We, however, made our way to the parsonage of the village, for we
had already made up our minds to ascend the steeple of the church to get
a view of the surrounding country and a better hearing of the guns if
possible. After a few words exchanged with the sexton--a staunch Italian,
as he told us he was--we went up the ladder of the church spire. Once on
the wooden platform, we could hear more distinctly the boom of the guns,
which sounded like the broadsides of a big vessel. Were they the guns of
Persano's long inactive fleet attacking some of Brondolo's or Chioggia's
advanced forts? Were the guns those of some Austrian man-of-war which had
engaged an Italian ironclad; or were they the 'Affondatore,' which left
the Thames only a month ago, pitching into Trieste? To tell the truth,
although we patiently waited two long hours on Dolo church spire, when
both I and my companion descended we were not in a position to solve
either of these problems. We, however, thought then, and still think,
they were the guns of the Italian fleet which had attacked an Austrian
fort.
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