Now the very existence of a jam on a road is in itself evidence of the fact that there is an _impasse_ somewhere, and until this is broken the confusion only becomes confounded by any misdirected attempts to push ahead from either direction. But the ambulance is largely a law unto itself, and when it signals for a right-of-way there is always an attempt to make way for it where any other vehicle (save, of course, one carrying reinforcements or munitions at the height of a battle) would have to wait its turn. Mules and carts and lorries crowded closer against each other or edged a few more precarious inches over the side, and by dint of good luck and skilful driving, the two ambulances finally filtered through the blockade and came to a halt alongside our waiting car on the upper end. Then I saw that their cool-headed young drivers were dressed in khaki, and knew, even before I read in English on the side of one of the cars that it was the gift of some Indian province—that they belonged to a unit of the British Red Cross. ‘Plucky chaps those,’ remarked the Italian officer escorting me. ‘Ready to go anywhere and at any time. But it’s hardly possible they’re going to venture up on to the plateau while that bombardment’s going on. That’s work for the night-time, after the guns have quieted down. But there is one of them coming back now; perhaps they’re going to discuss the situation before going on.’ I leaned out to eavesdrop on that momentous debate, and this is what I heard: ‘Jolly awful tobacco this,’ said the one on the ground, after filling his pipe from his companion’s pouch. ‘Poisonous,’ agreed the other, ‘and nothing better in sight for a week. Your engine isn’t missing any more, is it?’ ‘Nu-u,’ mumbled the first, continuing to puff at the pipe he was lighting. ‘Goin’—like a—top.’ ‘Right-o, then; better be getting on.’ ‘Hu-u’; and so the ‘discussion’ ended. Without another word the boy on the ground pulled on his gloves, walked back to his car, cranked up, climbed into his seat, and led the way off up the empty road. ‘They’re not much on “dramatics,” these young Britons,’ said my companion, ‘but they’re always on hand when they’re wanted, and they take danger and emergencies—and there isn’t much else to work on the Carso—just about as much of a matter of course as they do afternoon tea. The actual work they’ve done for us here with their ambulances and hospital has been very considerable; but even more importance attaches to the fact that they have come to stand in the minds of the Italian army as the tangible expression of British sympathy for our country. The good they have done, and will continue to do, on this score is beyond reckoning.’ * * * * *