The heroic feat of the capture of Monte Nero by the Alpini in the month of June I have already described. In spite of every endeavour to re-take it, the Austrians had not made a yard of progress since then, except in a retrograde direction.
The Italians had immediately fortified every position they had gained, and the chances of the enemy ever recapturing them were practically nil.
Our road passed by the scene of many heroic exploits. As we motored through the frowning ravine along a winding road which skirted the swiftly-flowing Isonzo, between Tolmino and Caporetto the mighty limestone cliffs of Monte Nero gradually came into view, its towering bulk illumined by the rays of the afternoon sun.
Unconsciously one’s thoughts reverted to the events of the early days of the war, and you endeavoured to picture to yourself what had taken place hereabouts, the onward rush of the Italian troops, undeterred by the most terrible obstacles nature opposed to them, fording or swimming the treacherous river by night and scaling the heights on the opposite bank, and all this in the face of the Austrian fire.
You had an involuntary shudder as you gazed up at these gaunt rocks, where now an almost death-like silence reigned. You felt it must require the fanatic courage of a Dervish and to be cast in different mould to every-day mortals to have accomplished such exploits.
The road we were following was particularly interesting, inasmuch as it was in the immediate rear of the fighting line the whole way, and we were therefore, right in the midst of every description of military traffic and movement all the time.
It was quite remarkable considering this how little there was in the shape of incident to record, or for the matter of that, to sketch either. Everything appeared to be so perfectly organized that it worked like a big well-oiled machine. It reminded me not a little of a road in China with its endless stream of human beings.
One mountain road is very much like another, and to me on the look-out for subjects for my sketch book, there was a very great sameness everywhere, except the dust, which was worse than I have seen it anywhere, even in South Africa. It could have given points to the densest London fog and won easily. The big military motor Camions, raised such clouds of it that progress at times was almost impossible.
You could scarcely see a yard ahead, and where you knew that the roadway ended abruptly on one side, it was not altogether pleasant to reflect that your safety depended solely on the skill or luck of your chauffeur— a speck of grit in his eye, a momentary lapse of “nerve,” and you might find yourself in “Kingdom Come.” In fact, it always struck me that the risk you ran from shell-fire was infinitesimal as compared with that of motoring on these mountain roads.
We were only permitted to go a little way beyond Caporetto, the General having given instructions that he did not desire any motor traffic further along the road as it might interfere with his “arrangements.”