By the middle of August they were only a few miles from the railway, but all the routes led through defiles, and the neighboring heights were in the possession of the Austrians. To capture these heights was a most difficult feat, which the Italians performed in the most brilliant way; but even after they had passed these defiles success was not yet won. Each Italian column was in its own grove, with no lateral communication. The Austrians could mass themselves where they pleased. As a result the Italian forces were compelled to halt.
In the Trentino campaign the Italians soon captured the passes, and moved against Trente and Roverito. These towns were heavily fortified, as were their surrounding heights. The campaign became a series of small fights on mountain peaks and mountain ridges. Only small bodies of troops could maneuver, and the raising of guns up steep precipices was extremely difficult. The Italians slowly succeeded in gaining ground, and established a chain of posts around the heights so that often one would see guns and barbed wire entrenchments at a height of more than ten thousand feet among the crevasses of the glaciers. The Alpini performed wonderful feats of physical endurance, but the plains of Lombardy were still safe.
If ever the true mettle and temper of a people were tried and exemplified in the crucible of battle, that battle was the naval and land engagement embracing Gallipoli and the Dardanelles and the people so tested, the British race. Separated in point of time but united in its general plan, the engagements present a picture of heroism founded upon strategic mistakes; of such perseverance and dogged determination against overwhelming natural and artificial odds as even the pages of supreme British bravery cannot parallel. The immortal charge of the Light Brigade was of a piece with Gallipoli, but it was merely a battle fragment and its glorious record was written in blood within the scope of a comparatively few inspired minutes. In the mine-strewn Dardanelles and upon the sun-baked, blood-drenched rocky slopes of Gallipoli, death always partnered every sailor and soldier. As at Balaklava, virtually everyone knew that some one had blundered, but the army and the navy as one man fought to the bitter end to make the best of a bad bargain, to tear triumph out of impossibilities.