here were some huts on the right hand side, just
over the bridge, where our men would be, where the A.S.C. would have
delivered rations and the Staff had fixed a rendezvous. I, therefore,
expected to find the Major and our dismounted party, or at least someone
from another Battery, or some of either Raven's or the General's Staff.
But there was nothing there; no British troops, no rations, and no
Staff! Only the never ending rain, and a confused stream of Italian
troops, chiefly Field Guns, hurrying across the bridge.

There was nothing to do but to go back. The sentries on the bridge tried
to stop me, but I insisted that I must see some Artillery officer in
authority. They directed me to the Square, where I found Colonel Canale,
controlling the movements of Batteries, looking straight before him out
of uncomprehending, heavy eyes, like one crushed under a weight of
bitter humiliation. He asked where our guns were. I told him they were
getting near now, but stuck fast in the traffic. He said it was
forbidden to let through traffic on that road at present, but he would
do what he could. I asked if there were any new orders. "No," he said,
"only forward across the bridge, and then push on as fast as possible to
Portogruaro." I left him, and found three of our stragglers from the
Major's party, asleep on the floor of a forge. I told them to cross the
river and wait on the Portogruaro road for myself and the guns. I asked
an Italian Corporal if there was anywhere in Latisana where one could
get a drink. He said he thought not, but gave me a bottle full of cold
coffee, brandy and sugar in about equal proportions. It was a splendid
drink, but a little too sweet.

I walked back along the road towards the guns. Some houses on the
outskirts of the town were burning furiously. The traffic was beginning
to move forward along our road, very slowly and with frequent halts. I
had two overcoats with me when we started from Pec. Both were long ago
wet through, and I was wearing over my shoulders at this time a blanket
lent to me by Medola. This, too, was thoroughly drenched by now. In the
fields on either side of the road Infantry were lying out in the rain,
asleep, dreaming, perhaps, of Rome or Sicily or the Bay of Naples. The
dawn of another day was breaking, cold, damp and miserable, symbolic of
this great weary tragedy.

* * * * *

I had not gone far when I met four of our men carrying on a stretch