que dell'
Isonzo cadeva colpito dal piombo nemico. 25 Giugno 1915."[1] And here is
another inscription, typical of that Latin sense of comradeship, which
is more articulate, though not necessarily more profound, than ours.
"Sottotenente Arcangeli Antonio, con commossa memoria," the officers of
his Battery, "il loro orgoglio infinite qui eternano." "In deeply moved
remembrance they here place upon eternal record their infinite pride in
him." It is poor stuff in English, but a vivid and quite natural tribute
in Italian.

[Footnote 1: "To the Sapper Giuseppe Guazzaro, who fell, while bravely
defying the treacherous waters of the Isonzo, struck down by an enemy
bullet, 25th June, 1915."]

Where the sun went down, the sky was a sea of rose red and golden green,
studded with little long islands of dark cloud, and on the edge of this
sea the evening star twinkled like a tiny illumined boat, dancing, a
blaze of light, upon the waves. To left and right the cloudbanks were a
deep purple blue, fast fading into the dim warm grey of an Italian
night. East and north the mountains that bound the plain, silent
witnesses of Italy's great struggle, were hidden in the dusk, and the
cypress sentinels stood up sharp and black against the darkening sky.
The band had ceased to play and one heard only the chirp of
grasshoppers, and across an orchard the soft sound of Italian speech,
and the distant song of two soldiers in the village street. But the warm
air, which just now was throbbing with a military march, seemed to be
throbbing still with an aching longing that happier days may come
swiftly to this land of beauty and pain, so that the sacrifice of all
these dead shall not be wholly waste.

* * * * *

Not many miles away, as the sun was setting, an Austrian shell burst in
a British Battery, and three hours later through the dark under faint
stars an ambulance lorry brought to us the bodies of four British
gunners, whose dust will mingle with Italian dust, under Italian skies,
for ever.

CHAPTER XI

UDINE

I first saw Udine on the 5th of August. I was still on duty at Versa,
but the conversation in the R.A.M.C. Mess bored me, particularly at
meals; it was all sputum and latrines, gas gangrene and the relative
seniority of the doctors one to another. There was nothing to keep me at
Versa, for my gunner fatigue party did not in truth need any
supervision. So I determined to go to Udine. I started,