for the Red Cross men to come along. With difficulty we managed to get our car through the block of vehicles and masses of soldiers, and headed for Udine. Then commenced what, to my mind, was the most impressive spectacle of this wondrous day.