The Mayor offered a lunch to the correspondents, and the usual patriotic toasts followed. Afterwards we motored to the nearest position, which was only a short distance from the town. Crossing the river Adige on our way by an ingenious ferry-boat, constructed by the engineers, the Austrians having destroyed the only bridge in the vicinity. The “ferry” consisted of two big barges clamped together, then boarded over and steered by an immense paddle projecting from the after part. It was worked on the fixed-rope and sliding-pulley principle, the swift current supplying the motive power. We had all been looking forward to getting a good conception of the operations, which just then were of vital importance, but we were to be disappointed; we were only to be permitted a long range view. On reaching a small hamlet on the bank of the river a few hundred yards further on we were informed we could not proceed beyond this point. We had, therefore, to be content with what we could see from the roadway, which overlooked the river. The _coup d’oeil_ was magnificent, though not so impressive as what we had seen previously. Before us stretched the broad valley of the Adige; its swiftly running stream divided up here by numerous gravel islets. On the opposite bank was the railway line to Trent and the town of Seravalle; whilst facing it on our side was Chizzola. Away in the distance bathed in the effulgence of the glorious summer afternoon, were the Stivo and other high hills, on which are the forts guarding Roveretto, hidden from our view by a bend in the river. Now and again one saw a tiny piff of white smoke, and heard the muffled boom of artillery, but this was the only indication that any operations were in progress. It was all so vast and so swamped as it were by the immensity of the landscape that it was difficult to grasp what was taking place. A few hundred yards further down the road where we were standing was the picturesque village of Pilcante, almost hidden in luxuriant foliage. In the immediate foreground and standing out in discordant detail was a barbed-wire entanglement barricading the road, and guarded by a detachment of infantry; whilst immediately below the parapet which skirted the pathway, a cottage and a small garden on a spot of ground jutting into the river had been transformed into a sort of miniature “position” with an armoured trench, disguised by small trees stuck in the walls. It occurred to me that all this would make an interesting sketch; as a matter of fact, it was the only subject that had appealed to me that day, so I got out my book, and had just finished it when I felt a touch on my shoulder and someone whispered in my ear: “Be careful, sketching is not allowed here.” I looked round—it was one of the officers accompanying us. “Not allowed?” I queried; “surely there must be some mistake.”