However, to revert to the spectacle we had before us at Vipulzano.
From Monte San Gabriele to Monte San Michele, a distance of, roughly, nine miles, was one continuous line of bursting shells of every calibre; it never ceased for a moment, and this we were told had been going on without a lull for forty-eight hours.
The whole country appeared to be in a state of irruption, and columns or smoke of various colours and fantastic shapes were to be seen rising everywhere like embryo volcanoes.
All this, combined with the incessant thunder of the guns near and far, and the crash of the explosions, was positively blood-curdling.
Meanwhile the Austrian artillery was returning shell for shell apparently, and the Italians were not having it all their own way, though, as it turned out, the Austrian defensive had no backbone to it, and its weakness was becoming more and more evident as time went on.
Seen through the telescope, the desolation of the countryside was revealed in all its horrors. At a first glance it was a rich and smiling landscape bathed in the glorious sunshine of an Italian summer morning, but one soon discovered that the white houses of the villages were now but heaps of ruins.
There was no indication of life in them anywhere—the God of war reigned supreme.
Along the roads there was not a sign of troops nor of any military activity, yet hidden in the dense woods, we were told, masses of troops were concealed waiting the signal to advance as soon as the artillery had finished its work.
I was making a sketch when a shell burst somewhat nearer to the terrace than was agreeable, and shortly after came another.
To my surprise then an officer hurried across to us and said, in French, that the General would feel very much obliged if I would sit in a less exposed position, as the sun was catching the glass of the motor goggles I was carrying on my cap, and was attracting the attention of an Austrian battery opposite.