Of course they were well paid: five lires a day and their food provided, but it was not a mere question of pay—of that you cannot fail to be convinced—only men working with their hearts in their job could have accomplished what these gangs of men did in the time. It is truly an object lesson in the value of organized labour.
The fine broad highway, complete in every necessary detail, such as stone parapets at the curves, and walling-up where there is risk of landslides, came into being as though by the touch of a magician’s wand, and proved of incalculable value in the counter-attack which was meanwhile preparing. The transport of the masses of troops synchronizing with the completion of the roads.
Certain it is that without such organization it would have required many weeks to have carried out what was done in a few days, and in the meantime the invaders, it is to be assumed, would not have been idle on their side.
When I motored up to Asiago, had I not been told how long this roadway had been in existence I should have said it was years old, instead of days.
Along this military causeway was as busy and animated a scene as could be imagined. The Italians had already recaptured all the positions in the Sette Communi, and were pushing steadily on towards the Altopiano beyond Asiago.
The supply columns were, therefore, now in full operation, and one passed what was practically an endless convoy of munition trains, motor lorries, picturesque carts from every corner apparently of the peninsula, and long strings of pack horses and mules. In and out of this imposing column and up the steepest parts of the road dispatch riders on motor bicycles dashed along with reckless speed and marvellous dexterity.
It was a wonderfully inspiriting scene, and this was accentuated as one gradually began to hear the booming of the Italian guns in the distance. We were rapidly approaching the scene of action, and the Austrians were being given no respite.
The effect of all this, together with the glorious air of the mountain, was as exhilarating as champagne—one felt years younger. The car seemed to go too slowly, so eager were you to get on, and be in the thick of it all.
The mountain side was bare and bleak, with scarcely a vestige of tree or shrub—but on the tableland beyond the crest it gradually changed, and we entered a belt of pine forest, dark and gloomy.
This was the forest of Gallio. The road wound in and out of the dense trees, and only a short distance ahead could be seen. We had now passed the head of the transport convoys, and came up with reinforcements hurrying forward.