The gradual advance has not been confined to any one particular sector of this Front, but was part of the general scheme which is operating like a huge seine net over this part of the Carso. The interest, therefore, was entirely concentrated in this zone after the fall of Gorizia, and I never missed an opportunity of going in that direction on the chance of getting some good subjects for my sketch book. I remember some years ago when I was crossing the Gobi desert, I discovered that the desolation of the scene around me exercised an inexplicable sort of fascination, and at times I would have a strange longing to wander away alone into the wilderness. I experienced somewhat the same sensation on the Carso. It is most probably what Jack London designated the “call of the wild.” In this case, however, the fascination was tempered by the knowledge that one’s wandering fit might be cut short by an Austrian bullet, so one’s peregrinations had perforce to be somewhat curtailed. There was, of course, much of great interest to see and sketch in the area where active operations were in progress, whilst every day almost there seemed to be something, either in the shape of a rumour, or in the official _communiqué_, that formed a good excuse for getting into a car and heading for the “sound of the guns” again. [Illustration: They came racing across the stretch of “No man’s land” (_see page 294_) _To face page 270_] On one of these occasions I had as my companion Robert Vaucher, the correspondent of the Paris _Illustration_, who had just arrived at the Front for a short visit. We decided to make for San Martino del Carso, the first village captured by the Italians on the Carso, as it was quite close to the fighting then going on round Oppachiassella. Our route was via Palmanova, Romans and Sagrado a road one had got to know by heart, so to speak, but of which one never tired, for somehow, curiously enough, everything always seemed novel although you had seen it many times before. There was also the charm of starting off in a car just after sunrise; it had a touch of adventure about it that made me feel quite youthful again. I never tired of the long drives; and in the early morning the air was like breathing champagne. One frequently had the road to oneself at this hour, and you could have imagined you were on a pleasure jaunt till you heard the booming of the guns above the noise of the engine; for it did not matter how early one was, the guns never seemed to be silent. With a sympathetic companion in the car these runs out to the lines were quite amongst the pleasantest features of one’s life up at the Front. On this particular occasion the fact of being with someone with whom I could converse freely made it still more agreeable. We went off quite “on our own,” as Vaucher speaks Italian fluently; and as our soldier chauffeur knew the road well, there was not much fear of our getting lost.