I was lucky enough to get a trip on the gun-boat “Mincio,” and saw much of great interest on board. Everything was carried out on strictly naval lines, so much in fact that one might have imagined oneself out at sea, this illusion being heightened by the strong wind blowing at the time and the unpleasantly lumpy seas which kept breaking over us. The officers and crews of these boats are all picked men from the Royal Navy, and I was told that they have taken to their novel duties with the greatest enthusiasm. The “Mincio” which was of about 150 tons, carried a very useful-looking Nordenfeldt quick-firer, mounted on the fore-deck, and also a big searchlight apparatus. There are other boats of the same class, and the little “fleet” had already given good account of itself, whilst curiously enough, so far it had escaped entirely scot free from mishap, in spite of the endeavours of the Austrian gunners. We steamed up the Lake till we were as near as prudence would permit to the fortifications which protects Riva, for me to make a sketch of it, but we did not remain stationary long as may be imagined. Seen from the Lake, the fortress of Monte Brioni reminds one singularly of the Rock of Gibraltar in miniature, and it is said to be so honeycombed with gun embrasures as to be equally impregnable, and it is known that this impregnability is further guaranteed by mining the Lake in its vicinity. I rejoined my companions in the car at a harbour some distance down the Lake, and we then made for Desenzano, where we thought we would spend the night as it was already late. It is a quaint little town on the lake shore, and we had no difficulty in getting rooms. To our surprise a very good hotel was open, as every place at first sight appeared to be shut up since there were no tourists to cater for. There was no sign of military activity here, as it is many miles from the Front, but whatever was wanting in this respect was made up for by the nocturnal activity of the mosquitoes. I don’t think I ever experienced anything to equal their ferocity anywhere. I have since been told that Desenzano is notorious, if only by reason of its annual plague of these pests of the night, and that they are a particular tribe indigeneous to the place. We returned to Brescia the following day. Our excursion had been very pleasant and instructive in every respect, but what we had seen only whetted one’s appetite for more. Life here in this provincial town seemed very tame when you remembered what was going on so comparatively short a distance away. I should, therefore, have liked to get off again at once into the mountains, but it was not so easy, and for a reason that admitted of no argument. Something had gone wrong with the car, so our chauffeur told us, and it could not be put right for a few days. This was only what all motorists have continually to put up with, so there was nothing for it but to grin and bear it.