Now came the vital subject of supper. My car mates, with their usual inconsequence, had brought nothing at all in the shape of food or drink with them, always relying on “something turning up.” I had as usual taken the precaution of putting in my haversack a box of sardines, bread, cheese, chocolate, and my water flask was filled with wine; but, of course, this was not sufficient for us all. Then it turned out that after all we were in luck’s way. Fraccaroli suddenly recollected that he had had the happy thought of bringing a hamper with him in case of accident, and we found that it had been put in our car when he had joined us. It was brought in amidst general acclamation, and on opening it we saw that whoever had packed it had, fortunately for us, had broadminded views as to what one man’s appetite should be like. There was ample for four people. Cold meat, cooked ham, butter, bread, fruit, and last, but certainly not least, a magnum bottle of excellent wine. One could not have wished for a better supper anywhere, and the mere sight of it, when I had arranged it artistically on sheets of newspaper, put us in the highest spirits, and the empty corridors echoed with our laughter as we tackled it, for we were pretty ravenous by now. I am sure that no jollier supper party than ours that night ever took place in Gorizia. After we had finished, Fraccaroli and Bitetti suggested, as the moon was now up, our having another attempt at seeing the General. Bacci and I, however, thought we had done enough walking for one day, so decided to remain where we were and have a quiet smoke before turning in. The two men, therefore, went out, and we heard their footsteps resounding through the empty corridor and down the staircase with ghostly effect. We filled our glasses again and lit up our pipes, and then Bacci suggested that as there was only a tiny bit of candle left we might dispense with it for a while as it was brilliant moonlight, so we extinguished it and sat by the open window enjoying the cool breeze. The room looked on to a small courtyard, and facing us was a high wall, so we could not see far. It was a glorious summer night, and all was so quiet and peaceful that it was difficult for the moment to realise how near were the horrors of war. [Illustration: I was fortunate enough to get some interesting sketches of the cavalry crossing the river under fire (_see page 238_) _To face page 246_] It was just the sort of night to engender depth of thought, and we were both in poetic vein, and soliloquizing on the iniquity of warfare while nature was always so beautiful, when the loud report of a gun rang out in the stillness of the night and brought us back to stern reality. It was so close that had it not been for the wall in front of us we could have seen where it came from.