Libyan war, whatever else may be said of it, has produced one
magnificent marching song, "A Tripoli," which deserves to live for ever.
Fine, too, even on the gramophone, are the "March of the Alpini," the
"March of the Bersaglieri" and the famous "Garibaldi's Hymn." I met an
English doctor once, who had heard this last played in Rome on some
great occasion with some of the old Garibaldian veterans in their red
shirts marching in front of the band. He had felt a lump in his throat
that day, he said. When Venosta's gramophone played, the Italians
encamped near by clustered round the edge of the terrace in obvious
enjoyment, and sometimes one or two would dash indignantly down the road
to stop limbers and carts, which were making a rattle on the stones.

* * * * *

Our Mess was a great centre for visitors, both English and Italian, we
being at this time the British Battery in the most advanced and
interesting position. Among our visitors, especially on Sundays, was a
Chaplain, whom I will call Littleton, who used to conduct our Church
Parades. In the British Army, and I believe in most others, the
principle of compulsory religious observance is still intermittently
enforced, when it does not interfere with the still more important
business of fighting. I liked Littleton very much in many ways, but
sometimes he infuriated me. He was lunching with us one day and
describing how for some months in France, during some murderous
fighting, he was attached to an Infantry Battalion. "I have never in my
life enjoyed myself more," he said, "than during those months." I could
not help asking, "What did you enjoy, seeing the poor devils getting
hit?" I told him afterwards that I knew he did not really delight in
spectacles of agony and bloodshed, but that "enjoy" seemed to me an
unfortunate word to use.