CHAPTER XIII

I JOIN THE FIRST BRITISH BATTERY IN ITALY

On the 15th of August arrived an operation order indicating our targets

in the first and second phases of the great Italian offensive, which had

been long expected, and also the objectives of the Infantry. The day on

which the offensive was to begin was not yet announced. Six more British

Siege Batteries, giving us now three British Heavy Artillery Groups, had

arrived on the Carso and in the Monfalcone sector about a fortnight

before. The French too had sent a number of Heavy Batteries, which were

in position on Monte Sabotino and elsewhere north of the Vippacco. But

the counsel of wise men had been disregarded, and no French or British

Infantry, no complete Allied Army Corps, had been sent to the Italian

Front, where a big military success could have been more easily obtained

and would have had greater military and political results at this time,

than anywhere else.

On this day I walked to and from S. Andrea, returning to the Battery in

the evening greatly perspiring but with an enormous appetite. Large

numbers of Infantry were going up the Vallone and the Volconiac in the

dusk. Italian Infantry march in twos on either side of a road, not in

fours on one side as ours do.

The Austrians shelled a good deal this evening, and put a lot of gas

shell into Merna.

* * * * *

On the 17th I was transferred to another Battery. It was the eve of the

offensive, and my new Battery was an officer short, while my old Battery

was again at full strength, the officer who had been in hospital

wounded, when I arrived in Italy, having now returned. I joined my new

Battery about midday. They were in position on the Vippacco, close to

the former position of my old Battery. I was destined to stay with them

for seventeen months, till after the war was won, and I came to identify

myself very completely with them, and to be proud to be one of them.

This had been the first of all the British Batteries to come into action

in Italy, and had fired the first British shell against Austria. The

Major in command had the reputation of being the most efficient British

Battery Commander in Italy, and, so far as my experience of others went,

he deserved it. He was a Regular soldier, and had served with a Mountain

Battery in India, a service which requires and breeds a power of quick

decision, by no means universal among Garrison Gunners of the Regular

Army. Personally he was a most delightful man, at his best a very

amusing talker, a pleasant companion and an excellent Commanding

Officer. Few officers whom I have met took as much thought and trouble

as he for the material welfare of his men. From his junior officers he

combined a demand for high efficiency with a sometimes wonderful

solicitude for their comfort, health and peace of mind. He never asked

any of us to do more, or even as much, as he did willingly himself, and

if anything went wrong in the Battery, which it seldom did, he never

hesitated, in dealing with higher authorities, to take all the blame. He

had been twice wounded already, once on the Somme and again in the

Italian May offensive. Later on he was wounded a third time.

Captain Jeune, the Second-in-Command, was also a Regular, but very

young. In mind and manner he was older than his years, and he knew his

work as a military professional extremely well. Some found him

truculent, but he never displayed any truculence to me.

On my arrival I became Senior Subaltern of the Battery. The three Junior

Subalterns, Darrell, Leary and Winterton, provided a variety of

companionship. Darrell was a man of business, a most capable officer, a

good Mess Secretary, and very easy to get on with. Leary was a

dark-haired Irishman, who had originated in the County Limerick. He was

a good mathematician, but in conversation was apt to be long-winded, and

had a wonderful capacity for making a simple matter appear complex. He

had been, by turns, a civil engineer and an actor, and had a fine

singing voice. As an officer he was infinitely laborious and

conscientious, but with a queer disconcerting streak of Irish

unaccountability. One never quite knew what he would do, if left alone

in charge of anything.

Winterton was a good-looking boy, who would have gone up to Cambridge in

1915, if there had been no war. Instead he enlisted in the Horse

Artillery, became a Corporal, and went to the Dardanelles as a Despatch

Rider. Having spent several months in hospital at Malta and nearly died

of dysentery, he came back to England and was given an Artillery

Commission. He was a gallant youth but just a little casual, with rather

a music-hall mind, but good company, if one was not left alone with him

too long.

There was also attached to the Battery at this time an Italian Artillery

officer, whom I will call Manzoni, a Southerner, small and very dark. He

had taught himself to speak excellent English though he had never been

in England. He was an intelligent observer and an amusing companion, and

we became great friends.

The personnel of the Battery was splendid, and I do not believe that in

any other Battery the spirit of the men was better, nor the personal

relations between officers and men on a sounder and healthier footing,

than with us.

Some Battery Commanders proceed on the principle that even the most

experienced N.C.O. cannot be trusted to perform the simplest duty,

except under the eye of an officer, however junior. The Battery in this

case becomes helplessly dependent on the officers. If they go out of

action, so does the whole Battery. Other Battery Commanders, of whom my

new Major was one, proceed on the principle that as many N.C.O.'s as

possible should be able to do an officer's work, so that the Battery

should be able to continue in action without any officers at all if

necessary, and also be able to adapt itself readily to a sudden change

from stagnant to open warfare. This principle is universally applied in

the French Artillery, where, apart from its evident wisdom, it has been

necessitated by the great shortage of officers. My own Major used to

train all our best N.C.O.'s with this object in view and, when satisfied

of their competence, used to give them in normal times considerable

responsibilities in the working of the Battery in action. The result was

that we had as capable and reliable a set of "Numbers One" and

"B.C.A.'s" as could be found anywhere.[1] The men thoroughly appreciated

the amount of trust reposed in them and never failed us. Furthermore,

when I joined the Battery there was hardly a man who was not a trained

specialist, either as a Signaller, Gunlayer or B.C.A.

[Footnote 1: A "Number One" is the Sergeant or other N.C.O. in charge of

a gun and its detachment when in action. A "B.C.A." (or Battery

Commander's Assistant) assists the officer on duty in the Command Post

in locating points on the map, in making numerical calculations, and in

other miscellaneous duties.]

Seventeen months later, only the Major, Leary and myself, out of the

officers in the Battery when I joined, still remained with it, and

death, wounds, sickness, promotion and commissions from the ranks had

taken from us many of our best N.C.O.'s and men. But through all the

varied experiences of those long months, there had been a continuity of

tradition and an unchanging spirit. We were still, for me and for many,

the First British Battery in Italy.

PART III

THE ITALIAN SUMMER OFFENSIVE, 1917

CHAPTER XIV

THE OFFENSIVE OPENS

On the 18th of August I got up at half-past four in the morning. There

was a mist in the air, which cleared away as the day grew warmer. The

big bombardment in what the journalists called the Twelfth Battle of the

Isonzo began at six o'clock and went on continuously all day. Once the

thing was started, I had little to do except to change occasionally the

rate of fire,--"_lento_," "_normale_," "_vivace_," "_celere_" and

"_double vivace_" by turns. The first part of the day I was in charge of

the Right Section of the Battery and sat most of the time on a wooden

bench at a table under a tarpaulin among the acacias. By my side sat a

telephonist in communication with the Battery Command Post, some four

hundred yards away to the left, beyond the Left Section. My only other

apparatus was a megaphone, a notebook and pencil, and a pipe.

Occasionally I would go and stand by one of the guns, to check the

gun-laying and to see that the guns were recoiling and coming up again

without undue violence. One had also to guard against a dust cloud being

raised by the blast of the guns, thus giving away our position to the

enemy. To prevent this, we formed a chain of men every half hour to pass

water-buckets from hand to hand, from the river just behind us down the

sunken road, to lay the dust in and around the gun pits. But under an

Italian August sun the ground soon grew parched and dusty again.

The Austrians did not shell much till the evening, when they nearly hit

our Mess and shell-shocked a man of another Battery in the road close

by. But the Italian bombardment all day was very heavy, and our guns and

theirs were to go on firing all night. Just before midnight I relieved

the Major in the Command Post, and he and the rest of the officers went

to bed. So I sat there wakefully among the acacias, awaiting any sudden

orders from the Group to switch or lift to new targets, or to vary the

rate of fire. Every now and then I took a walk round the Battery to see

that all was working correctly, and every hour the N.C.O.'s in charge of

each gun brought in their fired tubes to the Command Post and reported

how many rounds had been fired in the preceding hour and how many tubes

misfired.

* * * * *

It was a clear, starlight night, up above the multitudinous flashes of

British and Italian guns. At close quarters these flashes were

blindingly bright, and flung up showers of red sparks. In the intervals

of a few seconds between flashes, if one stood with one's eyes fixed on

the guns, the stars seemed blotted out in an utterly black darkness. A

long bombardment is one of the most boring things in the world by reason

of its intense monotony, and because in a queer half-unconscious way it

begins, after many hours, very slightly to fray the nerves. Listening

and watching in the small hours, and from time to time directing, I

found myself able, with almost discreditable elastic-mindedness, to call

up at will any of the aspects of modern war,--its utter and inherent

wickedness, its artistic and scientific majesty, its occasional moral

justification against the oppressor, its ultimate blank insanity. But I

would not have liked to be an Austrian yesterday or this morning. The

Italian Infantry attacked on our sector at 5.30 a.m. There was a

tremendous crescendo of gunfire at this time. The Major relieved me in

the Command Post at 5 o'clock, and urged me to go to bed, but I did not

feel inclined to sleep. Instead I went up about 6 o'clock through Pec

village to an O.P. on a hillside beyond, to see what could be seen. But

all the Front was hidden in a thick mist, made thicker by the smoke,

shot through with innumerable momentary flashes. All round us thousands

of guns were going off, filling the air with a deafening and continuous

roar. A telephonist was with me who had been through a good deal of the

Somme fighting, and had found the Italian Front, in times of lull, a

little uneventful. But this morning he was full of appreciation. "This

is something like it, isn't it, Sir?" he said. Being able to see

nothing, I went back to bed for some hours and spent the afternoon at a

Battery O.P., which had been specially arranged for this offensive, in

an Italian reserve trench just off the Pec-Merna road.

* * * * *

The bombardment continued through the 19th and 20th and 21st of August,

now with guns firing independently, now with salvos or rounds of Battery

fire, now with individual guns being ranged afresh from some O.P., with

hardly an hour's interval of silence. How little the individual soldier

knows of what is happening at these times! Conflicting rumours of

varying credibility came in to us during those three days, rumours of

big advances both to the north and to the south. But on our own sector

we knew that no permanent advance had been made, for we were still

firing a good deal on old "Zone 15," one of our first day's targets, and

on that damned Hill 464, the most important of the first objectives of

the Infantry.

Before this offensive began I had slept in a hut above ground, but the

Major had now insisted that I should sleep in a small dug-out half-way

up a steep bank, at the bottom of which our Mess Hut stood in an orchard

stretching down to the river bank. The Austrians shelled us

intermittently, but without doing any damage. In the small hours of the

21st I was dozing in my dug-out, where I had been reading Lowes

Dickinson's _Choice Before Us_, a congenial book at such a time, with

nine-tenths of which I was in complete agreement. I then heard a series

of Austrian "4.2's" come sailing over my dug-out and burst just at the

foot of the bank. They made miserable bursts in the soft earth, so small

as to make me suspect gas shells for a moment, but this suspicion did

not worry me, for no one was sleeping at the bottom and gas cannot run

uphill. Next morning I found a shell hole fifteen yards from the Mess

Hut, another on the path and several others among the trees. They were

"double events," with a shrapnel and time fuse head and a high

explosive and percussion fuse tail, but neither head nor tail had been

of much effect. There was very heavy firing that morning, but less in

the afternoon. Great gloom prevailed on our sector, where we were back

again in most of our first positions. The Infantry were reported to be

unable to make headway against machine guns on Hill 464 and the Tamburo.

To the south, on the Carso, the ruins of the village of Selo had been

taken, but not much else.

But, though we did not know it then, the Italian Army in those first

three days had won magnificent successes to the north of us.

CHAPTER XV

WE SWITCH OUR GUNS NORTHWARD

On the 22nd of August we got for the first time definite news of the

Italian advance on the Bainsizza Plateau. The day was rather hotter than

usual, and on our own sector there was still no appreciable progress.

Hill 464 had been won and lost three times since yesterday morning, and,

to the south of it, Hill 368 also had been won and lost again. Up there

it must be a vain and shocking shambles. It was claimed for Cadorna's

communiqués, I think justly, that at this time no others were more

moderate and truthful. No point was claimed as won, until it was not

merely won but securely held.

The Italian Battery beside us were moving north that night to the

Tolmino sector and next day our Left Section was to move out into a

position in the open, in order to switch north and shell S. Marco, which

we could not reach from our present gun pits. S. Marco, being north of

the Vippacco, was in the area of the Italian Second Army, commanded by

Capello, which had been performing the great feats of these last days.

It was clear that, for the moment, the main Italian effort was being

made to the north.

Indeed by the 24th all the British guns of our Group were pointing

north-eastward, firing at S. Marco and neighbouring targets. British

casualties and those of the Italian Heavy Artillery had been very light,

the Austrian having concentrated practically all his Artillery fire, in

addition to his machine guns, on the Italian Infantry, amongst whom

there had been hideous slaughter.

But in the early morning of the 23rd an Austrian shell killed a Sergeant

and two men in one of our Batteries. The Sergeant was torn into several

pieces, one of which landed on the top of the Officers' Mess and another

in a gun pit 150 yards away. One of his legs could not be found, so they

had to bury what they could, an incomplete set of torn fragments. But

three or four days later the smell of the lost limb came drifting down a

ravine above their guns, and following the scent, they found it, black

with flies among the stones.

In my old Battery, too, four hundred cartridges went up with a direct

hit, and the Austrians then shelled the smoke with unpleasant effect. A

twelve-inch shell also burst very close to the Battery's Mess, killing

a number of Italian telephonists next door.

Throughout these days, periods of very heavy firing alternated with

periods of comparative quiet.

* * * * *

On the 25th a party of nearly thirty British officers and men, a

procession of two cars, three side-cars and twelve motor bicycles, went

up Podgora Hill. The Italian Second Army, to whom we were strangers,

watched us with interest as we went past in a cloud of dust. On the top

of Podgora Hill was a series of O.P.'s, known collectively as Maria

O.P., hollowed out of the rock, approached through rock passages, and in

front a wide rocky platform commanding a splendid panorama. At our feet

was a precipitous descent, clothed with acacias, at the bottom Podgora

with its gutted factories, then the broad stream of the Isonzo, and

Gorizia on the further side. To the left we could see the Isonzo winding

down out of the mountains, between Monte Sabotino and Monte Santo, the

latter hiding from our sight the Bainsizza Plateau. In the centre of our

view rose the great mass of San Gabriele; Italian patrols were out on

its southern slopes, clearly visible through field-glasses. Then Santa

Catarina and the long low brown hillside of San Marco. Away to the right

the flat lands of the Isonzo and Vippacco valleys, and beyond these

again the northern ridge of the Carso, from Dosso Faiti to the Stoll,

beautifully visible. On the right everything seemed quiet, but there was

tremendous Allied shelling of San Gabriele, Santa Catarina and San

Marco. French Gunners also were here with fifteen-inch guns firing on

San Marco, and two of their officers were at Maria O.P. that day. It

was symbolic that from this height, for the first time on the Italian

Front, Gunners of the three Western Allies were looking out eastward

together toward the Promised Land.

The enemy trenches on San Marco lay out of view behind the crest, and

our registration point, a white house on the top of the ridge, was

almost completely blown away by a big French shell while we were

watching, and waiting our turn to fire. We saw another shell burst in

the Isonzo just above Gorizia, causing a huge waterspout. Colonel Canale

arrived while we were firing. His white gloves were a little soiled, and

he seemed rather worried and more serious than usual. He was

disappointed at the stoppage of the offensive on the Carso.

CHAPTER XVI

THE FALL OF MONTE SANTO

Even when our guns were turned against San Marco, we continued to man

Sant' Andrea O.P., for one could get good general observation to the

northward from the other side of the ruined house which was the old

O.P., and most of the trenches on San Marco were invisible except from

aeroplanes. I spent the night there several times during the August

offensive, watching by turns with one of our Bombardiers, to whom I

explained that wars were made by small groups of wicked men, generally

also rich, sitting and planning in secret. I proposed to him the need

to shell such groups, while they were yet forming, with the shrapnel of

public opinion.

It was also at Sant' Andrea that I met a young Lieutenant of Italian

Field Artillery, a Sardinian from Cagliari. He had still the face of a

child, and he had, too, that perfect self-possession and that wonderful,

soft charm which are so often found together in the Italian youth. I

think of him often with affection, and with an eager hope that he passed

unharmed through all the vicissitudes which were to follow.

He and I spent many hours together, watching those bloody, memorable

hills. I met him first on the 24th of August, and we drank a bottle of

Vermouth together, and discussed with enthusiasm many subjects. We even

worked out in detail a scheme for the interchange of students, for

periods of a year at a time, between Italian and British Universities

after the war. We then turned to modern history and I noticed that he

did not respond as much as I had expected to the name of Garibaldi. He

held the historical theory that, broadly speaking, there are no really

great men, but only lucky ones. He put forward in support of this view

the distribution of death, wounds and decorations in this war. This

theory of history has in it larger elements of wholesomeness and truth

than has, for instance, the pernicious bombast of Carlyle. I told my

Sardinian friend that I had once heard it said by a most learned man

that, if Rousseau had never lived, the world would not look very

different to-day, except that probably there would be no negro republic

in the island of Haiti. This saying pleased him and he was inclined to

think it plausible.

He told me that day that Monte Santo was reported taken, but the news

was not yet sure.

* * * * *

I saw him again three days later and by then all the world knew that

Monte Santo had fallen. For Cadorna in his communiqué of the 25th had

cried: "Since yesterday our tricolour has been waving from the summit of

Monte Santo!" Already we could see the flashes of Italian Field Guns in

action near the summit. All day I was buoyant, exhilarated, and as

absorbed in the war as any journalist.

Victory has an intoxicating quality in this bright clear atmosphere, and

among these mountains, which it has, perhaps, nowhere else. All day

there seemed to be in the air a strange thrill, which at evening seemed

to grow into a great throbbing Triumph Song of the Heroes,--incomparable

Italians, living and dead. The emotion of it became almost unbearable.

"Our tricolour is waving from the summit of Monte Santo!"

Here on the night of the 26th there occurred a scene wonderfully, almost

incredibly, dramatic. The moon was rising. Shells passed whistling

overhead, some coming from beyond the Isonzo toward the Ternova Plateau,

others in the opposite direction from Ternova. Rifle shots rang out from

beneath Monte Santo, along the slopes of San Gabriele, where the Italian

and Austrian lines were very close together, where no word on either

side might be spoken above a whisper. Suddenly there crashed out from

the gloom the opening bars of the Marcia Reale, played with tremendous

_élan_ by a military band. The music came from Monte Santo. On the

summit of the conquered mountain, the night after its conquest, an

Italian band was playing amid the broken ruins of the convent, standing

around the firmly planted Italian flag. It was the Divisional Band of

the four Regiments which had stormed these heights. On the flanks of the

mountain, along the new lines in the valley beneath, along the trenches

half-way up San Gabriele, Italian soldiers raised a cry of startled joy.

Below the peak an Italian Regiment held the line within forty yards of

the enemy, crouching low in the shallow trenches. Their Colonel leaped

to his feet and his voice rang out, "Soldiers, to your feet! Attention!"

All along the trench the soldiers, with a swift thrill of emotion,

sprang to their feet. Then again the Colonel cried, "My soldiers, let us

cry aloud in the face of the enemy, 'Long live Italy! Long live the

King! Long live the Infantry!'" Loud and long came the cheers, echoing

and re-echoing from the rocks, taken up and repeated by others who heard

them, first near at hand, then far away, echoing and spreading through

the night, like the swelling waves of a great sea.

The Austrians opened fire on Monte Santo. But the music still went on.

The Marcia Reale was finished, but now in turn the Hymn of Garibaldi and

the Hymn of Mameli, historic battle songs of Italian liberty, pealed

forth to the stars, loud above the bursting of the shells. And many

Italian eyes, from which the atrocious sufferings of this war had never

yet drawn tears, wept with a proud, triumphant joy. And as the last

notes died away upon the night air, a great storm of cheers broke forth

afresh from the Italian lines. The moon was now riding high in the

heavens, and every mountain top, seen from below, was outlined with a

sharp-cut edge against the sky.

Four days after, not far from this same spot, General Capello, the

Commander of the Italian Second Army, decorated with the Silver Medal

for Valour some of the heroes of the great victory. Among these was a

civilian, a man over military age. It was Toscanini, Italy's most famous

musical conductor. It was he who, charged with the organisation of

concerts for the troops, had found himself in this sector of the Front

when Monte Santo fell, and, hearing the news, had demanded and obtained

permission to climb the conquered mountain. He reached the summit on the

evening of the 26th and, by a strange chance, found his way among the

rocks and the ruins of the convent, to the place where the band was

playing. His presence had upon the musicians the same effect which the

presence of a great General has upon faithful troops. They crowded round

him, fired with a wild enthusiasm. Then Toscanini took command of what

surely was one of the strangest concerts in the world, played in the

moonlight, in an hour of glory, on a mountain top, which to the Italians

had become an almost legendary name, to an audience of two contending

Armies, amid the rattle of machine guns, the rumble of cannon, and the

crashes of exploding shells.

* * * * *

"Our tricolour is waving from the summit of Monte Santo!"

If the souls of poets be immortal and know what still passes in this

world, be sure that the soul of Swinburne sings again to-day, from hell

or heaven, the Song of the Standard.

"This is thy banner, thy gonfalon, fair in the front of thy fight.

Red from the hearts that were pierced for thee, white as thy

mountains are white,

Green as the spring of thy soul everlasting, whose life-blood is light.

Take to thy bosom thy banner, a fair bird fit for the nest,

Feathered for flight into sunrise or sunset, for eastward or west,

Fledged for the flight everlasting, but held yet warm to thy breast.

Gather it close to thee, song-bird or storm-bearer, eagle or dove,

Lift it to sunward, a beacon beneath to the beacon above,

Green as our hope in it, white as our faith in it, red as our love."

CHAPTER XVII

THE CONQUEST OF THE BAINSIZZA PLATEAU

The Italian advance on the Middle Isonzo in the early days of the August

offensive reached a depth of six miles on a front of eleven miles. The

Italians had swept across the Bainsizza Plateau, and had gained

observation and command, though not possession, of the Valley of

Chiapovano, the main Austrian line of communication and supply in this

sector. This advance and the resumption of the war of movement raised,

for the moment, tremendous expectations, which were destined, alas, to

die away without fulfilment.

The passage of the Isonzo, here a deep cleft in the mountains, from

Plava to above Canale, had been accomplished by the combined skill and

valour of Infantry, Artillery and Engineers. The preliminary work of the

Engineers in roadmaking on the western side of the river had been, as

always, worthy of the highest praise. A great mass of bridging material

had had to be accumulated in the valley, alongside camouflaged roads.

The Austrians must have been on their guard, but it seems probable that

they did not expect a big attack to be made here. For they were fully

conscious of the natural strength of their positions.

First to cross the river on the night of the attack were boats carrying

Engineers and detachments of Arditi. As they crossed, the river gorge

was full of mist and they were not detected. But when the work of

bridging began, and sounds of hammering and the dragging of planks into

position could be clearly heard, suddenly all along the further bank the

Austrian machine guns began to spit fire, and red rockets went up

calling for the Artillery barrage. Many boats were hit and sank, and the

Bridging Detachments suffered severe casualties. One bridge, half built,

was set on fire, and one could see dark shadows, lit up by the glare

amid the darkness, darting forward to extinguish the flames. Fourteen

bridges were thrown across under heavy fire, and, as the Infantry began

to cross, Platoon after Platoon, the Austrian Machine Gunners fired at

the sound of their footsteps, and many Italians fell, especially

officers leading their men. But the crossing went on and, when dawn

broke, the attackers had a firm footing on the left bank of the river.

They swept round the flanks of those machine guns which had not yet been

put out of action, and making use of the subterranean passages which the

enemy had pierced in the cliffs for sheltered communication between the

higher and the lower levels of the mountain, began to pour forth upon

the crest of the ridge which overlooks the river. Then, as the advance

continued, the Austrian right wing above Canale gave way in confusion

and the Italians pressed forward on to the Bainsizza Plateau.

But their difficulties were tremendous. When they left the valley of the

Isonzo behind them, they entered a waterless land, without springs for

some four miles. In the early stages of the battle all water for the

troops had to be brought up by mules, and likewise all food, ammunition

and medical supplies, until the Engineers could get to work with

road-building on the left bank of the river. The Bainsizza Plateau

itself, lying amid a mass of barren mountains, contains woods, pastures,

springs, small villages, a few roads and many tracks. The Italians swept

over it on the 21st and 22nd of August, but soon found themselves once

more in difficult country. In the days that followed the advance was

slower and more spasmodic, but it still continued. By the 27th, 25,000

Austrian prisoners had been taken, together with a great quantity of

material, and several whole Austrian Divisions had ceased to exist.

It had been a wonderful feat of arms, finely conceived by the Staff,

magnificently executed by the rank and file. It opened out a great vista

of new possibilities, but, for the moment, it was over. Before any

further advance was practicable, the positions won had to be

consolidated, roads had to be built, dumps and stores of every kind to

be moved forward.

* * * * *

In a village on the Bainsizza Plateau, half wrecked by shell fire, two

old peasants were sitting outside their house. Austrian shells whistled

through the air and burst a few hundred yards away. "These are not for

us," said one of the old men to an Italian soldier, "the shells and the

war are for the soldiers, not the civilians."

CHAPTER XVIII

THE FIGHTING DIES DOWN

On the 28th of August the offensive was really beginning again. We were

firing on San Marco at a slow rate from six a.m. for an hour, then

"vivace" from seven till noon, and at noon we lifted and continued

vivace. San Marco was not rocky, and the trenches there should be

bombardable into pulp. In the early morning from Sant' Andrea the hills

all round were clearly outlined, except where some long belts of

motionless, white, low-lying cloud partly hid the Faiti-Stoll range.

Later, with the sun up, a warm haze hid everything. Firing continued

heavy till six p.m., and then slowed down. The attack on San Marco had

failed.

Next day there was a good deal of shelling and some torrential showers.

We set fire to some woods on the lower slopes of San Daniele, with a

high wind blowing.

* * * * *

The Battery's good luck continued. On the 30th, while my Gun Detachment

were at breakfast, a 5.9 burst in their shelter trench, at the moment

unoccupied, and covered every one with showers of loose earth. All the

breakfast vanished, and our shells were thrown about like driftwood in a

storm. But no ammunition was exploded and no one was hurt. Raven, who

had been up Sabotino that day, told us that "San Gabriele is tottering."

Our offensive seemed to have completely come to an end on the Carso and

in the Vippacco Valley. But we were still hammering away at San Marco

and San Gabriele, at intervals of a few days at a time. On the 2nd of

September San Gabriele was still "tottering," on the morning of the 4th

it was reported taken, on the 6th we heard that it had been taken, lost

and retaken, the Arno Brigade having distinguished themselves by some

wonderful bombing. Cadorna's objective now, it was said, was Lubiana,

and not Trieste. The Major and I both agreed that the Entente ought to

put every available man and tank on to this Front and go for Vienna. On

the 8th Raven told us that the top of San Gabriele was held, but not the

lower slopes nor Santa Catarina, which were still precariously supplied

from behind San Marco. A few days later we lost the top of San Gabriele,

and the attack upon it was not renewed.

Then followed quiet times, except for activity by Austrian Trench

Mortars against our trenches on Hill 126. We established direct

telephonic communication from the Battery to the Infantry Brigade

Headquarters in order to provide rapid retaliation, and we made several

Reconnaissances to try to locate Trench Mortars in the tangle of broken

ground through which the enemy line ran.

On the 17th we were warned to be ready to move at short notice to the

neighbourhood of Monfalcone, for a big push against the Hermada in three

weeks' time. Battery positions were chosen, but we never went. Instead a

rumour began to spread that all British Batteries were leaving Italy and

going East. It was said that the War Office had the wind up about the

Turks. An international tug of war was going on behind the scenes. On

the afternoon of the 28th we were told on high authority that our

movements were still undecided, but the Battery was inspected that day

by General Capello, the victor of Bainsizza, who looked like an Eastern

potentate, and was heard to say that he wanted as many British Batteries

as he could get, to increase the gun power of the Second Army. That

evening, however, our fate was said to be unofficially decided. We, with

the rest of Raven's Group, five Batteries in all, were to stay in Italy,

the other two Groups were to go away. It was not till the 3rd of October

that we received definite orders on the subject. The other Groups went

to Egypt and a couple of Batteries, after three months of doing nothing

in Cairo, came back to Italy again. They had at any rate found a little

employment for some of our surplus shipping and they had missed some

queer experiences in Italy meantime.

It was also announced that we were not moving down to Monfalcone, but

were probably remaining in our present positions for the winter. We

therefore began systematically to prepare winter quarters. The Italian

Corps Commander in a special Order of the Day expressed his satisfaction

that our Group was remaining under his command.

* * * * *

On the 5th I got up at four o'clock in the morning and carried out a

Front Line Reconnaissance with Sergeant Cotes, the No. 1 of my gun, and

Avoglia, an Italian Sergeant Major attached to our Battery, rather a

sleek person, who had been a _maître-d'hôtel_ at Brighton before the

war. We went along the front line trenches on Hill 126, recently

captured. These trenches ran beside the river and were now in fine

condition, great repairs and reconstruction having been carried out

during the past three weeks. It was here that Austrian Trench Mortars

were active. They were firing when we arrived and caused some

casualties. As it grew light, a strong Austrian patrol was seen moving

about in No Man's Land, and it was thought that a raid might be coming.

The order "Stand to" was given, and the Infantry came swarming out of

their dug-outs, a crowd of youths, some very handsome, with almost

Classical Roman features, and older men, sturdy and bearded. They

densely manned the parapet, with fixed bayonets and hand grenades. The

machine gun posts were also manned. But nothing happened!

A little later an Austrian was seen to emerge from cover in No Man's

Land, about a hundred yards away from us, and run towards our trenches,

throwing away his rifle and shouting some unintelligible words. He was

sick of the war and wanted to surrender. But a young Italian recruit, in

the trenches for the first time, quivering with excitement and eagerness

to distinguish himself, not realising the man's motive, fired at him

through a peephole. He missed, but the Austrian turned and doubled back

like a rabbit to his own lines, where I suppose he was shot, poor brute,

by his own people. I was standing quite close to the young recruit when

he fired. No one rebuked him, but a Corporal patiently explained things

to him. We smiled at one another, and I wished him "auguri" and went on

up the hill.

The Austrian snipers were busy, and another Italian standing close to

me, looking out slantwise through a peephole, was shot through the jaw.

He was bandaged up, profusely bleeding, and went stoically down the

hill, supported by a companion, leaving a red trail along the wooden

duck-boards that paved the trench.

I went down two saps which the Italians had pushed out, one to within

twenty yards, the other to within ten yards, of the Austrian front line.

Here every one spoke in a low whisper or by signs. They warned me to

keep well down, as the Austrians hated khaki worse even than

"grigio-verde," as one is always apt to hate third parties who butt in

against one in what one conceives to be a purely private quarrel.

But I went back armed with some useful information regarding the

position of those Austrian Trench Mortars.

CHAPTER XIX

A LULL BETWEEN TWO STORMS

From the beginning of October the Battery were hard at work on their

winter quarters. We had two large dining and recreation huts for the

men, one for the Right Section and one for the Left, fitted up with long

wooden tables and benches. These huts were dug into the bank, one on

either side of the road leading up from the Battery position to Pec

village. The dug-outs were improved and made watertight and the

Officers' Mess and sleeping huts were moved up from the river bank into

the Battery position itself. Everything was very comfortable and handy.

We maintained close relations with an Italian Battery next door

commanded by a certain Captain Romano. His men helped us in putting up

our huts, which were of Italian design, and we had frequent exchanges of

hospitality. Romano was a Regular officer, about 28 years old, with

twinkling brown eyes and a voice like a foghorn even when speaking from

a short distance away, but a fine singer. He had a wonderful collection

of photographs, was a good Gunner and popular with his men.

* * * * *

On the 9th I spent the night in Lecce O.P. on Hill 123, overlooking

Hills 126 and 94. It was named after the Lecce Brigade who made it, one

of the best Brigades in the Italian Army. When they were in front of

us, we saw a good deal of them. Now the Parma Brigade were holding the

line and the British officer in the O.P. used to take his meals at the

Brigade Headquarters. Things were rather active that evening. At

half-past five in the afternoon the enemy opened a heavy bombardment,

increasing to a pitch of great fury, on our front and support trenches.

Our own lines down below me were blotted out from sight by dense clouds

of crashing, flashing smoke. Just before six the Italian Brigadier asked

me for a heavy barrage from all the British Batteries. A big

counter-bombardment was now working up from our side. I spoke on the

telephone to Raven, who told me that all our Batteries were firing

"_double vivace_." At a quarter past six the Austrians attacked. There

was a terrific rattle of Italian machine gun fire, almost drowning the

sound of the heavier explosions, and a stream of rockets went up from

our front line calling for more barrage. The attack was beaten off by

machine guns and hand grenades. A few Austrians reached our parapet, but

none got into our trenches.

Firing died down about a quarter to seven, and the Brigadier came up to

the O.P., very pleased with the support we had rendered, and asked that

a slow rate of fire might be kept up. Later on an Austrian telephone

message was overheard, which suggested that the attack was to be renewed

just before dawn, after a gas attack. We kept on the alert, but nothing

happened. Two of our Batteries went on firing at a slow rate all night.

When dawn broke, it was evident that our bombardment had been very

destructive. The enemy's trenches were knocked to pieces; uprooted

trees, planks, sandbags and dead bodies lay about in confusion. It was

thought that owing to our fire some Austrian units, which were to have

taken part in the attack, could not, and others would not, do so, in

spite of a special issue of rum and other spirits. I saw also,

motionless amid the Austrian wire, a figure in Italian uniform, one of a

patrol who had gone out four nights before, and had not returned.

On the 12th I went out with a Sergeant, a Signaller and Corporal

Savogna, a Canadian Italian, on a Front Line Reconnaissance on the

northern side of the Vippacco, in the Second Army area. The day was

wonderfully clear and we could see the everlasting snows beyond Cadore.

We went through Rupa to Merna and, being evidently spotted, were shelled

with 4.2's and forced to proceed along a muddy communication trench knee

deep in water. At Raccogliano Mill we visited the Headquarters of the

Bergamo Brigade, which was holding the line. A guide took us along the

front line, which had been considerably advanced here in August and

September, and again by a successful local attack a few days before. We

went down one _Caverna_ in which, on the occasion of this last attack, a

Magyar officer and 25 men surrendered. The Austrian sentry, also a

Magyar, had been fastened by the leg to the doorpost outside the

entrance to the dug-out. In the Italian bombardment one of his feet was

blown away, but his own people had done nothing for him. Now his dead

body lay out in the open behind the new Italian front line.

* * * * *

On the 14th Jeune went on leave to England, no one having any

expectation that anything of importance was likely to happen in the

near future. In his absence I acted as Second-in-Command of the Battery.

On the 19th we heard that the Italian High Command was preparing another

big offensive from the Bainsizza against the Ternova Plateau, and the

same day the Intelligence Report contained the information that a series

of German Divisions had been seen detraining at Lubiana since the

beginning of October, and that, owing to the Russian collapse, a

thousand Austrian guns had been moved across from the Russian to the

Isonzo Front since the middle of September. We had noticed a perceptible

increase in the enemy's Artillery activity for some time, but this, we

thought at the time, was purely defensive. There had also been a week of

heavy rains, but the Vippacco, after rising rapidly and threatening to

flood us all out, fell eighteen inches in one night. It swept away a

number of Italian bridges, however, from Merna and Raccogliano further

up stream, and we saw pieces of these rushing past in the swift current.

On the 21st the Major and I motored to Palmanova and bought some winter

clothing at the Ordnance. An Austrian twelve-inch howitzer, whom we had

christened "Mr Pongo," was shelling all day at intervals, chiefly in the

back areas. An unpleasant beast, we agreed, who wanted smothering!

On the 22nd it was evident, from the Austrian shelling, that quite a

number of fresh heavy howitzers, both twelve- and fifteen-inch, had

appeared behind the Austrian lines. A few, no doubt, of those thousand

guns from Russia! Listening to their shells whistling over one's head

like express trains, and to their (happily distant) deep crashes on

percussion, one realised very vividly the immediate military effects of

the Russian collapse. We heard that the Italian offensive was not coming

off after all.

On the 23rd we heard that a big Austrian attack was expected last night

and might come that night instead. We received orders to clean up and

prepare, in case of necessity, the old position at Boschini on San

Michele, which the Battery had occupied when they first arrived in

Italy. This, I thought, seemed rather panic-stricken. Romano's Battery

had similar orders. It would be annoying to leave our present position

after all the work put into it to make it habitable for the winter. But

I noted that the atmosphere was tinged with apprehension.

PART IV

THE ITALIAN RETREAT AND RECOVERY

CHAPTER XX

THE BEGINNING OF THE ENEMY OFFENSIVE

On the morning of October 24th soon after nine o'clock the enemy

launched a big attack against the Third Army Front, especially violent

between Faiti and the Vippacco, and renewed it in the afternoon. But he

gained no ground. All through the previous night and all that day till

evening the bombardment on both sides was heavy. We had not fired during

the night but began at seven in the morning and went on throughout the

day. A message came in that the enemy would probably shell Batteries for

four hours with gas shell, starting with irritant gas and going on to

poison. He had already employed these tactics up north, as we learned

later. Gas alert was on all night and we were listening strainedly for

soft bursts. Heavy rain came down steadily all day, and everything was

drenched and dripping. The spaces between our huts filled with water,

and needed continual baling out. But when gas was expected, one welcomed

heavy rain[1] and high winds and loud explosions from bursting shells.

[Footnote 1: It was not till a later date that gases were employed, the

effects of which were increased by rain.]

Between nine and ten p.m. I heard a series of soft bursts just across

the river and arranged with Romano's Battery for mutual alarms if any

gas should come too near. An hour later I was relieved in the Command

Post and turned in. As I was undressing, I heard the wind rising again

and the telephonists next door baling out their dug-out. We were keeping

up a desultory fire all night to harass any further attacks that might

be attempted. The Major, who had been out on a Front Line Reconnaissance

that morning in the neighbourhood of Merna, had come in for some very

heavy shelling and returned very weary.

* * * * *

The next day, the 25th, was at least fine; it was even rather sunny. We

did a little firing, but not much, between seven a.m. and two p.m. Enemy

planes came over continually, flying very low, about thirty in the

course of the morning. They attacked one of our observation balloons,

which descended rapidly as they approached, and I think got down safely.

Italian anti-aircraft guns brought down one of them. Whenever we shelled

Mandria, a little village up the valley, a plane came over. Evidently

they had something there as to which they were sensitive, perhaps a

General's Billet!

At half past ten the Italians ditched a lorry full of ammunition just at

the top of the road from the Battery position to Pec village, in full

view of the enemy on Hill 464. At this time the village was being

heavily shelled by 5.9's, and our cookhouse on the outskirts was all but

hit, shells bursting all round it in a circle. Showers of bricks and

lumps of earth and masonry rose high in the air. One shell hit the

Artillery Group Headquarters of Major Borghese and I saw all his office

papers going up, a cloud of shreds, shining in the sun. I laughed and

said to myself, "There goes a lot of red tape!" I saw Borghese himself

later in the day limping along with a stick; a chunk of one of his

office walls had fallen on his foot.

The enemy meanwhile had begun to shell the lorry, methodically as their

idiotic habit was, with one shell every five minutes. It was too near us

to be pleasant, so the Major took out a party and hauled it out of their

view under cover of a bank. But this took some time. Leary stood by with

a stopwatch calling out the minutes. At the end of every fourth minute,

the party ran for cover. Then a few seconds later we heard the next

shell coming. The Major was hit on the hand once by a shell splinter

which drew blood, but nothing more serious than this happened.

About two o'clock a big bombardment worked up again, and the Volconiac

and Faiti became a sea of smoke and flame. This went on till dusk, we

firing hard all the time. More enemy planes came over, one even after

dark, a most unusual thing, flying very low indeed, under a heavy fire

of anti-aircraft Batteries and machine guns from the ground. Our planes

had been very scarce all day. They had nearly all gone north. For the

time being we had quite lost the command of the air in this sector.

The two British Batteries who were furthest forward had orders to move

back that night to reserve positions on San Michele. The Italians were

going to horse their guns, for it was said that the majority of the

tractors had gone north too. This move looked rather panicky, I thought.

Many red rockets went up in the early evening from Volconiac and Faiti.

The enemy were making another attack. Then a little later tricolour

rockets, red, white and green, went up. This was the signal that the

attack had been beaten off and that the situation was quiet again. The

firing died down about seven. We fed and put up for the night an Italian

officer, whose Battery used to be here, but had moved north yesterday.

He had just come back from a gas course at Palmanova. From a newspaper

which he had I saw that a strong offensive had begun on the afternoon of

the 23rd to the north of the Bainsizza Plateau. Either the attacks here

were only holding attacks, or the attack to the north was a feint and

the real thing was to be here. Anyhow, I thought, it is their Last

Despairing Great Cry! I turned in just after midnight. The night was

still and there was a bright moon and stars. A thick mist lay along the

Vippacco, just behind the trees. The air was damp and cold. It seemed

pretty quiet for the moment all along the Front.

* * * * *

I had a troubled night. In the early morning we were bombarded with gas

shell and had to wear respirators from a quarter to three till four

o'clock. We were firing from five till six and again steadily from a

quarter past seven onwards. We got orders to move back that night to

Boschini, on San Michele. I thought this a great mistake. Later in the

day our move was cancelled, as the two forward Batteries which pulled

out last night would not be in action on San Michele till to-morrow.

They had been last heard of stuck fast in a crush of traffic at the

bottom of the hill at Peteano. A strong team of horses were straining

their guts out in vain attempts to pull an Italian twelve-inch mortar up

the hill. It was this which had caused the block. Those two forward

Batteries _might_ have lost their guns in a quick retreat, I thought,

but hardly we. It seemed to be feared, however, that the two bridges

across the Vippacco might go.

That day we were shelled heavily with every kind of weapon, from

fifteen-inch downwards, especially the Left Section in the afternoon. We

had, as usual, marvellously good luck, and only had one casualty, and

that a slight wound. The spirit and endurance of the men were wonderful.

Enemy planes were over all day; we counted twenty-two between daybreak

and four p.m. Some hovered overhead and ranged their guns on us. Several

times we put our detachments under cover and ceased fire owing to the

shelling. My own gun was half buried by a great shower of earth kicked

up by a 9.45, which pitched right on top of the bank in front of us. But

Cotes, my Sergeant, and myself, crouching under cover of the girdles,

were quite unhurt. The rest of the detachment had been ordered down into

their dug-out. Another time the enemy neatly bracketed our Command Post

with twelve-inch, and several of us within were uncomfortably awaiting

the next round. But luckily for us he switched away to the right.

We had to fire hard most of the day, especially in the afternoon and

evening. It had been exhausting and almost sleepless work for the

detachments for several days past, for Darrell and a working party of

forty were away preparing the reserve position on San Michele, and we

had hardly any reliefs for the guns. The Major, too, looked very tired

and frayed, but, whenever our eyes met, he gave me a smile of

encouragement and leadership. That evening, during a short break in the

firing, he asked me, since he himself could not leave the Command Post,

to go round and "buck the men up" and thank them on his behalf for the

way in which they had behaved. "So long as the Major's pleased, we're

satisfied," said one man. Another, a Bombardier who afterwards got a

Commission, and had been with Darrell on a reconnaissance on Faiti a few

days before and had nearly been killed on the journey, said, "Well, Sir,

we were thinking of the boys in the Front Line today." And well he

might, for it had been a hellish bombardment up there. After delivering

my message to the men, I walked up and down the road in front of the

guns for a few moments in the short silence, realising how the Alliance

of Britain and Italy was burning itself more deeply than ever into our

hearts in these days of trial.

That night the enemy attacked again, and we lost Faiti and Hill 393, and

had to fire on them. I heard afterwards from the Group that Colonel

Canale, when he gave the order to fire on 393, was almost weeping on the

telephone. Next day we counter-attacked and retook Faiti, but 393

remained in Austrian hands. Rumours and denials of rumours came in from

the north. It was said that we had lost Monte Nero and Caporetto, and

that German Batteries had kept up a high concentration of gas for four

hours on our lines in the Cadore. And we knew that the Italian gas masks

were only guaranteed to last for an hour and a half in such conditions,

and that each man only carried one.

CHAPTER XXI

FROM THE VIPPACCO TO SAN GIORGIO DI NOGARA

On the 27th the rumours became bad. The German advance to the north was

said to be considerable and rapid. Orders came that all the British

Batteries were to pull out and park that night at Villa Viola, behind

Gradisca, "for duty on another part of the Front." Probably, we thought,

we were going north. "The gun concentration up there must be awful,"

said the Major. I told Cotes that we were probably going into the thick

of it, and his eyes shone with pride. He was a fine fellow. That day the

sun was shining, and the Italian planes in this sector seemed to have

regained command of the air. For the moment there was a little lull in

the firing, but we felt that some big fate was looming over us. I went

away to my hut for five minutes and wrote in my diary, "I here put it on

record once more that I am proud to fight in and for Italy. I repeat

that dying here is not death, it is flying into the dawn! If I die in

and for Italy, I would like to think that my death would do something

for Anglo-Italian sympathy and understanding."

In the early afternoon the Major went down to Headquarters. He rang me

up from there to say that two guns were to be pulled out at once, and

the other two to double their rate of fire. No. 4 gun was now engaging

two different targets with alternate rounds and different charges.

When the Major came back, he called all the men together and said. "I am

not going to conceal anything from you. The situation is serious. The

Italians have had a bad reverse up north. But there is no need for

anyone to get panicky. We shall pull out and go back to-night. That is

all I know at present. When I know more, I will tell you more. One gun

will remain in action till the last. No. 2 is the easiest to get out, so

I have chosen her for the post of honour." As the men scattered, I heard

several saying, "Good old No. 2!"

The Major told me that the Austrians were almost in Cividale, staggering

news. Tractors and lorries were to come and take away our guns and

stores in the evening. But the number of tractors was very limited and

Raven was doubtful if enough would come in time. The whole Third Army

was retreating, and three British Batteries, ourselves, the Battery in

Pec village and the Battery at Rupa, would be the last three Batteries

of Medium or Heavy Calibre left on this part of the Front.

All through the afternoon and evening Italian Infantry and Artillery

were retreating through Pec. Some looked stolid, others depressed,

others merely puzzled. But a little later a Battalion came along the

road the other way, going up to be sacrificed on Nad Logem. They halted

to rest by the roadside, full of gaiety and courage. They cheered our

men on No. 2 gun, who were pumping out shells as fast as they could.

"Bravi inglesi!" cried the Italians, and some of our men replied, "Good

luck, Johnny!" Unknown Italians were always "Johnny."

As the dark came on, ammunition dumps began to go up everywhere; the

Italians were deliberately exploding them, and great flashes of light,

brighter than even an Italian noonday, lit up the whole sky for minutes

at a time. Romano's Battery next door to us threw the remains of their

ammunition into the river, and pulled out and away about 6.30. They were

horse-drawn and did not need to wait for tractors. We wished each other

good-bye, and hoped we might meet again some better day. We too got

orders to destroy all ammunition we could not fire, as there would be no

transport to take it away. So we gave No. 2 a generous ration and heaved

the rest into the waters of the Vippacco.

No. 2 went on firing ceaselessly. So did one gun of the Battery in the

village, and one gun at Rupa. That Battery, being the furthest forward,

was in the greatest danger of the three. About 7 o'clock our first

tractor arrived and took away No. 1 gun with Winterton and Manzoni.

Enemy bombing planes came over frequently. One came right over us and

then turned down the Vallone, and there was a series of heavy

explosions, and great clouds of brownish smoke leapt up beneath her

track.

Why, I kept asking myself, didn't the fools shell Pec village, where a

crowd of men and guns were waiting for transport? Why didn't they put

over gas shell? Why didn't they bomb us? Evidently there were no Germans

_here_! About a quarter to nine No. 2 finished her ammunition, and we

pulled her out. The other three guns had gone now and the other two

British Batteries were clear, all but two lorries. Just after nine

o'clock our last tractor came along and took off No. 2, with Darrell in

charge of her. How the Italians had managed to get all these lorries and

tractors for us, I don't know, for, in the Third Army as a whole, they

were terribly short of transport. Many made the criticism that we should

have kept out in Italy our own transport. But the Italians certainly did

us very handsomely, at the cost of losing some bigger guns of their own.

After the last British gun had ceased to fire there was for about five

minutes an eerie stillness, as though all our Artillery had gone and

theirs was holding its fire. And then an Italian Field Battery opened

again on the right of Pec. For over an hour now I had been expecting,

minute by minute, to see the enemy Infantry come swarming along the Nad

Logem in the dusk, cutting off our retreat, for I knew we had nothing

but rear-guards left up there. But they did not come!

Only the Major and I and about forty men were left now, and we had been

told that there would be no more transport. So we destroyed everything

that we had been unable to get away, and the Major informed Headquarters

of the situation and then disconnected the telephone and the men fell in

and we marched away. We were just in time to see an Italian Field

Battery come into Pec at the gallop, the gunners all cheering, unlimber

their guns, take up position and open fire. It was a smart piece of

work, done with a real Latin gesture. How enfuriating it was to be

leaving these wooden huts of ours and these good positions, on which

had been spent so many hours of labour, where we could have passed such

a comfortable winter, going forth now none knew whither! Old Natale, one

of the Italians attached to us, chalked up in German on the entrance to

one of the huts, "You German pigs, we shall soon be back again!" But at

that moment I did not feel so sure. Natale was afterwards lost in the

retreat, and was reported by us as "missing." But one of our men saw him

again six months later with an Italian Battery and said he looked

several years younger!

We passed Campbell, the Medical Officer, standing outside his dug-out on

the road. He was waiting for the last of the other Batteries' parties to

get away. He told me afterwards that we were out only just in time.

Within half an hour of our going, the Austrians fairly plastered the

position with shells of all calibres. They shelled the road a little as

we went along, but not too much. As we passed the railway embankment at

Rubbia, we saw and spoke to some Italian machine-gunners in position,

whose orders were to hold up the enemy till the last possible moment.

They were quite calm and determined, those boys, knowing perfectly well

that, by the time the enemy came, the Isonzo bridges would have been

blown up behind them. I dragged myself on with an aching heart. One who

retreats cuts a poor figure beside a rear-guard that stays behind and

fights.

We crossed the Isonzo at Peteano, and took a short cut across the fields

to Farra. In the crowd and the dark we were jostled by some Italian

Infantry. We hailed them and found that they were our old friends, the

Lecce Brigade. The Major made our men stand back. "Pass, Lecce," he

said. "Good luck to you!" We marched on through Farra to Gradisca, both

blazing in the night. The towns and villages everywhere in this sector

had been deliberately fired by the retreating Italians, in addition to

the ammunition dumps. The whole countryside was blazing and exploding. I

thought of Russia in 1812, and the Russian retreat before Napoleon, and

Tchaikovsky's music.

It began to rain, but that made no difference to the burning. In

Gradisca burning petrol was running about the streets. Earlier in the

evening there had been a queer scene here. The Headquarters of the

British Staff had been at Gradisca, and the Camp Commandant had made a

hobby of fattening rabbits for the General's Mess. When the time had

come that day to pack up and go, it was found that the lorries provided

were fully loaded with office stores, Staff officers' bulky kit and

20,000 cigarettes, which the General was specially proud of having saved

from his canteen. There was no room for the Camp Commandant's rabbit

hutches, so these were opened and the fat inmates released, to the

delight of the civilians and Italian soldiery in Gradisca, who knocked

them over or shot them as they ran. I heard this from a gunner, who was

officer's servant to one of the Staff and witnessed the scene.

A few miles away, at the Ordnance Depôt at Villa Freifeldt, thousands of

pounds' worth of gun stores stood ready, packed in crates, to be

removed. But no transport came for them, and they were abandoned and

fell into Austrian hands. For lack of them, our Batteries were

afterwards kept out of action for several weeks. Whoever ordered these

things seems to have thought it more important to save the Staff's kit

and the General's cigarettes.

Just before we entered Gradisca, we passed a Battalion of the

Granatieri, the Italian Grenadiers, all six foot tall, with collar

badges of crimson and white, coming up from reserve to fight a

rear-guard action. I had seen them a few days before in rest billets and

admired their appearance. And in their march that night and in their

faces was scorn for fugitives and contempt for death. The Major said to

me, as they swung past us, that _that_ Battalion could be trusted to

fight to the end. And they did. Some of our men met a few of their

survivors at Mestre a week later. Nearly the whole Battalion had been

killed or wounded, but they had held up the Austrian advance for several

hours.

On the further side of Gradisca we passed a great platform, which had

been erected a few weeks before for the Duke of Aosta's presentation of

medals for the Carso offensive. It was here that the Major had received

the Italian Silver Medal for Valour. The platform looked ironical that

night, still decked with bunting, limp and drenched now by the rain, and

lit up by the flames of the burning town. We reached Villa Viola about

11.30 p.m. It was to have been a rendezvous, but there was no one there.

Only the rain still falling. About midnight we entered an empty house,

and threw ourselves down upon the floor to sleep.

* * * * *

We had slept for less than an hour, when we were hurriedly awakened. The

Italians had orders to set fire to the house. Meanwhile Savogna, our

Canadian Italian Corporal, had just returned from scouting for us, and

reported that parties from the other Batteries were in a house half a

mile away. We marched off again through pouring rain, our path lit up by

the flames, which in places thrust their long tongues right across the

road. The wind blew clouds of smoke in our faces. The air was full of

the roaring of the fires, the crackle of blazing woodwork, the crash of

houses falling in, the loud explosions of ammunition dumps and petrol

stores, which now and again for a few seconds lighted up the whole night

sky for miles around with a terrific glare, and then died down again.

Far as the eye could reach the night was studded with red and golden

fires. Everywhere behind the front of the retreating Third Army a

systematic destruction was being carried out. The Third Army was

retreating in good order, unbroken and undefeated, retreating only

because its northern flank was in danger of being turned. The Third Army

was proving to the enemy that its movements were deliberate and governed

by a cool purpose. The enemy should advance into a wilderness.

Again I seemed to hear in the air the music of "1812," and the bells of

burning Moscow ringing out loud and clear above the triumph song of the

invader.

* * * * *

Our men marched doggedly on, some looking puzzled and full of wonder,

others tired but cheerful, others with expressionless, uncomprehending

faces. But in the faces of a few I read a consciousness of the

tremendous tragedy of which we formed a tiny part. We found the other

Batteries in a house not yet marked down for burning. The house was

crowded out already and all the best places taken, such as they were.

There were pools of water everywhere on the floor. Officers of the Group

were there, knowing nothing, awaiting the appearance of Colonel Raven.

All our party got in somehow and lay down to sleep. But half an hour

later we were roused again. Raven had come and ordered that all should

push on to Palmanova.

Some of our men were sleeping very heavily and were hard to waken. When

we started it was still raining. The roads were crowded with traffic,

including many guns. Our own went by with the rest, Winterton, Darrell,

Leary and Manzoni with them. Each Battery party marched independently,

the easier to get through blocks in the traffic. The Square at Palmanova

had been fixed as the next rendezvous.

The stream of refugees with their slow-moving wagons drawn by oxen, or

their little donkey carts, or trudging on foot carrying bundles, became

gradually thicker and more painful. For we were back now in country that

yesterday or the day before had fancied itself remote from the battle

zone. I remember one elderly peasant woman, tall and erect as a young

girl, with white hair and a face like Dante, calm, beautiful and stern.

She was alone, tramping along through the mud. And she had the walk of a

queen.

At Versa we halted for a few minutes at the Hospital. All the wounded

had been evacuated.[1] Campbell was lying on a bed in one of the empty

wards, snatching a little rest. He had seen the last British troops away

from Pec and had then followed on a motor-bicycle. I went into the old

R.A.M.C. Mess to see if any food or drink was left. The question of food

was beginning to be serious for the whole retreating Army. Italian

troops were clearing out everything. I found a wine bottle half full,

and took a deep drink. It was vinegar, but it bucked one up. I handed

the bottle to an Italian, and told him it was "good English wine." He

drank a little, saw the joke, smiled and passed it on to an unsuspecting

companion. I got a little milk which I shared with the Major and some of

our men. Then we resumed the march.

[Footnote 1: One wounded British soldier, who had been in an Italian

Field Hospital which was not evacuated in time, was taken prisoner by

the Austrians. He told me, when he was released a year later, that the

Austrians bayoneted the Italian wounded whom they found in this

hospital, but spared the British, and, on the whole, treated them well.]

We reached Palmanova about 7 a.m. It was now the 28th of October. We met

Raven in the Square, where were also collected a British General and his

Staff officers. They were standing about, with a half lost look on their

faces. There was no evidence of decision or any plan. The General was

smiling, as his habit was. The Staff Captain was telling someone, in a

hopeless voice, that he had heard that the Italians were going back to

the Tagliamento. Just as we arrived, the Italians began to set fire to

the town. Dense clouds of black smoke, fanned by a strong wind, began to

pour over our heads. Flames were soon roaring round houses, where three

months ago I had been a guest. But the inmates had all gone now. Food

and drink was being sold in the shops at knock-down prices. The Italian

military authorities were requisitioning all bread, and issued some to

us. The Major ordered it to be kept in reserve.

I went round the town and into the Railway Station looking for our guns.

But there was no sign of them. I came back and slept for an hour amid

some rubble under the archway inside one of the town gates. The town was

burning furiously. Our men, wet to the skin, sheltered themselves from

the smoke and the cold wind in the dry moat outside the walls.

Then the order came to move on. We formed up and started with the rest.

Nobody knew whither. Some said Latisana, but no one knew how far off

this was. The men had no rations except the bread obtained at Palmanova,

and no prospect, apparently, of getting any. The Supply Officers of the

A.S.C. might as well have gone to Heaven, for all the use they were to

us during those days of retreat. It was raining again and the roads were

blocked. We proceeded slowly for a mile or two, and were then turned off

the road into a damp, open field, which someone said was a "strategic

point." Here a number of different Battery parties collected. We were to

wait for the guns. The downpour steadily increased, the field rapidly

became a marsh, and there was no shelter anywhere. Raven walked up and

down, puffing at this pipe, taking the situation with admirable calm. It

was at this time that I personally touched my bedrock of misery, both

mental and physical. For there seemed to be nothing to be done, and,

what most irked me, there were so many senior officers present that I

myself could take no decisions. Then some of our guns arrived, and were

halted at the side of the road to wait for the rest. But this made the

traffic block worse, and they had to move forward again, and the idea

of getting them all together was abandoned.

Raven then gave the order to the rest of us to move on. There were some

vacant places in various cars and lorries at this point and some

footsore men were put in. The Major insisted, in spite of my protests

that I preferred to walk, that I should get into one of the cars, which

I shared with Littleton, the Chaplain who had thought that war "might be

tremendously worth while" and three junior officers from Raven's

Headquarters. I was, in truth, pretty done at this stage, chiefly

through want of sleep, compared to which I always found want of food a

trifling inconvenience. It was now about 4 p.m. and we could only make

very slow progress. A rendezvous had been fixed by Raven at Foglie,

where rations were to have been distributed. But there was no one and no

rations there, and it seemed that Raven had taken the wrong road. The

enemy were said to be advancing from the north at right angles to our

only possible line of retreat, and the chances seemed strongly in favour

of our all being cut off.

An Italian doctor ran out into the road and stopped our car, almost

beside himself with despair. He had been left in charge of a number of

severely wounded cases, without any food, medical necessities or

transport. But we had no food and could do nothing to help him, except

promise to try to have transport sent back to him from San Giorgio di

Nogara.

CHAPTER XXII

FROM SAN GIORGIO TO THE TAGLIAMENTO

We reached San Giorgio about 9 p.m. and here I got out of the car, which

two of Raven's Staff took on to try and arrange for transport to be sent

back for the Italian wounded. Having slept for an hour or two in the

car, I felt quite a different being and fit for anything. Stragglers

were coming in from the various Batteries' dismounted parties, and I

collected nearly a hundred of these men into a hall on the ground floor

of an Italian Field Hospital. They lay about on the stone floor,

sleeping like logs. Upstairs a panic had spread among the wounded that

they would be abandoned. Men were crying with terror and struggling to

get out of bed. Campbell, who had now joined us, went up and helped the

Italian medical personnel. Soon afterwards ambulances of both the

Italian and British Red Cross began to arrive, and the hospital was

quickly cleared. From one British Red Cross Driver I got a large box of

Cabin biscuits, which I distributed among our men, some of whom were

ravenously hungry. I also found a tap of good drinking water in the main

street and here we refilled all available water bottles, including those

of several men who were too fast asleep to waken.

The question then arose what to do with these stragglers. I went to the

station, but found that no more trains were running. Latisana was said

to be only "a few kilometres" away. It was in fact more than twenty. I

discovered that it was on the Tagliamento and I supposed that, once

across the river, we should be momentarily safe from risk of capture,

and, if ammunition was forthcoming, our Batteries might once more come

into action. Meanwhile we should push on as soon as possible. On the

other hand the men were very tired, having been marching for twenty-four

hours, with only a few short breaks. A few hours' sleep now might be

worth a lot to them later on.

Several civilians came up to me and asked when the Germans would be

here. "This is my house," one old man explained, pointing to a small

house near the Hospital, "and I shall have to leave everything if I go

away. But I cannot stay....," and he began to cry.

In the early hours of the 29th I put some of our most footsore

stragglers on to lorries going in the direction of Latisana. The rest

marched off under Henderson, one of the officers from Raven's

Headquarters, who had come with me in the car to San Giorgio. Meanwhile

I was keeping a look-out for our guns in the dense columns of traffic

slowly crawling past. I saw guns belonging to other Batteries, and was

told that some of ours were further behind. It was just getting light,

when a tractor appeared drawing two of our guns and one belonging to

another British Battery, which we had picked up on the road a long way

back with only three gunners in charge of it, and which would certainly

have been lost, if we had not taken it in tow. But, as the result of

this additional load, our tractor had been breaking down all the way

along, and had fallen almost to the rear of the retreating column. It

had a damnable and useless accumulator, but there was no means of

changing this. With the tractor and guns were Winterton, Darrell, and

Leary, also the Battery Quartermaster Sergeant and two of our lorries.

They told me Manzoni was well on ahead with the other two guns and I

told them that the Major and the bulk of the dismounted party must also

be a good distance ahead, as stragglers from this party had appeared

here many hours before.

We were now the last British guns on the road, a post of honour which we

continued to hold. I was delighted to find that I was now entitled, by

reason of seniority, to take command. I sent on the two lorries with

Winterton and Darrell, to get in touch as soon as possible with the two

guns in front and the Major's party. Leary and I remained behind with

the tractor and its load. We had about thirty men with us and a small

quantity of rations, including a little tea. We moved on slowly and got

stuck in a bad block of traffic at San Giorgio cross roads. Here we had

to remain stationary for several hours. The dawn was breaking and we

made some tea.

About 5 a.m. I got tired of sitting still and walked about half a mile

down the road to find out the cause of the block. I began to control and

jerrymander the traffic and at first annoyed an Italian officer, who was

there with the same object as myself; but I persuasively pointed out to

him the benefits to both of us, if we could only succeed in getting a

move on, and he then calmed down and began to help me. In the end we

both manoeuvred our own transport into a moving stream, and went

forward smiling.

We went along at a fine pace for several miles and then our tractor

stopped and wouldn't start up again. Whereupon there came to our

assistance a young man named Rinaldo Rinaldi, a skilled and resourceful

mechanic, who was driving a tractor in rear of us. He patched up our

engine and got us going again. But we kept on breaking down after

intervals never very long. Time after time Rinaldo Rinaldi came running

up, smiling and eager to help. He patched us up and got us going six

times. But at last he had to pass us and go on. For he, too, was drawing

guns. I shall never forget Rinaldo Rinaldi and the cheerful help he gave

us. In the end he left us an accumulator, but it was not much better

than our own.

Enemy planes now began to appear in the sky, some scouting only, others

dropping bombs. They did more damage to the wretched refugees than to

the military. What chances they missed that day! Once or twice, when we

were stationary, I gave the order to scatter in the fields to left and

right of the road. But they never came very near to hitting us. They

flew very high and their markmanship was atrocious.

Atrocious also was our tractor! Finally, when it broke down and we had

no fresh accumulator, we had to unlimber the front gun, attach drag

ropes to the tractor, haul vigorously on the ropes until the engine

started up, then back the tractor and front limber back to the guns,

limber up, cast off the ropes and go ahead again. We did this three or

four times in the course of an hour, and enjoyed the sense of

triumphing over obstacles. But it was very laborious, and the intervals

between successive breakdowns grew ominously shorter and shorter. And

the last time the trick didn't work, though we had all heaved and heaved

till we were very near exhaustion. We were fairly stuck now, half

blocking the road. Great excitement, as was only natural, developed

among those behind us.

I sent forward an orderly with a message to the Major, describing our

plight and asking that, if possible, another tractor might be sent back

from Latisana to pull us. This message never reached the Major, but was

opened by another Field officer, who sent back this flatulent reply. "If

you are with Major Blinks, you had better ask him whether you may use

your own discretion and, if necessary, remove breech blocks and abandon

guns." I was not with Major Blinks, and I neither knew nor cared where

he might be. Nor had I any intention of abandoning the guns. I

determined, without asking anyone's permission, to use my discretion in

a different way.

I saw, a little distance in front, an Italian Field Artillery Colonel in

a state of wild excitement. He was rushing about with an unopened bottle

of red wine in his hand, waving it ferociously at the heads of refugees,

and driving them and their carts off the road down a side track. A queer

pathetic freight some of these carts carried, marble clocks and

blankets, big wine flasks and canaries in cages. The Colonel had driven

off the road also a certain Captain Medola, of whom I shall have more to

say in a moment, and who was sitting sulkily on his horse among the

civilian carts. The Colonel's object, it appeared, was to get a number

of Field Batteries through. He had cleared a gap in the blocked traffic

and his Field Guns were now streaming past at a sharp trot. But he was

an extraordinary spectacle and made me want to laugh. Treading very

delicately, I approached this enfuriated man, and explained the helpless

situation of our guns, pointing out that we were also unwillingly

impeding the movements of his own. I asked if he could order any

transport to be provided for us. He waved his bottle at me, showed no

sign of either civility or comprehension, only screaming at the top of

his voice, "Va via, va via!"[1]

[Footnote 1: "Away with you, away with you!"]

I gave him up as hopeless, and went back to my guns, intending to wait

till he had disappeared and things had quieted down again, and then to

look for help elsewhere. But the Latin mind often follows a thread of

order through what an Anglo-Saxon is apt to mistake for a mere hurricane

of confused commotion. Within five minutes Captain Medola came up to me

and said that the Colonel had ordered him to drag our tractor and guns.

Medola was in command of a Battery of long guns, and had one of these

attached to a powerful tractor on the road in front of us. To this long

gun, therefore, we now attached our tractor, useless as a tractor but

containing valuable gun stores, and our three guns. It was a tremendous

strain for one tractor, however strong, to pull, and we decided a little

later to abandon our own tractor and most of its contents.

Medola, having handed over his horse to an orderly, who was to ride on

ahead and arrange for a fresh supply of petrol for his tractors, of

which there were three, mounted the front of the leading tractor and I

got up beside him. He rendered us most invaluable help in a most willing

spirit and at considerable risk to himself. For he undoubtedly had to go

much more slowly with us in tow than he could have gone if he had been

alone.

We saw another Battery of Italian heavy guns going along the road,

heavier than either ours or Medola's. They were an ancient type, which

we had seen sometimes on the Carso, and not of very high military value.

But their gunners took a regimental and affectionate pride in those old

guns. They had neither tractors nor horses, but they had dragged their

beloved pieces for thirty miles from the rocky heights of the Carso,

along good roads and bad, up and down hill, through impossible traffic

blocks, down on to the plains as far as Palmanova, with nothing but long

ropes and their own strong arms. They had forty men hauling on each gun.

At Palmanova new hauling parties had been put on, who dragged the guns

another thirty miles to the far side of the Tagliamento at Latisana. And

as they hauled, they sang, until they were too tired to go on singing,

and could only raise, from time to time, their rhythmical periodic cry

of "Sforza!... Sforza!"[1]

[Footnote 1: "Heave!... Heave!"]

As we passed through Muzzano, the town and road were heavily bombed. The

bell in the campanile jangled wildly and weeping women crowded into the

church, as though thinking to find sanctuary there. Others stood gazing

helplessly up into the sky. Here I saw some Italian Infantry, mostly

young, who were delighted to be retreating. "Forward, you militarists!"

they cried to us as we passed. "This is your punishment! How much longer

do you think the war is going to last? What about Trieste now?" They

spoke with joyful irony, as though the conquest of Trieste had been a

slaves' task, imposed upon unwilling Italy by foreign imperialists. They

were the only Italian troops I saw during the retreat, who showed any

sign of being under the influence of "defeatist" or German propaganda.

The stream of refugees steadily thickened on the roads. More than once I

got down and ran on ahead, calling out with monotonous refrain to the

drivers of civilian carts to keep well over to the right of the road, so

as to let the guns pass. They all did their best to obey, poor brutes,

and we gained some useful ground in that endless column.

At nightfall we were still eight or nine kilometres from Latisana. The

traffic block grew worse and worse, and there were too few Carabinieri

to exercise proper control. We stuck for hours at a time, with nothing

moving for miles, three motionless lines of traffic abreast on the road,

all pointing in the same direction. Tired men slept and wakeful men

waited and watched and cursed at the delay. Behind us, far off, we could

hear the booming of the guns, which seemed from hour to hour to come a

little nearer, and flashes of distant gunfire flickered in the night

sky. Back there the rear-guards were still fighting, and brave men were

dying to give us time to get away. It seemed just then that their

sacrifice might be in vain. What a haul the Austrians would have here!

And behind and around us burning villages were still flaming in the

dark, and throwing up the sharp black outlines of the trees.

* * * * *

Afterwards I heard of some of the deeds that had been done "back there."

I heard of the charges of the Italian Cavalry, of the Novara Lancers and

the Genoa Dragoons, crack regiments, full of the best horsemen in Italy,

who had been waiting, waiting, all the war through, for their chance to

come. Their chance had come at last, the chance to die, charging against

overwhelming odds, in order that Italy, or at least the glory of her

name, might live for ever. One commanding officer called all his

officers around him and said, "The common people of Italy have betrayed

our country's honour, and now we, the gentlemen of Italy, are going to

save it!" and then he led the charge, and fell leading it. It was a

fine, aristocratic gesture, though the prejudices of his class partly

blinded him.

Near Cervignano Italian Cavalry charged the massed machine guns of the

enemy and, when the horses went down, the men went on, and then the men

went down, all but a few, and those few for a moment broke the line and

held up the advance, and gave to the mass of the retreating troops just

that little space of extra time, which spans the gulf between escape and

destruction.

And away up north on Monte Nero, left behind when the rest of the Army

retired, Alpini and Bersaglieri resisted for many days, and aeroplanes

flew back and dropped food and ammunition from the skies for them. And

when their ammunition was all shot away, that garrison came down into

the plains, and a few survivors fought their way through with bombs and

bayonets back to the Italian lines.

And many other such deeds were surely done that will never be known,

because the men that did them died out of sight of any of their comrades

who survived.

* * * * *

In the small hours of the 30th of October, I left our guns in Leary's

charge and determined to walk on to Latisana, to see if I could not find

some person in authority and get something done to move things on. I had

only gone a little way when I met Bixio, a Captain of Mountain

Artillery, attached to Raven's Headquarters. He had come back to see how

far behind our rearmost guns were. I saw him several times during the

retreat. He did fine work more than once in creating order out of

confusion. He looked a magnificent, almost a Mephistophelian, figure,

with his dark features, his flashing angry eyes, his air of decision,

his sharp gestures, his tall body enveloped in a loose cloak, his Alpino

hat, with its long single feather. He told me that all traffic along

this road into Latisana had been stopped for the past three hours, in

order to let traffic from the north get on, for it was from that

direction that the advance of the enemy was most threatening.

I walked on and found a British Red Cross Ambulance stuck in the block.

I talked for a few moments to the driver, who gave me a piece of cake

and some wine. When I reached Latisana, I found traffic pouring through

along the road from the north. I crossed the bridge over the Tagliamento

and looked down at the broad swift current, glistening beneath. Hope

leapt again within me at the sight. Here, at last, I said to myself, is

a fine natural obstacle. We shall turn here and stand at bay, and the

invader will come no further.

I had been told that there were some huts on the right hand side, just

over the bridge, where our men would be, where the A.S.C. would have

delivered rations and the Staff had fixed a rendezvous. I, therefore,

expected to find the Major and our dismounted party, or at least someone

from another Battery, or some of either Raven's or the General's Staff.

But there was nothing there; no British troops, no rations, and no

Staff! Only the never ending rain, and a confused stream of Italian

troops, chiefly Field Guns, hurrying across the bridge.

There was nothing to do but to go back. The sentries on the bridge tried

to stop me, but I insisted that I must see some Artillery officer in

authority. They directed me to the Square, where I found Colonel Canale,

controlling the movements of Batteries, looking straight before him out

of uncomprehending, heavy eyes, like one crushed under a weight of

bitter humiliation. He asked where our guns were. I told him they were

getting near now, but stuck fast in the traffic. He said it was

forbidden to let through traffic on that road at present, but he would

do what he could. I asked if there were any new orders. "No," he said,

"only forward across the bridge, and then push on as fast as possible to

Portogruaro." I left him, and found three of our stragglers from the

Major's party, asleep on the floor of a forge. I told them to cross the

river and wait on the Portogruaro road for myself and the guns. I asked

an Italian Corporal if there was anywhere in Latisana where one could

get a drink. He said he thought not, but gave me a bottle full of cold

coffee, brandy and sugar in about equal proportions. It was a splendid

drink, but a little too sweet.

I walked back along the road towards the guns. Some houses on the

outskirts of the town were burning furiously. The traffic was beginning

to move forward along our road, very slowly and with frequent halts. I

had two overcoats with me when we started from Pec. Both were long ago

wet through, and I was wearing over my shoulders at this time a blanket

lent to me by Medola. This, too, was thoroughly drenched by now. In the

fields on either side of the road Infantry were lying out in the rain,

asleep, dreaming, perhaps, of Rome or Sicily or the Bay of Naples. The

dawn of another day was breaking, cold, damp and miserable, symbolic of

this great weary tragedy.

* * * * *

I had not gone far when I met four of our men carrying on a stretcher

the dead body of the Battery Staff Sergeant Artificer. He had dropped

asleep on one of the guns and, as the tractor moved on, he had fallen

forward, head downwards, beneath the gun wheel, which had passed over

him, along the whole length of his body, crushing him to death. They

said he died before they could get him out. He was a good man and a very

skilled worker, full of pluck and spirit. The last thing he had done for

me was to get everything ready for rendering the guns unserviceable in

case we should have to abandon them. There was no chance of decent

burial for him here, but I had his body placed upon an empty trench

cart, which was being towed by a lorry of another Battery, and put two

of our men in charge of it. They buried him the next day or the day

after in a cemetery near Portogruaro.

About 7 a.m., as I was still making my way back through the traffic

towards our guns, it was reported that enemy cavalry patrols had been

seen to the north of the road, and that shots had been exchanged. For a

moment there was some panic and confusion, but a scheme of defence was

quickly organised. No one had supposed that they could yet be so near. I

found Bixio rallying some Infantrymen, with eloquent words and great

gestures, and an Italian Infantry Major, calm and smiling, was putting

out a screen of machine gunners and riflemen across the road itself and

along a hedge five hundred yards to the north of it. All was in

readiness for putting our guns completely out of action. There would be

nothing else to do, if the enemy appeared, for we had no gun ammunition,

and it was impossible to get on, until the whole traffic block in front

of us had been shifted forward. But I told Bixio that I should do

nothing to the guns, unless there was some evidence that the enemy was

really approaching with a superiority of force over our own.

The enemy, however, did not at that time reappear and the best bit of

hustling traffic management that I had yet witnessed during the retreat,

now took place. The northern road was at last clear at Latisana, and the

authorities turned their attention to us. A breakdown gang appeared and

a number of new tractors and lorries with refills of petrol. Civilian

carts whose drivers remained, were ordered to drive on, those which had

been abandoned were overturned to one side into the ditches, and dead

horses and wreckage due to bombing or the brief moments of panic were

likewise thrust off the road. Relays of fresh drivers took over all the

lorries and tractors which would still go. The rest went into the ditch

on top of the dead horses and derelict carts. The heavier loads which

single tractors had been pulling were split up between two or more. In a

surprisingly short time the whole mass began to move.

Here I parted from Medola, who had been a very good friend to us. Our

three guns got a new tractor to themselves and I got up beside the

driver. And so at last we entered Latisana. Our new driver was immensely

enthusiastic, but very excited. He told me that he had had two brothers

killed in the war and had applied, when the retreat began, to be

transferred from Mechanical Transport to the Infantry. That morning, he

said, he had heard General Pettiti, who was our Army Corps Commander,

give the order that all the British Batteries must first be got across

the river and only then the Italian. I said that I saw no good reason

for this preference, but that anyhow he was driving the last three

British guns. This pleased him tremendously. By now I was wrapped up in

a new and dry Italian blanket, which I had taken from an abandoned cart

by the roadside.

Our tractor, less enthusiastic than its driver, broke down continually.

It was rumoured that the bridge had been blown up already, and there

were wild screams of despair from a crowd of women, who came running

past us. At last we turned the last corner and came in sight of the

Tagliamento. The bridge was still intact. Italian Generals were rushing

to and fro, gesticulating, giving orders. General Pettiti sent a

special orderly to ask me if mine were the last British guns. I told him

yes. Our tractor broke down three times on the bridge itself. But at

last we were over. One of our party had an Italian flag and waved it and

cried "Viva l'Italia!" Not long after, the bridge went up, with an

explosion that could be heard for miles around.

CHAPTER XXIII

FROM THE TAGLIAMENTO TO TREVISO

I heard later that the Major and his party had reached Latisana the

previous day. Winterton had joined them near Muzzano. They had marched

for forty-eight hours practically without food and with only some three

hours' rest in stray halts. They had been magnificent, but they were

utterly done, and the Major, who had been most done of all, told me

afterwards that it had made him cry to watch them hobbling along,--some

of them men too old or of too low a medical category to have passed for

the Infantry,--and to hear them singing,

"What's the use of worrying?

It never was worth while.

So pack up your sorrows in your old kit bag,

And smile, smile, smile!"

The spirit of the men in the retreat from Mons was not finer than the

spirit of those men of ours.

At Latisana they got on board a train for Treviso. It was about the

last train that was running.

* * * * *

My party, though they were longer on the road, were at least able to

ride a great part of the way on the tractors and guns.

Once across the Tagliamento, our tractor not only continued to break

down every few hundred yards, but also developed the unpleasant habit of

catching fire. Twice we put the fire out with the squirts and chemicals

provided for the purpose, and a third time with mud. I determined not to

risk a fourth time, and so pulled on to the side of the road and halted.

I sent on the Battery Sergeant Major on a passing lorry to Portogruaro

with a note to the Major asking that another tractor might be sent back,

and I also sent Avoglia to the nearest Italian Headquarters to see if he

could raise a tractor there. We were halted at the top of a hill on the

road running along the western bank of the river. We were indeed

literally "across," but we should have provided a splendid target for

enemy Artillery advancing on the further side. A good system of trenches

ran alongside the road, and these were now manned in force by Italian

Infantry. Field Guns also had come into position behind them. Our men

took advantage of the enforced halt to collect fuel, light fires and

make tea. We were still halted here at nightfall.

Soon after dark some Italians came up and told us that we were blocking

the road, which was not true, as we were well to the side. However, as

neither Avoglia nor the Sergeant Major had yet returned with a new

tractor, and as the Italians said that they would pull us on, I

cordially agreed to the attempt being made. They attached a tractor with

a heavy lorry in tow to our inflammatory tractor and our three guns.

They asked that an attempt should be made to start up our tractor also,

but I succeeded in persuading them that this was inexpedient. They then

started up their own tractor only. To my great surprise, we began to

move. It was a magnificent machine, and forged ahead splendidly,

contrary to all the laws limiting its capacity, rumbling and backfiring

under the unwonted strain, for miles through the gloom.

Then the moon began to rise. The night, for the first time since the

retreat began, was fine and clear. We could only go slowly and broke

down now and then. But all went pretty well, until we swung our long

train a little too sharply round a corner in the road, and the last two

guns got ditched. While we were trying to get them out, a British Major,

whom I will call Star, appeared on the scene. He came from Portogruaro

with the news that five new tractors were on their way back, and that

some other British guns were ditched further ahead. I therefore thanked

the officer in charge of the Italian tractor and lorry for all he had

done for us and advised him now to go on and leave us, as our position

was tiresome but no longer critical. This he did.

The moonlight was now bright as day, and one of Star's promised tractors

arrived and finally succeeded in getting out our ditched guns.

* * * * *

Star had painted a bright picture of Portogruaro. All the British guns,

he said, were parked together in the Piazza and there was a large

granary close by, full of happy men with plenty of rations and straw.

So, it seems, some imaginative person had told him. We reached

Portogruaro in the small hours of the 31st of October. The moon had set

and it was very dark. Several of us made a most careful search in the

Piazza. But there were no British guns there, no granary, no straw, no

rations. I halted the guns just outside the gate of the town and told

the men to turn in and sleep. Soon after daybreak we all woke feeling

very hungry. I issued practically all that remained of our rations, a

little bully, a little biscuit and a very little tea.

Wanting a wash and, still more urgently, a shave, I went into a house

and asked for the loan of some soap and a towel. A number of terrified

old women gathered round me, in doubt whether to fly or to stay. I

advised them to stay, for I took for granted at this time that the

Tagliamento line would hold. They pressed upon me coffee and bread, and

I heard them repeating over and over again to one another my assurances

that the enemy was still far away and would never get as far as

Portogruaro. It was hard not to cry.

Star arrived during the morning and took charge. There was no need, he

said, to hurry on. We had better rest here for a day. He arranged for us

all to draw rations from the Italian Comando di Tappa. Treviso was to be

our next stopping place. We were disturbed a little during the morning

by enemy planes dropping bombs on the town, but none fell very near us.

In the afternoon we moved on and parked our guns near the station along

with those of the other British Batteries, which had arrived before us.

Bombing raids continued and were more serious that afternoon than in the

morning. One bomb fell on a house, which was full of men from one of the

other Batteries, and caused a number of casualties. It was only by good

luck that a number of my own men were not in that house at the time.

Fortunately I had had words, as two tired men will, with one of the

officers of the other Battery, about the joint use of the kitchen, and

my men, when I asked them, had decided that they preferred, as always,

to "run their own show" and not "pig in with other Batteries." To that

attitude of independence some of them probably owe their lives.

In the afternoon Raven turned up, and said that he had arranged for us

to go on to Treviso by train. We loaded our guns on to trucks, and

waited several hours in the station yard for the promised train. It was

cold and wet and more bombers came over us. They had bombed the station

for the last three nights, I heard. But nothing hit it while we were

there. The train left at 9.30 p.m. Leary and another officer and I tried

to share one wet blanket. We were too wet and cold to sleep. I walked up

and down the carriage trying to get warm. They bombed the railway

several times during our journey, and once, when a bomb fell near our

train, there was a rumour that the engine driver had gone away and left

us standing. But it was quite untrue. We crawled along, with many stops.

It seemed a quite interminable journey. But at 8 o'clock next morning,

the 1st of November, we came to Treviso.

CHAPTER XXIV

THOUGHTS AFTER THE DISASTER

We hung about for a while in the station, nobody knowing what was to

happen next. Then Leary and I went off to try to find some food. We had

been living just lately on ration biscuits and a tin of Australian peach

jam. There was not much left at the Buffet, where we found Bixio, but we

got a little salami and some eels and wine and coffee. Meanwhile our

train had gone on to Mestre, owing to a mistake between two railway

officials, and had to return next day. Leary's feet were so bad that he

could hardly walk. I got them dressed for him by the Italian Red Cross,

but he could walk no better afterwards. The Villa Passi, the British

Headquarters, was several miles off. An enemy plane came over and bombed

Treviso, when we were in the station square, trying in vain to find a

conveyance. But none of the bombs fell very close to us. At last we

hailed a British lorry, which took us to Villa Passi, and then on to

Carbonera, where odds and ends of Batteries had been turning up for

several days past. The Major was very delighted to see us, a rumour

having got about that we and the last guns had been left on the wrong

side of the Tagliamento, when the bridge went up. He had almost given up

hope of seeing us again.