It was also announced that we were not moving down to Monfalcone, but were probably remaining in our present positions for the winter.  We therefore began systematically to prepare winter quarters.  The Italian Corps Commander in a special Order of the Day expressed his satisfaction that our Group was remaining under his command.

* * * * *

On the 5th I got up at four o’clock in the morning and carried out a Front Line Reconnaissance with Sergeant Cotes, the No. 1 of my gun, and Avoglia, an Italian Sergeant Major attached to our Battery, rather a sleek person, who had been a maitre-d’hotel at Brighton before the war.  We went along the front line trenches on Hill 126, recently captured.  These trenches ran beside the river and were now in fine condition, great repairs and reconstruction having been carried out during the past three weeks.  It was here that Austrian Trench Mortars were active.  They were firing when we arrived and caused some casualties.  As it grew light, a strong Austrian patrol was seen moving about in No Man’s Land, and it was thought that a raid might be coming.  The order “Stand to” was given, and the Infantry came swarming out of their dug-outs, a crowd of youths, some very handsome, with almost Classical Roman features, and older men, sturdy and bearded.  They densely manned the parapet, with fixed bayonets and hand grenades.  The machine gun posts were also manned.  But nothing happened!

A little later an Austrian was seen to emerge from cover in No Man’s Land, about a hundred yards away from us, and run towards our trenches, throwing away his rifle and shouting some unintelligible words.  He was sick of the war and wanted to surrender.  But a young Italian recruit, in the trenches for the first time, quivering with excitement and eagerness to distinguish himself, not realising the man’s motive, fired at him through a peephole.  He missed, but the Austrian turned and doubled back like a rabbit to his own lines, where I suppose he was shot, poor brute, by his own people.  I was standing quite close to the young recruit when he fired.  No one rebuked him, but a Corporal patiently explained things to him.  We smiled at one another, and I wished him “auguri” and went on up the hill.

The Austrian snipers were busy, and another Italian standing close to me, looking out slantwise through a peephole, was shot through the jaw.  He was bandaged up, profusely bleeding, and went stoically down the hill, supported by a companion, leaving a red trail along the wooden duck-boards that paved the trench.

I went down two saps which the Italians had pushed out, one to within twenty yards, the other to within ten yards, of the Austrian front line.  Here every one spoke in a low whisper or by signs.  They warned me to keep well down, as the Austrians hated khaki worse even than “grigio-verde,” as one is always apt to hate third parties who butt in against one in what one conceives to be a purely private quarrel.