Part 12
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?