every move, and it is probably no exaggeration to state that even in
the most minute details everything had been reckoned upon, so that
had the unexpected unfortunately happened, he would not have been
taken unawares at any point.
I was told an interesting and amusing incident which conveys a good
idea of this method and thoroughness, which is so characteristic of
the Generalissimo.
On July 17th, 1915, the Mayor of Pavia, who is at present a captain
of artillery, wrote to General Cadorna offering to present a silk
Italian flag to the city of Gorizia the day it was occupied by the
Italians. General Cadorna replied humorously: “Keep it in pepper for
the present.” (Evidently as a preservative against moth).
The Mayor had quite forgotten the incident, when to his surprise, on
the 10th August, 1916, the day after the fall of Gorizia, he received
the following telegram from General Cadorna:
_In reference to your letter of the 17th July, 1915, if you like
you can send or bring what you offer. Salutations._
CADORNA.
Every hour almost brought further confirmation of the magnitude of
the victory that had been achieved by the Duke of Aosta’s third
army. During the three days fighting, 15,393 prisoners, including
350 officers, amongst whom were 20 senior officers, had been taken;
16 guns, a large number of machine guns, and an immense quantity of
ammunition and _materiel_ of every description.
Nor was this all; the entire front was now re-adjusted, and the
Austrians driven out of positions they had got to look upon as
impregnable. They had paid particular attention to the fortifications
of Gorizia, and had made the place a strategic centre round which
they had concentrated important forces.
It transpired that orders were given for the evacuation of the city
some twenty-four hours before the bridge-head, the key to the whole
position, was lost, which proved they realized the straits they were
in; and it is certain that this state of affairs was pretty well
known to General Cadorna.
Not the least interesting feature of the operations was the
employment for the first time of masses of cavalry and the famous
Bersaglieri cyclists, who preceded the advance of the main body of
troops beyond the Isonzo, and from all accounts did most excellent
work. I was fortunate enough to get some interesting sketches of the
cavalry crossing the river under fire.
In Udine, after the first flush of excitement had worn off,
everything reverted to its usual calm. The inhabitants took a
remarkably sober view of the situation, and it was realized that the
victory of Gorizia, glorious though it undoubtedly was, was but a
step further on the hard uphill road to final victory, and the flags
were therefore not left up more than 48 hours.
The importance of what Italy is doing was evidently being realized
now, as several English visitors arrived in Udine during the next few
days on flying visits; amongst others Lord Northcliffe, Mr. H. G.
Wells, and Mr. Harold Cox, also a group of Spanish correspondents,
and a very charming and erudite American citizen, Mr. Whitney Warren,
the distinguished New York architect and membre de l’Institut de
France.
He was bubbling over with enthusiasm for the cause of the Entente,
and had a grip of the aims and doings of the war that made him at
once a delightful and sympathetic comrade and a distinct addition to
the Censorship Club.
The fall of Gorizia brought about such changes along the fighting
front that there was little fear, for the present at any rate, of any
further period of stagnation so far as work for the correspondents
was concerned; we looked like being “full up” for some time.
On the Carso, Monte San Michele had been captured after a desperate
assault and hand to hand fighting, simultaneously with the Gorizia
bridge-head, so the long-standing menace and which had hitherto
barred any possibility of an advance in this direction was removed.
The potentialities opened up therefore by the conquest of the portal,
as it were, of the Carso, were immense; and it is certain that no
one knew this better than the Austrians themselves, for next to the
actual bridge-head there was no position to which they attached more
importance than that of Monte San Michele.
I regret to have to be at variance with the distinguished English
correspondent who wrote of the “towering mountains” and “beetling
crags” of the Carso; but I must point out, if only to convey some
sense of proportion, that Monte San Michele which is the highest
point in this part of the Carso, is only 275 metres in altitude, and
cannot therefore by the wildest stretch of imagination be described
as anything but a lofty hill; as a matter of fact, there are no
greater eminences in the entire Carso area than 450 metres.
Monte San Michele, in spite, however, of not being a “mountain,”
dominated the whole of this portion of the valley of the lower
Isonzo, so it would be difficult to overestimate what its loss meant
to the Austrians.
Its elimination form their line of defence in this direction gave the
Italians a secure tenure of the towns of Gradisca and Sagrado, which
for fifteen months had only nominally been in their possession owing
to their being constantly under the fire of the Austrian batteries
on its crest. These two towns now became habitable for troops and
available as centres for Red Cross work.
It was rumoured that more “big events” were pending in the near
future in this quarter; one was therefore constantly motoring out
there in order to gain a clear conception of what was taking place.
There was now so much of interest along the new line of Front that I
did not remain in Udine any longer than was necessary to work on my
sketches and get them passed by the Censor.
A few days after the fall of Gorizia I motored over there with Baccio
Bacci, of the _Nuovo Giornale_, of Florence, and with Bitetti, of the
_Corriere della Sera_ (of whom I have already spoken), as chauffeur,
to see how things were looking there. Not a week had elapsed since
the victory, yet the changes along the road were simply incredible,
and reflected enormous credit on the organization of the _troupes
sanitaires_ (the sanitation brigade). The iron bridge had been so
damaged by the Austrian curtain fire that it was out of commission
for the time being, so we had perforce to go by the road Barzini and
I had taken.
I therefore had an opportunity of judging for myself what had been
accomplished in five days. The village of Lucinico had now been so
cleared of _débris_ that there was no longer any occasion to leave
the car. We found to our surprise that the road was quite open all
the way to Gorizia, across the battlefield round by Podgora and
through Grafenberg.
The Austrians were still busy sending big shells over at intervals,
and a car just ahead of us had a very narrow escape; it was little
short of a miracle it was not blown to pieces, and it makes me feel
cold when I think of it.
The change everywhere was positively bewildering; if I had not seen
it for myself I should never have believed it possible. With the
exception of the ruined houses and the shattered trunks of the trees
there was no trace remaining of the battle.
The trenches had been filled in, thus forming ready-made graves for
the dead; the wreckage of barbed-wire entanglements; the shell-holes,
the gruesome litter of blood-stained garments; all had disappeared as
though by magic.
Perhaps, though, the most startling transformation was to be seen at
the archway under the railway I described in a previous chapter. It
was positively unrecognizable.
Everything had been cleared away. Unless you had seen it before,
you would never have believed that this very commonplace tunnel
for the road under the embankment, such as one sees everywhere and
through which we drove without stopping, was less than a week before
the elaborately fitted-up Headquarters and domicile of an Austrian
General and his staff.
The store-house in which I had seen the ghastly array of human
packages was now but an ordinary empty shed, the kitchen close by
only a simple wooden hut, the very last place one would have expected
to find an elaborate cuisine in.
To my companion this meant nothing, as it was the first time he
had come this way, but I must confess to a slight feeling of
disappointment that there should have been so much haste to remove
all traces of Austrian Military Kultur.
I felt I should have liked to see it all again, though I suppose had
I been able to, the impression would not have been the same as it
was on that morning when the place had only just been vacated by the
Austrians and the battlefield was, as it were, still red-hot.
There was nothing to stop for in Grafenberg, so we drove straight on
till we came to a wooden bridge which brought us right into Gorizia.
This was one of the bridges which had been partially destroyed on the
day of the battle, but was now repaired.
With the exception of soldiers, the streets were deserted; there was
not a civilian to be seen anywhere, and the shops were still closed,
the inhabitants, it appeared, only being allowed out of doors a
few hours during the daytime. I think it was for two hours in the
morning, and the same in the afternoon; after dark no inhabitant was
allowed in the streets under any pretext. This system saved a lot of
difficult policing, and gave the troops greater freedom of movement.
We found that two cafés were open now, the “Grosses” and another next
to the Theatre, but they were practically deserted. Coffee was about
all you could get to drink; wine and beer being quite out of the
question, and food also, as we discovered later.
We arrived somewhat late in the afternoon, but the evenings were
still long, and there was a full moon, so we knew there would be no
difficulty in getting back to Udine even if we remained till after
dark.
It was rumoured that the Austrians were going to make a big
counter-attack on Gorizia that night, and it was with the idea
of perhaps seeing something interesting and getting some good
“copy” that we had come. Luckily, as will be seen, we ran across a
_confrère_, Arnaldo Fraccaroli, of the _Corriere della Sera_, who had
driven in earlier in the afternoon with the same idea as ourselves,
and he joined us, as the man he had come with was returning to Udine
at once.
But for reasons which we were unable to fathom, it was soon pretty
evident that we were not wanted in Gorizia that day.
At the Headquarters of the General in a big house on the Corso, we
were received by an aide-de-camp with but scant courtesy; in fact,
this was my first experience of anything of the kind in Italy, and
was the more surprising as we all represented important papers, and
our passes were in order in every respect. We were curtly informed,
after being kept waiting in the street for some time, that the
General was “out”; so we decided to go for a walk and return later.
Except that more damage had been done by shells, there was little or
no change in the streets, and from what we could gather there was
little likelihood of the city resuming its normal aspect for a very
long time; such of the inhabitants as could get away were doing so,
and the Italian authorities were putting no obstacles in their way;
as a matter of fact, Gorizia was not a place for non-combatants, as
it was continually being bombarded.
When we got back to the General’s Headquarters we found he had
returned, but it was, however, one thing finding him in, quite
another matter getting him to receive us.
After again being kept waiting outside the garden gate till it was
almost dark, we were coolly told by a sergeant that the General
had nothing to tell us, so could not receive us. This was very
disappointing, but there was no help for it. He was evidently peevish
about something and did not want visitors.
We walked away slowly through the deepening gloom. There was not a
light to be seen anywhere. Now and again the loud report of a big gun
awakened the echoes of the empty streets.
My companions were much upset at the reception we had received,
and were discussing the matter at great length as we went along;
meanwhile I was gradually feeling very hungry and tired and heartily
sick of this aimless wandering along in the obscurity.
Suddenly they came to a decision, and announced to me that we were
going to spend the night in Gorizia, as it would be a pity to return
to Udine and perhaps just miss something important, as there was no
doubt, they explained to me, there was something _en l’air_.
Of course I had no opinion to offer in the matter as I understood so
little Italian, so there was nothing for it but to fall in with their
views. Moreover, there was no possibility of my getting away without
them since the car was theirs.
It having, therefore, been decided to remain in Gorizia, the next
important question was where to put up for the night.
There was, as I have said, not a light to be seen anywhere; not a
soul was about, the soldiers having long since returned to their
quarters. The two cafés were closed, and we were prowling along in
the dark like a lot of tramps in a city of the dead.
Had I been able to join in the conversation of my companions I might
perhaps have found the adventure amusing, but as it was, from my
point of view, it was deadly dull and uninteresting; however, I tried
to buck myself up with the idea that something exciting might happen
later, and so it did, as will be seen.
Our car, it appeared, had been left in the entrance of an hotel
opposite the theatre, so we made our way there to make sure it was
safe. The hotel we found was not locked up, although it was quite
deserted. On a table in the vestibule we, fortunately, discovered a
piece of candle, and, lighting it, we started to explore the place to
see if there was a chance of fixing ourselves up for the night in any
of the rooms.
It was a curious experience, and one that I shall long remember. The
hotel was quite a large one, and to our astonishment all the rooms
were in perfect order, with beds made, water in the jugs and bottles,
and soap, towels, everything in fact in readiness for visitors. We
could have wished for nothing better, except, perhaps, to have found
a whole candle instead of a piece of one; for the idea of being left
in the dark in a short time rather nullified the comfort by which we
were surrounded.
There were so many rooms to choose from that we were inclined to be
fastidious; it is not often that one has the run of a whole hotel,
and gratis at that; however, we settled on two, with a sitting room
in between and with two beds in each.
Now came the vital subject of supper. My car mates, with their usual
inconsequence, had brought nothing at all in the shape of food or
drink with them, always relying on “something turning up.” I had
as usual taken the precaution of putting in my haversack a box of
sardines, bread, cheese, chocolate, and my water flask was filled
with wine; but, of course, this was not sufficient for us all.
Then it turned out that after all we were in luck’s way. Fraccaroli
suddenly recollected that he had had the happy thought of bringing a
hamper with him in case of accident, and we found that it had been
put in our car when he had joined us.
It was brought in amidst general acclamation, and on opening it
we saw that whoever had packed it had, fortunately for us, had
broadminded views as to what one man’s appetite should be like.
There was ample for four people. Cold meat, cooked ham, butter,
bread, fruit, and last, but certainly not least, a magnum bottle of
excellent wine.
One could not have wished for a better supper anywhere, and the
mere sight of it, when I had arranged it artistically on sheets of
newspaper, put us in the highest spirits, and the empty corridors
echoed with our laughter as we tackled it, for we were pretty
ravenous by now. I am sure that no jollier supper party than ours
that night ever took place in Gorizia.
After we had finished, Fraccaroli and Bitetti suggested, as the moon
was now up, our having another attempt at seeing the General. Bacci
and I, however, thought we had done enough walking for one day, so
decided to remain where we were and have a quiet smoke before turning
in. The two men, therefore, went out, and we heard their footsteps
resounding through the empty corridor and down the staircase with
ghostly effect.
We filled our glasses again and lit up our pipes, and then Bacci
suggested that as there was only a tiny bit of candle left we might
dispense with it for a while as it was brilliant moonlight, so we
extinguished it and sat by the open window enjoying the cool breeze.
The room looked on to a small courtyard, and facing us was a high
wall, so we could not see far.
It was a glorious summer night, and all was so quiet and peaceful
that it was difficult for the moment to realise how near were the
horrors of war.
[Illustration: I was fortunate enough to get some interesting
sketches of the cavalry crossing the river under fire (_see page 238_)
_To face page 246_]
It was just the sort of night to engender depth of thought, and
we were both in poetic vein, and soliloquizing on the iniquity of
warfare while nature was always so beautiful, when the loud report of
a gun rang out in the stillness of the night and brought us back
to stern reality. It was so close that had it not been for the wall
in front of us we could have seen where it came from.
There were a few seconds of dead silence, and then there broke out
the most terrific fusillade it would be possible to imagine; machine
gun and rifle fire mixed up in one long hellish tatoo; whilst, as
though to punctuate the unearthly music, at intervals one heard
the isolated bang of trench mortars and the sharp detonation of
hand-grenades.
The extraordinary suddenness of it all was so remarkable that it was
as if it had been timed to commence at a certain minute.
All quietude was now at an end, and although the firing varied in
intensity it never ceased. At moments there would be a lull, and it
appeared as though about to die out, and then it would recommence
with renewed violence.
It could certainly not have been more than a few hundred yards away,
so near in fact that now and again one heard shouts and yells, and
several stray bullets actually struck the upper part of the hotel.
The fighting was still continuing when our companions returned. They
told us that they had found out that this was the commencement of
the expected counter-attack, but that so far it was not developing
to any serious extent, though what the night might bring forth might
alter matters considerably; anyhow, the Italians were not being taken
unawares as the Austrians were discovering.
This was interesting news, and made one feel that we were not
spending the night in Gorizia for nothing, and that we might have
an exciting time before the morning. For the moment, however, since
there was nothing to be seen, we thought the best thing to do was to
lie down and have a rest for an hour or so.
Our companions had had an extra bit of luck whilst they were out, in
the shape of a whole candle which had been given them, so we ran no
further risk of being left in darkness.
Of course we all lay down in our clothes, boots and all, ready for
any emergency; when big “counter-attacks” are on the _tapis_ it is as
well to take no chances.
The beds looked very comfortable, and had clean sheets and pillow
cases, but although I was very tired, I could not somehow get to
sleep for a long while. I felt a sensation of discomfort which was
almost unbearable, and had it not been that I did not wish to disturb
my companions, I should have got up and walked about the room.
It is not pleasant lying on a soft bed with all your clothes on,
including field boots, on a hot night, and I put my restlessness
down to this. However, I managed to doze off fitfully after a while,
though for what appeared to be hours I was being continually woke
up by what I took to be the noise made by men wearing heavy boots
running down the stone stairs and slamming the street door.
This at last woke me completely, when I realized that the noise came
from the trenches, and was caused by the rattle of machine guns and
rifles and the booming of mortars. I managed to get to sleep after
this; the monotony of the noise ended by exercising a sedative effect
on my nerves.
When I awoke it was quite early, but to my surprise I had the
rooms to myself, my companions having already gone out. I found
them downstairs, and learned that they had passed the night seated
in the car; they had decided that anything was preferable to the
“comfortable” beds of the hotel.
I then comprehended the cause of my “restlessness.” It was a striking
instance of “Where ignorance is bliss,” etc., for I had managed to
have a good sleep in spite of it all.
Gorizia, in the early morning sunshine, looked delightful, and
everybody we met seemed bright and cheerful like the weather; and
quite indifferent to the bombardment which still continued at
intervals. An officer told me that one often ended by trying mentally
to calculate what all this senseless waste of ammunition was costing
per hour.
Nothing had come of the counter-attack, except to give the Italians
a chance of further consolidating their front here, and as there
appeared no likelihood of anything important happening that day we
arranged to return to Udine forthwith.
Instead, however, of going via Grafenberg, we took the road which
follows the left bank of the Isonzo and goes through Savogna,
Sdraussina, and Sagrado, as Bacci was anxious to shake hands with a
doctor friend of his who was with a field hospital somewhere this way.
This gave us an opportunity of seeing the wonderful cantonments of
the troops waiting to advance on the Carso.
From Savogna right on to Sagrado, a distance of, roughly speaking,
six miles, was one continuous encampment on either side of the road.
A whole army corps must have been gathered here, cavalry, artillery,
infantry, motor transport, cyclists and motor ambulances, in endless
encampments.
It was as interesting a panorama of military activity as I had seen
anywhere on the Italian Front, and was alone worth coming here to
see. The troops were fully protected from shell fire, as the road
all the way is sheltered by Monte San Michele and the adjacent
hills, which tower above the route, so it was possible to construct
permanent huts on the slopes of the hill, and also to take advantage
of the many caves which are a feature of this region, to quarter the
men in.
Monte San Michele, as I shall describe in my next chapter, was
captured simultaneously with Gorizia, and one saw from here the
formidable series of trenches the Italians, with a courage which will
pass into history, constructed and gradually pushed forward up the
hill, under the fire of the Austrian guns, until the final assault,
when the whole position was taken.
Unless this operation had been successful, no troops would have been
here now, as this road was, prior to the victory, a “No man’s land.”
One saw every phase of soldier life along this interesting road,
and one could not fail to be deeply impressed by the extraordinary
“completeness,” I can think of no other word, of the arrangements on
all sides, and the business-like air of readiness to go anywhere at a
moment’s notice of every unit. Certain it is that the Austrians had
no conception of what was ready for them behind these hills.
It was like looking for a needle in a bundle of hay to find any
particular field ambulance amongst such a multitude, and the more
specially as these ambulance stations are continually being shifted
as necessity arises. So, after trying for some time and going
backwards and forwards up and down the road in the vicinity of
Sdraussina, where we hoped to come across it, we had to give it up as
a bad job.
A somewhat striking feature of this vast camping area were the
military cemeteries, where hundreds of soldiers’ graves were crowded
together in serried lines. Of course there is no sentiment in
warfare, and soldiers live in the midst of death, but it struck me
as somewhat unnecessary putting this burial ground alongside a road
so frequently traversed by the troops when there is so much space
elsewhere.
The Isonzo, which here is a broad, pelucid and swiftly running
stream much divided up with gravel islets, presented a scene of much
animation; hundreds of soldiers were taking advantage of a few hours
peaceful interregnum to have a bath and do a day’s washing.
We continued on past Sagrado, crossing the river lower down by a
newly-placed pontoon bridge below San Pietro dell Isonzo. Here there
was no regular road, but merely a rough track leading to the river,
and it was only by the skilfulness of our chauffeur friend that the
car was got through at all without accident.
Round about here were many Austrian trenches that had been hastily
abandoned, so we had a good opportunity for examining them.
They struck me as being constructed on the most approved principles,
and were finished in elaborate style with wicker work lining to the
walls and along the floors. None of these trenches, however, had ever
been used, so it was only possible to hazard conjectures as to their
utility.
Just here we met the cavalry division advancing dismounted in Indian
file. A fine lot of well-equipped men with very serviceable looking
horses.
It may be of interest to mention here that most of the Italian
cavalry officers who, as is well known, are magnificent horsemen,
ride thoroughbreds of Irish descent.
When we got back to Udine we learned that Gorizia was being heavily
shelled from Monte Santo, so it looked as if the Austrians were
attempting to destroy it by degrees, as the Huns are doing with
Rheims in revenge for losing it.
CHAPTER XVIII
Big operations on the Carso—General optimism—No risks
taken—Great changes brought about by the victory—A trip to the
new lines—Gradisca and Sagrado—A walk round Gradisca—Monte San
Michele—Sagrado—Disappearance of Austrian aeroplanes and observation
balloons—Position of Italian “drachen” as compared with French—On
the road to Doberdo—_Moral_ of troops—Like at a picnic—A regiment
on its way to the trenches—The Italian a “thinker”—Noticeable
absence of smoking—My first impression of the Carso—Nature in its
most savage mood—The Brighton downs covered with rocks—Incessant
thunder of guns—Doberdo hottest corner of the Carso—No troops—Stroll
through ruins of street—Ready to make a bolt—A fine view—The Austrian
trenches—Shallow furrows—Awful condition of trenches—Grim and
barbarous devices—Austrian infamies—Iron-topped bludgeons, poisoned
cigarettes, etc.—Under fire—A dash for a dug-out—The imperturbable
_Carabinieri_—Like a thunderbolt—A little incident—Brilliant
wit—The limit of patience—The Italian batteries open fire—No
liberties to be taken—On the way back—Effect of the heavy
firing—Motor ambulances—Magnified effect of shell fire on Carso—Rock
splinters—Terrible wounds.
CHAPTER XVIII
All the big operations were now taking place on the Carso, and
scarcely a day passed without news of progress in that direction.
The official _communiqués_ were, therefore, of the most cheery
description, and their cheerfulness was reflected all over the town.
Everybody was optimistic, and one was continually hearing rumours of
the surprises in store for the Austrians during the next few weeks.
That many of these rumours materialised was undeniable, but it was
soon realised that the conquest of the Carso is a very tough job, and
will require a lot of patience and necessitate much hard fighting for
every yard of ground; which obviously also meant much great sacrifice
of gallant lives unless the advance is carried out methodically and
without undue haste. In this respect General Cadorna may be relied
on, and also to take no risks of failure.
The Carso, therefore, presented the chief point of interest after
the fall of Gorizia, as every advance there means progress towards
the main objective, Trieste. Scarcely a day passed now without a car
from the Censorship going in the direction of the fighting line. I
was therefore constantly able to make excursions, and was gradually
filling up my sketch book with interesting subjects.
I may mention that no difficulty whatever was put in my way, and so
long as I could find a car to take me, I was at liberty to go where I
chose and stay away as long as I liked; it would have been impossible
to have been treated with greater courtesy and regard, and I shall
never be sufficiently grateful for it.
The changes brought about by the victory and the brilliant strategy
of General Cadorna were so widespread that they would have been
unbelievable if one had not seen it all for oneself a few days after
the battle. In fact, it was almost at once that the results were
discernable. You realized it yourself as soon as you reached certain
well-known points which had hitherto been inside the danger zone. The
sense of relief at being able to move about freely and without having
to keep your ears cocked all the time, listening for shells coming
over, was very pleasant.
With a little party of _confrères_ I motored out to the new Italian
lines within a few hours of their re-adjustment.
Most of the places we went through in order to get close up to the
fighting had only become accessible since the fall of Gorizia, whilst
others, as for instance Sagrado, and Gradisca, were now almost
peaceful after months of constant bombardment.
Gradisca interested me very particularly, as I had lively
recollections of the flying visit I had paid to it the preceding year
when, as I have described in a previous chapter, our cars to get
there had to run the gauntlet of the fire of the batteries on Monte
San Michele.
Now the Austrian guns were well out of range, and the little town
was quite delightfully peaceful in comparison, and you could wander
as you pleased under the big trees in the park, round the bandstand,
and fancy you were waiting for the music to commence; or through the
grass-grown, deserted streets and take note of the wanton damage done
by the Austrians to their own property.
Monte San Michele, at the back of the town, was now but a very
ordinary and unpicturesque hill in the distance, and from the
military standpoint no longer of any importance whatever.
The town itself was rapidly being occupied, and inhabited; several of
the big buildings were being transformed into first line hospitals,
and the General of the division had already fixed up his headquarters
here.
All these changes conveyed more to me than any _communiqués_ had
done; I saw for myself what had been accomplished since I was last
there, and there was no doubting the evidence of my own eyes.
At Sagrado, on the lower Isonzo, a similar condition of affairs
existed; but here it was my first visit, as it was inaccessible
the previous year. A one-time beautiful little town, I should say,
typically Austrian, it is true, but nevertheless from all accounts a
very pleasant place to live in.
All the river frontage at the present time is nothing but a shapeless
heap of ruins; the magnificent bridge and the elaborate system of
locks are irreparably damaged.
Fortunately a considerable portion of the town escaped damage by the
shells, and this was now crowded with troops. Yet, barely a week
before, it was practically uninhabitable except at enormous risk.
Not the least significant of changes one noticed on the way to the
lines was the complete disappearance of Austrian aeroplanes. There
had been a few over Gorizia on the great day, but here there appeared
to be none at all, and the “Caproni” now held undisputed sway in the
air.
As to the observation balloons, the “Drachen,” they had all along
been noticeable by their absence; as a matter of fact, I don’t
recollect ever seeing any of these aerial look-outs over the Austrian
lines at any time, the reason for this deficiency being perhaps that
they were not found to sufficiently fulfil their purpose.
The Italians evidently thought differently, and their “drachen” were
to be seen everywhere, and along this front in particular.
In this connection I could not fail to note how much further
behind the lines they are stationed here as compared with their
usual position on the French Front. There may be some very simple
explanation of this, but it appeared to me as a layman that they lost
a lot of their utility by being always so distant from the Austrian
lines.
We were bound for Doberdo, the village on the Carso that was being
mentioned every day in the _communiqués_. From Sagrado we went by way
of Fogliano, the road skirting the railway most of the way. We were
now on the confines of a region of universal havoc and desolation.
War had swept across the country-side with the devastating effect of
a prairie fire. Nothing had escaped it. All the villages we passed
through were only names now, and nothing remained but ruins to
indicate where they had been; of inhabitants, of course, there was
not so much as a trace.
In spite, however, of the general devastation, troops were to be
seen everywhere, and numbers were camping even among the ruins with
the utmost unconcern; in fact, you couldn’t fail to notice that the
_moral_ of the men was wonderful, and that they seemed as cheerful as
if at a picnic.
The Italian soldier struck me as having a happy faculty for making
the best of everything, so hardships do not seem to trouble him, and
the equivalent of “grousing” is, as I have already stated, an unknown
word in his vocabulary.
This was particularly observable here, though, of course, the
glorious weather may have had some thing to do with it; but the fact
remained that they were supporting exceptional hardships with a
stoicism that was quite remarkable, I thought.
[Illustration: The only difficulty the officers experienced was in
getting them to advance with caution (see page 273)
_To face page 258_]
Along the road at one place we passed a regiment halted on its way
to the trenches. The men, all apparently very young, were sitting or
lying about on either side of the road. We had to slow down in order
to get past, so I had an opportunity to take a mental note of the
scene.
It was the more interesting to me as I knew that these men were fully
aware that in a couple of hours or so they would be in the thick
of the hottest fighting. Nevertheless, I could see no trace of any
nervous excitement, though the guns were booming in the distance;
they might have all been case-hardened old warriors, so far as you
could outwardly judge from their stolid demeanour.
Many were taking advantage of the halt to snatch a few minutes sleep,
whilst others were writing letters. There was very little of the
grouping together or chatting one would have expected to see. The
Italian of to-day is becoming a “thinker.”
But what struck me perhaps most of all was the quite noticeable
absence of smoking. Probably every other man in an English or French
regiment under the circumstances would have had a pipe or a cigarette
in his mouth, and would have considered the hardships increased
tenfold if he hadn’t been able to enjoy a smoke. Here the men in the
field don’t seem to look upon tobacco as an absolute necessity; so
far as I could judge; and one seldom sees them smoking on the march,
like the French _poilu_, or the English Tommy.
About a mile and a half past Fogliano we took a road that went by an
archway under the railway embankment, and brought us a few hundred
yards on to a heap of rubble that had once been a little village
named Redipuglia, if I remember rightly.
On our right was the much talked of Monte Cosich, a hill that had
been the scene of innumerable desperate fights, and facing us was the
commencement of the Carso.
I shall never forget my first impression of this shell-swept waste;
for what I had already seen of it was only from a distance, and
though through powerful binoculars, one was not really able to form
any conception of what it is like in reality. I had been prepared to
see Nature in its most savage mood, but the scene before me was so
terrible in its utter desolation as to inspire a sense of awe.
Imagine the Brighton downs covered from end to end with colourless
stones and rock instead of turf; no sign of vegetation anywhere;
ribbed in every direction with trenches protected by low, sand-bagged
walls; bristling with wire entanglements, and everywhere pitted with
huge shell-craters.
Even then you have only a faint conception of what war means on the
Carso, and the awful character of the task the Italians have had
before them for the past eighteen months.
There is certainly nothing to compare with it on any of the other
Fronts; for here nature appears to have connived at the efforts of
man, and every hollow and every hummock form as it were potential
bastions. The incessant thunder of the guns in the distance seemed,
as it were, to be in keeping with the utter desolation of the scene.
The road gradually ascended for about a couple of miles, till we at
last arrived on the plateau of Doberdo, and close to all that remains
of the village.
Fighting was going on only a short distance away in the direction of
Nova Vas, so we were under fire here, as shrapnel was bursting all
round the village, and at times in amongst the ruins as well.
Doberdo was then reputed to be the hottest corner of the Carso, and
one literally took one’s life into one’s hands when going there.
But it was, nevertheless, so absorbingly interesting that it
compensated for the risk one was taking, and there was a weird sort
of fascination in listening to the booming of the guns and watching
the shells bursting.
There were no troops here, only some officers and a few soldiers,
for the village was far too much exposed for actual occupation; but
it was on the road to the trenches, so it was to a certain extent
“occupied” for the moment. There was also a Field Dressing Station,
where a few devoted Red Cross men were working under conditions of
ever-present peril.
Every yard almost of the ground had been shelled, and it was
pock-marked with craters of all sizes. In fact, the wonder was that
even a particle of the village was left standing.
We left the car under the shelter of the remnant of a wall, and
strolled along what had evidently been the main street; but it was
not altogether what one would term a pleasant stroll, for the stench
of unburied dead was in the air, and horrible sights faced you on all
sides.
We proceeded very gingerly and ready to make a bolt for cover
whenever we heard the warning screech of an approaching shell. There
was really not more to see at one end of the street than the other,
but one feels just a little bit restless standing still under fire,
so we started off on a look round.
At the end of the village there was a fine view looking towards
Oppachiasella on the left, and Monte Cosich and the road by which
we had come up on the right. One was, therefore, able to judge for
oneself what fighting in this arid wilderness means.
You had the impression of gazing on the scene of an earthquake,
so little semblance to anything recognizable was there in sight.
Here and there a black and gaping hole on the hillside indicated
the entrance to one of the famous Carso caves, which are so
characteristic a feature of the region.
What was left of the Austrian trenches after the Italian artillery
had done with them was sufficient to convey an idea of the awful time
their occupants must have passed through; you had the idea that any
human beings who survived after being in such an inferno deserved
peace and quietude to the end of their days.
In many cases these trenches were only a few yards apart, so the
courage necessary to take them by direct assault must have been
extraordinary. One could see the dead lying in between them. The
peculiar rock formation of the whole area precludes any making of
actual trenches except with enormous labour; to obviate this shallow
furrows are formed and protected with stone parapets, finished with
sand-bags (or rather bags of small stones, as, of course, there is no
sand here).
The condition of these parapets and “trenches” after continual
pounding with high explosives may be left to the imagination. A
gruesome detail must be mentioned: so difficult is it to excavate the
ground here that the dead are not being “buried” but simply covered
over with stones.
Many grim and barbarous devices for causing death in the most
horrible and unexpected form were discovered in the Austrian trenches
here on the Doberdo plateau, and the mere sight of them was often
sufficient to rouse the Italian soldiers to a pitch of frenzy.
One is apt to forget at times that the Austrian is by nature quite
as callous and inhuman a creature as the Hun, but here one had ample
reminder of what he is capable of when he realises that he is up
against a better man than himself.
It is of historic interest in this connection to recount a few of
the new infamies these apt disciples of the Hun have introduced:
the poisoned cigarettes and shaving brushes left in the trenches;
the bombs under dead bodies; explosive bullets; baccilli of typhoid
dropped from aeroplanes; and the iron-topped bludgeons.
The latter instrument of torture, for it is nothing less, is quite
one of the latest devices of Austrian “Kultur” for putting a wounded
adversary to death. The iron head is studded with jagged nails, and
has a long spike let into the end. No South Sea cannibal ever devised
a more awful weapon.
I was lucky enough to get one and brought it back to London, where it
makes a fitting pendant in my studio to another barbaric “souvenir”
of the war, one of the Hun “_proclamations_” put on the walls in
Rheims before the battle of the Marne.
However, to revert to Doberdo. We stood for some little while at the
end of the village endeavouring to grasp the import of the various
strategic points we could discern from here, when all of a sudden the
Austrian batteries started a furious bombardment in our direction
with apparently no object whatever, except perhaps that our car had
been seen, and they hoped to stop any further movement on the road.
We could see shell after shell bursting with wonderful precision on
either side, and in the centre, of the road. Then they must have
spotted our little group, for the range was shortened and we found
ourselves apparently receiving the polite attention of all the guns.
My two companions made a dash for a sort of dug-out which was close
by, and I was about to follow them when I happened to glance round
and saw a _carabinieri_ standing right out in the road a few yards
away, as imperturbably as though it was a slight shower of rain
passing over. He was looking in my direction, and I fancied I caught
a twinkle of amusement in his eyes at my hurry.
In an instant the thought flashed through my mind: if it doesn’t
matter to him remaining in the open why should it to me? So I climbed
back on to the road, trying the while to appear as though I had never
really intended to take shelter.
I had scarcely regained my feet when I heard the wail of an
approaching shell, and then the peculiar and unmistakable sound of a
big shrapnel about to burst overhead.
I only just had time to put my arm up to protect my eyes when it
exploded. It was like a thunderbolt, and so close that I heard pieces
of metal strike the ground all round me.
A moment elapsed and footsteps approached. Turning round I saw a
soldier I had not noticed before; he was fumbling with something in
his hands which appeared too hot to hold easily.
Then to my astonishment he said to me with a laugh, and in perfect
English: “I think this was addressed to you, Sir,” at the same time
handing me a jagged little piece of shell.
I was so taken aback at hearing English spoken just at that
particular moment that all I found to say to him in reply to his
brilliant wit was the idiotic commonplace “Thanks very much,” as I
took the interesting fragment.
It occurred to me afterwards that he must have thought me a very
taciturn and phlegmatic Englishman, but I had just had a very narrow
escape and felt a bit shaken up, as may be imagined, so was scarcely
in the mood for conversational effort.
We had hoped to have a look at the trenches round the lake of
Doberdo, about three-quarters of a mile away from the village, but
with the firing so intense and showing every sign of increasing
rather than diminishing, it would have been madness to have attempted
to get there, as it was right out in the open. In fact, there was
considerable doubt as to the advisability of starting on the return
journey yet, as the road was in the thick of it.
We had only just been remarking on the extraordinary quiescence of
the Italian guns which had not fired a shot since we had been up
here, when scarcely were the words out of our mouths than suddenly,
as though the limit of patience had been reached, with a terrifying
crash, all the batteries near us opened fire.
The result was positively magnificent, and roused one to the pitch
of enthusiasm. We could see the shells bursting along the crest of a
hill some two thousand yards away with such accuracy of aim that in
a few moments there was probably not a yard of the ground that had
not been plastered with high explosives; and anything living that was
there must have been battered out of existence.
The Italian Commander had no intention of wasting ammunition,
however; he only wished to show he was allowing no liberties to
be taken with him; for in less than a quarter of an hour the
Italian fire ceased with the same suddenness it had started, and
notwithstanding that the Austrian guns were still going it as hard as
ever.
There was no use waiting indefinitely for the chance of getting away
in quietude, so we started off on our return to Sagrado. We had extra
passengers in the car now, three officers having asked us to give
them a lift part of the way. One could not very well refuse, but it
made it a very tight fit.
The road was downhill all the way, and there were one or two awkward
turns. The effect of the heavy firing was visible all the way. There
were big shell-holes and stones everywhere, so it was impossible to
go at any speed, much as we should have liked it.
The only thing to do, therefore, was to sit still and trust to luck.
One or two shells burst quite close by us, but we managed to get out
of range safely.
We passed some motor ambulances full of serious casualties from
the plateau round Doberdo. Even when there was no actual battle
proceeding never a day passed I learned without a constant stream
of wounded coming down. The promiscuous shell fire of the Austrians
continually taking toll somewhere and helping to keep the ambulances
busy and the hospitals full.
I was told in Udine that the wounded coming in from the Carso are
usually found to be more seriously injured than those from any other
Front; the explanation of this being that owing to the peculiar
character of the rocky surface the effect of a shell exploding is, as
it were, magnified several times.
Wounds, therefore, are caused as often by the splinters of rock
flying upwards, and ricochets, as from the actual fragments of the
projectile itself. It is certain that the majority of the terrible
facial injuries are more frequently caused by re-percussion than by
direct hits.
As will have been gathered, therefore, the soldiers of Italy in this
region of desolation are fighting against two enemies, the Austrians
and the Carso.
CHAPTER XIX
Difficulties Italians have still to contend with on way to
Trieste—Italian superior in fighting quality—Dash and reckless
courage—Success reckoned by yards—Total number of prisoners taken—A
huge seine net—The “call of the wild”—A visit to San Martino del
Carso—My companion—Our route—The attraction of the road—Early morning
motoring—On our own—The unconventional quarters of the divisional
general—The Rubbia-Savogna railway station.—The signalman’s cabin—An
interesting chat with the General—At our own risk—The big camp on
Monte San Michele—The desolate waste of the Carso—An incident—Nothing
to sketch—“Ecco San Martino del Carso”—Shapeless dust-covered
rubble—The Austrian trenches amongst the ruins—Under fire—Back to
Udine—A pleasant little episode—Déjeuner to Colonel Barbarich at
Grado—A “day’s outing”—The little “Human” touch—The “funk-holes” in
the dining room—A trip in a submarine chaser—Things quiet in Udine—A
period of comparative inactivity.
CHAPTER XIX
A single glance at the map to-day—I am writing this in January—is
sufficient to give an idea of the enormous difficulties the Italians
have still to contend against and surmount in forcing their way
across the formidable barrier of stony wilderness between their
present position and their obvious objective—Trieste.
It is said that they will find that apart from the terrible character
of the natural obstacles, which, as I have endeavoured to show, they
are up against, the Austrians have series after series of entrenched
lines, each of which will have to be captured by direct assault.
Although it has been seen that man for man the Italian is far
and away superior in fighting quality to the Austrian, it cannot
be denied that when well supplied with machine guns, and behind
positions which afford him almost complete protection, the Austrian
soldier will put up a very determined resistance before he gives in.
This factor must, therefore, be reckoned with in any commencement of
an attempt at an advance.
The dash and reckless courage of the Italians, whilst thoroughly to
be relied upon under any circumstances however trying, must always
be held, as it were, in leash, otherwise even the smallest forward
move will be only achieved at an awful sacrifice of gallant lives.
The utmost caution, moreover, will have to be exercised, so as not
to fall into a _guet apens_, and every step forward must be fully
protected.
When success, therefore, can only be reckoned on, as it were, by
yards, it is not surprising to find on examining the map how slow
apparently has been the progress during the past four months; but
it is progress nevertheless, and the most tangible proof of it is
contained in the concluding lines of the brief summary issued by the
Italian supreme command of the operations from September to December:
“The total of prisoners taken on the Julian Front (_i.e._, the Isonzo
and the Carso) from August to December was 42,000, and the guns
numbered 60 and the machine guns 200.”
The gradual advance has not been confined to any one particular
sector of this Front, but was part of the general scheme which is
operating like a huge seine net over this part of the Carso. The
interest, therefore, was entirely concentrated in this zone after the
fall of Gorizia, and I never missed an opportunity of going in that
direction on the chance of getting some good subjects for my sketch
book.
I remember some years ago when I was crossing the Gobi desert, I
discovered that the desolation of the scene around me exercised an
inexplicable sort of fascination, and at times I would have a strange
longing to wander away alone into the wilderness.
I experienced somewhat the same sensation on the Carso. It is most
probably what Jack London designated the “call of the wild.” In this
case, however, the fascination was tempered by the knowledge that
one’s wandering fit might be cut short by an Austrian bullet, so
one’s peregrinations had perforce to be somewhat curtailed.
There was, of course, much of great interest to see and sketch in
the area where active operations were in progress, whilst every day
almost there seemed to be something, either in the shape of a rumour,
or in the official _communiqué_, that formed a good excuse for
getting into a car and heading for the “sound of the guns” again.
[Illustration: They came racing across the stretch of “No man’s land”
(_see page 294_)
_To face page 270_]
On one of these occasions I had as my companion Robert Vaucher, the
correspondent of the Paris _Illustration_, who had just arrived at
the Front for a short visit.
We decided to make for San Martino del Carso, the first village
captured by the Italians on the Carso, as it was quite close to the
fighting then going on round Oppachiassella.
Our route was via Palmanova, Romans and Sagrado a road one had got
to know by heart, so to speak, but of which one never tired, for
somehow, curiously enough, everything always seemed novel although
you had seen it many times before.
There was also the charm of starting off in a car just after sunrise;
it had a touch of adventure about it that made me feel quite youthful
again. I never tired of the long drives; and in the early morning the
air was like breathing champagne.
One frequently had the road to oneself at this hour, and you could
have imagined you were on a pleasure jaunt till you heard the booming
of the guns above the noise of the engine; for it did not matter how
early one was, the guns never seemed to be silent. With a sympathetic
companion in the car these runs out to the lines were quite amongst
the pleasantest features of one’s life up at the Front.
On this particular occasion the fact of being with someone with whom
I could converse freely made it still more agreeable. We went off
quite “on our own,” as Vaucher speaks Italian fluently; and as our
soldier chauffeur knew the road well, there was not much fear of our
getting lost.
We decided that it was advisable for form’s sake to call on the
Divisional General, and ask for his permission to pass through the
lines. With some little difficulty we succeeded in discovering his
Headquarters. These were, we learned, on the railway, close to the
Rubbia-Savogna Station, on the Trieste-Gorizia line.
It turned out to be about the last place where one would have
expected to unearth a General. The station itself was in ruins,
and presented a pathetically forlorn appearance, with posters and
time-tables hanging in tatters from the walls; no train had passed
here for very many months.
We left the car on the permanent way alongside the platform, and
picked our way along the track through the twisted and displaced
rails to the signalman’s “cabin,” which had been converted into the
Headquarters _pro tem_.
It was as unconventional and warlike as could well be imagined, and
as a subject for a picture would have delighted a military painter.
The General was a well set up, good-looking man of middle age, and
quite the most unassuming officer of his rank I have ever met. After
carefully examining our military permits to come there, he received
us with the utmost cordiality. He spoke French fluently, and was
apparently much interested in our work as war correspondents.
There was no difficulty, he said, about our going to San Martino,
but we did so at our own risk, as it was his duty to warn us that
it was still being constantly shelled; in fact, he added, the whole
neighbourhood was under fire, and he pointed out a gaping hole a few
yards away where a shell had burst only an hour before our arrival,
and had blown a small hut to atoms.
The railway station was being continually bombarded, and he was sorry
to say that he had lost a good many of his staff here.
No strategic object whatever was attained by this promiscuous
shelling; the only thing it did was to get on the men’s nerves and
make them fidgetty.
“They want to be up and doing instead of waiting about here when
their comrades have gone on ahead.”
We had quite a long talk with him, and gathered some interesting
details of the fighting that had taken place round here. He was most
enthusiastic about the _moral_ of his troops, that no fatigue or pain
can quell.
The only difficulty the officers experienced was in getting them to
advance with caution. “Ils deviennent des tigrés une fois lancés;
c’est difficile de les retenir.”
As we bade him adieu, he asked us as a personal favour not to mention
him in any article we might write, adding modestly: “Je ne suis qu’un
soldat de l’Italie, et ne désire pas de réclame.”
There was a turning off the main road beyond Sdraussina that passed
under the railway embankment, and then went up to San Martino del
Carso.
Here there was an animated scene of military activity. A battalion of
infantry was bivouacing, and up the side of the hill, which was one
of the slopes of Monte San Michele, there was a big camp with tents
arranged in careful alignment. I mention this latter fact as it was
an unusual spectacle to see an encampment so well “pitched.”
Both the bivouac and the tents were quite protected from shell-fire
by the brow of the hill, but they would have made an easy target
had the Austrians had any aeroplanes here; doubtless, though, all
precautions had been taken by the Italian Commander in the event of
this.
Over the crest of the hill the scene changed as though by magic, and
all sign of military movement disappeared.
The desolate waste of the Carso faced us, and we were in the zone of
death and desolation. The road was absolutely without a vestige of
“cover”; it was but a track across the rocky ground, and now wound
over a series of low, undulating ridges, on which one could trace the
battered remains of trenches.
Huge shell-craters were visible everywhere, and the road itself was
so freshly damaged in places that I involuntarily recalled what the
General had told us, and wondered whether we should get back safely.
The country was so open and uninteresting that one could see all that
there was to see for several miles ahead; it was therefore certain no
scenic surprises were awaiting you.
Meanwhile shells were bursting with unpleasant persistency round
about the road; it was not what one could term an inviting prospect
and recalled an incident that had occurred a few days previously on
this very road.
There was a good deal of firing going on as usual, and the chauffeur
of an officer’s car suddenly lost his nerve and became completely
paralysed with fear, not an altogether unusual case, I believe.
It was a very awkward situation, as the officer knew nothing about
driving, so he was obliged to sit still for over an hour, when,
fortunately for him, a motor lorry came along, and he was extricated
from his predicament.
It seemed to me to be very purposeless going on further, since there
was absolutely nothing to sketch and still less to write about.
Since, however, we could not be far from our destination now, I
thought it best to say nothing.
But where was the village? I knew by what we had been told that we
must be close to it by now; yet there was no trace of habitation
anywhere.
The chauffeur suddenly turned round and, pointing to what appeared
to be a rugged slope just ahead, said quietly, “Ecco San Martino del
Carso.”
I am hardened to the sight of ruins by now after more than two years
at the war, but I must admit I had a bit of a shock when I realized
that this long, low line of shapeless, dust-covered rubble actually
bore a name, and that this was the place we had risked coming out to
see.
No earthquake could have more effectually wiped out this village than
have the combined Italian and Austrian batteries.
We drove up the slope to what had been the commencement of the
houses. To our surprise a motor lorry was drawn up under the shelter
of a bit of wall; two men were with it. What was their object in
being there one could not perceive, as there was no other sign of
life around.
We left the car here, and I went for a stroll round with my sketch
book, whilst Vaucher took his camera and went off by himself to find
a subject worth a photograph.
The Austrian trenches commenced in amongst the ruins: they were
typical of the Carso; only a couple of feet or so in depth, and
actually hewn out of the solid rock, with a low wall of stones in
front as a breastwork.
So roughly were they made that it was positively tiring to walk along
them even a short distance. To have passed any time in them under
fire with splinters of rock flying about must have been a terrible
ordeal, especially at night.
San Martino was certainly the reverse of interesting, and I was
hoping my comrade would soon return so that we could get away, when
the distant boom of a gun was heard, followed by the ominous wail of
a big shell approaching.
The two soldiers and our chauffeur, who were chatting together,
made a dash for cover underneath the lorry; whilst I, with a sudden
impulse I cannot explain, flung myself face downwards on the ground,
as there was no time to make for the shelter of the trench.
The shell exploded sufficiently near to make one very uncomfortable,
but fortunately without doing us any harm. A couple more quickly
followed, but we could see that the gunners had not yet got the
range, so there was nothing to worry about for the moment.
Vaucher soon returned, having had a futile walk; so we made up for it
all by taking snapshots of ourselves under fire, a somewhat idiotic
procedure.
As we drove back to Udine, we were agreed that, considering how
little there had been to see, _le jeu ne valait pas la chandelle_, or
rather _ne valait pas le petrole_, to bring the saying up to date.
A very pleasant little episode a few days later made a welcome
interlude to our warlike energies. The Director of the Censorship,
Colonel Barbarich, received his full colonelcy, and to celebrate the
event the correspondents invited him and his brother officers to a
fish déjeuner at Grado, the little quondam Austrian watering place on
the Adriatic.
We made a “day’s outing” of it; several of the younger men starting
off early so as to have a bathe in the sea before lunch.
It was glorious weather, and we had a “top hole” time. It all went
off without a hitch; the déjeuner was excellent; I don’t think I ever
tasted finer fish anywhere; the wine could not have been better, and,
of course, we had several eloquent speeches to wind up with.
There was just that little “Human” touch about the whole thing
that helped to still further accentuate the _camaraderie_ of the
Censorship, and the good fellowship existing between its officers and
the correspondents.
Grado, though at first sight not much damaged since our visit on the
previous year, had suffered very considerably from the visits of
Austrian aircraft. They were still constantly coming over, in spite
of the apparently adequate defences, and many women and children had
been killed and many more houses demolished.
There was a curious sight in the dining room of the hotel where we
gave the lunch. The proprietor had built a veritable “funk-hole” in a
corner of the room. It was constructed with solid timber, and covered
in with sand-bags in the most approved style.
Inside were a table, chairs, large bed, lamp, food, drink, etc.;
in fact, everything requisite in case a lengthy occupation was
necessary; and there the proprietor and his wife and children would
take refuge whenever the enemy was signalled.
After lunch we were invited to make a trip in one of the new type
of submarine chasers, which are said to be the fastest boats afloat
anywhere, and went for an hour’s run at terrific speed in the
direction of Trieste; in fact, had it not been for a bit of a sea
fog hanging about we should have actually been well in sight of it.
Perhaps it was fortunate for us there was this fog on the water.
Things were a bit quiet in Udine now. Stirring incidents do not occur
every week, and the usual period of comparative inactivity had come
round again whilst further operations were in process of development;
there was but little inducement, therefore, to spend money on petrol
just for the sake of verifying what one knew was happening up at the
lines.
But I had plenty to occupy me in my studio, working on the numerous
sketches the recent doings had provided me with, till something worth
going away for turned up again.
In the interim an event of historic importance occurred.
CHAPTER XX
Declaration of war between Italy and Germany—Effect of declaration
at Udine—Interesting incident—General Cadorna consents to give
me a sitting for a sketch—The curious conditions—Methodic and
business-like—Punctuality and precision—A reminder of old
days—I am received by the Generalissimo—His simple, unaffected
manner—Unconventional chat—“That will please them in England”—My
Gorizia sketch book—The General a capital model—“Hard as nails”—The
sketch finished—Rumour busy again—A visit to Monfalcone—One of
the General’s Aides-de-camp—Start at unearthly hour—Distance to
Monfalcone—Arctic conditions—“In time for lunch”—Town life and
war—Austrian hour for opening fire—Monfalcone—Deserted aspect—The
damage by bombardment—The guns silent for the moment—The ghost of a
town—“That’s only one of our own guns”—A walk to the shipbuilding
yards—The communication trench—The bank of the canal—The pontoon
bridge—The immense red structure—The deserted shipbuilding
establishment—Fantastic forms—Vessels in course of construction—A
strange blight—The hull of the 20,000 ton liner—The gloomy
interior—The view of the Carso and Trieste through a port-hole—Of
soul stirring interest—Hill No. 144—The “daily strafe”—“Just in
time”—Back to Udine “in time for lunch”—Return to the Carso—Attack
on the Austrian positions at Veliki Hribach—New difficulties—Dense
forest—Impenetrable cover—Formidable lines of trenches
captured—Fighting for position at Nova Vas—Dramatic ending—Weather
breaking up—Operations on a big scale perforce suspended—Return
London await events.
CHAPTER XX
On the 28th August, 1916, Italy declared war on Germany. The
declaration had, however, been so long anticipated that, so far as
one was in a position to judge, it made little or no difference in
the already existing state of affairs; since the two nations had to
all intents and purposes been fighting against each other for months,
and at Udine, at any rate, it scarcely aroused any comment outside
the Press.
However, it settled any doubts that might have existed on the
subject, and henceforth the Italians and the Huns were officially
justified in killing each other whenever they got the chance.
Curiously enough, it was through General Cadorna himself that I
learned that war had been declared. It was under somewhat interesting
circumstances, which I will relate.
I had always desired to make a sketch of the Commander-in-Chief of
the Italian Army, and with this idea had asked Colonel Barbarich at
the Censorship if he would try and arrange it for me.
He willingly agreed, but a few days after he told me that he had done
the best he could for me, but that the General had said that for the
moment he was far too occupied, but perhaps he would accede to my
desire a little later. I must therefore have patience.
This looked like a polite way of putting me off, and I accepted it as
such.
Gorizia and other subjects engaged my attention, and I had forgotten
the incident when, to my surprise, one day Colonel Barbarich came
up to me and said that if I still wished to make the sketch of the
General, His Excellency would be pleased to receive me on the
following Monday morning at eleven o’clock precisely, and would give
me a sitting of exactly half-an-hour.
“But,” added Colonel Barbarich, “you must clearly understand it is
only half-an-hour, and also that the General will not talk to you as
he will not be interviewed.”
The “following Monday” was nearly a week ahead, so this was methodic
and business-like indeed.
Of course, in spite of all the conditions attaching to the sitting,
I was delighted to find that my request had not been overlooked, so
I replied jocularly to the Colonel that failing an earthquake or the
ill-timed intervention of an Austrian shrapnel, I would certainly
make it my duty to keep the appointment.
Well, the auspicious day arrived in due course, and so did I in good
time at the Censorship to meet Colonel Barbarich, who was to take
me on to the General, whose quarters were in a palace originally
intended for the Prefect of Udine, only a short distance away.
With the knowledge of the punctuality and precision of the General,
at l’heure militaire, that is to say, as the clock was striking
eleven, we made our way up the grand staircase to the first floor
where the General resided and had his offices.
In a large anti-chamber, with a big model of the Isonzo Front
occupying the whole of the centre, we were received by an
aide-de-camp, who evidently expected us exactly at that moment.
Colonel Barbarich briefly introduced me, then to my surprise left at
once.
The Aide-de-camp took my card into an adjoining apartment, and
returning immediately, said that His Excellency General Cadorna was
waiting for me, and ushered me in.
[Illustration: A grey-haired officer of medium height, whom I
immediately recognised as the Generalissimo, was reading an official
document
_To face page 283_]
Up till then nothing could have been more matter-of-fact and
business-like. It reminded me of the old days when I sought
journalistic interviews with city magnates. But the business-like
impression vanished as soon as I was inside the door.
I found myself in a very large room, well but scantily furnished.
Standing by a table, which was covered with maps, a grey-haired
officer of medium height, whom I immediately recognised as the
Generalissimo, was reading an official document.
He came forward and cordially shook hands with me in the most
informal way. I began to thank him for his courtesy in receiving me,
and was apologising for not being able to speak Italian, when he cut
me short, saying with a laugh:
“I speak but very leetle English,” but “Peut-être vous parlez
Français.” On my telling him I did he exclaimed genially:
“A la bonheur, then we will speak in French. Now what do you want me
to do? I am at your service.”
His simple and unaffected manner put me at once at my ease and
made me instantly feel that this was going to be a “sympathetic”
interview, and not a quasi official reception.
I must mention that I had asked Colonel Barbarich to explain that I
did not want to worry the General, but would be quite content if I
were permitted to make a few jottings in my sketch book of him at
work and some details of his surroundings. This, as I have explained,
was granted, but with the curious proviso that I was not to talk
whilst I was there.
It came, therefore, as a very pleasant surprise to find myself
received in this amicable fashion, and the ice being thus broken, I
said, I should like to sketch him reading a document, as I found him
on entering the room. He willingly acquiesced, and I at once started
my drawing as there was no time to lose.
With the recollection of the stipulation that I was not to open my
mouth during the sitting, and that I was only allowed half-an-hour I
went on working rapidly and in silence.
But I soon found that the General was not inclined to be taciturn,
and in a few moments we were chatting in the most unconventional
manner as if we were old friends. As a matter of fact, I shrewdly
suspected him of interviewing me.
When he learned how long I had been on the Italian Front he was much
interested, and was immediately anxious to know what I thought of his
soldiers. Were they not splendid? He put the question with all the
enthusiasm and affection of a father who is proud of his children.
As may be imagined, I had no difficulty in convincing him that I have
a whole-hearted admiration for the Italian Army after what I had seen
of its wonderful doings at Gorizia and elsewhere.
It was then that he gave me the news of the declaration of war
between Italy and Germany; the morning papers had not published it in
the early editions.
“That will please them in England,” he remarked with a laugh. I
agreed with him that it would, although it had long been expected.
The mention of England reminded me that he had just returned from the
war conference in London, so I asked if he had ever been there before.
“Yes,” he replied with a humorous twinkle in his eye, “forty years
ago; but I do not remember much of it; although my father was
ambassador to England I only lived with him in London for a short
while. It is, of course, much changed since then.”
Whilst thus chatting I was working with feverish haste at my sketch.
I now noticed he was getting a bit impatient at keeping the same
position, so I suggested a few moments rest. He came over to see how
I had got on, and asked if he might look through my sketch book.
It happened to be the one I had used at Gorizia, and the sketches I
had made that day pleased him very much.
“You were fortunate, you were able to see something; I never see
anything,” he remarked quite pathetically.
I felt there was no time to lose if I wanted to get finished in the
half-hour, so hinted at his resuming the pose for a few minutes
longer. He did so at once, and I ventured to tell him in a joking way
that he would make a capital model.
“Well, I am as active now as I ever was,” he replied, taking me
seriously, “and I can ride and walk as well now as I could when I was
a young man.”
This I could well believe, because he looks as “hard as nails,” and
chock full of energy and determination, as the Austrian generals have
discovered to their undoing.
I had now completed my rough sketch sufficiently to be able to finish
it in the studio.
The General expressed his gratification at my having done it so
rapidly, so I suggested another ten minutes some other day to put the
finishing touches.
“Come whenever you like, I shall always be pleased to see you,”
replied His Excellency genially.
Although, as I have said, there was no outward evidence of the
declaration of war making any difference in the conduct of the
campaign, rumours soon began to be persistently busy again, and it
became pretty evident that something big was going to happen on the
Carso before the weather broke up and the autumn rains set in and put
a stop to active operations for some time.
There had been a good deal of talk of operations pending in the
vicinity of Monfalcone, so I got permission to accompany a Staff
Officer who was going there one morning. I had always wanted to see
the place and its much talked of shipbuilding yards, but curiously
enough this was the first opportunity I had had of going there.
My companion was one of General Cadorna’s aides-de-camp, so we went
in one of the big cars belonging to Headquarters. We started at the
usual unearthly hour to which one had become accustomed and which, as
I have pointed out, is delightful in the summer, but is not quite so
fascinating on a raw autumn morning before sunrise.
I was very disappointed when I learned that we should probably be
back in Udine “in time for lunch” unless something untoward occurred
to force us to stay away longer; as I had been looking forward to an
extended run that would last the whole day, but as I was practically
a guest on this occasion I could say nothing. My companion, like so
many Italian officers, spoke French fluently, and turned out to be a
very interesting fellow; and as he had been stationed for some time
at Monfalcone before going on the Staff, he knew the district we were
making for as well as it was possible to know it.
The distance from Udine to Monfalcone is, roughly, the same as from
London to Brighton, and we went via Palmanova, Cervignano, and Ronchi.
It was a bitterly cold morning, with an unmistakable nip of frost
in the air, so although I was muffled up to my ears I was gradually
getting frozen, and my eyes were running like taps. It may be
imagined, therefore, how I was envying my companion his big fur-lined
coat.
I had arrived at the Front in the hottest time of the year, so had
taken no precautions against Arctic conditions. Motoring in Northern
Italy in an open car during the winter months must be a very trying
ordeal indeed, if what I experienced that morning was any criterion
of it.
As we sped along I asked the Aide-de-camp if there was any particular
reason for his starting off so early, and if it was absolutely
necessary for us to be back “in time for lunch.” To my mind the very
thought of it took the interest off the trip and brought it down to
the level of an ordinary pleasure jaunt, which was to me particularly
nauseating.
After all these months at the Front I have not yet been able to
accustom myself to the combination of every-day town life and war,
and I am afraid shall never be able to. Doubtless it is a result of
old time experiences.
My companion treated my query somewhat lightly. “You will be able to
see all there is to see in and round Monfalcone in three hours,” he
replied, “so what is the use therefore of staying longer? Moreover,”
he added seriously, “the Austrian batteries have made a practice
of opening fire every morning at about eleven o’clock, and usually
continue for some hours, so there is the risk of not being able to
come away when one wants to.”
There was, of course, no reply possible, and the more especially as
I am not exactly a glutton for high explosives, as will have been
remarked.
Monfalcone is a nice bright little town, typically Austrian, and
before the war must have been a very busy commercial centre.
When I was there it was absolutely deserted, with the exception of
a few soldiers stationed there. The shops were all closed, grass
was growing in the streets, and it presented the usual desolate
appearance of a place continually under the menace of bombardment.
The damage done to it up till then was really unimportant
considering the reports that had been spread as to its destruction.
Many houses had been demolished, as was to be expected, but I was
surprised to find how relatively undamaged it appeared after the
months of daily gun-fire to which it had been subjected.
We left the car in a convenient courtyard where it was under cover,
and made our way to the Headquarters of the Divisional Commandant,
where, as a matter of etiquette I had to leave my card.
For the moment the guns were silent, and there was a strange quietude
in the streets that struck me as being different to anything I
had noticed anywhere else, except perhaps in Rheims during the
bombardment when there was an occasional lull.
One had the feeling that at any moment something awful might happen.
Even the soldiers one met seemed to me to have a subdued air, and the
drawn expression which is brought about by constant strain on the
nerves.
Instinctively one walked where one’s footsteps made the least
noise, in order to be able to hear in good time the screech of an
approaching shell.
It had turned out a lovely day, and in the brilliant sunshine
Monfalcone should have been a bright and cheerful place, instead
of which it was but the ghost of a town with the shadow of death
continually overhanging it.
The peaceful stillness was not to be of long duration. Silence for
any length of time had been unknown in Monfalcone for many a long day.
Whilst we were having a talk with the officers at Headquarters there
was a loud detonation, apparently just outside the building. To
my annoyance I could not restrain an involuntary start, as it was
totally unexpected.
“That’s only one of our guns,” remarked, with a smile, a Major with
whom I was chatting, and who had noticed the jump I made. “The
Austrians won’t commence for another couple of hours at least,” he
added.
My companion and I then started off to walk down to the shipbuilding
yard, about a mile and a half from the town, and which was, of
course, the principal sight of the place.
One had not gone far when one had some idea how exposed was the
position of Monfalcone. A deep communication trench commenced in the
main street and continued alongside the road the whole way down to
the port—no one was allowed to walk outside it.
The object of this was to prevent any movement being seen from the
Austrian batteries, which were only a comparatively short distance
away, though it must have been no secret to them what was going on in
Monfalcone.
The Italian guns were now getting busy, and the noise was deafening,
but still there was no response from the enemy; it was evidently true
that he worked to time, and it was not yet eleven o’clock.
Although only a mile and a half, the walk seemed longer because one
could see nothing on either side, the walls of the trench being quite
six feet high; but at last we came out on the bank of what looked
like a broad canal. This is part of a waterway constructed to connect
up the port with the railway.
The communication trench now took the form of a sunken pathway
winding along the bank under the trees, and was quite picturesque in
places.
At last we reached the end, and facing us was the Adriatic as calm as
a lake, and away on the horizon one could see the hills that guard
Trieste.
We crossed the mouth of the canal by a pontoon bridge, which I
believe had been abandoned by the Austrians when they evacuated
Monfalcone at the beginning of the war.
A short distance ahead, towering above a conglomeration of long sheds
on the low-lying ground, was an immense red structure, the outlines
of which recalled something familiar. As one got nearer one saw that
it was the unfinished steel hull of a gigantic ocean liner, and that
the red colouring was caused by the accumulation of rust from long
exposure.
We soon reached the entrance to a vast shipbuilding establishment.
There were no bolts or bars to prevent our walking in.
The whole place was deserted, and all around us was a spectacle of
ruin and desolation that was more impressive than actual havoc caused
by bombardment.
In the immense workshops the machinery was rotting away; on the
benches lay the tools of workmen; strange metal forms, portions of
the framework of big ships lay here and there on the sodden ground
like huge red skeletons of ante-deluvian animals.
Many vessels had been in the course of construction, mostly for
the Mercantile fleet of Austria, though there were some destroyers
and war-craft on the stocks as well. Rust, of a weird intensity of
colour. I had never seen before, was over everything like a strange
blight.
Alongside the sheds was the hull of the big liner one had seen in the
distance. A 20,000 ton boat, I was told, which was being built for
the Austrian Lloyd Line.
The wooden slipway and the cradle supports had caught fire and had
been destroyed, and this I was told had caused the keel to break, so
that the hull was now but a derelict mass of steelwork which could
never be floated.
[Illustration: To advance through this jungle called for all the
cool, disciplined courage of the Italian soldier (_see page 293_)
_To face page 298_]
Had it not been for the satisfaction one felt in gazing on the ruins
of a prospective addition to the Mercantile Navy of the enemy, this
leviathan of wasted industry and material would have appeared
quite tragic.
The companion-way used by the workmen was still in position, so we
clambered up into the gloomy interior and had a walk round, our
footsteps echoing mournfully along the cavernous emptiness of the
decks.
Through a port-hole we got a very fine view of the Carso and the
Italian and Austrian positions in between Monfalcone and Duino;
whilst in the distance, some fifteen miles away, one could distinctly
see with the glasses the white buildings of Trieste, so near and yet
so far!
There was evidently a big fight going on at that moment in the
direction of a hill not far away from Monfalcone, known as No. 144,
which had been frequently referred to in the _communiqués_, and you
could see the bursting shells and hear the booming of the guns.
It was a panorama of soul-stirring interest, and one could have spent
hours gazing on it; but time was flying and we had to be thinking of
returning.
I had not attached much credence to the statement that the Austrians
had established a sort of precedent as to time with regard to opening
fire every day, but out of curiosity I glanced at my watch as we
started back.
It may have been a mere coincidence, but it was just on eleven
o’clock. Beyond, however, the dull booming of the guns in the
direction of Hill No. 144, there was no sign yet of artillery
activity anywhere near Monfalcone.
We had crossed the pontoon bridge and were making our way along the
canal bank when there was the report of a gun not very far away in
the enemy’s lines, and the screech of a shell passing over our heads
proved beyond a doubt that the “Daily Strafe” was about to commence.
The shell burst on the outskirts of the town and in the direction in
which we were going. My companion, who was walking on ahead, called
out jocularly that we should be “just in time.”
From now the firing increased every minute, and it seemed to me that
the sole objective of the Austrian gunners was the place where we had
left our car.
We met several groups of soldiers as we went along, and I noticed
that if a shell happened to be coming over just then, the majority of
the men always stopped and crouched down against the protecting wall
of the trench.
This prompted my asking my companion what he considered to be the
best thing to do when under fire. “Take no notice of it,” was his
laconic reply.
In Monfalcone the streets were nearly deserted, though whether in
consequence of the shelling commencing or some other cause, I could
not tell; anyhow, as there was nothing further to see that day we
returned to Udine “in time for lunch.”
A couple of days later I was back again on the Carso. A big attack
on the Austrian positions at Veliki Hribach, near Doberdo, having
suddenly developed.
Difficulties had to be surmounted here which were totally different
to any previously encountered, as the offensive was made through
close-growing woodland.
An important sector of the Carso district to the north of Trieste
consists of wooded country, and directly bars the Italian advance
in that region. The ground in question was artificially planted by
the Austrian Government some years ago under a scheme to reclaim the
Carso and convert it into forest tracts.
Plantations of fir trees were laid out over a large area, and these
are now grown into the woods, which present a very serious obstacle
to the Italians.
Sheltered by the almost impenetrable cover which the dense
growth of immature trees offers, the Austrians had constructed
Torres-Vedras-like series of fortified positions among the trees
along the ridges that intersect the district. In the Veliki Hribach
stretch of woods alone no fewer than eleven formidable lines of
trenches have been captured.
The trees are of too young growth to stop bullets; and hidden in
their trenches the Austrians could sweep the approaches at ground
level, lying low behind abattis and a mass of wire entanglements.
The whole aspect of the country here reminded me strangely of parts
of the West Australian “bush,” with, of course, the exception that
these are fir trees.
Still, there was so much resemblance that it would have been as easy
to lose oneself here in the dense growth as it is in the “bush.”
To advance through this jungle called for all the cool disciplined
courage of the Italian soldier. There was no opportunity for a wild
headlong assault on the Austrian trenches; they had to be virtually
“stalked,” as the cover afforded by the saplings was so illusory as
to give practically no protection at all.
The wood in which I made my sketch had been “blazed” beforehand by a
handful of the most daring spirits among the men; not by “barking”
the trees, which would have taken too long, but by means of whitened
stones dropped on the ground at intervals to indicate the direction
the troops were to follow.
The capture of the Veliki Hribach position proved that the Italian
soldier can be relied on under any circumstances, however trying.
The day following the offensive developed in the direction of Nova
Vas, about a mile and a half east of Doberdo, on the heights of San
Grado di Merna, and near Lokvica, with continued success for the
Italians.
The fighting for the position at Nova Vas on September 15th in
particular ended in so dramatic a fashion that it will long be
remembered by all who witnessed it.
After a furious preparatory bombardment for hours by the Italian
heavy guns, to which the Austrians replied vigorously, there was a
sudden cessation of the Italian fire.
The crisis had come: the infantry were to attack. But while waiting
word from elsewhere, there was a brief pause.
Next, suddenly, to the general amazement, within six minutes of the
guns ceasing, one saw hundreds of men abandoning the Austrian front
trenches. They held up their hands and waved handkerchiefs wildly in
token of surrender.
Out they poured, like driven rats stampeded by terriers from a barn.
They came racing across the stretch of “No man’s land” between the
opposing trenches, straight for the Italians, taking their chance
amidst the Austrian shells, still falling briskly.
The spectacular effect of the grey-coated figures, without arms
or accoutrements, running towards them, hands up, and frantically
shouting “Kamerad! Kamerad!” was startlingly dramatic.
The Italian soldiers were so amazed at the sight that, regardless of
the risk of exposing themselves, they showed themselves over their
own parapets and stood gazing at what was taking place.
In all, 2,117 Austrian prisoners mere made that day, including 71
officers.
Torrential rain set in during the night, and the captured trenches
were found to be in so complete a state of ruin and afforded so
little shelter that the troops were brought back to their original
positions.
After this offensive the weather showed unmistakable signs of
breaking up; bitterly cold winds with heavy rains every day put
a stop to all military movements of any importance. Although it
is certain that no weather, however bad, will entirely arrest the
activity of General Cadorna for even 24 hours, it was apparent,
however, that the resumption of operations on anything like a big
scale would have to be suspended _bon gré mal gré_ till the early
spring.
To spend the winter in Udine, therefore, presented no particular
attraction for me, so I decided to return to London and there await
events, in readiness to go back if necessary at a moment’s notice.
It was certainly with regret that I was leaving the Italian Front,
for I had spent many glorious days with King Victor Emmanuel’s heroic
soldiers, but my regret was softened by the thought that I should
soon be returning to assist at the final victory.
INDEX
ADIGE, RIVER, 99, 100, 151
Ala, 100
Allessi, Rino, 200
_Alpini, the_, 41, 42, 43, 45, 49, 75, 85, 86, 105, 121-126, 138,
140, 184, 185
Altopiano, Tableland of, 157, 165
Aosta, Duke of, 238
Aquileia, 144, 145
Arci, Signor, 196
Arsiero, 152, 156, 157, 159, 163, 184
Asiago, 152, 168, 169, 178
Astico, valley of, 157
Austrians, the;
withdraw across the Indrio, 37, 38;
defence at Monte Nero, 40-43;
advance in the Trentino, 151-156;
advance in the Asiago region, 163;
retire from Gorizia, 209-234;
characteristics of, 262, 263, 269
Avostaunis, 121
BACCI, BACCIO, 64, 240, 246, 249
Baldassarre, Signor, 63
Barbarich, Colonel, 153, 276-283
Barzilai, Signor, 63
Barzini, Luigi, 27, 29, 64, 210, 217, 223, 232
Basset, Serge, 65
Bauderesque, M., 65
Beak, Vice-Consul, 20
Beaumont, M., 145
Bedolo, Gino Calza, 65, 66, 104, 119
Belcredi, M., 68
Belluno, 15, 103, 115, 117
Belvedere, 145
Benedetti, M., 163
Berchtold, Count, 3
_Bersaglieri, the_, 75, 231-238
Berthod, Dr., 33, 132
Bissolati, Leonida, 196, 203-222
Bitetti, M., 240-246
Bologna, 15
Bormio, 79, 80, 82, 92
Boulogne, 46
Brazzano, 133, 134
Brenta, River, 151
Brescia, 15, 64, 67, 68, 71, 72, 78, 97
Brioni, Monte, 78
CADORNA, GENERAL, 15, 37, 44, 97, 98, 135, 137, 149, 150, 152, 158,
163, 179, 183, 189, 237, 238, 255, 256, 281, 282, 283, 285, 295
Cadorre, 135
Cafarelli, General, 58, 132
Cantalupo Roberto, 189
Capello, General, 190, 196, 203-205
Caporetto, 37, 133, 136, 139
Caprili, 109
_Carabinieri, the_, 166, 175, 230, 231
Carnia, 135
Carniola, 140
Carrère, Jean, 64, 68
Carso, Operations on the, 134, 141, 143, 196, 196, 223, 239, 240,
255-266, 270, 271, 273, 275, 285, 291, 292
Castalleto, the, 184
Censorship, the Italian, 15, 66, 67, 71, 72, 126, 153, 154, 155, 185,
209, 276, 282
Cenzio, M., 157
Cervignano, 37, 133, 144, 286
Chamonix, 81
Chizzola, 101
Cimone, Mont., 157, 184, 185
Croda, Rosso, 116
Civiedale, 133, 143
Clericetti, Colonel, 156, 199, 209
Col dei Bos, 184
Col di Lana, 105, 106, 107, 108, 117
Colfreddo, 116
Cortina d’Ampezzo, 105, 115, 116, 117
Cormons, 37, 38, 39, 133, 134, 135, 136, 191, 200
Corrada, Monte, 44
Cosich, Monte, 259, 261
Cox, Harold 239
Cristallo, Monte, 103, 116, 197
Cure, Capel, 63
_DAILY CHRONICLE, THE_, 65
_Daily Mail, The_, 65
_Daily News, The_, 65
_Daily Telegraph, The_, 65
Desenzano, 78
Doberdo, 258, 260, 262, 263, 264, 266, 292, 293
Dolomites, The, 104, 115
Donohoe, Martin, 65
Duino, 291
ELIA, GENERAL, 16
FALZAREGO PASS, 105
Fiera di Primero, 103
Florence, 59, 60, 63
Fogazzaro, Antonio, 159
Fogliano, 258, 259
Folkestone, 4
Forcola, The, 81, 85, 86, 88, 89, 90, 92
Fraccaroli, Arnaldo, 64, 243, 246
Freikoffel, The, 118, 121
Friuli, Plain of, 20, 38, 132, 134
GALLIO, FOREST OF, 165, 166
Garda, Lake of, 73, 76, 77, 78, 151
Garibaldi, Peppino, 22
Gemona, 118, 126, 127, 131
Germany, Italy declares war on, 281
Gobi Desert, The, 270
Gorizia, Italian attack on, 44, 134, 150, 154, 190, 200, 203;
capture of bridgehead, 199, 200;
capture of city, 209-234, 237-240;
the city after capture, 242-250, 255, 256, 270, 281, 284, 285
Gradisca, 44, 142, 144, 240, 256
Grado, 144, 145, 276
Grafenberg, 215, 216, 241, 242, 249
Giudicaria, Valley of, 73
IDRO, LAKE, 79
_Illustrated London News, The_, 1, 65
Indrio, River, 37
Ingram, Charles, 3, 4, 152
Interrotto, Monte, 167, 171
Isonzo, River, Operations on the, 42, 72, 74, 131-146, 186, 210-215,
250, 251, 257, 270, 282
ITALIAN ARMY, THE, impressions of, 38, 39, 50, 51, 76, 122, 123, 124,
258, 259, 269;
crosses the Indrio, 37;
attacks Monte Nero, 40-43;
storms Monte Cristallo, 116;
counter-offensive in the Trentino, 183;
begins attack on Gorizia, 189-192, 195;
captures bridge-head, 199-205;
captures city, 209-234
Italy, War Fever in, 3, 4;
declares war on Austria, 9;
declares war on Germany, 281, 284
JEFFRIES, J. M. N., 65, 119
KUK, MONTE, 134
LAMB, COLONEL, 54
Livinallongo Pass, 105
Lokvica, 293
London, Jack, 270
Lucinico, 210, 211
MACCHIO, BARON VON, 9
McClure, W. K., 65, 68
Marazzi, General, 200, 201, 214, 233
Marmolada, Monte, 104
Massey, W. T., 63
Medea, 37
Miceli, Giovanni, 64, 201
Milan, 79, 153
Molinari, Aldo, 64, 67, 119
Monfalcone, 44, 133, 189, 286-292
Montecroce, 118
_Morning Post, The_, 65
Mossa, 200, 201
NATHAN, LIEUTENANT, 136
Nero, Monte, 40, 41, 42, 43, 137, 138
Northcliffe, Lord, 239
Novara, 57
Nova Vas, 260, 293, 294
OPPACHIASELLA, 261, 271
Oyetti, Ugo, 216
PADUA, 15
Pal Grande, 118-125
Palmanova, 141, 142, 271, 286
Pal Piccolo, 118, 119
Paluzza, 118
Paris, 4, 6
Pavia, Mayor of, 237
Pilcante, 101
Piva, Gino, 64, 189
Plava, 44, 137
Podgora, 134, 197, 212, 216, 217, 241
Porro, General, 66
Pozzachio, Fort, 99
Prade, Georges, 65
QUARIN, MONT, 134
Quirino, Mont, 37
RANCIO, 123
Rateau, Jules, 65, 79, 86, 88, 92
Redipuglia, 259
Rheims, 288
Riva, 76, 77
Romans, 271
Rome, 9, 10, 11
Rombon, Monte, 140, 141
Ronchi, 286
Roveretto, 99, 101, 151
SABOTTINA, MONTE, 134, 190, 191, 192, 196, 197
Sagrado, 44, 240, 249, 256, 257, 258, 265, 271
San Daniele, Monte, 219
San Floriano, 204
San Gabriele, Mont, 44, 197, 211, 215, 219
San Grado di Merna, 293
San Michele, Mont, 143, 190, 197, 239, 240, 249, 250, 256, 273
San Pietro, 44
Santa Luccia, 44
San Marco, 44
Santa Maria, 44
Santo, Monte, 134, 211, 215, 219
Sdraussina, 249, 250
Savogna, 141, 249
Schluderbach, Valley of, 116, 117
Smith, Ernest, 65
Stelvio Pass, The, 73, 79, 81
Stivo, Hills, The, 101
Subida, 135
Svinjak, 140
TERNOVA, 133, 134
Terzo, 37, 133
Timau, Monte, 118, 121
_Times, The_, 65
Tofana, 116
Tolmezzo, 118
Tolmino, 38, 40, 136, 137, 141
Trent, 98
Trentino, the Operations in, 97, 114, 135, 151, 155, 183, 184, 189
Trieste, 255, 269, 290, 292
Turin, 7
Tyrol, Austrian, The, 89
UDINE, 15, 20, 21-33, 37, 39, 42, 43, 49, 50-59, 131, 133, 141, 146,
153, 154, 156, 186, 186, 187, 188, 190, 199, 205, 238, 242,
251, 266, 276, 277, 281, 282, 282, 286, 292
VAL SUGANA, 151
Valtellino, Valley of, 79
Vaucher, Robert, 65, 271, 276
Veliki, Hribach, 292, 293
Venadoro, 115, 117
Venetia, 114
Venice, 15, 16, 17, 23
Venzone, 118
Verona, 15, 72, 97, 98
Vicenza, 15, 103, 155, 156
Victor Emmanuel, King, 49, 50, 295
Vipulzano, 190, 197, 202
Vitry-le-Francois, 142
WARREN, WHITNEY, 239
Wells, H. G., 239
Weillschott, Captain, 153
Women carrying barbed wire, 118
ZEBIO, MONTE, 167
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE
Obvious typographical errors and punctuation errors have been
corrected after careful comparison with other occurrences within
the text and consultation of external sources.
Some hyphens in words have been silently removed, some added, when
a predominant preference was found in the original book. Some
missing — (mdash) separators have been inserted in the Table of
Contents.
Except for those changes noted below, all misspellings in the text,
and inconsistent or archaic usage, have been retained.
Table of Contents:
Pg xii: ‘Descenzano’ replaced by ‘Desenzano’.
Pg xiii: ‘305mn. guns’ replaced by ‘305mm. guns’.
Pg xvi: ‘The battlefiield’ replaced by ‘The battlefield’.
Pg xviii: ‘Francesco Guiseppi’ replaced by ‘Francesco Guiseppe’.
Pg xxiv: ‘298’ replaced by ‘270’.
Main text:
Pg 17: ‘of Venetain life’ replaced by ‘of Venetian life’.
Pg 74: ‘unbelieveable that’ replaced by ‘unbelievable that’.
Pg 80: ‘the aclivity was’ replaced by the ‘acclivity was’.
Pg 89: ‘Brobdignagian cliff’ replaced by ‘Brobdingnagian cliff’.
Pg 93: ‘Asti Spamanti’ replaced by ‘Asti Spumante’.
Pg 116: ‘Falzarrego Pass’ replaced by ‘Falzarego Pass’.
Pg 120: ‘incessant fusilade’ replaced by ‘incessant fusillade’.
Pg 125: ‘constant fusilade’ replaced by ‘constant fusillade’.
Pg 126: ‘military tattoo’ replaced by ‘military tatoo’.
Pg 138: ‘retrogade direction’ replaced by ‘retrograde direction’.
Pg 139: ‘a spec of grit’ replaced by ‘a speck of grit’.
Pg 140: ‘Rombon and Svenjak’ replaced by ‘Rombon and Svinjak’.
Pg 149: ‘to develope it’ replaced by ‘to develop it’.
Pg 155: ‘the newpsaper line’ replaced by ‘the newspaper line’.
Pg 157: ‘of the Altepiano’ replaced by ‘of the Altopiano’.
Pg 157: ‘about if from’ replaced by ‘about it from’.
Pg 165: ‘the Altepiano beyond’ replaced by ‘the Altopiano beyond’.
Pg 207: ‘Francesco Guiseppi’ replaced by ‘Francesco Guiseppe’.
Pg 222: ‘Signor Bisolati’ replaced by ‘Signor Bissolati’.
Pg 233: ‘advisd use not’ replaced by ‘advised us not’.
Pg 261: ‘Monte Cossich’ replaced by ‘Monte Cosich’.
Index:
Pg 297: ‘Altepiano, Tableland’ replaced by ‘Altopiano, Tableland’.
Pg 297: ‘Bersagheri, the’ replaced by ‘Bersaglieri, the’.
Pg 298: ‘Descenzano’ replaced by ‘Desenzano’.
Pg 299: ‘Monte Cristello’ replaced by ‘Monte Cristallo’.
Pg 300: ‘Svenjak’ replaced by ‘Svinjak’.