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Title: The Flying Spy
Author: Carlo, Camillo de
Language: English
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THE FLYING SPY
BY
LIEUT. CAMILLO DE CARLO
OF THE ITALIAN ARMY
WITH A PREFACE BY
MAJ.-GEN. EMILIO GUGLIELMOTTI
_Hon. Aide-de-Camp to H. M. the King of Italy
Military Attaché, Royal Italian Embassy, U.S.A._
Translated from the Italian by
MARIA SERMOLINO
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY
681 FIFTH AVENUE
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Copyright, 1919
BY
E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY
_All Rights Reserved_
_Printed in the United States of America_
------------------------------------------------------------------------
TO THE MEMORY OF MY BROTHER,
TO THE MEMORY OF IGNAZIO AND MANFREDI
LANZA DI TRABIA,
TO THE MEMORY OF ALL OUR DEAD,
THIS TALE OF SUFFERING AND OF WAR IS DEDICATED
------------------------------------------------------------------------
PREFACE
I am asked to write a preface for this little book, but I think that it
needs no preface at all. The account of a most extraordinary war
adventure condensed in a few pages, the fact that the exceptional will,
determination and nerve of the man who accomplished it have been
rewarded by the most coveted Italian military decoration, the rarest
among all the military decorations in the world, the gold medal for
bravery, are good reasons for raising the interest of the reader. But
the author adds a new flavor to the thing, seizing often the
opportunity to show the ferocity of soldiers who have been to the last
the faithful and worthy servants of the House of the Hapsburg; the
sufferings of the Italian populations temporarily under the hated
Austrian oppression; the passionate love and devotion of those
populations to their great mother country, Italy, arguments too often
unknown, overlooked and unappreciated. For these reasons this book is
not only an interesting historical document, but also, and especially,
a good and patriotic performance.
MAJOR-GENERAL EMILIO GUGLIELMOTTI,
_Hon. Aide-de-Camp to H. M. the King of Italy,_
_Military Attaché, Royal Italian Embassy,_
_U. S. A._
------------------------------------------------------------------------
NOTE
All documents mentioned in this narrative are in the possession of the
Italian military authorities. Every fact can be attested to by numerous
witnesses, and has been thoroughly investigated before recording.
THE AUTHOR.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE FLYING SPY
I
January 15, 1918.—The command of the Third Army has stationed its
headquarters in the village of Mogliano, near Venice. The troops of the
Third Army, which for the past two months have been successfully
resisting the continual thunderous attempts of the Austrian troops to
cross the Piave, have established a front extending from the bridge of
the Priula to the sea. Fortunately the region along the coast is
flooded. Our other troops hold the old Piave line. Even in the mountain
regions, events seem to favor us. After the first moments of confusion
had passed, the new recruits, especially the youths of nineteen,
exhibited once more all the boldness, all the pugnacity which had
brought them distinction on the Carso. In vain did the Germans hurl
their divisions, from the Lake of Garda to the Montello, against the
light line recently reinforced by the foot soldiers of our company. The
very troops which were unable to resist the forces of the enemy in the
trenches of the Carso, although supported by thousands of mouths of
every caliber belching forth fire, here on the rocky precipices of
the Grappa, with a few wire entanglements and a single line of
uninterrupted trenches, formed a barrier insurmountable by the violent
enemy.
The German troops, drunk with the wine from our cellars, and fattened
with the rich products from our fertile fields, were in a few
instances, held back without aid of munitions, as without support of
artillery, by mere stones and rocks hurled upon them by our men
inexorably determined not to let the enemy pass. Again I took courage.
I had never doubted the fate of our army, but in the rarer and more
hazardous moments, had none the less been compelled to question my own
convictions, since events scarcely justified my boundless optimism.
This optimism depended in some measure upon the fact that I was an
officer of the Third Army, the army which, under the command of the
Duke of Aosta, had numerous times endeavored to open up a way toward
Trieste, and which had occupied, little by little, the land of the
Dolina and the rocky regions of the Carso. We of the Third Army had
never considered ourselves beaten; we had been compelled to submit to
inevitable events; we had been compelled to withdraw, against our
wishes, lest we had been surrounded, and to the end that the stream of
Germans which had penetrated from Caporetto, might not cut off our road
to the Piave. But the heroes of Faiti, the heroes of Hermanda, even on
the day when the retreat was determined upon, repulsed more than thirty
attacks of the enemy, and in a final magnificent play, in defiance of
the enemy pressing them on all sides, made a desperate assault in which
they conquered new trenches and made several prisoners.
Those soldiers wept as they abandoned their huts. On our front the
enemy had always been held back, and when it did advance, its journey
was slow and costly. We aviators, who had been absolute masters of the
air over the Isonzo, who had traversed with unswerving flight the enemy
sky where hostile machines had in vain attempted our territory, who a
thousand times had brought a greeting to the City of Grief, Trieste,
seeming ever to be waiting for us there at the end of the Gulf at the
foot of the hills—we aviators of the Third Army had even in our
retreat inflicted such great damage on the enemy, that our troops, our
ordnance, our supplies were enabled to move slowly on the muddy,
congested roads, without fear of any harm from the wings of the enemy.
Although the enemy planes were supported on land by the slow,
persistent advance of their troops, they never dared nor risked firing
on our slowly retreating column. A feat which but for us would have
been easy, and would have shaken seriously the morale of our soldiers.
I shall ever be able to visualize the spectacle of that retreat; I
shall ever remember that throng of men with heads bent low, with an air
at once so grim, and so surly, that the collective countenance seemed
scarcely human. Yet there were not a few encouraging ones among them. I
shall always remember a corporal of the Alpini whom I met in the
village of Pordenone. He was lying exhausted beside his machine gun
which he had carried on his shoulder from summit to summit, from hill
to hill, for seven consecutive days, until he had reached the plain.
For food he had eaten bits of musty bread chanced upon along the road.
When I stopped he first begged me for a bit of bread, then anxiously
inquired on what line our command had decided to halt. He desired to
shoulder his gun thither, again to set it up against the enemy where
the need of halting their advance was greatest. The soldiers of the new
Italy were being re-born!
Without a tear I had left the countryside endeared to me by memories of
my childhood, the place where I was born, the place where for several
centuries my ancestors had lived. On the last night, when I had a clear
vision of the inevitable, after I had learnt from a superior officer
that our next stand would be on the Piave, and that all the region in
which lay my properties, my houses, my villas, all I possessed, was to
be ceded to the enemy, I rushed in an automobile borrowed from
headquarters to my father’s dwelling that I might persuade him to
depart. I was certain that he would not believe me, and it was not
without a prolonged struggle that I succeeded in convincing him. Indeed
he would have preferred on that day to hear that we, his two boys, had
fallen in battle, rather than learn from one of us that we had been
unable to stop the enemy. At last becoming resigned to the cruel
reality, giving no thought to the salvation of any of our belongings,
since even the dearest personal thing lost all significance when the
entire country was in danger he decided to leave.
Even now I can see his tall, straight figure on the threshold of the
house, as he turned to cast a final look upon the scene of all our
memories; a scene which he would never again observe as he left it that
night. The women servants in the house, convulsively weeping, threw
themselves at his feet that they might express in a last desperate
farewell all the strength of their love. I could not shed a tear. I had
given all my tears when I had seen our soldiers retreating from the
Carso. I had never feared death, yet then I prayed God with all my
strength and faith, that I might live; that I might not die with that
vision of defeat in my mind. A thousand times I had hurled myself where
danger seemed the greatest, where death was reaping a rich harvest, not
asking God to spare me. But at the Carso I prayed for life. I could not
die defeated.
Every foot of land we ceded to the enemy was a new grief to my Italian
heart. For every villa, for every square, for every expression of art
we had to cede, for every remembrance profaned by the greedy barbarian,
the wound became greater and hurt with a vehemence never heretofore
experienced. At the death of my mother alone had I felt anything
similar. I felt as though the world were crumbling about me. At dawn
and at evening, on the rising of the sun and its setting, I would ask
myself, how, with such immense grief in the world, nature could act
according to her custom of mathematical regularity, regardless of so
much suffering.
With our successful resistance on the Piave the most painful days had
passed. A wave of new bold blood, of passion, had permeated our
fighters. They had found themselves again, and if anyone among them
previously for a moment had felt a streak of cowardice, he now asked to
be allowed to sacrifice his life, to place his multiplied energy at the
disposal of his country. Often I had asked myself anxiously what would
become of our villages; often flying low over the territories which
were now held by the enemy but which I knew inch by inch, I had tried
to discover what the enemy plans might be. I had tried to steal from
the enemy the secret he guarded so jealously.
Once indeed while flying over San Vendemmiano, over the road which
passes near my villa, I discovered a long line of cars slowly traveling
eastward. Without a moment’s hesitation I ordered the pilot to lower
the plane as much as he could. We were a few hundred feet above the
enemy when I let loose on them the fury of our machine gun. Gradually I
saw a few men turn for cover towards my villa. This assured me that it,
too, was occupied by the enemy, and I fired repeatedly at my own house.
Small satisfaction though the deed brought me, it yet sufficed to drive
away somewhat of the deep dejection which recent events had instilled.
However, my usual program was interrupted one day by a communication
from the Intelligence Division of the Third Army, sent by Colonel
Smaniotto, ordering me to report at once to the Command for important
instructions. I had but just returned from a flight and was editing my
report on the movements I had noticed on the coast roads and the
modifications I had noticed on an enemy bridge over the new Piave, when
the summons came. Swiftly enough I traversed by automobile the short
distance between the aviation camp at Marcon and the headquarters of
the division which were in a villa in Mogliano. The colonel immediately
received me, with his customary smile and courteous manner. He was
seated in front of a large table burdened by maps and books—a high
table which dominated other smaller tables at which officers in charge
of special departments of the Intelligence Division were seated.
Colonel Smaniotto was the leading mind in the Intelligence Division. He
possessed the calm, fine, discriminating mentality which analyzed all
the varied reports—strange, common, unusual, gathered from all sides,
whence he prepared an exact summary of the enemy forces and plans for
the use of the General Staff. With his clear, straightforward look he
would stare into our eyes to divine our thoughts; his manner was
serious and tranquil; his entire personality inspired faith and
confidence.
“Are you from Vittorio?” he asked me.
“No, sir. I was born in Venice, but the old house of my family is in
Vittorio, and in Vittorio, Congliano, Cimetta, Fontanelle, in fact
scattered all over that region we have—or rather we had—extensive
properties.”
“Did you know,” the Colonel continued with a smile, “that the command
of the German army of Von Buelow had established itself in your house
in Vittorio?”
“I did not know.”
“But why? Don’t you read the daily bulletins which are circulated to
keep the aviators informed about the enemy forces?”
“No, sir. For the past few days I have been flying a great deal and I
have had less time for reading.”
“What would you say,” he asked me point-blank, “if I were to propose to
you an excursion to go on the enemy side for the purpose of seeking
exact information about the condition of the enemy? Nothing has been
determined as yet—the time, nor the means for effecting this project.
Think it over. We need a trustworthy person, a man who is serious, and
in whom we can have absolute faith. I am glad to see you have already
two medals, one of silver and one of bronze. This might be a chance for
you to earn a medal of gold. As I said before, I have as yet no
particular plan. It is up to you, knowing well as you do that
countryside, and the habits of its peasantry and their dialects, to
devise some way for landing and keeping yourself on the other side.
Tell me, now, when your family left Vittorio, didn’t you leave some
custodian or guardian to look after the houses?”
The question annoyed me, and I answered half in jest and half in
earnest, “The day of the retreat we were really very little preoccupied
by our own affairs, but I do believe, however, that an old agent and a
woman did not succeed in getting behind our lines. I presume they
remained in our house, where they used to stay before. But, Colonel, do
you think the Germans will have permitted them to remain in our house?
I do not think so. I am inclined to believe, however, that many of our
peasant families which live isolated out in the country, have not been
molested, and it would perhaps be better, if I should succeed in
reaching the other side, to try to join one of these families. I know
how deep is their affection for my father, and how greatly they love
all that belongs to our family.”
“Very well, think it over, and let me have an answer shortly. Meanwhile
I want you to live here in the Intelligence Office, that you may become
acquainted with the kind of information we receive concerning the
doings on the other side. This will not prevent your flying, since I
know that would displease you too much.” A broad smile passed over and
illumined his soldierly face. “Here you will get a clearer notion of
the possibilities of my project, and a better angle on the customs of
the enemy in invaded territory. Therefore to-morrow you will be
transferred to my department, without, however, binding yourself in any
way to undertake the trip I have mentioned. I shall expect you
to-morrow.”
Our hands met in a firm, cordial clasp, and I left him.
All night I could not sleep because of the thousands of plans I kept
revolving in my mind. One plan suggested another, and then another,
until there were heaps and heaps of them, confused, without beginning
or end, just overlapping fragments of ideas. Towards dawn I slumbered a
little, but I had to get up early to go to the office. On the fifteenth
of January I became a part of that complicated organization which
gathers and summarizes all the information the army has about the enemy.
II
Since I was well acquainted with the German language, I was assigned
the special task of questioning the prisoners and of translating such
documents and diaries as were often enough found upon them. The work
was interesting and gave me a clear conception of the terrible and
disastrous condition of our lands after the invasion of the enemy.
While reading or listening to the account of some especially frightful
deed, I often asked myself whether, if those of our soldiers who knew
not how to lay down their lives for their country to keep the enemy
from violating their lands, had known some of the facts I know, they
would not have found strength enough to resist. Ought not the Italian
soldiers, who during the terrible days of October were compelled to
abandon the villages which they had won, for which they had suffered
and fought, know what became of those regions and their people, after
their departure? Had not the inhabitants placed implicit faith in the
ability of the soldiers to resist; looking upon them as protecting
brothers? Yet later, these same soldiers were compelled to abandon to
the enemy, one by one, these very towns and villages, whose terrorized
inhabitants were then compelled to fly, so relinquishing the uttermost
of their possessions to the mercy of the invader.
Among the many documents which passed through my hands were not lacking
some of considerable importance. I see before me a letter, found in the
pocket of a subaltern officer of the Fourth German Army, which he had
not had time to dispatch. In part the letter read:
“Dear Friend:
“After a painful time, the good Lord God gave us wings and, from
the icy and snowy caves, has transported us into a magnificent
country. We were half-dead, but now we are beginning to
resuscitate. This is a splendid country. There is everything one
wants; food and drink enough for all to choke on, rice and coffee
in abundance and enough red wine to bathe in.”
Another letter found on a German prisoner reads:
“We are living like princes, we have food and drink, and may it
always continue thus! If only I could send some to my family in
Berlin. But there is not room for much in our packs, and
furthermore, one would have to carry it for days along mountainous
roads a distance of about thirty-five or forty kilometers. Right
now we have before us a whole cheese, round and large as a cart
wheel, and we don’t know what to do with it. No one is hungry, yet
the cheese is good.”
Such acknowledgments filled me with rage. Those who yesterday were
hungry are now full and they have filled themselves by stealing from
our homes!
The many documents which passed through my hands demonstrated how
extensive were the requisitions of the Germans who robbed the poor
peasants of the things they needed most.
From the notebook of a Czech officer, a deserter, under date of
November 15, 1917, I read:
“Everyone requisitions what he pleases. The plowers are busy all
night cooking rice with tomatoes.
“At Villa Santina a supply of foodstuffs sufficient to last ten
days for the entire division was found. Every company formed a
requisition patrol; the very privates go to the peasants and
requisition cattle, pigs, horses, mules, cheese, wine, wheat, etc.
In every patrol there is a soldier who knows Italian. The army,
during its advance lives on the country and eats more than is
necessary. The troops in the rear are always drunk.
“We found and requisitioned from the civilians bicycles, many
motorcycles and automobiles.”
“October 29.—We pass through Colobrida, Prepotto, where we find
wine. We stop at Villa Rubini. The men take advantage to find some
Chianti, which is insuperable, and many get drunk.”
“October 31.—At Carpeneto I requisition a saddle horse and a mule,
and during the stop we refresh ourselves with champagne. At night
Captain Vellsang arrives in an automobile requisitioned for the
command at Udine, where we took a quantity of things.”
“November 24.—Our attendants were continuously cooking corn-meal
and chicken.”
These diaries speak mostly of the greed with which the enemy steals,
destroys and consumes every valuable thing in the land. The voracity
and greed of the Germans and Austrians are such that after continued
debauches of wines and liquors, the provisions are soon exhausted. As
an example of the voracity of these men, I shall quote the report of
one of their meals from the calendar of an Austrian Lieutenant of the
Second Battalion of the 47th Infantry:
“November 11.—We ate splendidly; in the morning—coffee and milk,
half a pound of butter, a pound of bread. In the middle of the
morning—half a pound of Gorgonzola cheese, half a pound of
excellent preserved fruits, a tablet of chocolate. Luncheon—broth,
roast veal with fresh peas and rice, a bottle of excellent wine,
and then coffee (without sugar). In the afternoon—a box of
sardines, bread and butter with honey. Supper—roast pork with
prunes, black coffee. And not on one day only, but continuously;
especially after the requisitions. We seldom have less. At nine in
the evening, we have a can of condensed milk, three boxes of
sardines, a pound of preserved pears, and six candles apiece.”
From questions submitted to an Austrian prisoner, I learnt that the
troops stationed between the Tagliamento and the Piave kept up their
march with supplies taken from the factories and houses. The prisoners
themselves admitted that their lot was hard because they could no
longer get drunk, nor gorge themselves on the chicken, sausages and
fruit which they had found so plentiful in every house and factory.
From a conversation with an officer of the Third Regiment of
Kaiserjäger I learnt, “The foodstuffs found and requisitioned have all
been consumed and wasted. Whatever our soldiers cannot devour or
preserve on the spot is shipped to Austria and Germany. The 94th
Division while at Tolmezzo requisitioned all kinds of woven materials
and the officers sent much of it, as their own private property, to
Kotshach by means of auto-ambulances.
“Captain Opitz sent home two hundred pounds of coffee, which in
Austria is worth about 500 Kronen. Captain Pflanzer collected
precious oil paintings during the offensive. He found the most
precious near Castellavazzo.
“A bicycle of the 7th company of the Third Battalion of trench
diggers was stolen from a civilian by the Captain.
“The officers sent home sacks of rice and coffee. At Timau
everything was taken from the civilians. The horses are fed with
maize.”
From prisoners taken in Val Bella December 24, 1917, I learnt that
there was a rumor current among the officers and men that the Italian
cities had been thoroughly sacked and that the objects collected had
been sent to Germany and Austria through the co-operation of the
military forces. It is said that superior officers offered to buy for a
few pence, whatever booty the soldiers could lay hands upon.
In another diary taken from a German officer of the 5th Division (which
had penetrated to Udine), the following was found under date of
November 6, 1917:
“After we had spent several days at Rovereto on the Tagliamento we
withdrew to Udine. As the command gave me full police powers I had
the authority to enter all the shops which were still furnished
with considerable stocks. I spent my time making raids, and during
one of these I found materials suitable for military and civilian
clothing. I filled three cases full of them and I had them sent
through the military station at Neuhaus. I hope some day I shall
find them at home. I have also secured some material for the
Captain.”
Deserters from the enemy lines confirmed the reports that the Germans
took away and sent to Germany all that could be removed—church bells,
beds, household linens, entire doors and windows. Their pillaging was
so complete that some houses have only the walls and roof left.
Furthermore the Austro-Hungarian authorities organized special squads
to visit every house and requisition foodstuffs, kitchen utensils,
livestock and pack animals. At present the population is compelled to
buy at a high price the supplies which were taken from them.
Proof of this organized thieving which was supported by the enemy
authorities, was obtained not merely from writings and conversations
with scattered individuals but from reports in enemy newspapers. The
_Gazette_ of Veneto which was printed at Udine for the Austrian
government published the following notice, “The Administration of the
Austro-Hungarian Army has ordered the requisitioning of metals in the
occupied regions, to meet the army’s demands for metals. Church bells,
roofs of copper or lead, lightning rods and railings will be
requisitioned.”
A communication received by our command during the first days of our
retreat to the Piave said, “At Graz, and at Vienna, a trade in Italian
products has been begun. Besides the small quantities of rice, oil, and
lemons carried by soldiers on leave and bargained for at the stations
by Jewish speculators, rice is beginning to arrive at Graz in important
quantities. The authorities have been asked to pass measures to prevent
speculation with this rice, and to reserve it for the use of the sick
and for children.” The children and the sick of the invaded territories
were left without these necessary articles of food.
From scattered phrases found in documents, or overheard in conversations
with soldiers and officer prisoners, I gathered a general notion
of the carefree, corrupt life led by the troops in the invaded
regions. A few notes from the diary of the Czech officer who had
deserted follow:
“Lieutenant Skebek and an employee got drunk in a villa at Pelos
with wine requisitioned at Auronzo and later devastated a villa. At
Belluno the gendarmes were supposed to guard the wine cellars; but
in a moment there gathered before the house a mob of soldiers with
pails, basins, and other vessels.
“The artillery officers have organized nightly orgies in a villa
near Feltre; there were more than enough women.
“Almost all the horses have diarrhœa because they have eaten too
much.”
The same spectacle of gluttony and drunkenness at the expense of our
people, is repeated in the diary of the Austrian lieutenant of the
second battalion of the 47th infantry who has already been mentioned.
“December 2.—Visited the Command of the Regiment. Had breakfast
with the commander of the battalion. We drank much excellent wine.
At three in the afternoon, the officers of the command of the
regiment left, hilarious from the wine. The officers of the 16th
company and others withdrew singing, and they would have continued
their orgy at my house had I not made all the wines and liquors
disappear.”
An Italian soldier and an officer, prisoners escaped from the hands of
the Austrians, reported the following:
“The German officers in command lead a gay, carefree life. They do
not mind being seen in public, driving in open carriages with women
of bad repute, brought there from their own country. During the
first days of the occupation, the enemy troops, exalted with
victory, would parade the streets, shouting joyously. They would
enter private houses by forcing doors and windows, and make for
storerooms full of provisions, and for wine cellars, with bestial
avidity.”
In sharp contrast to this life of gluttony and greed was the life led
by the Italian prisoners, both those in the invaded regions and those
transported back to German prison camps. The following extract is taken
from a report of Lieutenant Massa Antonio, a physician who was sent
back to Italy after a term in a prison camp:
“By a long and weary journey we were taken to Trento, then to
Gardolo and finally to Sigmundsherberg, to a camp of Russian
prisoners. The physicians were at once invited to take care of
their own soldiers. Captain Luigi Ferrero, the head physician,
entrusted me to take care of Group IV. I therefore found myself
living side by side with our own soldiers, suffering their physical
and mental tortures and hardships.
“There I saw a pitiable spectacle. Our own soldiers were left for
whole days without a bit of food. Hungry and sad they would stand
against the wire railings begging for food, for a morsel of bread.
Daily, fifteen or twenty soldiers who had fallen from sheer
exhaustion were brought into the hospital. Gradually the entire
camp was cleared of grass by our hungry men who avidly plucked and
chewed it in an attempt to allay their hunger.
“During the first days our soldiers were submitted to extremely
strict discipline. The punishment posts were always occupied, and
the prisons rapidly filling, for the Austrians believed in giving
vent to their hatred against us by floggings and beatings.
“The enemy soldiers and petty officers became vile merchants who
robbed our poor soldiers of whatever little money they had by
selling them pieces of bread at exorbitant rates. Because of the
bad quality of the food there were many cases of auto-intoxication.
The soldiers welcomed a chance to go and work for they hoped for
better treatment.
“Besides acting as journeying physician I was also entrusted with
the inspection of the mess and of the discipline of our soldiers.
“I cannot express how painful, how agonizing a task that was.
Daily, soldiers would come to me with tales of incredible
treatment, with their bodies livid from the cruel and fierce blows
of the Austrians. Exhausted, worn-out, veritable bundles of human
rags, they would tell me of the incredible labors expected of them;
how, among the snow of the Carpathians, half-naked, without shirts,
while the cold which was far below freezing point, stiffened their
bodies, they were compelled to start out at three or four in the
morning and walk until eight, after having had only a cup of tea;
and how they were then forced to work until night. As payment for
their superhuman labors, the poor wretches received a cheap
substitute for coffee with one-quarter of a pound of bread.
“During a meal of the officers in Bucovina an Italian violinist was
compelled to play the Italian national hymn, and while he was
playing he was made the target for all sorts of table rubbish:
left-over bits of food and the dregs of beverages. Some of our
soldiers were compelled to drag for fifty miles a car in which was
the baggage of an Austrian officer. Did one of the tired prisoners
attempt to stop a moment for rest, the officer leveled his revolver
at him.
“With my very eyes, I saw Grenadier Dantin die some minutes after
he had been badly beaten. A special report of his case was made to
Captain Ferrero. I made another report against a wealthy Hungarian
undertaker who said to our soldiers, ‘You did not die at the front,
but you will die here.’
“In the marshes of the Danube our prisoners are placed in the hands
of war contractors who treat them like veritable slaves. They try
to get the maximum labor from them. Our prisoners were given to all
those who asked for them, without any control from the government
as to the way in which they were to be treated. They were sent to
the squares of the cities, and there exposed for public choice,
just as though they were cattle.
“In the camp of Sigmundsherberg the sanitary service is completely
in the hands of the Italians who do all they can to alleviate the
ills and pains of the soldiers. There are absolutely no medicines,
surgical tools and sterilizing apparata. The sick are fed with corn
meal, sour cabbages, and dried codfish.
“There are very many sick, especially of tuberculosis, which
assumes every form. Statistics show that this disease was found in
thirty cases out of a hundred visited, and that it was continually
increasing because of the scarcity of food.”
We learnt of the treatment of Italian prisoners taken during the
Austrian invasion from escaped Italian prisoners and from reports from
captured Austrians. The Czech officer, mentioned in the foregoing,
wrote in his diary: “While the Italian prisoners were passing through
the city (of Feltre) the women along the streets wept.”
The following information I received from two automobilists, by name
Ventura and Gandolfo, with whom I was able to speak:
“The life of the Italian prisoners is most terrible. They are
treated with scorn, are scantily fed, and are compelled to work at
nerve-racking tasks. The harshest kind of a life would be welcomed
by them to-day as a liberation.”
The two automobilists on December 13 saw the fresh grave of two Italian
infantrymen, taken prisoners. They both affirmed that the prisoners had
died of hunger. The Italian soldiers had not been thought worthy of
burial in sacred ground, despite the protestations made by a worthy
priest, therefore their graves were out upon a common field.
Finally, here is the story of two Italian prisoners who escaped from
the enemy—Lieut. Mario Zannini of the Second Battalion, 245th
Infantry, and Private Tortoriello Domenico of the Third Battalion, 21st
Infantry.
“There are still many of our men wandering round the country. Some
of them have not as yet been arrested and others are escaped
prisoners. Their condition is most miserable. They have about one
two-pound loaf of bread to divide among six. The under-nourishment
weakens the organs and they can no longer work. Several have taken
sick, and a few have died from exhaustion.
“Those who belong to the invaded regions try to escape to their own
homes, where relatives and friends do all they can to protect them,
though, often enough, they fall again into the hands of the
tyrants, who then make them pay for their flight with all sorts of
torment, ill-treatment, and injury.”
What sort of an existence did the people of the invaded lands lead;
those people who so long tranquilly waited in the hope that we would
forever drive away from them the eternal menace of the enemy ready to
pounce upon them?
The diary of the Czech officer says, “The civilians are living in a
most critical condition. The passing troops have taken everything from
them, edibles, horses, mules, wagons, kitchen utensils. Whatever
remained, especially objects of copper, were seized by the gendarmes.”
The Germans do their requisitioning in the following manner: they
order, at the point of a gun, the peasants to open their doors, and
when they have thus frightened them, succeed in getting everything from
them. Enemy deserters who have come to our lines have confirmed the
vexations to which the troops subject the people of the invaded lands.
According to them, the cruelest and most savage are the Slovenes, the
Bosnians and the Croatians, especially the Croatians who have indeed
been known to enter a home, and at the point of a gun, take away the
few provisions left to a family by the rationing committee. Often the
Croatian officers themselves incite the troops to pillage and plunder.
Wherever the Croatians pass they leave traces of their brutality not
only on property but also on the people, both men and women, whom they
treat with violence.
The same report was confirmed by a deserter from the second battalion,
23rd Regiment of chasseurs, who said:
“The people of the occupied lands are continually subjected to
injuries. Almost all the food they have has been taken from them.
Wherever anything is left by the official requisitioning
committees, the soldiers, especially the Slovenes, steal the rest.
Near Sesto al Roghena several Slovenes fired fifteen shots at a
civilian who refused to let them remove his goods. He was seriously
wounded.
“With my own eyes I saw near the Tower of Mos, two drunken
Hungarian soldiers beating an old man who would not let them steal
his cow.”
The Croatian troops were ready to steal and plunder wherever they
passed. A Hungarian volunteer, taken prisoner, assured us he had seen
at Rivarotta (Palazzolo) a group of Croatians threatening a priest with
a stick unless he immediately procured them some girls. At Portogruaro
a woman threatened to wound with a stick a corporal who attempted to do
her violence.
The following impressions are taken from the afore-mentioned
automobilists. Ventura and Gandolfi, who as prisoners were placed in
the postal service by the Austrians, but who succeeded in escaping:
“We entered for the first time into Udine under the hands of the
Austrians, on November 3, at about three in the afternoon. The
city’s wounds were all still open and bleeding. There were still
smouldering fires along the outskirts. Houses were thrown open,
stores shattered; all that which made for a prosperous, wealthy
trade, turned out onto the streets—furniture, linen, utensils,
crockery, broken bottles, old papers and families keepsakes. Over
the smiling, peaceful city, it seemed as if a destructive squall
had swept. The automobile stopped at the hospital of the seminary.
In one corner of the street three young Italian women were offering
such little comfort as lay in their power with their scanty food
and their most welcome presence.
“The city was full of German and Austrian soldiers hunting from
house to house and from store to store for booty. The officers took
part without a shame in the pillaging.
“Doors to houses were thrown in and the inhabitants compelled, by
threats, to help in the plunder of their own belongings. After a
short time, there was not a single family which had not been robbed
and plundered.
“In the country regions the soldiers rush with impunity from one
farmhouse to another leaving everywhere the traces of their rapine.
The military authorities encourage the soldiers to send home to
their families packages of provisions, knowing well enough that
such have not been bought, but have been seized by violence.
Furthermore the authorities themselves leave behind them, in
exchange for horses and provisions requisitioned, receipts either
with illegal signatures or irregularly compiled, or with ridiculous
phrases, as for instance, ‘Fulle Kusse,’ or signed, ‘Cadorna will
pay you.’
“Between San Fior and Monticella, near the inn of Gai, a detachment
of German soldiers who wanted to occupy a house inhabited by about
forty old persons, women and children, not only entered with
violence, but in a spiteful, bestial mood, threw all the furniture
from the windows.
“Near the headquarters of the 51st corps, a peasant family had
succeeded in saving from theft a cow. One night, a group of
soldiers entered by sheer force and took her away.”
Two other prisoners who succeeded in escaping after many adventures,
Lieut. Zannini and Private Torotoriello, formerly mentioned, added the
following details to the account of the life of those in the invaded
districts:
“The enemy troops, drunk, entered the houses and dwellings and
broke and burnt the furniture which was thrown out of the windows.
“The young women, terrorized by the looks of the barbarians,
barricaded themselves behind piles of furniture. Many deeds of
violence were attempted and accomplished.”
Lieutenant Zannini told me how he took by the chest and hurled out of
the door, at San Michele di Piave, a German soldier who in the presence
of her mother tried to seduce a young girl, after having wounded with a
knife an old man who had tried to defend her.
Private Torotoriello told me he saw one day, the body of a girl on the
street near Polcenigo. She had thrown herself from the window in an
attempt to escape from two German officers. The same soldier at Stevenà
di Caneva, was threatened with a revolver by two other German officers,
because he would not forsake a young woman whose mother had entreated
him to protect her. He later learnt of the violence done and the wrath
of the entire population which openly revolted against the authorities.
In the face of such violence, thievery, bestiality and rape, the
Italian people reacted.
The population of Fouzaso composed largely of women and children lived
apart in silence, maintaining a dignified, proud demeanor in front of
the Austrians. There was a look of sadness on the face of every
Italian. Every day the church was crowded with worshippers. One could
often see, along the street, women, who when they stopped to talk to
one another could not keep back the tears. The children sang a ditty
with the refrain, “Mount Grappa you are my country.” The song is
forbidden. From the belfry the bells have been removed. That was a
painful occurrence, for the bells were hurled from the belfry and broke
into a thousand pieces right before the eyes of the people. Some of
them, weeping, gathered a few of the broken bits of bronze and
cherished them as though they were sacred relics. The fragments of the
bells were at once loaded on automobiles and sent to Primolano.
Meanwhile, the inhabitants of the village were ever discussing an
Italian counter-offensive to drive out the Austrians.
Such are the documents I gathered while I remained one month with the
Intelligence Division of the Third Army.
Meanwhile my thoughts ran somewhat as follows:
“I have as yet no plan, as yet no definite program, but everything
must be tried, everything must be risked against this vile enemy
which devastates our properties, steals all that which we hold most
beautiful and sacred, violates our women, and commits every kind of
abomination. Of what value is my life when compared with the good
which our command might derive from having on the other side a
trusted person, capable of sending to it daily detailed reports on
the location of troops, on the condition of the enemy troops, on
the plans of the enemy? My plans will take shape gradually, but
meanwhile I am certain of one thing—I am going to try everything,
I am going to dare the incredible, I am going to make real the
fantastic. The enemy! He is destroying my houses; the paintings,
the tapestries, the relics of our church at Vittorio have been
taken from their frames and sent towards the far-off ways of
Austria. If they are pillaging my house and destroying with it all
which memory holds most sacred, then I want to assume the great
risk and the great honor of attempting to destroy their army.”
And so one morning I presented myself before Colonel Smaniotto and said
in a steady voice, “Sir, I have as yet no definite plan, but I am
disposed to accept in broad terms your proposition. At first the
undertaking seemed inconceivable, but after what I have seen and
heard about the way in which the invader is treating our lands and
the inhabitants who have remained there, nothing is any longer
inconceivable to me, nothing is unattemptable.”
The Colonel grasped my hand, smiled good-naturedly, and said, “That is
why I placed you among the prisoners; that is why I gave you access to
such important documents. I knew that your sturdy type of citizen and
soldier could not remain insensible to the cry of pain which comes to
us from every land across the Piave. And now let us get to work. We
must plan and organize the undertaking.”
III
Before taking any final decision and attempting to study a means for
conveying myself within the enemy lines, I decided to get a working
knowledge of the great machine, of the delicate and intricate systems
on which our service of information is based.
Many believe that the system of espionage is an extraordinary thing
which is conducted entirely in the territory occupied by the enemy.
Others imagine that all spy work resembles that done in spy plays,
plays wherein a fascinating woman devises vast schemes with the help
and collaboration of paid rascals. Both these elements exist in real
espionage work, but to a much less degree than is commonly believed.
Our spy system subsidises various agencies abroad whose task is to
gather and control all reports and rumors which may have a bearing on
the national defense. But the majority of the reports which come from
the interior regions of enemy countries are vague and not worthy of
much consideration, because the persons who have been hired to send the
reports cannot and must not always be believed. Furthermore, as it is
not easy to get reports through the strict censorship offices
established by every country, it is necessary to resort to ingenious
tricks, to invisible inks, to a multitude of devices which tend
seriously to delay the arrival of messages. As every report, even the
most insignificant, is worth much more if sent with all haste than if
delayed, it is usually more convenient not to make use of such
informers. They may be valuable at times to give a general impression
of internal conditions, of the troops, of the civilian population, and
the food supply. Even this information, however, may be had without the
use of such informers, by a careful perusal of the enemy newspapers.
For although such papers are carefully censored before being sent
abroad, nevertheless a vigilant and intelligent eye may gather from
reading between the lines what the conditions obtaining in the country
may be.
The most important part of our espionage system is conducted in our own
territory, by sharpening our own spirit of observation, by seeking to
gather everywhere all the many scattered rumors heard about the enemy.
Details which at first may seem insignificant, may become extremely
useful when compared with other details, collated with other
observations and completed by detailed, careful investigations. The
service of espionage is merely the application on a broad scale of a
vast study of analysis and synthesis. It is nothing more than a police
system which, instead of trying to discover the secrets of a small
drama, seeks to investigate great causes, seeks to penetrate the
essence of that great drama in which the major interests of two great
nations, the future happiness of two great peoples are compromised. The
two opposing armies even as they try to damage each other by the use of
arms, endeavor also to bring ruin on each other by the use of an
elaborate system of intrigues and disguises through which each tries to
discover the secret of the other and to guard jealously his own.
The sources from which information is obtained differ widely. I shall
discuss only the principal ones that I may place clearly before the
reader the various means at my disposal were I to attempt to do what
the Colonel proposed to me.
An essential element of modern espionage, one of the elements which has
revolutionized all that was done and attempted in past wars, is the
aeroplane. The small reconnoitring machine which flies over the enemy
defenses at great heights, is almost safe from the fire of enemy
anti-aircraft guns, and that the observer may make his observations
unmolested and lose no time in defending himself from possible
attacking enemy planes, several chasing machines are sent out with him
as sort of guardian angels. Nothing should escape the vigilant,
educated eye of the observer. His mind, well-acquainted with the enemy
situation, his vision, accustomed to the appearance of terrain from on
high, examines the roads, searches the railroads, observes both fields
and camps, and since at times some detail may escape the notice of the
observer, the other eye, the faithful lens of the camera, completes the
picture by recording what the observer may have overlooked. These are
exact, useful, tangible records of what has been seen; records which
can be consulted under any circumstances.
The aeroplane is used in the field of tactics and in the field of
strategy. In the former it is especially useful in compiling a series
of uninterrupted photographs in which not a millimeter of the enemy’s
territory escapes the sensitive negative. By studying these photographs
one gathers a notion of the course of the enemy trenches and the
position of their artillery. In the field of strategy the aeroplane
penetrates far into the enemy territory to observe points of especial
importance. After our retreat, for instance, at a certain time, it was
necessary for our command to know whether the enemy had restored the
bridges on the Isonzo, on the Tagliamento and on the Livenza. A patrol
of five chasing machines started out together each entrusted with the
task of observing and photographing a small zone. Several hours later,
our command was informed of all it wanted to know. To frustrate these
observations the enemy had recourse to several agencies.
“Camouflage,” introduced by the enemy to render everything less visible
from on high, is now universally known. But besides this, there are
other tricks used in warfare to fool the enemy. When we were on the
Carso, during one of our offensives, while the enemy was amassing great
forces to oppose our advance up the back of the Faiti, the aviators who
for many days had been flying over the large valley of Brestovizza,
were able to observe from on high long lines of wagons and great
columns of artillery directed from Goyansco towards the Nabresina
valley. From information later received from deserters we learnt that
the wagons were empty, that the cannons were of wood, and that the
enemy had planned all that complicated demonstration show of force as a
fiction to deceive us about its real center of reinforcement. The
Germans were also in the habit of constructing entire fictitious
aviation camps so as to induce Allied aviators to believe that great
offensive preparations were being centered at that point whereas in
reality the enemy planes were gathering quietly elsewhere.
Similar methods have at times been adopted by us to protect our
stations from enemy bombardments. At Udine the various stations were
kept completely dark at night and nearby a fictitious station was
erected which was always kept light, in the hope that some deceived
aviator might waste his bombs upon it.
An important means of observing what happens behind the enemy lines are
the Drago balloons. Their task is not only to direct the fire of our
artillery and to discover, from the flashes, the position of the enemy
guns, but to notice all that which happens within the inner lines of
the enemy. Their observations are in certain cases more efficient than
those from the aeroplanes, since being ever at a constant altitude,
they can follow with greater attention every small particular.
Our balloons, for example, used to give the alarm to our chasers on the
field every time an enemy plane arose. They observed all the movements
of trains, so that we were able to compile a schedule of all arrivals
and departures of Austrian trains, a feat which greatly aided us in the
correct concentration of our fire.
The Drago balloons are also entrusted with the task of recording the
aerial activities of the enemy. Every fifteen days, the observers in
the balloons must record upon a special chart, the number of enemy
planes and balloons which have passed over our lines, and indicate the
exact line over which they passed. The study of these charts is
extremely interesting. An attack is usually directed against the spot
which has been most photographed, and over which the enemy planes have
passed most frequently. Therefore, if a record of the enemy flights is
kept, it is easy to deduct which points of our defense are most
interesting to the enemy.
A practical method of discovering secrets of the enemy is the
interception of the radio-telegrams which the enemy stations exchange
among themselves. These telegrams, however, are always in code, and it
is very difficult to learn the key to the code. There are certain
cryptographers, highly experienced, who spend the entire day trying to
decipher the hissing sounds which are intercepted by our receiving
stations. At times they succeed in unraveling a few threads, but often,
the enemy, who knows the heavy penalties to be paid by not changing
codes frequently, has changed the mode of the cipher just when our
experts had begun to understand it. It is all a duel of wits, a
complicated game of stratagems and deceits, in which the adversaries
study each other vigilantly in an attempt to take such advantage of any
slight slip as may afford the opportunity for the striking of a fatal
blow.
Another element of great importance are the intercepting telephone
stations. Special detachments, highly trained and equipped with special
devices, leave our trenches by night to lay telephone lines along the
ground as near the enemy trenches as possible. Powerful microphones,
capable of enlarging the smallest sound, receive the sound vibrations
in their travel along the ground and transmit them to our lines where a
person who knows German well, and all the languages and dialects spoken
on the other side is delegated to listen day and night to such messages
as are intercepted.
But counter-schemes have been found even for this method of espionage.
Telephone lines with double wires are the only ones used now near the
front line trenches, and with these it is much simpler to intercept
messages. Furthermore, orders were issued that all important
communications be transferred in code language. An expert trained ear,
and an alert mind, however, can readily unravel the little disguises
and stock words used by the troops at the front. For example, it is not
very difficult to interpret the significance of the following message
overheard on the fifteenth of January by our station at Grave di
Poppadopoli:
“Hello—Hello Adler. Who is on the wire?”
“Weiss. Bad day to-day.”
“The katzelmacher has molested us a great deal this morning. It has
made a great noise with its rattle and we had three bananas and a few
wounded. I beg you to send us by foreign exchange many caramels because
those of the Kaiser Stellung are almost finished.”
This Kaiser Stellung was beginning to annoy us. For some time we had
heard her mentioned continually in the messages we intercepted and had
not been able to discover from the prisoners or others what the enemy
referred to by that name. Purposely to keep us ignorant of its designs,
the enemy troops opposite us had given special names to every important
locality and position, names which differed from those assigned to them
on the maps and charts. Finally, after numerous researches, we
succeeded in guessing the three different points, each of which had the
characteristics which we had noticed mentioned about the Kaiser
Stellung. At a fixed hour, our artillery opened fire on all three
points which we thought to be the Kaiser Stellung. Shortly after, one
of our intercepting stations picked up the message, “Time, 1.15 P. M.
The enemy has fired three shots of large caliber near the Kaiser
Stellung. No wounded.” The Kaiser Stellung had been discovered!
There are also special observers in the trenches who compile nightly
bulletins of every incident or sound which has been seen or heard in
the adversary’s trenches. For example the observatory of Case Bressanin
communicated on the night of January 13, that an unusual rumbling of
carts was heard near the first lines and that all night there were many
voices of persons apparently engaged in transporting material. The same
night, the noise of pick-axes in use in the trenches was distinctly
heard. The enemy was constructing bridgeheads in his trench lines.
Periscopes, cunningly hidden in the trees, can examine the level ground
of the zones nearby, but observations from them are not very fruitful
because the enemy usually refrains from any movement during the daytime.
The most fruitful and interesting of the methods of getting information
is the study of the documents found on prisoners and the questioning of
prisoners and deserters. Often the prisoners have no desire to talk,
and armed with the pride which every soldier should feel before the
enemy, they refuse to give any interesting information about their own
troops. But sometimes, that which cannot be obtained by frankness, is
obtained through deceit.
In the rooms in the concentration camps in which the prisoners are
placed, microphones which receive everything said in the room, even if
in an undertone, have been installed. At the other end of the wire
there is a constant attendant who listens and records everything, and
often overhears something of importance.
But often one cannot trust to luck. It is at times necessary to force a
conversation from an important prisoner supposedly in possession of
many valuable secrets. And for this too, there is a method, if one
knows how to be prudent. In the concentration camps there are always
several persons, usually deserters from the other side, who have passed
to our service. Whenever necessary these persons disguise themselves as
prisoners and in this way they often succeed in gaining the confidence
of the most reserved and those who have enveloped themselves in the
most profound silence whenever questioned. When spoken to by these
disguised prisoners they have at times revealed important news, in the
belief that they were talking to a comrade.
In this service the Czechs have been especially valuable and have often
furnished us with precious information. All these reports when
compiled, all these details however insignificant at first sight, when
sifted through the intelligence of a man accustomed to collect and
co-ordinate, furnish our commanding officers with an exact notion of
what is happening in the enemy territory. The news thus gathered is far
more valuable than that which could be collected by spies two or three
hundred miles inside the enemy lines. For example, let us examine the
reports for several days in January:
(From questions asked a Czech prisoner of the 21st Infantry Regiment,
on January 16.)
“It seems as if the Austrians are preparing a surprise attack to
drive the Italians from their bridgehead at Capo Sile. The 21st
Regiment will soon be relieved by a regiment of Hungarians.”
(From the observation post at Taglio of Sile.)
“_Night of January 17._ Heard the rumblings of wagons, and observed
great commotion on the part of the enemy as though there had been
the relief of a regiment.”
“_Time 9.35._ Our reconnoitring apparatus in front of the 23rd
Corps has observed a column of wagons about half a mile long, near
Torre di Mosto.”
(Observations from the Drago Balloon of the 23rd section bis. of Porte
Grandi.)
“_Time 10.50._ Noticed great deal of dust along the road ‘La Salute
Caorle.’
“_Time 11._ Long trains at the station of San Stino of Livenza.
Smoking locomotive at the eastern end of the station. During the
entire day it was noticed that two more trains arrived than during
the other days, and that there was a great deal of unloading on the
field near the above-mentioned station.”
(From the interception station at Chiesanuova.)
“_Time_ 1 P. M. (Hungarian language). Hello, Appony. Take good care
of the stocks of artillery because I imagine it will be cold
to-night. The Captain has ordered that all be at their stations by
seven o’clock and that the cadet come back before night.”
All these details united and considered, caused the Colonel to believe
that the enemy had planned a surprise attack for the night of January
18. Orders were accordingly given to the troops and the artillery and
when, after a brief bombardment, a brigade of Hungarian soldiers
attacked our advanced troops at the bridgehead of Capo Sile, and was
boldly met by our troops, the enemy suffered heavy losses and was
compelled to withdraw after having left several prisoners in our hands.
Such is the value of an acute intelligence service!
IV
That which had the greatest effect on me while at the intelligence
office was a description by Lieut. Zannini of the life of the
inhabitants of the invaded regions. He told me of their sufferings; he
assured me that in every moment, every second, they feel Italian and
the more the enemy tries to overcome their sentiments with violence,
the greater grows within them the feeling of revolt and exasperation.
Lieut. Zannini had been taken prisoner during the retreat and by
disguising himself as a soldier prisoner had succeeded in living in
hiding for several days among the peasants, who did all they could to
protect him from the German gendarmes authorized to seize him. He told
me that many of the Italian prisoners, especially those native to the
invaded regions, had succeeded in establishing themselves with some
family, which welcomed them indeed because a man was of great help in
the work on the fields and in protecting the women from the enemy
soldiers.
Throughout the invaded regions the enemy used our prisoners freely for
work on the roads to construct the new railroad from Sacile to
Vittorio. These prisoners, who are held without food and are compelled
to sleep in unhealthy places, often attempt to escape. They wander
about the country begging bread right and left, only returning to the
concentration camp where the whipping post and the prison await them
when they have become exhausted by suffering and privation.
Although the enemy’s hatred against our soldiers is great, they cannot
always prevent the population from coming to our assistance. At times
some of the prisoners, feigning sickness, or because they have special
classification papers, are permitted by the Austrian authorities to
reside for some time with an Italian family.
Now, why couldn’t I become a prisoner? Why, granted that I succeeded in
passing to the other side, couldn’t I join one of these companies? The
idea seemed commendable since I would then be able to approach some
Austrian soldier, and who knows but that among them I might find one
able to give me important information! Furthermore, the plan was
especially suitable, since the largest concentration camp for prisoners
was at Vittorio, and because at Vittorio also there was established the
command of the sixth Austrian army and in the proximity of so important
a command there is ever more likelihood of indiscretions. Vittorio is
again a point of great strategical importance. At Vittorio begins the
great road which leads to Belluno and the Cadore, beside the other road
which crosses the valley of Folina to Vidor.
In the latest encounters it had been observed that the enemy had always
attempted to force our front on the side of the Grappa. Therefore
it would be interesting to attempt to know what was taking place
within the enemy’s back area, where undoubtedly he was making huge
preparations.
The fact that the German general Von Buelow himself had established his
command at Vittorio, indicated the importance of this post. It was
indeed one of those strategical points from which branch forth all the
ramifications of the enemy’s efforts. At Vittorio I know the land inch
by inch; at Vittorio too there remained several persons from my house
who could help me greatly and find some food for me, for from all
reports it appeared that the food supply in the invaded regions was
continually getting worse and that it was difficult even to find a
handful of flour with which to make bread.
Nor did it seem difficult to enter one of these concentration camps,
because it was reported that the enemy had not as yet made a complete
list of all those in the camps, and furthermore there were many with no
qualifying mark except their uniform of Italian soldier. Who knows, but
that if I were to succeed in passing for a prisoner I might not be
detailed, as were certain of our soldiers, to act as automobilists or
letter carrier for some Austrian command? That truly would be ideal for
I then could have access to many reports which otherwise would escape
me. For at bottom I had become convinced that enemy soldiers are little
informed of what happens at headquarters. We Italians are ingenuous
enough to believe that the humblest specimen from the enemy army knows
all the plans of the enemy, whereas, having regard to the fact that the
population which forms the Austrian army is as a whole of a lesser
grade of intelligence, I believe that they are less informed of the
plans than any one of our soldiers. I believed that should a spy try to
get important information from a plain soldier he would learn little
that would be interesting.
A further difficulty which however did not at once occur to me was that
of establishing immediate communications with my own lines. Were I
employed by the Austrian command, I certainly would have a great deal
to do. The life of the two automobilists I had met was full of action
and they had little peace either by night or by day. At times they even
had to do the rounds for some enemy soldier if they wanted to get a bit
of bread to appease their hunger. Therefore my time would be limited.
How too could I explain my sudden disappearances, how explain to my
companions all those complex secret manipulations necessary to
establish communications with the other side? No, the plan of feigning
to be a prisoner would not do. Some other plan had to be studied.
I really cannot understand why I worried my brain so hunting for
something extraordinary when the simplest solution was to disguise
myself as a peasant. No one can know better than I, who have lived in
that region for so many years, the dialect, the customs of its
peasants. It seemed therefore plausible that I should seek to become
one of them, that I should essay to gain access to some isolated house
unhaunted by enemy soldiers, there to establish my general headquarters
whence I might get into communication with whatever favorable elements
I might find in the nearby regions.
One of the methods I considered valuable for obtaining, without
suspicion, the location of the enemy troops, was that of collecting
such postcards and newspapers as soldiers often enough forget or leave
in the houses where they have dwelt. For on the postcard, beside the
address and the number of the regiment, there is always written the
number of the Feld Post to which a soldier belongs and this number of
the Feld Post corresponds to the number of the division to which the
soldier belongs. It follows therefore that if I could communicate to
our side many Feld Post numbers, they who had the division numbers
corresponding to those of the Feld Post, would easily be able to
compile the location of the enemy troops. This method then seemed to me
the most feasible in that it did not entail such questions as might
evoke suspicion, because the answers to my unspoken questions would be
exact, and because before communicating a report it is ever necessary
to have a document on which to base it.
The great difficulty of disguising myself as a peasant on account of my
youthful aspect did however give me pause. I did not believe that those
prisoners who succeeded in establishing themselves in the homes of
friends in the invaded region were of my age, but rather men of an
older class who furthermore caused the enemy to believe that they were
yet older than in truth they were. Yet one way of conveying the
impression that I was older than my years, was by growing a beard. I
believed it would be well for me to let my beard grow, especially as
many of the peasants of our regions, notably the mountaineers around
Vittorio, have the habit of wearing a thick, untrimmed beard. I
resolved then that from the morrow the barber should see me no more, in
the hope that in a few weeks I should not recognize my own image in the
mirror.
Lieut. Zannini, in his return flight to our own lines, made use of a
small rowboat procured near Caorle. Through a small canal he reached
the sea, and on a foggy night putting out further, succeeded in
reaching our lines near Cortellazzo. Why couldn’t I do the same only in
the opposite direction? It was true of course that Lieut. Zannini was
directed towards our lines and that once he had passed the dangerous
zone he had been certain of arriving among friends, whereas for me the
difficulties were bound to increase rather than lessen as soon as I had
arrived on the other side. Then too it was absolutely impossible to
venture so blindly towards the enemy territory without the company of
some fisherman from those regions who knew the coastline well and on
what spot to make a landing. Quite true, but where were we to find such
a fisherman and one willing to lend his services for so hazardous an
undertaking?
One morning I consulted Lieut. Ancillotio about it. He is one of our
expert pilots of chasing machines, and owns vast estates in the invaded
regions, especially along the sea. Nearly all the lands of the
lieutenant are interlaced with drainage canals. It appeared to me that
perhaps one of his peasants would know the entire intricate system of
canals which lead to the sea. It was no easy matter however to find a
man sufficiently cold-blooded for an attempt at such an undertaking,
and one possessing the proper physical and moral attributes necessary
for its successful completion.
Who would assure me again that once we had arrived in enemy territory
such a man would not lose his courage and betray me by some hasty move
or a careless word? However, the more I thought of it, the more I was
convinced that for such an enterprise I must have a trusted companion;
and one not of officer rank lest there should develop two commands, and
two opinions which at times might conflict. This companion must be
simple, trustworthy, faithful; one whose sole task was tacitly to obey
the orders received, and to be an instrument for furthering my plans
and my decisions. There would be, too, moments in which I should need
rest but I should not be able to sleep save someone be on guard. The
greater my labor, the greater my efforts, the more necessary would it
be for me to rest, that I might rebuild and restore my weakened
energies for return to further work. In the same manner when my soldier
should prove weary, I would stand on guard for him, and thus each would
help the other.
I wished to examine the photographic chart of the flooded region in
which I had decided to land with my boat, that I might discover whether
a landing was possible. No easy thing to discern from a photograph
where there is or is not water! I deemed it best to examine the
topographical chart compiled from a careful study of the photographs.
Only a few roads emerged from the flooded regions. There were many
houses completely surrounded by water. Also from the information I
received from Lieut. Zannini, I learned that several families were
living isolated in their houses surrounded by water, but since they
have set aside certain provisions they welcome the peculiar conditions
which prevent more frequent visits from the Austrians. Granted that I
arrived as far as the shore with my boat, it was a doubtful matter
whether I should find it possible to navigate the flooded district,
since there were but the fewest places of reference by which I might
take my bearings. What if, instead, after landing, I were to proceed on
foot along one of the roads which had not been flooded? Even this idea,
which at first seemed feasible I was forced to abandon, because it was
more than probable that the Austrians had placed sentinels along the
scattered roads, and it is impossible to force a passage on a road even
if there is but one armed man guarding it. In case I were discovered
where could I try to escape? Certainly not in the water which would be
surrounding me on every side.
From Commander Granaffei, who has charge of our army’s affairs with the
fleet, I learned that during the night one of our silent motor boats
often succeeded in getting very near the shore along Caorle. This motor
boat, beside its regular motors, is equipped with an electric motor
which is absolutely noiseless. Why not make the attempt in one of
these? If a landing at Caorle, which is at a short distance from our
lines, was not possible, why not try to penetrate with the motor boat,
farther along the coast where the surveillance of the enemy was
assuredly less strict?
Upon examining the map I discovered an admirable spot: the pinegrove
which is near the mouth of the Tagliamento. I pictured myself arriving
there by night, taking cover in the woods, tranquilly awaiting the
rising of the sun that I might study my bearings and then calmly start
upon my journey. But alas! There was another difficulty. The mouth of
the Tagliamento is more than sixty miles distant from Vittorio, which
was the place I had selected as the base from which to begin my work of
observation. Sixty miles, which are trifling under normal conditions,
become an enormous distance when in enemy territory. For it becomes
necessary in traversing so long a tract to enlist the services of too
many people; the spy’s secret must be revealed at least in part to too
many persons, and although I am absolutely convinced of the loyalty of
our people, although I have had numerous proofs that they have risked
and suffered all to shield our men, yet who shall assure me that in so
vast a zone, among so many people there is not one traitor, one who,
not so much to harm me personally as to injure some enemy of his with
whom I may have chanced to sojourn, will spy on me? Furthermore it
became evident to me that not until I had with my own eyes observed the
habits of the enemy, scrutinizing them at work in their own camps,
would it become possible for me to wander collecting the necessary
information in person. Until I had come in actual contact with them, I
believed it were better for me to remain hidden and to use others for
my purposes. It did not seem as if the best way in which to make my
debut were to travel over sixty miles of enemy territory, through a
zone which would undoubtedly be strictly guarded, in that this
territory adjoined the area in which were the bridges, railroads, and
the roads along which the enemy was transporting all his new material
toward the front.
Upon these considerations, I became convinced that to facilitate the
enterprise, it would be necessary for me to set foot in enemy territory
not far from the place chosen as general headquarters. The only medium
then which would permit me to land not far from Vittorio was the
aeroplane. The flats however not far from Vittorio, would facilitate
greatly the work of my pilot. Obviously the landing could not be
effected during the day time; it would therefore have to be essayed at
night. But here again were new difficulties, for night-landings are
usually made with the aid of searchlights so that, apart from all other
considerations, a landing would be difficult by the uncertain light of
the moon on a landing spot never yet adventured by a pilot.
On examining the map there appeared several fields deemed suitable for
the attempt. Near our lines is the aerodrome of Case San Felice where
the Austrians during the first days of the retreat had established
their hangars, because they believed our supplies of artillery of high
caliber to be so depleted that we would not molest them. A vain belief!
For I have reason to know that they were not a little surprised when
one morning they heard arrive overhead many shots from a naval “152.”
(I had suggested that series for I could not tolerate the fact that the
Germans had adopted as their alighting camp an aerodrome which belonged
to me.) After that morning, the enemy aviators transported their tents
farther back. But the camp remained, and inasmuch as several days ago
Austrian planes had landed on the field it seemed highly probable that
there had been no recent works such as would obstruct the landing of a
plane. At times, a small hole, a rock, or a bush is enough to so damage
an aeroplane that it cannot again lift from the field. In my case, it
was absolutely essential that our aeroplane land in such a manner as
for it to be able to be up and away again immediately. For what would
become of us if for any reason we were compelled to remain on the other
side?
The field of San Felice had moreover the advantage of being little more
than a mile distant from one of our farm houses. The inhabitants of
this farm house were truly devoted to us and the overseer, whose name
was Bellotto, had been in his youth my father’s coachman, and was
greatly attached to him. But since (there are difficulties in every
plan) the field was situated near several houses and very near the
highway from Conegliano to Cimetta, which had undoubtedly become one of
the main arteries for enemy traffic, I did not know whether it would be
wise to alight in a field so near dwellings and a main highway. On the
other hand, I was convinced that the surveillance near the front would
be heavier, and who knows but that near Case San Felice there may be
some piece of Austrian artillery of large caliber? It really would be
too discouraging, if after having organized and planned every detail we
should be taken prisoners at once. No, I believed that it was
absolutely necessary for the landing place to be near Vittorio, but in
a zone less frequented by the enemy. The zone which I believed more
suitable to my purpose was the hilly, wooded section of the near Alps
which surround Vittorio. For the little city of Vittorio lies at the
foot of the Venetian Alps. It consists of two villages, Ceneda and
Serravalle and is all surrounded by hills. The village of Ceneda
extends over the plains, whereas that of Serravalle lies where the
valley narrows. The river Meschio flows through Vittorio. The outskirts
of Serravalle rest on the Venetian Alps and on the great road
d’Alemagna which rises at the pass of Fadalto and divides the mass of
the Visentin hill from that of Cansiglio.
There are many lakes in this region. The Fadalto Pass is between Lake
Morto and the Lake of Santa Croce. From Santa Croce to Vittorio there
are not more than ten miles of steep ascent. Another idea occurred to
me; why not make use of a hydroplane?... and descend on the Lake of
Santa Croce? Even this idea which at first seemed plausible had to be
discarded for several reasons. Although the hydroplane can at times
penetrate into inland regions, it is not a very practical means of
locomotion when away from the sea. In our case we would have to travel
forty miles to arrive at the determined spot. It did not seem advisable
to venture out at night into a confused, mountainous region, and
furthermore, the wings might, by the light of the moon, be clearly
mirrored in the water and so be visible to the enemy, and even did we
succeed in landing on the water unobserved, how could I reach the shore?
Therefore I considered instead the zone which lies at the foot of Mount
Cavallo, north of Pordenone. The heath of Aviano, which is not more
than twenty miles from Vittorio, is very extensive and has numerous
places suitable for landings. In fact before the retreat, we had at
Comina and at Aviano our largest aviation camps for bombing-planes.
Almost all the expeditions of Caproni planes which bombed Pola left
from those two camps. The ground is both in good condition and
extensive and although there are numerous little streams, these do not
afford serious obstacles since they are clearly visible. The region is
almost entirely uninhabited and there was no reason to believe that the
Austrians had erected any special construction which might annoy us. If
we could land in a field between Fontana Fredda and Aviano, we might
try to reach the mountain quickly. The fording of the Livenza River
would not give us much trouble, for we could trace it almost to its
source. On examining the map, the best point for a crossing seemed to
be between Polcenigo and Sarone.
Many matters had to be taken into consideration in order that my plans
might be successful. I had first to find a suitable place, then a pilot
with such attributes as an aviator and soldier as would enable him to
face the many surprises of the undertaking. No type of plane with the
propeller in front could be considered, because a landing with such a
plane at night is far more difficult, since the pilot cannot see the
ground in front of him. Both the “Pomilio” and the “Saml” which were at
our disposal were not especially suitable for the kind of descent which
we would have to make. Our plane must be capable of carrying three
persons, because I had absolutely decided to take with me a soldier
from the invaded regions. This soldier would be of great help to me,
and if I decided to stop at some farm house, it would be doubly safe to
stop with the parents of this soldier, that our hosts might have a
double reason for protecting me and for shielding me if, with my life,
the life of one of their own is coupled.
The plane which I deemed would be especially suitable for this
operation was the “Voisin,” an old type of machine no longer in much
use because it is too slow and has not much power of “climb.” But in my
case neither great speed nor great height was needed. What I did need
was a sturdy plane equipped with a truly powerful undercarriage. The
“Voisin” rests on four wheels which support the “cabane” and four
powerful springs of steel fasten the wheels to the fuselage. I have
seen several accidents with a “Voisin,” but in many cases the
sturdiness of the undercarriage has saved the aviators who, with
another plane, would have met with certain death. The “Voisin” is
constructed wholly of steel, and I myself had the opportunity of
testing its resistance in one of my early flights when, through an
error in judgment as to our height on the part of the pilot we struck
the top branches of a tree. The steel skeleton of the wings resisted
the blow and we had the supreme joy of landing on the ground with our
wings covered with the many leaves which we had loosened with our speed.
In regard to the pilot, I had a certain one in mind, Umberto Gelmetti,
a Captain in the Bersaglieri, who was in my squadron during those
glorious twenty-five days when we battled and conquered in the sky over
the Carso. He was now with one of the chasing machines, but still an
efficient pilot of the “Voisin.” He might prove a suitable pilot. He
was an expert and there was no feat too daring for him to attempt.
On February 27th I went to Captain Gelmetti and I laid my proposal
point-blank before him. He accepted the general outline of the plan but
wished to confer as to details. My first idea was, starting from our
territory, to soar to a great altitude over the established field,
then, with engine cut out, to volplane to earth. Captain Gelmetti
remarked that although this method had the advantage of not making any
noise, it had other difficulties. With our motor “ticking over” we
could, if at the last moment we were to spy an obstacle, at once take
flight again. For instance, were we when about to land within
observation of Austrians encamped, we should have a chance of escaping
were our motor in motion, whereas, with motor stopped we should be
compelled to accept our fate. Furthermore who would swing the propeller
to start our motor again? At times it will take several minutes to set
a propeller going and we in enemy territory would certainly have no
time to lose. We might use a small magneto as a self-starter, but such
systems are but uncertain resources with aeroplanes in their present
state of development, and furthermore, after making a descent with a
propeller not in motion our motor would have “gone cold,” and we would
still be compelled to run the engine for some time upon the ground “to
warm her up.” This unusual noise would attract the attention of the
Austrians. The only means for overcoming all difficulties was to apply
such a powerful silencer to the plane as would deaden the noise of the
motor, so that while descending, with the engine making but few
revolutions, the firing of the engine would scarcely be heard and there
would only remain the rustle of the propeller. All these considerations
were discussed with Colonel Smaniotto who, promising to take a great
interest in the enterprise, gave orders for the transport to us of an
old “Voisin” lying in a park at the front with all equipment we thought
necessary.
Meanwhile, my beard was beginning to grow, and since I did not wish to
explain to any one the reasons for this adornment on my chin, and since
I knew there were many Venetian soldiers from the invaded regions in
the eighth Regiment of Bersaglieri, I asked Colonel Smaniotto to send
me for a short time to the trenches so that, being in personal contact
with those boys, I might the better get to know and choose the type
suitable for me as a companion. The choice of a partner in such an
undertaking is difficult, because beside the physical and moral
attributes and the courage necessary, he must be of a cool temperament,
at once calm and calculating, able to weigh well the importance of the
mission to which he is called, the dangers he is likely to face, not a
man guided merely by his sentiment of patriotism and his ardent desire
to get news of or possibly see again his beloved parents who have
remained on the other side.
Colonel Pirzio Biroli, who knew of our plan, gave me a long list of
willing Venetian soldiers. The choice was really difficult because
there were many of them, and I did not wish to compromise myself nor
let them know my plans. I kept the real reason for my presence in the
trenches a secret even from the officers of the regiment, telling them
that I had been delegated by the command to study the aerial activities
of our adversaries. I spent whole days conversing with the soldiers,
studying their character and seeking the man who seemed to possess the
complicated qualities I required. I discarded many at once who would be
of great value in an assault, but who did not show the necessary
seriousness. I told all of them that I sought the names of the soldiers
from the invaded region because the command was desirous of devising a
system whereby they would be able to communicate with their families
who had remained therein. In this way, I got them to talk to me, to ask
me anxiously about the fate of their villages, the condition of their
homes, and being an aviator, they believed I knew all secrets and could
tell them of the most intimate details which are hidden within the
houses. By a process of elimination I arrived at a small group of the
most willing of those whose homes were in the vicinity of Vittorio.
Among them there was one who seemed especially suitable, Giovanni
Bottecchia, born at San Martino di Colle but whose aunts live in a
little village which rests on the mountains near Vittorio. The little
village is A’Fregona and the wooded, uneven condition of the land,
which is far from any roads, was suited for my plans. He was a sturdy
youth, a trifle stubborn, as are all mountain folk of our regions, but
he was instilled with great love of his country and a deep sense of
responsibility. Whenever I spoke to him of what was taking place on the
other side, he became profoundly indignant. He hated the invader not
only because the invader had separated him from his family, because he
was stealing and pillaging everything, but above all because the hated
invader had violated our territory. So elevated a sentiment was
noteworthy in the simple heart of a soldier, and he was one of the few
who reacted so powerfully and so sincerely to my arguments. To test his
ability of keeping a secret, I told him a small part of our project,
and asked him not to tell anyone, not even the officers of the regiment
if they should ask him. I then requested Colonel Pirzio Biroli to send
for him and question him, to see if he would disclose anything.
Bottecchia did not reveal a single word; on the contrary he evaded the
questions of the Colonel with a certain diplomatic ability. This
seriousness, this ability of keeping a secret, this enthusiasm, were
truly exceptional qualities. The fact that the house of his parents was
in a convenient spot was a further asset. Another point in his favor
was the fact that he had been a driver and therefore knew every road
and path along the mountains. As I questioned him about well-known
places, on common trips, he answered with such exactness in every
detail that I was really astonished and gradually I persuaded myself
that if I was to have a companion I could not find a better one than he.
Gradually I disclosed to him my plan in every detail. His courage
instead of diminishing in the face of so many difficulties, increased.
He became enthusiastic. He asked me anxiously the day, the hour, when
we should begin our adventure, thus showing he was eager to hurl
himself at once into the greatest danger. To him I owed some important
bits of information, some suggestions and modifications in our plan. At
first I had decided to leave the camp disguised as a peasant, but
Bottecchia rightly remarked it would be better to remain in uniform and
carry our disguise under our arms, so that in case the Austrians were
to surprise us while alighting, we would not have to explain to them
our plan, but could say we were aviators who, after a nocturnal flight
to ascertain the conditions at the railroad station at Casarsa, had
been compelled to land because of a fault in the motor. The enemy would
not have time to notice our civilian clothes on the plane, for at the
first alarm, we would have made them disappear by means of a special
infernal machine with which our planes are equipped in case they have
to land in enemy territory.
V
I led a laborious, tranquil life with the command of the eighth
Bersaglieri which held the line from Fagare to Molino della Sega. Every
now and then there were slight surprise attacks at night and small
bombardments. During the day there was a little isolated shooting upon
the roads most frequented by our wagons, but otherwise there was
nothing abnormal, almost no indication that we were at war. So for many
weeks on many fronts this calm subsisted yet beneath its stillness what
great griefs, what sufferings, what trepidations lay hid!
The willow-trees put forth their first buds; spring came on apace. A
hawthorn bush about which the wire entanglements were twined, foamed,
snow-tinted, under the pale sky. A warm breeze, the lightest of March,
breathed from the South, and at the first cascades of song from larks,
singing as it seemed just beneath the low clouds, we felt faintly
calling in our hearts the echoes of the distant springtimes, now—save
in the moments of this brief episode of war—vanished from the memory
of a child grown man. In the afternoon we heard the first rumblings of
thunder, followed by large warm drops of rain which filled the air with
the smell of fresh earth newly trenched and with the fragrance of
primroses and violets sprouting among the first green leaves. Far off
in the background where the irate mountain seemed to support a curved
garland of clouds, I beheld, illumined by a slanting ray of light, the
cypresses which surround the castle of Conegliano, near which my house
stands. Everything proclaimed the unhinderable beauty of nature, the
joy of youth, were it yet possible even to sense this beauty and this
youth in the great cataclysm which surrounded us. That view and those
cypresses renewed within me the ardent desire to reach the other side.
I pointed out to Bottecchia the steeple of his village church, which
veiled itself far away among the distant vapor of clouds. And by this
sign we became two bosom companions joined by a firm bond of love and
friendship. We became two comrades, dedicated to the same cause, two
comrades whom nothing can stay in the fulfillment of their chosen duty.
Very slowly, so it seemed to me, the days passed by, perhaps because I
slept little at night. For then it was that many small details took
shape, many new angles of sight were discovered, many definite ideas
were formulated. In the morning my soldier and I met and communicated
to each other the experiences and thoughts of the previous night.
One morning I received a letter from Colonel Smaniotto saying that His
Excellency, assistant-Chief of Staff of the Army, Lieut. General
Badoglio was greatly interested in our undertaking and had given orders
that the “Voisin” be dispatched as soon as possible to the front, and
that it be equipped with a silencer reported marvelous. The Colonel
further entrusted me with the task of choosing from among the officers
of the eighth regiment of Bersaglieri some one who, were my venture a
success, would be disposed to attempt the same thing in the region
around Pordenone. After numerous considerations I turned my attention
to Lieutenant De Carli (strangest of coincidences in names!) who seemed
to me to possess the necessary qualities and who had left his mother in
the invaded territory at Tiezzo di Pordenone.
We Italians are truly a great people! He did not hesitate a second
before accepting my project. Without asking for any details he placed
himself at my disposal and merely requested that he be permitted to
take with him his brother, a corporal serving in his company. After
seeing such ardor and such frenzy not to leave a thing undone which
might help drive the enemy from our lands, I became more and more
convinced that it was merely a matter of time before we should achieve
that victory for which we had been summoned.
With the two De Carli brothers and my soldier I returned to headquarters
because there were still many points to be settled, especially what
means of communication we should adopt when we had reached the other
side. From numerous reports it seemed that the time set for the great
Austrian offensive was not far distant, the offensive destined
definitely to crush our army and enable the enemy to turn all his
strength against France. We must be ready before that offensive.
As I did not wish to tell anyone of our plans, and since a large staff
usually ends by knowing all, we decided to establish ourselves in the
prisoners’ concentration camp at Capella where there were a few
officers who were used to silence and discretion. We were living in a
small isolated house, outside the village, and this house had become
the forge where weapons fatal to the enemy were being shaped. Methods
of communication must now be studied. Signaling by night with lights
had to be eliminated because the zone in which I decided to act was in
a small hollow surrounded by hills and so dominated by them that any
lights would be readily visible from them. More appropriate seemed the
method of communicating by means of sheets placed on the ground
according to schedule. Bottecchia told me that near the house in which
his aunts live there was a small brook and in this brook the wash-women
usually did their laundering. The wash was probably laid on the grass
near the brook to dry. I did not see why the Austrians should suspect
an innocuous sheet of conveying information to our command. By taking
as a point of reference a field which could be easily identified, why
would it not be possible to lay the sheets on it in such a manner as to
convey a special meaning to our command? Several aeroplanes were then
sent to photograph the regions selected by us, and in the enlarged
photographs the brook was plainly visible. One could see the house of
my soldier’s aunts, the little bridge which passes over the Friga, and
a small group of houses near a mill, marked on a map of one to
twenty-five thousandth scale. Near this group of houses there was a
large patch of ground which was very distinct in the photograph and
which was but a slight distance from the river. I believed it would be
suitable to indicate on it by means of sheets what we wished to convey
to our command. There were but a few things which would have to be
communicated. A sheet on the southwestern corner of the field would
indicate, “offensive imminent from the side of Montello”; a white sheet
on the southeastern corner would signify “calm”; a sheet on the
northwestern angle of the field would indicate, “enemy troops are
moving towards the plain”; a sheet on the northeastern corner would
mean, “enemy troops are moving towards the mountains”; a sheet placed
in the center of the field would mean, “German reinforcements are
arriving.” Our aeroplanes would come by day and photograph our signals.
The only difficulty lay in the possible discovery of our plan by the
enemy, and its use by the enemy to cheat our command. We must provide
against such a possibility. We therefore decided that the signals be
disposed at different hours every day. If the signals were not placed
in the established hours, then they were to be disregarded. So, even if
the enemy were to discover our system of signals, he could never wrest
from us a confession of the hours in which the signals were to have
been placed. But, although this means of communication might be very
useful during a battle, it is at bottom little more than a very crude,
elementary method for transmitting information.
For communicating more detailed, interesting information, we decided to
rely on carrier pigeons. It would not be easy for us, besides our
clothing and money, to carry pigeons with us, and furthermore, it would
be absolutely impossible to travel for twenty miles in enemy territory
with birds which in case of capture would at once reveal to the enemy
our intentions. We must find some system for delivering the birds on
the territory established as our headquarters. After numerous
experiments we adopted the following method: the birds were to be
closed in little cages in which had been placed paper, pencil and small
bags with their food; these birds were to be dropped at night, by means
of parachutes, from our aeroplanes, but in order not to arouse the
suspicion of the enemy that these birds had been thrown down for
special informers, there was to be placed in every cage a photograph
demonstrating the method of holding the pigeon and of attaching the
message to its leg, together with a printed bulletin addressed to the
people of Veneto. This bulletin was to ask the good peasants for help
in effecting their liberation, and for answers to the following
questions—“What troops are quartered in your vicinity? Have you seen
any cannon pass? When will the offensive begin?”—and many other
similar questions; at the end, the bulletin was to announce that after
the war, prizes were to be awarded to those who could prove that they
sent messages by means of the pigeons.
That the enemy might not discover our abode, the pigeons were to be
thrown down not only on our field, but casually throughout the invaded
region. Since the enemy might make use of this means too, of deceiving
us, and of communicating false reports as to its intentions, we
therefore, studied a code with which to express numbers, and a system
of interpolating insignificant words after a given number of words, so
that before a pigeon-message could be declared authentic, it must pass
certain tests. Thus even if the enemy were to succeed in discovering
part of our secret, he could never send messages so correct in every
detail that they would not be recognized as frauds by our command. I
further decided to number progressively all my pigeon-messages and to
sign them with the coined word, “Genga,” or the phrase, “An Italian.”
On May 1st, while we were conferring together at Campo de Capella, we
had a pleasant surprise. Suddenly, when we least expected it, we heard
the noise of an aeroplane passing low over us. The noise of the motor
sounded familiar, like the round, tranquil thump of the “Isotta,” and
as I raised my head I saw a “Voisin” spiraling about a hundred yards
above us, and an arm stretched from the pilot’s seat waving gaily at
us. At last, we realized that Gelmetti after so many hunts and searches
had succeeded in finding a plane and had brought it from Camp Poggio
Renatico to the front. This was a great step forward, because we would
be able to begin many necessary trials with the apparatus. We must make
the first trial for weight, and then several trials for landing at
night without the use of searchlights, and with the use of the
silencer. I therefore thought it would be better for us to transport
our tents to the aviation camp at Marcon which is not far from the army
and is suited for such experiments.
We were already furnished with our civilian clothes. Mine consisted of
a coarse shirt of wool, a pair of wide trousers of striped velvet like
those used by our mountaineers, a jacket and vest cut in peasant
fashion, and a soft felt hat. I put my disguise on trial by crossing a
field where there were many soldiers who knew me in my regular outfit
and without a beard. I noticed that many of them stared at me in
surprise without recognizing this peasant who walked slowly, dragging
his legs along heavily, as though he were worn out. Between my teeth I
held a small earthen pipe, I am happy that I passed unrecognized. Even
Gelmetti who was resting in the Hangar near his “Spad” was surprised
and astonished to see suddenly standing before him this mountaineer
whom he did not at once recognize.
I did not believe our departure was far distant. All the reports we had
been able to gather recently told of gigantic preparations by the enemy
for an early offensive against us. The Austrians for several months had
been gradually increasing the number of their guns, and new arrivals
from the eastern Roumanian front were continually reported.
The political reasons for this offensive were the great discontent
manifest in all the provinces of Austria because of the scarcity of
food supplies, and the belief, which gradually undermined the morale of
our enemies, that a decisive victory against the Allies was impossible.
The most hostile forces then within the enemy lines were the factions
which have furnished the best troops. The Hungarians had a deep hatred
against Germany, whom they accuse of being the originator of all their
troubles. A newspaper from Budapest mentioned that the drive must be
finished before the great weight of America could make itself felt in
the balance. Therefore, the supreme command of our adversaries was
about to exert itself to the full in speeding the decisive drive on our
front, in the hope that this drive would bring to it not only a victory
of arms, but the conciliation of the hostile, troublesome factions
which were ever becoming more formidable and threatening. Were the
Austrians to succeed in crushing the Italian army, they would throw all
their strength against the southern end of the line in France, and then
the Allied forces, enclosed in the iron circle of Germans on the north
and Austrians on the south, would have to succumb. The officers of the
Austrian staff were confident that they would find our army in the low
spirits in which they found it at the battle of Caporetto. They knew
not that after our magnificent resistance in November and December a
new spirit of moral and material regeneration swept over our soldiers.
Furthermore, our great military machine had effected a thorough
reorganization. The treatment of the troops, the tactical method, the
equipment, the distribution of supplies—all these branches had been
reorganized by wise adaptions of such a kind as to inspire confidence
among the soldiers in their officers and ensure the ultimate victory of
our arms. But we were not to delude ourselves, nor lightly underrate
the imminent danger which threatened us; we had to realize that the
formation of our front would not permit us to withdraw one inch. We
were holding onto the last position in which our stand could be
efficacious. If the Austrians were to succeed in driving us from this
position a great retreat would be necessary, and even if this retreat
were to succeed in saving the army from complete disaster, the new
lines would have to be established far inland on the Mincio or the Po,
and our failure to hold the first position would mean the sacrifice of
Italy’s most beautiful and richest regions, and among them Venice would
have to be ceded to the enemy.
Venice! At the mention of this name my Italian heart cannot but be
set beating! It was absolutely inconceivable, it was absolutely
inadmissible that the barbarian be permitted to trample with feet of
iron the pavements of our squares and our churches. Better were it for
us all to perish rather than permit the German Emperor to issue from
the Doge’s Palace a proclamation of challenge and victory! But the
configuration of our front was terribly against us. Our curved front
which formed a strong salient from the Astico to the sea gave the
Austrians the strategic advantage of being able to launch two attacks
simultaneously in two converging directions, from the mountain and from
the Piave across the plains. If the attack were successful in one of
the two directions, that fact sufficed to cause the downfall of the
other sector. The victorious enemy troops having accomplished a
“break-through” one side of the salient would at once execute a
flanking movement in such a manner that the rest of the front would be
compelled to surrender. The maneuver of Caporetto might be repeated to
our disadvantage, and this time the defeat would be decisive because
the Allies, barely capable of holding back the Germans in France, would
not be able to send a single man to our assistance. Therefore, our
surveillance was becoming all the more anxious, our chiefs more strict
in their reports to the generalissimo of the doings in the various
sectors, and I—I should have the honor of taking part in so great a
drama, I should have the honor of trying to frustrate the enemy designs.
The incidence of numerical strength was greatly to our disadvantage,
for the Austrian army mustered about twenty divisions more than we had.
We would therefore have to dispose of our troops with the greatest
care. Our reserves would have to be concentrated in a central camp
whence they could be readily sent to the section of the front where the
enemy seemed most threatening. There would have to be no doubts, no
hesitations on the part of our leaders; not a single man ought to be
moved to no purpose. It was absolutely necessary for us to know the
enemy’s plan of attack, that we might concentrate every soldier we
could on whatever sector the supreme blow was to be expected. To
discover this plan and report it was my task; a task of danger, a task
of honor, the supreme privilege of a man consecrated to his country, of
a soldier sworn to the faith of the soldier.
VI
I do not believe any man could ever have hoped for a finer task than
mine. I, who have often considered life not worth living, congratulated
myself on this undertaking in which I should have the opportunity of
creating my masterpiece. But before attempting the marvelous game from
which I was certain I was never to return, I wished to visit Venice
once again, I wished to draw again from the memorial and eternal
glories of these monuments the deep joy of such a life instilled in
stone as but rarely it is possible to instil in men. How often while
contemplating the architecture of St. Mark’s have I said to myself that
we have the right to make men die because we also know how to make them
live, but no right to destroy memories because we cannot build them
again. How could one reconstruct the glories of fourteen centuries of
domination?
With Bottecchia and the De Carli brothers I went to visit Venice for
the last time. A light naval motorboat carried us swiftly along the
short stretch of water separating the mainland from the city on the
sea. It was a clear day; the bluish surface of the basin of St. Mark
glittered under the first light zephyrs of May, and, stirred from time
to time by smarter puffs, the little waves broke crisply against the
sides and over the bow of our skiff. The symmetrical form of a swift
torpedo-boat, whose slender sides were moulded for speed like the
tendons of a grayhound, was outlined against the curved horizon flecked
with frail diaphanous clouds. Amethyst and cobalt, purple and gold
mingled in the rapid, ever-changing water swirls about us, intersecting
now and anon shattered into fragments that in turn recreate new gleams
of loveliness of color and new plays of light. The cold, viscid seaweed
stood erect in midstream eagerly awaiting the caress of a passing keel,
or hid its dark mass among the shadows of the Cyclopean walls from
which the swift foam of the eddies is hurled back. The spirals of a
slender column resembling a wistaria vine descended as far as the
odorous musk along the bank, while two gentle peacocks, reclining upon
marble, wound their sinuous necks about a byzantine image before which
wavered the flame of a votive lamp. Our gondola glided silently along
the tortuous canal of the dead city. Now and again we passed a heavy
stone railing before which dancing statues seemed to suspend the
invisible garlands of a distant minuet, or such a heavy iron gate as
pricks the pale sky with its pointed blades, or a cypress and a rose
bush closely bound together in a single embrace for centuries, with
their long, green foliage resting on the water. The Lombardesque eagles
curved under the cornice of Casa Vendramin uphold the festoons of stone
and on the porous, stained marble one can always read the phrase of the
Latin psalm “non nobis, non nobis.” Yet, even for us it is springtime;
even for us it is sweet to think it is springtime and that we shall be
able to die in springtime.
The gondola drifts slowly between the palaces resting on the water. The
Ca D’Oro outlines against the sky its designs of Romanesque acanthus.
The Pesaro Palace opens its gigantic stalactic gates into the shadow of
its deep courtyard. From under the curved arch of the Rialto a tear
still falls. The erect, angular obelisks of the Palace of Pappadopoli
pierce the sky as though in defiance of the enemy, and from the high
belvederes two somber cannon raise their sinister mouths in air.
On the deserted “fondamenta” there appears the slim figure of a woman
enveloped in a shawl and she advances tranquilly gazing towards the
East. How calm, how sacred her demeanor! Nothing of earth is there
about her body; all her sinews seem set for the same struggle, all her
nerves seem tautened by the same love. Her gesture is not new. It has
been beheld before on earth. The Virgins of the Carpaccio know it; it
has been known for the past fifteen centuries by the women of Venice
accustomed to await the advent from the sea of their greatest griefs
and their supreme joys. For those women, for the children who have been
tortured on the other side of the Piave, I am determined that this pure
image of Venice, this pure image of our race shall not suffer
contamination.
The clouds of springtime fled rapidly overhead; piling one upon the
other into white heaps, swollen to huge proportions. Occasionally a
strip of azure disclosed itself and then an oblique ray of light shot
through, coloring for a second the vivid façades of the palaces. A boat
filled with cabbages, of the large white-headed variety from Verona,
passed near us and scattered the fragrance of the country. Ca’ Foscari
stood out, with its broad face and large windows rimmed with gold, and
farther on glittered the statues of the Contarini Delle Figure palace.
A solitary aeroplane which had arisen from Sant. Andrea described slow
curves overhead, accelerating and retarding the run of its motor. My
faithful friends, my trusted companions were in the boat with me. We
had come to Venice in a moment of expectation, during a respite in the
struggle, to derive from these memories the strength to accomplish our
undertaking, now almost wholly matured in my mind and become the
favored child of my imagination. Every day I outlined it and reshaped
it with great love; daily I examined its weak spots with affectionate
care; daily my assurance revived; every moment I tormented and tortured
myself with new doubts so as to be certain that I might not be cheating
myself, that I would not fail. At night, before sleep overtook me, I
felt the beautiful armored creature alive in my flesh; I felt in my
rapid pulse the whirlwind of its strength ready to hurl itself like an
arrow which cannot fail; I was conscious of the calculating cunning,
the vivid joy of doing evil, the perfervid pride in being able to do
harm. The terrible anxiety of expectation burned into my forehead like
a sledgehammer shaping a red-hot point. Every remembrance, every grief,
every bit of beauty, became fused, became amalgamated in a mould which
I alone should be able to direct, and if at times within my weary
breast there glistened tears of my great love, them too I seized, them
too I hurled against all doubts, against all envy, against death. I did
not feel that sleep which enervates and softens, that sleep into which
I have often abandoned myself with voluptuousness, but instead my being
grew tense, ready for the supreme effort. I felt that I loved even my
body because it was my faithful instrument. I reflected upon the play
of my muscles, the expansion of my chest and the elastic tenacity of my
fingers, and I stretched and turned, ran and leapt like a mastiff who,
indomitable, struggles with every part of his body—with paws, tense
shoulders, arched back, curved loins, and ravening teeth.
We alighted in the little square in front of the statue of Marco and
Todero. The broad, heavy architecture of the ducal palace had been
covered by sand bags, and at the end towards the Porta della Carta the
very church itself was hidden beneath the weight of the beams and the
scaffolding. I would not be able then to see her again as I had often
seen her resplendent in her mosaics under the beams of the distantly
setting sun! I would not be able to snatch away with me a last image of
her to treasure for the days in which I was to tempt fate. Along the
stairway of the Giganti, along the gallery flanked by statues, we
passed into the Sala del Maggior Consiglio. All was changed; everything
had been moved and I no longer recognized the splendid symmetry which
used to animate the wall behind the throne; no longer did I see the
great world maps which amused me so as a child; no longer did there
hang from the wide ceilings in magnificent perspective Michelangelesque
limbs and torsos of the valiant men who assured to Venice the glory of
the seas. The gold of the frames which at other times held the jewels
of the spouse of the Doge and the purple mantles of the counsellors of
the Republic seemed to have lost its brilliancy. A wrinkled old
guardian in whom I seemed to recognize the face of one of those oarsmen
from the galleys of Saint Mark guided us through the spacious rooms.
His step was measured, his heavy voice was a melody which let its notes
fall on my memories. I did not heed his words but something of them
entered into my mind and vivified my memories. Up a steep and winding
stairway we climbed in the Piombi and visited the cell where for many
months Silvio Pellico suffered indescribable tortures at the hands of
the Austrians. The emotion of such a remembrance renewed the strength
of the hatred against the century-old enemy.
A curved flock of wings greeted us as we left the palace. The pigeons
flew in groups towards the Procuratie. The square was almost deserted
but among the few passersby I recognized the slight figure of Luisa.
Luisa was a schoolmate of mine; with her I read my first wonderful
books, with her I shared the great and pure joys of art.
“How pleased I am to see you here again.”
“The soldiers’ duty is not to leave the trenches, but the duty of the
citizens is not to abandon their city and I see you have been faithful
to your trust.”
We took once more the lonely way which passes across the parks whence
the merry chirping of myriads of birds reached us. Near the Academy the
children were playing on the ground near a well; I am not certain
whether it is imagined or real, but their game seemed hasty and
nervous, their movements hurried as if in fright. Perhaps they had not
slept because last night the enemy bombarded Venice. I asked Luisa why
she was not afraid to leave her child in the city and she answered me
that all the poor women of Venice had not been able to send their
children to places of safety and there was therefore no reason why the
rich should claim this privilege; furthermore, she scarcely knew how to
leave Venice nor to entrust her child to anyone else; in any case they
would be struck together and would together perish.
We had almost reached the Chiesa della Salute near the old abbey of St.
Gregory where we often used to go after school. The round glazed doors
were closed. We could not enter, but peering through the many-colored
glass we could imagine the forest of agile little columns which support
the wonderful pointed arches.
“You have been my friend and confidant since my earliest years and I
know you can preserve a secret. Within a few days I shall send you a
postcard on which will be written, ‘arrivederci’ (may we meet again). I
entreat you to think a great deal of me in those days because I shall
be in danger, because I must succeed, because I want all these wonders
to live beyond our memory, because I want Venice to live forever after
us.” She smiled back slowly for she had understood. Then with the fall
of dusk we returned towards Saint Mark’s which no longer glittered in
the evening lights, but whose purple marble and stained glass faded
away and mingled with the distant red of the sunset.
VII
The days which brought us nearer to our venture ran on. On May 15th,
there was a full sitting at Camp Marcon with Colonel Smaniotto present,
to the end that we might disclose to him all we had determined. Lieut.
De Carli also took part in the meeting and he explained his plan for
arriving at Tiezzo di Pordenone.
I collected in a manuscript everything which concerned my departure and
the methods of communication and signaling. What yet remained to be
determined was the means to be adopted for returning to our own
territory, if such a return were possible. I proposed that we make use
of two mediums, the aeroplane and motorboat.... About a month after our
departure an Italian reconnoitring plane was to let fall a volley of
three shots from the sky over Vittorio. Two days after we had observed
this signal we were to be found in such a field as shall have been
determined upon and upon which we shall have already alighted at two in
the morning. The “Voisin” would fly very low over the field and if
Captain Gelmetti observed certain lights gleaming in the small trenches
which were near the field, he would make a landing and we would depart
with him. If the weather were unfavorable, the attempt was to be
repeated the subsequent night. But we could not rely on one method only
for the return. It was better to have some alternate way available.
I proposed that the silent naval motorboat, aforementioned, cruise
during the nights from June 20 to June 30 in front of the port of
Caorle, about two miles east of it. It was to keep about two hundred
yards from the coast, in order that, should it hear the song of a
cuckoo (such was to be our signal) it might send a rowboat to fetch us.
All this was to take place at two in the morning. It seemed to me that
I had thought of everything; it seemed to me that I had studied all the
details.
Our front had been divided into many sectors each of which had a
special number, and the established phrase, “the wolf will not return
towards such and such a number” signified that the enemy intended to
attack that sector of the front. Colonel Smaniotto was well pleased
with my plan and with my personal appearance which was really most
encouraging. My beard had really assumed tremendous proportions and it
bothered me considerably. That night the light of the moon was bright
enough to permit us to experiment on landing without lights. Captain
Gelmetti had placed himself at our disposal for the necessary trials.
For experiments with the silencer the officer who invented the
apparatus had come purposely from headquarters, together with some
expert mechanics for whom we had sent in a request.
At about ten o’clock at night we ascended from the field at Marcon and
after several landings with the help of searchlights the pilot
attempted a landing without the use of any lights and his management
was so skillful that we were not conscious of the moment in which we
touched ground. I was truly astonished at the familiarity with which
Bottecchia viewed aeroplanes. During the flight I watched him closely
to see if he showed any signs of fear, or if he held onto the sides of
the seat as most beginners do. He really conducted himself valiantly
and no sudden move or action belied the faith I had placed in him. The
officers who were present at the experiments told me that when the
motor was turning slowly and the silencer was working the plane made
only a slight noise which was scarcely audible even to those standing
directly beneath.
I told another person about my plans, Lieut. Manfredi Lanza di Trabia,
brother of Ignatius, one of my dearest friends who disappeared
mysteriously during the retreat from Caporetto and from whom I have had
no more news. However, considering all the circumstances, we still
believed him to be alive, perhaps because we loved him too well to
permit ourselves to believe that he has disappeared forever. To
Manfredi also I promised to send a postcard with the conventional word,
“arrivederci,” which would be the sign of my departure.
Several changes were made in the silencer because it became over-heated
too rapidly. We hoped that it would now function properly. But the
weather which had been clear up to date, changed and seemed determined
to thwart our plans.
On May 26 there was a full moon. The nights favorable for attempting
our project were to last only until the first of June. After that we
should be compelled to relinquish our plan or to devise some other way.
Days of cruel alternation passed, and we were continually standing with
our faces turned upward to the sky in the hope of espying some bit of
azure among the thick clouds which crowded overhead. This inclement
weather made us nervous, uncertain, whereas we needed a great deal of
calm to be in the proper mood for our attempt.
Colonel Smaniotto gave me 2000 Austrian crowns that I be not encumbered
by too much coin. In case I needed more money I was to send a notice to
them by means of a carrier pigeon. This idea of carrying Austrian crowns
with me was not very agreeable because it would be a compromising fact
and grave accusation against us were we to be captured. However, I
decided to keep the suspicious roll always in my hand and at the first
alarm to throw it away so as not to be surprised with it. I also had to
sign a statement for the supreme command in which I declared that I was
undertaking the feat absolutely of my own volition and that I was not
compelled or coerced by any external pressure. I am truly proud of this
document. My soldier also signed a similar document very willingly.
It really seemed as if all the clouds of the Veneto had made an
appointment with one another to meet over our field. In vain we sought
a sign which would let us hope for a happy solution. It was now the
thirtieth of May, so there were but two more nights at our disposal.
After that we should have to bid “adieu” to our plan fostered for so
long. It was torture to think that our presence on the other side would
be of extraordinary value just then, because from the answers to
questions asked of Czech prisoners we knew that the Austrian offensive
could not be delayed much longer. Therefore, our enforced pause was all
the more dangerous, because beside necessitating a new scheme of
preparations, it might also result in our arriving across the Piave too
late.
Gelmetti’s mood was insupportable. Instead of trying to comfort one
another we were continually irritating and provoking our companions. We
were annoyed, spiteful one with the other, as though each one of us
were the cause of our painful delay.
The barometer on the morning of May 31, had risen slightly, but still I
did not see any sign of clearing; the rain continued to beat madly
against the windows of our hangar. I contemplated with love and wrath
the great metal skeleton of our apparatus, resting heavily on its
wheels. The huge canvas of the hangar struggled violently with the
bonds which fastened it to the ground. Suddenly a tiny ray of sunlight
illumined the canvas hanging limp and damp. I leapt out onto the field.
The direction of the wind had changed. The rain had miraculously
stopped, and the storm clouds were fleeing towards the sea. In the
background the bluish mountains with their snow-capped tops were
outlined against the distant horizon.
It seemed as if there were fair weather on the other side of the Piave.
We would soon know from the reports of such chasing planes as had left
this morning. Meanwhile, there was not a moment to be lost. It was
three in the afternoon and there was much to be done ere we left.
Quickly I telephoned to headquarters and the voice of Colonel Smaniotto
answered me. He was delighted at the unexpected turn of events.
“Sir, if you offer no opposition we have decided to leave to-night.”
“What opposition should I have? On the other hand, I am elated at this
brief respite which has come so suddenly. One of our proverbs says
there is no Saturday without a bit of sun, but to-day is Friday. I’ll
see you shortly.”
Everything was going well. The only thing that annoyed me was that the
day was Friday. We Italians are a bit superstitious and it did not seem
expedient to start a project of this nature on a Friday. I confessed my
doubts to Gelmetti and he braced me by scolding me. “How foolish you
are! Don’t you really want to take advantage of this respite which may
be the only one? For I am convinced that the weather is still unsettled
and remains determined to be crazy. If we do not leave to-night, we can
forsake our project forever.” I let myself be convinced, but a little
unwillingly.
Gelmetti was radiant, and was dressing himself in his toilette for
great occasions, for we aviators are habitually dirty and oil-stained
while at camp, but the moment we have to leave for a flight or some
special action, we become fastidious and dandified; we don our best
outfits, for we must be clean and elegant when we face the enemy, when
we face death.
I too, had to consider my toilette, because I did not think my coat
with the yellow collar would be the most suitable for such an
undertaking. I donned a soldier’s coat with the distinguishing mark of
the observer on the sleeve, and I prepared my observer’s tally for I
decided to take it with me, as is customary with all aviators.
Through the window I observed that the “Voisin” was out on the field
and that they were filling her up with the supplies of gasoline and
oil. One of the mechanics had jumped up onto a wing and with a large
can was filling the feed above the wing. His demeanor was that of a
tranquil trainer who knows his beast; he was singing snatches of a song
popular among our soldiers:
“Oh rare, delightful sweetheart Beloved and sought by all, You are
that dear strange creature, For whom by chance we fall.”
Another mechanic was testing the motor with his fingers on the gas
control to see the response of the six powerful cylinders. To me, whose
ear is well trained after many flights over the enemy, the motor
appeared to function well, and this gave me great confidence. A
lieutenant from the general staff who is a specialist in the use of the
silencer, was explaining to Gelmetti how to set the silencer in action.
After a brief discussion they decided that we were not to use this
attachment on leaving our territory, but to ascend with open exhaust
and use the silencer only when we had arrived in enemy territory where
it would be necessary to make no noise. These precautions were
necessary so as not to strain the motor.
How rapidly my life seemed to flee during those hours, those minutes
which still separated me from the moment when I should find myself face
to face with the reality against which I have prepared and which I have
long desired.
I entreated Colonel Smaniotto to communicate to my family that I was
well every time he received a pigeon with a message from me. He
promised to do it, and I was contented because I did not like my people
to remain for long without news of me. However, I had to notify my
father that I should be far away for a long time. I had had a
photograph of myself with my beard taken, and above it I wrote the
date, May 23, to recall the other 23rd of May, the day on which Italy
entered the war. Had I no other joy in the world, it would suffice me
to know that Italy was not beneath the other great powers and that she
too had taken sides with righteousness and liberty. In sending to my
father a last message before my departure I wrote the following lines
with great emotion, “May 31, 1918. Dear father,—I beg of you not to
worry if you do not receive a message from me for a long time. I am
leaving on a special mission, and I do not believe I shall be able to
communicate with you directly, but you will receive news of my
condition from headquarters. I ask this new sacrifice of you in the
name of the suffering lands which are waiting for us. May we meet
again. A kiss to you.... (P.S. I shall bring a greeting to mother from
you.)” My mother is buried at Vittorio and from the closing words he
would understand the destination of my mission. This was the only hint
I gave my father of where I intended going.
Bottecchia and the De Carli brothers were eating. My soldier, who has a
sturdy exterior, was storing as much food as he could in his inside,
for he feared, with reason, that it would be difficult to find food on
the other side. I, on the contrary, when I am about to undertake
something important can swallow only a very small quantity and a sober
repast is sufficient to appease my appetite. Night fell slowly over the
field, and I lighted a lamp so I might see to write two postcards to my
distant friends. On each one I wrote “arrivederci” and my name. They
will understand. Every promise is an obligation, and Luisa and Manfredi
were awaiting this signal from me to know that I had left.
The telephone bell rang unexpectedly. They wanted me at once at
headquarters because his Highness the Duke of Aosta wished to see me
before I left. In an open car we sped along the endless line of budding
poplar trees whose silent shadows were traced on the white road. The
trunks in front of us stood bold and upright against the red of the
sunset. From the pools and ditches a light fog arose and escaped in a
mist towards the sky where the first stars began to twinkle.
The villa of the Duke of Aosta stood in the center of Mogliano, and
there were no marks which distinguished it from the surrounding villas,
save that the flowers were more carefully cultivated. The Duke’s dogs
playfully greeted the visitors. His Highness was expecting us in the
broad ante-chamber. He clasped my hand, and we had a long affable talk
together. His tall figure, which became slightly bent after Caporetto,
has all the majesty of his race; expressing at the same time a certain
paternal goodness. His face furrowed by nights of anxiety and watching,
expresses the ability and habit of command; his clear, penetrating eyes
are accustomed to look fate well in the face. The Duke wished to know
in detail all we planned to do. He knew the broad outlines and Colonel
Smaniotto and I explained a few details he did not know. He noticed
that I had changed the collar of my uniform and I told him the reason
which induced me to make the change and the displeasure I felt at not
being able to bear upon the other side the colors of my regiment to
which I am still devoted. Before we left, he again clasped my hand
firmly and with a steady voice in which there was barely a shadow of
emotion, said, “I thank you for what you are about to attempt. I am
convinced of the usefulness of your enterprise, and I am certain you
will help us greatly in those days when the enemy hurls against us all
his desperate strength. I thank you as a Prince and as an Italian, and
you know I am a good Italian.”
I know that his Royal Highness is a good Italian and I felt that in
difficult moments, in moments when I should have to dare and risk all,
the memory of that dear, austere face, would be a great help and
comfort in the fulfillment of my duty.
I left the house of the Duke of Aosta, moved not by what I was about to
undertake but by what he said to me. There was not much time to lose,
yet I dearly wished to give a farewell greeting to Lieutenant Lanza di
Camastra who is the uncle of my intimate friend Ignatius Lanza di
Trabia. He is very intimate with his Royal Highness, knew of our plans,
but since he wished to be present at my departure he begged me to send
for him. In the little courtyard of the villa in which he lived I found
several officers who offered me a small glass of cognac. I relished it,
sipping it to the last delicious drop, certain that on the other side I
should find nothing of the kind. I was very pleased to spend a few
moments with Lieutenant di Camastra because I wished to speak to him of
Ignatius who we hoped was still alive and interned in some distant
German camp. The thought of this dear friend had often given me
strength to overcome the innumerable difficulties which presented
themselves before arriving at this point. With gratitude I listened to
the words of di Camastra who assured me that Ignatius would be proud
could he see me depart.
Before leaving my mother-country, since I was certain I should not be
able to return, I wished to be at peace with my conscience, and
accompanied by my dear friend we went towards the vicarage of Mogliano
where there was a priest who could take my confession. After knocking
repeatedly at the gate, an old priest, who wondered why unknown
visitors should come to disturb him at so late an hour, thrust his head
from behind the door. At last he opened the door and led me into a
small, low room where there was a prayerstool.... For a moment I
reviewed swiftly the events of my life, and alas, there were only a few
actions for which I needed not to be repentant. God is good, I thought,
and will heed my sincere prayer. So when the priest absolved me, I felt
that to all the strength I had before there had been added the new
strength which comes to those who feel they are pure.
VIII
Time, 1:30 A.M. On the field there are a lot of people going to and
fro. Many friends have come to bid me goodby. Even though I have spoken
to very few about the adventure, still many know of it. With Colonel
Smaniotto there are on the field several officers of the staff, Colonel
Novellis of the Aviation, the Honorable Miari of the kite-balloon
division, and many other of my aviator friends who wish to be present
at my departure. I have taken with me a map as a precaution, for the
weather which seemed most favorable at first has gradually become
foggy, and since even the upper atmosphere does not seem very clear, it
may be difficult to get our bearings. However, I am certain that once I
have arrived in enemy territory, or rather in my own home town, I shall
not need any map. Our fur-lined leather coats and our helmets are ready
and lie folded on the wing. The mechanics are busy about the motor, one
gives a last look at the spark-plugs, another at the magneto, another
at the gasoline feed, so that once departed we shall have no unpleasant
surprises. Gelmetti is already at his place and is trying the levers. A
groundman has turned the propeller and in the calm of the night nothing
can be heard but the chirping of the crickets and the croaking of the
frogs which are telling of their loves from the ditches. There arises
the deep and powerful roar of the motor and from the curved arches of
the hangars the echo answers so that it seems as if several machines
were in motion in the distance. The moon is rising, and as I see her
again after so many days of rain, she seems smaller, and I wonder how
my pilot will be able to make a landing on unknown ground with so
little light.
De Carli who probably will soon attempt a similar feat stands near me.
There is in the eyes of all such great anxiety, emotion so deep that I
ask myself why I too, should not feel moved. Lieutenant Simoni asks me
if I feel as calm as at other times when I am about to leave for a war
flight, and I answer him that I am certain I should not feel so calm if
I were seeing another leaving in my place. Many of the pilots of
chasing machines of the 77th squadron are present and among them
Lieutenant Marazzani, one of our aces who has brought with him his
little fox terrier.
“Before starting on a flight,” he tells me, “I always touch the nose of
Bobby, and, as you see, I have always returned. You do the same, and
you’ll see it will bring you good luck.”
He does not have to beg me twice, and I pass my hand over the damp nose
of Bobby who looks at me with his intelligent eyes as though to ask me
what unusual thing is happening, for he is not accustomed to seeing
planes leave at night. Everything is ready. I have the money in a
small roll. Bottecchia has in his pocket a bar of chocolate, and I
have brought with me my talisman which has been with me in every
undertaking, an old crucifix of silver, a family heirloom which has
been in many wars and many battles with my ancestors. We are in the
plane and in place of the small observer’s seat they have fastened a
small wooden board on which two of us must manage to sit. But the
place is very narrow, and both Bottecchia and myself are not very
comfortable. The inside of our “cabane” is lighted by blue lamps upon
the dashboard and I hold in my hand a small lamp fastened to a long
wire with which to watch the manometer which marks the oil pressure and
the gasoline feed tube. The motor is hitting in all cylinders. Gelmetti
advances and retards the accelerator and the machine pulses and
vibrates, held back by the wedges under the wheels and the mechanics
who are holding it by the shaking wings. The “Voisin” seems to have
found again its youth and seems eager to start the flight. The
indicator marks 1300 revolutions. Everything seems to be proceeding
regularly.
“Are we ready?” I ask Gelmetti. We button up our overcoats and buckle
our helmets under our chins. Many hands are extended towards us. Some
of the men clamber up on the large springs of the wheels to embrace me,
and although the wool of my helmet covers nearly all my face, still I
feel something moist on my skin. They surely are not my tears!...
Bobby, jubilant at the sound of the motor going at full speed, begins
to bark, and his master throws a stone down the field for Bobby to
chase so that he will not disturb us, and so that I may exchange in
quiet a few more words with Colonel Smaniotto.
“Above all I urge you to specify the sector and the day of the
offensive, and secondly the location of troops.”
Gelmetti slackens the motor, the mechanics remove the wedges from under
the wheels and the plane is free and ready for the flight. We rise to
our feet to give a final salute, and an indescribable emotion comes
into the faces of all. The plane begins to move and our cry of “Viva
L’Italia,” is drowned by the roar of the motor whose pulsations grow
ever quicker and faster. The grass flits rapidly under the wheels. A
slight jerk, a slight start, and we are in the air. What were living
persons near us, what were houses, have become specks, have become
infinitesimal statuettes against the dark background of the earth.
I see certain small red lamps on the tops of trees, I see the red lamp
which marks the chimney of the furnace near the field. The great
scaffolding from which the searchlights usually hurl upward the streams
of their light, is lost in the night’s darkness. The little canal which
passes near the hangars glitters distinctly and along the plain
traversed by roads and streams of water, many tranquil lamps are
glowing. Along the road which leads from the field to the highway of
Mogliano the searchlights of the automobiles leaving the field follow
us. We turn slowly, and—as is always the case when in a plane—we feel
as if we were still. We are now traveling towards Mestre and beyond we
see the mirror of the glittering lagoon which the moon silvers with a
thousand tiny flames, and in the background where sky and sea mingle in
a dark gray mist, we can imagine Venice arising from the water.
The conditions of visibility are not good, and the fog instead of
diminishing as we ascend becomes gradually more opaque. A swift,
boisterous wind shakes the wings of the plane which slopes to the right
and to the left according to the movements of the pilot. At times the
entire machine vibrates and we feel ourselves so closely bound in its
flight that often we believe its wings are attached to our very
shoulders. As I look back at the oil guides I see the sparks from the
exhaust tube escaping rapidly like a swarm of fireflies swept by the
wind. The tube of the silencer which is fastened onto the motor,
although the exhaust remains at present completely open, is red and
incandescent. I ask myself anxiously what will happen, when, having
crossed the enemy’s lines, we shall have to make use of the silencer. I
look at the altimeter; we have already arisen to a height of three
thousand feet, and beneath us are outlined the walls and towers of
Treviso. The tracks of the Treviso-Venice railroad sparkle in the light
of the moon, and on the fields in the small pools of stagnant water,
the light is reflected. Several searchlights placed about the city turn
like sentinels of the air, but their rays do not strike us for they are
not searching in our direction. The white clouds slide above our heads
hiding at intervals the moon which appears again and again between the
wings of the aeroplane. The fog becomes ever denser. The wind
increases, changing at times into sudden gusts, rapid vortices, and
brief eddies. I hold my head low so as to offer as little resistance as
possible to the blowing currents, and Bottecchia does likewise,
pressing close to me. The calm hands of the pilot tightly gripped on
the “joy-stick” move from right to left with automatic gestures. The
motor does not seem to be operating well, and I whose sense of smell
has become extremely sensitive to the odor of burning rubber—since
the day when following an encounter my plane took fire near the
ground—sniff about attentively to discover if there is anything
burning. The indicator still marks 1400 revolutions. This is a
reassuring sign. We are at 6900 feet. I do not believe we have to climb
any higher, and tapping Gelmetti on the shoulder, I point out to him
the direction of the front.
Beneath us towards the Piave, which glimmers indistinctly in the east,
the fireworks of our troops on guard in the trenches shower forth.
Occasionally a ray with a parachute falls more slowly and vividly
illuminates a small tract beneath us. A few flashes and unexpected
streaks tell us that our artillery is firing prohibited shots. The sky
about us is thick with the flashes of many shrapnel which shoot up in
the air like fireworks. An anti-aircraft battery is firing at us. The
rain of fire approaches and recedes according to the moment, and
occasionally the explosion of a well-aimed shot is heard as it hisses
past the plane. The pilot changes his course so as not to be hit. I am
curious to know who is firing. I bend forward in my seat and beneath us
in our territory, I see the parting flashes of several anti-aircraft
shots which have begun a barrage fire. Immediately after, in the
direction of Treviso I see huge flashes on the ground as if large
projectiles had fallen on the city. Now I understand! Our batteries are
not firing against us, for they have certainly been informed by the
observation posts that an Italian plane is flying over them, but their
fire is directed against the enemy planes which are bombarding Treviso.
We must be on the alert, for evidently there are many enemy planes
about, and I should not care to run into a plane with the cross
designed on it.
We are passing over Montello, all bent and shriveled, which reminds me
of the configuration of the Carso. At the foot of the mountain I
recognize Giavera and almost on the banks of the Piave, Narvesa
shimmers. We are about to enter enemy territory. The broad flow of the
Piave, which separates into various currents among the whitish masses
of the islands, clearly outlines to us the flow of its impetuous
waters. The supports torn from the bridge of the Priola arise towards
us like the stumps of a mutilated arm and farther down, the river
widens its course towards the Grave di Pappadopoli and the sector of
the front where the Bersaglieri of the 8th Regiment are stationed. Even
Bottecchia recognizes the places in which he fought recently and points
out to me Isola Maggiore, separated from Isola Caserta by a short,
narrow current. All these strips of land which formerly were nought but
unformed heaps of stones, now have a history, and on every one of them
both the belligerent nations have tried to establish defenses, to
construct outposts and small stations for machine guns.
“_Oh rare, delightful sweetheart_” ... the familiar melody is recalled
by the buzzing of the motor and repeats itself continually in my ears.
At times while listening to the powerful voice of the “Isotta” I feel
as if there were many instruments playing in the night and the
alternating melodies and varying modulations in the orchestration
recall the classic symphonies in which the greatest artists of sound
have expressed with majestic power the rhythmic significance of their
thought and the fury of their passions.
The Castle of Saint Salvador appears on top of the hills and although
our guns must have fired at it frequently it still preserves its
original structure and the heavy tower, which has something German
about it, still rests on the high sloping roof. This castle belongs to
an Austrian and, perhaps because his countrymen have spared it,
undeviating justice has loosed against it the fury of our guns. The
reverse of the hills which point towards Conegliano slopes slowly
towards the hills of Pieve di Soligo, while the broad road of Susegana
and Conegliano glimmers distinctly beneath us.
Gelmetti has inserted the handle of the silencer, and as though by
magic the concert of the marvelous instruments which had echoed many
distant songs in my mind ceases. We now feel as if we were sliding
through air, the same impression one feels while coasting in an
automobile whose engine has been shut off.
The enemy territory is less illuminated than ours. The lights in the
villages are scarce, and there are few searchlights turned towards us.
As though by magic the enemy anti-aircraft batteries become silent. The
reason for their silence is obvious; the Austrians have many of their
own bombing planes in the sky and they certainly have not noticed the
slight humming of our motor. Along the road of Susegana to Conegliano
Pordenone, great green lights are lit from which many colored rays
shoot forth at intervals. It is the first time I have observed those
lights in enemy territory but I have heard about them from Lieutenant
Ancilotto who often goes on nocturnal flights to try to down some enemy
bombing plane which finds in the obscurity of the night the courage to
attempt what it dares not in the daytime. These signals are placed at
convenient intervals so that if some enemy plane loses its way in the
fog and cannot find its bearings, all it need do is to fly low over the
lights which often indicate a safe place for a landing.
There is Conegliano.... The large tower and cypresses of the castle
look small and flat and do not convey to me that feeling of reality
which I felt as I looked at them from the bank of the Piave. Near the
great stone quarry, from which even before our retreat powerful dredges
had taken abundant construction material, there lies a large mansion
with its lights aglow and surrounded by a vast garden. It is my own
house! I recognize the tennis-court, the paths and barns, and I know
who those are who are permitting themselves the luxury of so costly an
illumination at this late hour. They are the surviving Austrian
aviators of the 7th chasing squadron who miraculously escaped the fire
of our guns. They who cannot allow themselves the joy of combat and do
not dare face us by day in the sky are trying perhaps other struggles
against the weaker, against the women who succumb. What a pity that I
have not a bomb. I am certain I would not miss my aim! The long path
which leads from Vittorio to the inn at Gai is outlined clearly against
the green fields and the Villa of Querini Stampalia on the top of the
hill unfolds in the night its huge arches. The Austrians have built a
new connection on the railroad line, Sacile-Conegliano, which will
enable their trains to arrive directly at the station of Ceneda without
passing through Conegliano.
The altimeter marks 7500 feet. I think we can begin to descend because
there is not more than about ten miles between us and the field on
which we have decided to land. The fog which at first was dense has
thinned out gradually and we can now recognize every detail on the
ground beneath us as though it were daytime. The moon which is now high
in the heavens follows its course, tipped up on one side. The
vegetation beneath us changes gradually and in place of the cultivated
fields, vineyards and rows of mulberry trees there is a flat, grassy
region divided by many small streams of water lined with willow trees.
The Meschio, a tributary of the Livenza, has already disappeared
beneath the wing, and beyond glitter the tumultuous falls of the
Livenza near Sacile. The river forms a huge “S” around the towers of
this city whose sharp gables rise towards us. The streets are deserted
and it seems as if no important movement had ever stained their
whiteness. The still wing continues to descend. 4500 feet.... I stand
up to inspect the ground because we must lean slightly towards the left
in order to leave the road which leads from Sacile to Pordenone and
take the road from Fontana Fredda to Aviano. The field on which we have
decided to descend is called “Praterie Forcate” and is about a mile
from the enemy flying field at Aviano. I strain my eyes to try to
recognize the little trenches to the left of our field, trenches which
I have seen in photographs of this region made by Gelmetti from his
“Spad.” There they are, right in front of us! I examine the field
beneath us and there does not seem to be anything abnormal about it.
The sections where the grass has been cut and those where it is still
high form little splotches which resemble camouflaged military works.
We are about 3000 feet above ground and Gelmetti begins spiraling so
that I lose my equilibrium for a moment, but when the plane resumes its
horizontal position I suddenly see flashing on the ground beneath us
one of those green lights which I had previously noticed from on high
and which are accustomed to indicate directions to enemy planes. Three
colored stars rise up towards us and tremblingly fall slowly back on
the plain. There is no time to lose. We must at once modify all our
plans because if in the field where we had decided to land there is a
green light it means that nearby there are Austrians and if we do not
wish to be captured at once we must attempt a landing in some other
place. We describe a wide curve and resume our original route with our
nose towards the camp of Aviano. Two searchlights suddenly blaze out on
the ground and by their light we clearly see a “T” which is the sign
used by the Austrians to indicate to their pilots the spot where they
should place their wheels marked on the field. For a second we believe
all is lost, we fear we must renounce our enterprise forever. If the
rays of the searchlight succeed in enveloping us in their light we
shall be discovered, fired at, and shall have to turn homeward. But
instead of turning their lights towards us they concentrate the power
of their rays on the ground, so that the field beneath us seems to
tremble with a myriad sparks which dance in their broad embrace. The
searchlights cross and intersect over the “T” of the landing spot.
Through the air there passes a swift vision; a few yards from us an
enemy plane which I have recognized from the flashes of the exhaust,
cuts across us but swiftly withdraws and its light disappears towards
the higher strata of air. Therefore, the enemy planes must be
departing, their motors must be going and they must be making an
infernal noise.
Suddenly a wild plan occurs to me. What if, instead of landing on the
field near the one which we had picked out, we should land right on the
outskirts of the enemy’s flying field? In the first place we should be
certain of the favorable character of the land, and secondly we could
not be discovered by the Austrians because they have the light of the
searchlights in their eyes; they would not hear the indistinct noise of
our motor because it is so slight that it would be drowned by the noise
of their departing planes. Furthermore, the audacity of the project
fascinates me; the risk tempts me; it would be too beautiful to be able
to land right on their own field without having them notice it. In a
second I unfold my plan to Gelmetti. He does not answer, but as a
response he lessens still further the flow of gas. The earth rapidly
approaches us. It seems as if it were coming towards us; with the
rapidity of lightning everything retakes its just proportions. We are a
few feet above a road; I am bent double so as not to hamper in the
least the movements of the pilot. He concentrates all his efforts so as
to make a safe landing, but perhaps because he is deceived by the
distant light which, instead of helping, hinders us, he touches land
too soon with his back wheels and the plane jerks forward suddenly; in
a second he straightens it with great dexterity and we touch the ground
gently and glide swiftly towards the end of the field.
“Good, excellent!” I had time to say to Gelmetti and he answered, “Up
to the very last moment you want to make fun of me.”
I jumped to the ground with my bundle of civilian clothes under my arm,
and without waiting a moment I bent to kiss the ground for which I had
suffered so much. My comrade also descended without uttering a word. We
looked anxiously about but the searchlights continued to glow in their
regular fashion as though no alarm had been given. Above us we heard
the deep grinding noise of a “Gotha.” Not a moment to be lost. I went
towards the tail and Bottecchia stood by the wing. The propeller
revolved slowly and with a light, cadenced rustling moved the high
grass and bent with its breeze the branches of the trees and the stalks
of the flowers near it. I pushed all my weight against the triangular
trellis of the tail of the “Voisin” and by making the front wheels of
the plane rise, I caused it to circle on its hind wheels while
Bottecchia helped me by pushing on the side of the wing. Quickly we
removed our fur coats and helmets and I jumped on the plane to throw
them in the bottom of the car. Gelmetti was moved and I could not say a
word. I whispered in his ear, “Remember what you have promised;
remember to come back for me after a month.” He nodded affirmatively
and kissed me. I barely had time to place my feet back on the ground
before he had fed the motor with gas and in the twinkling of an eye had
disappeared. The dear old “Voisin” had again taken flight and we could
only distinguish it by the rumbling of the silencer which was red-hot
and resembled a red lamp wandering in the sky. For a few seconds we
could still follow its glitter and then it disappeared....
* * * * *
We were alone! The moment which I had thought about so often, which I
had so often dreaded, was come! The aeroplane, the last advanced
sentinel of our country, the last safe refuge, had left us, but I did
not tremble. There was within me all that calm which comes to us in
most trying moments, all the faith I had ever felt in the success of my
mission. Above us the tranquil stars twinkled and the vast plain
beneath trembled as though an invisible hand were moving the flowers
and stars which surrounded us. In the background the still profiles of
the mountains lent to the picture a meek aspect of peace and we, who
had passed from sudden motion to calm, from a great struggle to the
silence of nature, found again in the wilderness of that broad plain
the significance of deep things, the intimate feeling of life. Never as
in that moment had I ever experienced the sensation that something
within me had been cut short, that a new life was commencing for me; I
felt like a sailor who, wrested from the current, has with difficulty
reached the bank of a turbulent stream and looks anxiously towards the
other bank to which he no longer has the strength or the courage to
return. So I felt that the past was worth nothing and that I lived only
for the strength of the present, that I lived only for the strength of
the future.
We began to walk rapidly. I had taken Bottecchia by the arm and had
clasped his hand with great emotion that he might feel we were now one,
that a single, firm, indissoluble bond now bound us for the future. He
too answered me with a prolonged, affectionate clasp, without uttering
a word. Almost as if there had opened before us a mysterious way,
unseen before, we hurried and ran towards the mountain guided by a sure
instinct of direction. In moments of such great concentration it almost
seems as if nature, through an egotistical strength of conservation
gives to the organism an unimaginable calm. My impression was not of
walking through a deserted field, but of following the track of a known
path, and when we reached a small country road on whose rocky bed an
enemy tractor had left the marks of its broad tracks, I had the
impression of having already seen those marks, I felt as if I was
reliving in a new life an old adventure.... We were happy! With us sang
the voices of the insects. All the loves which breathe in the country
about us seemed to raise a hosannah of glory in one single glorious
melody. In my ears rang the chords of a Beethoven sonata which sings of
the joys of the awakening. Without stopping we ran across a long
expanse of field until we reached a file of poplars which rose in front
of us. There we paused a moment for breath; to turn around and take
stock of the real things about us.... The small roll of enemy money
weighed in my hand, but I did not put it away because I wished to have
it at hand to throw away at the first provocation. Beyond the file of
trees there extended before us another field, as vast as the first. But
the ground was less level, there were little grassy mounds, heaps of
rocks, and occasional holes. With great satisfaction I reflected on the
good fortune which guided us to land where the ground was level whereas
we might have selected the ground we were now passing over, in which
case a disaster would have been inevitable. At intervals we listened
with our ears close to the ground to discern if there were any
suspicious noises about. The only indications of the enemy and of the
war were the beams of the searchlights which were still lit and the
uninterrupted buzzing of the numerous enemy planes furrowing the paths
of the sky. A small truck passed along the road which we had crossed
and we heard its rumbling lose itself in the distance. We had now
arrived in a cultivated region and large fields of wheat were swaying
their stalks in the night breeze. We did not cross the field, but
preferred to circle around it, because the stalks as they divide always
leave a trace of the passing and if anyone were to have followed us, or
had noticed our presence he could easily reach us by following our
track through the wheat field. I did not expect the land to be so
extensively cultivated. Even in the smallest patches of ground the
little plants of wheat lifted up their heads and everywhere were the
signs of the indefatigable hand of man. We followed a labyrinth of
cultivated vines and every time we were about to step out into an
opening, we looked anxiously about us to make sure there was no living
creature near us. We threw ourselves prostrate on the ground at the
slightest suspicious noise. We had traversed a great deal of road, but
the distance between us and the mountain was still great and would be
more difficult to cover because the dawn was not distant and because we
were approaching a region where there were dwellings. The far-off voice
of a dog barking at the moon reached us as we stepped out onto a road
and this was the first indication that the presence of man was near. We
passed a region cultivated with fruit trees and from behind a hedge
which separated the field from the road there rose the outline of a
small farmhouse.
We had to be on our guard so as not to fall in the jaws of the wolf
when least expected. We were bound to travel more slowly and try to
stay as far as possible from dwellings. Had we been dressed in civilian
clothes we should have been less conspicuous, but if anyone were to see
us in Italian uniforms, with our healthy appearance and clothes not
badly worn, he might suspect us at once and spread the news.
Furthermore we had to be very careful not to meet Austrian soldiers. We
had to avoid the roads where the gendarmes usually walk.
The languid melody of night had been superseded by the brisker melody
of the morning. It seemed as if all the voices of the country were of
one accord to tell us the tale of the light which was about to rise, to
celebrate the praises of the great light-giver which, having traversed
the starry deserts, returns to us with the joys of the awakening. The
air had become colder, there was in it something sharper, something
which invigorates one for the struggle of the day. Towards the east,
towards the distant aviation fields where the searchlight faded in the
first greenish lights of dawn, a thin, pale, wan light penetrated and
followed the grave majesty of night, the grave, deep azure vault in
which Venus had lit her torch.
The houses became more frequent and from them there sounded occasional
confused noise of voices. Something common and familiar was awakened in
our consciences. The wonder of sleep was interrupted by the little
necessities of every hour, and these needs were revealed to us by the
noise of wooden shoes running downstairs, by a virile voice, or by the
bellowing or mooing of an animal as it awakened. The roosters raised
their silvery voices towards the sun and their joyous chants multiplied
and increased along the plain with the light. Life was being reborn
again in a multitude of ways and we had not reached a safe spot as yet,
we had not reached the mountain where we should be able to change our
clothes. We were compelled to quicken our steps, lest we be discovered
unexpectedly, and since in the many noises we had heard nothing
abnormal, nothing which indicated the presence of the enemy, we
hastened all the more to reach the hills embossed in the thick foliage
of the chestnut trees.
A small village extended at a short distance to our right and the
tranquil houses with their sloping roofs of wood clustered about the
church like little devout women who wished to enter. Our progress was
now more difficult because at times our path was crossed by wire
railings, by low walls which must be jumped, and every now and then
there was no alternative but to travel along stretches of road where we
were likely to have unpleasant encounters. A bluish smoke rose from the
chimneys and through a thick curtain of leaves I got a glimpse of a
peasant who having collected his heifers, urged them on with the tip of
his staff. There was only a short distance left for us to cross and
having followed for a few moments a wall along the road, and having
crossed a small ditch, we again found ourselves in open country and
fronting hills sloping toward the plain. We began to ascend and nature
at once became wilder, the cultivation less cared for, and thick
entanglements of shrubs and thorns encircled the sturdy, knotted trunks
of the chestnut trees. These gently sloping hills followed one another
in rapid succession, so that no sooner had the climber reached the top
of one of them than up shot another elevation which required further
ascent. But we had to descend again towards the bottom of the valley
from which there rose a sudden cloud of smoke. Between the backs of two
mountains which outlined their sharp shapes against the sky there
appeared the square imposing mass of the Castle of Polcenigo. We
quickened our pace while descending and passed near a small clearing in
which a few trenches had been dug and above which projected several
targets of cardboard. This must have been a practice field for the
enemy, and therefore we could not delay long in its vicinity; for
directly the sun rose, there would probably arrive enemy soldiers.
Rapidly we traversed the distance which still separated us from the
river and without removing our shoes or turning up our trousers we
plunged into the water, which reached to our knees, and which separated
us from another hill where the wood was so thick and compact that it
would serve as a safe refuge in which to change our clothing.
A small rocky path rose towards the summit of the hill and the water of
a brook eddied and leaped down through the rocks. The vegetation about
us was composed largely of shrubs, and the climbing vines about the
massive trunks of the chestnut trees formed intricate labyrinths which
it was not easy to enter. At intervals a small clearing opened before
us and we chose one of these, not too distant from the top of the hill,
as a suitable place in which to make the necessary changes.
This was really a streak of luck because we were thoroughly wet, and it
would do us no harm to change into dry clothes. The only thing we
wanted to change was our shoes but on certain occasions one cannot
afford to be too particular. We undressed and put on the coarse
underwear and our heavy peasant suits. I glanced at the front of my
uniform on which the three blue medal ribbons, which I did not wish to
leave behind me even when I left my country, were pinned. Bottecchia
made a bundle of our cast-off clothing and threw it under a tree which
could be recognized at once for its height. Those suits might prove
useful. If at a future date we should be found and made prisoners we
could show our tallies and call ourselves Italian aviation officers who
had been compelled to land in a camp near Aviano, because of a sudden
damage to the motor. We could say we had ordered the pilot to destroy
the plane and that we had obtained civilian clothes from some peasants
in which we attempted to reach our own lines. The pilot instead of
destroying the plane perhaps had succeeded in adjusting the magneto and
had departed leaving us in enemy territory. To prove the truth of our
tale we could show them our uniforms which we had left under the tree
where they were at present. This version seemed plausible and I hoped
that in case of necessity I should be able to convince the Austrians.
We stood up. The resplendent sun was already high in the heavens and
all the plain was flooded with its light. The fields which we had
traversed extended across the background of the picture and we
recognized the rows of poplar trees towards which we had sped when we
first alighted. Then we saw again all the cultivated district, the
scattered houses we had encountered at the beginning and finally the
compact mass of houses of Budoia which we miraculously passed without
unpleasant rencontres. Everything about us seemed marvelous. The
plants, the flowers, the bushes, the grass seemed to have a new
fascination for us. The very rising of the sun astonished us, as though
the sun should arise otherwise than in our own territory. Finally we
began to consider the insurmountable barrier which separated us from
our people, and looking towards the west we sought for a sign of
something from the other side. Everywhere we were surrounded by enemy
territory. Delay in this spot however was dangerous. We should try to
get our bearings more definitely in mind; waiting then in some secluded
nook until night fell once more.
It would be interesting to be able to watch from an elevated point the
movement on the Sarone-Polcenigo road and we therefore continued our
walk towards the other side of the hill; that side which dominated the
road. I threw a last glance towards the tree beneath which our uniforms
rested, hoping I should never need to see them again. The wood was so
thick and tangled that it was difficult to open a passageway among the
dense foliage. At length we emerged on a large clearing. In the center
the heavy walls of a large house arose. The chimney was tranquilly
exhaling a bluish smoke which faded away in the clear atmosphere of the
morning. We barely had time to hide before we saw a young woman
carrying a large pail of milk come out from the half-open door. How we
should have liked to step out and talk with her; how we should have
liked to drink a glass of milk! But dared we do it when in that house
there might be billeted some enemy soldiers? We turned away and resumed
our weary march through the contorted coils of the climbing vines.
Occasionally a lizard glided swiftly through the low juniper-bushes
which were in bud and we turned, fearful that some suspicious person
was following us. The wood became gradually thinner and the hill
descended rapidly towards the road. We stopped in a sort of cave
surrounded by shrubs from which we could see everything without being
seen. In front of us rose the stony wall of the Cansiglio which is
almost without vegetation; the sections nearer the lowland however,
seemed more cultivated than in previous years. On one side the Livenza,
which from its very source forms wide turns over a vast sloping tract
of ground, divided our hill from the mountain in front of us. The
Church of the Santissima could be distinguished on the further side of
the valley and a few houses were scattered here and there over the
slopes. We tried to get our bearings so as to study what road to follow
as soon as night should fall. That village which we saw about two miles
away in the gap between the hills and the Cansiglio was Sarone. Yes,
certainly, because lower down, before the long zigzagging of the
ascending road, I recognized the great furnaces which are marked on the
map. We had to decide whether it would be more convenient to pass to
the right or to the left of the village, and both of us decided to pass
by way of the mountain where the dwellings are less frequent. For, by
that way it would be easier for us to pass unobserved. I thought it
would be better to follow a little mule-path which seemed to pass over
several small precipices where, one could guess, there was a quarry,
and thence, by keeping always towards the center, we should arrive at
Belvedere.
The hours followed each other slowly; the sun was high and the noise of
the cicadas made itself heard about us. The fields in front of us were
peopled with workers and the furrows in which the wheat was planted
glistened distinctly. Several women, easily identifiable from the black
kerchiefs tied about their heads and the traditional full skirt, were
hoeing near us. So far there had been no sign of the enemy, yet from
what I heard at Sarone, there should be the command of a brigade of
Honwed nearby and therefore also the command of the gendarmes. Several
hours had passed and still not a single wagon nor a single soldier had
been seen. Suddenly we heard the buzzing of a motor overhead. We raised
our eyes and over us an enemy plane flew low, clearly distinguishable
by the crosses on its wings. We now had to resign ourselves to the
sight of seeing those colors, which we often fought on our front, pass
over our heads. Here the machines which would fly at great height and
would be followed by bursts of shrapnel would be the planes with the
tricolor of our friends and comrades.
Noon had now passed. We inferred this from the position of the sun for
we had no watch with us. Subdued whisperings were heard from among the
rustling leaves as though persons were passing through the wood which
we had crossed. They were the sweet sounds of children’s voices. We
left the small clearings at once so as not to be espied and from the
wood there came two little boys searching for strawberries. They took
the road which led to the house on the top of the hill; after a few
seconds every sound ceased. How we should have liked to stop them; how
we wished to kiss them, to express to them all our love and how many
questions we wished to ask them. But we did not deem it advisable to
confide in little children who might talk and so focus on us the
attention of soldiers who could not be far distant.
A slight noise of firing reached us from the other side of the valley.
It must be, we thought, the Austrians practicing in the firing camp
which we crossed. The time did not seem to pass, and although each of
us had rested for a few hours while the other stood on guard, it seemed
as if the great solar disk were always in the same spot in the heavens
and had decided never to disappear behind the summits of the hills. A
military cart drawn by four horses passed near us with heavy tread. The
cart was full of knapsacks and munitions and this was the first sign,
this was the first enemy we had encountered. Immediately afterward we
heard a bugle, and a truck passed by noisily, the reverberation of its
motor growing and then fading away among the mountain echoes. The sun
at last was about to set and the women who were working in the fields
took their children in their arms, and with the farming implements on
their shoulders, wended their way towards home. Then followed the
groups of peasants ascending slowly the road which leads to Sarone. A
great calm seemed to rest over all; peace in a smile seemed to descend
from heaven, and in the failing light it seemed as if all worries, all
cares, became drowsy. The sunset hour passed quickly and the purple sky
became tinged with violet in the higher regions.
_Era già l’ora che volge il desio
Ai naviganti e intenerisce il core
La, di, che han deteo ai dolci amici addio._
—Dante Purgatorio
The melancholy of night enveloped my soul and albeit no chimes from a
bell wept for the dying day, yet a throng of memories crowded my mind
during the first silences and shadows of the night.
IX
We had now to resume our journey; we had now to find water to drink,
for during the entire day our lips had not touched a single drop and
that with throats dried by the eating of chocolate which in truth is
not the best sort of food when one has nothing to drink. We rapidly
descended the hill and traveled for a short distance along the road
until we came to a cross-road where the suffering arms of Our Saviour
were extended upon a wide cross. At the base of the crucifix the signs
of the passion were simply represented, and I recognized the hammer,
the pincers, the sponge and the crown of thorns. We passed through the
cultivated fields which we had seen from on high; we jumped across
little ditches which separated us from the road and circling the branch
of the Livenza where it disappears in a tunnel, whence it is absorbed
by the electric factories, we arrived near the furnace. Immediately
afterward we had to begin to climb again. I realized that we had not
been foresighted in many things, and my shoes were surely not the kind
suitable for a long cross-country tramp in mountainous regions.
However, how could I have explained to the Austrians, had they captured
us while landing, an aviator wearing shoes bound with iron? My soldier
wore heavy, rough shoes, and I had great difficulty in following him in
the steep climb; he changed his for mine, and I continued the road with
less difficulty. We ascended rapidly; all the plain opened beneath our
eyes. Below in the village of Sarone many lights glittered. A cart
ascended heavily along the road leading to the little town and we
distinctly heard the tinkling of the bells and the frequent lashes of
the whip. Everything was silent.... Occasionally a distant voice
reached us carrying sounds which were Italian. We had found again the
mule-path over which we had decided to pass, and after following it for
a long time we ascended still farther along the ragged, rocky edge.
Suddenly, at a cave, the road lost itself and we had to find our way
alone. If only we could have found a little spring to quench our
thirst, but the unmerciful chain of mountains did not seem at present
to offer us any watery vein. Perhaps if we could carry ourselves a
little farther up we might find one of those holes which gather rain
water, so we climbed higher, we climbed forever.
Every sign of vegetation had ceased. The ground was rocky and so
irregular that we had to guard well our steps lest we fall in the deep
valleys which opened at our feet. We were beginning also to feel tired,
for it was many hours since we had last tasted food and our thirst was
becoming greater. A searchlight had been lit in the distance and its
light fell full on us. We hoped they had not seen us. On the field the
green lights which annoyed us so the previous night renewed their
fires. Probably the Austrian planes were preparing to depart as soon as
the moon arose. We descended a steep valley at the bottom of which
there ought to be water and the deep voice of the wind which blew
between the rocks gave us the impression of hearing the murmur of a
stream at the bottom. The descent was long and difficult and at the
last when we had reached the point where the two broad bases of the
mountain meet, we found nought but two enormous rocks which marked the
impetuous course of a torrent, but had not a single drop of water
between them. It seemed well then to follow the bottom of the valley,
for there was no longer any reason why we should struggle through the
high mountain, and perhaps we should be able to find some isolated
house where we should have to decide to knock and trust to luck that we
should encounter no gendarmes. We were continually descending. The
rocky bottom of the torrent changed into a paved street. Beneath us
glittered several lights which marked the site of some dwelling. We
hastened our walk and, having reached a little hill overlooking the
village, I stopped and suggested to Bottecchia that he descend
cautiously to the first house to see if he could discover any
indication that might suggest the presence of enemy soldiers. If he
found nothing suspicious we were to take courage in both hands and dare
knock at some isolated hamlet.
Bottecchia descended and I saw him disappear in the night. The moon had
risen and everything was stained with its pale, yellowish light. I hid
in a shadowy spot and awaited the return of my soldier. The few minutes
he stayed away seemed interminable. Finally with great joy I saw him
and when he got back to me he reported that he had found nothing to
hinder us from carrying out our project. We continued along the rocky
road and approached the village. Two small houses in front of us
clearly indicated the poverty of the inhabitants. We chose the poorer
one and knocked at the low, narrow door. No answer. We knocked again,
and then knocked at a shutter and a closed window. Finally some noise!
Someone had been awakened and sleepy voices reached us in the silence
of the night. Immediately after the frightened voice of a woman asked
us in the Venetian dialect, “Who are you and what do you want?”
“We are Italians and we ask you mercifully for a drop of water.”
Someone arose and shortly after we heard the slow heavy footsteps of an
old man coming down the wooden stairs.
“Who are you Christians traveling at so late an hour?”
“We are prisoners who have escaped from a camp near Gemona. For pity’s
sake give us a draught of water to drink. Tell us, too, what village is
this? Are there any soldiers? Are there gendarmes?”
“This village is Sarone, but you can feel safe because all the soldiers
left for the front several days ago and even the gendarmes who were
here guarding the village have followed the brigade.”
At last we breathed.
“Thank heavens they have gone,” continued the old man in a tired voice,
“for if things had kept on this way, we would not have had a single
blade of grass left. They have taken everything away from us. Imagine,
they have begun to dig up even the new potatoes which are no bigger
than a pigeon’s egg. Everything, every vegetable which comes within
their reach is devoured at once. Imagine, they even cook the tendrils
of the vines in their soup.... But you do not look as if you had
suffered much, you especially,” he said turning towards me, “you must
have been a cook in some concentration camp.”
I did not answer but greedily drank the water from the cup he had
offered me, and no liquor, no beverage has ever tasted better to me
than that draught of water did.
“Tell me, my good man, why have the soldiers left for the front?”
“Why, don’t you know? You seem to be little informed of what is
happening here. For the past two months we have seen nothing but cannon
and soldiers passing and it seems that shortly the offensive will
begin. If only they would put an end to this terrible war!”
This was the first military information I succeeded in obtaining in
enemy territory.... Then the offensive was imminent! We must hasten on
toward Vittorio to gather more exact information. I did not ask
anything further of the old man for I did not wish to make him
suspicious, and after asking about what roads we should follow, we left
him on the threshold of his house. We believed we had traversed a large
tract of land, we believed we had walked in the right direction but
instead, after many hours of anxiety and errors, we had found ourselves
back in the same village. Thank heaven there were no gendarmes in the
village and that the old man told us of a short cut which led to where
we had planned to arrive before dawn. We crossed the deserted village
and reached a fountain which filled a square tank by the flow from its
two jets. Oh, how pleasant is the noise of falling water to one who is
thirsty! We drank our fill of the delicious liquid. When we had passed
the last houses we turned to the left and ascended a hill along a safe
path. The route we had to follow was in exactly the opposite direction
to the one we had decided was correct and had intended to follow; we
were somewhat reassured, our step was more elastic and we felt less
weary than before. We passed near several demolished houses about which
there were deep holes. Perhaps these were places where our soldiers had
resisted. The path broadened and almost became a mule-path. We had
emerged on a courtyard, and a dog tied to a long rope which ran along a
suspended wire came toward us barking furiously. As soon as he saw we
were dressed in civilian clothes he began to wag his tail and make a
fuss over us. A good sign, thought we! Even the dogs here recognize
friends. The house was large and indicative of a certain amount of
comfort. A notice had been posted over a door. I approached to read it
and recognized a manifest of the troops of occupation, with the enemy
eagle at its head. “This warehouse has been set apart as a deposit for
ammunition of the Imperial Royal Austro-Hungarian army. The inhabitants
of this house are guarantors of the safe preservation of the same.
Whoever, even indirectly, becomes guilty of damaging war materials will
have to answer with his person and will have to face a firing squad.”
One cannot accuse the enemy of not having expressed clearly his
intentions.
We continued along the path, ascended the hill and saw beneath us the
glittering lights of a large town; from the railroad station the clank
and hiss of a steam locomotive in motion reached us. The city on the
plain beneath was certainly Canova, where the Austrians had constructed
an important railroad station. Dawn was not distant and soon we should
have to hide and rest for a while. It would be better therefore to
ascend the mountain awhile to get away from the frequented region. Hill
followed hill, at times separated by a deep valley through which a
brook flowed, and it was a great relief to us to think that we should
not now lack water. Above, the heavy droning of the motors of the enemy
planes following one another with mechanical regularity, continued. We
arrived in a place where the rugged rocks left an opening barely large
enough for a tiny road to wind up towards the mountain. On one side the
ground sloped more gently and there were occasional bushes which
protected us from indiscreet glances. It seemed best for us to lie
behind one of these when we decided to rest for a few hours. A heavy
sleep overcame us as soon as we stretched out on the ground and even my
soldier permitted weariness to get the better of him.
I do not know how many hours passed; I do not know how long we forgot
ourselves and everything about us; I only remember awakening at the
sound of the rhythmic, cadenced tread of many soldiers’ feet on the
march. I tried to understand what was happening and looking through the
branches a few yards ahead of us I saw a Hungarian battalion ascending
the rocky road beneath. By good luck no one discovered us. Shortly
afterward we heard the noise of shots, indicating that the battalion
was at target practice. Soon we should have to renew our journey,
keeping far from the plain so as to meet no living soul. Beneath us,
surrounded by a vast garden, we recognized the Castle of Moncenigo with
its broad, heavy walls.
Hunger now began to make itself felt insistently. The little chocolate
we had with us would certainly not suffice to appease us. We knocked at
a small house and the old man who opened the door surveyed us
suspiciously. We asked him for a bit of bread, and added that we were
willing to pay well for it, but he looked at us with a wondering air as
if bread were an unheard-of thing.
“I have nothing for you,” he said, “and I believe you had better make
off at once because this morning the gendarme who usually comes to get
the milk for the command hasn’t shown up yet and I shouldn’t like to
have him find you here.”
The word “gendarme” was so significant that we did not make him repeat
it and hastening our steps we endeavored to place the greatest possible
distance between us and that inhospitable house. We reached a vineyard
where a man with a long, unkempt beard and a sort of apron all stained
with green, was sprinkling sulphur about the vines. A youngster of
about ten was helping him. My soldier recognizing him, saluted.
“Good morning, Andrea. I bet you don’t know who I am. I am one of the
Bottecchia from Minelle, and as you see, after numerous vain attempts I
have succeeded in escaping from the concentration camp at Gemona with
my comrade here.”
“Oh, you are the driver who used to bring me the casks before the war.
Now we don’t talk any more of casks or of wine; they have drunk it all
up and in December when they wanted to build bridges across the Piave
they took away even the vessels in which we used to keep it. This year,
even if we had any grapes, we should not know where to put them, but
the good Lord has taken care of this and so have the Germans who hitch
their horses by the vines. As you see they are nearly all ruined, and
then without any sulphur what kind of a crop can you expect? Were I to
tell you of all the subterfuges we had to resort to, to keep this bit
of sulphur I am spreading about the vines, it would take me till
to-morrow morning. Would that sulphur were the only thing we did not
have!” A painful expression spread over his face. “We don’t even have
any bread. So these poor blameless people are dying of hunger!”
This sad news so impressed my soldier that he asked anxiously after his
family. “Do you think my people are still alive?”
“Yes, I should believe they were, but one never knows for certain these
times,” he answered carelessly and indifferently.
“Do you think it would be possible for me to get as far as home?”
“I would not advise you to try. Even I stay at home as little as
possible, and furthermore, at Minelle there are always many gendarmes
about. If you want to stop at some place it would be better for you to
look up someone on the side of the mountain: for instance, your
relatives who live near Fregona. That region is less frequented and you
might find a way to settle down there and be able to see some of your
people occasionally.”
The house mentioned by the mountaineer was the very place towards which
we had been directed. We took leave of him; I caressed for a moment his
child who stared at me with his large, frightened eyes. We continued
our journey. The scenery which extended beneath us was truly beautiful.
Frequent villages were scattered about it. We followed a small path
among the high trunks of a wood of chestnut trees; this road seemed
safe to us because it was improbable that anyone who did not know the
ground inch by inch would venture here. We needed to be especially
cautious when compelled to cross the road. Then we had to take a
thousand precautions, we had to resort to a multitude of wiles lest we
be surprised by some gendarme. For instance we had to go along the road
for a short distance if we wished to reach a certain other wood on the
opposite hill. It was with great precaution we left the shrubbery for
that purpose. The road appeared deserted and we began to cross, but
just as we had reached the center, we saw two men in uniform, with
rifles slung over their shoulders turn the nearby corner. Only a second
passed, but in that second I clearly perceived upon their sleeves the
black and yellow band. Not a moment to be lost. Those two figures were
two gendarmes and we needed to take to our heels at once in the hope
that they had not seen us. Fortunately, immediately on the other side
of the road the wood began again and we ran madly, changing our
direction often to hide our tracks. We reached the thickest wood, and
were compelled to stop, being out of breath. From above a cluster of
rocks, thorny bushes curved their branches; we crouched under them and
for a seemingly interminable length of time waited in the expectation
of seeing one of those figures on our trail. But it appeared no one had
followed us. Again we thanked heaven and our clothes which enabled us
to get off so easily! After such an episode we had to make up for time
lost. It was noon and if we wished to arrive at the house of my
soldier’s aunts before nightfall we had to hasten.
The weather was still fair, in fact, it was almost too warm for us, who
had to do so much walking. Heavy clouds veiled at times the disk of the
sun and threw huge shadows on the mountain sides. To our left rose the
hills of San Martino and upon them the village of Minelle where the
relatives of Bottecchia lived. My soldier stopped for a moment to
recognize his dwelling. Suddenly, having climbed over the ridge of a
hill which obstructed the view, there appeared before us the chain of
mountains surrounding Vittorio Veneto and pricked up between the sides
of two hills there rose the lofty spire of the belfry of Fregona. The
steeple seemed very near to us, though distances among the mountains
are very deceiving. At last the road became familiar to us. Bottecchia
knew it in every detail. We passed near a little wooden house with a
sloping roof all covered with reeds closely bound together. An old
woman and a girl were standing before the door. The girl was eating.
This did not make us linger, but these two followed us with so goodly a
smile and gave us so pleasant a “Good day,” that for a moment we forgot
all danger and stopped to speak with them. They wanted to know whence
we came. Hearing we had traveled afar they inquired whether we were
hungry and offered us a cup of milk. We drank it with avidity
especially as it was offered with such homely grace and by the gentle
hands of the pretty brunette who looked at us with interest.
“It is so seldom,” she said, “that one meets able-bodied men now. The
few remaining were recently taken away by the gendarmes who have now
increased their guard, and no one whose papers are not exactly in
accord with all the regulations can risk staying in any house or
traveling on the roads. And you too, if you are not strictly within the
orders and if you have not, in addition to your legitimization papers,
your classification papers, also refrain from showing yourselves or
they will take you to headquarters. We have the good fortune to be
living in an isolated spot and are so poor that they do not bother us.
Our great fortune is a little cow which we succeeded in hiding from the
very beginning, and which we keep always in the deep woods so that no
one can lay hands on her. When do you think the Italians will come to
liberate us? And to think there were some who, at the retreat, said we
were all comrades and that the Germans would treat us as the Italians
had. In the first place they are Germans, and if I had no other reason
for hating them I should always remember that I have two brothers
fighting on the other side. One is a corporal in a regiment of Alpini,
and let us hope he was not taken prisoner, for I’d rather know he was
dead than see him subjected to the privations and indescribable
sufferings endured by those unfortunates who have fallen into their
hands. Tell me, do you think our soldiers will be able to resist the
tremendous offensive they are preparing? We are terribly afraid for we
have seen such huge preparations. The other day I was passing near
Vittorio and I saw them unloading a quantity of cases with red bands. A
soldier from Trieste told me those cases were filled with projectiles
containing a new asphyxiating gas from which the Austrians expect
extraordinary results. Damn them!... If I could find one of them alone
and I had your strong fists I swear I should not be afraid to kill him
as one does a mad dog.”
Such deep faith moved me and I knew not how to hide from her the force
of my thoughts and sentiments.
“Rest assured; wait yet awhile; wait until the grain is ripe and the
grapes on the vines begin to redden; for I tell you truly that the time
of your liberation cannot be far distant.”
She looked at me, and reaching forth for my hand asked, “But who are
you who know the secrets of the future?”
“I cannot disclose my name, but I come from afar, and you must ask no
more. All you have suffered recently will be repaid to you; for all the
tears you have shed you will live again in the great joyous days of
triumph, for you have believed, and your faith cannot be deceived. I
see you are poor and I want to leave you a slight token; some day, not
far distant, you may learn my name and rank.” I took a bill from the
roll of crowns I held in my hand, and we hastened away before the young
woman had time to thank us or question us further.
X
Throughout the entire day we heard continued puffings of steam
locomotives; we noticed an uninterrupted movement of trains carrying
equipment to the station of Costa. There also passed a long train full
of cannon, and wagons whose canvasses flapped in the breeze. The engine
proceeded slowly and from the smokestack an acrid, nauseating odor
escaped. I wondered what the Austrians were burning in their furnaces
since I did not believe they could have much coal.
We passed the juncture of the Friga and the Meschio beyond the village
of Capella and now only a short stretch of road separated us from the
house we wished to reach. We followed the foamy course of the torrent
and, arriving at an intersecting point we saw approaching us a truck
full of hay, drawn by the arms of a young mountaineer. We saluted him
in our dialect and he answered with a pronounced Tuscan accent. That
boy certainly was not a native of our regions; he must have escaped
from prison and through some good fortune succeeded in establishing
himself with a peasant family. It was strange that the Austrian
gendarmes, among whom there are many Dalmatians and Istrians, had not
noticed his manner of speaking which was not at all like that of our
mountaineers.
We resumed our journey, eager to reach the coveted goal. By following a
country road we suddenly found ourselves in front of a group of houses.
Near the small church a peasant, seated on the ground, was swinging his
scythe and at the noise of our footsteps turned his emaciated face
towards us, eying us suspiciously. We crossed a courtyard where the
chickens, frightened at our footsteps, scurried quickly away and we
found ourselves on a little bridge which crossed the Friga. The road
continued towards the mill. We knew the village and further recognized
it from the photographs made from our aeroplanes. Bottecchia started
running and I ran after him. At last we arrived at a wide courtyard
where there were gathered many men whom I did not know. They were
seated on a narrow bench and from a large ornate bowl of majolica they
helped themselves to hot, smoking soup and in their hands they held
broad yellow slices of _polenta_ (pudding made of Indian meal). The
door of the house was ajar. Within the large kitchen a brilliant,
playful fire was flickering. From the massive gridirons hung a large
round caldron. A woman bending over it mixed and turned the yellow
flour at intervals. The woman had her shoulders turned towards us and
Bottecchia sought in vain among those present for someone he knew. We
approached her, and lo, from a side door there appeared a little
nervous woman with an emaciated face and bony hands seamed with heavy
blue veins.
“Cietta, Cietta,” cried my soldier, “stare at my face and do not
tremble. It is I, really I, your Giovannino!” The old woman stared at
him with her eyes opened wide. Her hands fell heavily upon her apron;
she leaned against the table as not to fall. Suddenly, as she wavered,
Giovannino took her in his arms, and embraced and caressed her a long
time. Finally she regained her self-possession and passed her lean hand
over his forehead.
“Let me look at you, let me touch you, let me feel the life of my life.
But how you have changed; how big you have become, how handsome!” She
smiled through her tears. “Do you remember the happy days when we were
all together and I used to take you on my knees and sing sweet
lullabies to you, before nightfall? Then no one could harm you, but
now, instead!... Tell me, are you in danger? Tell me is anyone
following you, for I am afraid, terribly afraid.” She eyed him steadily
as though to divine his secret; she threw her arms around him as though
to protect him. “Tell me they will not come to take you away. Are you
tired? Are you hungry? Ah, we have nothing to give you!”
The poor woman, terribly agitated, ran from one end of the kitchen to
the other not knowing where to begin. She wanted to do everything at
once, she wanted to feed us, she wanted to call her daughter, to
confide in her sister, to tell the old men outside to watch out for us
and warn us.
“And who is this man? Is he your comrade? When did you succeed in
escaping? Do you come from afar?”
We tried to calm her, to tell her that no danger threatened us, and she
poured some milk into two deep cups and cut for us two enormous slices
of _polenta_, not too large however for our appetites.
“Cietta, Cietta,” Giovanni began, “rest assured, do not be afraid.
Don’t you see how well we look, and how happy? This is an Italian
officer,” and Bottecchia made a mysterious sign of silence by placing
his finger before his mouth.
“What? An Italian officer?” Everyone gathered round me.
“It is safe to talk here, isn’t it? All those here are good Italians?”
“Yes, you may talk, but be very careful because now one is not safe
even in his own house, and at any moment, when one least expects it, he
is likely to be dispatched to the other world before he even has time
to recommend his soul to the sacred Madonna.”
The sister of Cietta, who expressed in her thin face a suppressed
grief, making it all the more pitiful, took me by the hands and said
with sobs, “I too, had a son, big and strong like you and they have
killed him. One day as he was walking here in front of the house a
platoon of Germans arrived for the requisitions, and he, frightened,
began to run down the slope. One of the gendarmes called after him to
halt, but my poor dear one, believing himself far enough to be out of
danger, continued running without obeying. The gendarme at once aimed
his rifle and fired. He fell in a pool of blood with a leg and an arm
shattered. We lifted him up. He was pale and did not utter a word. For
a long time we nursed him here because I preferred to keep him under my
care, because he wanted to die near his mother, but at length they took
him away from me to the hospital, where his condition grew worse every
day, every hour. The wounds would not heal and after two months of
indescribable suffering he died on the night when the swallows
returned. I always see him before me as he was, strong as you; but
taller, yes, taller than you.” As she spoke she clutched my arms as
though in pressing my flesh she pressed the flesh of the son she had
lost. “Who will bring my boy back to me, who will bring him back? Oh,
unjust war, oh, ruthless war, and you German assassins, may you be
damned forever! May the stain of the blood of that innocent lad fall
upon you and your children so that throughout all eternity you never
shall have peace!”
Softly I pressed her hand and whispered, “Courage, courage, life is
made up of terrible sorrows and we must face them bravely and with
resignation, but God is just and your appeal to Him in malediction is
worth maybe more than the fire of a thousand guns. The day shall come
when they will have to pay, and pay in blood the measure of your sighs
and all these your tears.”
I asked the mistress of the house who the people were about us and she
answered that they were refugees from villages along the Piave,
especially San Stefano and Valdobiadine, now under the fire of our
guns. They had had to abandon everything. The enemy did not even allow
them to take with them their mattresses and the most necessary things,
so that they were now compelled to sleep on the ground. Among the
refugees there was a man, about fifty years old, whose heavy skeleton
expressed the strength of his days now past. He approached me, looked
at me cautiously and asked, “Is it really true that you are an Italian
officer? If you are an officer you ought to try to get to the other
side, to cross the lines so as to tell them on the other side what the
Austrians are preparing because for the past two months, both night and
day, we have seen nothing but thousands of cannon and interminable
lines of soldiers and wagons passing along the roads.”
“Yes, it is true, I am an Italian officer and I have been sent here to
do exactly what you have said, to try to find out something. I am an
aviator and I landed here with an aeroplane to try to learn and
communicate to our forces the day of the offensive and everything else
I can gather about the enemy’s plans. And you who are good Italians, if
you really believe in our cause, if you really hope on some not distant
day to see our troops return and if all of you do not wish to die here
of hunger, everyone of you must, in all seriousness, help me, for all
has been organized, all has been prepared. We Italians have the habit
of being enthusiastic at the beginning but do not always have enough
seriousness and constancy to carry a project through to the end. Now, I
want you to act as soldiers for me, I want each one of you to choose a
sector in which to act, but the method of obtaining information must be
the one I suggest, must be so organized that the reports are safe, that
I may communicate them without doubts to our headquarters.”
Giovanni was talking with his aunt who was telling him of all the many
trials and tribulations she had had to endure since our retreat. She
anxiously asked him of news of her sons on the other side.
“Tell me, then you are not jesting? You have really seen Pietro? And is
Antonio still in the artillery? And Uncle Baldassarre who went with his
family to Italy, has he anything to eat? Has he found work?”
“Cietta, Cietta, why didn’t you heed me, why didn’t you follow the
advice of Antonio who wanted you at all costs to follow him to the
other side? Had you listened to him you would not now be in so perilous
a position for it seems to me that unless our soldiers hurry over we
shall all soon run the risk of dying of hunger.”
“You have spoken the truth; the corn meal for that _polenta_ which you
ate came from a hiding place under the stairs; but we always fear lest
the gendarmes will take it away, because they go from house to house
and sound the walls to see if they are solid. If they are hollow, then
they at once begin to dig for hidden treasure, and if they succeed in
finding anything they not only take it away but they begin to maltreat
the people in the house. Our neighbor, the woman at the mill, has been
dangerously ill. A platoon of Croatians in trying to tear a necklace
from her throat treated her so roughly that she fainted and she had to
stay in the hospital for more than a month.”
“Cietta, we have some money, if that can help you.”
“But what can one do with money since gold is the only thing worth
anything here. We have returned to the old custom of barter. Nothing
can be had without merchandise and one is fortunate if he can find a
bit of flour in exchange for linen, but no one will ever give
merchandise for money. The only money which still has a little value is
the Italian.”
With anxiety I bethought me of what we should do with the precious roll
to which we had attached so much importance and which apparently was
not to be of great assistance.
“Cietta, if we were to remain here for a while to fulfill our mission,
could you house us?” asked Giovanni who at last felt the need of
expressing himself and of making known our plan.
As an answer the old woman ran to the door and approaching her daughter
asked her anxiously whether she had stationed the children around the
house and if someone was watching from the windows to avoid any
surprise. The refugee tried to reassure her by telling her that the
hour in which the gendarmes usually made their rounds was still far
distant, but the poor old woman would not listen to reason and with a
worried expression turned to Bottecchia.
“No, no, it is not possible for you to remain here. Almost every night,
when we least expect it, we see platoons of soldiers arriving who, with
the pretext of seeing whether there are prisoners or deserters in the
house, begin to search from cellar to attic in all our rooms always
hoping to find something which they can take away. There is no spot so
hidden that it escapes their notice and even were you to hide in the
hay-loft, they often climb up even to that to see if there is someone
hidden in the forage. If you want to stay nearby you can sleep in a
little isolated stable hidden in the wood which descends towards the
Friga. Ever since the Germans have been here, no one has ever gone in
that direction, and I am certain they do not know that under the thick
foliage of the trees there is that little stable.”
“Then we have no time to lose,” I said turning toward the refugee who
had lighted his pipe.
“Do you see this tobacco?” he said as he puffed a mouthful of smoke
into the air. “You would believe this tobacco was real, instead of
which it is mostly crushed plantain leaves which the Austrians sell in
small packages at three crowns apiece. I only wish we could still buy
it. This I got from certain Russians who guard the live stock and I had
to give them in exchange a goodly amount of flour.”
“Now mark my words well, and forget about the tobacco, the Russians and
the live stock. You ought to go to your own village, near the regions
of San Stefano where someone surely has succeeded in remaining on his
own land; in the house of this someone there must be some Austrian
soldiers. Well, you should do your utmost to get me some postcards or
newspapers which the soldiers leave in the houses. These postcards can
be far more useful than you suspect. Along the road try to enter as
many houses as possible and in every one, without arousing suspicion,
try to steal some mail. Newspapers alone will suffice, but be sure the
address is not missing because I should not know what to do with
unaddressed postcards and newspapers.”
The old man looked as if he had understood me; he seemed to have
entered into the spirit of my reasoning and answered, “I have a cousin
whose house near Miane the Austrians have taken as their headquarters,
and I am sure he will be able to give me some interesting news. Then I
know a refugee from Segusin who is a clerk at the headquarters of Tappa
di Vittorio. He is always frequenting the Austrians and ought to be
able to give you some important information.”
“Very well, very well. By the way, to-morrow you will have to pass
through Vittorio to reach the valley. When you have arrived on the
further side of the clock tower, in front of the wheat market you will
see a large mansion. Enter and ask for a man called De Luca. He is one
of my agents and I should like to see him as soon as possible.”
“I understand,” answered the old man in a thoughtful way, “but how
shall I get to your agent, for I know that in the house you speak of
the Germans have established their headquarters.”
“That does not matter, that does not matter,” I answered trying to
conceal the emotions aroused by the news that there were in truth enemy
officers in my house. “I am certain that in so large a house they have
left a room vacant for my agent. In case the Germans are no longer
there find out where they have gone. Then, above all, I beg you to tell
this secretary to show himself as soon as possible because I absolutely
must talk to him. He is a staunch Italian isn’t he?”
“Yes, I can vouch for this. I believe that now they are all loyal
Italians. Would that my children had succeeded in escaping to the other
side! Would they were not here with me! I’d rather have them in the
trenches with our soldiers than here with me, subject to the violence
of the gendarmes and the drunken soldiers. For every day it seems as if
they will take them away and put them at work in the interior of
Austria where they will certainly die of hunger.”
A young lean boy with large blue eyes expressive of calm and goodness
entered the kitchen at this point. His emaciated, thin face showed his
past sufferings and the hunger endured.
“Here is Rino, the oldest of my boys. He too, will try to help you to
the best of his ability.”
Giovannino’s intentions were far from wrong; he was searching for a way
in which to get something to eat.
“Listen, Cietta, if you can’t find a way in which to get flour, send
for my sister at San Martino. You told me she was still grinding the
flour for the Austrian command, and who knows but she may be able to
take a little away. Anyway we must tell her I am here because I must
see her, for she can be of great use to us in our undertaking.”
“We’ll do anything you want, but for mercy’s sake, for mercy’s sake,
don’t let yourselves be caught. You do not know these savages yet, you
do not know what they are capable of doing. After having taken you away
they would come back here to our house and would set fire to it, the
way they did at Mezza Villa in an isolated house where they found some
prisoners. And now it is late and you are tired.”
Cietta had entrusted several blankets to Rino who was to guide us to
the little hut where we were to spend the night. I still wished to ask
many questions and to continue talking with them and express all my
appreciation for what they were doing for us, but perhaps they would
not have understood me, for I realized that my way of speaking was not
always the best way in which to make my thoughts understood to
peasants. I feared that they might perhaps consider as haughtiness that
which was merely reserve, and I experienced a vague feeling of being an
outsider, of not being one of them.
We stumbled on the little hut almost before seeing it, for it was so
well hidden and covered by the thick vegetation. We entered the lower
part which in the past must have been used as a stable; the upper part
had evidently served as a hay-loft. The beams yet stood which formerly
supported the hay and a bit of forage must have been left in the place
because in one part the beams were still covered. Rino climbed up a
little straight wooden ladder and where we thought there lay but hay
there were instead several boards laid across the beams so as to form a
little platform. We threw some hay on it and made ready to lie down.
Rino, before leaving us, advised us to pull up the ladder and throw it
across the beams, so that if someone were to enter beneath, he would
never suspect we could have climbed to the little platform and
therefore would not molest us. Our little lair was not far from a
window and in case of alarm we could always escape by it and take to
the open country. Soon fatigue overcame us and the bed, though in truth
it was not very soft, seemed to us like a comfortable couch of feathers.
XI
June 5. Several days following our arrival in enemy territory passed
smoothly without anything particular happening. Every morning and every
night one of the refugees brought us a basket of food and we suspended
it from a cord that the ants and other insects might not spoil our
precious treasure. Bottecchia’s sister came. The meeting between the
two was truly moving. Giovanni’s sister is a little woman, angular and
nervous, all fire and pepper. She offered to help us and we gave her
some money to find something for us. She soon brought me some postcards
from which I derived useful information about the movement of certain
troops and I preserved these documents in a little tin box, which I
buried in a spot I could readily recognize. De Luca, my agent, also
brought me important news and the number of a division and a regiment
which he saw passing. But all of them had only a vague idea of what was
about to happen and could not give me the exact details I desired. All,
however, were unanimous in affirming that the offensive could not delay
much longer and that it would be especially violent in the sector from
the Montello to the sea.
More exact, more detailed, were the notices brought to me from Miane by
the refugee. His cousin in the Austrian headquarters seemed to be a
crafty, intelligent person. He was in touch with the general situation,
and beside sending me a great many postcards, he referred to me some
important details. From many symptoms he deduced that the offensive was
imminent. All the transportation of ammunition had by now been
completed and it was probable that the preliminary orders for the
relief of the troops in the trenches by troops of assault had been
issued. One of the most significant indications was that all the shock
troops, especially the Hungarians who form the staunchest troops in the
army of the enemy, had received the order to be in readiness and
several divisions had already left their old position so as to be
nearer the front. There was also much talk of change of headquarters
which, for the day on which the action was to open, must be in a far
more advanced zone. The troops had recently enjoyed special treatment.
The ration, which usually was very scanty and not sufficient to appease
the hunger of a robust man, had been gradually increased in the past
days, and there were daily distributions of wine, coffee, liquors and
other comforts. The enemy command was attempting by every means to
raise the _morale_ of its soldiers. The officers delivered lectures
before the troops in which they affirmed that from news received from
the other side it was certain that the _morale_ of the Italians was
still very low and that a single heavy blow would be sufficient to make
the entire defensive system crumble, thus compelling the Italians to
make a precipitate and disorderly flight. The victorious army would,
therefore, be able to advance without great sacrifices, and would be
able to take advantage of all the wonderful riches which were on the
further side, and among these the army was bidden not to overlook the
gem of the Adriatic, Venice. Even the Hungarian chaplains helped in
this propaganda. They endeavored to convince the troops that this was
to be the last effort required of them; an effort which would ensure a
victorious peace. Bulletins were continuously distributed in which the
German victories on the French front were praised to such an extent
that the soldiers daily expected to hear that the Germans had arrived,
at least, in Paris.
My informer did not know exactly at what point the offensive was to be
struck, but from several conversations he had overheard and from the
general trend of events he did not think he erred in saying that the
greatest effort would not be made from the side of the mountain, but
that the bulk of the Austrian army was already concentrated between the
bridge of the Priula and the Vidor bridge. This concentration had as
its objective the crushing in of the Montello. The foregoing was what
he wrote in his brief report, written in such a clear, fine handwriting
as denoted an educated person of some culture. He could not be far from
the truth because, from all the information I had at hand, it seemed as
if the Austrians’ plan of attack was in truth against the objective he
had outlined. But this information could not suffice. It was a matter
of absolute necessity that I set eyes, in person, on Armando Brunora,
the friend of the refugee; this Brunora who resided in the headquarters
at Vittorio and who seemed to know many important secrets. He had not
been able to move as yet because it had been raining heavily, and the
road which separated us from Vittorio was rather long, considering the
scanty means of transportation available.
During a brief interval when the rain ceased, we went to look for
the field near which we had arranged to place our signals. It was
easy to distinguish it at once. The only difficulty about it now
was that it did not belong to the uncles of my soldier but belonged
to certain peasants who lived in a little group of houses near the
square. Obviously we could not place our signals there until we had
communicated with the owner. I therefore asked the refugee to summon
the owner for me.
These little difficulties were a nuisance because in my mind I had
planned never to venture forth from the house of my soldier’s
relatives. Certainly not at first did I purpose to do so, but events so
turned out that I saw myself compelled to enlarge the number of persons
to whom we had to communicate our secret. However, I easily overcame
even this test, because an overpowering fatality now took possession of
me, and I cared very little for my life, did I but succeed in obtaining
the information I had so much at heart. The owner of the land had
received our request most kindly and was greatly interested in what we
told him. He consented to my project with good grace and furthermore
said that, not at once, but within a few days, his two sisters when
they returned from visiting distant relatives would be of great help to
us because they would be able to place the sheets on the ground and so
avoid the necessity of our showing ourselves. This was really a very
practical idea because after all, two men placing sheets on the ground
might arouse the suspicion of the guards, whereas women such as
are wont to wash and lay the laundry on the ground, are not an
out-of-the-way sight.
The weather continued to be unfavorable, and if on the one hand I
grieved because it interfered with our progress in getting into
communication, on the other hand I was glad we knew how to take
advantage of the only time in which it was possible to accomplish the
undertaking. Then, too, the offensive surely could not begin, while it
rained, because despite the fact that the Austrians do not usually
attach much importance to the climatic conditions, yet this time they
had a river in front of them and they must realize with a degree of
apprehension that if their first attempt should not succeed in driving
back our resistance, they might find themselves in the critical
condition of having many troops on the other side with a high river at
their backs. This might indeed prove rather inconvenient, because the
Piave at times becomes a rushing torrent such as hinders the building
of any bridges or the sending over of any reinforcements of food or
ammunition.
For several days we had not seen a ray of sun even for a second. The
rain continued to fall unceasingly, so that the wood had become a
veritable bog. We hardly dared thrust our heads out of our little
stable for fear of a drenching. During these days the refugee brought
me for the first time a copy of the _Gazetta del Veneto_, a filthy
newspaper published at Udine by a renegade Italian in the pay of
Austria. It was really impressive to read those pages in which were
printed sentiments and opinions which, written in German, would not
astonish me in the least, but which disgusted me profoundly when
written in our beautiful language. They invented a multitude of things
about the internal situation in Italy. According to them a revolution
was about to break out because of the lack of food, a lack become more
severe owing to the intensive submarine warfare. “Our enemies,” the
newspaper said, “have little reason to rejoice because they hoped to
see many Americans arrive on their front, in the springtime, but
instead thanks to the indefatigable work of our submarines, these
reinforcements cannot come and all the provisions sent from the other
side of the ocean are regularly lost at sea.”
The days seemed interminable, especially because we could not venture
out from our lowly hut. We did not even dare return to the house of the
Toneli because we feared to upset them and that our presence might
annoy them. We trusted to the little woman who lost her son to find us
eggs, and at once she began to go about offering money for them, but
found it difficult because most of the peasants bring the little they
produce to the board of the Austrian officers at Vittorio so as to get
some flour in exchange.
On awakening on the morning of June 7th we had a pleasant surprise. We
found the sun shining. The trees, on which the dewdrops still trembled,
swayed their branches in the slight wind from across the mountain. The
mountains seemed clear and clean-cut in the atmosphere about them. As
the sun peeped over the top of the Cansiglio an anti-aircraft battery
near Conegliano began firing and soon the aerial bombardment increased.
All the sky was dotted with little pink and grayish clouds which
blossomed and then dissolved in the clear upper air of the morning....
Even the battery at Vittorio had begun to fire. Soon after we observed
in the pure sky above us the powerful wings of many of our “Caproni” in
single file surrounded by many little chasing planes. The Caproni were
directed towards an aviation camp near San Giacomo di Veglia, and
meanwhile our chasing planes, gathered in a compact formation, were
patrolling the air above the aerodrome of the enemy chasers in order to
down any such impudent plane as dared to take rise and molest our
bombing planes. A bombing machine with a chasing plane near it gives
the impression of a young girl about whom a young colt cuts a thousand
capers. All the people from the nearby houses came out into the open,
unmindful of the shower of splinters which fell from the air. The women
raised their arms towards the sky in supplication, and pointing out the
Italian wings to the children murmured, “They are ours, ours.” An old
white-haired man raised his hat as the Italian flag passed above him.
But the Austrians, who cannot be accused of extreme temerity, waited
until all our planes had departed before rising in flight and as the
last of our planes was passing over our lines on its return flight, the
heavy enemy chasers arose, filling the sky with the coarse, deep
roaring of their motors. Their method of flying is altogether different
from ours. At times I enjoyed watching them in their movements; I found
none of that agility, none of that rapidity of movement which so
distinguishes our chasers.
If the weather continued favorable we intended that afternoon at one
o’clock to begin placing our sheets. I decided to set a signal on the
field which would indicate that the offensive was imminent on the
sector of the Montello. I examined my conscience and questioned whether
this report was not premature, but as time passed and I gathered more
information from all sides, I became all the more convinced that the
day could not be far distant when a rumbling, rolling bombardment would
indicate that the offensive had been begun. Even the weather, which was
now fair, could but help hasten events.
The sister of Bottecchia had brought me the sheets which we were going
to use as signals and cautiously we approached the place where they
were to be extended. We traversed the little field once again so as to
be certain we were not making a mistake, and by half-past twelve the
sheet was in its proper place. We hid behind a tree on the other side
of the river to guard it and hinder any petty thief from stealing the
precious material.
The sky which at first was very clear was streaked with those small
light clouds which indicate that in the higher strata of the air a
swift wind is blowing. Above the clouds a squadron of enemy planes,
readily recognizable from the heavy noise of their motors, was
completing a series of slow evolutions. These aeroplanes, whose task
was certainly to obstruct the way for any of our planes, cruised
continually between Vittorio and Pordenone. We glanced at the little
watch given to Giovanni by his sister; it was 12.55. Suddenly the
anti-aircraft battery near us began to fire. Yes, they had come. After
a few seconds we glimpsed among the clouds a reconnoitring plane
escorted by three chasing planes. And now what would happen; now that
four of our aeroplanes would be against twelve of theirs? The
adversary’s chance in attack was better than ours because they were
able to rise above the clouds and crash down unexpectedly on our planes
which, flying beneath them, were certainly not aware of their presence.
I distinctly heard the cadenced, sibilant note of our motors and the
deeper, heavier noise of the enemy motors. In a second the enemy had
divided into two platoons of six planes each and each had selected its
own objectives. Six had placed themselves against our reconnoitring
plane and six were combating our three chasing planes. From among the
clouds I heard the first faint reports of the machine-guns. The
reconnoitring plane which appeared and disappeared among the white
curls did not let itself be surprised; at times it made some daring
evolutions and seemed as if it were going to nose-dive forever but
retook its position and answered with brief rallies to the prolonged
bursts of fire from the enemy guns. The Austrians in accord with their
usual tactics tried to keep our plane in play with a concentration of
their forces so that finally one of them could attempt a fatal volley,
but our pilots did not lose heart and with repeated tricks and wiles
endeavored to escape the net. There!—five planes had surrounded it,
and one all painted red, the swiftest, a “D 5,” tried to take position
on its tail. I held my breath; the enemy plane was but a few yards from
our plane and fired lengthy bursts at it but ours answered only with a
brief volley. Suddenly the Austrian plane reeled and seemed to go out
of control; for a time it spun downward like a dead leaf, and finally
nose-dived in a great flame. I raised my arms in the air; I wished to
express to that little speck with the tricolor all my joy, all my
satisfaction. The other planes, who had viewed the havoc, divided and
turned towards their aerodromes. Our planes remained lords of the air.
One flew several times over our signals as if the observer wished to
take many negatives so as to make certain that one good photograph
would result. I looked into the eyes of Bottecchia who was near me, and
I could not conceal the emotions I felt within me.
Within a few hours the staff would know of our signals; of what was
about to happen; it would be certain that the offensive was imminent
and that it was about to be loosed against the sector of the Montello.
From that moment I was certain that events favored us. From the combat
which took place above our heads I had received another proof of the
superiority of our race and from this I derived pleasant predictions
for the future. In the sky, as always, we were absolute masters, in
this sky which they had tried to take from us but which remained ever
ours. Soon, I was certain this mastery would extend even to the land.
We would win, absolutely we would win! And how could a nation, which in
enemy territory exhibits such feats as those I had just witnessed, do
otherwise than win? And furthermore, my modesty did not forbid me to
forget that I too was a sample of the country which would win. Even on
land Italy was not unworthily represented.
XII
Now that we had announced that the offensive was imminent, it was all
the more necessary for us to gather as much information as possible; it
was all the more necessary to have carrier-pigeons with which to send
the information we already had at hand. Through the refugee I sent a
notice to the secretary at Vittorio that I was waiting for him, that he
must try to send me all the information he had, that above all he must
not delay in coming to me. We decided to meet somewhere, for he feared
he might be tracked and therefore wished to avoid going to a place
whither he could not find a logical excuse for going. Our meeting was
to take place near a farmhouse of the present mayor of Vittorio, Cav.
Troier, and were the Austrians to inquire the reason for his journey he
would be able to say that he went for business reasons to see some
peasants we had talked about.
While we were eating we were surprised by hurried steps and as we were
trying to hide we saw the refugee approaching with a tall, slender man,
clothed in civilian garb and very pale.
“This is the Italian officer I mentioned to you,” said the refugee,
“and this is Mr. Brunora.” (Even in the woods in enemy territory
introductions are made!)
“I beg you to pardon my clothing which has nothing military about it,
but I hope you will recognize me under other circumstances, without
this deceptive apparel. Please be seated and tell me quickly what you
know.”
The secretary sat on a rock, looked about in a preoccupied fashion and
then said, “I did not want to come here; I wished to wait till
to-morrow and see you at the established spot but I have received such
detailed exact information, so important, that after appealing to such
courage as I still possess after many months of privation and hunger, I
decided to come to you at once to communicate what I know. This
information I received from an Austrian Captain from Trieste. He is a
very important person on account of the relations he has with the
command of the Sixth Army. I think he knows Archduke Joseph very well
and I know he is very intimate with the wife of one of the Staff
Officers. From the information he gave me I understand that he is
informed not only of the situation at the front as regards this army,
but that he also has information about other sectors. I do not know if
he be prompted by the desire to tell our command what the Austrians are
preparing or whether his talk be merely due to lightness. This one
thing is certain: he has told me things so extraordinary that I wanted
to refer them to you at once.”
“Tell me them, tell me them,” I added, not understanding why he
bothered me with so much detail before coming to the points which
really interested me. He drew forth slowly from his pocket a tobacco
pouch and opened it. It was full of tobacco but under the tobacco there
was a small piece of tissue paper which he took out with great
precaution and I saw there were many ciphers on the paper. He then
continued:
“Austria-Hungary has at present concentrated on our front 73 divisions
equal to 960 battalions. These forces are supported by about 7500 guns.
Fifty-four divisions equal to 774 battalions are now massed near the
firing line and await only the order to ‘march’ to hurl themselves into
the greatest battle in history. Six thousand cannon of every caliber
are placed in batteries ready for action and to support with their
terrible fire the advance of the infantry. Other masses are ready to
exert further pressure between the Astico and Val Lagarina should the
attack between the Piave and the Grappa prove successful. The Austrians
have been preparing for the offensive for a long time and every detail
has been cared for. The troops have been exercised and drilled in the
new German tactics of attack. Light machine-guns and flammenwerfer
continually supplemented by successive waves of men and new methods of
destruction are expected to effect the success of the first attack. Not
only is a great deal of bridge-building material hidden behind the
dikes of the Piave, but in several points there have been collected
many light pontoons which will be of great help to little isolated
detachments, whose task is to try to cross the river and to attempt a
dangerous infiltration movement, and so facilitate the task of the bulk
of the troops which would follow at once across the bridge. Great use
will be made of lachrymose and asphyxiating gases. The preliminary
bombardment will not be very long but will be intensive and at the end
a rapid fire of smoky projectiles will cover the Piave with fog so as
to hinder our soldiers from seeing where they are constructing
passageways. In the region of the Montello bridges will be constructed
near Casa Serena and in a place called Casa de Favari along the lower
Piave near Fagari and Musile. The offensive will begin on the fifteenth
and will be preceded on the thirteenth by a serious action towards the
Tonale. On the day of the attack an intensive, convincing bombardment
will be launched towards Val D’Arsa and Val Lagarina. Three armies will
be operating at the same time, the eleventh, commanded by General
Scheuchenstuel, will operate towards Alti Piani; the sixth, led by
Archduke Joseph will undertake the greatest and chief task of breaking
through; the fifth commanded by General von Vurm will attack violently
towards the sea. The attack of the infantry is scheduled to take place
between seven and eight o’clock on the morning of the fifteenth. The
special task entrusted to the Austrian troops operating between the
Plateau of Asiago and the valley of the Brenta is that of opening the
road towards the plain, first with ten divisions operating in Val
D’Arsa, which have the task of forcing Valle Frenzela and then with six
other divisions which must descend from the Astico valley through the
valley of Canaglia and occupy the western slope of the Grappa. Two
other divisions will be in reserve so that eighteen divisions, equal to
228 battalions, and 1500 cannon will be in action on the Plateau of
Asiago. In the region of the Grappa between the Brenta and the Piave
the intention of the Austrian command is to open the attack at first
with great violence, to descend to the plain and by surrounding the
Grappa to effect the downfall of the entire Italian defensive system.
The first attack is to be made with troops especially trained for
mountain warfare between the Brenta and Mount Pertica. Four divisions
are to attack the salient of Solarolo with the objective of encircling
the line Monte Tomba and Monte Fenera; of securing for itself an
opening to the Piave in the vicinity of Pederobba and there getting in
contact with the sixth army which has the task of forcing the Montello.
From the Montello to the lower Piave the Austrian strategical plan has
divided its forces into three principal columns of attack. Two columns,
having broken through between the Montello and San Dona di Piave are
designated to advance between Treviso and Castelfranco and on the
Mestre-Treviso railroad they are to make several thrusts in all the
region about Treviso and, by isolating Venice, compel this city to
surrender. The three columns in close alliance with the two preceding,
after crossing the Piave at the Grave di Pappadopoli, will march
directly from Maserada on Treviso. The forces on the two wings are
composed on the north by six divisions of the sixth army (Archduke
Joseph) which will attack the Montello, and on the south by eight
divisions of the fifth army, the army of the Isonzo (von Vurm) which
will operate from Ponte di Piave to the sea. The center will be
composed of two army corps, the 16th and 4th of the army of the Isonzo,
equal to four divisions and a half.”
My informer, Mr. Brunora, looked about again with suspicion and said,
“These reports seem to me of prime importance; it is up to you now to
find a means of despatching them at once to our command. I am well
pleased to be able to risk my life with the certainty that what I have
referred to you can be of inestimable value to our people.... However,
I must be cautious because under this terrible régime, if they were to
discover me, the least which could happen to me would be to be shot,
but at times they use the gallows and I really should not care to meet
with the fate of poor Battisti.” He looked me steadily in the eyes, for
I had been greatly shocked by the news he had given me. I did not
believe that anywhere, in any other circumstances, any man had ever
been able to know so precisely, so minutely, every particular, every
secret of the enemy as this man knew. This Brunora really seemed to
know a little too much. A terrible doubt suddenly crossed my mind.
Might he not be an emissary of the enemy sent by the Austrians, who had
possibly learnt of my presence. Was it his purpose to deceive me and to
make me believe false reports the better to hide their plans?
“But are you really certain you are not mistaken?”
“I am absolutely certain,” he answered, “and I would not have spoken
had I not been able to account for what I have told you. The same
captain who gave me this information used to prophesy even during the
desperate German attacks against our position on the Grappa in last
December. Everything he told me then has since come to pass.”
His answer was not sufficient to remove my doubts. But if, on
reconsidering everything I had learnt from other sources, and comparing
it with the information the secretary had just given me, I were to find
that everything tallied and there was not a single contradiction, I
must believe him. If all this corresponded, even in the smallest
detail, it was not possible that he was trying to deceive me, or that
he was trying to cheat me, and all he told me must be true.
He continued, “As a further proof that the offensive is about to begin
I can add this, and I can personally guarantee it for I myself read it
from an Austrian order; in fact, I can show it to you for I have it in
my pocket.... ‘The Command at Tappa di Vittorio has been enlarged to
cover all the region between the Ponte della Priula and Vidor and the
aforementioned city is now considered as a _retrovia_ in case of a
possible early action.’ Therefore, not only will there be an offensive
but the Austrians feel confident they will break through because they
are considering as back lines the zones between the Piave and Vittorio,
whereas up to now this region has been considered as a front line.”
This document finally convinced me, it dispelled all my doubts, and
forsaking the reserved attitude I had adopted up to then, I cordially
took him by the arm and said, “Our people will have to erect a monument
in your honor if all you have told me comes to pass, for on these
reports the fate of our army may depend. You understand....” Again I
gazed steadily into his eyes. At last a faint smile illumined his wan,
unexpressive face imparting to it for a moment a new look, an
expression strange to him, almost a look of beauty.
“I am certain they will not pass,” he added. “The Piave is our old
friend and it certainly will not tolerate their building bridges over
its old faithful waters; you will see that at the propitious moment it
will shrug its shoulders and all their machinations will disappear into
thin air as though by magic.”
“I, too, feel certain that the Piave is our great helper, but when it
comes to preventing the Austrians from building bridges, our artillery
will see to that.”
“Are their masks good?” asked Brunora on whose face a new look of pain
was depicted.
“Yes, our masks are good.”
“For,” he continued, “at the station of Corta the aerial cable railways
have done nothing in the past few days except transport projectiles of
asphyxiating gases.”
This too is a bit of news which tallies perfectly with what the
brunette in the woods told me and I am grateful to him for having given
me another proof of the veracity of his communications.
“Thank you, thank you once again for what you are doing for Italy, for
the Italians; pardon me if I said ‘the Italians,’ I meant to say for
us, because we too are still Italians even though apparently separated
from the other side. But as I see you are so well informed, that you
can find out the minutest details of the secrets of the great enemy
machine, I cannot consider your task completed with these precious
reports you have given me to-day. Every Italian has certain obligations
towards his country and you who cannot be a soldier in this moment must
continue to help me as heroically as you have begun. By means of the
refugee whom you know well and in whom we can trust absolutely, I wish
you to send me daily reports on what you hear and on the day preceding
the battle keep me well-informed on what is about to happen. Besides
the signals, which you know of, that we are in the habit of placing in
a certain spot, we can communicate with our lines by means of carrier
pigeons and the more detailed and precise the information which you
give me, the greater will be the help which we can render to our army.
Do not think anything useless; a report which you might judge devoid of
any value may have a great deal of significance on the other side, but
we must be careful to report everything with great accuracy, exactly as
we have heard it, without amplifications or embellishments, for an
extra word in these circumstances may mean losing or winning a battle.
Don’t you by chance know some Austrian soldier at Vittorio who could
give you detailed information on the location of the Austrian forces
which are about to operate against us, because although the news you
gave me to-day is definite, there is not the name of a single division
or regiment, and you certainly know better than I how important it is
to know the location of the enemy forces.”
Brunora who really did not seem to have realized the importance of my
request answered me at once without any show of interest, “Yes, I know
a soldier from Trieste who is in the field post-office of Vittorio and
he certainly will be able to give me details on the exact number of the
divisions to which he daily sends mail.”
“And you did not tell me this at once!” (I should have liked to jump on
his neck and kiss him, so great was the joy this last announcement gave
me.) “Try to keep on good terms with this soldier; try to monopolize
him and promise him that within a short time, if he succeeds in giving
us the information we want, he will also be helping himself for our
soldiers will then come and liberate Trieste.”
“Why, do you still believe we shall one day arrive at Trieste?”
I looked wrathfully at my questioner. “I ask how you can doubt it! If
our soldiers succeed in resisting this offensive, the entire situation
which is now in favor of the enemy will change completely in our favor.
Soon the balance in France will again become even by the intervention
of the first American units, and the Germans, who will not have been
able to accomplish at once a decisive move, will find themselves in a
precarious position. On our front I assure you, if the Austrians hit a
snag in this offensive, that no one will be able to hold us back from
dealing the final blow which will send the Austrians and Germans flying
forever. But meanwhile we must see that the doors to our house are
securely fastened so that thieves cannot enter.”
Bottecchia was on watch outside to see that no suspicious person
approached. If he imitated the cackling of a hen it would indicate that
some danger threatened us.
“Excuse my indiscretion, pardon me if I detain you awhile longer, but I
would rather clear up everything at once than have to send for you some
other time. During these first days I intend to stay in this wood,
especially since on the day of the offensive it will be necessary for
someone to be here always, to gather the information which might come
from various sources, so as to co-ordinate it and communicate it at
once to the other side. However, later, I intend to wander about, I
intend to find out with my own eyes what is happening. You who have so
much to do with the headquarters at Tappa di Vittorio, where I know
they issue papers authorizing one to remain in this territory and
legitimization papers, ought to try to get for us some document which
would enable us to move about with greater ease. I do not mean to say
that these documents can be of great importance; rather, if they were
demanded and examined by someone truly competent, they might be serious
evidence against us, but instead, they can be used to show to the
soldiers or to fool some stupid Croatian gendarme who is easily
satisfied so long as he sees the seal with the bicipital eagle, and
would never suspect any fraud in it. For bureaucracy, as you well know,
itself supplies the weapons which may prove fatal to it. We, who could
not wander about without papers, will find in our spurious papers a
safe protection against the stupid; we will make the papers which ought
to denounce us, our accomplices. I want to tell you a plan I have in
mind and which we may be able to use with the help of a legitimization
paper. A servant of mine, classified as not fit for military service,
who is a little older than myself and whom I can readily resemble in my
present outfit, escaped to the other side before the retreat. I should
want to take his name and say that at the time of Caporetto I was far
from the villa of my master, where I had left my classification papers,
and when I returned to the villa I found everything upside down
and could not find the precious documents, so that the Austrian
authorities, who knew this, gave me a legitimization paper. Now, you
ought to get me this paper so that I can become Mr. Antonio Pandin in
flesh and bones.... I suppose you are mentally hurling all sorts of
epithets at me and think I am too exigent, that even in enemy territory
I am trying to militarize everything. If those are your thoughts, you
have guessed correctly for this is my intention. In warfare, as in all
other undertakings in life, one of the most valuable attributes is
order; therefore I urge you to keep me regularly informed; I shall
expect your report every night. The refugee will have charge of
consigning it to me. If anything abnormal happens I beg you to inform
me at once so that I may communicate it without delay to our command by
means of my signals. During the days of the offensive I shall be
especially interested in the movement of the troops. Of course I mean
the big movements because at present we cannot be bothered with the
little ones. For the present I hope you will believe that I am truly
appreciative of all you have done and that the whole nation will
appreciate your conduct when it learns of what you have done for us.
Who knows how many lives we may be able to save through these reports!
Who knows how much suffering we can prevent! We must leave nothing
undone which will help our soldiers do their best, which will help them
find themselves, and which will finally help them to victory.”
XIII
On June 13 there was a continual round of visitors and the relatives
who had come to see Bottecchia had all brought something for us to eat.
Some brought a piece of cheese, some a peasant bread baked under hot
ashes, others a stoup of wine preserved by who knows how many
sacrifices from the avid throats of our adversaries. I was not present
at the meeting between Bottecchia and his parents, for at the time I
was walking about in the wood, and when I returned I found my soldier
seated on the trunk of a tree between a little old woman and an old man
and I understood from their voices and the sweetness of their
expressions that they must have been his parents. The father, a
lean little old man almost eighty years old, still works unloading
material and pushing hand cars on the new railroad the Austrians are
constructing in the vicinity of Sarmede. I kept away from them so as
not to interrupt their talk, but after they had left I saw on the face
of Giovannino such satisfaction, I read such great joy in his eyes,
that I envied him—I who no longer have the fortune of ever being able
to see my mother again.
The nights were now dark, even when it did not rain, for there was no
moon, and we should have to wait awhile before we were due to receive
any pigeons. Every morning I took a long walk in the wood to see if any
basket had fallen during the night; I examined carefully the branches
of the trees to see if a parachute had perhaps been caught in the
foliage, but found nothing. Through the refugee and the other peasants
who had placed their services at my disposal, I told everyone whom I
could trust, that in case they found little baskets with pigeons on
their fields they were to gather them for they were meant for me. I
designated certain vicarages as places to which they should be
delivered, for the priests offered to pass them on to me as soon as
they received them.
My soldier’s sister, to give me an idea of how certain the Austrians
were of the success of the first blows of the offensive, told me the
following anecdote. A Hungarian officer was bargaining with her for the
purchase of a linen sheet which the officers were accustomed to use for
making white uniforms for wear in the summertime. The amount asked for
the sheet seemed too high and the officer walked away saying, “It
really would be a pity to pay so high a price for my uniform when the
offensive is scheduled to commence shortly. On the first day we will be
in Treviso, on the second in Venice, and there I shall find enough
white linen to clothe my entire company in white.” I hoped that soon
this ugly creature, who was relishing in advance the joys of pillage
and plunder, would find in the whirlpools of the Piave a uniform to
suit him!
Another frequent visitor was Rosa, a young woman whose husband was on
the other side and who now made a livelihood serving as cook for some
Hungarian officers. She listened to all their conversations and every
now and then tried to fathom some secret which she referred at once to
us. The table at which she served belonged to a group of field
artillery officers and she told me that they had a long discussion in
which some of them held that a supply of 5000 shots for every gun would
be enough in the first battle, whereas others held that, given the
enormous waste of munition in modern methods of warfare, this number
would not guarantee a sufficient reserve. On the whole, from the
reports received I inferred that the Austrians were short of ammunition
and had placed their hope in a quick success of the offensive, for
otherwise they would find themselves in a very bad position because
there were very few projectiles in the internal depots in Austria to
replace those spent at the front. Rosa also told me of the abundant
fare the enemy officers allot themselves, for they were not ashamed to
give free rein to their gluttonous desires even though their soldiers
were kept on truly pitiful rations. Poor Rosa also brought us whatever
she could take away from the table and one day she came with a large
package of cigarettes which she held out to us saying, “I hope you will
not smoke them all in one day; I hope you will appreciate them because
I had to pay for these cigarettes with kisses.”
I tried to show I appreciated them so as not to displease her, but in
truth I preferred never to smoke again in my life rather than force
such bargaining on her, but alas, she had often to resort to such
methods if she wished to feed her youngsters who otherwise would die of
hunger. Sometimes Rosa, weeping, told us of the compromises she had had
to make to appease the hunger of her youngsters.
“Necessity makes me do it,” she would say, “but you should see the
disdain with which the gay Viennese women, who have followed the
officers thus far, treat me. Many of them go about dressed in clothes
stolen from our houses and the other day, in the house of one of these
street-walkers I recognized a whole silver coffee set which belonged to
a count who ran away during the first days of the retreat.”
From Vittorio I received regularly the messages of Brunora and from his
notes I gathered much useful information, especially in regard to the
movements of the troops of the sixth army. It seemed that special
divisions of swimmers had been trained to cross the river in a surprise
attack and that they were to clamber up on the side of the Montello
which slopes vertically to the river, by means of hooks and ropes and
so surprise our men from behind. On June 13th the regiment stationed at
San Martino left unexpectedly for the front and the 31st division which
was near Miane left unexpectedly for a destination unknown to us
together with the 11th division of cavalry on foot. At the headquarters
of Tappa di Vittorio a notice had been posted saying, “Any civilian
found damaging the telephone lines will be at once taken before a
firing squad.” All these indications made me feel certain that on the
fifteenth we should visualize the greatest battle in history and I
believed I was one of the few privileged characters who would be able
to participate in it from the enemy’s side.
By now I had exact knowledge of the habits of the gendarmes and I was
convinced that even though I had much to fear from them if they should
succeed in laying hands on me, still with a little wit and intelligence
I could succeed in avoiding them. The gendarmes who most frequented our
region were those from Mezza Villa and therefore I entrusted the owner
of the house in which they live, who knew all their habits, to warn me
if he should notice anything unusual in their plans. In this way I
eliminated the danger of being surprised. I knew they usually went out
at eight in the morning; that they made brief rounds on the road
between Mezza Villa and Fregona and that they returned for mess at
eleven and rested until four, so that during those hours there was
little fear of meeting them. Frankly, if one wished to wander there was
really no need of promenading on the main highways and it seemed that
the gendarmes did not deviate much from the main roads since the day in
which they lost all track of one of their comrades who penetrated a
little more deeply into the wood. As for the soldiers who roamed about
the country, they did not bother about stopping the peasants; they
thought only of trying to steal whatever they could lay their hands on
without attracting the attention of the owner, so if the wanderer could
make believe he was an owner, he was certain never to be molested.
I began to walk in the wood and with a little trepidation I ventured as
far as the summit of a hill which dominates all the plain. From my
observation point one could see all Vittorio and when it was clear one
could also see the Montello. An Austrian Drago balloon rose in the
vicinity of Cuzzuolo. Suddenly I saw shrapnel bursts and immediately
the sausage began to descend hurriedly. It must have been attacked by
one of our aeroplanes but this time it escaped too easily.
Far away in the distance, behind the line of the Piave, which on clear
days outlines itself as a thin silver streak on the plain, our
observation balloons arose. I counted twelve and with an incredible
feeling of homesickness I remembered that under them lay our dear land.
While descending the hill I saw a little hut, half demolished, from
which came a thin stream of smoke. I wished to see who could live
within such battered walls. As I opened the door a nauseating stench
came forth. At first I thought the place uninhabited, but near the
manger I espied two human bodies enveloped in a long wrap. I tried to
get them to talk, but at first they would not answer me. Finally, from
above that confusion of rags, I saw not a head, but something which
looked more like a skull than a head. A feeble voice which seemed to
come from afar murmured, “Leave us in peace, leave us alone, let us die
here. We are two escaped Italian prisoners from the concentration camp
at Vittorio, where they used to give us nothing to eat and would
nourish us with beatings. As long as the Russian prisoners stayed here
we fed ourselves on their herd of cattle, but now it is fifteen days
since they have gone and we have had nothing but snails and the
mushrooms in the woods. We are here at the end of the manger so that if
a gendarme should open the door he would not see us (the man coughed),
but for some time we have not had even enough strength to get up and we
lie here all day waiting for the hour of liberation, in the hope that
death at least will free us forever from our torturers!”
XIV
It was June 14th. Time 11:30 P.M.: the night was serene; great peace
reigned over the hills and mountains; no sound reached us. From afar
off in the direction of Capella the feeble voice of a piano brought us
the echoes of a Viennese waltz. All this calm surprised and frightened
me for I knew what was preparing beneath the calm exterior. That
evening I had received a note from Brunora on which were written the
sole words, “until to-morrow.”
I asked myself with anxiety and incredible emotion what would happen
when the fatal struggle began. I was not kept waiting long, for
suddenly, as if a diabolical orchestra had been let loose, a thousand
sounds spread through the mountain repeated by the echoes in the
valleys. The din increased, traveled, stopped at times and then
recommenced; it seemed as if a giant machine-gun were winding off shots
from a long ribbon. The voices of the cannon of different caliber
followed without interruption in their clamor. The piercing shrieks
from the meadows were at intervals drowned by the round rumblings of
the medium calibers followed by the hideous roars from the firing
mouths of large caliber. The bombardment seemed to be on the side of
the mountain, but lighter in the region of the Montello and again
became intensive in the region towards the sea. I could not keep still,
I was restless and ran madly to the top of the hill, towards the spot I
had selected as my observation post. The entire plain beneath me was in
flames, the line of the Piave was easily recognizable, even at night,
from the shooting stars incessantly ascending; it seemed as if a
wonderful forest of resplendent flowers was rising and far off on the
horizon was blossoming in a metamorphosis of light. The white, red, and
green intermingled in a golden rain. The region before the Piave was
continually broken by the enemy’s flashes and in answer came shelling
from our artillery grouped on the slope of the Montello. The flare of
the gun discharges seemed, in the diffused light, like the leaping
flash of magnesium light illumining at intervals a certain region. A
shell of large caliber struck not far from us in the direction of
Carpesica; our soldiers could not have been taken by surprise, they
answered, they regulated their fire, they prevented the masses of the
enemy from flooding the roads which lead to the front. My signals had
been significant; they must have understood....
All night I anxiously kept watch on the hill; all night I tried to
discern from the noise of the bombardment some indication of the
outcome of the battle. Bottecchia was near me and about us there were
grouped several peasants and a few women who were praying for the boys
fighting on the other side, and above the deafening rumble of the
battle the feeble mumbling of their litanies at times reached my ears.
Day was about to dawn and from all the aviation camps aeroplanes rose
in uninterrupted flight directed towards the front. Who knew how
terrible the conflict in the air would be and how many of our
adversaries would fall under our straight shooting! I wished to move,
to run, to participate in some way in the action, instead I was
compelled to stay immobile, I was detained far from the struggle in
which the fate of my country was being decided, and I, who had never
missed an offensive since the first day of the war, felt as if I had
abandoned my post, as if I had deserted because in this moment I was
not, as usual, where the fray was thickest, the action most heated and
deadly.
It was seven in the morning, the hour in which the infantry was
scheduled to advance. The bombardment from the big-caliber guns had
lessened and naught but the piercing shriek of field pieces from the
meadows was heard. At times, wafted by the wind, I knew not if it
were real or imagined, I seemed to hear the light rattle of the
machine-guns. A thick fog spread over the Piave and it seemed as if the
entire line had been suddenly submerged. It appeared to be the effect
of the smoke projectiles intended to hide from our men the places in
which the enemy was building bridges. Suddenly someone broke through
the little group of people surrounding me. A priest in a long black
robe and with something hidden under his shirt asked anxiously where he
could find the Italian officer.
“Here, I am the Italian officer.”
He took from under his tunic a small rectangular box and excitedly
handed it to me. I did not thank him, but clasped his hand. Hastily I
descended the hill carrying the little box with me and ran to the
stable to copy the documents which were hidden in the little tin box. I
removed a piece of glass from the window, above it I placed a thin
piece of paper and with a pencil which I found in the box I began to
transcribe; I knew the code and the handwriting and soon I had filled
six sheets. Bottecchia was standing on guard outside in front of the
door. Now my actions were not useless, now I felt as if I had again
become a combatant, now I knew that my life again had a value. We
folded the little sheets in a compact roll, we pressed and tightened
them to make them fit in the small tube, and fastened on the cover,
being careful to place it with the colored part turned up so that
during the flight the cork would not fall out and the risk be run of
losing the pigeon despatch. With great precaution we took the dear bird
from the cage and placing one of its legs between the index and middle
finger held it curved, violet breast facing us. The docile creature did
not flutter, but calmly let us work. We opened the rings fastened to
the tube and placed them about the leg of the pigeon, being careful not
to tighten them too much lest the bird suffer, yet not too loose, lest
the tube be lost. Then still holding fast to the bird, I threw a jacket
over my shoulder to hide the bird, and we went out on the hill. We hid
in a wheat field so that no one about could see us, and launched the
gentle bird towards the sky. It ascended at once and made several turns
over our heads. The rustle of its wings was cadenced and even and we
followed the bird in flight for a long time with an anxious look. Again
it passed over our heads in ever-widening circles and then flew
directly toward our territory. Within an hour our forces would know the
plan of battle. I returned to my observation post at the top of the
hill.
Time, 9.30. To me the bombardment seemed to be increasing in intensity
and at the same time I noticed that our batteries were not answering
with the same violence as formerly. Had our forces been surprised?...
Had the enemy the upper hand?... The hours fled with startling
rapidity. At four in the afternoon Rino, greatly fatigued, brought me a
message sent from Vittorio. The message was thus constructed:
“Time, 3.30 P.M. Between the Astico and the Brenta the Austrians
have conquered Val Bella Point, Col del Rosso, and Col d’Echele.
The 32nd Austrian division has broken the front on Mount Asolone
reaching Mount Coston and quota 1503. The 60th division has reached
Mount Pertica and quota 1581. On the Solarolo salient the 55th
division has been successful in the direction of Salton, but are
strongly opposed by the great Italian resistance. The 20th division
Honved and the 50th division have suffered great losses in their
attack on Mount Tomba. On the Montello, the 31st division has
crossed the Piave at Campagnole di Sopra and is advancing rapidly.
The 13th and 17th divisions Schützen have crossed the Piave at
Villa Iacur and at Campagnole their gains extend from Giavera to
the bridge of Priula.”
These successes of the enemy, although considerable, did not seem to me
cause for great worry. Nevertheless I had hope that the later reports
which the refugee would bring me, would be more encouraging! At about
seven he came with another message:
“In the region of the Montello there have been strong
counter-attacks by the Italians, but they have not kept the 31st
and 41st Honved and the 11th division (dismounted), from crossing
the Piave and from reinforcing the positions captured from Candulu
to the sea. The Austrians have at all points reached the right bank
of the Piave. Their advance in certain points is one and a quarter
miles deep, but the Italians yet hold the bank of the river between
Candulu and the bridge of the Priula. The resistance of the
Italians continues heated.”
That summarized the first day of battle. These last reports were far
less comforting than the former because if the Austrians succeeded in
driving on a little farther they would attack the key positions and
then the Italians would have to decide on a retreat, and this setback
would mean enormous sacrifices. But I could not admit it, I could not
even think of it. Something must intervene in our favor. The fresh
reserves which had not taken part in the battle as yet would turn the
tide in our favor. But ere this happened how many days of terrible
anguish must I still pass, for how many more nights must I stand on
guard questioning the flashes I saw on the other side, questioning the
flames of discharge from our batteries to see if they are still in the
same place, if they were silent, or had been forced to retreat! I
looked towards the Montello and it seemed to me that the fire of our
cannon still came from the same place, but that was not a convincing
proof, because those batteries might have fallen into the hands of the
enemy who then could have brought them into action against our men.
But, observing and analyzing everything well, I did not think the enemy
had reached any important objective. As the battle developed I saw the
accuracy of the information reported to me by Brunora, and since he
reported that the objectives of the first day were to be the line,
Montebelluna, Treviso, San Michele del Quarto to the sea, and these had
not been reached at any point, I had reason to be cheerful. I should
have liked to know, however, how great a force the Austrians had used
in this fighting, whether their losses had been great, whether the
tenacity of our troops had really surpassed their expectations; I
should have liked to know the condition of the Piave which must have
swollen from the recent rains.
During the night we could not get a moment’s rest. The bombardment was
so deafening that even if one wished to sleep it would have been
impossible. Moreover every report made me start and I anxiously awaited
the hour of dawn when I hoped to receive the coveted reports. I should
have liked to fall asleep for several days and awaken when our forces
had repulsed the enemy. However, I had to lay aside my personal worries
and try to gather as much information as possible, for it would be all
the more valuable to our command at such critical moments as these!
Brunora wrote in his morning bulletin that all night there had been a
great movement of troops towards the lower Piave, for the Austrian
command, realizing that the attacks on the mountain had failed, had
decided to give greater impetus to the attack from the Montello to the
sea and especially towards the coast-line. I was anxious to see the
Austrian despatch, which would certainly be printed in the _Gazetta del
Veneto_, and I eagerly opened the newspaper which the refugee brought
me. The despatch mentioned 30,000 prisoners, marvelous assaults,
positions conquered, but it named no definite regions, and finally
spoke of the tenacious resistance of the Italians and the opposition
which had to be overcome by heroic shock troops to open up a way
through the territory which was favorable to a defensive position and
on which the Italians concentrated all their knowledge and their most
valiant troops. On the whole, the article, although emphatic and
verbose, did not seem exactly the kind one would write to celebrate a
great victory and between the lines I seemed to read a hidden
preoccupation.
The signals indicating “Troops are being moved towards the plain” was
placed on the ground and at two o’clock our aeroplanes came to take
photographs.
The despatch of the evening of June 16th follows:
“Situation on the Montello unchanged. The greatest effort of the
enemy has been on the lower Piave. Ten enemy divisions have engaged
in a terrific struggle and have occupied Fagaré and Bocca di
Collalta from which they had been driven. The resistance of the
Italians continues to be strong. Archduke Joseph this morning was
supposed to be present at a great meeting rendering thanks to God
for the victory of the Piave, but instead the meeting has been
postponed.”
This day too passed without any important victory for the Austrians and
this gratified me because every day that passed gave our men more time
in which to gather the reserves and disclosed further the objectives of
the enemy. The bombardment on the side of the mountain was now silent,
but grew more intense between the bridge of the Priula and the sea.
Evidently they were preparing the most obstinate attacks for the coming
days in that region, but I was certain that if the Austrians had not
succeeded in their surprise attacks they would never succeed. And this
was the day they had planned to arrive in Venice ... but thank God,
Venice was still far distant!
With the evening bulletin Brunora also sent me my legitimization paper
and one for Bottecchia. From it I gathered that I was thirty-five, that
I was a peasant, that I could not speak German. To make it valid I had
to place the print of my thumb in a certain place, and the thoughtful
secretary had provided even for this by sending me some blotting paper
soaked in copying ink. I pressed my finger on the paper and made a
fingerprint under my signature. Of course, while signing my name I
tried to change my handwriting in imitation of the irregular writing of
the peasants and smilingly I admired the round puffy “P” with which I
began my name. I practiced copying my name so that I should be able to
write it always in the same way. This paper enabled me at last to
wander about, and I decided to go on the following morning, before it
was time to place the signals, as far as Sarmede where there was a
large enemy auto-park and great movements of troops and material.
XV
On the following morning (June 17th), I went to Sarmede as I had
planned. With my jacket on my shoulder and my slow weary step, imitated
from that of the mountaineers, I did not arouse any suspicion, and
passed unnoticed.
All the streets were congested with a great deal of material and the
small number of wagons at the disposal of the Austrians surprised me.
They made great use of heavy steam tractors for hauling ordnance, and
as I was hiding behind a group of trees, I saw a long procession of
cannon, all covered with leaves, pass, which from their bulk looked
like “305’s.” These troops and this material seemed directed towards
the lower Piave. The roads were also congested by auto-ambulances full
of wounded, and wagons transporting the slightly wounded. In several
places the movement was so great and so badly regulated that the long
lines of cars had to stand still for some time to open up a passage for
other columns going in the opposite direction. The Austrians also made
extensive use of little low wagons with broad wheels, drawn by
Hungarian ponies which were lean and seemed to have suffered a great
deal. The freight belonged to the 41st army corps which was the one
operating towards the Grave di Pappadopoli and which had not succeeded
in passing.
I mingled with the soldiers and they permitted me to pass without
suspecting anything. On my return I was compelled to view a scene so
terrible that I shall never forget it. I had reached an isolated house
in front of which stood a platoon of Austrians commanded by a Bosnian
officer. (These troops could be readily recognized by their caps with a
fez which resembles somewhat the cap of our Bersaglieri.) A shapely
young woman was speaking with some soldiers who were trying to overcome
her reluctance and were trying to lay their hands on her. The young
girl tried to resist them and answered them brusquely and with
indignation. Even the officer approached and took part with his men in
the discussion, which seemed to me to be heated.
“Come on, now, don’t be affected, we know what you women of the Veneto
are worth, you, who do not give yourselves for love but know only how
to sell yourselves. Well then, I promise you that from Venice, where we
shall surely be within a few days, I will send you all sorts of
presents and a beautiful dress for Sundays so that you can play the
coquette with whomever you like.”
The girl drew up with pride, vehemently pushed aside the officer who
stood in front of her and exclaimed, “The only way in which you will be
able to see Venice will be through your binoculars.” The shove made the
officer lose his equilibrium and as he fell to the ground the girl
began to laugh. The officer sprang up at once, drew his revolver and
without uttering a word fired several shots at her. The poor girl bent
forward murmuring, “Oh mother, mother,” and fell in a pool of blood.
The Bosnian officer and the other soldiers hastened away without even
turning to look at the poor creature. And I had to stand by,
motionless, during this scene!... a scene more swift and violent than
the human mind can imagine. She was breathing no more and an abundant
flow of blood came from her temples giving a reddish tint to her
beautiful, disheveled hair. As though turned to stone I stood still a
long time contemplating her. In a courtyard nearby a red rose bush was
in bloom and close to it a white rose gave forth its fragrance. I
plucked the white rose, two large red ones and with a few green leaves
I placed them near the corpse. Our soldiers were buried enveloped in
the tricolor and this young martyr should receive from the hands of an
Italian officer the comfort and honor of the tricolor. She was not the
first nor the last victim of the Bosnians.
Still trembling with horror at the scene I had just witnessed I hurried
away towards the hill hoping to find there some important news; instead
I found nothing except another pigeon which a priest had given
Bottecchia. I wrote over again all I had sent in the former message,
adding a little about the possibility of action in the near future on
the lower Piave, and despatched the bird, which at once flew toward our
lines, disappearing soon in the region where the battle raged.
The cannonading began again and it seemed more intense to me than ever
before. Perhaps that depended on the acoustics, because to-day the
clouds were lower and the ground damp, and because the distance which
separated me from the Piave was less than that which separated me from
the Grappa.
Rino brought me the evening bulletin and the news was anything but good
and troubled me very much. The bulletin read:
“Between the Piave and San Mauro the Austrians have launched a
heavy attack and after a bloody struggle have succeeded in crossing
the Narvesa Montebelluna railroad reaching to Casa da Ruos. In the
region of the lower Piave, after a violent attack, the enemy has
succeeded, in the region of Zenson, in uniting its two bridge
defenses and in reaching Meolo and pushing forth some platoons
towards Monastir. The resistance of the Italians was weaker to-day.”
On the Narvesa Montebelluna railroad and around Meolo passed our line
of resistance, and therefore the report that the Austrians had
succeeded in forcing several points there was disturbing. If they
should succeed in widening their possessions there would be no
alternative but to withdraw; retreat would be inevitable.
I was still impressed by the barbarous event which I had been compelled
to witness without being able to assist the poor victim, and perhaps
fatigue helped to make things appear blacker, for I had had no sleep
for three days and three nights. I had to rest, and find again the
freshness, the optimism which now began to fail me.
On the 18th, nothing interesting happened. The bombardment lessened
slightly towards noon and began again with great violence later. I
asked myself how, after so heated a fight, both sides did not feel the
need of a brief respite; I wondered why the Austrians did not ease up a
little so as to gain new strength for a last desperate attack.
The rain fell abundantly during these days and I thought with horror of
the conditions on the battlefield, where the wounded must lie for hours
immersed in the mud under the torrential fall of water which seemed to
have no intention of abating. The evening bulletin reported the
situation as stationary and said that the successive Austrian attacks
in the conquered regions of the Montello and Meolo had failed in front
of the indomitable resistance of our men. Again I breathed freely
because the former reports had truly been little comforting. Who knows
but that these might be the last efforts of the enemy, and once the
crisis had been overcome, as in a terrible sickness, our organism might
rapidly recover all its energies and its formidable character. Four
days had already passed and I did not believe the Austrians would be
capable of a further great drive. The night was even more agitated than
usual, but it seemed to me as if in answer to the constant fire of the
Austrian artillery there had been no little action by our cannon as
though in preparation for a counter-attack. Could it be that the point
of equilibrium had been reached and the scales were now turning in our
favor?
The hours and minutes seemed never to pass and I lived only to await
the evening reports which would certainly be decisive. I thought I
heard Rino coming slowly towards me and to lessen further the short
time I still had to wait I ran out to meet him. Rino had a look of joy
and as soon as he saw me he said smilingly, “Good news, good news. It
seems they can’t go any farther, that they have been definitely
stopped, and the full Piave is behind their backs. May they all get
drowned in its currents!”
“Quick, give me the bulletin.” He handed me the precious sheet and I
read it with avidity. The Austrians had been driven back to the other
side of the Narvesa Montebelluna railroad and were being pressed by our
men who were gaining ground on all sides and were approaching the
village of Narvesa. The enemy command, in view of the torrential
condition of the Piave had decided to retire. Five divisions which were
in the vicinity of Belluno were being transferred towards Susegana to
cover the retreat and to defend the left bank of the river in case the
Italians decided on a counter-attack. All the Austrian attacks in the
region of the lower Piave near Capo D’argine and Candulu had failed....
I could scarcely believe my own eyes, I wanted to die, I wanted to cry
my joy to all, and throwing my arms about the neck of Bottecchia who
met us, I told him the comforting news. Then they really had not
passed; then the battle on which we had concentrated all our efforts,
all our sacrifices for several months, was about to end more
advantageously than I had ever dared to hope! In these four days of
battle the Austrians were bound to have lost the flower of their
troops. All their vain glory had been drowned forever in the whirlpools
of the Piave and it was now for us to finish them. I thought of the
poor dead we left in the distant trenches of the Carso, of all those
whose sacrifice seemed useless to me during the terrible day of
Caporetto and I felt they had been vindicated, that the hour was not
far distant in which the great destinies of Italy would be fulfilled.
I had received information about the prisoners taken by the Austrians
during the last offensive; they were left for several days without food
and were assigned to the transportation of ammunition on the front line
so that many of them had been severely wounded by the fire of our
artillery. This treatment was, of course, in open contradiction of
every international convention, and our kindness and generosity in the
treatment of their prisoners embittered me.
The little old woman who had the task of finding eggs for us had been
to the hospital at Vittorio and had spoken with several of our wounded
who were still thrilled by the joy of combat and eagerly awaited news
of the progress of the battle, of the outcome of which they were no
longer in doubt. Among the wounded was a Captain of the Bersaglieri
whose name the old woman had brought me in the hope that I might be of
some help to him.
Our soldiers, who did not realize the conditions existing in the
invaded regions, wondered why the population gave them nothing to eat
and asked where the bakeries were from which they could buy bread. They
were greatly surprised when they heard there were not only no more
bakeries, but ever since our retreat, there had been no sale or trade
whatever in eatables.
The Austrians, in an attempt to give a different impression to the
population of the outcome of their attack and to feign that the number
of prisoners taken was much greater than it was in reality added to the
men taken in this offensive some of those taken at the time of
Caporetto, and marched through the villages long lines of these poor
young men who could barely hold themselves erect because they were so
weak and hungry. But the intelligent population would not let itself be
fooled, for how could they account for the great difference between the
flourishing condition of some and the exhausted condition of others.
On this day the secretary at Vittorio sent me some sensational
photographs of men who had been lynched. I recognized the square of
Conegliano and was horrified when I read that the victims were
Czecho-Slovaks who fought in our army and, being taken prisoners by the
Austrians, were condemned to so terrible a fate. To complete the
carnage their bodies were for four consecutive days exposed to the
mockery of the troops marching toward the front. They were true martyrs
and I bowed to their memory, mindful of the many occasions in which
they had given proof of their loyalty and faith to the cause of the
Allies.
June 24. As I had foreseen, on the last day the scales turned
completely in favor of the Italians. On the Piave from the Montello to
the sea the pressure of the Italian infantry continued strong,
decisive, irresistible, while the artillery fired with extreme accuracy
on the Austrian troops in retreat and scored direct hits on their
defences, bridges, passageways, and back lines. The Piave, swollen from
the recent rainfall, had torn away the bridges and by adding new
difficulties increased the disaster of the enemy, who, pressed on all
sides, had begun to retreat towards the river and had at last crossed
back to the left bank of the Piave. On this night the situation was
exactly the same as at the beginning of the offensive.
XVI
July 7. I thought it was much more difficult to become accustomed to
joys than to sorrows. All the happenings of those recent days seemed so
great, so incommensurable, so complete, that even though I had always
had faith in the future of our arms, yet my expectations had been truly
surpassed. After the complete failure of the Austrian offensive, after
the situation had assumed the same status as before the offensive, I
did not dare hope for more. But now reports reached me of our
counter-offensive.
The conduct of the enemy after his complete failure was really
impressive. I saw despairing soldiers with the same lost, wondering
look in their eyes as I saw in the eyes of our soldiers during the
period of Caporetto. I heard it said that several Austrian officers had
wept with rage, for they asserted that this was the first great
offensive which Austria had really lost.
The reports sent to me by Brunora were truly comforting. The Austrians
had lost more then 250,000 men, including dead, wounded and missing,
and as though this were not enough, on this day I was able to read a
report sent down to the population from the aeroplanes:
“All the region between the old Piave and the new Piave has been
reconquered and, furthermore, since the fifteenth of June we have
taken 24,000 prisoners, 63 cannon with a great deal of material and
have also recaptured our guns which were in the advanced zone and
which had to be abandoned during the early phases of the struggle.
The side thrust, the terrible salient which menaced Venice exists
no more. Venice is safe forever!”
My joy reached its culmination at the news of this counter-offensive;
certainly it was attempted also because of the information given in all
my pigeon messages. I had given them detailed information concerning
the losses suffered by eighteen enemy divisions which could no longer
be considered efficient; I told them of the exhaustion of forces on the
lower Piave thus inviting our forces to attempt a counter-offensive if
the condition of our army and that of the Allies permitted it.
Everything had happened as I had foreseen, it had all ended in a
victory which, if not decisive, had enabled us to take a great step
forward towards the final solution, towards the end of the war. I had
not even noticed that our aeroplanes had not come to fetch me as they
had promised.
The long journey I had to take to arrive at the field of Praterie
Forcate on the evening of the twenty-sixth did not seem long to me for
I carried the joy of victory in my heart. I was not at all disappointed
that I did not see the “Voisin” land, in fact, I felt pleased, for I
believed my presence might still be useful on the enemy side of the
lines.
It was really diverting to read the comments in the Austrian newspapers
on the failure of the Piave offensive. The _Gazetta del Veneto_ said
that events had followed exactly their outlined plans, that the aim of
the offensive was not absolutely to break through the line, but to
compel all the Italian troops to congregate on their front so that no
reinforcements might be sent to the French that the Germans might
thereby be enabled to obtain decisive results. These decisive results,
however, had still to come to pass. The _Alkotmany_ of Budapest found
solace in the fact that the Austrian command had been more considerate
of the safety of the troops than of gaining tactical points. The _Az
Uisag_ said that while the Italians had used their reserves, the
Austrians still held theirs intact. The _Pesti Naplo_ wrote, “Our
infantry did its best to try to achieve brilliant successes during the
first days, but if the Italian artillery bombarded all our bridges and
so made it impossible to send reinforcements of munition and food and
heavy artillery, it certainly is not the fault of the Magyar troops.”
Truly elegiac is the tone with which the _Budapesti Hirlap_ described
the battle of the Montello: “Among the precipices of the Montello the
horrors of the battle of Doberdó were renewed; there were Italian
mortars of 40 cm., fire hurlers, heavy grenades, and above reappeared
the reckless Italian aviators from whom it was impossible to find a
refuge in the cruel ground.” The Italian aviators did not “re-appear,”
they have always been active and the Austrian aviators, who at the time
of Caporetto tried to be audacious, know something of the result of
their activities.
But beside all these more or less ridiculous phrases which tried to
hide the failure of the offensive, there was in the Hungarian press a
strong resentment against the leaders who did not know how to lead the
troops to the coveted victory, and all the factions which for the time
being had been quieted in the hope of a decisive action, resumed their
wrangling in tones more threatening than formerly.
The great work of cleaning up was in full blast. All the troops,
especially those who had been put to the hardest test, were sent to
regions far from the front to receive auxiliary forces and to renew
their supplies of arms and equipment. Therefore, even the region we
were living in, which at first was so calm, was now often traversed by
soldiers who came to the woods to cut grass for their horses. Near
Fregona artillery regiments which expected to be sent to France were
stationed. According to the latest reports it seemed that five Austrian
divisions would be sent to the French front. I reported this also to
our command and as I did not know whether they had received my pigeon
messages I wanted to try to find out. In my last message I had asked
that our next plane coming to photograph the signals, fire as many
shots as the number of pigeons received. Great was my satisfaction when
the plane which came to photograph my signals (calm on all the front),
fired five shots, indicating that they had received five pigeons. This
was excellent news and I wished I might decorate the brave little
creatures which had fulfilled their duty so well.
Important changes had occurred in our daily life. For several days now
we had ceased to live in the little stable which sheltered us for more
than a month and pitched our tent on the other side of the hill near
the house of a poor woman who had assumed the task of feeding us. This
change was instigated by the arrival of many soldiers in our region.
The house of the Toneli which was near the road was not well-suited for
sheltering us. Furthermore, after having been for so long in one place
it was better to make a change so as not to make our presence too
noticeable. The poor woman whose name was Maria de Luca and whose
progeny was abundant, willingly prepared our frugal repast, and we
gained a point because in this way we now ate warm meals. At night we
slept in a little hut covered with straw which was well-concealed in a
field of wheat surrounded by several rows of grape-vines. However,
affairs in general were becoming more complicated and even Brunora
reported that in these days the surveillance had greatly increased,
because in the first place many of the gendarmes who were at the front
with the troops had returned; secondly, because there were many
deserters about, and finally because it seemed as if the Austrians were
beginning to suspect something and to attribute the failure of their
offensive to the presence of a spy in their territory. They had found
several pigeons and had posted a notice at Vittorio announcing that
whoever found a pigeon must bring it at once to the command and anyone
found despatching a bird would be shot. Searches in the vicarages had
been begun under the pretext of looking for precious metals. The
gendarmes hoped to find through them some clue to the ramifications of
the spy-work they suspected was being carried on in their midst. The
pastor of Castel Roganziol whom I did not know at all had been
arrested, and it was said he had been transported to the interior of
Austria. Nevertheless I continued to wander about and now that I knew
well the habits of the invading army I increased the number of my
peregrinations and wandered far with Rino, because my soldier,
especially on account of his youthful appearance, preferred to remain
hidden.
In one of these trips I went as far as Cimetta, where my father owns
vast tracts of land, and for a day I was the guest of the peasants
there who greeted me cordially and with great hospitality. The meeting
with old Tomasella, who was almost eighty years old, and who still
remembered my great grandfather was really touching. Not to arouse
suspicion and that the women might not learn of my presence, I stopped
in a wheat-field near the house of our planters. The sun was high in
the heavens and its burning rays gave life to the country and tinged
with red the wheat in the fast ripening fields.
The old man had come to meet me at a spot whither one of his sons had
escorted me. He leaned heavily on a stick and I found him completely
changed; the strong man I knew formerly had been reduced to a truly
pitiful condition by a few months of privation. When he saw me he took
off his hat and embraced me. Out of respect for his venerable old-age I
also removed my hat and kissed him with great feeling while several
tears slowly streaked the bronzed cheeks of two other men who witnessed
the scene.
“Make haste and return here, else I cannot hope to see you ever again.
I shall die peacefully on the day that I know I shall die Italian.”
I started on my return journey and along the road I passed several
Austrian aviation camps, among them the one in San Fior where the
chasing machines were concentrated. Several “D-5’s” were practicing
firing; they would make a few rapid evolutions and then volplane,
directing their volley against a target. Perhaps the Austrians,
anticipating an Italian counter-offensive and having realized the
utility of their aviation branch in warfare through the heavy losses
they had suffered at the hands of our airmen, were trying to prepare
this weapon for use in future contingencies. The Austrians however, did
not realize that the fault lay not in their machines but in their men.
I spoke several times, to the great terror of Bottecchia, who feared I
was too hazardous, with Austrian soldiers I met in the woods. I adopted
the theory that the best way in which not to arouse suspicion, and to
avoid being seized, was to play one’s cards with audacity. For
instance, at times when I must cross a district in which I feared to
meet gendarmes, I waited for a military wagon with some kind-hearted
driver, preferably an old soldier, and I asked him if I might ride with
him. Usually he offered no objection and so I was certain to be safe
because the gendarmes would not dream of arresting a man who was with
one of their soldiers. To gain the good graces of the soldiers and to
commence a conversation I asked them for a bit of tobacco and exchanged
some flour for it. They were usually well pleased with this barter and
so they adopted a rather friendly, confidential, tone and told me their
feelings and opinions. I spoke to them in German which, I told them, I
learnt during the many years I worked in Prussia as a mason, as might
be true of many of our mountaineers. They spoke sincerely with me, but
when their army was mentioned, even though they were not very
enthusiastic about the war, they hid their true feelings and
opinions, prompted by shame and a sense of discipline. The different
nationalities which compose the Austro-Hungarian army mutually hated
one another. An intelligent soldier explained to me that what we
considered the weakness of the Austro-Hungarian army was really its
strength, because the government, by taking advantage of the schisms
and divergences, applied with excellent results the old system of
“Divide at Impera.” For example, when a Bohemian regiment revolted, and
in these times mutinies were frequent, it was easy to find a Hungarian
regiment eager to fire on the rebels. With the exception of the few
Italians, all the other peoples of the vast empire were united by their
great sentiment of devotion towards the House of Hapsburg. For example,
once on meeting a group of Slovene soldiers who seemed unusually
hilarious and joyous, I stopped them on some pretext and asked them the
reason for their unbounded glee, and one of them answered they had just
seen the Emperor, their Charles; that he had stopped and spoken
familiarly with them, and that they had been able to express all their
reverence for him by repeating the word, “servus-servus.”
The soldiers of the Austro-Hungarian army were very badly informed on
military matters and when they asserted one thing, the very opposite
was sure to occur. For instance, they now assured me that the places of
Austrian divisions, which were leaving for the French front, would be
taken by German troops, whereas, I was certain from reports received
from Brunora that the condition of the Germans would not permit them to
send a single man to our front.
I was now beginning to believe that my presence in enemy territory was
commencing to be useless. I was convinced that the conditions of the
Austrian army were such as would not permit of another offensive for a
long time; in fact, I was certain that they would never again be able
to attempt a heavy offensive and that hereinafter their program would
have to be limited to defensive warfare for the protection of the
boundaries of the empire.
I learned of great fortification works which were being constructed on
the Tagliamento and from several prisoners who worked recently on the
Carso I heard that the majority of the artillery which took part in the
last move had been sent back to be stationed beyond the Isonzo in view
of a possible future offensive by our forces.
Lately, in Brunora’s messages I had read a certain fear, not so much
for the military situation, as for our personal safety. He told me that
from certain circumstances which he could not yet explain and which
perhaps were not yet ripe he inferred it was very dangerous for us to
delay much longer in enemy territory. He therefore advised me to hasten
my preparations for arriving on the other side even without the help of
aeroplanes. Brunora told me that he knew the surveillance on the Piave
near Vidor had been so reduced that several prisoners succeeded in
crossing to the other side. The river there is so broad and shallow
that it is easily waded. Furthermore, our supply of food which, during
the first days of our stay was abundant, had gradually decreased and
all those who at first helped us in the belief that our stop would be
very brief, now found they could not continue to give us aid. Our
supply of money had also decreased and I had had to send to my agent at
Vittorio for funds. However, all he sent me was a few crowns and a
great many Venetian bank notes, issued by the Austrians but considered
worthless by the population. For all these reasons it was no longer
possible for us to remain in this region and it seemed well for us to
try to escape in the direction indicated by Brunora. I had found out
that in the region about Vidor, in many wheat-fields which had been
sown before the retreat, the grain was now ripe. I had further learnt
that the Austrian authorities, cognizant of the terrible condition of
the people in the invaded territories because of the depleted food
stocks, had at times stretched a point and permitted the refugees from
those districts to return and reap the wheat. Therefore, I did not see
why we might not venture so far. Not to arouse suspicion, it seemed
well to have some refugee from those districts to act as our guide. In
the very house in which they now prepared our meals there were refugees
who used to live in the region about Vidor before the retreat, and
several of the women were eager to attempt a return in the hope that
they might bring back with them something to eat for the nestful of
hungry children they had to feed.
XVII
July 18. The sun was very high. It was noon, the hour in which the
gendarmes were accustomed to begin their period of rest. We started on
our journey. Before arriving at Vittorio we met numerous squads of
Russian and Italian prisoners working on the roads, breaking stones
with hammers. The roads were so badly kept that whenever a vehicle
passed huge clouds of white dust arose. Those miserable remnants of men
whose faces and bodies were evidence of the unheard of sufferings they
had endured, staggered and swayed, for they were drunk from the heat of
the sun and fatigue. An enemy soldier, armed with rifle and drawn
bayonet, superintended the work and another oppressor held a whip in
his hand. As soon as one of them fell, overcome by heat and weariness,
the watchman cracked his whip in the air, and unless the prisoner
resumed his work at once the watchman struck him heavily on the poor,
lacerated shoulders and the torn flesh. I should have liked to delay a
moment with one of them; I should have liked to pour out to them all my
compassion, all my sympathy, but I restrained myself to avoid arousing
suspicion and the need for explaining to them who I was, for, from my
way of talking, they might suspect that I was an Italian officer.
It was very warm and the pack on my shoulders weighed heavily upon me.
The bundle was full of wood which I took with me as a precaution, since
I intended to go into my house which had been turned into an Austrian
headquarters. If someone were to ask me the reason why I entered I
could say that I was a peasant who had come to bring some wood to the
civilians who were still living in the house. Along the entire road
there was a great deal of commotion and everywhere the hungry, weary
prisoners trailed heavily about. An immense sultriness weighed us down,
and the mountains, burned and tanned by the sun, flung back their heat
upon the white roads. We arrived at Costa where the Austrians had
constructed a large station for despatching the aerial cable cars with
material and food for the army at the front. On that day I scarcely
recognized the scenery which I have known for so many years, because it
was so changed. Where there used to be broad, tranquil cultivated
fields there was now the noise and excitement of a great railroad
station despatching along many tracks the traffic of its trains. Only
one thing had survived, the little church surrounded by cypress trees
which adjoined the cemetery.
My comrades continued on their weary way, but I entered the cemetery
for a moment to bring a greeting to the tomb of my mother. Nothing had
changed, the little graves were still there, so were the round wreaths
which trembled in the wind, and at the background near the encircling
wall was our family tomb. The sepulchral stone was still intact and on
it were yet engraved the words, “Famiglia De Carlo Granelli.” The great
rose bush which climbed up the cross looked weary; its fallen petals
rested on the tomb. I knelt with one knee on the ground. All my life
reappeared before me with the sweetness of infancy, and from my dry
lips there came the cry of suffering humanity, the cry I have heard so
often from the mouths of the wounded and dying, “Mother, Mother!” I
prayed for a moment, then I plucked one of the red roses which still
bloomed for the dead and their survivors and returned to the dusty road.
As I reached the first houses of Vittorio everything seemed devastated,
everything seemed changed. It was as if I were meeting a person I had
known as young and beautiful and whom I now saw again after his
surviving some terrible skin disease. Every place was cluttered with
filth left by the soldiers and reeked with the nauseating stench of
their refuse. I recognized the smell; it was the smell which would
greet us on entering the trenches seized from the enemy, it was the
smell of the enemy, of the Austrians. I slowly sauntered along the road
flanked by mansions on which bulletins in German were posted, “Weg nach
Fadalto.” I had reached the great gate in front of my house, the façade
had not been touched, the large coat-of-arms in hammered brass was
still in its place. This was strange because they had gone about
requisitioning all metals for making projectiles. On the threshold I
met several Austrian officers who were leaving the house and they did
not even look at me. I went up the service stairs and reached one of
the ante-rooms. The doors were open, an inch of dust lay on the old
furniture, and on the huge, round chest of drawers under which we used
to hide when we were children. The huge carved portals of the ballroom
were open and I entered. The great mural paintings which celebrate the
glories and clemency of Alexander—because one of my ancestors was
called Alexander—were still hanging on the walls. The chandeliers of
Venetian glass still depended from the high ceiling and the beams in
the Sansovinian style still displayed the whiteness of their plaster
and their gilt coatings. The room seemed larger than usual and more
severe in its nakedness. The furniture had been removed so that I could
better appreciate the calm, harmonious lines of the Corinthian columns
supporting the beams. The gilt painted figures high up near the gallery
were still in their places and seemed to gaze out at me from their
carved frames. In that gallery, in the eighteenth century the musicians
were wont to sit, and powdered ladies bent in courtesies to the gay
sound of violins. Now the room was filled with little beds; it looked
like a ward in a hospital. The transient Austrian officers slept here
and several Generals had occupied the inner rooms in which the
tapestries hung. Therefore, I was not able to venture in for I was a
stranger in my own home. Several Russian prisoners were polishing the
brass knobs on the doors and dusting the heavy woodwork. No one looked
at me, no one bothered about me.
I entered the ante-chamber which leads into what used to be our dining
room, I entered and found before me all the portraits of my ancestors
who looked down upon me from their frames. “Jacopos Minuzius,
1593-1652.” It was strange the way they all seemed to be directing
their glance towards me from the canvasses blackened by time. The walls
were still covered by the antique brocade and above the chimney, little
flying cupids supported a crown of laurel over the portrait of an
august cavalier with powdered wig, who wore a light breastplate
ornamented with beautiful carvings. Beneath was the map of a turreted
city about which an attacking army aims its cannon, and the name
“Andreas Minuzius,” a date, “Anno 1662,” and the inscription, “Buda
ruens Bavaros claret augetque triumphos.” Farther on stands Marco
Antonio Minuzius, Bishop of Zara, his hand white against the red of his
cardinal robe.
“Good sirs, my ancestors, do you recognize your grandchild? The
grandchild who is fighting a far different war from the one you fought,
but not less worthy nor less adventurous. The enemies are always the
same, Turks and Bavarians. Good sirs, my ancestors, are you proud of
these poor rags which I have made my armor? Are you satisfied with your
distant offspring?”
On the dark canvas a slanting ray of sunlight gleamed and I did not
await their answer.
After having hurriedly greeted De Luca and Marietta, our old domestic,
I rapidly resumed my weary way to overtake my companions on the road
towards Serravalle. At the market-place I met two Austrian gendarmes
who, with drawn bayonets, were accompanying three of our prisoners and
with the butts of their guns were inciting them to hasten their steps.
Ugly encounter!... Naturally, not to arouse suspicion, I retarded my
pace and stopped for a moment feigning to contemplate the prisoners.
Outside of Vittorio I overtook Bottecchia and the women, and we resumed
our journey through the hills which lead to Tarzo where we found a road
which led to Vidor.
The way was long and arduous and we followed the back of the hills
which divide the plain from Valle di Folina. The little lakes of Revine
and Santa Maria di Lago reflected in their deep waters the heavy azure
of the sky, and the shadows of the mountains met in the changing
reflections of the water. The road ascended continually until it became
almost a path. We descended the little decline on which is nestled the
village of Tarzo and, strengthened by some good warm soup, we stole a
few hours of sleep. At one o’clock after midnight, when all was still,
everyone was asleep and even the gendarmes were not accustomed to be
about on the roads, we traveled on. An old man who had often been on
the front lines and who knew the ground inch by inch had added himself
to our group. Bottecchia was not happy in these days; he questioned
everything which might prove a sign of the future and he was greatly
depressed because when starting, a woman was the first person he met, a
sign, which, according to his theory, denoted bad luck. At times we
followed the road, and at times followed short-cuts which enabled us to
gain time. After many hours, during which we traversed a long stretch
of road, we passed through the villages of Refrentolo, Soliga and
Solighetto only to find that soldiers were quartered in most of the
houses.
We now had to cross a bridge where a sentinel was on guard, but after
we had shown him our papers he permitted us to pass without further
trouble. We reached Fara, the last village in which there were still
civilians and we sat on the ground for a moment to eat a bite. The
women spoke aloud since there did not seem to be a living soul about
us. Suddenly, when we least expected it, there appeared before us a
little, shriveled soldier who spoke German very badly and appeared to
be a Slovene. He asked us for our legitimization papers; we showed them
to him and kept on eating so as not to arouse suspicion. He frowned,
wanted to know why we had come here, and told us that it was prohibited
to go and glean wheat near the front lines because several women had
been wounded recently by projectiles fired from the Italian side and
because the sight of people attracts the fire of the Italian artillery
onto the trenches. A magical method which usually succeeded in calming
the Austrians was to offer them something to eat and we hoped that even
our questioner could be calmed, like Cerberus, by throwing a cake into
his mouth. I therefore offered to share our meal with him, but would
that I had never done it! He was resentful, angry, said he was not to
be bought, and that we must be spies. He drew his bayonet and ordered
us to follow him to the nearest guard post. He made us march in line in
front of him while he followed with his gun ready to fire at anyone of
us who offered any opposition. We had no alternative but to follow and
to try to win by using our wits. The stick I carried worried me for it
was a hollow cane with corks at the ends, and in it I had concealed all
the documents sent to me by Brunora for transporting them to the other
side. But, before they arrested us, I should always have time to throw
it away without being noticed.
We reached the guard post which was a little hut of straw. Two soldiers
were asleep and only a corporal was on guard. A heated discussion now
ensued between our captor and the corporal but I did not understand
them for they spoke in Slav. From their gestures I understood that the
corporal, after having examined our papers, found them valid, whereas,
the other insisted that we be sent to the Command of Gendarmes at Miane
where they could better judge of the validity of our papers. The women
began to whimper, entreating the corporal to set us free, for at home
our children awaited us. The corporal, a tall young man with a pleasant
look, let himself be persuaded and ordered us to return home at once.
We pretended to start on our journey home but instead, after we had
gone a short distance, we changed direction, crossed the main road and
walked for a long distance close to the embankment of the road that the
soldiers on the other side might not see us. After we had traversed a
goodly distance and had watched several wagons of artillery pass
towards the front, we tried to reach the left side of the road to
rediscover the short-cut we had been compelled to leave. At that point
there was a little bridge and near the bridge were many tree-trunks. As
we were about to pass behind the tree-trunks a soldier with drawn
bayonet appeared crying, “züruck, züruck.” We did not make him repeat
his command and hurriedly returned to the country on the other side.
The man on guard was confident that he had obstructed our passage and
did not suspect that as soon as he was out of sight we should resume
our journey in the direction towards the front. To avoid being seen we
stepped into a little ditch where the water was low and which had two
very high hedges of acacia on either side. The water reached to our
knees, but this was an excellent way of not being discovered and after
we had passed the most dangerous zone we should be able to travel more
freely.
Having journeyed for several hundred yards in the ditch we again
followed the path through the country and fortunately we found no more
sentinels to bar our way. We were now crossing the district where the
artillery which took part in the recent combat had probably been
stationed. Now there remained only little squares cluttered with torn
telephone wires and tablets which must have indicated the division
occupying that region. We crossed a demolished village with shattered
houses and torn rooms, where bits of familiar objects which showed
through the ruins reminded us of the tranquil life of days gone by. All
the fountains were destroyed and in vain we sought everywhere for a
draught of water to moisten our dry throats.
The country was now rougher and more wild for we were not far from the
stream of the Piave. We began to come to extensive wheat fields from
which almost all the sheaves had been cut and where women eagerly
gathered the few left and threw them into their sacks that they might
bring home the means of making a little bread. Near the long rows of
grape-vines there were many store-houses for guns and artillery and I
looked carefully about to see if there was a guard anywhere, but I saw
no sign of an Austrian. The last one we saw before arriving at this
spot was a Hungarian with a long mustache, who was resting peacefully
on the grass beside a stud of horses at their meal. The vines of
American grapes were heavy with fruit, and they were the only
fruit-bearing vines I had seen in a long time because the others, which
all needed sulphur, had shriveled and dried up. We reached the Chapel
of the Madonna del Carmine which is a few hundred yards from the rim of
the Piave. We should now have to be very cautious for there would be
guards on the front lines. I could not understand how we had been able
to come so far without finding any wire entanglements or a trench. We
traveled on, keeping close to the grape-vines. When hidden in the wheat
we imitated the women, who had begun sheaving. I tried to reach a point
whence I could see the course of the Piave to get an idea of the
defenses constructed by the Austrians and the difficulties we should
have to overcome in crossing. Near the margin the enemy had dug huge
holes lined with boards and prepared for machine-guns, but no soldiers
were on guard. By crawling on the ground I reached another hole and I
saw two Austrians who, instead of standing on guard were sleeping
heavily. The trees were thicker near the brink, and with infinite
precaution I arrived as far as a spot from which I could see the course
of the river. The bed was very broad; the Piave separated into an
infinite number of little streams and about half a mile away the real,
strong current flowed. Along the entire bank beneath us ran a little
wood and on the exterior edge of the wood there were entanglements.
Then the gravel began and there were two lines of entanglements which
did not seem to me to be firmly anchored to the ground. Our artillery
was firing and its shells exploded on the other side of the major
current where perhaps the enemy had some small posts.
I gained a sufficiently accurate notion of the topography of the place
and when night fell we were to try to pass. All day we lay crouching on
the ground covered by the wheat and chewed the little grass we could
find, that we might feel less the terrible thirst which burned us. The
sun had never felt so hot to me, and its ball of fire seemed never to
wish to set. Toward evening several Italian aeroplanes flew low and
performed tricks over our heads, upon which the outpost began to fire.
Blessed are the flying men who have no entanglements to separate them
from our lines, whereas we, as soon as the sun had set, would have to
commence our struggle against man and the elements.
XVIII
The women who came with us, after having filled their sacks, returned
and Rino, Bottecchia and myself were left alone to await a propitious
moment. Our artillery molested us a little towards evening but the
firing was light and intermittent and I wished that that was the
greatest difficulty we had to overcome in reaching the other side. The
moon rose as soon as dusk fell and we slept for several hours in a
shell hole. We were awakened by the sound of picks in the trenches
where the Austrians were working.
The moon was now low on the horizon and would soon disappear behind the
hills; we should then be able to try our luck. What worried us most was
the thought that beyond the main current of the Piave there might be
small enemy posts and it really would not be very pleasant to encounter
an enemy post as soon as we left the stream. We took off all our
clothing and left our clothes in a hole in the wheat-field. We kept on
only our stockings to protect our feet somewhat from the rough stones
and gravel on the river bed. Advancing cautiously we reached the brink
of the river and slowly we pushed aside the leaves which closed noisily
behind us after we had passed. The loose earth on the slope made a
crunching sound beneath our weight although we wished to avoid making
any suspicious sound. A dry twig crackled and we crouched and listened.
We heard several voices coming from the path under the trees. We
squatted on the ground, holding our breath, and we saw two soldiers
pass.... Silence.... The noise of their iron shoes was lost in the
distance. We continued our descent, we reached the first Cavallo di
Frina and jumped over it, not without hurting ourselves on the sharp
stones which pierced our flesh so that we bled. We had to cross the
most dangerous point, the one most exposed, because the vegetation was
less dense. We threw ourselves on all fours and crawled along on the
gravel until we reached the first entanglement. Instead of trying to
pass over it, we looked for the attachments which anchored it to the
ground and unfastening them we passed under. We did the same with the
next. We heard no suspicious sound, there was absolute calm. An Italian
searchlight which swerved at intervals annoyed us somewhat for fear its
light might by chance fall on us. We silently crossed the short stretch
which separated us from the first branch of the stream. When we reached
the water we bathed our temples and drank a cool draught which gave us
great relief. A deep joy possessed us for we believed we were free. We
believed we could easily reach the other side. We crossed many small
courses where the water was very low and not rapid. At last we found
ourselves in front of the main current and at once, from the noise of
the current we realized this crossing would be far different from the
others. We tried to enter the stream, but as soon as we had taken a few
steps forward the impetuous water threatened to engulf us. We clasped
ourselves tightly one to the other and tried to resist that we might
advance, but the rushing current reached up to our necks and we should
have had to struggle hard and long before reaching the other side. None
of us was an expert swimmer, no one knew how to conquer the current,
and after numerous attempts we returned to the bank, disappointed and
disgusted that we could not cross. And now what should we do? I
preferred to face a platoon of armed Austrians rather than struggle
with this whirling water which I did not know, for unknown dangers have
ever frightened me. We dared not delay any longer and the only course
left open to us was to return before dawn surprised us.
After numerous difficulties we succeeded in reaching the place where we
had left our clothing; we dressed hurriedly and commenced our journey
back. We felt very weary and hungry and all these sensations were
rendered more acute by the disillusion and grief within us at not
having got through. The distance to be traversed before we reached home
again was great and after resting a short while in a house at Miane we
walked by day on the main highway without worrying much about the
gendarmes. We wished to reach Tarzo before night, to reach the
hospitable house where we should find a bit of food. Hunger gave wings
to our feet. On the way we passed several platoons of gendarmes and in
accordance with their usual system they all let us pass and then called
us back at once to show our papers. These papers must have been truly
marvelous because no one questioned them and we proceeded without
difficulties. My poor feet were in a pitiful condition and the rough,
heavy underwear rubbing against the bruises made by the wires and
entanglements hurt terribly.
Toward evening we reach Tarzo and after sleeping quietly for a few
hours we sat on a little wall in the courtyard of the dwelling which
housed us. While we are talking peacefully a marshal of the gendarmes
followed by an interpreter entered. The marshal came straight towards
us as though warned of our presence and asked us for our papers. He was
a tall, heavy man with drooping mustache. His lean, yellowish face with
high cheek bones bore the expression of one who is accustomed to
command; his was the fierce face of the Magyars. In his hand he held a
heavy stick which he struck impatiently on the ground. He turned
towards the interpreter and said in German, “What ugly faces; they have
a suspicious appearance, especially that young man,” he points to
Bottecchia, “he looks too young and strong not to be a soldier.”
The interpreter slowly repeated the questions of the marshal. “Show
your papers.” I took out my paper, granting me permission to stay in
invaded territory, very slowly not to betray by any excited gesture the
inward apprehension which tortured me. I did not fear for myself, I did
not tremble for my fate, but I feared for Bottecchia because I saw his
strength was failing him, because I saw him grow pale.
The marshal examined my paper carefully and said, “Thirty-five years
old and works at Vittorio ... we shall see....” He then turned toward
my soldier and began to question him in detail. His questions were
sharp and penetrating like steady drops of water which dig into a
stone. I, who am fortunate enough to know German and can prepare an
answer before the question is translated and repeated in Italian by the
interpreter, followed with indescribable trepidation the questions
which fell like thunder-bolts on the head of Bottecchia. He betrayed
himself in a thousand ways, he flushed and then at once became pale
again, his voice was unsteady, uncertain, to be suspected. I stared
steadily at him, I tried to support him with my look, to impress in his
eyes my firm determination to resist, my fixed desire not to cede; I
felt stronger than my opponent, I felt that finally with the help of
God I should conquer, with the strength of my nerves, the brutal
bestiality of the Germans. Giovannino on the other hand was preparing
his ruin.
“Well, my pretty young man, look into my eyes. Where were you born?”
“I was born at San Martino di Colle.”
The marshal was thoughtful, looked again at his papers and continued,
“How is it you were born at San Martino di Colle when your papers say
you were born at Vittorio?”
“That’s true,” answers Giovannino who for a moment seemed to have
regained his wits at which I again had hope for him. “I was born at San
Martino di Colle but I work at Vittorio and I had them draw up my
papers in the place where I am stopping at present.”
“Where have you been?”
“We have been to see some friends here at Tarzo.”
“And how is it you are not working to-day?”
“Because I have been sick and for several days I have not been to work.”
The marshal mumbled in German, “Nice face for a sick man, with such
high color. This young man must be one of those notorious ones.”
“What work do you do, if I am not indiscreet, and if you will permit me
to question you?” He resumed his nervous whacking of the stick on the
ground. “Come, now, answer. If you won’t answer when we treat you
kindly there are other treatments which will make you talk.”
“I am a carpenter.”
“And where are you employed at present?”
“I am working at the threshing-machine plant near Vittorio.”
“Show me your hands.”
Bottecchia showed his hands, but, alas, they were as clean and white as
those of a girl. The poor boy never would listen to me, he would never
understand that every detail must be in tune with the character he was
impersonating, and since we look like peasants our hands must be
stained and hardened like those of peasants. The first day I landed in
enemy territory I began to chop wood and to stain my fingers with mud
and fig skin.
“These are not the hands of a laborer. I understand. Come with us. Step
inside the house for I want to see what you have on you.”
They took him between them, led him to the nearby house, and
disappeared in the shadow of the doorway. From that moment I have never
more seen Bottecchia.
Nothing could be done, there was no way for me to help him. A damning
fact stood out against him. We had to try to save ourselves, to find a
refuge before they returned and with Rino, who sat apart on the little
wall and had looked on passively at the terrible scene, I began to run
rapidly. Giovannino’s arrest troubled me but I had not lost all hope.
My soldier could not have any incriminating documents on him and in the
end, when they realized the validity of his papers, for they are valid
because Brunora had reported them formerly in the register at the
Headquarters at Tappa di Vittorio, they would let him free and the
worst that could happen to him was a good beating such as the Austrians
always give out on similar occasions.
Without much haste we followed the road back home and reached our
familiar wood in the early hours of the morning. There I found several
pigeons brought by the priests. I eagerly asked whether any aeroplane
had sent forth the smoke signal for which we have been waiting and they
answered that no Italian plane had flown over that territory since the
day we had left. While I was eating a bite in the house of Maria de
Luca, who had done her best to comfort me and assure me that Giovannino
would soon return, a woman, disheveled and weeping, entered hurriedly.
I recognized her, for she was the wife of our host at Tarzo. She
gesticulated more than she spoke and at first was so excited that I
could not understand a single word. Finally from the brief phrases
which rose above her whimpers and sobs I understood the seriousness of
the situation.
“They have arrested even my husband, they have taken Giovannino to
headquarters. They searched him and have discovered that you are spies,
and now they are beating both him and my husband because they say they
are the accomplices and they want to find out who is the organizer, the
principal, the man with the beard who has escaped and whom they are now
seeking. On my way here I met a platoon of gendarmes going about to
arrest the man with the beard because on him falls the greatest
suspicion.”
I tried to comfort her. I could believe all she said to be exact. How
could they know we were spies unless these two had confessed? I knew
that the peasant women had a habit of exaggerating and therefore, it
was probable that the situation was far less serious than she reported
it to be. However, I deemed it well to shave off my beard and to keep
only my mustache. If they should arrest me, not knowing me, they could
not suspect I was the man with the beard. However, there was another
difficulty; without a beard and with my hair cut short I should appear
much younger than before and so with a soft piece of bread I erased the
“3” on my paper and changed it into a “2.” By now my paper was so
soiled and creased that they would never be able to discern this slight
falsification. However, the outlook was not cheerful and to find out
more exactly what was happening I begged my landlady to go to the
pastor at Tarzo who would probably be able to give her some details.
Maria, with her customary kindness, left the oldest of her boys and I
hid in the woods anxiously awaiting her return. After several hours she
came to my hiding place in the woods and brought me the following news:
“It is true they have arrested the owner of the house and they are now
beating him and Giovannino. They suspect both of them of being spies
for they have found on Giovannino a compromising document.”
“How could they find a compromising document when he did not have any?”
“Yes, they have found one of those small slips of paper on which you
used to write the pigeon messages. Nothing is written on the slip but
there are printed directions on it about like this, ‘Hour of departure,
hour of arrival, pigeon-house, register of the pigeon.’”
These details proved beyond a doubt that what Maria told me was exact.
“This proof confirmed their suspicions and they are now using violence
on them to try to make them confess where the man with the beard is
hidden. Giovannino has not said a single word and they are torturing
him in many ways. They keep him handcuffed, they will not let him sleep
and they try to trick him into confessing in a moment of weakness.”
The situation was really far more serious than I had suspected and as
though this were not enough, towards evening they brought me news that
Maria Bottecchia, the sister of Giovannino, had also been arrested in
Minelle, by a platoon of gendarmes. At last I fully realized the danger
which threatened me, and I decided it was absolutely necessary to move
from this region that the gendarmes might lose track of me. I still had
two pigeons with me. I filled several pages with reports, made an
appointment with the “Voisin” for the twenty-sixth and considered the
danger which menaced me. As Bottecchia had been arrested and the
gendarmes were almost at my heels I decided to leave for Sarone, and
try to find lodging in the little isolated house at the top of the hill
near which we had rested on the first day after our arrival.
On a recent journey to the field where the aeroplane was supposed to
come for us I recognized certain peasants who still had some food
hidden and they were truly hospitable. They had fed me and would not
accept any recompense. They were ignorant of my mission, that I was an
Italian officer, and therefore, without offering them any explanation I
would be able to return there and ask them for hospitality.
While a terrible thunder-storm raged through the mountains and the rain
fell in torrents I traversed the long stretch of road which separated
me from Sarone. That terrible weather was really favorable because no
gendarme would venture forth in such weather. When I reached the house
on the top of the hill the welcome was not what I had expected.
Recently the Austrians had seized all the food the peasants had hidden
and a requisitioning commission had taken away the wheat and left them
with barely enough to appease their hunger. Under such conditions the
peasants could not be as generous as in the past. Furthermore, a
gendarme was killed recently in the surrounding woods and the police
wandered about continuously seeking traces of the assassin. The
mistress of the house made me understand that it would be difficult for
them to house me a long time and, for the present, so as not to arouse
suspicion she preferred that I live in the wood.
Every day the absence of Bottecchia became more painful and I tormented
myself when I thought that I was indirectly the cause of his misfortune
because I was the one who had invited him to essay this undertaking. I
wished to share his lot with him, to comfort and sustain him in the
sorrows and anguishes of prison life. This isolation oppressed me. The
absolute lack of any news worried me. Our aeroplanes who undoubtedly
came to photograph the signals, did not find any and from this, and my
last message which announced I was in danger, they must infer that I
had disappeared and who knows when I should be able to resume
communications with them! I did not think it likely that the “Voisin”
would come to Praterie Forcate on the twenty-sixth without first
warning me with a smoke signal.
For almost three days I lived sleeping in the woods and eating the
little which the owners of the house could spare. The hot rays of the
sun fell obliquely over my head and in certain hours of the day it was
impossible to find a patch of shade under the thorny, burnt trees. The
heavy atmosphere was really unbearable. The flies buzzed and tormented
me continuously and the ants and mosquitoes did not give me a moment’s
rest. I felt as if I had been forsaken by everyone, and after so many
hardships I began to feel that my strength was diminishing, whereas, I
needed all my calm, all my cold, steady nerves to carry me through my
present predicament. For the past twenty-four hours I had not been able
to eat or drink because the gendarmes were always about in the woods
and the women feared to bring me the little food they usually did, lest
they arouse the suspicion of the guards. All day long I lay exhausted
on the ground, and I believed that if the gendarmes were to come I
should not have enough strength even to get up, much less to flee. I
felt so changed, and I began to realize that courage is for the most
part due to a full stomach. When I moved, my head whirled, and when I
tried to walk a few steps to see if the gendarmes were still around, my
legs would not support me; I tottered and fell heavily to the ground.
“Oh God, God, do not forsake me. If you have willed these sufferings
should fall on me as expiation, may they be welcome, but do not take
from me the strength to support them, do not take from me the strength
to endure them to the very end with resignation.”
XIX
Towards evening, when a light breeze made breathing more easy, I heard
the leaves rustle and found Rino in front of me with provisions and
good news. I could eat very little for I was too weak, but the little I
did eat, gave me new strength. Rino told me that Bottecchia was still
alive, that they had ceased beating him and that they brought him to
the headquarters at Vittorio where they confronted him with his sister.
She answered very ably to a long, strenuous examination. She made a
false confession that Giovannino had been taken prisoner in the last
offensive in June; that she had procured the false papers which they
had found on him by sending to the headquarters at Tappa di Vittorio a
peasant classified unfit for military service who greatly resembled her
brother, that this peasant had obtained a legitimization paper and had
passed it on to Giovannino. The Austrian authorities with unusual
clemency had believed her tale, had set her free, and had kept my
soldier as a prisoner of war. No aeroplane had come to give a smoke
signal. Furthermore, Rino told me that everything seemed more peaceful,
but I could put little faith in this for I feared that under the calm a
storm was brewing. I consented to follow him for it was absolutely
impossible for me to continue living under present conditions, and
because I had to be nearer friends, and had to be better informed of
what was happening, to see what shape events were taking.
Therefore, after having decided that the “Voisin” would not keep its
appointment, I returned to Fregona and again visited Maria de Luca, the
good woman who had already helped me so much. She was not in the least
impressed by all that had happened and she offered to give me lodgings
in her house where the gendarmes had not entered for a long time. I
willingly accepted, also because I thought that by being near Vittorio
I might be able to help Giovannino escape. On the very day I arrived,
when we least expected it, a platoon of gendarmes arrived and asked to
search the house for hidden metals. I barely had time to go from the
cellar to the stable and climb up to the hay-loft before they entered.
I buried myself in the hay close to the wall where the hay was
thickest. The gendarmes entered the house, examined every inch without
leaving a thing unturned. Finally, as they did not find what they were
searching for, they came to the barn, and as they climbed up the stairs
to the hay-loft, I heard one of them mumble in German, “Still, he must
be here, I am certain.” Without hesitating a second they began digging
their bayonets in the hay to see if someone were hidden in it. I
crouched as close to the wall as possible and heard the sharp points
pass a few inches above my head. At last they went! I drew a long
breath and the close call I had just had made me think of the future. I
decided not to be over-confident. This visit probably was the first of
a series of other careful searches, and therefore, I had better keep my
eyes open and try every means of escaping from their vigilance. I
shaved off my mustache, put on a worn, patched skirt, a torn waist and
a black handkerchief on my head, as is the custom of our peasant women,
and with a hoe on my shoulder I went towards the grain fields on the
hill. I crouched between two furrows and pretended to work so that a
passing gendarme would never suspect that the ugly old woman working
with her shoulders towards him was the man with the beard whom they
were hunting. But even this disguise had its disadvantages. I should
not have liked to meet a gendarme in the woods at night while dressed
as a woman. I looked like an old hag, but one never can tell. I
appealed for another disguise to wear at night to a cousin of Maria de
Luca who lived at Fregona and who mended all the uniforms of the
transient soldiers who stopped there. I acquired one of the Italian
uniforms left in a house by one of our soldiers at the time of the
retreat and I sent it to this seamstress asking her to make the changes
necessary for transforming it into an Austrian uniform. The son of my
landlady had a rifle and some German cartridges stolen from the Germans
during the first days of the invasion. To please me he dug up the
weapon and the shoulder straps from the wheat-field where they had been
buried. With this and the help of a yellow and black band on which the
magic word “Gendarmerie” had been written I became a perfect Austrian
gendarme in flesh and bones. Naturally I did not use this disguise in
the day-time. As long as it was light I would stay hidden under a
projecting rock concealed by shrubs which one could reach after a long,
difficult and rough ascent. This little promontory was almost
inaccessible, a veritable eagle’s nest. Nevertheless, during the
dangerous hours the children would station themselves at points from
which they could dominate the movement on the roads and as soon as they
saw a platoon of gendarmes approaching they would make a certain noise
and I would hide under the bushes where I was certain no one would find
me. By night, however, I would take long walks about the country to
exercise my legs and to visit the people I wanted to see. I then also
exercised my gendarme’s privilege of searching for pigeons.
As I walked in the woods at night disguised as a gendarme, to avoid
meeting anyone, I occasionally fired a shot in air. For deserters and
prisoners, on hearing these shots, would flee in the direction opposite
to the one from which the shot is fired, and the very gendarmes, who
amused themselves by frightening the population in this way and then
entering their houses to steal, avoided the area in which they have
heard the shots supposing that some of their comrades are there
already. In these nocturnal peregrinations I communicated with the
community teacher and doctor at Fregona, and together with the pastor
we plotted a means for attempting to escape. Although I had taken all
these precautions not to be discovered, someone might be shadowing me
and referring my every move to the Austrians. I learnt, for instance,
that the enemy knew that my beard had been cut. Therefore, I should
have to be even more careful and not let anyone see me.
In the middle of the night when all were asleep, very cautiously I
approached the house of Maria de Luca. I climbed up and entered the
hay-loft, thence I descended to the stable, from the stable to the
cellar and finally entered the kitchen without making the least noise.
By day now I did not feel safe even in my secluded hiding-place. I
dared not stop for more than an hour anywhere and I wandered from hill
to hill from wood to wood to hide my tracks. I tried to change my
disguise as often as possible. Generally by day I went dressed as a
woman and by night as a gendarme. I had become convinced that even the
clemency used towards the sister of Giovannino was nothing but a
feint done in the hope that the poor woman would try to get into
communication again with her accomplices, through whom they hoped
finally to reach the head of the band, the notorious man with the
beard. Therefore, I broke all relations with Minelle and the house of
the refugees. Occasionally, however, Rino came at night to meet me on
the hill and these were the only moments in which I enjoyed a bit of
calm, a bit of rest.
One day, after returning from a more strenuous walk than usual, I felt
dizzy, chills came over me and soon a fever so strong seized me that I
became delirious.... I remember only the sweet face of a woman bending
over my pillow during the long hours filled with terrible nightmares; I
remember a charitable hand to which I clung desperately while gasping
for breath; then the awakening, the quick convalescence in a
comfortable bed surrounded by the whispers of many anxious friends who
hoped for my speedy recovery.... Later I learnt that I had had the
influenza, that I had been near death, and that I owed my recovery to
the intelligent care of the doctor of Fregona and the affectionate care
of the good Maria who had tended me as carefully as though she had been
my own mother. I later learned that while I was sick with very high
fever the gendarmes came to search the house. The women carried me
on a mattress to the cellar where they hid me under a huge cask.
Fortunately, the gendarmes were contented with a less detailed search
than formerly and with my usual good fortune I miraculously escaped the
danger of being taken.
One evening while I was still convalescing and as we were seated about
the fire, talking, we heard sharp knocks at the door. I ran to hide at
once but Maria shortly after came and told me there was no danger, that
our visitors were four Italian sergeants who had escaped from the
concentration camp at Consiglio and had come to ask for something to
eat and the road to Vidor where they wanted to try to cross the Piave.
I returned and found myself face to face with the fugitives. Three of
them had the worn, tired look of most prisoners, but one looked healthy
and sturdy and as if he had not suffered much.
“I am a sergeant in the artillery taken prisoner during the last
offensive. My name is Italo Maggi and I was born at Como, therefore, I
can swim like a fish and can row well because I was a boatman on the
lake. These three men, who are not at home in the water, have placed
their trust in me because they hope I shall be able to get them over to
the other side. We don’t care if a stray shot hits us, what we do want
is to get out of the hands of these tyrants.”
Truly this man must have been sent to me by the divine Providence. In
our last attempt we had not succeeded in passing because none of us
could swim well enough to face so turbulent a stream. But, with the
help of the sergeant I was certain to succeed. I could be useful to him
as a guide for I knew a place where we could cross and then I would
trust to the strength of his robust arms to carry us across. But the
other men would be in the way, for experience had taught me that in
ventures of such a nature the group must be small. I, therefore, called
Italo aside and briefly explained to him that I was an Italian officer,
that I knew the road to the Piave very well and that I could obtain
some civilian clothes or an Austrian uniform for him, according to what
disguise he would decide to wear. My physical condition then was such
that I could not travel so I begged him not to abandon me but to wait a
few days. We would then complete the details of our plan and let the
others journey alone and try their luck. I hesitated for a long time
before forsaking them but at times the necessities of war are cruel. I
had no way of getting either the food or the clothing necessary for
enabling them to attempt the venture. To journey with them in their
actual condition would have meant certain seizure. On the other hand by
placing my services at the disposal of Italo I was certain I could
bring him and myself to safety. The sergeant accepted at once and
placed himself at my disposal. We dressed him in civilian clothes and
he wandered about with me for several days while we waited until the
uniform of an Austrian soldier was prepared for him.
At the last moment we changed our plan; my sergeant was to be dressed
as a civilian and was to follow behind me so that if we were to meet a
gendarme he, who did not know German, would pretend he was a prisoner,
and I, dressed as an Austrian soldier, would pretend I was the gendarme
who had arrested him.
XX
August 10. We were about to start on our journey in accordance with our
last plan, when unexpectedly the community teacher from Fregona and the
doctor who had attended me during my sickness arrived. The teacher
brought me a passport a “verkerschum” made out in accordance with all
the rules, good for two persons for the journey from Vittorio to the
village of Caorle which is near the sea. They told me it was an
exceptional passport and that it had been confirmed by the command at
Tappa di Vittorio, at Portogruro and at Torre di Mosto and that many
persons had already made use of it without ever having had any trouble.
I was to pretend I was a teacher and would have to dress in civilian
clothes and wear a white band on my arm with the word “Lehrer.” Italo
was to be a servant who traveled with me to help carry the sack of
wheat, for my journey to Caorle was supposedly to be for the purpose of
procuring some wheat which was more abundant along the coast than
inland. Angelin, the son of Maria de Luca who had been over that
territory many times and who knew the land inch by inch, offered to
accompany us.
We left at midnight while a terrible storm was raging. Before leaving
her son, Maria entrusted him to me and urged me to carry him across to
the other side with us if it were possible. As I descended the
hill I turned back to give it a parting look for somehow I had the
presentiment that this time we would succeed in crossing. As I looked
back I recalled all the privations, sufferings and joys we had
experienced for almost three months and I thought of my poor soldier
whom I should have liked to have had with me, to have had as a
companion in this new attempt which I felt would bring us to safety. At
one time the rain became so violent that we were compelled to seek
shelter under a shed which we thought uninhabited. We had barely
entered and had not had time to look about to see whether someone were
hidden behind the cases of merchandise when a raucous bold voice arose
not far from us and we saw the figure of an armed man coming towards
us. We started to run madly and when we were far enough away to be safe
we heard the echo of several shots.
As we did not want to pass through the village of Cordignano where we
knew there was a command of gendarmes we made a long detour around the
outskirts of the houses. As a precaution along the road, Angelin was
delegated to walk about fifty paces in front of us and if he saw
anything suspicious he was to stop and we should understand. In the
open country we all walked together without being over-careful. Walking
along in this way we reached a wheat-field and, without noticing it, we
landed right in front of a sentinel who at once called, “Halt.” Again
we took to flight and swiftly ran out of range of his shots. Reassured
by the good luck which seemed to favor us in our encounters we
continued our journey walking on the main highway and hiding for a
moment whenever a noisy car would rumble past and light the road
with the glare of its searchlights. We risked crossing the great
Conegliano-Sacile road and did not meet anyone and thence we directed
our steps towards the village of Corbolon where we knew there was a
bridge.
We now reached the most critical stage of our journey for we had to
pass a crossing always guarded by gendarmes who challenged all those
who tried to pass. I had no desire to face them for I knew how much
trouble they could cause, and I could not decide to try my luck.
Perhaps it would be prudent to ask the peasants nearby whether the
guards were severe and whether they knew any of the gendarmes who
guarded the bridge. We entered a farmhouse and asked the information we
wanted. They answered that the policeman on guard was a truly good man
and that the preceding evening he had talked with them for a long time.
He had told them an extraordinary tale which they could not believe
even though he had assured them it was true. He told them he had been
instructed to examine carefully the papers of all travelers because the
report had spread that an Italian Lieutenant General had descended in
an aeroplane in the vicinity of the aviation camp at Aviano and the
Austrian command had been searching everywhere for him without success.
This tale amused me immensely for I well knew that no Lieutenant
General had descended in the aviation camp at Aviano and since I was
the only one who had landed in that camp, I had a further proof that
the Austrians were hunting me and that legends were already beginning
to be formed about my adventure. But we did not lose courage; we
decided to try the crossing at all costs. The waters of the Livenza
were at a high level and passed over the little bridge. I approached
the gendarme and with the greatest indifference I handed him my papers.
He looked at me and said that if I wanted to cross I would have to take
off my shoes. I agreed with him and while he examined my passport I
started a conversation. “What ugly weather! The Italians and Austrians
haven’t yet had enough of this terrible, devastating war they are
waging against each other; they still are not satisfied with the many
innocent victims they have sacrificed for their pride and mania for
conquest. This war was desired by the rich, by the munition makers who
ask for nothing better than that the war continue so they can make more
money. Meanwhile, they send the poor people to the front to get shot
and we, because of these sharks, must go hungry. Now, for instance, if
I do not find any wheat at Caorle my children will get nothing to eat.
I suppose your children away off in Dalmatia are in a pretty sad state
too, because despite all the accusations against Austria of starving
our particular regions, I know very well that the conditions there are
about the same as here.”
The old man sighed and returned my passport. I took off my shoes and
crossed with my companions. The kind of talk I had heard so often
repeated by Austrian soldiers produced the desired effect when I used
it and that poor gendarme certainly could not suspect that the
complaining school teacher was the very Lieutenant General for whom he
had been warned to be on guard.
The first incident cheered us, and we felt that luck was with us and
that everything would turn out for the best. We continued along the
main road, and while passing through Meduna I recognized the villa of a
friend where I had often been a guest. We met several platoons of
Austrian shock troops returning from practice. They tramped heavily
along the road, their large helmets curved above them, and a solemn,
slow chant accompanied their rhythmic tread. We slept at Lorenzaga and
in the morning we continued on the dusty road. We passed the great
market-place at San Stino di Livenza near the river without any
incidents and following closely beside the dikes we arrived at Torre di
Mosto. Thence we proceeded cautiously to Paese della Salute.
There we had been directed to Don Giovanni Morgantin and he greeted us
with great cordiality. He gave us a generous meal, hitched his horse
and made us ride in his carriage. He was a great friend of the mayor of
Caorle and was to introduce us to him so that the mayor might furnish
us with a boat with which to cross the water which separated us from
our lines. The horse’s trot made the bells jingle and we marveled that
we had again become prosperous and could ride after tramping for so
long and envying those who passed us by in carriages. Now we could
really call ourselves safe, for the priest who was with us was on very
friendly terms with the Austrians and those with him would never be
suspected. Furthermore, the band on my arm had already worked miracles.
Before arriving at San Stino a gendarme approached me and asked me in
the Venetian dialect, “What time is it, Master?” I courteously answered
him and gave him the information he desired.
We reached several armed naval pontoons on which were anti-aircraft
batteries. The sailors spoke in the Venetian dialect with the soft
accent of the Istrians and the Dalmatians. We passed a boat manned by
soldiers and entered a courtyard which was full of Hungarians. Here
too, rested an officer dressed in white who was enjoying the cool
breeze under a little tent pitched near the water. A peasant to whom
the priest had entrusted us led us to the house of the Mayor. This
house was in the open country in the midst of the drainage works. As we
entered, the atmosphere seemed very luxurious to us, after having seen
so many bare homes. The daughter of the Mayor, a pretty dark girl, came
towards us. On her work table was a large Italian flag which she was
preparing for the day when the Italians should return. I looked about
and asked myself whether I was dreaming for everything seemed so
cheerful, everything so simple and easy, everything was proceeding with
far more facility than I ever could have hoped for. In the room in
which we stood conversing there was a photograph of our King, and when
the Mayor joined us I asked him how he succeeded in keeping it there.
He answered that from the very beginning the Austrians did their utmost
to remove it, that they returned again and again to seize it, but he
defended it with all his power, as he had defended the honor of his
daughters, and when the Austrians asked him why he gave so much
importance to that image he answered, “That is my King and shall always
be my King.” The enemy, who feels so strongly the sense of dynasty,
submitted before such great loyalty and the photograph of the King of
Italy was (and is) still in its place.
“So you are an Italian officer and you need the use of a boat? I do not
think it will be difficult to get one for you because our fishermen
have many and, that the Austrians may not seize them, they have filled
them with stones and sunk them in the low canals. We shall have to
float one of them and see that it does not leak. Then you will have to
try to leave at once because in these days the moon sets early and so,
without light, it will be easier for you to succeed in your attempt.”
The next day the Mayor gave us the good news that the boat was ready
and that it would be waiting for us in the marshes not far from the
beach. As soon as night fell, with a fisherman as our guide, we walked
east for several miles to find the spot where the boat awaited us. The
fisherman told us that we had better keep about half a mile from shore
without ever losing sight of it, and that after about two hours of
rowing we should reach the mouth of the Piave on the other side of
which are our lines. The fisherman assured us that no motor-boats
cruise at night but they usually wait until dawn before they go out,
and that the nights in general pass tranquilly.
The night was calm and serene and the sky studded with myriads of
stars. The stars of the Great Bear, Aldebaran, Pollux and Cassiope
twinkled like blazing torches seen through a thick veil. The milky way
spread its abundant light over the deep blue and the horned moon
descended tranquilly towards the sea. Our little skiff, covered with
twigs to avoid being discovered by indiscreet eyes, rested on a little
canal where tall rushes stood. The wind murmured softly through the
reeds and the echo of the bamboo-canes brushing against the bank
answered. All the air was mild; the scenery seemed saturated with azure
and the greenish houses threw their deep shadows on the ground. About
us rose the strident croaking of the frogs and a toad modulated its
harmonious whistle. The fisherman from Salute pointed out the way we
must follow. Five hundred yards divided us from the sea and we should
have to carry the boat over a little raised level of ground which
separated the marshes from the beach. Several bushes and thorny plants
grew on the bank and a sturdy cardoon raised its curved flowers towards
the pale sky. Bits of shells crackled and broke under our feet. The
waves had washed a jellyfish on shore and its bluish gelatinous form
mingled with the green of the sea-weed.
Now we had to begin carrying the boat. Angelin, who was still with us,
looked about wonderingly and his eyes seem to stray towards the distant
horizon and to lose themselves among the starry depths. We tried to
lift the boat but it was very heavy and it fell back into the marsh.
After numerous attempts we succeeded in getting it over the causeway
and we now pushed it down towards the beach by making it roll along
over the oars for otherwise it would have sunk so far into the mud that
we should not have been able to raise it. Angelin placed the oars in
front of us and Italo and I, combining all our strength, pulled the
little flat-bottomed skiff. We stopped often to rest, for the distance
to be covered was long. Finally we succeeded in carrying the boat to
near the water where the ground was damp and hard. The voices of the
sailors singing the songs of Istria afar off on the pontoons reached
us. The boat glided over the first waves, balanced itself and then
floated. We pushed it towards the deep because we feared to encounter
some shallow spot and at last we jumped in. Our weight tilted the boat
sideways. Italo took the oars, I sat at the stern and Angelin crouched
at my feet.
Midnight had passed and the thirteenth of August was beginning to
break. The sea was as calm as oil, the boat glided smoothly cleaving
the water with its broad keel and from afar we heard the voices of the
white foamy waves chasing one another. The sky was full of falling
stars which furrowed the upper darkness and left behind them luminous
tracks; iridescent crests fell like flashes of lightning, dimming
suddenly the light of the other stars which trembled tranquilly.
Overhead it seemed as if there was a wonderful display of fireworks.
The curved shore was now lost in the depth of the night. Along the
shore occasional searchlights gleamed, outlining huge semicircles over
the water, and whenever their light struck us Italo stopped rowing and
we all crouched in the bottom of the boat so as not to be seen. Along
the bank the first fireworks began to ascend and their trembling sparks
fell back slowly and were extinguished in the water. Afar off towards
the west many searchlights scrutinized the sky and their yellow rays
intersected on the starry vault.
We rowed for several hours. Angelin, rocked by the gentle motion of the
boat, rested his head on my knees and was sleeping peacefully. We could
not see the beach any longer and to get our bearings we followed the
line of the fireworks and the milky way which goes from east to west.
Suddenly we heard a strange noise near the boat. This was followed by
splashes, gliding rustles; at times it seemed as if something were
following us. We were frightened; for a moment we believed we were near
a submarine; we anxiously expected to see a periscope rise up near us,
but finally the glidings approached us and we noticed several foamy
dolphins splashing gaily about us. Surely they were Italian dolphins
which had come to welcome us, though at first we did not understand, we
did not appreciate them.
Dawn rose slowly in the east, the stars faded above the silvery water
and a grayish gleam tinged with pink spread over the sky. We did not
know whether we had passed the line of the Piave. The fireworks
continued to shoot up regularly in the early morning light. We now had
to turn our prow towards the shore, even if it be an enemy shore,
because anything would be preferable to being seized by the motor-boats
which would soon begin cruising. If we landed in enemy territory we
should have to try and hide our boat and attempt the feat another
night. Italo rowed with powerful strokes and the boat glided swiftly
over the calm waves. Again we saw land and it looked like a thin narrow
line of violet; its outline became clearer, more definite as we
approached. The light was still dim and we were almost on shore. A
wagon to which two oxen were hitched passed slowly along the beach and
the curved horns of the meek animals were outlined against the grayish
sky.
“Halt! Who goes there, who are you?”
“We are Italians, we are Italians.”
On the shore there appeared the figure of a sailor dressed in white.
“If you are Italians, come on down, come quickly.”
It was our land, our dearest land! We had arrived, we had arrived at
last! I embraced the Italian sailor and kissed him as I had kissed our
land on my arrival on the further side of the Piave!
THE END
------------------------------------------------------------------------
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
This text has been preserved as in the original, including archaic and
inconsistent spelling, punctuation and grammar, except as noted below.
Obvious printer’s errors have been silently corrected.
Text in italics in the original work is shown herein as _text_.
Small capitals in the original work are shown herein as all capitals.
Page 18: The text “the good Lord God gave up wings” was believed to be
a printer’s error and was changed to “the good Lord God gave us wings”.
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