I saw the French armies on their way to the Front at the beginning of the war, flower-bedecked and bubbling over with enthusiasm, but somehow that was different to this advance of the Italians. The world war had not then commenced; its horrors were as yet unknown—here there was no question as to what was going to happen if Italy did not “make good,” so the confidence and empressment was the more stirring to my mind. Italian flags seemed to blossom forth everywhere. It was quite remarkable the numbers of them one saw. Where they all came from was a mystery, as it was well known that the Austrians never tolerated them anywhere in the province. It was suggested that the three different colours of material were purchased separately and in different places so as not to arouse suspicion, and held in readiness to be sewn together to form the flags when the time at last arrived. The successful operations of the first day of the war were immediately followed up by a vigorous offensive, and the Italian troops practically swept everything before them during the next few days in their wild triumphant advance, all of which, in the language of the Ring, proved the value of being ready and getting in the first blow. Everywhere the soldiers were received with open arms by the peasantry of the redeemed province, and many touching scenes were witnessed in the villages through which they passed, villages that had long given up hope of ever being under the Italian tricolour again. In one place the women said they would always kiss the ground the Italians were marching over. Of course, however, all this was but a _lever de rideau_, and the merest prelude to what was going to take place in the near future when the opposing armies got to grips. The Austrians did not intend to submit to a walk over by any means, as was discovered when, a few days later, the Italians crossed the Isonzo and endeavoured to establish themselves on the slopes of Monte Nero preparatory to capturing the mountain itself, but the Austrians were found to be formidably entrenched, supported by heavy artillery and a great number of machine guns. The chief operations for the next few weeks, therefore, were confined to the mountainous region on the left bank of the Isonzo, about six miles west of Tolmino. Here, towering nearly 7,000 feet high, rugged and threatening, visible for miles around, is the frowning pinnacle of bare rock known as Monte Nero, for the possession of which so many gallant lives were to be sacrificed. That it was of the utmost importance it should without undue delay be captured was patent from the very start. From its northern slope the Austrian artillery commanded the entire zone of operations in the vicinity right and left.