It was a very unconventional and curious scene, and brought significantly home to one the tragic power that can be wielded by a conqueror.
In this instance, however, there was no fear of any injustice or cruelty being inflicted on prisoners. They would get a fair trial at the hands of the Italians, no matter what they had done to warrant their being arrested.
The three “suspects” in this instance—a man, a woman and a little girl—did not look very terrible, rather the contrary in fact, and one wondered what they were “suspected” of doing.
The man, a tall, young fellow with long hair, was dressed in such extraordinary fashion that this in itself may have caused him to be looked on with suspicion. He had a panama straw hat, a dark Norfolk jacket, white shirt with very large, low-cut collar outside his coat collar, and no tie, white flannel knickerbockers, blue socks, and black side-spring boots. The woman and the little girl were typically Austrian.
I could not find out why they had been arrested, but as they were taken away by the Carabinieri after their examination it was presumably a somewhat serious matter. It was certain beforehand that the city would be infested with spies, so no chances were to be taken, and rightly so.
During the course of the afternoon the city was completely occupied by troops, and there had not been a hitch in the victorious advance. One saw soldiers everywhere—cavalry, infantry, Bersaglieri cyclists; in fact, almost every branch of the Army.
In every open space and in the courtyards of the principal public buildings were bivouacs, all being carried out in the usual methodic manner of the Italians. The troops had the streets entirely to themselves, as no civilians were allowed out of doors that day, and none of the shops were open.
Towards evening the Austrians recommenced heavily shelling the city, aeroplanes began to put in an appearance, as if a big counter-attack was coming, but it died out suddenly for some unexplained reason.
It was now time for us to be thinking of getting back to Udine, as Barzini had to send off his despatch and I had my sketches to work up. We had a longish walk before us to Lucinico, but there was no particular need to hurry, so we made our way slowly to the wooden bridge we had crossed in the morning.
I was loaded with trophies I hoped to take back to London; a rifle slung over my shoulder, an Austrian knapsack full of heavy rubbish on my back, and in my hand a much battered Gorizia policeman’s helmet, something like a pickelhaube, in black with a silver spike, which we had picked up in the street.